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tenofmuses · 3 months

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Free Witchcraft Resources for Beginners

A couple months ago I made a post shouting out the fact that witchcraft doesn’t require any money to get started (or to be practiced, for that matter), and I had a few people ask me about what they can do that’s free, especially as a beginner, so I wrote up this post. I was lost and broke when I was getting started with my craft, and it was really difficult to find tips for beginners that weren’t just “buy these things!” I’m hoping this will be useful for people who are looking for a place to begin.

So. You’re interested in witchcraft and would like to find out more. Maybe you keep seeing those “crystals/herbs/books/etc. beginner witches should have” posts, and you’re frustrated, because you want to begin your practice, but don’t have the money for those supplies. I was once in that spot, and even now that I’m five years into my practice, I have rarely purchased any of the supplies witchtok deems to be fundamental. Here are some places you can begin instead. Let’s get started!

Info continues below.

Foundations

By foundations, I’m referring to things that aren’t explicitly witchcraft, but that I have found very beneficial within my own practice.

1. Before anything, I recommend asking yourself a simple question: why do I want to practice witchcraft, and what do I hope to get out of it? You may not know for sure yet, and your answer will likely change over time, but having some intentions going in can be helpful when you’re in the early stages of research. When I was starting out, I felt very overwhelmed by the amount of info out there, so if you have a bit of an idea of what you’re specifically interested in, that can be helpful to get you going.

2. Meditation: not all witches meditate, but a lot of the skills you develop through meditation can be helpful within witchcraft. You can try out secular meditation (apps like Balance and Headspace, as well as Insight Timer—the former has a mix of secular and spiritual meditations), or you can find a witchcraft-specific guided meditation on YouTube. For neurodivergent folks out there, I recommend looking into active meditation, which I’ve found to be quite beneficial for myself.

For me, it’s always important to remain grounded when I’m doing any spiritual practice, and meditation is a good skill you can work on to help with that. I also find that having a background in meditation can be really helpful later down the line when/if you are attempting visualization and/or astral projection, witch’s flight, and so forth.

3. Journaling: another thing that isn’t specifically witchcraft-related, but is an important skill to harness, on my opinion. To me, it’s crucial to be in touch with what I’m feeling (especially when it comes to doing spellwork), and journaling is one great way to do that. If you’re stuck and don’t know where to begin, look up witchcraft (or general) journal prompts on here or somewhere else. A lot of the ones that come up will be shadow work, which can be intense, so only do what feels comfortable for you.

I’d also like to note that automatic writing/drawing is an entirely free option if you’re interested in communing with spirits or deities. Essentially it involves getting into a trance-like state (usually in a dark room only lit by candlelight or similar—this is to avoid distractions) with a piece of paper and pen, and you write or draw everything that comes to your head without thinking about it. And then you go back and see what sort of messages you may be receiving. It’s a bit hard to explain and I’m not very experienced in it myself, but it’s something worth looking into if it sounds interesting to you!

4. Look at what you have, instead of what you don’t: a lot of beginner witch resources will list specific items that you should have, without really explaining why. And without that knowledge of how/why having an item is important, you might find your Must Have crystal sitting unused on a shelf somewhere. So instead of focusing on the items you want or feel like you should have, look at what you do have. Are there plants or herbs in your house/yard that you feel drawn to? Do you have a collection of cool rocks and stones? How do these items make you feel?

For me, a large part of my craft is my belief in Animism (the belief that all living things have innate spiritual qualities, like a soul, spirit, or specific energy) and this can play into the way you interact with the natural world if it’s a belief you also subscribe to. Try and feel the presence of a plant to see if it gives you any specific feeling. It does? Great! Now you have a correspondance for that plant. And it’s even better than the correspondances you’ll get in a book because it’s based on your own personal connection and intuition. That’s what is most important.

5. When in doubt, use your intuition. You might find a source that says cinnamon should be used for protection. Another will say it should be used for abundance spells. What matters the most is what you think about an herb/plant/stone/colour, or whatever else you may utilize. I recommend to start keeping a list of what you associate these things with. It can take awhile to build up a personalized list, but once you have one, it’ll be a lot more useful than what a correspondances book says to do.

6. Scour your pantry and get cooking: are you wanting to try out a spell but you haven’t bought the ingredients? Look in your pantry. You may be surprised by how many commonly used witchcraft herbs you find in there. And if you have been starting to associate certain herbs or spices with specific feelings or energies, that’s a great way to get started with creating your own spell.

You can do a spell in many ways, but when I was starting out, one of my favourite ways was to incorporate a certain herb or spice into food I made. Say you’re making a soup and maybe you want a bit of protection, so you add some ground pepper with the intention of that pepper protecting you as you stir it into the soup. Same goes for any other ingredient you’d like to use. A little intention goes a long way!

7. Dedicate your actions, time, or energy: if you’re interested at all in working with deities, ancestors, and other spirits but don’t have the time/space to build an altar—or maybe you aren’t sure how involved you want to be with this part of witchcraft—you can devote an action to the entity. This can be simple. For example, when I worked with Apollo, I would use taking my meds and vitamins as an act of devotion to him. This is an offering. And offerings can be anything you want them to be. They don’t have to be expensive or fancy!

It’s also important to note that you do not need to work with deities or spirits to be a witch. You don’t even have to believe in them. Many witches are atheists or don’t work with any deities at all. But for those who are interested, simple offerings can be a good place to start.

8. Practice energy work: in my view, energy work is the most important skill to learn for your craft, since so many things build off of it. And with energy work, you don’t need to spend any amount of money on it. All you need is yourself, your intuition, and anything else—I mean that quite literally, you can practice feeling the energy of other people, pets, trees, buildings, foods, socks, your favourite pen, and whatever else you think of!

Once you get to know the energy of the things around you, you can more effectively utilize them as tools within your practice (this builds off of the intuition point I made earlier).

For example, as a child I lived in a house that was surrounded by cedar trees. It was a place where I felt very safe. To this day, when I see or smell a cedar tree, I feel safe and protected. You can read this any way you’d like—to me it’s both a spiritual and psychological phenomenon—but this is one example of sensing energy.

As a witch, you can practice that skill and use it to get to know the tools you’d like to use within your own craft (the things that connect to you personally, not what you’re told you should connect with). This isn’t an easy skill by any means, so if it doesn’t come naturally to you, that’s perfectly okay!

For more on this subject, I recommend two books: Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Kimmerer (more on animism in particular) and Psychic Witch by May Auryn (lots of exercises to practice working with and sensing energy).

Where to Go for Learning

After you’ve thought a bit about some of the above, or skipped it altogether if it doesn’t suit you, you’re probably wanting some good resources that will actually tell you how to do the witchcraft thing. But before that, I want to reiterate again that this is your practice, and you should only do what you are interested in. So take what you want and leave what you don’t.

I’m going to point you in three primary directions for learning good information: books, podcasts, and YouTube.

But first, I want to issue a massive disclaimer for the YouTube information (and some books, for that matter). You should not have one sole source for your information. Books that have bibliographies are always the most trustworthy sources. And even though I trust the information coming from the YouTubers I’ll mention—especially because I’ve read similar information in several witchcraft books—don’t take their word at face-value. Be critical of what you’re told. Believe what you believe. This is a skill you’ll learn over time. It can be a bit overwhelming at first, but it will get easier to discern what’s good info vs. bad info, over time.

Before you get started, I highly recommend watching this helpful video by HearthWitch with info on how to vet your witchcraft sources: link.

Books

In my view, books are the Best source of information, period. Anyone can publish an article or video online, but not everyone can publish a book. So there tends to be a bit more reliable info in witchcraft books.

As far as knowing what book you should begin with, there are lots of lists out there for beginners, and I recommend just looking at one of those lists and picking what sounds interesting to you. Take what you like and leave what you don’t.

Most of the YouTubers I’ve listed below have videos recommending books for beginners.

If you’re interested in British folk witchcraft, I started out with Folk Witchcraft by Roger J. Horne and it was a brilliant beginners guide that I recommend to anyone who is interested in that branch of witchcraft.

As always, while you read witchcraft books, be critical of the information you are presented with. Unfortunately, lots of witchcraft books (especially the classic ones) can be rooted in concepts like bioessentialism, colonialism, and racism. My recommendation is to not take any author’s word as gospel and to use your critical thinking skills when reading witchcraft books.

Where I live, books are EXPENSIVE. And when you’re just starting out in your practice, you might not have the money or ability to go out and buy a book just yet. Maybe you’re still unsure if witchcraft is right for you. Or maybe you’re in the “broom closet.” Whatever the reason, here are some free places to find books.

1. The public library: a bit obvious, but a great resource to look at, because you never know what your library might have. Libraries are the best. And entirely free!

2. Library apps like Libby or Overdrive: especially helpful if you don’t want to bring home a physical witchcraft book, or if your branch doesn’t have any copies of what you’re looking for. You can also get some audiobooks on there.

3. Archive.org: aka the web archive. Entirely free and entirely legal, this works as an online library service where you can check out a book for a bit of time right from your computer. Sometimes you can download PDFs as well. I’ve found a lot of my favourite witchcraft books on there, so if you have a specific title in mind, search it there.

YouTube

First, as a bit of a caveat before recommending you to watch YouTube videos on witchcraft: in my view, books are the best source of information for any witch, as they are able to contain a large degree of nuanced and research-informed information. But books aren’t a simple solution for everyone, and I’ve learned a lot from informed YouTubers over the years (in fact, like many witches, I was first exposed to witchcraft via Harmony Nice on YouTube!).

I’m including a list here of witch YouTubers that I personally recommend because I have found that their content aligns with information I have read in books and other research-informed sources over the years, and because I find them to be generally reliable.

I want to note here that this list is rather biased, as I tend to watch witchcraft YouTubers whose practices mirror my own in some ways. So most of these practitioners have practices informed by European folk witchcraft, and are not very diverse as a result. If any practitioners have further recommendations to add on, especially for practitioners of colour and practices that are different from mine, please do so!

My recommendations:

ChaoticWitchAunt: folk witchcraft, specifically in the Italian tradition, some great beginner content, info on working with saints and spirits.

TheWitchOfWonderlust: death magic, spellwork, great beginner content, lots of excellent info on working with spirits.

HearthWitch: truly a well of information on British witchcraft, beginner videos on any topic you can think of, q&a livestreams, and there’s even a video on vetting witchcraft sources that I really recommend for beginners.

The Redheaded Witch: folk witchcraft and folklore, spirit and ancestor work, daily witchcraft ideas, some beginner videos.

TheGreenWitch: such an excellent resource for herbal/green witchcraft, videos on spellwork, ingredients, tools, and more.

Mintfaery: lots of beginner information, videos on working with the fae, nature witchcraft, and lots of fun witchy days in the life.

Ella Harrison: German folk witchcraft, great beginner resources, including some more niche traditional craft topics like witch’s ladders.

The Norse Witch: info on Norse witchcraft and Heathenry, Norse paganism, and some content about astrology.

simplywitched: lots of great everyday witchcraft content, pagan witchcraft, more vlog style.

Warrior Witch Nike: witchy book reviews, paganism, deity work, some astrology content.

Mhara Starling: the place to go for anyone interested in Welsh witchcraft and folk magic related to Wales.

Alwyn Oak: lots of witch’s guides, especially relating to sabbats (those popularized in Wicca), forest witchcraft, gorgeous videos.

Ivy The Occultist: chaos magick and lots of interviews with practitioners from a variety of paths/backgrounds.

Shadow Harvest: personal day in the life witchy content, some videos looking at working with dark goddesses and deity work in general.

Note: some of these YouTubers have written their own witchcraft books geared towards beginners, so if you enjoy their videos and want to learn more, check those out.

Podcasts

The Astrology Podcast: not specifically witchcraft, but if you want to learn about astrology in detail, this is an excellent place to begin. Link goes to YouTube.

Books and Broomsticks: all kinds of good info, especially pertaining to folk magic, witch guests invited on to share more about their own practice. Link goes to Spotify.

Southern Bramble: A Podcast of Crooked Ways: a variety of witchcraft related topics, interviews, and discussions, often revolving around folk magic and traditional craft—interviews show different traditions. Link goes to Spotify.

New World Witchery - The Search for American Traditional Witchcraft: what it says on the tin; various topics and conversations through an American traditional/folk magic lens by the author of the (amazing) book with the same name. Link goes to Spotify.

Salty Witches Podcast by Cat & Cauldron: traditional witchcraft through a modern lens, another podcast that has a wide variety of topics covered. Link goes to Spotify.

—

As always, if anyone has any additional (free!) resources to add onto these ones, please do so.

Good luck to all of the beginner witches who are embarking on their spiritual journeys, and I hope some of these tips have been helpful! :)

-Em

#been working on this post since october first which is just crazy…it took So Long #I searched everywhere for info like this when I was a beginner but all I found were lists of things to purchase #which isn’t helpful when you’re broke and living through a recession!#I hope this hopes someone out there <3 #witchcraft resources #witchcraft 101 #witchcraft info #beginner witchcraft #witchcraft #witchblr #beginner witch #folk witchcraft #baby witch #resources #my post

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howtofightwrite · 1 year

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Sorry if you’ve already answered this, I’m having trouble finding different posts in your blog.

I know a lot of your asks are more practical-related, but how do you suggest fully encapsulating the horror and tragedy of war in a (fantasy) battle scene? I really need that emotional and gory impact but it also to seem reasonably realistic.

My favourite references are Battle of the Bastards in GoT and scenes from Lord of the Rings.

Thanks!!

Martin and Tolkien are not two authors I’d ever expect to find together when discussing thematic and abstract concepts like the horrors of war in their writing. One of them is extremely deep, and the other is a puddle. Neither of them are particularly “realistic” but only one of them claims that pretense while drawing from real history. If you’re wanting horrors of war, you’re much better off moving away from Martin and taking a gander at the actual War of the Roses.

Let me explain.

Tolkien served as an officer during World War I. By sheer body count, The Great War was one of the most bloody and brutal wars in human history. As a point of reference, over a million soldiers died during the Battle of Somme. Perhaps as importantly, World War I killed the cultural concept of the Summer War. Before World War I, the British upper class viewed war as a game. War was an adventure, something young men did between reaching manhood and getting married. Watson from Sherlock Holmes is an excellent example of the end result for this particular outlook. They figured they’d go off, have some jolly good fun, get a few scars, and be back in a few weeks in time for tea. What they got was a meat grinder. Two of Tolkien’s close friends died during the war. He also lived through the bombings during World War II while working as a professor at Oxford, he experienced the devastating effects that war had on the civilian population first hand, and, likely, saw a few of his students die. Despite his hatred of allegory, the man was working through some shit in The Lord of the Rings.

If you’re interested in learning more about World War I or even about effectively demonstrating the horrors of war, I do recommend reading All Quiet on the Western Front. I read it once in high school (more years ago than I’d like to admit here) and, much like Elie Wiesel, it has stuck with me. It was also such an effective anti-war novel the Nazis banned it and it was one of the first books they publicly burnt, so you know it’s good.

Back to Tolkien.

What they don’t tell you about fantasy is that it’s real life, just with elves and dwarves and magic. The real world forms the foundation of fantasy and it’s the humanity of the emotional experience in war, the good and the bad, with both ends cranked all the way to eleven that really makes Tolkien’s work so impactful. LOTR is operatic by design, but what keeps the narrative from falling into melodrama is the core thematic message underneath the pageantry. One of the major themes is hope, which gets symbolized in light, and hope’s interplay with despair, symbolized in darkness. Not just a rosy view of it either, but the genuine struggle to keep the light burning against all the overwhelming reasons to give up or give in. Tolkien allows his characters to be corrupted and redeemed, their struggle with temptation before ultimately choosing the better path or failing and falling into darkness. He commits to the idea that hope can be restored in the unlikeliest of places.

Boromir’s death is, perhaps, one of the best examples of Tolkien’s philosophy in action. Boromir is a character we’re not sure of, he wants the one ring from the outset, he’s the only one advocating that it shouldn’t be destroyed. The hearts of men are easily corrupted. When he tries to take the ring from Frodo, he falls into his worst instincts and breaks the Fellowship. But then, against the overwhelming flood of Uruk-hai, Boromir tries to save Merry and Pippin. He fights wounded, shot again, and again, until he’s felled by twenty arrows and he fails. Yet, in his failure he restores Aragorn’s hope in his people, gives him a reason to fight for Gondor, and inspires the audience to believe in Man’s potential for greatness.

Tolkien could have left Boromir in the dark, but he didn’t. He could’ve given into cynicism, but he didn’t. In every adaptation, Boromir’s death never fails to get me bawling. Boromir is both good and bad, both dark and light, his best and worst instincts are driven by the same underlying, sympathetic reason—his desire to save his people and fulfill his duty to his father.

On the whole, I find Tolkien’s presentation of the human condition and war to be more compelling and realistic than Martin’s. Tolkien’s underlying themes have more in common with All Quiet on the Western Front, Saving Private Ryan, and HBO’s Band of Brothers. For all that his characters often feel larger than life (by design, he’s telling an epic) there’s always a grounding quality that allows the audience to connect with them. Whether we agree with Tolkien’s core thematic message or not, Tolkien genuinely has something to say about warfare and its effect, both on personal and world changing levels, and he communicates that message very well.

The irony about the “horrors of war” isn’t about the horrors of war. Thematically, the “horrors of war” is about who we choose to become in the face of them when trapped in the crucible. Do we rise to our best selves? Do we fall to our worst? When every illusion about who we believe we are is stripped away, what’s left? It’s an existential question, not a “realistic” one.

You can’t write about the horrors of war in fiction if you have nothing to say about war, humanity, and its effects. All you’ll end up with is gore for shock value. The world becomes hopelessly depressing, and, in the end, all the blood turns brown before it’s finally shat out.

Hi, Martin.

Don’t get me wrong, Martin is a very skilled writer. His prose is genuinely beautiful and his first book in ASOF, A Game of Thrones is actually a pretty decent deconstruction in the traditional fantasy narrative and a fairly realistic treatment of how events would go for the standard well-meaning fantasy protagonist. And that’s… the deepest we get.

Martin comes out of the 24/Joss Whedon death for shock value school of writing and the land of Iron Age comics that doesn’t have anything to really say beyond, “people suck.” Underneath it all is a level of cynicism in the human condition that would make Garth Ennis blush. The deaths are just shock value. There’s nothing more to it than that. Once you’ve acclimated to the gore, there’s nowhere else to go and nothing else to think about. Ironically, out of his contemporaries, Robert Jordan is better at giving both war and death in his narrative lasting effect, driving character growth, and real meaning.

Martin and Tolkien are opposite ends of the spectrum in their approach to war and their outlooks are utterly incompatible. One of them is a complete cynic and the other is facing himself honestly, openly, fearlessly, and without a smidgen of irony. (The true irony here is that the latter is the Englishman.) Following Martin’s blueprint won’t bring you to a Tolkien outcome. Tolkien’s genuine emotion is the subject of mockery in Martin’s world. Season 8 may’ve been clumsy and infuriating, but it was the natural end of Comic Book Iron Age cynicism. There are no good people, people with power can never be trusted, and all heroes, no matter how noble, reveal their true colors as villains in the end. As Christopher Nolan said, “You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain.” This philosophical outlook may be sold as realistic but it’s really just Political Both Sidesism, Fantasy Edition.

The irony is that the real history Martin draws from, The War of the Roses, is simultaneously crueler, kinder, more noble, more horrific, more impactful, and ultimately more hopeful than Martin’s own work. And this was post the Hundred Years War and all the wars that preceded it.

I bring you, the Duality of Man.

If you want to write a realistic battle scene, start with real war. If you want to write about the horrors of war, start with real war. Pick a war, any war, and dig in. Reading the experiences of others is a way to gain insight into experiences you yourself don’t share and start to process the different philosophies born out of those experiences. The horror of war is a human one.

The most important lesson is that you won’t get there by focusing on the battle itself. To truly feel the impact, every character needs to be carefully built from the very beginning with a through line to every horrific event that happens to them. If you want to learn how to do that, then you need to go study every single war movie from good to bad (including the jingoistic rah-rah ones) like Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, Battle for Iwo Jima, etc, to really start internalizing the underlying storytelling structure and character design formula that makes those films tick. There’s no one better at portraying the horror and humanity of war than the war film industry. Part of what makes the best of these films really good is their willingness to allow their characters to be emotional and vulnerable. Which you won’t find in a lot of fantasy novels that run on machismo, but is the secret sauce that gives Tolkien his impact.

Having the confidence to allow your characters to struggle, be vulnerable, experience humiliating circumstances, and appear weak is an aspect of writing that a lot of men and women struggle with. Cynicism is a form of self-protection to keep those emotions away, to keep one from being emotionally invested, and is a means by which we protect ourselves from being hurt. We may portray cynicism as the more realistic reality but it’s just a cloak we hide behind. Martin’s approach to warfare is less realistic than Tolkien’s. Tolkien’s characters approach warfare with an eye toward protecting their civilians, safeguarding their future, or, in the case of his villains, focus on genocide. War for Tolkien is the eradication of civilization and the destruction of the future. Characters from experienced combatants to innocent civilians are willing to risk their lives for a world and for the people who matter to them. Martin has the Summer War. It’s there in the title, A Game of Thrones. An entertaining charade of musical chairs. And while all of his characters are chasing power, almost none of them have any sort of vision or goal for the future beyond the accumulation of more. In Martin’s world, the only way to truly win is not to play, but in the real world playing is the only way to create the world you want. Cynicism ends with no seats at the table and no means to change or save anything.

It’s funny because England during the War of the Roses had been in a state of near constant warfare for hundreds of years with their own domestic powers and France prior to the War of the Roses kicking off. The concept of a Summer War didn’t really exist for the medieval nobility. Much as we joke today about war being a game for medieval nobles due to their ransom protections, it really wasn’t. The peasantry was also much, much more dangerous en masse than they are in ASOF. They drove traveling monarchs to hide in monasteries plenty of times and, while that’s funny, it’s not actually a joke.

Now, picture Joffrey dragged off his horse in the middle of a riot and having his skull crushed by a local fishwife right before being trampled into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp by sharp hooves.

Or enjoying the Agincourt bathing route.

You’re welcome.

-Michi

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#how to fight write #Michi answers #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips

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palajae · 1 year

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i like you.

PAIRING ▸ dancer! niki x dancer! reader

GENRE ▸ dancer! au, a2ls, romance, fluff, humor

WORD COUNT ▸ 4.5k

SUMMARY ▸ a collab with one of the best dancers at your studio might not sound too bad. it would’ve been amazing, except for the fact that in the ten years you’ve known nishimura riki, you’ve only spoken a total of two words to your beloved dance partner.

AKA a try not to be awkward challenge.

NOTES ▸ like one kiss? not proofread, if i missed anything please let me know! // a merry merry christmas to anyone who celebrates it:)))

PLAYING ▸ i like you by post malone (ft doja cat). | series masterlist.

AS THE MUSIC ENDS, THE SOUND OF YOUR HEAVY BREATHING FILLS THE AIR.

Another day of practice, another day of exhaustion and a lot of sweating. Unbeknownst to you as you wipe your forehead with your shirt, a small group stands outside the door to your practice room, peeking in through the tiny window.

They whisper in awe after experiencing your performance, just separated by a mere door from a few feet away. Your fluidity, attention to even the tiniest details, the look in your eyes, it was all different.

No wonder it seemed like you were on another level, separated from the others since the beginning by an invisible barrier known as raw talent and skill.

The only other ‘one’ like you was Nishimura Riki, or more commonly referred to as Niki. Between all the trainees at your dance company, you two were different. You just stood out the minute you walked into a room.

If you were being honest, you’ve only interacted with Niki before at the company studio like... once. A total of five minutes in each other’s presence that consisted of bowing politely and greetings before he was called away by his sister. You forgot but probably said something along the lines of “good morning,” or literally anything else that couldn’t have made it any more awkward than it already was.

That was your first impression of Niki. Before that, you only heard of his impressive skill when you first joined over ten years ago, especially since he was the studio founder’s son. You heard all about how he started dancing when he was three and had kept going since.

Besides that, most of your time was spent practicing alone and occasionally with friends or instructors. And when competition season came around, it was even worse.

That was when more than half your day was spent in one of the practice rooms, going over your multiple routines and rehearsing until you physically couldn’t anymore.

Today was no different. The first competition was in about a week and everyone had been on edge. That meant no time to waste on trivial matters like- in your case- watching others dance.

Your friends understood how seriously you took dancing, because they were the same. Maybe they didn’t have as much passion as you, meaning they weren’t willing to sacrifice as much of their normal lives, but again that was what separated you from the rest.

There were plenty of events and sections that your studio entered in, and you yourself were no different, having entered in numerous ones already. All trainees were busy preparing for competition day, countless routines performed simultaneously.

A figure coldly pushes past the small crowd of dancers, knocking only once on the door before entering the room you occupied. They whisper in alarm and shock at how urgently he entered.

You gulp down water, head turning towards the sound from the entrance. You tilt your head in acknowledgment, “Instructor Woo. What’s up?”

The serious expression on his face sends alarms ringing through your body, but you try to keep calm. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Your teacher was always known as the cold and strict type when you first met, but after years your relationship had melted into a respectable junior-senior one.

“Follow me.”

Confused, heart rate beginning to pick up, you grab your stuff and follow him, ignoring the fellow bystanders waiting outside the door.

Once you’ve reached the safety and privacy of his office, you falter. Mainly because you weren’t alone- it wasn’t just the two of you.

Niki stands there with unreadable look as he spots you the same time you spot him. Recognition flickers in his eyes for split second before he glances away.

You cross your arms, barely addressing him. “What’s going on?”

You give your instructor a purposeful stare as if to say, why in the world were you alone in a room with him and Nishimura Riki?

He sighs, clasping his hands together. “Two dancers who entered in a couple performance just got into a minor accident. They’re on bed rest for at least a week.”

It was just like him to go straight to the point. You know exactly what he means, but you don’t understand why he’s letting you know.

You frown. “I’m sorry to hear that… but why are you telling us that?”

Niki side-eyes you, mumbling something along the lines of, “isn’t it obvious?”

You glance at him for a second before returning your attention to Instructor Woo.

“I apologize for bringing this upon you so late, but we need you two to sub in.”

No. No one does that. No one is given an event with less than a week to prepare. Especially not, your eyes slide to the boy next to you again, especially not if you had to work with someone who was essentially a stranger to you.

It’s like your instructor already knew what you were about to say before you opened your mouth, holding up a hand to stop you in your tracks.

“I know we’re asking for a lot, but you two are the best dancers at the company. That’s a fact. We decided on you two for a reason- because we all know you can pull it off together.”

You’re speechless while Niki just stands there. With no reaction, Instructor Woo sighs and pulls out his phone. He taps the screen before turning it to show you and Niki.

Two people, you’re guessing the two that got in the accident, dancing to…

Havana?

Immediately, you shake your head. “No. I’m not doing that.”

He sits up straighter, “You don’t get to make a decision-“

You turn to Niki, “No offense, but I barely know you, and there’s no way we’re dancing to that song together.”

He shrugs, “None taken.”

“Y/n y/l/n.” At that, you almost shrink.

“What happened to your professionalism? You have less than a week to learn a new dance, what other choice do you have?”

Perhaps you should’ve taken the time before to watch Niki dance- even seeing him perform once would’ve helped and provided some familiarity.

Regardless, the stubbornness in you just tells you that it doesn’t fit your own style, and you don’t want to- you just can’t do a dance if it won’t be executed up to your standards. You won’t ever be satisfied.

You clench your hands into fists, “I’m sorry but I know I can’t possibly perform that dance as well as I want to in less than a week. Perhaps if I had more time to work on it, then I would agree but I don’t have the luxury, so I can’t. There’s only one other option we have and I’d rather take that risk for a better performance. I’m fully willing to take responsibility if it doesn’t work out.”

For the first time, Niki agrees with you, nodding along to your words.

Your dance instructor grumbles and you look at Niki before speaking up again.

“We’ll choose a song and choreograph it ourselves,” your voice sounded much more confident than how much confidence you actually had in yourself.

He drops his phone on his desk, eyes widen and mouth set in a firm line. “Do you know what you’re saying? A whole new dance in six- technically, five days?”

And you nod.

By the end, Instructor Woo has given up and left it to you two to figure things out. You feel grateful for the immense trust he has in you because honestly, you don’t have even close to enough trust in yourself.

The walk out of his office is silent. In all the times you’ve seen Niki around the company, this is the first time you’ve been so close to him. It’s strange seeing him up close, he was much more defined (and taller) than you thought.

“Hey, uh,” you say hesitantly, “I just wanted to apologize for saying all that without discussing with you first.”

Niki recognizes your words with a tiny nod and you bite your lip, unsure if you’re about to regret your next words.

“If you really want, we can just do the previous dance.”

But to your surprise, Niki frowns. “No, I’d rather make a new choreography that fits us better too.”

And he sees you smile for the first time.

You were grateful for the fact that you spent the previous month practicing and getting the hang of your other routines. Only because originally, your plan was to spend the last week leading up to competition day just finalizing moves and reviewing until after the bombshell that Instructor Woo dropped on you and Niki and your plans were mostly scrapped.

You supposed Niki’s plan was the same, due to one night that you walked into your planned meetings and caught the end of one of his performances. Judging by the slight shine off his skin and heavy breathing, he must’ve been dancing for a while.

“Hey,” you reply meekly. He gives a short greeting back before focusing back on a certain part of the choreo. As you get your things settled and start warming up, you realize you can’t stand the silence.

“Are you, uh, ready for competition? Besides our performance together?”

“Yeah. Maybe not as much as I would like but as Woo said, we don’t have a choice.”

You nod silently. “Then… should we decide on a song?”

“Okay.”

So far so great, you think internally with a grimace. You knew close to nothing about Niki and now you have to work with him for almost a week straight. Not to forget the fact that you’re almost always the first to speak to him. The long silence was starting to get to your head.

“Since this is a couple performance…” you inhale, “what kind of song would you rather do?”

Obviously his preference wasn’t the sensual and slower type, and if it was, it obviously wasn’t a dance he would want to do with a stranger like you (and neither would you). Even so, you could just tell that wasn’t a song he would pick.

He drums his fingers on the wooden floor, seemingly in deep thought. You forgot he also knew close to nothing about you as well and was probably taking your impression into account.

“How about Hip hop? RnB?” He looks at you questioningly, and you’re a bit shocked. Was that a lucky guess or did you just have similar styles?

Niki must’ve noted the look on your face because he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Do you not like that?”

You’re quick to shake your head, “No no, that’s not it at all! Actually, I’d prefer to do those.”

“Oh. Cool.” He smiles thoughtfully to himself, although you miss it.

You hum, “I like you?”

Niki suddenly shoots up, mouth gaping as he blinks at you. “E-Excuse me? I’m sorry, but I barely know-”

You roll your eyes, becoming a little flustered as you realize the double meaning behind your words. “I-I meant the song, you idiot. Who would suddenly confess like that..” your voice ends in a grumble.

“It’s i like you by post malone,” your words come out unintentionally louder to get your point across.

“Ah.” He pauses for a moment before agreeing, ears reddening. “Sure. I like his music.”

Then came the real challenge. Creating a whole new dance from scratch.

Actually, you wanted to use that song for your own dance but seeing a bit of Niki’s dancing, you realized it would be a good fit for him too. You even brainstormed some moves but thinking about Niki’s reaction made you unsure.

It’s fine, you reassure yourself. You’ll come up with something, no matter what. The instructors chose you two for a reason. You needed to trust yourself and your partner.

You suddenly clap your hands. “Let’s get to it.”

You prided yourself on making others, especially strangers, comfortable with you. Even if it didn’t seem like it with your usual blank expression and valued independence. Yes you prioritized dance, but time with others was something you enjoyed. Niki wasn’t an exception, except that he was pretty shy by himself.

It surprised you a little, as from what you’ve heard from others he wasn’t like that at all. Then again, people said he was scary and like an annoying little kid at the same time so you couldn’t form an opinion right off the bat.

As you mapped out ideas, pieces began to fall into place. That was one of the things you enjoyed most about choreographing your own performance. The satisfaction as parts began to connect and your hard work began to show its efforts, it was the best feeling for you.

It helped that you two had a lot of experience under your belt- but that didn’t mean it was easy.

You both fall to the floor, drained. After more than 12 hours spent on experimenting new moves, you check the time. 4am.

You were used to it but adding on the burden of knowing you had about four and a half days left, your body felt heavier.

“How far did we get?” You breathe out, eyes closing.

“Almost one minute.” The sound of his husky voice makes you shiver and your eyes open. He must be tired.

You sit up, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, that’s more progress than I thought. We’re almost a third done,” you remind.

“You’re right.” He groans while sitting up and your forehead creases in concern.

“Niki, here.”

You toss him water and he thanks you with surprise evident on his face. “Thanks.”

“How much sleep did you get?” Although your actions seemed like they were out of concern, you simply didn’t want your partner passing out on the dance floor. Not when you had several more runs to get through.

Niki runs a hand through his hair, “Three hours, maybe? I was practicing and didn’t realize the time…”

His words strike you in gut. Real hard, because you were the exact same. You don’t know the amount of times you had answered in almost the exact same way when others asked you.

You huff, “Go home and get some sleep, Niki. I want us both to be in our best condition since we have such limited time.”

He lets out a half scoff and half laugh. “You sound just like Instructor Woo. Why should I listen to you?”

“Okay,” you hold out your hand, “I want the water back. I bought it with my own money since the water here tastes like the sewers.”

He pauses mid gulp and you can’t hold back your laugh. Swallowing, he stares at you indignantly.

“Hey, take that back. Our company water is perfectly fine.”

You forgot he was the son of the CEO, but that still didn’t change your opinion. You make a sound of disapproval, “I don’t ever see you drinking it.”

Okay, so you got him there. He makes an expression like he’s been caught before breaking out in laughter and you can’t help but join in.

The song you chose, you think it really united your styles together. That could’ve played a factor in why you and Niki got along quickly. Or the shared pressure that you both felt in order to get this dance executed as close as you could to perfect.

It had only been a few days spent with Niki and yet you could (and would) already consider yourself friends. After 10 years of passing each other in the halls silently, it was suddenly like you knew him all that time.

Practicing was fun with Niki. He got you. Your humor matched, and the fact that you both learned the choreo quickly lightened a bit of the heavy load off your shoulders and made you less pressured. Countless hours of working hard paid off, making your miniature breaks with him even more worth it.

To the point you would go out for a treat to reward yourself for the hard work.

When he suggested ice cream, you gladly agreed. You paid for the both of you as Niki protested, leading to hours of bickering that didn’t stop during your practices. It only ended with a promise of next time, he would get it.

“I said it was fine, Niki.”

Your hands are on your hips, lips blowing out exasperated air as you shake your head again.

You knew he was stubborn but not this stubborn. He rolls over to lay on his stomach, eyes peeking up you. Even when half of his face was covered by his arms, you could see the displeasure written all over his face.

“You didn’t even let me pay you back!” He childishly objects, kicking his feet off the ground. You bite back a smile, fingers hovering over the play button.

“Are you done? So we can continue practicing?”

You hear a muffled no as he gets up, warming up his body.

“I’m not gonna give up,” he reminds as you approach him, getting into position. “Sure,” you agree with a grin, waiting for the countdown.

“Next time. I’m getting it.”

Next time? Taken by surprise, you start a second too late, glaring as Niki watches you with an amused yet fond look. You didn’t mean to get flustered but the longer Niki gives you that sly smirk, the harder it is for you to continue going on. When the section ends, you shove him and he snickers. You’re both breathing heavily but with matching smiles on your faces.

“Why were you looking at me like that?” You try your best to seem annoyed.

“What do you mean?” The fake clueless shrug makes you narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, so now you’re playing innocent?”

“Who was the one that couldn’t focus again?”

It’s because of you, you think silently.

You weren’t sure if you were the only one that looked forward to working with Niki all day, seeing his face light up and laughing for hours on end until your stomach hurt.

You really enjoyed seeing the side of him that many others couldn’t see, because it meant you had reached a deeper level.

It meant Niki trusted you- he trusted you to be a little more vulnerable and show more of himself to you.

You weren’t sure if you were the only one that felt it.

With about two days left, you two had been over the routine countless times. As much as you enjoyed the song, you were starting to get sick of hearing it again and again.

Everyone else at the studio recognized it too. They saw your dedication and time spent together, the younger trainees whispering a lot in awe.

Even at home in your bed quite late at night, while you were up texting your friends, they noticed it all too.

Don’t you think you’re spending a lot of time with Niki?

I’ve never seen you around hang someone so much..

him neither-

You frown while reading the messages, fingers already flying across the screen to type out a response. Your reasoning?

You both had an insane drive to win, and if that meant practicing 15 hours a day together, so be it.

Your friends didn’t believe it.

hmmmm nah

We keep hearing that niki never spends this much time with someone else

like, not even with his friends

You frown. You don’t even know what they’re getting at. With that, you leave their questions on read.

But those messages stay in the back of your head leading up to the performance. You don’t think it’s a good idea to dwell, all your time and energy needed to be on this final performance and your other ones, and you didn’t want to break the groove. So you hold back. At least, you try to the night before competition day.

The song ends and you don’t realize how much you’re ready to never listen to this song again. As much as you liked i like you (ironic, you know), the stress and trauma of the whole situation kinda ruined it.

At least you had Niki to share it with.

Satisfied with your performance, you look over at him and laugh, holding out a hand for a high five. He easily high-fives you back, grinning in content.

“Good luck, partner.”

Your smile unconsciously grows. “Good luck to you tomorrow, too.”

“Don’t sleep too late and stress about it, okay? We got this.” He must see through you and into the anxiety settled in your system since he was the one reassuring you, not the other way around.

“Yes sir,” you joke. “You too, though,” you add warmly and he nods, almost shy? to the point where you can notice the sudden shift in the air. You cock your head-

“I just wanted to say thank you… and I’m glad that you’re my partner.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, wandering around before deciding to settle on his shoes. You felt your heart pounding as the texts your friends sent echo in your head.

“Me too,” you reply softly.

The day of competition, you feel the familiar jitters in the pit of your stomach. Your duo with Niki came at the end after your solo performances, so you had some time to prepare yourself.

With all the chaos of calling performers and getting hair and makeup done, you hadn’t seen him at all. But you knew he was going to ace it. You only hoped you would too.

Your name is called and you exhale. It’s time.

By the end of your solo performances, you’re exhausted. But you can’t stop now. Ten minutes until you’re supposed to be called for your duo performance and you don’t know where Niki is. You were already dressed and waiting for your partner.

You asked several people if they saw him but to no avail. Just for a second, you decide to sit down somewhere with free space to rest your tired legs. Competition day was high energy and constantly draining, but that’s what you loved about it.

“Y/n!”

Your head whips up, glancing around to find the owner of the voice. Niki pushes past a few people, getting over to you while panting.

“Niki!” You call out, surprised.

He stops in his tracks. You say his name again, slightly concerned this time.

“You look really good.”

You cough, trying to hide your embarrassment at his sudden compliment.

“You do too.”

He fiddles with his hands, biting back a smile. “Thanks. Sorry I was late, my event ended 15 minutes later because of someone who didn’t show.”

You roll your eyes, “That’s sucks- I get it, don’t worry.” Eyes shining, Niki takes a step closer and your mouth falls shut.

It felt like he was about to say something, probably something important, but you hear your names getting called. You give him a look as if to say, go ahead and say it quickly, but he shakes his head.

Instead of words, Niki offers a hand and you gladly squeeze it, heart feeling like it was going to burst as you made your way to the stage.

Showtime.

Needless to say, you aced it. The cheering crowd and endless compliments from your fellow friends and dancers made it even more obvious. You didn’t get much alone time with Niki after the performance, but it was okay because you knew you would see him at the award ceremony.

Even Instructor Woo approached you both, clapping with an impressed look. “No wonder you two are the best, you did not disappoint me. I’m proud of you guys, keep it up.”

You share amused looks with Niki, having already joked and laughed to the point of tears from Woo’s cold persona.

The hardest part was the time for awards.

As they called out different categories and sections, you zoned out in your seat. How could you not? After a long week of practice, practice, and more practice, your mind flew through the past couple of days.

Meeting Niki again, getting to know him, adjusting your dancing together, having fun together, stressing together- all in the span of a week. Yet as he sat a few chairs from from you, you realized you didn’t want it to end.

You wanted to keep doing all those things with him. It felt like you had known each other for years, and besides the fact that most of those years were spent as strangers, you realize your time together was precious- it had just started. Regardless of if you won or not, you didn’t want Niki and you to be strangers again.

You didn’t want to lose him.

Just as that realization hits you, you hear the announcer call out your and Niki’s section. Your breath hitches as your hands grow clammy. Unbeknownst to you, Niki’s eyes flick over to you.

“And the first place is…”

You can hear your heart pounding, blood rushing. In that second, your eyes meet his. Everything without any words, you understand with that single glance.

You don’t, or do, expect your name to be called, followed by Niki’s.

Without even thinking about it, you rise up from your seat, fellow trainees and dancers cheering so loud the sound echoed in your head for days after, and even through all of that you can only focus on Niki.

People get out of the way as your body moves on its own, directing you towards him as he gets closer. Suddenly, you’re engulfed by Niki, his scent filling your nose as he picks you up and spins you around. That’s when you break out of it.

He’s laughing, you’re smiling.

“Congrats, partner.”

You laugh brightly, reaching to tussle his hair. “Congrats too. I’m proud of you.”

His gaze sucks you in- it’s like you can’t even force yourself to look away. You could care less about the surrounding people.

“Maybe after,” he starts carefully, and you swallow, “after the competition is over- do you wanna like, get out of here?”

A huge wave of relief washes over you. Maybe it’s the relieved pressure of finishing this performance or the way that Niki’s staring at you while biting his lips in what you think is nervousness.

“I would very much like that,” you pause and Niki looks visibly happier at that compared to just seconds earlier when you two were just announced as the winners. You shyly cough,

“-and I very much like you.”

Niki freezes at you abrupt confession. You avoid his stare, swiftly regretting your heat of the moment decision.

Without realizing it in your embarrassment, Niki swoops down to give you a quick peck. Very much in front of your whole company. Gasps and squeals fill the air, unless you just imagined it.

Now you’re the one taken aback.

“Me too,” he smirks while murmuring,

“I like you.”

Those three words you thought you were sick of didn’t sound too bad coming out of Niki’s mouth.

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#enhypenwriters #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #niki x reader #niki x you #niki imagines #niki fluff

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theerurishipper · 8 months

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Anyway, I had a discussion a while back about how Adrien wasn't abused before Emilie's death and I gotta say I disagree, but I'm feeling too lazy to write a whole post about it so here are some bullet points.

Adrien has no friends except for Chloe. I wonder why the boy who is so desperate for emotional connections and friendships would not want to or try to make friends for 13 years except for one girl who is conveniently the daughter of the mayor of Paris unless his parents didn't let him.

Gabriel canonically only gave Adrien a stupid pen for three years (i.e. during the time Emilie was alive) and doesn't that paint a picture of a loving and attentive father. Adrien has also never had a birthday party before.

Adrien's lack of awareness of social cues doesn't make it seem like he is someone who was allowed to socialize like children normally are, and speaks to a lifelong isolation as opposed to it just starting after Emilie died.

Adrien doesn't act like someone who is used to unconditional love and had it stripped away from him. Never does he express confusion over his father's sudden turn from being loving to coldness, not once does he indicate that his father used to act way differently. And yes, Emilie being nice and loving is something that can coexist with her being a bad parent who at best simply allowed Gabriel to isolate Adrien from the world and at worst actively contributed. Adrien only ever mentions that she was nice, not that she ever disagreed with his father on how to raise him.

Please do correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think a child who is used to being assured of his own worth and loved so unconditionally for 13 years would so completely internalize the contradictory idea that he has to earn love by being whatever the other person wants him to be in the span of less than a year without any trouble and with no doubts or confusion at all as to why everything is so different from before. The practiced way he wears his masks around others without once suggesting that it was different before at some point indicates that this has been the norm for him. And not once does he seem to expect anything different from anyone as opposed to just Gabriel. You would expect that someone who is used to being unconditionally loved would just expect that and view his father as an exception to the rule, but that's not the case.

To continue from the previous point, Adrien doesn't react to being shown unconditional love like someone who has experienced the feeling before would. Not once does he bemoan the loss of his supposed better treatment prior to Emilie's death. He acts genuinely surprised and shocked when Gabriel is nice to him, like he's never experienced it before. The way he clings to Ladybug's unconditional support like it's the best thing he's ever had doesn't speak of someone who was raised with unconditional love in abundance. He genuinely does not know how to not put up a front all the time in front of everyone because he believes that is what everyone expects of him, which is something that he probably shouldn't think if he spent 13 years of his life being loved and supported unconditionally and being able to be himself.

As evidence for this being a lifelong thing and not just something that started after Emilie died, consider the fact that Adrien's childhood dream is to be whatever his parents wanted him to be. Idk about y'all but the fact that this child had no dreams and desires of his own except to be his parents' little doll says a lot about how he was raised, and only proves that he's never really seen himself as someone who gets to have his own desires outside of pleasing his parents and having to earn their love even as a child, proving my point that this isn't something that started less than a year ago.

No, but Wishmaker really did shit all over the "Adrien's life only became bad after Emilie's death" argument huh. I sincerely question why anyone thinks that Emilie wasn't abusive after watching that episode.

And idk, the fact that he was constantly mind-controlled by his parents his whole life should be enough to understand that they are abusive pieces of shit.

My impression is that it got worse after Emilie died but was pretty bad before already (I mean, I thought it couldn't get much worse than mind-control, but Gabriel the asshat managed to make it happen). But honestly, the show has such an inconsistent tone with their portrayal of Emilie. They seem to want her to be seen as a good and loving and perfect mother, but then there are so many unfortunate implications regarding her treatment of Adrien that they just... do not acknowledge.

#MLB #Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Gabriel Agreste #Emilie Agreste #Chat Noir #Meta #My meta #ML Salt #ML Writing Salt #Abuse cw #Abuse tw

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etfrin · 7 months

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god okayokay

reader is dewey and gale's daughter and apart of the "core 5" (reader, mindy, chad, tara and sam) and dated amber freeman in the past. though has severe ptsd from what had happened a year ago (and the fact that reader saw her dad die and almost died with him, if it wasnt for the fact that they managed to stable her) and reader killed amber to avenge her father thinking by killing amber brutally would make up for dewey. thought if she hunted down her father's killer, she'd feel better.

present time, she's living with chad and ethan in their dorm. her and ethan are in a relatively healthy relationship, but she never opened up about amber or what exactly happened back in woodsboro because she wasnt ready. in fact, he never even seen her without a shirt on (because of the scars from amber and richie), but once he walked in at the wrong time while she was changing in complete accident (since they share a room) and he apologizes PROFUSELY but he cant help but stare. hes not even disgusted hes just kind of mesmerized by her. she gets insecure abt them and he lays her down and asks her abt them, how she got them. some scars were actually from stupid little things like slipping on a skateboard while carrying around a knife in a sheath that wasnt secured all the way so reader started carrying around switchblades after that (which she used to kill amber.) but he cant help but kiss them and tell her abt how beautiful she looks with them. so im just saying switch virgin! ethan and switch experienced reader (lost her v card to quinn first staying there but its a brief thing and isnt mentioned after that) just really soft sex between the two, ethan being a caring bf and after, realizes hes fucked up because hes genuinely fallen heads over heels for the girl he should hate. he knows he cant kill her, so now he doesnt know whats more important; avenging richie or being with the one he loves. choosing between his family, or choosing a life he wouldn't have with anyone else with someone that he loves more than life itself.

may had of gone overboard but im in love w this whole idea

↳❝Scars | Ethan Landry❞ˎˊ-

Warning - NSFW | p in v sex, fingering (f. receiving), creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), loss of virginity (Ethan), mentions of murder, scars and Ghostfaces. | lmk if I forgot anything!

| masterlist | bc: @cafekitsune

A/N: okay so this was supposed to be a drabble then it was suddenly 1.6k words (don't ask me what happened), I hope whichever one of you requested this likes it, I TRIED I PROMISE and here's the link to request!

virgin! Ethan Landry x female! Reader

Ethan didn't ask about the scars for a week.

He didn't act any different despite seeing the ugly healed-up wounds all over your skin. Despite some of them being from playing around, most were from your fight with the Ghostfaces.

You thought he would be disgusted when he first saw them, the one second before he had closed his eyes, but there was no visible disgust on his face. Only concern.

And he had apologized so much that you practically pitied him.

Even now that you were on his lap, your lips tangled with his in a heated kiss. His hand on your nape, another hand on your hip. He hadn't ventured far yet, being as respectful as he could be.

All the while you felt yourself getting needy for his touch. After another heated kiss, you pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips. Ethan's face was flushed with a crimson red, breathless from the kiss.

The hand on your hip went near the hem of your shirt and you felt yourself tense. "Can I?" He asked softly. You give him a nod, anticipating this time, he would feel disgusted. That he would leave you heartbroken.

He took off the shirt, his breath caught in his chest as your scars came into view.

The gashes were all over your skin. White healed tissue tinged with pink. "How?" He lets out a choked whisper. "Would you mind telling me how?" He said, again, his eyes looking into your so tenderly with no hint of disdain.

Taking in a deep breath, you nod and begin to tell your story, everything from your father dying and you killing Amber to get revenge, for the wounds you got from the fight. Everything.

"I know they aren't the prettiest to look at," you whispered, "I know I understand if you don't want to stay with m-" "Don't even finish that sentence," Ethan interrupted.

"Don't," he said in a firm tone, making you look up at him. His eyes were filled with tears even if they didn't fall, he pulled you in for a hug. "You went through so much," he whispered, his voice filled with emotions, filled with care and love.

"Let me take care of you, they're not pretty but they're a part of you and I love these scars just as much as I love you." He said you felt yourself nearly getting to tears as well from his words but held yourself back.

"Okay," you whispered, "Take care of me."

And that's how you end up under him, bare for his lips to kiss all over your scarred skin. You let out encouraging purrs as his kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone. A small cut was there due to negligence while handling knives. He licked the edges of the scar. You sighed as he continued to worship your body.

He finally reached your torso, and a huge gash was there. He had stopped kissing your skin now, staring at the pinkish tissue that was a huge contrast against your skin.

'Now,' you thought to yourself, 'He's gonna realize that you're just not worth it, not with all the baggage and the scars on your skin that come with it.'

"I wish I could kill them," he whispered, his lips brushing against the scar. His words made you melt because it was tinged with truth. There was no doubt in his mind that he would kill them if he had the chance.

He pressed wet kisses onto the scar, making you let out a small sigh. He then crawled on top of you again. His voice was filled with nerves as he whispered, "I have never done this before."

You cup his face with both of your hands and pressed a small kiss on his forehead. "I have," you whispered, you had lost your virginity to Quinn so you were at least aware of what you liked or not.

"I could teach you," you offered, "Figure out what we like or not together." His doe eyes fill with relief and he gives you a smile as an affirmation.

"I would love that," he said, leaning down for another kiss as his hand traveled down to your soaked panties. He lets out a gasp into your mouth as he feels the material cling to your fold.

He panted, "Oh- you're so wet. Is that all for me, darling?" The way he asked made your cunt clench, so breathless and in wonder. "Yeah, E," you whine as his fingers glide on your clothed pussy, the slight friction making you gush out more juices.

"Can I take it off?" he asked, and you nod. He slides down the panties, and throws them on the floor, making a mental note to take it for himself later.

He pressed his fingers to your folds, sliding them across your cunt until the tip of his finger finds your entrance. You let out a small gasp, feeling yourself clench. "Can I?' He whispered, and again you nod. "Go ahead, E," you whispered.

The first digit enters, making him whimper about how tight you are, and how warm your insides feel. Your inner walls pulsate around the single digit.

He pumps the digit in and out before his index finger also joins. A whimper escapes your lips as your pussy stretches to accommodate his digits. "Is it good?" He asked, the nervousness mixed with heat in his tone.

"Perfect," you assure him, "Just crook your fingers a bit and you'll find a spot, focus on that for me, E." He eagerly does what you asked, his fingers finding your G-spot and pressing into it every time he thrusts his digits inside.

You moan, your hips bucking into his touch. Getting a bit more confidence from your pleasurable sounds, Ethan goes even faster. Your walls begin to pulse with the familiar need to snap the tension that was building but you didn't wanna cum so soon.

"Stop," you whispered and Ethan pulled back immediately with a questioning gaze. "Did I do something wrong?" He asked, concerned, "Did I hurt you? I am sorry."

You chuckled, "Nothing like that, my love. I was close…" You bite your lip, hesitating about saying the words that you knew would sound crude, "Wanna cum on your cock for the first time."

His eyes widened at your request. He nods obediently, pulling off his shirt with one hand and taking off his belt so he can slip out from the rest of his clothes.

His cock looked painfully hard with his cockslit leaking pre-cum all over his length. He stroked his cock to elevate some of his own needs.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he whispered, as he slotted his girth near your entrance. His cockhead getting coated into your slick. You shake your head, "I want it, Ethan. So much."

He gives you a nod. He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he slowly slides into your warmth. Inch by inch, his cock stretches out your pussy, your inner walls molding into the shape of his length. He lets out whines as his veins sizzle with pleasure.

You felt his dick pulse and twitch as he whined, "Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Fuck, fuck, fuck-" Your hand goes to his hair to harshly tug at the brown curls. Effectively distracting him from the overwhelming pleasure. "Sushh, baby," you whispered, "It's okay. It's okay." He groans, "Babe…" You hum in reassurance. You make your pussy clench around his dick. Your walls squeezing his cock so suddenly makes his hips jerk into you, his cockhead grazing your g-spot.

You moan near his ear. "Like that," you whispered, "Take care of me."

It took him a few more moments to get used to the vice grip on his cock, the wetness, and the warmth before he began shallowly thrust into you.

He pressed kisses all over your neck, your throat, your breasts. Marking the places near your scars so you can remember this night. Both of you let out noises of pleasure.

He begins to thrust deeper than before as your nails dig into his back and he gets faster as well. Humping into you now, his mind getting lost in the sensation of your velvet heat.

"Am I doing all right?" He whines as his hips keep meeting yours. "Perfect," you moan in reply. His hips begin to snap faster, his thrusts deeper than before, filling you up. You moan louder as you keep getting filled with his cock. Your pussy begins to spasm around his length as the heat fills your tummy.

You were getting close with each snap of his hips. "You getting close, baby?" He moans, his lips now brushing against yours. "Cum on my dick, please, babe!" He begs, as he gets more desperate, his thrusts getting sloppy and losing their consistent pace.

Your free hand goes down to your folds to find your clit. Your thumb rubs fast circles onto the bud. You felt the telltale signs of your climax. Your stomach is coiling, just waiting to explode.

"Please, cum on my cock," Ethan whines again, his lips crashing with yours in a filthy open-mouth kiss. That snapped the tension your body was holding, you moaned into his mouth as your pussy began to squeeze his cock repeatedly. Your cunt milking his cock for all its worth. As soon as he feels your inner walls spasm and contract with a shallow thrust, he begins to cum.

He pants as his cum leaks out, too fucked out to pull out. You were both tired. Both emotionally and physically drained, it doesn't take long for you to sleep.

Ethan lays awake though, feeling the heat of your body beside him. Hearing you breath. He closed his eyes, and an image was in front. In which you're dead and cold.

He couldn't have that. He can't kill you anymore. Not after this. Not after promising forever with you, not after marking you and kissing your every scar.

He would have to choose in the future and he would choose you.

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goldenempyrean · 6 months

Note

Hi, it’s so hot here so can I request a winter scenario with Wanda and sick reader with the prompts "You’re going to catch your death out here.” Bless you… Bless you! Are you okay- bless you again!”.

I was thinking the Avengers are hosting a snow day for underprivileged kids at the compound. Reader has never seen snow in person, so she spends all her time making snow angels and getting in snowball fights with the kids. Reader wakes up the next morning with a really sneezy cold. Wanda shifts into fluffy caretaker mode, and the other Avengers are watching like, wow Wanda really loves her. ❄️🥰

Baby It's Cold Outside

〚 Notes - Wow it really has been a while since I've done requests, I'm so sorry this took so long! I hope it's okay but I switched things around a little to have Wanda experiencing the snow :D Enjoy! 〛

〚 Pairing - Wanda Maximoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Your girlfriend experiences the snow for the day first leading to a day of fun and excitement. Maybe you should've insisted that she wear her hat though..〛

〚 Wordcount - 2395 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Wanda!” You smiled as you gently caught the wrist of your eager girlfriend just before she’d raced out of the door, “You need to wear these sweetpea, it’s too cold without them.” You murmured softly, taking the pair of pink gloves you’d shoved in your pocket earlier that morning and carefully pulled over her hands.

“Oh! But I won't be able to feel the snow now!” You could almost feel her whine, as stuck out her lower lip pouted up at you.

But you only shook your head fondly as you pulled a matching pink bobble head over her hair, “You’ll most definitely still feel it Wands, it’s just to stop you getting too cold. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You smiled at her, she was practically overflowing with excitement, “Alright sweetheart, go enjoy yourself. I’ll be out with some hot chocolate soon.”

Now you see, Wanda had never seen snow before. The blanket of pristine white powder that had fallen during the night, holding the land in its icy grip and the look on her face when she’d woken up that morning and taken in the view from the window was a look you’d never forget. Such pure excitement and rushing anticipation to experience it all.

Every year whenever it snowed, the Avenger’s liked to open up their campus to the kids in the local community. The wide-open fields provided not only a big, but also safe place for them to happily play. Parents had a temporary respite and the whole team grew their relationships with the community as a whole. Plus, the kids had fun too. It was a win, win. 

During breakfast Wanda had practically been bouncing in her seat. They’d opened the field half an hour ago and there were already several kids putting in the work to make some snowmen. All she wanted was to go out there and join them as soon as possible. So as soon she’d finished eating the last of her waffles, she’d headed straight for the field.

You paused for a moment to watch the wonder on her face as she dove into the soft white snow, the wide grin on her face felt contagious as your own lip’s helplessly morphed into a soft loving smile. 

“Right, hot chocolate.” You said to yourself, bringing yourself back to reality, stealing one last glance at your girlfriend in the snow - she’d laid flat on her back and had begun making snow angels after a little girl had showed her how.

You turned on your toes and headed back to the kitchen, taking out a stack of cardboard cups and making sure you had enough for everyone. Once you were sure, you began heating up the milk. Yes, you used milk. The debate of whether to use milk or hot water had been had way too many times. Sam insisted that you were meant to use hot water which had horrified you the first time you heard his claim. As you waited for the milk to warm, you stood up on your tiptoes to pull a fresh bag of mini marshmallows from the cupboard.

They were meant to be hidden in Natasha’s secret stash of snacks, but you figured she wouldn’t mind… as long as you placed them before she noticed they were gone. Once the milk had heated you added the hot chocolate powder and poured it into the cups, decorating each one with whipped cream and a generous sprinkle of the marshmallows. Perfect.

Heading back to the door, you called out loudly, “Kids! Who wants hot chocolate?” Receiving several loud squeals of excitement in response as they all turned and ran back inside to grab a cup. 

They were all well-mannered and you smiled fondly as each child said a ‘thank you’ before taking their cup and racing back outside. After each cup had been taken you noticed that the large white mug, you’d made special sit sat on the side of the countertop. Wanda hadn’t even come inside for hot chocolate, you smiled to yourself at just how much she must’ve been enjoying herself before taking the cup, feeling its warmness sink into your hands before grabbing a scarf and heading out into the snow to find her.

Several other members of the team had also decided to join in on the fun and you couldn’t hold back a laugh as you saw Clint get pelted in the face by a snowball hurled by Natasha from several feet away. Tony also seemed to be enjoying himself, he’d apparently crowned himself leader of the 6-year-olds and they were all using his technology to build a huge igloo to play inside.

“Wands?” You called out as you got closer to your team members, to which your eyes widened in surprise seeing a familiar head of messy brunette hair pop up from behind a huge snow boulder that was apparently the base to a huge snowman that her and Steve had joined up to build. 

“Wands!” You smiled but then her messy hair caught your attention, “Sweetheart, where’s your hat? Hm? I thought I told you to wear it.” You said - you would’ve put your hands on your hips, but you were still holding her mug, “Oh, and your gloves.” You added with a sigh as you realised, she was also missing her pink accessories.

“I’m sorry! They were just getting in the way, and I really wanted to just feel the snow.”

“And did you?” 

Wanda beamed excitedly as she knelt down and picked up some snow, pressing it into a ball before holding it proudly, “Yes, look!”

How could you lecture her about keeping warm when she was just so cute. “Look what I brought you.” You smiled, remembering the chocolatey drink in your hands, “Here you go.”

To say her eyes lit up would be an understatement. They practically sparkled as she accepted the warm cup, her cold hands cradling the object as if it were the most important thing in the world. She took a sip and looked up at you, “Thank you baby.” She murmured, the gratitude in her voice clear.

You smiled back at her, “No problem sweetie, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” You said, removing the scarf you’d put on earlier and gently wrapped it around her neck instead, to which she instantly snuggled against it, “But seriously, you’re going to catch your death out here if you don’t stay home so keep that on for me darling, okay?”

"She's really got you wrapped around her finger, huh?" Natasha smirked playfully as she walked past, and you didn’t notice the way her hand was suspiciously hidden behind her back.

You shot her a fake glare, "Well, when your girlfriend looks at snow like it's the most magical thing in the world, you'd do anything to make sure she stays warm and happy."

Wanda giggled, taking another sip of her hot chocolate, her eyes never leaving yours. The warmth in her gaze made your heart flutter, and you couldn't help but be grateful for these moments of joy. But your attempt of saving the moment was starkly stopped when you felt the sudden shock of feeling a freezing hold object hit the back of your neck followed by what could only be described as hyena laughing coming from the redheaded assassin a few yards away.

“Got you!” Natasha managed to say inbetween laughs.

“Oh, you are so on.” You smirked widely, cracking your knuckles before picking up your own handful of snow, “Come on, let’s get her Wands’.”

After a spirited exchange of snowballs, you all collapsed into the snow, breathless and grinning and as the evening settled in, the Avengers decided to wrap up the snow day festivities. The kids, rosy-cheeked and filled with joy, gathered around for a final round of hot chocolate before heading home. Wanda, still wrapped in the scarf you had given her, stood close by, she was a little quieter now, seemingly having used up all her energy during her day of fun and the small yawns she’d been trying to hide in your scarf was your sign she was probably ready for bed.

As the last of the kids said their goodbyes, you turned your attention back to Wanda. Both her cheeks and nose were slightly red from the cold, and she sniffled a little as she tried to suppress another yawn. You couldn't help but chuckle at her adorable exhaustion. She really did make that snow day worth it’s while and you were so glad that she enjoyed herself so much.

"Looks like someone had a lot of fun today," you teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Wanda leaned into your side, nodding with a content smile. "It was incredible, Y/N, I've never experienced anything like this before. The snow, it was so cold but oh it was amazing! I loved it so much!”

You pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart. Now, how about we get you inside and warmed up a bit? I’ve already put the fluffy blanket you like in the dryer, so it’ll be super warm for you.”

Before long, the two of you were cuddled up beneath the blanket on one of the sofas in the living quarters. Some cheesy reality TV show was playing on the big TV screen though you weren’t really watching, it was there for the benefit of Clint and Bruce who’d also joined the pair of you and were currently arguing over who was the best Kardashian – much to your amusement.

After some time, you noticed that Wanda's eyes were growing heavy as she snuggled against you. Her head rested against your shoulder, and her breathing slowed down. It was evident that the combination of the day's excitement and the warmth of the blanket was lulling her to sleep.

Gently, you lifted her in your arms and carried her to your shared bedroom. You carefully laid her down on the bed, tucking her in with extra care. Wanda mumbled a soft 'thank you my love' in her sleepy state, and you pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed yourself. It didn’t take long and soon you were back to the bed and cuddled up under the blankets and falling asleep right beside her.

The next morning, you woke up to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. You stretched lazily, feeling well-rested after the previous day's festivities. Turning to your side, you expected to see Wanda still peacefully asleep. However, you were met with a surprising sight.

Wanda was awake, sitting up in bed with a sheepish smile on her face. She held a tissue in one hand, and her nose was slightly red. It was then that you noticed a faint, adorable sneeze escape her, which she quickly tried to muffle with the tissue.

You couldn't help but chuckle at her adorable attempt to be quiet. "Bless you, Wands," you whispered, sitting up beside her.

She sniffled and rubbed her nose, giving you a sheepish smile. "Sorry, did I wake you up baby? I was trying to be quiet.” She sniffled again, however this time it didn’t have the intended effect, her breath hitching a little as her face shifted into an awaiting look of anticipation.

“Hh.. Hih-H’iiishu!”

“Bless you bab- Bless you! Are you okay?- bless you again!” Your eyes widened as your girlfriend couldn’t seem to stop sneezing, “Goodness sweetheart! Now you see this is why we wrap up warm when it’s freezing out. I think you’ve caught yourself a cold my love.

Wanda pouted slightly as scrunched up her nose, “Maybe just a little one but it was really worth it, I swear!”

“Oh of course, that seemed like just little cold.” You rolled your eyes at her stubborn nature before softening at the sound of her small pitiful sniffles, “I’ll tell you what, how about we have a cosy day in today?”

Wanda smiled, her grin dancing on her lips, “That sounds amazing pumpkin.”

“I’m glad it does baby, cosy day in it is then!”

So, the two of you, adorned in fluffy pyjamas, armed with a tissue box and the big, thick duvet from your bed settled onto the sofa again, snuggling down against each other before you handed Wanda the remote, letting her pick a movie to watch.

Wanda scrolled through the list of movies on the screen. After a brief discussion, you both settled on a classic romantic comedy – something light and heartwarming to lift Wanda's spirits. The movie started playing, and the soft glow from the screen illuminated the room.

As the movie progressed, you noticed your girlfriend’s eyes growing heavy, and her head slowly drooping onto your shoulder. The combination of the movie and the warmth of the blanket had lulled her into a peaceful slumber. You couldn't resist pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before allowing yourself to succumb to the urge to nap right there with her.

Unbeknownst to you, Tony had been wandering around the living quarters, looking for something to entertain himself. As he strolled past your shared space, he couldn't help but notice the adorable scene unfolding on the sofa. There you were, wrapped in the oversized duvet, with Wanda nestled against your side, both of you sound asleep.

The genius smirked mischievously. Instead of waking either of you up, he simply pulled out his phone and took a quick photo... then a selfie with the two of you in the background – oh how he’d tease you both about this later -. before quietly asking FRIDAY to call Romanoff and Barton down to the living room.

Tony stood proudly, as if he had orchestrated the whole thing. “I didn't know they could be this sappy.” He teased quietly.

“Should we wake them up?” Clint whispered, not wanting to disturb either of you.

“Nah, let ‘em sleep. Wanda probably needs it, and Y/N will be grumpy if we wake them anyway.” Tony cautioned before sneaking away from the room.

Natasha, who had her own soft spot for romance, simply nodded in agreement. Before nudging Clint to take a closer look at how your hand was holding your girlfriend’s even in your sleep, "Looks like someone's got a touch of the love bug."

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heyidkyay · 3 months

Text

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Thirteen

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: I'm sorry it took so long!! I really struggled to write this part ngl, but once it came I just went with it:) lots of emotions this time around, AS WELL AS some healthy pining in store! So we're finally getting somewhere, finally. Anyway, thanks to @procrastinatinglikeapro for the idea surrounding Mouse's gift to Matty- was struggling with that whole concept but we're going w it now! Hopefully you enjoy, thanks for all the love on this series too, means a whole lot xx

> Just a reminder! We left the last update with a surprise knock at the door:) You can look back here if you'd like, or just read the last little snippet below!

Masterlist

Watching them was all too lovely as well. For someone with such a cool front, Matty seemed to melt around Teddy, succumbing to that of the boy’s charm and easy going nature. It was sweet to see, surprising, but endlessly sweet. Had me losing track of time, in truth. Which is why I jumped and cursed the way I did when the door finally knocked.

“Mémé!”

...

“Mimi?” Matty murmured to himself as he followed the instruction Mouse had left him with, clearing away the wrapping paper Teddy had so carelessly tossed about the room earlier in his excitement and settling the little guitar up onto the sofa.

His eyes lingered on the wooden instrument for a short second, recalling the moment when he’d first spotted it. He hadn’t thought much about what he’d been doing when he’d walked on by the shop window only to then find himself stumbling inside, spending God knows what on a little boy he’d only really met just the once. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it though, even with how nervous he’d been for Teddy’s reaction.

Speaking of Teddy though, the little boy had practically charged the front door the second it had rang a few minutes ago, jumping up and down and tugging at the handle in his obvious excitement, whilst the woman sitting opposite them had frozen completely in her seat, like a soldier experiencing shellshock.

Matty thought they’d been having a good time overall, a brilliant time even! But then the doorbell had sounded and all of her smiles and her carefree laughter had been drenched in water, washed away as soon as she had stood up to answer the knock.

“Mé. Mé.” Came a drawn out voice behind him then, obviously having heard Matty’s shoddy attempt at it and deciding to sound the word out for him.

Matty spun around on his heel to catch sight of the toddler hanging off of the living room door. The kid was like their very own little monkey, always swinging off of something. Matty raised a brow at the correction he’d been given. “Me-me?” He tried again, beyond perplexed and wondering what the fuck everyone was going on about.

Teddy giggled happily at him and then shook his head, curls flying with it, Matty briefly questioned where Squeaks had gotten to.

“Mémé.” The boy sounded it out for him again and this time Matty caught the different accent that had filtered in, it was so prominent when the boy spoke that one word.

Matty’s forehead creased. “Mémé?” At Teddy’s buoyant nod, he grinned at having finally grasped it, “And just who might that be, mate?”

Teddy glanced over his shoulder before he pushed off of the door, letting it swing slightly as he hurried his little feet over to where Matty was currently standing, bin bag in hand. The latter dropped it though to take a seat on the settee, hoisting the little man up onto his knee.

One thing Matty had quickly learned in his short time of knowing the kid, was that Teddy was clingy. Not that that was a bad thing, Matty knew he could be just as bad some days. If not worse. But having someone seek that sort of comfort from him, out of all people, in such an intimate way made him feel necessary, as though he served a real purpose.

“Go on, let me in on the secret then.” Matty prodded, jerking his chin out ever so slightly to nudge Teddy's shoulder. He relished in the soft giggles it earned him.

“Mémé’s my Mémé!”

“Oh! Well, that makes so much sense, don’t it?” Matty remarked in return, rolling his eyes fondly at the unhelpful reply before he tickled the boy’s sides, “Don’t it?”

“Stop, Matty! I tolds you, I tolds you!” Teddy squealed, laughing so hard that he nearly slipped right on out from under Matty’s hold, but the singer propped him back up all too easily.

“You didn’t.” Matty grinned, having relented on his attack of the toddler, settling Teddy more comfortably into his side. He enjoyed having someone smile back at him with no other intention than just the simplicity of enjoying his presence, with kids there was never any ulterior motives. “Where’s your mum anyway, huh?”

“Right here.”

Matty’s head shot up to find Mouse now standing in the doorway wearing a strained sort of smile, a single suitcase behind her and then, “Oh.”

“Mémé!” Teddy pointed, dragging his eyes back up to meet Matty’s weary and startled face as he bounced excitedly.

Of course ‘Mémé’ would've had to have been Squeaks’s mum, because who else could it have possibly been? Who else would have such impeccable timing?

He was fucked. And Matty knew it.

Mouse must've seen the realisation that hit him too, because she used the moment to try and disguise the utter horror dawning on Matty’s face by clapping her hands and promptly glancing back at her mum from over her shoulder. “Mam! This is Matty. Matty,” She turned back to him, thankful to find that he’d sort of wised up to the situation they’d been shafted with and shut his gaping gob, “Matty this is my mum, Anaïs.”

Matty tried extremely hard to commit the pronunciation to memory, which proved to be a little bit easier when the toddler hanging off his hip started parroting it over and over again.

“Eh, excusez-moi! It is Mémé to you, mon chéri.” The woman answered Teddy with a soft sort of smile as Squeaks stepped aside to let her mother further in, aged eyes honed in on her giggling grandson.

Matty took the moment to admire the older woman, focusing on all the things her daughter had obviously inherited, the way she held herself, and the strength of her gaze when it finally landed on him. He swallowed thickly.

“And you are Matty?” Matty nodded at her, not really feeling the way Teddy was now tugging on his fingers whilst the woman stepped even closer, gracing her daughter with a quick look that Matty couldn’t quite make out. “Ah.” She breathed before she finally smiled at him, a small thing, so different to the one he’d previously seen when she’d been teasing Teddy. “Ana is fine really, it seems you people always have a difficult time with it.”

There was humour there but Matty didn’t want to brush her name aside just for the sake of struggling, he’d get there in the end, he was sure of it. Just like how he’d gotten through a setlist full of songs edited by George, replacing most words with- well, probably best not to think of those two very separate things in the same context.

Matty struggled to control his sudden urge to grimace.

“Anaïs?” He stumbled slightly but then tried again with an apologetic smile and dipped brows, “Anaïs.”

“Mémé!” Teddy cut in with a uninformative correction, reaching upwards to poke at Matty’s slightly stubbled cheek. He was in need of a quick shave but seeing as he’d be heading up north for the holidays he’d foregone it, knowing his mum preferred him clean shaven. ‘Makes you look so much healthier, Matthew!’

The man glanced down, a thoughtless chuckle skipping out of his mouth like a rock over a lake as he shook his head closer to the boy’s own, letting his curls tickle Teddy’s tiny face. “Matty!” He laughed again, squirming before he too was shaking his hair in retaliation.

Matty couldn’t quite help his beaming smile when he looked back up at the woman, who seemed very content with just watching the pair of them. His eyes trailed over her shoulder briefly to spot the way that Squeaks was currently chewing on her lower lip, silently fretting.

“Sorry, I’ll get it soon enough.” He told Anaïs with as much genuinity as he could muster up, oddly wanting to keep the woman on side. “It is lovely to meet you though, Anaïs.” She smiled in turn at the use of her name, even with Matty’s slight wince, and then dipped her chin at him. “I didn’t realise I’d be stepping on any toes dropping by.”

“Non, you are fine.” She assured him with a slight shake of her head, waving his apology right off, “My flight was delayed. I was worried I’d be keeping them waiting, so you did me a favour.”

Matty physically felt his shoulders sag with sudden relief at the woman’s words, glad to note that he hadn’t fucked much up by stopping in without a warning. Although, he tapped Teddy’s leg softly then to get him moving, “Don’t you wanna go say hello then, monster? I’d best be off now.”

Teddy’s eyes widened at that last bit and Matty was sure he’d never seen anyone move so fast. “No!” The boy exclaimed, wrapping his chubby little arms around Matty’s neck and holding fast.

Matty’s eyes widened just as he adjusted his grip better around the kid, beyond perplexed by the sudden change. “God, little man! Tryna take me out here?” He chuckled as best he could, voice a tad bit strained by the surprisingly strong hold Teddy had on his neck.

“Teds!” Matty heard Squeaks gasp out quickly, before she was already rounding her mother in a hasty beeline to help. “You can’t just-”

She huffed when Teddy only tightened his grip and Matty couldn’t help the other chuckle that slipped out.

“Teddy.”

“It’s fine, honest.” Matty assured her, a hand splayed on the toddler’s back whilst he stared over at Mouse’s oddly harassed expression. “Teddy, mate. I’ve got to head out now, but I reckon I can promise you a visit soon though. If your mum doesn't mind much.”

The pair of them shared a look then, but Teddy didn’t take to the ruse.

Matty pursed his lips to keep his growing grin at bay, knowing it wouldn’t earn him any points with Mouse, and then moved at an angle in an attempt to see the little boy’s face that was still hidden away in the curve of his shoulder.

“Teds, look. We can make a plan, yeah? ‘Cause I proper enjoyed that last little outing we had the other day- you know, the way you went down that slide at the park was crazy! “ Matty peered in closer and smiled at the sight of a blinking eye. “Or maybe you can come ‘round mine. I’ve got lots of guitars there, reckon we could mess about with them and annoy your mum until she goes mad.”

That had Teddy pulling further away, but only by a fraction. Matty noted the way not just Squeaks, but Anaïs too, was watching him now.

“Play ‘tars?”

Teddy’s small voice snapped him out of the apprehensive feeling that had started to coil. He blinked down at the kid, “Yeah, if you want. We can do whatever, yeah? Zoo, the park-” Matty sort of frowned then and glanced back up towards where Squeaks was now crouched before them, “What else do kids like to do?”

His whispered ask was rewarded with a breathy chuckle that lit up the girl's entire face and had her giggling away to herself even as her son squirmed excitedly in Matty’s hold.

“Zoo?” Teddy questioned him with big pleading eyes, “With the ‘guins? And the tigers?”

Matty felt his face pinch, “‘Guins?”

“The cold birdies, Matty! ‘Dem ones.”

Ah.

“Yeah, ‘course the penguins will be there!” Matty nodded resolutely, then turned back to Mouse, “London Zoo has penguins right?”

She snorted unhelpfully but Teddy paid their conversation no mind at all, apparently far too excited with the sudden prospect of an adventure to the Zoo. Looking at his face, Matty knew he’d have to find a way to make it happen.

“Right, we all settled then?” He asked the toddler, raising an eyebrow down at the tyke, suddenly wondering how he’d gone from pleasing a crowd full of fans to bargaining with a four year old. How his mum had ever managed to cope with the likes of him at this age was maddening.

Teddy looked up at him then with eyes squinted from the strength of his smile, he took a long second to deliberate the whole ‘letting go thing’ and then finally released Matty from his chokehold.

“Cheers, monster.” Matty laughed softly, ruffling the kid’s curls before passing him off over into Mouse’s awaiting arms.

“Hear, mum! Hear Matty?” Teddy quizzed her immediately, bouncing on her hip as she stood.

“I heard, love.” Squeaks chuckled softly before she turned to flash a smile in Matty’s direction, both apologetic and grateful. “You wanna say thanks to Matty for your present before he goes?”

“Ta!”

A bright laugh burst from Matty at that, but he shook his head and then forced himself back onto his feet, reaching out to tickle the little boy’s leg. “Welcome, mate.”

And just like that Teddy was squirming to get down and go see his grandmother who appeared to have watched the whole scene play out from the sidelines.

Matty dimmed his grin into a smaller smile and let his eyes linger on the girl beside him, on the love she obviously had for her son and mother both. He wondered briefly what having that much love might feel like.

“I cleared up, by the way.” He mentioned quietly now that he was watching Teddy too, leaning into Squeaks’s side a little. “Figured it was only right, seeing as I’d been the cause and all that.”

She tittered lightly to herself, then pivoted to face him. “I appreciate it, all of it.”

It was obvious she wasn’t just talking about the clean up.

“No worries.” Matty shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling suddenly self-conscious, which wasn’t new but was also not appreciated. “I’d better be off, though, got a long drive and all that.”

Her brows rose ever so slightly before she nodded, as though she’d only just remembered he was meant to be on his way. “Yeah, yeah right. I’ll walk you out.”

Matty smiled, then turned back to the remaining two. “Monster! I’ll be seeing you! Be good and keep practising those chords for me, alright? I’ll be checkin' in.”

Teddy nodded buoyantly from where he had dragged his grandmother over to the sofa to view his gifted guitar, “Bye, Matty. See soon!”

Kid was a right little charmer.

Matty grinned back at him before allowing his eyes to meet Anaïs's own. “It was lovely meeting you, have a Merry Christmas.”

Anaïs granted him with a soft smile, one that Matty had only ever really seen mimicked by his own mum. “It was. Joyeux Noël, Matty.”

He nodded quietly to himself, the French infiltrating his mind. By the time both he and Mouse had made it back out into the hallway, the living room door now closed behind them, Matty allowed himself to voice his sudden thoughts, “You never said you were French.”

Squeaks quirked a brow at him in return, already pulling his coat off the hook and handing it over to him. Matty slowly shucked it on.

“Half.” She informed, watching him now from her place by the bannister, “And there’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, Healy.”

It was teasing but Matty knew that truth rather intimately, Mouse was a maze of secrets. Her name, her son, her origin. He wondered over what else she had kept so carefully hidden, but bit his tongue when he thought to ask. Yet, she had said. Matty could deal with a ‘yet’.

“Seems so.” He hummed sarkily, although he was smiling again. He always seemed to be smiling nowadays. Then he went to double check he had everything in his pockets only to realise that his jacket still homed one last gift. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath.

Mouse’s brow dipped, “What?”

A surge of anticipation surged through him at that question, what indeed. What the fuck had he been thinking, more like.

He’d gifted presents to women before, friends, girlfriends, staff at gigs. But this one left him feeling all weird. The type of weird that you often felt getting caught with a girl at school, or mentioning a silly crush to one of your mates on the playground.

His eyes flickered up to meet hers in the dimly lit hallway, fingers dancing over the envelope he had tucked away.

“Matty?”

Matty forced up that familiar bravado of his and stepped on closer, plucking the present from the confines of his coat as if he hadn't actually had a second thought about it, and then held it out towards her with a sly grin.

“Realised I couldn’t come bearing just one gift.” He told her, widening his eyes and prodding the envelope closer so that she’d finally get the hint and take it. Her fingers grasped it carefully, like she was wary he’d snatch it back.

Then her warm eyes met his own again, “Matty.”

He didn’t think he would ever get used to the sound of her saying his name. No matter how she said it.

Matty straightened at it though, already knowing she’d try to give it on back before even opening the thing, and waved her on, “Go on, it’s right rude to deny a present, you know?”

That spurred a soft laugh out of her, ever entertained by his absurdity. But before he could cajole her a little more, her face was lighting up with a sudden realisation, “Hang on a sec.” She said to him and then darted back down the hallway, leaving Matty blinking in her wake.

It didn’t take her all that long to return, though the suspense she’d left him with had now jumped to new heights.

“Sorry,” Squeaks smiled sheepishly, the envelope still in her hand, only weighed out now by the small bag she held in the other, “Forgot this.”

Matty was back to blinking again, startled by the fact that she had thought to get him something at all, let alone in return. “Um,” He murmured, rendered dumbstruck, before her light laughter broke him free. “If there’s something dirty in there, I will be telling your mother.”

Her eyes narrowed but her lips curved, “If you can make it to her in time.”

“Ooh sending out threats now, are we?”

That smile of hers was both devious and full of amusement, “Always.” Then she pushed the bag towards his chest, “Go on, open it.”

Matty shook his head, though he still accepted the Christmas patterned bag full of red tissue paper. “I gave you mine first, so I can’t open this ‘til you open yours.” He shook the bag to further accentuate his point.

“That's how it works, is it?” Squeaks commented, eyes creasing in her mirth, but Matty was as stubborn as they came and met her stare head on. “Fine,” She relented with a gentler smile, as though she already knew she wouldn’t win this particular battle, and moved to hold the envelope between them, thumbing the seal. “But this better be something nice, Matty. If it’s stupid I will toss you out.”

He laughed at the fact that they were already standing by the door, “Already are, sweetheart. But nah, you’re alright. Just hoping you’ll like it.”

Those eyes of hers flickered between his own again, left, right, then like ripping off a plaster she opened the envelope within a blink. As she grasped at the pages tucked within, Matty felt his resolve crumble somewhat, vaguely embarrassed by the many emotions he currently felt warring within him and the fact that he couldn’t wage how Mouse might react.

But all those thoughts and feelings were immediately sidelined when he heard her gasp, this breathy little thing that echoed in the small space between them and had Matty’s mind reeling.

“Matty.”

He reckoned that if he could get away with asking her to only say his name again, exactly like that, he’d record it and give it its own side on their next album. Fuck anyone who’d argue otherwise.

Her expression was one Matty had never witnessed on Mouse before. He’d seen her surprised (that day he’d turned up out of the blue at the studio), seen her happy (messing about with Teddy on Facetime, listening to the boy ramble and rant), he’d seen her awkward and stressed (at that charity event where he’d been all but glued to her side), and he’d also seen her tired (when those late night calls of theirs had ended with bleary eyes and sweet smiles).

Matty swallowed at the heavy feeling he felt corrode his chest.

“I can’t take these, Matty.” She argued, all but pulling him back to the present when she tried to hand the gift back to him.

He swatted her arm away, shaking his head with a tiny smile. “You can take them. What the fuck am I gonna do with 'em otherwise?”

She rolled her eyes but let his hand linger on the back of her own. “It’s way too much. I mean, how did you even manage it, how’d you even know?”

Matty laughed at that, “You’re really asking how I knew? Squeaks, babe, you bring him up almost every time we talk, you sing his songs when you’re cooking on call, and you never fail to mention him on your show. Even Teddy pipes up when he’s playing on the radio!”

Mouse had the nerve to look abashed at that. “It’s still too much.”

“Of course it’s too much. But I am, if anything, extreme.” Matty snipped back, smirking.

“But it’s Billy Joel, Matty! You can’t just buy a girl tickets to go and see Billy Joel!” Squeaks immediately argued back, though Matty noticed the way her eyes shone whenever she looked down at the tickets and how her fingers toyed with the paper ever so carefully.

“You’re right,” He agreed again, surprising her, “Good thing I got you two then.”

She gave him a huffy sigh in retort, one that had him grinning. “Matty.”

“Mouse.”

Her nose scrunched then, at the use of her name or the way he'd parroted, Matty couldn’t tell. “How am I meant to compete with tickets like these?”

Matty rolled his eyes at the stupidity of that question, “You don’t, I didn’t just give you them thinking I’d get something in return, Squeaks. I want you to have them.”

He was met with a drawn out silence then, her stare drifting back and forth between the tickets, himself and then back again. “Thank you.” She finally said, looking up at him with a wonder in her eyes that made Matty question whether she’d ever just been given anything for the sake of it.

“You’re welcome, love.” The smile he wore grew when she looped her arms around his waist to pull him into a hug.

Hugs were a rare thing with Mouse, Matty had noted, unless you were four and had a mop-full of curls then you’d best not even think about offering her one. Though he had that last bit down tap, they didn't really do that sort of thing past a greeting.

Still, hugging her settled something within him, something he couldn’t quite comprehend but allowed to wander all the same.

She squeezed his middle once before they parted again and Matty did his best to ignore the slight sheen her eyes now held and the way she slyly wiped at her nose. “Really, Matty. It means so much.”

Matty felt his heart stutter at the tender look she wore, then smiled. “Just make sure you send me the odd video, alright? Or at least a pic of you all dressed up.”

She laughed when he winked but he didn’t let it deter him. He wasn’t a constant listener of Old Joe but a classic was a classic, and the man was exactly that.

“Won’t need to.” Squeaks told him firmly and when he raised a brow she grinned hopefully, “You’ll be coming with, won’t you?”

Of all reactions, it was baffling to Matty that he had not expected that.

“Me?” He asked her, needing her to clarify.

“I don’t see no one else standing here.” She snorted, but her grin dampened all too quickly at the expression that must’ve been plastered on his face. “You don’t have to, I know you’re busy and got stuff going. Just thought…”

She finished that with a needless shrug which had Matty reaching out, hand cupping her right cheek, fingers slipping gently into her hair, it was soft. “‘Course I’ll come. Nothing could stop me.”

Her eyes had widened momentarily at the unexpected touch, Matty was quick to notice, but couldn’t bring himself to pull away just yet, especially when her face softened and she leaned ever so slightly into his hold.

–

‘Course I’ll come. Nothing could stop me.

Those words played on a loop in my head for the rest of the day, taking me through into the late evening where I was currently stood in the kitchen making another round of tea. Chamomile for mam, green for me.

The words were a promise I couldn’t quite find myself believing.

Too many people had promised me things; promised to keep my secrets, promised to keep me safe, promised to be there, promised to come. But only a fair few had ever followed through.

Matty was an anomaly though.

In himself, and in everything he said and did.

It always left me thinking, wondering...

It was just as I was stirring the honey into the mug that wasn't mine that I startled at the soft brush I felt beside me.

“I was just coming.” I attempted to say, glancing over at my mum who now stood beside me at the counter, gazing out the tiny kitchen window.

She waved me off with a tender smile, taking over honey duty as she slid her cup closer. “Your mind has been elsewhere today.” She accused me and immediately I felt my hackles rise, ready to jump into defence mode, but she merely casted me a careless look. “You never mentioned this Matty before.”

The change of subject threw me, enough that I frowned and was quiet until she wandered on over to take perch at the table with both our drinks. I blinked, feeling the fight drain out of me, then followed after her.

The chair scraped against the tiles as I pulled it free and I cringed at the silence that followed, hoping it hadn’t stirred Teddy who had not long fallen asleep down the hall.

When the quiet remained, I finally took my seat, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug and pulling it in nearer. “I didn’t think to.” I told her, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. I was quick to drown it in tea.

My mum merely hummed, sipping elegantly at her chamomile. “He seems comfortable here. Teddy likes him too.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. Thinking about earlier, the present Matty had gifted me, the one I’d given him in turn.

I could still feel the press of his hand against my cheek. So gentle, I’d almost wanted to break.

“They met about a week ago, an accident really.”

She hummed again, staring off ahead, and so I picked up my mug to keep myself from talking any more.

It had felt wrong, not getting Matty a present, which seemed so strange considering the circumstances. On how we’d only known each other a few short months. But I still couldn’t find it in me to ignore the feeling.

I could recall his face when he’d finally pulled away to peer into the gift bag I’d handed him, he’d been chewing on lip trying to dampen the sincerity of his smile...

Wary and still reeling off of the tender moment we’d just shared, I fidgeted with the envelope I held in my hand. It looked to be black but in the light it shone blue. It felt expensive, though I could see the way it had been fidgeted with, or held, like someone had kept picking it up only to put it down again.

Matty opened the bag with the same fragility I’d shown his envelope, rustling the tissue paper inside without much fanfare.

When he pulled the woolly item out from inside I felt all too stupid. What were his concert tickets to see one of my favourite musicians compared to a simple hat? I fretted.

I fish mouthed for a brief moment when his fingers swiped over the soft material, before my eyes finally darted up to meet his honeyed brown.

“You got cold, that time we took you to the park. Teddy said it would be good for the next time we go.” I stumbled slightly, it wasn’t the whole truth, no. But I wouldn’t dare mention the hours I’d spent searching for the right one, none of them feeling anything like ‘Matty’ until I’d seen this redcurrant coloured beanie.

He stared down at the gift for a long second, leaving me to wallow in my pitiful gift and the hastily given thought behind it, before he smiled. It was kind and it was genuine and it had the air fleeing from my lungs.

“Well, I’ll wear it and think of you both.” Matty murmured breathily, his voice catching ever so slightly on that last word. I swallowed thickly and without thinking took his hand in mine.

He looked down at the joined pair and smiled, but our quiet moment was then interrupted by rather loud strumming that echoed out.

Shocked, we both jumped a tad at the sound but then laughed, listening to Teddy call for his Mémé to watch him play.

I went to let go and Matty almost let me before he lightly tugged my hand closer, pressing the woolly hat into my palm. “Put it on for me?”

Blinking, I grasped the beanie tighter and watched as his hand fell away. I nodded when I glanced back up at him, his eyes watching me closely, then stepped forward, fumbling to carefully place my envelope in the back pocket of my jeans before fixing the hat over the top of his dark unruly curls.

Having to tiptoe, I let my thumb skim the brim of it, just above the skin of his brow, so that I could fix it a tad. Then peered into his warm eyes once more, “There you go.”

Matty smiled, and oh did I love seeing him smile.

We didn’t speak as he roped me into another hug, arms latching around one another's middles. We didn’t share many of those but somehow they always felt right, and then when he stepped away I felt the faint graze of his lips against my cheek.

His fingers were catching the latch on the front door before I could even react, his smile still there, his eyes now shining with some sort of emotion I couldn’t place.

“Merry Christmas, Squeaks.”

I came back to then, at the feel of my mother’s hand cradling mine atop the kitchen table, my head turned to search her tender stare. “Glowing, ma chérie.” She reminded me and oddly, I felt caught.

“Maman.” I whispered, looking away, but all she did was gently pat the back of my hand before pulling back.

“Petit à petit, l'oiseau fait son nid.” Was all that she said, throwing me back to days spent when I’d only been a little girl curled up in her lap.

Little by little, the bird makes its nest.

Slowly but surely things will change. I just had to remind myself that change wasn’t always a bad thing.

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skzcollision · 1 month

Text

take the breath that's true | lee felix (1/2)

pairing: non-idol!lee felix x fem!reader

content info + tw: time travel, angst, fluff, felix is called yongbok in this, wrote this when i was sleep deprived lol, violence + bullying

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

It had begun as a small lie, really. A lie so good, you believed it yourself.

"I'm taking a semester off."

You would be doing a paid internship to fill that time, so it's not like you're not doing anything because god forbid you take a break from your studies to backpack through Europe or something so useless. Your parents would have a stroke.

And then, you did the unthinkable.

You dropped out of university.

Got a full-time job at a bookstore. Began living life peacefully, all the while deceiving your parents who lived a few hours away.

The liberation you felt by doing this was nothing you had ever experienced before.

Of course, it had its drawbacks. You were practically living a lie. Because you dropped out of school, you no longer saw your friends every day. They often hung out without you, and over the years, you eventually turned into something of a social recluse.

You had one good friend from work who invited you to go out every once in a while. Each time you declined because blowing out your eardrums whilst standing in a room packed with strangers either drunk or high on something never really appealed to you.

Soon enough, you reached a place of discontentment.

Would your life have turned out any better if you pushed through with school?

That was something you wondered about every single day.

"Are you eating well?"

The line fell silent, save for the distant sounds of your mother chopping up something on her cutting board. You could hear something boiling on the stove.

You stared blankly at the bowl of instant noodles by your sink.

"Yes."

Another small lie amongst all other lies.

"You sure?" She pressed, disbelief evident in her voice. "Why don't I come over there sometime, fix you up a proper meal-"

"No. Mom, you don't have to do that. It'll just be a waste of gas, I'll be really busy these upcoming weeks."

"Well, when is your break? It's been a while since you've last visited us, you know. Your poor father has been wanting to see you, he misses you."

Your mother knew just how to pull at your heartstrings.

"I know, I miss you guys too. I'll visit on my birthday, okay? In a couple of months, I promise."

Seven years ago;

They were at it again. The three biggest pompous assholes of your grade.

This time, it was this short, lanky kid. You recognized him from homeroom.

Your eyes flitted to his so-called friends, turning away sheepishly when he looked to them for help. Just one moment ago, they were all at their table, talking and laughing.

Why was no one doing anything?

Just as you were lifting yourself from your seat to inform a teacher - someone, anyone - another boy stepped in front of the smaller one.

The bullies were blocking him from your line of sight, but you could see that he wasn't much taller than the former. They were still towering over him.

"Isn't that Yongbok?" The girl behind you whispered to her friend. "He does taekwondo, right?

"Yeah... but there are three of them. And they're double his size."

You promptly slid out of your seat, gripping onto your metal lunch tray. Your friends glanced at you in a snap, all visibly concerned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just..." You didn't get to finish your sentence as you neared the guys. Not that you knew the answer to that anyway. You were acting on pure impulse.

Now you could fully hear what they were saying.

"Rich guy, huh?"

They were apparently laughing at the boy's choice of accessories. He wore a gold watch on his wrist. It did look quite funny on him - only because it seemed a bit too big and grown up for the boy.

Something did surprise you, though.

If he was intimidated, he was great at hiding it. It was as if they were all having a normal and friendly conversation. On the other hand, the kid behind him was close to wetting his pants.

"So, if you're done talking to my friend, we would like to have our lunch now."

This did nothing to defuse the situation.

"What did you just say?"

Sweat pooled between the palms of your hands, the utensils clattering as they shook in your tray.

Your mind flashed to the first week of school. That kid, who got beaten up so badly he was coughing up blood.

Was this just going to keep on happening?

Without much thought behind it, you drew your arms back and flung your tray at them as hard as you could.

It made an audible plunk as it collided with the back of their leader's head.

There was momentary silence before the cafeteria exploded with stunned gasps and sputters of laughter. You remained frozen at your spot, arms still above your head. Your lunch was now on his white shirt, staining it orange.

"Who the hell-"

Everyone in the room was staring at you. Your gaze fell to the boy with the gold watch. He looked afraid now.

But not for himself.

You were so, damn lucky.

One second, you were receiving the deadliest stare from the scariest guy at school, and the next, a teacher had come to break them up.

For the next few days, you went everywhere with your friends. Needed to use the restroom? Needed to grab something from your locker? The whole group was coming with you.

You had never once been so scared for your life.

One afternoon, one of your friends had overheard the bullies talking. They were teasing their leader for letting you off the hook so easily. He apparently refused to bully a girl - a cute one at that.

"Oh my god, ew. Unbelievable." You shook your head with an expression of disgust. "There's no way. You made that last part up."

"He really said that!"

Your friend next to you released a wistful sigh, pursing her lips. "I wish someone would fall in love with me right after I'd just chucked a full tray of food at them, too..."

Things weren't so easy for gold watch boy, though.

He became their target. And he made it so easy for them, too. Every time any of them had a problem with anyone, he would be there, at their rescue. Taking their place. He didn't fight back either.

You just didn't get it.

How could someone possibly endure that much? That had to have taken a physical and mental toll on him. Yet you would see him in the hallways every single day, with that same bright smile. Despite the cut on his lip.

They kept getting interrupted on school grounds, so the bullies had made it routine to take him somewhere after school. You decided to follow them one day, and you were led to an alleyway just a couple blocks away from school.

Why didn't he just run away? You had seen him on the track. He was one of the fastest in your grade.

"... just not on my face, guys."

You ran and snuck up behind some stairs, peeking over the railing.

Whatever he had said earned him some scoffs.

"Pretty boy doesn't want his face ruined."

"What a vain little shit."

Yongbok blinked widely, almost innocently - as if it was all just one little misunderstanding.

"Oh, it's not like that at all. It's just my mom... I don't want her to know about any of this."

"Alright," the biggest of them all chuckled, lip curling smugly.

Your heart twisted in anger.

"We can have that arranged for you," he ambled towards the boy.

"Sike!"

His body turned, and his foot suddenly shot up out of nowhere.

You winced with your entire self as the boy stumbled back, holding himself up against the brick wall.

"Shit..."

From your angle, you couldn't tell what exactly happened. But you knew you had to do something before the situation escalated.

You could swear your whole life flashed before your eyes as you sped towards them, yelling. "Stop!"

"The hell?"

"It's that bitch that threw the tray!"

You stopped just a few feet from them, your thoughts racing a mile a minute. A deep sense of regret - then anger, at these stupid bullies, and at yourself for not knowing what to do next and just charging at them like an idiot.

Someone then yanked on your wrist, ending your train of thought. You were forced to move on your feet again as Yongbok dragged you with him through the alleyways. Several voices followed, hollering at you - but you couldn't register anything they were saying as you were focused solely on getting away.

It felt like it had gone on forever. Fortunately, you had run into some policemen, and that managed to scare the guys away.

You now sat at a convenience store, icing Yongbok's jaw where a bruise was starting to form.

"Man, what am I going to do about this?" He clicked his tongue as he stared at his reflection. "This isn't gonna go unnoticed - and I'm running out of excuses."

You were brimming with anger once again.

"Why do you let them do that to you?"

He stared at you, dumbfounded.

"If they don't pick on me, they'll just pick on someone else."

He had said it so plainly and simply. It was mind-boggling. You genuinely could not tell if he was the bravest and most selfless person you had ever met or just an idiot. Somehow, you felt he was both.

You walked away momentarily to pick up something from the cosmetics aisle, paid for it and went to sit back down again.

"So..." You began as you gently dabbed some coverup on the bruise. "You think this makes you like some sort of hero then?"

"Hadn't thought about it that way," his eyes darted across your face absentmindedly. "I'm sorry I didn't get to thank you, for the other day. In the cafeteria."

You waved him off, cleaning your finger on a piece of napkin. "You take their hits on purpose, don't you. I can tell."

He bobbed his head, looking down at his shoes.

"And you dodge some so you don't end up seriously injured."

You sighed through your nose in exasperation. "Why haven't you reported them?"

"You don't know, do you?" He gazed out the window. "Nothing will be done about it. One of them - his father donates large sums of money to the school."

"Doesn't make him untouchable."

"It kind of does."

You hated it. That deep down, you knew he was right.

Yongbok slid a packet of ice cream towards you. "Here," he grinned. "For saving me from the bullies, twice."

Present;

On the ride home, the car passed by your old high school. It did - every time you came back.

And you were always left wondering what ever happened to that freckled boy since you last saw him.

If he was happy, and if he was doing better than you now. You hoped so.

It was comforting how much had remained the same, as if you had never left - a time machine in a way.

You longed to go back.

To the summer before you began your first year in university. The last time you were ever truly happy.

Despite it being the night before your actual birthday, your parents had thrown an event for you. So many people had shown up - neighbors, old friends from high school that stayed back.

It felt very reminiscent of the past when everyone would get together, and you slept that night content for the first time in a very long time. You dreamt of your life before, how those warm memories felt closer than ever now that you were here.

Such happiness...

"Wake up, my precious girl~"

A grin was spreading across your face before you could even fully open your eyes. You ignored the ache behind them as the sun greeted you first thing.

Your mother smiled kindly back at you, her fingers gently combing through your bedhead.

"Mom..."

"Hm?"

"Can't I stay here..." You mumbled. "Stay here forever?"

She laughed softly, and your smile grew at the sound. "Don't you want to see your friends today? They must have something planned for you."

"My friends?" You rubbed at your eyes, still disoriented from sleep.

"C'mon," she stood, patting your leg. "Let's get up. I've prepared breakfast."

With your eyes half-shut, you felt your way out of the room and sat yourself on a wooden chair.

Your mother settled a bowl of soup in front of you on the table. "Happy birthday, sweetie..."

"I have something for you." Excitement shone in your father's eyes as he pushed a dark blue box towards you.

He didn't... again?

"Dad, you don't need to get such expensive gifts."

He chuckled heartily. "Can't I get something nice for my only daughter just this once?"

You flipped the lid open and grew puzzled at what was inside. It was a simple, silver necklace with a round diamond pendant. The one you wore every single day.

The one your father gifted you a few years back. It was the first time he had spent so much on a present.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, but dad - isn't it..."

Everything felt eerily familiar.

You shot up from your chair, and headed back to your room.

"What's wrong?"

You searched for the necklace on your nightstand where you had placed it last night, then on the floor, if it had fallen by any chance.

It wasn't there.

As you rose to your feet, your eyes caught the screen of your phone.

What? It couldn't be right. Yesterday was Friday... so shouldn't it be Saturday?

"You guys aren't... playing some sort of prank on me, are you?"

Your parents glanced at each other with momentary confusion, then back to where you stood in the hall.

"Are you that surprised with my gift?" Your father laughed, then beckoned you over. "Come on, you can put it on now. Then we can eat."

It was happening again - all of it.

The things your parents said at breakfast, you wouldn't have been able to recall it but now that it was in front of you all over again, there was no doubt about it.

Everything was the exact same.

You looked in the mirror and had bangs again.

Your phone was blowing up with the same messages from your friends in that old group chat.

This only meant one thing.

He was still here.

⭒

#lee felix #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #skz fanfic #skz felix #lee felix fluff #skz fluff #stray kids #skz x reader #skz

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doobea · 10 months

Text

BACK TO DECEMBER.

synopsis: Rin hates how cold the winter can be and everything that it stands for.

contents: unrequited love, non-mutual pinning, all angst no comfort, everyone needs therapy, heavy narration, gn!reader, childhood friends to lovers to exs, everything is written from rin's pov, sae can't manage his feelings, reader is mentally drained, extreme word vomit, proofread but not really word count: 1.4K a/n: all i can say is i am not sorry !! also i pray that they r not ooc ;-;

Rin hates how cold the winter can be and everything that it stands for. He hates the snowfall that prevents him from playing the only venting solution he has. He hates having to look through social media and seeing 'happy holidays' posts from his classmates and their extended families. He hates hearing his parents praise and beg his older brother to come visit over the break. And he especially hates the expression you wear every time you're reminded of it.

The last bell rings and the homeroom teacher that the two of you share wishes everyone to have a nice winter break. Rin watches your sullen figure from the corner of his teal eyes as you begin packing up for the day. Usually, around this time of year, his and your family would've thrown a joint holiday celebration that consisted of Christmas movie marathons, secret Santa exchanges, and an endless amount of hot chocolate to go around. From what he could remember, last year you and your family decided to spend the holidays separately - which was the first out of the many joint holidays spent together.

Not that he could blame you, it was hard trying to balance everything ever since what went down between you and Sae. Rin recalls the time when you called him in the middle of the winter night five years ago, nearly screeching from excitement, asking him what it's like becoming a third wheel.

He remembers his middle school self frowning, pausing the horror movie that he was watching to take in everything. "What do you mean by that?"

You huffed over the line, "Sae asked me out!"

Rin was visibly upset, unknowing why at the time. With a click of his tongue from annoyance, he sent a curt response before swiftly ending the call, not wanting to hear what you have to say back about his brother. At the time their sibling relationship wasn't too strained, things were relatively normal between the two of them and between the three of you.

You were practically their unofficial official cheerleader for their games and within their personal lives. Always the loudest one by the bleachers, wearing both of their jerseys, and sending passive-aggressive threats to the opposing team. Outside of that, the three of you were almost inseparable. With Sae being two years older, he was spending the majority of the time tutoring you and teaching Rin new tricks and tactics for soccer. More often than never, his parents treated you like a child of their own, inviting you over for dinner and impromptu movie nights.

And Rin remembers that all slightly changing once you and his brother had started dating. Everything seemed busy on your end, no longer finding the time to join him on his online games, wearing only his brother's number during soccer matches, and using him as an outlet for all of your relationship problems.

"Have you ever experienced a long-distance relationship before?" You had quietly asked.

That day, Sae stayed behind at school to talk privately to his guidance consoler about international high school options and sports scholarships. Rin and you decided to walk home together, a rare moment that both of you had forgotten about but somehow Sae was always the topic of conversation.

Rin tried rolling his eyes but couldn't. He couldn't seem to get mad at you, only feeling slightly angry and frustrated towards his brother. "No, but I'm sure everything will be fine." Which he meant, Sae had always kept everything in control.

"Still," Your weary voice trailed off, looking into the distance. "do you think he'll change? I mean 4 years is a long time..." You started going off on a tangent first worrying about Sae's safety, the language barrier, and ending it with insecurities about the relationship. "I mean what if he finds other girls there way prettier?"

Rin stopped in his tracks before flicking a finger toward your forehead. "Stop being an idiot, if Sae is gonna lose you then it's his lost."

Two weeks after that conversation was his brother's departure. There stood Rin, his parents, and you at the airport with Sae prepared to travel across the world to Europe with just a backpack that was a little too big for his stature and a bright red carry-on suitcase.

Rin remembers grimacing at the sight of you guys peppering kisses left and right, not wanting to let go of each other and having the six thousand-mile distance forcing its way between you two. He also remembers that day when Sae declared his love for you, promising that once he gets back that he'll be the number one striker in Japan with you right by his side. Throwing around half-empty promises to grant everyone VIP access, become the breadwinner of the family, and making his nation proud. Like you, Rin couldn't help but wholeheartedly believe in his words too.

After his departure, it seemed like you were slowly becoming Rin's best friend again. It was difficult maintaining the 7-hour difference, but you've learned to communicate with each other with messages being sent early in the morning for you and when it was bedtime for Sae. Soon four years went by in a blink of an eye. For a while, things were seemingly normal and Rin could finally relax and not think about you eating his brother's face off whenever he saw you. Secretly, he felt guilty having occasional thoughts of wanting Sae to stay longer in Spain.

Rin You hopping on tonight? You yea just gimme a sec!!

And that’s how every night ended up to be. The two of you would spend your nights playing whatever FPS horror game Rin had in mind, talking about recent soccer matches, how sophomore year of high school would suck, and with occasional updates with Sae.

That night went slightly differently.

"Your brother's been awfully quiet lately." Your voice sounded depressed through Rin's headset.

He mashed a couple of buttons on his keyboard, shooting the zombie right in its face before answering. "He's probably busy with training."

You groan on the other end and he sees your character die off-screen. "Yes, but he's been super distant on our calls and texts too. It's like he's turned off his emotions. Has he said anything to you about what's going on?"

Rin finished clearing the level, and the bright words 'VICTORY' flashed across the monitor as he shakes his head. "No, he hasn't."

The first year of high school then came to a close. Soon, Rin was hit with the abrupt news of his brother returning back right before the holiday break. Unfortunately, no one could've predicted the series of events that soon followed forth.

Rin remembers the hard lump in his throat, struggling to swallow down and look into Sae's hard dazed eyes. He remembers you stepping in between the two, chastising your boyfriend's sudden shift in personality and demanding that he apologize. He remembers Sae scrunching up his face before spatting out the fact that Rin is no longer an equal and that he had no interest in keeping you around - everything was suddenly a distraction to his personal dream. That was also the first and only time where Rin remembers you crying.

It was safe to say that the yearly joint-family gathering was postponed. You had quickly made up an excuse to hang out with your other friends over the holiday, which was a clear lie, and Sae immediately shut himself in his room for the remainder of the winter break until he had to travel out again. Rin had tried numerous times texting and calling you, but his messages went straight to voicemail. A week later and you sent him what would've been your last message.

You I'm sorry but I don't think we can be friends anymore. It'll just remind me too much of him.

As if he couldn't hate his brother even more, this was the final nail in the coffin.

When sophomore year of high school came around, it was hard for Rin to not notice you. Especially since you were practically his deskmate. But you did a good job of ignoring him and ignoring everything associated with both of the brothers, too good of a job Rin had thought. You were no longer interested in soccer but that didn't stop him from searching for your figure in the bleachers at every game. That didn't stop him from seeing if you were online and open for an FPS match, even though you had blocked him over a year ago. He hasn't forgotten about you and the impact you carried into his life and it didn't help that his mom would ask about how you were doing ever so often.

Rin thinks about calling out to you as you begin to walk out of the classroom, wanting to scold you for not bringing a scarf or wearing a heavier jacket, but something heavy gnaws at his chest. He stops and watches you leave the building, skies cloudy with a chance of heavy snowfall.

He stations at his desk and thinks to himself, winter has never felt so lonely.

#bllk x reader #blue lock #doobea writing #bllk #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #rin itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #Itoshi rin #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #rin itoshi

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tired-biscuit · 2 years

Text

Sneaky

Pairing: Obito Uchiha/fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ content [minors dni!!] modern au. stepcest, slight degrading, rough doggy. stepbrother!obito.

Word count: 5.8k

Masterlist

---

“Obiii! Do you have anything cute I could wear?”

A SIGH puffs past Obito’s lips at the fluffy nickname you insist on using for him.

Pausing the game at your coy whining that’s steadily growing louder as you dash up the stairs and take them two at a time, the twenty-one-year-old Uchiha grumbles in annoyance whilst he sits up in his bed and straightens his spine that’s long since gone stiff from hours of remaining stuck in one position.

The car he’s succeeded in stealing from an NPC freezes in the midst of the virtual road just as Obito tosses his controller to the side. He catches the blurring effect overlay the television screen before it coats the room with dim darkness. Meanwhile, you're already turning the knob and peeking inside his bedroom.

There’s a giddy glint of mischief swirling inside your irises which he can see even across the distance between you, despite the rather innocent quirk your mouth portrays in that exact moment. Reprising your role of the annoying little stepsister he’s never asked to have, you’re spelling nothing but trouble and seem to be set on irritating the crap out of him yet again.

Great.

He gives you a glare as his gaze fixates on you; the ebony within his eyes hardening to sleek, dark ice which you’re pretty used to by now, much to his misfortune. “Can’t even bother to knock?”

“Didn’t feel like it.” Obito can see your smile grow into something a little less pure with the matter-of-fact tone you use as you step inside his bedroom without receiving any sort of invitation from him first-hand. “Besides, what do I even need to knock for? It’s not like you've got anything interesting to hide in this sad little man cave of yours.”

Obito huffs at the jab. He can already feel his nerves sparking with vexation from your presence alone as he scrubs both hands across his face to avoid showing the exasperation he's experiencing. He’s rubbing at both of his eyes; groaning and sighing until he can see stars of blue and violet behind his eyelids. “Oh, my god… You’re so funny.”

What he says is true, despite the sarcastic and rather bored tone he uses to lace his statement. He’s gotten to meet you officially only eight months ago; has been living with you for four, and not once during that time have you failed at coming up with a witty retaliation that could match - hell, even one up - his own.

It’s a talent, really. Most people usually give in the moment they face the unyielding monster that is his stubbornness, because, well: he’s worse than an ox repeatedly slamming its head against the wall when it comes to sticking to his opinion. However, much to his dismay, it seems that you’ve managed to build yourself quite a hindrance in these measly couple of months of living with him.

“I’ll be here all night.” You brush him off with a flick of the wrist now, proving his point even further as you click the door shut and aim straight for his wardrobe. “It’d be my pleasure to entertain you, dear brother. Right after I raid your closet, though.”

Actually, you’d entertain him in more ways than one. But Obito doesn’t know that, of course. Come to think of it, neither do you. At least not truly, anyway.

The desire is hidden somewhere deep, deep down. Where even your conscience isn't able to reach.

“I’d rather not.” He’s silent for a second as if he’s mulling something over before he adds, “And I ain’t your brother.”

“Right.” He’s determined to remind you of that fact quite often. Your response is nothing but a shrug that is aimed in his direction, even though your back is turned towards him now. “Your loss.”

“Is it?”

His question makes you still your search through his hoodies for a brief second before you sigh and bend over to go through the lower shelf that’s practically cluttered with clothes he doesn’t wear all that often. You furrow your brow and bite your lip absent-mindedly as your fingers trace the untidy stack of thick cotton that’s nearly all in the exact same shade of navy blue. “And what do you mean by that, my beloved Obi?”

Unbeknownst to you, your so-called ‘beloved’ stepbrother is watching the way your pastel pink gym shorts tighten around the curve of your ass with the movement as you lean even further into his wardrobe to grab a sweater that’s hidden way in the back. The manner in which the spandex pinches both sides of your juicy thighs until he can see the slight cinching of the plush flesh is fury-inducing to a man like him who’s into legs.

He forces himself to look up from the smooth back of your thighs and calves, but all he can see now is the round shape of your plump pussy. He’s literally able to make out the hole from how noticeably the bubblegum pink fabric dips slightly inwards. It’s like a goddamn ravine of the most adorable design.

And Obito feels bad, perhaps even dirty, for wanting to trek it with his fingers and tongue. All until you’d start to wiggle your hips and mewl like a little kitten against him; asking him for more, calling him a good big brother for taking such good care of that needy little pu-

For fuck’s sake, are you doing it on purpose?! Is the way you jiggle your ass right in front of him just another ploy to provoke him like you’ve been doing ever since moving into this godforsaken house? It’s not the first time it’s happened; these tension-inducing moments that arouse sin within his mind no matter how much time has passed, as well as the fact that he’s tried to not look and act upon them.

And God knows that he’s tried. Yes, even when he’s heard you moaning quietly on the other side of the wall late at night before the buzz of your vibrator finally died down. Before you finally came - all on your own, without his help. Even then.

“I just… Uh…” Obito clears his throat; swallowing the runny saliva as his expression darkens into something a bit more troubled. The shadows would have literally been visible on his face, had it not been for the dim lighting of the room and the late hour to accompany it when he utters, “I don’t see any advantages to being your brother, is all.”

“Wow.” All he can see is your right eye and the half of your face that’s partially hidden by the curve of your shoulder as you turn to look at him. “Is there supposed to be an advantage? Or are you just trying to be plain mean again?”

‘There could be an advantage, if you’d let it happen,’ he thinks.

“I dunno, I asked you first,” he says instead, picking up the controller again. He spares you a glance the moment you stand up to your full height and show him the hoodie you’ve snatched like it’s a prize. He frowns at the way you press it against your chest and squeeze it real tight in excitement. “Make sure to give that back when you’re done wearing it. And don’t spray any of that shitty perfume on it like you did on my Nike hoodie last time.”

He couldn’t stop smelling it during class the last time he’d worn it. Couldn’t concentrate at all, not even when Kakashi - his stupid classmate/friend - had started looking at him all kinds of weird.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble as you put on the black oversized piece of clothing and check yourself in the mirror. “So strict... You’re nothing like dad.”

“My dad lets you do what you want, just so you’ll approve of him and take it easy on the whole marriage ordeal your mom can’t shut her mouth about,” he retaliates, enunciating the word ‘my’ to only give you more proof he doesn’t consider you family. “Where are you even going, by the way?”

The wink you give him is as sly as that of a fox as you fix the sleeves and prop your hands against your hips, “Why do you care?”

His expression is completely deadpan, even though his heart is jumping all over inside his chest at the tease you’ve just given him. “I never said I did.”

“Mhmmm,” you hum, smiling again. “Then why are you askin’, brother dearest?”

All Obito does is stare at you. And then he points at the door. “Out.”

He hates it when you call him that. Outright despises it, for some reason.

Your girlish laugh makes his brain tingle with something gooey and warm that shouldn’t be there as you skip towards the door. “If you must know, I’m heading to Sakura’s to watch a movie with a couple of friends.”

He dismisses you completely with a subtle wave of his hand as he turns towards the television again. “Aha.” In truth, he wants to ask what friends, what movie, when are you planning to come back home and with who, but he represses the urge. Of course he does.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” you chirp knowingly as your hand wraps around the doorknob. You notice the baseball cap that’s thrown on his desk. It's got his university's logo patched right in the front. “I'll be borrowing this, too. You don't mind… Right, Obi?”

“Aha,” he repeats dispassionately, even though his eyes flick towards the nightstand so that he can be positive he has his phone there. “Just make sure to give me my shit back the moment you step foot inside the house again. I’m not playin’ around, ‘cause last time you-”

“Bye, Obi!” His sentence is broken as you slam the door shut behind you.

“Did you hear what I just said? Hey! Airhead!” He shouts after you, but the only answer he can hear is the pitter-patter of your feet against the wooden stairs and your mischievous snickering. A proper she-devil you are; causing chaos to his already mayhem of a life.

The emoji of the pink, sparkly heart and the winky face you text him not a minute later as some lame sort of apology only causes Obito to grumble out loud. He turns back to his game with slightly redder cheeks than what would be considered the norm for him and with his body just a couple of degrees hotter than it was before you entered the room.

He’ll never admit to getting flustered over a text message from his stepsister. Will never admit that he’s just spent minutes staring and leering at that fine, peachy ass of yours; imagining all the ways he'd make it jiggle and clap.

Boom! - the memory of your curves stuffed in those tiny shorts makes him crash the car straight into a brick wall of pixels. He watches as the screen turns black whilst he toys with the pair of joysticks stuck to the controller. His digits feel somewhat sweaty as they slide across the smooth rubber over and over again.

He's quite skilled with his fingers from gaming so much. It's a shame he can't put them to good use. Like on that tiny nub of nerves between your legs.

“Ugh.”

Great. Just great.

—

That same night, Obito is awoken by multiple repetitive nudges to the cheek.

It’s been ages since you’ve left, the late hour is even later and he’s tossing and turning to the side in his bed now; trying to swat your hand away with a lazy drawl of a groan that’s voiced only because you’re so fucking persistent at pestering him.

He hears your giggle the moment he forces his heavy eyelids open after some much-needed effort. You’re leaning over him: your face is hovering mere inches from his own as you watch him in the dark, lips puckered around the plastic stick of the sucker you’re licking at absent-mindedly whilst studying his sharp features. The only source of light is the meek sliver of orange from the street lamp outside his window. It splashes the side of your face to the point that he can see that same glint inside your irises he's seen hours ago.

“What… Mm, what d’you want?” He sounds so sleepy as he draws out the vowels; so deep and raspy - husky. It sends a chill trickling down your spine like it’s a surge of cold water weaved with chunks of ice in-between. If the popping and crackling of burning logs had a voice, it’d be this one.

It’s so improper to feel turned on by the sound of your stepbrother’s morning - does it count as morning already? - voice, but it’s not like you can control it.

His cheek is still warm from sleep as you nudge him again, prodding the bone underneath the soft skin in an attempt of averting your attention from your troubled thoughts. “I brought you your hoodie back, Obi.”

Obito nods before he buries his face further into the pillow. Of course you'll listen to what he says only when it suits you. “And the cap?”

Silence meets him. And then: “Oh, shit.”

He sighs as he looks up at the ceiling, and even though he already knows the answer, he still asks: “Mm?”

“I forgot it at Sakura’s,” you admit quietly, exhaling deeply in apology. “I’m sorry. I’ll get it back first thing tomorrow… I promise!”

You’re expecting him to be angry. To be scowling up at you and starting one of those annoying-ass monologues of how irresponsible you are and that he’s never letting you borrow his stuff again; that you’ll need to pry it from his cold, dead hands if you ever wish to wear it again in this lifetime and how much you suck - all that typical jazz.

But all he does instead, is blink tiredly as he mutters a nonchalant, “Fine.”

You watch the fluttering of his thick eyelashes before he lifts his hand and rubs at his eye. The one that he keeps open is still glazed over with a film of slumber that makes the ebony shade within hazy and blurry at first glance. His pupil is so big, even though you can barely distinguish it from the iris from how matching in colour it is.

“Fine?” You stare down at him in pure astonishment as you keep inhaling his musky scent. Every shallow breath is only unknowingly drawing you closer to him - to your fucking stepbrother.

Obito smells like pine; you’ve noticed it the first time you’ve borrowed - stolen - his hoodie. His scent is potent and sticks to your skin and hair, no matter how long you wear the clothes. It reminds you of the soil underneath your feet, the moss, the roots and the earth itself - like a gloomy morning full of thick air and promises of rain. In all honesty, it makes it hard to concentrate, but you still manage to whisper, “So, you’re not angry with me?”

He looks up at you, eyeing the strawberry lollipop that’s dangling from your bottom lip and coating the inner edge of your pouty mouth a bright red. His voice is merely a hushed whisper of his own as he replies, “No, m’not.”

You don’t know what kind of lewd god possesses you in that moment that makes you pull out the lollipop from your mouth and press it against his lips gently, and yet you’re doing it anyway. Shame.

“Here,” you mumble, coaxing him to take the sweet, “as an apology, since I’ve got nothing better to give ya.”

Obito can see the sheen of your drool coating the sucker; can feel it wetting his lips as you keep pressing it against his mouth. He’s twenty-one, and yet he can’t help but think of it as an indirect kiss, like he's eight again. And perhaps he’s still too brain-dead from sleep, or simply because it’s one in the morning and secrets are spilled easier late at night, but he catches himself saying, “You’ve got plenty of things you could'a given me, if you wanted to.”

Your fingers nearly tremble as you watch him part his plush lips and accept the lollipop the moment the words are out and dangling in the open space between you like some inviting bait you can't help but paw at curiously.

And it’s the way his lips wrap around it; the way you catch the tip of his pink tongue glide over the sugar before he sucks it into his mouth that makes your insides all jittery and jelly-like. That makes you outright start ogling at him now.

“Yeah?” You swallow thickly when he looks away and sits up. He looks so unbothered; sighing and stretching his strong limbs until his white t-shirt is riding up his toned stomach. So tired in all the right, appealing ways. Staring at him like this, you wonder if your saliva matches his own when it comes to sweetness. The indecent thoughts make the needle of your moral compass twitch and falter as you speak again, “Like what, for example?”

Twitch, twitch, twitch. His own needle is pushing downwards in the exact same manner. “You could play with me.”

He can see your eyes widen. “Wh-What…? Play with you?”

It’s the first time he’s managed to make you stutter. To make you unable to retaliate and cut him swiftly with a clever comeback. If he weren’t still half asleep, perhaps he’d feel somewhat proud. Perhaps he'd even let the smirk ghost over his lips. “Play GTA with me… You woke me up, so it’s the least you can do.”

Oh… Oh.

You’re not sure if the rock that’s lifted from your heart at his answer is a good thing or not. Still, you linger on his bed; bare knees sinking into the firm mattress as you tilt your head to the side. “You want to play GTA? Like, right now?”

No, he wants to spend time with his bratty little stepsister. “Mhmmm.”

“Well,” you mumble, making yourself comfortable, ”all right, I guess… But you’ve gotta teach me the controls! I have a life, unlike you, ya know.”

Obito yawns before placing the sucker back into his mouth again. “Sure.”

Oh, he’ll teach you, all right.

—

“Okay, now I get why you play this all the time. It’s pretty fun.”

Your giggle is soft to reach Obito’s ears twenty-five minutes later as you keep swiveling the tiny Smart car you’ve managed to steal across the entire virtual road, chuckling and muttering nonsense at how funny it looks: redecorated in an absurd shade of yellow and plastered with stickers from top to bottom.

“Yeah,” your stepbrother drawls lazily, head tipping back against the headboard of the bed without much interest. “Fun.”

You’re lying on your stomach right beside him and he simply can’t stop staring at your ass. It’s just so cute, looking like a plump little peach; all tight and firm from the way your legs are stretched out and your toes are curling subtly into his white bed sheet every once in a while you come close to dying in the stupid video game and you're trying to focus. You’re like a delicious meal - splayed out right next to him, too busy staring at the screen to realize how hungry his stare has gotten. It’s like you’ve been served on a silver platter.

Just for him. All for him.

God, what he wouldn’t give to place his hand on you. To dig his fingers into the fat of your thigh and just make you whimper and plead for more. To feel the spandex of those tiny shorts you insist on wearing rubbing against him; a horny, lonely male still full of vigour.

But instead, Obito places his hand on his own thigh. He bends his knee as he inches it up and rests it on the bulge that’s straining his light grey sweatpants. He sighs when he feels the friction. Resists a groan when his fingers curl around his cock right over the cotton. It’s thick, but he can still feel the pressure even over the single layer. Even more, because he isn’t wearing any underwear underneath.

Is he seriously going to jerk it to his stepsister? While she's right there - next to him? It’s so wrong… But why does it feel so right? So good?

“Fuck yeah!” Your celebratory whisper-shout causes your ass to push high into the air as you finish the race and wave the controller around. The smug look you give him over your shoulder makes his heart hammer inside his ribcage as he immediately drops his hand back to his side.

No self-love tonight, it seems.

But his cock is just so damn hard. It twitches and throbs; especially when your tongue pokes out past your bottom lip to tease him further. “Did you see that? Did you see how well I did? I only drove over one hooker, hah.”

No, he didn't. Sadly, Obito was too busy staring at your ass and imagining how snug his dick would be in-between those plush cheeks. How good it'd feel if he spread them apart and pushed his cock into that sopping hole underneath. Until you'd be crying from how full your pussy would become with him.

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly. His eyes are so glossy that the glaze reminds you of the liquid eyeliner you use from time to time. “You did great. Just one hooker is great.”

“You fucker,” you grumble, kicking his leg, “you weren’t even watching.”

“Sure I was,” he immediately lies through his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath at the surge of pain. “I’ve seen it all.”

“Liar.”

“Call me that again,” he says, tone somber and dark all of a sudden. “I dare you.”

You pucker your lips before a naughty smirk smooths them right back down. “Lia- Ah!”

The squeal you let out sounds a bit too loud with the late hour when he grabs your foot to stop you from causing him any more ache when you try to hit him again. His touch is ticklish but it is also overpowering. It sends tingles creeping up your neck, especially when his fingers wrap around your ankle when you try to escape him.

You’re laughing now; play fighting for some vaguely intimate reason that you’re both trying to conceal underneath the pretense of gaiety as you toss and turn around the bed. The game is long since forgotten. Just like your morals.

After all, in the midst of all the chaos: Obito has somehow managed to end up on top of you, finding improper comfort in the tight space between your legs as your thighs keep rubbing the sides of his waist every time his fingers dig into the sensitive spot right underneath your ribs.

The jab makes your back arch in the process. Makes him do it again and again. Oh god, he's so turned on by it that it makes him sweat.

Trying to keep quiet for your parents’ sake that are asleep downstairs, a gasp leaves you the moment your stepbrother presses a finger to your lips in a meek attempt to shush you. You’re staring up at him now - all doe-eyed and panting, with your hair all askew and with your chest heaving in that tight crop top that certainly leaves nothing to the imagination when it comes to fantasizing how your tits look like. Quite literally; he can see the two cute nubs poking against the fabric.

Obito sounds breathless as he says, “What?”

The outline of his dick is so visible through his sweatpants, and yet you can’t bring yourself to say what you’re thinking about. Can’t admit it - not even in the safety of the darkness to surround you.

The poor Uchiha is completely red in the face from all the movement as he keeps looking down at you all puzzled; his shoulders rising and falling in the same unsteady rhythm of his inhales and exhales that push past his parted lips.

He’s wound up so close to you that you can smell the sugary strawberry on his breath and see the way the artificial colouring has tinted the inside of his mouth. Christ, he looks so innocently charming like this, despite his rather rugged appearance. So fucking sweet - all sunshine and daisies.

And somehow; for some unknown, inexplicable reason, he looks even sweeter when he swallows audibly the moment you place a soft kiss on his finger pad and twirl your tongue right across the print without any sort of explanation or warning. Just the way his Adam's apple bobs inside his throat is enough to get you going.

And somehow; for some even more foreign, unfathomable reason, you look just as lovely as he shoves his digit even deeper into your mouth, as if in silent agreement. As he pushes it in right to the knuckle - until you’re sucking on it in the same manner you did on the lollipop you’ve shoved into his mouth half an hour ago and that he’s long since chewed away.

The tension between you is so thick that it makes it hard to breathe properly. At long last, you’ve finally both acknowledged its presence. To say that you feel on edge would be an understatement.

Especially when he leans in even further and traces the length of your entire bottom lip with the tip of his finger that’s covered in your drool now. When he looks at you with eyes that you can swear burn crimson in colour, or perhaps it’s just the darkness and your nerves playing tricks on you.

Must be that. Why on earth would his eyes turn red, after all? Better yet: how?

You loose a petrified sigh when his thumb hooks underneath your chin and he tilts your head upwards to make you look at him better. To make you share the same breath with him, that you're both secretly yearning to exchange.

His voice sounds so small and hesitant as he whispers, “Why are you here this late, y/n? In my room; at one in the morning?”

And you just can’t bring yourself to answer. Well, at least not by using words.

So you kiss him instead.

Neither of you thinks about anything in particular the moment your fingers curl around the collar of his t-shirt and tug until his lips are crashing against your own clumsily, and your tongue finds its way into his strawberry-coated mouth. You’re just panting; groaning down each other’s throats and trying to grab a hold of each other as tightly as you can.

You both know that what you’re doing is wrong, but god fucking damn it - you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good. So good, in fact, that you just keep going. That you keep touching and rocking against each other, sweating and nearly purring like two happy kitties from the wanton friction that’s beginning to buzz between your hot and bothered bodies.

You continue to relish the unfamiliar sensation as his breathing picks up and you begin to mewl when those big, rough hands, that you’ve subtly been eyeing during the entirety of every family dinner, begin to explore your body in awkward, albeit determined gropes.

He’s attempting to fondle and feel every single one of your curves, whilst still tasting your saliva just as fervently. And perhaps you’d laugh at how boyishly enthusiastic he is with it, if you weren’t stuck in the same boat as him; stroking his broad shoulders and scratching the nape of his neck with your pretty fingernails over and over again.

Everything is a blur as you begin to practically tear each other’s clothes off. As your crop top finds its rightful place on the floor of his bedroom, and his hot mouth finds your neck; latching and sucking on the sweet spot just underneath your jaw and blessing you with a hickey you’ll have to somehow figure out a way of hiding from your mother in the morning.

Neither of you wastes time with romance. Any form of tenderness is too risky and needs to be dealt with quickly, if you wish for the curiosity to be appeased and the urge to be satisfied with zero mishaps and no surprise visits from your parents.

So you find yourself lying on your stomach once more, but this time with the weight of your stepbrother pressing you flat against the mattress and those tempting shorts dangling around your ankle, along with your black thong. All until your cheek is flushed against his bed and a lewd mixture of your drool and tears is dotting the bed sheet that smells just as intoxicating and delicious as him.

Honestly, it’s like you’re being hugged by him from the top and bottom. Every inhale feels sacred as you keep filling your lungs with his scent. As he fills you up in return.

“Obiii,” you whine needily, clawing at the duvet that’s somehow managed to find its way underneath your hands. “Oh-...! Oh, fuck!”

“Shh, shh,” Obito soothes you like a good big brother, even though his cock is practically splitting you in half as he tries to stuff all of it into your tight little hole that simply refuses to stretch enough to accept him wholly. “Please keep quiet, cutie. I love your pretty moans, but please... We’ll get, ah… Fuck, you’ll get us in trouble if you keep bein’ so loud.”

“I can’t!” You cry out, as your hips quicken their adorable wiggling underneath him. “Ca-... Can’t keep quiet.”

“You gotta try at least… Gotta try and lemme in, too,” he mumbles in reply as he kisses your naked shoulder blade. You feel the saliva to coat your skin when his teeth graze over the bone. It’s like a mark. One you’re too ashamed to admit you’d be proud to wear.

He’s breathing so heavily against your shoulder that the warmth makes goosebumps erupt all over your arms. Especially when he says: “Be good and listen to your-... Your brother, okay?”

He knows what’s best for you.

The sentence nearly makes you explode into a million little pieces of pleasure that will never get a chance of connecting again. There’s a kink hiding somewhere within it; grinning at you wolfishly and coaxing you to explore it with your greedy little hands. With your lips. Mouth. Every other hole, too.

Your body feels like it's on fire because of it.

But try all you might, you seriously can’t help when it comes to making noise. The stretch his dick gives you burns hot as you lift your hips and arch your back to take more of him, however it feels just as good. He’s going in completely raw and hasn’t even given you any foreplay, and yet your cunt is drenched to the brink of embarrassment from just kissing him; walls eager to be stroked and spoiled by the love of his fat cock.

Perhaps you’re wet and ready because you’re not supposed to be doing this. Because you’re not supposed to know how your stepbrother’s cock feels inside you, and yet here you are: a naughty, dirty girl squeaking and whimpering like a slut from feeling so full with it.

“Fucking prancin’ ‘round in those shorts like you own the place,” he says, his voice low and dangerous like the rumble of thunder before a storm. “Testin’ me all the fuckin’ time… God, you're such a bad little sister.”

Excuse his lack of manners, but Obito is nearly losing his mind above you from having to call you such a filthy term, as well as how you react to it the way you do. His hand is shaking as it grips the back of your neck the moment he at long last manages to bottom out within you, and as the waistband of the grey sweatpants, that he still has hanging loosely around his hips, struggles to stay in place with the single, harsh thrust he gives you now.

The push makes the tip of his cock shove past that barrier of tight muscles that’s protecting your cervix, making it too painful for you to endure. Jesus, he’s massive. So thick and heavy inside you, that you’re starting to feel like you’re going to die the most blissful death known to humankind if he doesn't start to move soon.

Your head shoots up at the sensation; at the pang of ache that makes your eyes cross so intensely that those begin to hurt, too. You’re lucky - so damn lucky that he’s smart enough to cover your mouth with his hand the moment a high-pitched scream bubbles up your throat and slips right past your adorably ‘o’ shaped mouth.

The salt of your tears drips down to his knuckles. Trickles right to his wrist.

“Hah… You’re-... Mmh.” He laughs now - laughs as he watches you squirm and writhe underneath him; plump ass jiggling and bumping against his abdomen just like he’s imagined it would as he pulls back and slams right back home inside your adorable cunt again. He can see the glimmer of slick and can hear the squelch. God, you’re like a porn star, but better.

And he's like a bear; so big and strong to hold you in place as he paws at your tight body.

Obito wants to tell you that you feel good, he truly does. He wants to tell you that you look so fucking pretty like this: all disheveled and sweaty and panting as you keep squeezing his dick and leaking warm, milky arousal all over it just because he’s inside, inside, inside, but he simply can’t. He can’t even form words from how overwhelmed he feels, much less fathom the entire situation and if it truly is happening.

So he shows you instead.

He shows you by fucking you into the mattress the moment you stop crying; with his massive hand clamping over your mouth the entire time as his fingers painfully prod at your gums in-between every thrust. He shows you with the swing of his hips, with the way his cock forces its way into you nice and hard and deep. With his heavy panting to brush against your earlobe with every ragged breath, and every incoherent mumble of a particularly nasty curse you’ve never heard him use before.

Obito gives you his all - well, as much as he’s able to without waking the entire goddamn house, though he still makes you sweat and cry and drool and gush during the entirety of it. How his hips drill into your own is mind-numbing and dopamine-inducing. You’re literally not able to think straight from the way he’s pounding into you now - even less capable of collecting your fuzzy mind into something decent.

“You ain’t my sister,” he mumbles at some point whilst you’re orgasming and spilling your love all over his cock for a second time in the rough span of ten minutes. The veins atop his knuckles are prominent as he squeezes the back of your neck and smiles against your temple. “You’re my bitch.”

Unbeknownst to you, his gaze glows like embers in the night as he watches your face contort into pure, divine pleasure the moment you sink it further into the bed sheet at the derogatory term. The action just makes you push your ass higher into the air. Your legs are trembling, but you insist on being good for him, just so that he’ll make you cum for a third time.

Still high in the midst of immoral bliss, you fail to notice that he’s already called you his.

Sneaky little Uchiha. So possessive.

#obito #obito uchiha #naruto smut #obito smut #obito x reader #obito x you #obito x y/n

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fineillmakeaslasherblog · 11 months

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What would it be like the first time the masked boys show their face to their s/o?

I assume you don't mean to include Billy and Stu since, while they wear masks, it's not a 24/7 thing like with the others. Anyway, I have very strong feelings about this topic so I'm very excited to dive in haha

OG!Michael Myers:

If you see his bare face, it is never for extended periods of time. He will take off his mask when strictly necessary (which is usually just when eating, maybe a kiss if he's feeling charitable, and the once a blue moon you convince him to bathe), but it goes right back on as soon as he's done.

This is not a matter of not trusting you. If he allowed you to see his face at all, that's already about the biggest show of trust he can give. Nor is he particularly insecure about his appearance, so compliments will do little to sway him.

Rather, in his eyes, his mask is his real face. The face that's made of flesh is the face of a Michael that died a long time ago, and seeing it in the mirror feels unnatural.

As such, the first time he takes his mask off in front of you, it is unceremonious and with no warning. The best thing for you to do is not react at all. You may mean well by complimenting him or thanking him for letting you see his face, but the way he sees it, if you prefer his 'real' face, then you prefer a Michael that doesn't actually exist.

Choose your words and actions wisely. Despite his seeming nonchalance, this is the moment that could make or break any kind of future for the two of you.

RZ!Michael Myers:

Okay, RZ!Michael is pretty distinctly different from his OG counterpart here. His relationship with his mask, while no less important, is significantly... easier to navigate.

He does not see any of his masks as a literal extension of himself, and his face doesn't seem foreign to him. In fact, the problem is kind of the opposite.

Masks provide a sense of comfort and, more importantly, privacy in ways he had never experienced prior. After years of being observed and having his every move scrutinized, covering his face is one of the few ways he could keep himself hidden even from himself.

Over the years, he has come to see it as just important a piece of clothing as any other. What this means for you, though, is that he would likely allow you to see his face way before OG Michael would (though it would still take time)

Much like his counterpart, the first time was likely borne from necessity, but unlike him, RZ!Michael definitely made sure you knew that this wasn't something to take lightly. He wouldn't break eye contact with you the entire time (not that he usually does). To the untrained eye, he may appear cold or even angry, but if you've reached this point, you'd be able to tell that he's on-edge, analyzing your every move and gauging every microexpression.

Luckily, if you know him fairly well, it's reasonably easy to pass this test. Compliments are acceptable this time, but don't overdo it. You don't want him to feel under even more of a spotlight than he already does.

He also would eventually be willing to keep it off for more than a minute or two at a time if he's in a good enough mood, though you'd have to ask him directly. He simply sees no reason to keep it off for his own purposes, but may indulge you on occasion.

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba isn't particularly afraid of you seeing his face, but he isn't thrilled with the idea either.

His masks, while not a literal identity like OG!Myers, is certainly a way for him to express his identity more freely. Not just when it comes to gender expression, but in general.

Besides, his is the only mask where his mouth is exposed, so there's no practical reason for him to take it off in front of you and he simply doesn't see the appeal.

You would definitely need to ask because he probably wouldn't take that initiative for a very long time, if ever. And even when you do ask, he would initially panic and slip away.

It takes a bit for him to come around to the idea and for you to assure him that you don't want him to give up his masks altogether, you just want to know what his face looks like.

When he finally does it, you're hidden away in a room alone together to ensure that you have privacy. He would stall for as long as possible, but when he can't wait any longer, he practically rips it off before he can have any second thoughts.

Please give him lots of kisses and affection. He's already clingy at the best of times, but like this, he thinks he might die if you let go of him.

Brahms Heelshire:

Okay, deep breath, we've gotten through the really complicated ones and are moving on to the more basic "insecure about their appearance" boys.

Brahms is desperately starved for any kind of positive attention. (Or attention in general, which is exactly why he acts out. Any attention is better than no attention.)

The fact that you talk to him and care for him without even seeming to be terrified at every moment like his parents were is nothing short of a miracle in his eyes, and he would sooner die than put that in jeopardy, so any change is a threat.

This includes you wanting to see his face. While his scarring certainly isn't the reason his parents treated him the way they did (after all, their apprehension had started even before the fire), it is still a risk. He doesn't know how you'll react, and that's unacceptable.

It would take a lot of convincing. Even if you have prominent scars yourself, it wouldn't help much since he insists that it's "different" with you, whatever that means.

Patience is key here, as well as finding a balance between not pressuring him while also making it clear that you haven't changed your mind about wanting to see his face. Eventually, though, he gives in.

He's visibly shaking the first time he takes it off and you have to get him to set the mask down before he drops it. Even still, he's staring at the ground, and should you guide his face towards you, he still averts his eyes. He's immediately regretting doing this and certain that you must be looking at him in horror. He can't stand to see that.

Be gentle here. Again, this is about balance. Brahms desperately needs reassurance right now, but at the same time, don't invalidate his insecurities by telling him the scarring "isn't that bad" or that he shouldn't have been worried.

Honestly, a simple "I love you" will probably do you better than most comments about his appearance, at least for now. Unpacking his insecurities can come later, but right now, he just needs to know that you aren't leaving him.

Jason Voorhees:

Okay so here's the thing people forget about Jason: he's the only one of these last three who had an adult in his life who treated him well as a child. Does he still have insecurities? Sure he does! Is he traumatized? Boy howdy is he ever! But he's generally coming from a place of at least being able to fathom being loved in a healthy way.

As such, I think he'd have revealed his face to you the soonest of these six. He doesn't see the mask as a fundamental piece of his identity (at least, no moreso than a uniform), and if you've reached a point where he'll stay with you for extended periods of time, he probably already trusts you a considerable amount. If he had any reason to believe you'd reject him for his appearance, he wouldn't have stayed around to find out.

I honestly think he's the only one of the six who would want you to be the one to take his mask off (with his permission, of course). This is both because he's a dork and wanted to make sure this was A Special Moment, and also simply wanting the reassurance that you can back out if you change your mind.

He's so fucking cute about it, too. Because you are almost definitely shorter than him (speaking as a tall person), he sits down so that you can reach his face more easily. He seems fairly collected at a glance, but you can see him wringing his hands. It's not that he thinks you'll react badly, but...

Pretty much any positive reaction will result in a very happy Jason on your hands. Compliments will earn you a very cute blush, but if you really want to make a mess of him, just kiss him before you say anything and he will damn near pass out on the spot.

Moving forward, as long as you're somewhere hidden away, he will be very happy to oblige you if you ask him to keep his mask off for a bit. Especially if you bribe him with kisses.

Vincent Sinclair:

Okay, we all know Vincent has a really weird relationship with his face. (Thanks, Trudy.) He would definitely want you to see his face at some point, but if you don't show any indication of being interested yourself, I'm not sure he'd ever work up the nerve.

You can and should be a little more pushy with him than you'd be with the others. He isn't as delicate as he seems. (I mean he puts up with Bo ffs) Obviously don't be TOO mean about it, but firm nudges will go a long way.

There would be several times that he planned on taking his mask off but backed out at the last second, which honestly gets kind of infuriating. Eventually, he realizes he won't be able to do it while you're watching him (at least not yet) and decides to instead just take off his mask while alone in his studio and wait for you to come down.

You nearly have a heart attack when you go down and see his mask sitting on a table, Vincent himself standing rigidly and staring at the wall with his back turned to you.

You will have to approach him yourself to get him to turn around, and when he does, his eyes are locked on you in an instant, trying to gauge your reaction.

Strangely, it probably isn't a particularly emotional conversation. Between his stiffness and you having been taken entirely off-guard, nothing flows that naturally. Maybe a few comments from your end and a few laconic signs from him in response, and that's the end of it.

The emotional part comes later that evening, once you've both processed what happened. He apologizes for coming off as sharp, but you can't exactly blame him.

The mask comes off again, with more warning this time, and now there can be a proper back-and-forth.

Please touch his face, especially the scar tissue. It hasn't been touched in so long (even by himself), it has become incredibly sensitive, and he will melt immediately.

Feel free to use this knowledge in other contexts too ;)

#gn reader #house of wax #texas chainsaw massacre #vincent sinclair #bubba sawyer #halloween #friday the 13th #jason voorhees #og michael myers #rz michael myers #the boy #brahms heelshire #slashers x reader #headcanons

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raidenbuddha · 8 months

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Retsu x fem reader Headcanons

a/n- I’ve done a headcanons before and you may or may not have ever see it but heads up I’m using some old material! Just adding to it … I hope you enjoy this!

-The Great Sea King retsu- an amazing kenpo and kung fu martial artist

-Y/n: Just moved to Japan a few years ago from an island in the Caribbean

-Who would’ve thought these two would end up in a beautiful love story?

HOW YOU MET-

Retsu had always come in first place at the annual shinshinkai held cooking competition

Not only did it make him look good, but gave him a sense of pride knowing that he was great at something other than fighting and self control (lmao)

When You see the flyers for the event you just know you have to win

You make Alcapurrias, Plátanos, and rellenos de papas: something this competition had never even seen before

It was safe to say you topped retsu by a landslide

-This man was dumbfounded but still was a great sport and congratulated you. He even asked to try your cooking!

You could instantly see his face light up at the flavor and crunchiness of everything

He asked if you wanted to exchange numbers from that point on

(Was tryna wife you up fast fr fr- you can cook and he thinks your beautiful like come onnn)

Texted you a bit dry, but this man is older like 30 so can’t blame him

He’s also extremely old fashioned, so when he asked you on your first date, he wanted it to be in person

-Retsu seems like the man to take you out to a nice restaurant or a picnic at the park

-Refused to kiss you because he thought it insulted your dignity on the first date

(He defo makes up for it later tho NGL)

-When he asked you to be his girlfriend he took you to a ginormous field of dozens of types of flowers

-He wanted it to be beautiful and special to both of you

RANDOM THINGS BOUT YOU BOTH

-This man loves back rubs like no other

-He enjoys the feeling of your soft hands caressing his skin wayyy more than he wants to admit to anyone ever

-Loves giving you back rubs too however and massages

-Once again this man just can’t get enough of you once your both Dating and comfy with each other

-Gives you soft quick pecks on the cheek or lips but when he’s really feeling it he’ll drive deeper into it

-You: On the topic of your culture vs his such as the food, you practically had to force him to Latin dance with you

-At first you taught him meringue, then salsa , and finally your personal favorite, bachata

-You’d think Sea King Retsu over here would have two left feet but he got some good rhythm and compliments you very well

-On the topic of compliments he loves those especially on little things about him - He’s prideful not vain

SEXUAL TOPICS- MDNI!!

you made the first sexual move on him since he thought he’d come off as too lustful

this man isn’t very experienced since all he’s ever done is just fight, but he knows what he’s doing and how to do it

Loves holding your hands above your head and intertwining your fingers too

As he thrusts into you he’ll kiss you passionately

*Sweet talks saying things like

“Your taking it so well baby”

“I love you so much you know.”

#baki headcanons #baki dou #baki son of ogre #baki hanma #retsu kaioh #kaioh retsu #retsu x reader #retsu baki #baki smut

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oraclekleo · 3 months

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[Tarot Article] Reading Tarot for Yourself

Hello my dear followers and random visitors of this blog!

Let’s discuss the topic of reading tarot and other types of divination cards for oneself today. I have heard multiple times that even experienced readers face difficulties when trying to read cards for themselves and so it’s surely worth it to cast some light on this.

Personal Journey

When I started with tarot I was reading cards only for myself. That was 17 years ago. I wouldn’t dare to read for anybody else, unless I could see there was some relevance in what the cards say to me. Once I felt slightly more confident, I read cards for close family members and friends. About 3-4 years ago I started reading cards for online friends and strangers online. This was my personal journey. As you see, I always read tarot for myself, right from the very start and I do so up to this day.

And yes, sometimes the messages can be a bit confusing but that happens when I read for others, too. I have no real problem reading tarot for myself and I can share some tips on how you can enjoy this part of tarot practice, too, if you are currently struggling.

How to read cards for yourself

Tarot for yourself is the same as doing the reading for your querents. Only your querent is you. In theory, it should be easier because you already know everything about yourself, your signs, your life situation, your relationships, etc., right? So why does it seem more difficult for many readers?

The possible explanation is that you can’t be unbiased about yourself. You always approach a reading with a subconscious wish on how it should look, what’s the answer you want to see in the cards. This might taint your vision, your intuition might get foggy, suddenly the cards make no sense and you are left more bewildered than before, enlightenment and insight didn’t happen for you. How to fix this? How to become unbiased about yourself?

Start with questions where you don’t care what the result is and you are open to any answer!

When doing reading for yourself, try to first do readings where you genuinely don’t care about the result. Ask about things where you are open to any outcome. Meaning - don’t ask about your future spouse because you do have preferences there. 😀 Ask about something neutral or even about things you feel zero interest in. That way, it’s more likely for you to be unbiased and see a clear answer in the cards. You can browse pinterest for tarot spreads inspirations and just try some of them out, preferably the ones where you don’t care what the result is going to be. If you want to try a relationship couple reading, do it with a person you don’t love nor dislike, someone you feel neutral about. Just to be clear here, this is not the final stage, this is only the beginning. You will be able to do readings about things that matter to you in time. 🙂

Many people turn to self reading at times of stress or turmoil going on in their life and that might also cause troubles. When your own mind is a mess, it’s very likely to affect your cards, too. You might experience more confusion from the reading.

Calm your mind and soul down before reading for yourself!

Whatever technique works for you, use it. Meditation, hot bath, listening to music, gardening, yoga, jogging, a walk outside, breath work, exercise, dancing, reading a book, staring at a wall… Try to calm yourself down before the tarot reading so you don’t approach your cards agitated and on the verge of blowing out. With your mind becoming more peaceful, you are more likely to see clear messages in your cards.

It often happens that people are unsatisfied with the answer and keep asking again and again the same question. Stop that. Life ain’t a rose garden, you won’t always get the kind of answer you want.

Learn to accept uncomfortable, negative, even hurtful information without them ruining your day!

Nothing in life is permanent. Hard times pass, life hurricanes blow over. If you see something you don’t like in the cards, don’t waste time asking repeatedly. What tarot shows is something based on the current situation. Stop trying to change the cards and better change something about your life and reality. Some things are inevitable, even the more hurtful ones. When my mom had cancer, my cards never said she’s not going to make it. They kept saying I’m going to become responsible for the entire household and make my own decisions. It was clear what cards meant by it. And I did everything to help mom but at the same time I prepared for the worst case scenario, I overtook every single responsibility mom was still trying to keep for herself. When she truly passed away, it was devastating but it didn’t break me down and it didn’t throw my life into chaos because I already had everything in my hands. I didn’t want to see those messages in the cards but I had to accept them so I could cope and adapt. This is an extreme example but it will work with less dramatic unfavourable life situations, too.

Even if you follow the above suggestions, you might still feel confused sometimes about your cards.

Don’t be afraid to ask!

Brainstorm with other tarot readers about the cards and possible meanings. Sometimes other people notice tiny details about the cards you overlooked. Other people have different perspectives on the meanings than you do and can come up with a possible explanation you would never think of. My friend, who also has a tarot blog @starwell-tarot would confirm that I sometimes send her my cards so I can discuss what they could possibly mean. And her different point of view and insight truly help a great deal. So don’t be afraid to discuss and ask and learn.

Never stop trying and practising!

Nobody is born an expert. With continued practice, knowledge and skill improvement come to you. Just keep trying. Don’t give up. Read for yourself. Do daily pulls for yourself. Try the variety of spreads available. Be creative and come up with your own types of readings. Participate in tarot challenges! (Very subtle self-promotion, right? 😂) Start a tarot journal. Do patchwork readings (just randomly laying down cards without a question on your mind and see what the cards tell you, you can combine with other divination tools like runes, oracle cards, Lenormand, etc., creating a patchwork collage). Simply do whatever brings joy to your tarot practice.

The basic rules for reading cards for yourself:

Try to be unbiased

Calm your mind

Accept and adapt to unwanted messages

Brainstorm with others

Keep trying and practising!

Thank you for reading this far!

I'm always grateful for any feedback.

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sixty-silver-wishes · 8 months

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The Repugnant Retrospective: Reading A Series of Unfortunate Events, over ten years later

(Note: For the sake of clarity, "Daniel Handler" will here be used to refer to the author of the books, while "Lemony Snicket" will be used to refer to the narrator character.)

I must have been in fourth or fifth grade the first time I picked up The Bad Beginning, the first book in A Series of Unfortunate Events, which contains thirteen books in all. In those days, I was a big fan of Guardians of Ga'Hoole and Percy Jackson, and read voraciously- to the delight of some of my teachers, and to the chagrin of others, who would prefer I not be reading a book for my own amusement during a lesson on mathematics. All thirteen books were in the school library, which I still look back on with fondness. It was a cozy little place- as libraries often are- that left me with plenty of memories, from going with my friends to the annual Scholastic book fair, to the unshakeable guilt of having to purchase a book on prehistoric animals because I'd checked it out and lost it, only to find it at home after the fact. I think I began reading A Series of Unfortunate Events after I finished the Ga'Hoole series, and although it was nothing like anything I had read before, I was hooked.

The phrase on paper here refers to an explanation of the basic concept of something, as opposed to experiencing it in practice. To witness an idea on paper does not necessarily mean it must be written on paper, as it could be written on the internet, or tapped out in Morse code, or spray-painted on the back of an unsuspecting associate while he waits in an abandoned bounce house for a secret message via carrier pigeon. However, it is true that reading an idea on paper may produce a very different effect than reading it in practice, whether or not paper is involved at all.

On paper, A Series of Unfortunate Events is about three children experiencing miserable things, over and over again, and ultimately culminates in an ending that is left ambiguous- a word which here means that the fates of the main characters are left unclear. When I first read them, I was used to stories involving magic, and enormous battles, and falling in love, mostly clear lines between good and evil, and an ending where there are no more secrets, because everything gets resolved. None of these things are bad to have in a story, of course, but a story does not need to have all- or any- of them to be good. Such is the case with A Series of Unfortunate Events. On paper, the series may not have appealed to me, due to the things I was used to reading at that age. But in practice, I couldn't put them down. I can remember feeling a sense of pride at figuring out the mysteries and understanding the literary references I could glean at my tender age. I can remember laughing uproariously at some parts (especially the Volunteers Fighting Disease song and the antics of Carmelita Spats), as well as feeling a dreadful pit grow in my stomach at others- which, of course, is a feeling that is typically better avoided than not. A pit in your stomach, after all, may mean you have uncovered a devastating secret, or had your heart broken, or have a nasty parasite gnawing at the lining of your digestive organs, and will need to see a doctor to extract it and seal the pit back up. Or, as was my case, it may mean an honest exploration of a truth about the world that you, at your young age, had some idea about, but had been sheltered from, and were finally seeing it laid out in a way that was simple and profound and shattering and enlightening all at once.

All that being said, I couldn't stop reading them, despite the warnings not to read them on the back of every book. The only one I didn't finish was The End, because I had to return it to the library before I could reach the end of The End, although this was not the end of my experiences with A Series of Unfortunate Events, and just a few days ago, I had reached the beginning of The End once again, and finally read The End from beginning to end. As the years went by, I completely forgot some parts of A Series of Unfortunate Events, and others refused to leave my mind. But while I would not experience another word of an Unfortunate Events book for over ten years, A Series of Unfortunate Events was constantly following me in some way or another, like three mysterious initials, or an unblinking pair of eyes in the night, or a particularly pesky neighbor I have had to move across the sea three times to get away from, but still keeps sending me telegrams in code. I was not done with the series, nor was it done with me.

When I was in middle school, through a completely different set of events altogether that would take another long post to chronicle, I decided I wanted to be a writer. I took to keeping notebooks where I wrote down my own stories, and even managed to finish a few. By the time I reached college, I was equipped with a love of history and classic literature, and majored in Creative Writing. I continued to read, and took a course on Arthurian literature- taught by a brilliant scholar whose work, I would find out a few years later, is cited on the Unfortunate Events Wikipedia page. (I also took a miserable course on English grammar that would have made even Aunt Josephine weep, and is better not elaborated on.) But also while in college, I began intensively researching a certain historical figure whose name you may already know. Like the fictional Snicket, I was researching someone whose life was full of mysteries, many of which have still gone unsolved. This person, like all people, made a number of morally ambiguous decisions, although whether or not some of these decisions were made for good reason is up for debate. One could even say that his life could also be summarized as "a series of unfortunate events," despite how prodigious, erudite, and altruistic he was- words which here mean the Soviet composer and pianist Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich- whose work, I would later learn, Daniel Handler listened to while writing A Series of Unfortunate Events. I became acquainted with, among other authors, the works of Nikolai Gogol, Franz Kafka, Kurt Vonnegut, and J.D. Salinger- whose writing styles echo in both Handler's work and my own. And of course, while I did not pick up on the reference in the books and forgot about it entirely, last year, I had been introduced to a little German flick called The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, which of course, had absolutely no impact on me whatsoever. (If you know anything about me, you will immediately be aware that this is a blatant lie, and that nothing I say should ever be trusted.) I began working at a store that sells Puttanesca sauce and a great variety of horseradish condiments. And all the while, I, like everyone else in the world, was experiencing my own series of unfortunate events, both personal and political.

All that is to say, if I enjoyed A Series of Unfortunate Events as a young child, you can imagine what I thought of it as an adult- older, wiser, and more well-versed in things like classic literature and world politics. Most nights, I listened to the books on audio while drawing- because just as Violet needs to tie her hair up in a ribbon and Klaus needs to polish his glasses to focus on their areas of expertise, I must have something long and often thought-provoking to listen to. As I said, there was a lot I didn't remember about the books- and it wasn't just plot details and characters.

For instance, while I can’t say I remembered it the first time, when I read the first book, it really left an impression on me when Count Olaf slapped Klaus across the face, and how much the book dwelt on it. From a narrative perspective, that slap was a threshold being crossed- a sign that the Baudelaires were no longer in a safe and predictable environment, and were living with someone actively hostile towards them. But from an emotional perspective, it really struck a chord to see Klaus continue to think about it throughout the first book, processing his first encounter with abuse. There was a bittersweetness to watching the orphans grow up and learn self-reliance, and the cynicism and misfortune of the books was well-balanced with witty humor, satirical commentary, and a constant sense of hope- something, of course, that I also appreciate about Shostakovich's works.

A Series of Unfortunate Events has a great deal to say about evil, and the nature of oppression. As a kid, I don't think I realized just how awful Count Olaf was. Of course, I knew he was a terrible villain trying to make these kids miserable in any way he could, but as an adult, I could see that Count Olaf was more than that. He harassed Violet in a borderline sexual manner, just to make her and her siblings feel weak. He delighted in burning books and murdering brilliant people, so there would be less knowledge and nobility in the world. And perhaps most impactfully, we see his rise and fall over the course of the series, as for all his treachery and the pain he brings the orphans, he ultimately finds himself powerless due to his own actions, as well as the inevitable dissolution of his own troupe.

Seeing Olaf's theatre troupe gradually leave him one by one, along with the various schisms that shape the series, brought a distinctly political understanding to A Series of Unfortunate Events that I did not have as a child. It brought to mind real-life tools of oppression and ignorance, and how they are doomed to fail because of their tendencies to devour themselves in their desire to harm and ostracize others. There's an interesting situation with the carnival "freaks," who demonstrate how the oppressed can become oppressors themselves through a desire for power over their situations- and how quickly oppression turns on itself, as Olaf's troupe finds themselves being called "freaks" as they seek to exploit the carnival freaks for their own gain. The audience just wants violence, and it doesn't matter who it's against, as long as they have someone to ridicule. We also see how inaction is just as harmful as active oppression- Mr. Poe is just as responsible for putting the Baudelaires in bad situations as Olaf, and even well-meaning adults like Aunt Josephine, Hector, and Jerome Squalor endanger the orphans because they're too scared or too content in their ignorance to protect them. The colony of islanders put themselves and the entire world at risk because they refuse the apples that would have easily cured them of the fungus they were infected with, too content to follow their leader instead of "rocking the boat." With all the ignorance and malice surrounding them, the orphans instead must learn self-reliance, even with the few allies they do have.

A Series of Unfortunate Events is especially mature when it handles the topic of morality. Characters are often shown to be morally gray, even those who are initially introduced as "good" or "evil." I found Fiona to be an especially fascinating character, as she exemplifies this moral struggle, although I feel the way she's described in the narration unfairly contradicts her character. On one hand, it acknowledges that she makes similar decisions to the Baudelaires as a foil to them- both have had to make morally dubious decisions on account of their siblings- but the narration will repeatedly refer to her as "treacherous" or blame her for "breaking Klaus' heart," although we find out she regretted her actions and, if anything, betrayed Count Olaf more than she did the Baudelaires. But regarding gray areas, Count Olaf, by the end, performs an act of nobility out of love, and the Baudelaires are constantly shown coming to terms with their own moral struggles as they fight to survive and find justice- although as the series progresses, "justice" becomes more and more of an absurd concept as corruption is found everywhere- although justice still persists, and as long as there is evil in the world, there will always be people "noble enough" to fight it. It was especially gratifying to see Justice Strauss and Jerome Squalor come back in book 12 to apologize for their inaction, and to help the Baudelaires against Count Olaf, in a moment that, however brief, challenged the previously-established cynicism of the series and demonstrated that people don't have to stay complacent, and that it's never too late to take action against ignorance.

Handler masterfully presents the plethora of philosophical and harrowing concepts that the series deals with to his young audience through his storytelling, which- like Salinger- sometimes distances itself tangentially to allow the audience to process the heavier moments, relating the Baudelaires' experiences to things the readers may have experienced or read in order to help them understand them. It's an incredibly adult way of delivering a children's story, particularly one that's more mature than most. As I first read the books as a child, and then read them as an adult, I can appreciate this maturity more, although being older than the characters allows me to look at the books from a different perspective. Violet and Klaus, from the beginning to the end of the series, are respectively 14-16 and 12-14, and while as a kid, I admired them and thought they were so brilliant and mature, as an adult, there's a sort of horror in realizing just how young they are. Sunny goes from being an infant to a toddler, but her extreme intelligence and emotional maturity for her age still makes her character more fantastical and less grounded than her siblings at times.

I found the series to hold up remarkably well for the most part, except for in a few areas. The most glaring issue, although I won't dwell too much on it, is the transphobia regarding the "henchperson of indeterminate gender." While, to my understanding, this is remedied in the Netflix series (which I have not seen), it was still uncomfortable to see this character frequently dehumanized by both the story and the other characters, even if they played a relatively minor role. At times, it felt contradictory to the story's themes, as the narrative would explicitly discourage discrimination against people who are "different" (book six even defines the word "xenophobia"), but also portrays an androgynous character as inhuman. It's entirely possible that Handler was not aware of trans issues at the time he wrote the books, but this element nonetheless prevents them from aging as well as they could have.

The other issue I had with the series is that sometimes, plot elements almost seem forced within the narrative. While the orphans, of course, face plenty of misfortune, the solutions to many of their problems are often practically handed to them by the narrative. For example, when Klaus and Sunny need to figure out an anagram, they just so happen to be hiding in a closet full of alphabet soup, which they conveniently use to solve it. The wasabi that Sunny finds in the Gorgonian Grotto just so happens to be the cure to the medusoid mycelium, and it works instantly. Klaus, in an especially infuriating moment, cracks a code with an elaborately-worded phrase summarizing the central theme of Anna Karenina, and the specific words that he uses just so happen to be correct, despite the fact that there are countless ways the same idea could potentially be phrased. While the orphans all have their own specific interests- Klaus likes to read, Violet likes to invent, and Sunny likes to bite things, and later cook- they can seem underdeveloped at times because they're so heavily characterized by these interests, which they very frequently rely on. There's a moment in book four where Violet has to research hypnosis in order to save Klaus, and I really liked the idea of them having to take on each other's interests to help each other. However, for the most part, the Baudelaires tend to stick to their specific strengths, which usually allow them to solve any problem, so they don't often need to branch out.

Overall, despite its few faults, I enjoyed A Series of Unfortunate Events, probably even more now than I did when I was a kid. Each book was beautifully written, and I loved the slow reveal of plot elements, as well as the gradual descent into its philosophical themes. Being more well-read and experienced at my age than I was at nine or ten, I was able to appreciate the books far more. The humor, storytelling, and themes still largely hold up, and it was fascinating to return to a piece of media that left such a strong impression on me at a young age, and would continue to leave an impression on me the older I got. I would definitely encourage anyone to read them, especially if, like me, you also read them as a child. Perhaps you may not want to read such a long tale of misery and woe being inflicted time and again on three (mostly) innocent children, and as Ishmael would say, I won't force you to. These books, while written for a young audience, can be very emotionally heavy, and may not be for everyone. But there's a lot of truth to them, and like the most miserable late quartets of Dmitri Shostakovich, I found them a great comfort because of just how real they are thematically. Perhaps later on in life, I'll encounter even more experiences that will make me appreciate the series even more than I do now, just as I did growing up long after I first read them. Maybe then, I'll have to read them again, and as I'll watch the Baudelaires grow for the third time, reflect on how much I've grown as well. But for the time being, I'll conclude this retrospective, which has already dragged on for long enough, as I've finally reached the end- at least for now.

#a series of unfortunate events #asoue #long post #analysis #literature #book analysis #retrospective

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