#my sister asked my mom to pay for half of the 2 person plan for her

[florida3exclamationpoints]

...

#i didn't get spotify til i was 17 in college with a job #bc the student plan was cheaper and i finally had money #i had asked my mom for it like once or twice over a few years #but also i felt bad asking for a monthly subscription #so i waited til i could get it myself #well then i lost my student plan but i kept payong for it anyway #and then there was a few months sale for a 2 account plan #and even now that the sale has ended its still cheaper for me to pay for half of the 2 person plan than the whole personal one #so my sister (it was indeed her idea. bc she was getting along perfectly fine being logged into my acc on her phone. #which was a better deal than me using pandora or free spotify or youtube music til i was 17 but) #my sister asked my mom to pay for half of the 2 person plan for her #so now every month. i get a bill from spotify. and i request half of it from my mom #she just asked me if you can pay for the whole year at once #and i said idk man but i dont wanna do that bc i dont have a job rn!!!! im not trying to drop 50 bucks #and she said . she might be willing to pay for all of it . just bc she doesn't like the extra 8 dollars monthly #which. whatever. that would be nice ig #but the way..... i barely wanted to ask and was told no ... and waited til i could pay for it myself... and dealt with the inconvenience #....... for years . and never complained #but now that My Sister. The Youngest. wants a precious spotify account. #my mom will pay for a year for 2 accounts. . for Her #:) alright

[sometimes-i-write-4-you]

Part of the convocation (part 1) - Miguel Diaz x reader

Summary: reader is Johnny's long-not-so-lost-step-niece, and she need a new roof over her head, so she finds herself back in a Dojo with him as her sensai once again. She has to train with the champion in order to be one, but she finds herself charmed by her step-uncle's favorite student, who is already hooked on someone else.

Deep breaths. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. I clench my hand into a fist and raise it, placing it in front of me, fully ready to knock on door number 2 that's right in front of me.

After all this time, I don't know if John would even know who I am. If he'll recognize.

"Hey, you must be John Lawrence. I am (y/n) (l/n) but my mom's maiden name is Lawrence, Maya Lawrence" I repeat the lines I planned in my head once again, "that name might sound familiar, because she is your step-sister, from sid's old marriage. You may know, he is no longer with us, and neither is she" the voice in my head keeps going. "Okay, you got this" i mumble to myself and knock on the door.

"Hey, you must be-" I start, but the person in front of me looks way too young to be my mom's step brother. He has dark features too, and from what I remember John is a white, blond-haired, blue-eyed guy. His dark hair fall on his face messily, and his brown eyes had a kind look to them. "-not the person I was looking for, I'm sorry" I say, giving him half an awkward smile. "Uh, who are you looking for?" He asks, returning a half smile. "Diaz, who's at the door?" A voice calls from behind. "I dunno, this girl who's looking for someone" the dark haired boy who I assume is Diaz answers. "Is she a babe?" The voice calls, and Diaz lets out an unsurprised sigh. "She looks about my age, Sensei, so maybe you'd wanna take that back" Diaz calls to the mysterious older-sounding guy in the apartment. I assumed it's his dad, but after that last sentence I am not as sure. "Oh" the man says as he finally steps in my field if vision. 

The man I see in front of me is a tall, white, blond-haired, blue-eyed guy. He looks at me, confused. I guess I am staring, after all, the last time I saw this man was at my Bat mitzvah - my dad is, or I guess was, Jewish. He steps closer, squinting his eyes at me as he switches places with Diaz. "Hey, you must be John Lawrence, I am (y/n) (l/n) but my mom's maiden name is Lawrence, Maya Lawrence-" I start, but he cuts me off with a hug. It took me by surprise, honestly. "Lil (y/n)! I can't belive it, it has been forever" he says, and I hug him back. "Uh, sensei, who is this?" Diaz asks from inside the apartment. 

"This is my step niece, (y/n)" John explains, "(y/n), this is Miguel, he's my student, and my girlfriend's son".

"Hi" I say, waving at Miguel, he waves back. "So, what brings you here? Are your parents here too? I think I owe them an apology for your Bar matzvah-" "it's Bat mitzvah, I'm a girl, and-" I correct him, but he keeps going. "- I was in a bad place back then, and-" he says as he's looking around for the car I got here in, but no success. "Where, uh, where is the car? Your parents?" He asks. "They are, uh, over there" I say, pointing at the sky. He looks up, "on the balcony? There is no one on the-" John says in confusion. "Sensai, I uh, I'm sorry" Miguel looks at me with a sad smile, "I think she means that uh, they are in the sky". "What, Like, On an airplane? How did she get here before-" john says, and Miguel stares at him until the puzzle clicks in my step uncle's brain. "Oh, oh! They are  dead!" John says, a bit excited to realise, but then the realization really hits. "Oh, they are dead" he repeats. "I'm so sorry, kid. Are you staying with sid now? Did he send you here to get that glass statue I stole? Cause I don't have it, I pawned it to pay for this guy's surgery" John says, pointing at Miguel. "What?" Miguel and I mumble, confused. "Um, actually John, I was staying with sid, but he died and you are the only relative I have. Social services tried to contact you, but there was no answer, almost like you don't have a phone" I explain to him.

"I don't have a phone, I threw it on the beach!" John says, pride in his voice. "O..kay…" I reply, "anyways, John, I was wondering If I can stay with you" I finally get to what I was trying to say for the past few minutes. "Sure, yeah, sure thing kid" he says, "come on in, I was just cooking for me and Diaz". I walk behind him into the apartment. It's messy, and smells like beer and whiskey. Of course it is, what else should I expect from good ol' step-uncle Johnny.

As they cook, we chat a little, and John tells me all about the Karate-gang thing, and how his Dojo is bound to win. "Actually, this is perfect timing for you to arrive, we need a girl to kick some asses for Eagle Fang" John says. "You want me to joking your Karate gang?" I laughe, but he look as serious as can be. "Well, of course, I mean you already got moves, I remember you kicking that kid right in the balls at your Bat matzvah" he says, mispronouncing the biggest, most important even of your life once again. "I kicked him is because he kept asking where bat-man is and claimed it was false advertisement" I laughed thinking back at that night. It was all going so well, until John had one, two, ten drinks too many. "And I landed that kick because you trained me. I was your first student, I think" I say, and they both look at me, expecting me to accept the offer to join Eagle claw- no, not claw, fang. "But I bet you I don't even remember any Karate moves" I say quickly. "No, no, karate is like riding a bike" Miguel says. "After my injury, I thought I'm never gonna get back to it, I thought it was doomed. I thought I will never kick ass again, but with the help of sensai here, it all came back in an instant, my instincts were as sharp as ever and my kicks as precise as they were" he opened up as if we didn't meet nearly 15 minutes ago. It looks like these two had a connection, like my step-uncle is actually there for him. Good to know I wasn't mistaken to come here. "Fine" I say, "I'll join your convocation". "You are already having a conversation with us" John says. "Uh, john, convocation is a cloak of birds" I explain. "I knew that" he mutters, making the plates for all 3 of us. "Thank you, (y/n). I'm sure you're just what out team needs" Miguel smiles at me, and I can't help but think it is a cute smile.

The next day, I wake up to the sound of a horn held by John. "What the hell, step-uncle?" I call out to him. "You are my new female champion, you need to be trained as such" he explains. I look at him and then check the time on my phone. "It's 7am" I whine at him. "Yeah, and Miguel is already on his second lap around the building complex. Time to start some warm ups, kid" John replies to me, honking his horn once again. "Alright, alright" I mutter and get up from the couch. "This couch is not even comfortable, I'm glad to get out if it" I sigh and make my way to the kitchen to make myself coffee. "Do you have plant-based milk?" I ask him, "I am kinda lactose intolerance-" I start. "Quite!" He cuts me off. "The only thing we have intolerance  this Dojo is Losers! Lactose intolerance is for pussys!" John is half-yelling half-talking. "Um, actually, it's a medical condition. Trust me, you don't want me to consume milk products, this apartment stinks enough on its own" I say as I decide to drink some water instead of getting diarrhea. "Okay, I'll stop by the supermarket later and get you some fake milk" he says, slightly defeated, "but for now, give me 50 push ups!" He calls. "Geez, okay, step-uncle" I sigh, and get on the floor. "It's sensai for you now" he says, smiling cockingly. He seems proud to be training me. Again.

Weeks pass, and once again I wake up with a honk, this time it's 5:30am. I make my coffee and drink it as I get ready. I do my makeup lightly and put on my favorite athletic set. I open the door to see Miguel already warming up. "Hey there, (y/n)" he smiles at me as he's stretching his arms around. "Mind if I join?" I ask him, even tho this us a stupid question since that's the whole point. We've been training together almost every day, keeping each other in shape by doing some cardio every morning and practicing together at the Dojo (which I firmly believe is an abandoned storage unit my step-uncle took over without permission), even after class. In between practicing together and hanging out at school, I started developing some feelings towards him, tho I decided to put it aside. He has Sam, and I'm not a homewrecker. It's purely sport and friendship between the two of us, not the easiest thing to do but it is what I gotta do for Cobra Kai to get buried in the pages of history. Those crazy assholes are making my life, and all of my friends live absolutely miserable. We don't give them an easy time as well, but this stupid rivalry is really making my high-school life way more dramatic than I planned. Oh well, I guess I knew what I signed up for.

Saturday comes around and Miguel and I meet outside our apartments for another training session. We had those so often, i was almost scared from life after the tournament - these training sessions became part of my routine, what would I do without it? It was Miguel's turn to make the plan, and so I listened as he explained his 'incredible idea' to me.

"You gotta be kidding me" I say to Miguel. "No, I am not" he laughed, "I learned some Miagi-do, and I belive you could use it too". "Okay, then show me some moves, don't make me do chores" I replied, however I wasn't really going to argue. If it gets me some time to hang out with Diaz, I can wax on, wax off all day long. Paint a house. Whatever. Sure, it was all in a platonic spirit, but it is still getting to know him. "Come on, (y/n), we don't have all day!" Miguel calls out, and I laugh. "Yes sensai!" I call back and now before getting to work. I notice him blushing in the corner of my eye, but I ignore it. 

The hours pass and Miguel's mom car was never shinier. He tried asking Mr. Larooso for the Miagi-do studio to get me to do some chores over there, but the Dojo was full with everyone practicing for the all valley tournament so we had to improvise. John was not happy about me leaning some Miagi-do at first, but now that it meant his car was clean he suddenly approved. "Okay, Sensai Diaz, what now?" I ask as I stretch my arms. They were a little soar from all the cleaning but I could still keep going.

"Now, we see if you got it" Miguel smiles, "okay, get into position, now show me 'wax on, wax off' " he says, getting his stance right before throwing a punch at me. I move my hand in the air as if I was waxing a car, creating the perfect block to Miguel's attack. He throws another punch, and I do the same movement with my other hand, blocking him again. We go on like that for a few seconds. "That… that was actually kinda awesome" I laugh, "Thanks, Migu-" I say, and he gives me a dead Sirius look, raising an eyebrow, "sensai Diaz" I correct myself. It started out as a joke, but the entire day he only responded to me if I called him sensai. I guess he enjoyed it, since he kept getting a red tinted across his face everytime the word left my mouth. 

The next morning comes around, and Miguel and I share a ride to school with John, who was happy to see us get along. It was important to him that his "two champs", as he called us, would have good chemistry since we were the ones leading the Dojo and being an example for the other kids. We entered the school side by side, bags hanging off of one shoulder, and I imagine this would be a shlomo scene of us walking across the halls, epic 80's music in the background with a record scratch effect as Demitri and Hawk approach us. "Guys, why are you walking like that?" Demitri asked, confused, "this is not some stupid Netflix show about teens, put your bag on your back correctly, it can cause back damage to have the strap on one shoulder only". "Are you serious, Demitri? God you're such a nerd" I say, but fix my bag anyway. The last thing I need is to have a messed-up back. "Having bad posture is for losers" I could hear my step-uncle in my head, and I think Miguel had the same voice in his head cause I wasn't the only one who had both straps on now. 

"Hey guys" Devon joined us, smiling at me and sneaking a wink. I took her under my wing - she was great, pure Eagle-Fang material if I ever saw one. Lots of anger to channel in her fists, and a righteous spirit. We became friends instantly, and she was the only one who knew about my crush on Miguel. I guess that was why she winked at me. "Hey Dev" I smiled at her, "what's up?".

"Nothing much" she replies, "how about you guys, did anything fun this weekend?". I nodded, "yeah, Sensai Diaz here-" I said, motioning towards Miguel and winking at him, "-taught me some Miagi-do, we waxed his mom's car and Sansai's as well" I told the group. "Sensai Diaz?" Hawk laughed. Demitri and Devon were definitely holding back a smirk. "Are you guys gonna start calling me Sensai now?" Miguel giggled nervously. "Only if it woul'nt bother you, sensai Diaz" Demitri replied, finally giving up and realizing his laugh into the world. "Whatever, you'll forget it in a week" Miguel said, not even trying to argue. "You sure, Sensai?" Devon asked, and Miguel's confidant Faust seemed to be shaken. "Common guys, give him a break" I say, resting my hand on his shoulder, "it is disrespectful to make fun of your sensai" I add, and the group is laughing once again, this time I join them. We chat some more until I hear the bell. "Hey, common, we'll be late to class, sensai Diaz" I say once I calm down, and push him away from the group. We had very few minutes to get to room H5.

"Sensai Diaz?" Sam asked, joining the conversation. I didn't even notice her approaching us. "Yeah, it's because I taught her some Karate, it's a joke" Miguel said, his tone slightly guilty. Sam looked at me and then at him, back and forth, "oh, okay" she finally speaks, but I have a feeling that it is not okay.

After history class, which I shared with Miguel and Sam I had science with Demitri and Hawk. I started walking towards room G3, but someone is grabbing my bag and pulling me back. I take the bag off and pull it down, slamming the person who tried getting me on the ground. I fix my stance and raise my leg to throw a kick at them, but when I look down it's Sam. "Oh, God, Sam, I am so sorry" I laugh awkwardly, offering her my hand, "I thought you might be Torry, or Kyler or any of these other Cobra Kai assholes" I explain, even though from the look on her face she understood her mistake. Her nose was bleeding, but overall she looked fine. "No, I get that, I..  I am sorry I made you feel attacked" she replies as I pull her back on her feet. "So, what's up?" I ask her, and she looks at me with a strange emotion in her eye I can't quite figure out. "I, uh, I was just wondering. You do know Miguel is my boyfriend, right? There's nothing… nothing going on between the two if you?" She asks. I shake my head, "no, hell no, I'm just… part of the convocation" I say, hiding the sadness I feel about that, "and Besides his mom is dating my step-uncle, so that would kinda make us related, so it's super weird" I say, rumbling the first excuses I can think of. "Yeah, right, okay" sam smiles at me, "thanks for the talk, I need to take a right here, so, bye, (y/n), and once again, so sorry for scaring you" she says and walks away. I take the left turn and enter the class, taking my seat next to Hawk. "Guys, the weirdest thing just happen" I say, getting Hawks and Demetri's attention to tell them about the conversation I had with Sam.

"It's not that weird" Hawk says. "I mean, the way she just grabbed you is weird, i'll admit, but other than that, makes sense" Demetri agrees with Hawk. "Why? I mean, it is clear as day they are dating, why would she suspect I don't know that? Like, obviously I won't make a move on a taken guy" I sigh, desperately trying to convince them there was something off about the situation. "Look, you are a good looking girl, and you spend more time with Miguel than most of us, maybe she is a little jealous, she already lost Miguel once" Demetri explains. "Yeah, you're the girl best friends he swears she doesn't need to worry about" Yasmin joins in. I didn't even knew she was listening, tho I am not suprised. "I guess you're right" I sigh.

Class is finally over, and we all walk to the Cafeteria. "Turning on your own, (y/n)?" I hear Tory's voice. I turn to her. "What?" I ask her, and she laughs. "Don't act so innocent, it's fine, I am on your side. She deserved it, probably" Tory keeps talking, but I still don't know what the hell does she want. "I don't…" I start, but than it hits me as if someone slammed me on the ground accidentally. She is talking about my encounter with Sam earlier today. "Look, Tory, it was an accident. I only attacked cause I thought it might be you" I explain to her, even tho I don't owe her anything. "Really? Cause it's not what I just heard her tell Miguel" Tory says, and turned her back to me, walking away. "What? What the hell. Tory, hey, come back-" i call, but she ignores me. I can almost hear her little laugh, enjoining as things around her crumble. I hate that bitch, but she is not my biggest worry right now.

#cobra kai x reader #cobra kai #miguel diaz x reader #miguel diaz #miguel diaz cobra kai #cobra kai fanfic #cobra kai imagine

[lyranova]

Hey my dear🤭

I just wants too ask ida and Discordia interaction wo Discordia commen Ida’s coffe Konsum

have a good day 🤭

Hiya Marune! Of course you can, I hope I portrayed Ida well, I had so much fun imagining her and Discordia just sitting and talking (And Dia trying to convince her not to drink so much coffee 😆) and I hope you enjoy~!

Word Count: 714

Warnings: None

-----

Discordia smiled softly as she sat at a table in the garden of House Faust, it was just a normal summer afternoon. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining brightly, and a gentle breeze swept through the Faust garden.

“ Hey Dia, what are you doing?” Ida Faust, Nacht and Morgen’s sister and Discordia’s cousin, asked curiously as she looked over the older woman’s shoulder.

“ I am drinking some tea while…contemplating life,” Discordia said mysteriously as she took a sip of her tea. She watched the young girl walk around and sit down in the chair opposite her, and she raised a brow. “ What are you drinking?”

“ Coffee,” Ida responded simply before taking a sip of her drink, and Dia’s brow raised a little more at her words. Coffee was Ida’s drink of choice most days, while Discordia’s was tea. The two had laughed about being opposites when it came to their drinks, while their personalities were actually pretty similar.

“ How many cups have you had?” Discordia asked with a slightly raised brow, and Ida shrugged.

“ I think this is my 5th?” Ida said as she suddenly tilted her head, and Discordia blinked in surprise.

“ Your 5th? Ida,” Discordia started with a sigh and the younger girl groaned. “ You know you’re only supposed to have one cup.” She continued in a scolding tone.

“ What’re you, my mom?” Ida asked as she crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. Discordia shook her head as she crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.

“ No, I’m not your mom, but I am someone who loves, cares, and worries about you.” Discordia pointed out as she watched Ida pout and look away. “ So could you please not drink so much coffee?”

“ But if I only drink one cup of coffee, then I still feel tired,” Ida said with a dramatic sigh. “ How about…I drop it down to four cups of coffee a day?”

Discordia’s brow raised once again, and Ida groaned and threw her head back.

“ Please, Dia? I’m trying my best to compromise here!” Ida said as she leaned forward and rested her arms on the table.

Discorida made a humming noise, she knew she couldn’t ask Ida to quit coffee completely, or just drop automatically from five cups to one. So they did need to find a compromise, just like Ida said.

“ How about two cups of coffee and one cup of tea?” Discordia suggested, and she watched Ida's face immediately contort into a look of disgust.

“ Dia, you know I don’t like tea!” Ida said as she shook her head, and Discordia chuckled before she leaned forward as well.

“ Alright, alright, how about you drink…2 and a half cups of coffee, and if you still feel tired then you can drink the other half? Does that sound fair?”

“ Not really,” Ida said bluntly, before she gave the older woman a small smirk. “ But I guess I can try and drink only two and a half cups. But it’s only because you asked!”

Discordia smiled before she reached out and gently patted the girl on the head. Ida stuck her bottom lip out in a pout, but didn’t try to stop her.

“ Hey Ida,” Discordia began softly as she continued to pay her head. “ Promise me something,”

“ What?”

“ Don’t ever change. 5, 10, even 20 years from now, I hope you always stay the same sassy and bright Ida that I’ve always known.” Ida suddenly snorted before she turned to look at her.

“ I don’t plan on changing anytime soon, but why are you making me promise? Are you going somewhere?” Ida asked, her tone serious but with a hint of sadness in it. Discordia quickly shook her head.

“ No, I’m not going anywhere, at least not anytime soon. So don’t worry,” Discordia assured the girl, and she watched Ida smile a bit.

“ Good, because Faust Manor would be very boring without you here,” Ida said softly. “ I don’t know what any of us would do if we didn’t get to hear you and Nacht’s bickering every day,” Ida added with a chuckle, and Discordia laughed as well.

The two laughed and talked more over their tea and coffee as the afternoon turned to evening and the two would have to part.

-----

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

#asks #marune🖋️ #my lovely mutuals #black clover #black clover oc #black clover fanfiction #black clover oc fanfiction #oc; discordia #oc; ida #ida is not my oc

[raspberryconverse]

I think my sister might be mad at me.

Yesterday was her birthday and I texted her to wish her a happy birthday and didn't get a response. Yeah, she might have been busy, but there also might be more to it than that.

Last year she got a new car (mainly because her boyfriend's ancient dog either barfed or shit in her car and they couldn't get the smell out, though she was already planning on replacing it the next year) and posted all about it on Facebook. Which is fine. I posted about my new car when I got it too.

But then a week or two later, I talked to our dad and he asked me if she told me he cosigned on a car for her.

Obvs, she didn't mention that on Facebook (because it's definitely not anyone's business), but yeah, I had no idea. And I knew this was going to be a bad idea.

So when I was in high school and lived with our dad, our mom's car died and she needed to get a new one. She called my dad from the dealership and asked him to cosign for her. Her ex husband. What I didn't realize what that her credit was so bad, she couldn't even get a loan with a cosigner. My dad had to take the loan out in his name. He never told me this was the case (and my mom never admit it) until years later.

My mom, being my mom, only made a few payments on the car before she stopped. And since the loan was in my dad's name, he had to pay it or it'd fuck up his credit.

I had really hoped my sister wouldn't do that to my dad, but we found out at Christmas that she did. My dad had gotten us a $300 gift card to Menard's and Spouse and I said, "Dad, that's too much!" to which he responded, "Well, I've been helping [sister] with her car payments, so..."

Spouse and I were really pissed. Spouse never met my mom, but has heard the fucked up stories from my childhood (they had similar experiences with their mom, but not on the level that I did), so they were equally concerned. Plus they're friends with my sister on Facebook, so they see all the "Look what I got" and annual Disney trip posts from her (yes, they go to Disney almost every year and usually do another vacation with just the 2 of them as well).

My sister's excuses were that her dog needed a dental and had half his teeth removed and that the ancient dog died.

Now, the dental thing I kinda understand because Lola needs one and I had been putting it off because of the cost (I think they quoted me $2500), but Spouse and I decided to take out a Care Credit card to pay for it. We wondered why my sister didn't do the same, though she might not have had good enough credit to do it.

The ancient dog thing was a bunch of bullshit. See, her boyfriend (who she's been with close to 10 years at this point) and his ex wife share custody of their son and the ancient dog. Ex wife is remarried to some sort of finance guy who works at a national bank and has since had 3 more kids with him. They're not hurting for money. But the dog was not actually my sister's and therefore not her responsibility. The cost of his end of life expenses was not on her at all. Half of it was on her boyfriend. Sure, they share living expenses (and he's a teacher, so I get that he doesn't have a huge salary), but I don't think she really had to personally contribute to the dog's expenses. She did buy a bunch of memorial shit for the dog, though (pillows, blankets, ornaments, etc).

Spouse and I really wanted to rip her a new one about this, but I talked to my therapist about it and she said to talk to my dad first. And I do think he agreed that he needs to be more firm with her, even though he's a pushover. I expressed my concern. I gave him some suggestions to get her to get her shit together so she can make her payments (offer budgeting help, suggest she do what I do and have money for the car payment deposited in a separate account she doesn't look at and put it on auto pay so she doesn't have the think about it). He seemed receptive to the idea. I just hope he follows through. I'll have to check in on him and see how the conversation went (or if it even happened).

I will be the first to admit I'm not the greatest with money (which is why I don't have $2500 in savings to pay for Lola's dental, partially because I spent $800 on her ass over a year ago and that depleted it quite a bit, plus am still paying off the 20% of my surgery that my insurance didn't cover). But I'm trying. I don't think my sister is trying, though. She's being like our mom, buying things to keep up appearances and not thinking about important things like her car payment. She got the attitude from our mom that if she can't take care of it, she can find someone who will. And that's not ok. Especially because my dad doesn't make a ton of money either. He really can't afford to be paying my sister's car payment each month. There's a reason why he bought an older van with high mileage. He didn't want to be spending a lot on a car payment. And now my sister is trying to get him to do that for her and it's just not ok.

At least my dad agreed that he has to do something. I just hope he has the balls to do it, because he's normally not that kind of guy.

#family #family dynamics #family drama #parents #siblings #taking advantage #money

[vivacioussaint]

TW: Depression and sui thoughts

You know, as a 19 year old, I’ve come to terms with how my life is going to be.

Alone

Boring

People pleaser

Alone- because no matter what I fucking do, I’m not valued enough by my own fucking family. I don’t have any friends. I have coworker, but do they count? Hell no. I tried joining the dating scene by joining dating apps? Did it work? No.

And sometimes, I feel like I’m to blame. I don’t put enough effort into being social or outgoing. Extroverted and cheerful. Instead, I’m introverted, a homebody, antisocial. Crowds are too much for me. Sitting and eating alone sounds nice. Looking at a YouTube video in the grass away from everyone else, splendid.

Boring- A homebody. I rarely go out and when I do it’s mostly just to grab things necessary. Like skincare. Personal hygiene, food, etc.

Do I go out because I feel like it? No. And either way, I’ve learned to save money, that’s the good thing. I’m saving my money in order to be able to go to college in the fall. To finally start my new career choice.

Will I make friends then? Probably, but will I be able to explain to them I feel comfortable in my home and don’t want to go out as much? I can only hope.

People pleaser - this is the most important one. I can’t for the life of me be fucking selfish. I would sacrifice so much of myself to make at least the person happy. Especially my mother.

I remember in high school she would come home tired, exhausted. To the point she wants to lay down. I would vacuum, mop, clean the dishes, throw out the garbage, fill up the water filter, help with laundry, etc. All without an allowance. Sometimes complains to my mom it’s too much and that my sister should do something instead of sleep the moment she get home (it rarely worked).

So when I finally started to work to support myself and my mother, while my dad finds work. I handed over the chores to my sister. What does she do? Demand to be paid for her labor. If she doesn’t get paid, she won’t do it. And if she doesn’t get paid for her work, after it being half assed, she will throw a fit.

So I helped my mom with her allowance. $60 from me every 2 weeks. And $30 from my mom every week. In total she made $240 a month to keep our house “clean.” The kitchen floor dirty from spills. Our dogs bring in dirt/mud for her walk outside, the cats litter scattered, the pots and pans still left on the stove while the dishes were washed, the garbage taken out of the bin and put on the floor.

$240 a month for that. While I did it without any of the demand things she wanted. Instead I did it with the thought of. “Let my mom come home to a clean house so she can relax.” Even if my mom didn’t ask, I still did it.

I started working to help her with her debt, to help her pay the bills sometimes, to help her out while my dad tried to find a stable job.

Overall, I think I’m not meant for this family. When my coworkers hear how I’m doing this for my mom, they said they wish they can have a daughter like me. They would kill to have a daughter like me. How great of a daughter I would be.

And sometimes I think it’s true. My mother doesn’t acknowledge me sometimes. Doesn’t acknowledge how much I would do for her, why I’m doing this for her, what I would give to try to make her life a little bit easier.

And with these thoughts, it eats at me. Because I think it would be better if I just, left this family. Whether physical or spiritually. Like run away and say I’ve had enough. But who tf wants to pay $2000 a month of rent in Miami, FL. For a fucking apartment. The lowest it can go is $1200. That’s my whole pay check from working as a medical assistant. And don’t even get me started on the suicidal thoughts, sometimes I want to go with the plan I had curated in my head, but I can’t.

I can’t leave my mother who I care for, I can’t leave my sister although she not the best I still love her, and my father who has my name and face tattooed on his arm since the day I was born.

It’s just been overwhelming and when it bottles up. It just comes out one day, sometimes I tell these things to my mom and although she listens, she doesn’t know how to handle my feelings. So much so that she has to go to my sister to get support. And when I suggest and intervention such as help from a therapist, she dismiss the idea.

So I’m just stuck, accepting life for what it is. That this is how it might be as I get older.

And I’m scared I’ll be okay with it.

#♡ lovely talks! ♡ #tw mental health #mentally drained #tw depression #tw sui ideation #mentalheathawareness

[aphrodite-made-me-write-it]

Habits - Part 1

(A/N) oh hey, it’s the comeback (cumback?) fic i didn’t intend to be the comeback fic. i really did want to update stuff and post this other yelena fic i have that’s actually cute and has a real plot to it but instead i read Come Back To Me by reminiscingtonight and it was just so goshdarn good that it got me to write this garbage instead! her fic is extremely good and it has 3 parts to it!!! hotdamn!!! i read it at work and it made me happy. anyway, hi! i had to cut this into two parts! expect inconsistency! i’m back to a 6-7 day work schedule with the holidays but i do have something kinda planned for december! ok enough rambling! let’s do this!

Rating: E (literal p0rn without much plot) 18+ Only!

Warnings: fuckboy!yelena (lowkey tho lmfao); protectiveAF!natasha; hella smut; ye olde ‘best friend’s sibling’ trope; nat and yelena are only 2 years apart in this bc it makes me feel better abt age gaps and ill be honest math is not my strongsuit; yelena basically fucks ur brains out idk what else to say; oh, also, reader’s parents r shitty and manipulative; mentions of past abuse, but super brief; really the parents dont pay too much of a role in this half

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader; Natasha x Fem!Best Friend!Reader; Natasha x Wanda Maximoff (i love redheads)

Chapter Word Count: 7.2k

Total Word Count: 30.1k

Synopsis: It’s been a few years since you last saw your childhood best friend, Natasha, and her little sister, Yelena. Transferring colleges leads to you needing a roommate, and that roommate just so happens to be Natasha. Not much has changed between you, you’re still thick as thieves. Her sister, however, is a completely different story.

| Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |

gif source

 Russian Translations: Malyshka - babygirl; Milaya - darling; Dorogoy - sweetheart |

You’ve known Natasha Romanoff for, practically, your entire lives. Your friendship was sealed the day she pushed Jason Grey off of the swingset for calling you ugly in the first grade. You were basically inseparable after that. 

Yelena is adopted when you and Natasha are nine, and she is seven. Melina and Alexei had adopted Natasha before leaving Russia, and were apparently keen on adopting the little toddler young Natasha couldn’t stand to leave behind. It took a few years for the paperwork to go through, and the payoff, it seemed, was worth it. The second they’re reunited, Yelena and Natasha are sisters without a doubt. It may not have been by blood, but that didn’t matter.

Of course, Yelena is also adopted into your friendship with the redhead soon after. Yelena was curious while she adjusted to her new life, always inquisitive and asking questions. Eventually, her curiosity turned into complete headstrong foolishness. Sneaking home lizards and the like. 

You didn’t mind, though. 

In all honesty, you preferred their house to your own.

Your dad was a very busy person, and your mom wasn’t the best company. She was a perfectionist, through and through, and often expected the same from you. The pressure was really put on you when you started middle school. You needed the best grades, the highest place in whatever after school activities you chose. It was grating, exhausting, and their fights that rode late into the night never helped things.

Still, Yelena and Natasha were your distraction from it all. The more pleasant side of life, the side you couldn’t stand leaving.

Until, of course, you had to.

You’re fifteen when it happens, the threat of it. The word felt so ugly and obscene at the time. Divorce. You spent hours in Natasha’s room crying, both sisters helplessly holding you until you ran out of tears. 

That Christmas, your mother actually left until February. That was when your father really began to spiral. He lost his job. He started drinking. He started yelling at you. Started hitting you. You could have told someone - you should have. You only told Natasha and Yelena, though, forcing them to swear to never tell a soul. It was stupid of you, really.

You’re weeks away from sixteen when the shoe finally drops.

He hits your mom. She grabs you, and you’re driving out of town before you can even process it. The image of Natasha and Yelena following your mother’s car has, naturally, haunted you every waking moment since it happened. Your mom was always very anti-social-anything. No cellphones, no email, nothing. Contact with your best friends was hopeless. Gut-wrenchingly hopeless.

You’re grown-up, now. At least, on paper. The rest of high school was spent all the way in New York City, and you didn’t make many friends. You dated a few people here and there, but mostly you focused on your schoolwork the way your mother demanded you to. It became a saving grace, the idea of getting somewhere far away from her.

You don’t get far for long, though. Your first two years are spent at a college you can go to from home. You hate every second of it, and it takes a long while to convince her to let you transfer to another school where you won’t have to be watched like a hawk.

That leads you, at last, to Temple University. Philadelphia. Sure, it’s just a few hours’ drive away but that distance is fucking gold to you. You had originally searched for a roommate through a variety of social medias, looking for friends of friends you could possibly bunk up with - and that, miraculously, lead you back to Natasha.

The reunion is the happiest you’ve felt in so long, you cry. You spend hours catching up among the unpacked boxes, when Yelena is brought up.

“She’s coming a week after me. I transferred from Ohio State, and she’ll be a freshman. God, she’s gonna be thrilled to see you. She spent, like, months crying over you when you left.” 

You snort. “What, and you didn’t?”

“How could I when she was inconsolable?” Natasha scoffs. “It did suck, though. We missed you. I missed you.” She squeezes your hand tightly. “And now we can finally get drunk together like we planned for your sweet sixteen.”

“I didn’t get a drop of alcohol until I got to college,” you gripe. “Mom became like, the grade demon of my worst nightmares.”

“Your dad still lives there. Why didn’t you visit?”

“Yeah, joint custody didn’t last long.” You cringe. “He, uh, got one supervised visit with me in New York and sort of strangled me.”

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“It’s chill, now,” you lean back against the sofa, the only piece of furniture in your living room that’s accessible. “I mean, it’s whatever. He’s a deadbeat, anyways.”

And for the next handful of days, you and Natasha become as close as you had been before you left. Some bonds just transcend years like that, and you’re glad it was this way for you and Natasha.

The week before school leads to Natasha wanting to throw a party to celebrate. You aren’t surprised she’s already made friends here - she’s always been the more social type - but she seems very giddy when she explains her reasoning.

“Does this have to do with that Sokovian chick?” You ask when Natasha finishes cleaning the place for the millionth time since she’d woken up this morning. (Which, by the way, was six o’clock, because Natasha is fucking insane.) “Wendy?”

She glares at you from over her shoulder. “Wanda,” she corrects. “And, no.” 

You laugh at the flush on her cheeks. “So if she shows up to the party I should tell her it’s invite-only?”

“No! Don’t be an asshole!” Natasha whines, throwing the paper towel she’d been using to wipe the bookshelf. It’s not even dirty, but you smack it away with a squeal. “And, by the way, there’s another surprise guest coming, but it’s a secret.”

“Ooh, my favorite actress wrapped in a nice little bow for me?” You ask with a dramatic fluttering of your eyelashes.

“Don’t be gross.” Natasha scolds. “You’re worse than Yelena.”

“Little innocent Yelena?” You cackle, knowing full-well the blonde had been nothing short of troublesome and clever when you left. 

“I have it on good authority that she was being a fuckboy when I moved away.” Natasha tuts. “She was just waiting ‘til I left before she started fooling around with people. Typical.”

“Could it be that anyone interested in her was terrified of her big sister roasting them alive?” You inquire teasingly, tapping your chin as if you were truly considering what other options there could be.

“Very funny.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t ‘roast them alive’. They’d scream too much, I’d get caught immediately.”

The seriousness in her tone makes you laugh. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be caught dead or alive looking at your sister like that.”

She sticks her tongue out in response, quite childishly. You really, really missed her.

- - - - -

Okay, fine, surprise surprise, the girl with the strict mother is a lightweight. So what. 

You aren’t hammered, you’re more aware of yourself than that. You’re two drinks in, though, so you’re chattier than usual and a bit too bold. Natasha says you’re a riot when you’re drunk, so that’s something, at least.

You’d just disengaged yourself from a conversation with a guy named Steve - who was strangely old-fashioned but incredibly sweet - to get a drink when you slam into a body. Off-balanced from the rush of blood to your head, you’re lucky that the person steadies you with strong arms before you can fall flat on your face.

You look up at your savior and immediately lose all ability to speak and think and breathe. She’s got blonde hair and gorgeous green eyes, the smirk on her face smug as she watches the way you take in her muscular body. She’s damn hot, a ripped band t-shirt underneath a red flannel, cuffed jeans and combat boots - this is a woman who also likes women, which happens to be one of your favorite type of women.

“Don’t tell me you’re already wasted,” the Russian accent surprises you less than the husky richness of her voice. Oh fuck. She’s really hot. You should say something cool, probably.

“No, she’s just a fucking lightweight,” Natasha’s voice is a saving grace. You look at her with a desperate, silent plea. “(Y/N), meet our secret special guest: Yelena.”

Holy shit.

“Y-Yelena?” You stammer, stiff as a statue as the blonde hasn’t moved her hands from your waist yet. 

“Long time no see,” she grins.

You step away from her, hoping to clear your head a little. “Y-you, uh, you grew up.” She’s taller than you by a few inches, now. 

She chuckles. “I have,” she confirms, the amusement in her tone telling you that she hasn’t forgotten the way you’d eyed her like a piece of meat moments before.

Natasha looks between you for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face, before she jumps and looks down at her phone. “Wanda’s almost here. I’m gonna go meet her outside. Keep this one out of trouble,” she points at Yelena, who pouts at the accusation of being troublesome.

You make a whipping sound when Natasha walks away, joining Yelena in gut-twisting laughter when Natasha flips you off.

And then you’re alone.

With Yelena.

Out of things to talk about.

“D-d’you wanna drink?” It comes out rushed and awkward, because now that Yelena is looking at you again you feel extremely nervous. 

“Sure,” the blonde is smirking again. You’re starting to dread that smirk.

You lead her to the kitchen, fighting hard to keep your mind from going anywhere but the blonde behind you. What the fuck was WRONG with you? This was Yelena. Little Yelena, who Natasha had just said she’d kill people for and you have absolutely zero doubts in your mind that Natasha Romanoff could get away with murder.

You and Natasha had been reunited for little more than a month and you were thinking of her sister in ways you absolutely, totally, should not. 

It’s not until you’re in the kitchen that you remember it’s a closed off room, unique to the apartment complex, effectively trapping you with Yelena, without any other partygoers.

Shit.

“S-so, what’s your poison?” You ask, turning to the several bottles of liquor you and Natasha acquired for the party.

“I think I’ve already found it,” she’s way closer than you’d expected. She leans against the counter barely a foot away; close enough to be in your space, but not so close that you’re brushing skin. It’s still too close, you think. 

“Nat made sure we had that- that, uh, jet fuel you Russians call vodka.” You reach for the bottle with slightly shaking hands, amazed at how much she’s affected you by just being near you. You feel like a stupid, horny teenager and she literally only touched you once to keep you from falling over.

“I’m not talking about vodka.” Yelena steps forward and you suck in a sharp breath. She’s way too close now. “You know, I always had a bit of a thing for you, growing up.” She says it so casually, you actually don’t process the words at first. “When you left, it was my first real heartbreak.”

“Yelena-” you start, but she keeps talking:

“And just when I thought you were gone forever, Natasha tells me you’re her new roommate.” She licks her lips, and your stupid eyes can’t help tracing the motion. Her smirk widens. “I knew I couldn’t pass up the chance.”

“The chance to- to what, exactly?” You squeak, eyeing the door behind her. Is anyone going to come in here and save you? Do you want them to?

Yelena raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to the side. She’s leaning closer. You find yourself quite frozen, unable perhaps unwilling to move from your spot. “I saw the way you looked at me. You want this just as much as I do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lie. You’ve never been a good liar.

Yelena laughs. “Ha! You’re still a terrible liar.”

“And you’re a brat.” You mutter, and then she’s got you pinned to the counter, the edge digging uncomfortably into your back. Both of her palms rest on either side of you. You’re trapped. You’re definitely going to die here.

“Oh, am I?” She teases, amused as she leans in close enough for her breath to ghost your lips. “What does that make you, then?”

“Natasha’s best friend.” You put your hands on her shoulders, pushing lightly to keep the distance between you and hopefully encourage some more. “Who does not want to die a horrible, bloody death for having Natasha finding her pinned against a counter by her little sister.”

Yelena hums, a thoughtful sort of sound that’s very low in her throat. “Who cares about what Natasha thinks? I don’t.”

“You should.” You sound suddenly hoarse as Yelena’s eyes flicker down to your lips.

The front door opens. You push Yelena harder than you’d intended, but she doesn’t budge much. Holy fuck she’s strong. She moves aside though, chuckling lowly as you put a respectable distance between you.

Natasha bursts into the kitchen, Wanda Maximoff in tow while the pair giggle scandalously. Your best friend pauses, looking at you and then Yelena, apparently picking up on the tension that still remains.

“Oh, is this your girlfriend?” Yelena asks, successfully erasing whatever the fuck that was.

You’re in trouble.

You’re in deep, deep fucking trouble.

- - - - -

The next morning, you stumble into the kitchen sleepily. Wanda spent the night in Natasha’s room, but luckily you were out like a light the second you laid down. Yelena took up the couch with two of your four blankets - why Natasha couldn’t spare her own sister some blankets, you’re too frightened to ask - and the mass of blonde hair splayed over the armrest tells you she’s still sound asleep.

You breathe out a sigh of relief once you’ve made a cup of coffee, and it turns soft moan of appreciation when you take your first sip.

“Morning,” a voice startles you, making hot liquid spill over your fingers. You wince, setting the mug down as you turn to face the intruder. Your words get caught in your throat when your eyes find Yelena. Yelena who, apparently, slept in a sports bra and Natasha’s old sweatpants last night.

When your eyes move back to Yelena’s face, she’s wearing that stupid cocky smirk again.

“You know, for someone who denies eye-fucking me, you seem to do it an awful lot.” Yelena sneers. Your cheeks warm considerably. You take your mug and move to the kitchen table, too cowardly to duck out of the conversation and too afraid of her bringing it to the living room where Natasha most certainly could hear it.

“I’m not eye-fucking anybody,” you huff.

“That must be why you’re the color of a tomato.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh,” her smirk widens, “is that an offer?”

You scoff. “Holy shit, you really are impossible.”

“Maybe you should just admit the truth to yourself.” She begins making her own cup of coffee. You’re relieved to not have those piercing eyes on you anymore, but you don’t let down your guard. 

“And what truth is that?” You ask, hoping to sound casual.

“You’re just as into me as I’m into you.” She answers simply, throwing a look over her shoulder. “It’s alright, I don’t mind waiting. I’ve waited this long.”

You grit your teeth. “Jesus, Lena.”

“I’m just being honest.” She joins you at the table, looking calm as ever even though you’re practically having a meltdown internally. “I’ve wanted you since I could want anyone like that.”

“You really shouldn’t say shit like that.”

“Why?”

“Because-”

“If you’re gonna use the best friend excuse again, it’s a shit one.” Yelena rolls her eyes, sipping her coffee. You cross your arms defiantly, earning an amused grin from the blonde. “If anything, she should be happy. She already likes you.”

“That will change the second I touch you.”

“So you do want to touch me?”

You bite your tongue. How the fuck does she keep coming at you so fast like this? You haven’t even finished your first damn cup of coffee. It’s too early for this.

“Yelena-”

“Oh! Sorry!” A familiar voice pulls your attention to the doorway. Wanda is standing there in one of Natasha’s shirts and a pair of pajama pants. There are hickeys all over her neck, her hair clearly messed up from a long night. “I didn’t hear you guys. Kitchen’s practically sound-proof.” She chuckles awkwardly, eyeing the coffee pot. “Is- is that fresh?”

“Yep, help yourself.” You nod and she quickly makes two cups of coffee. You and Yelena share a meaningful look, united in your opportunity to tease Natasha later.

“So, Yelena,” Wanda begins, cutting the silence. “Natasha said you got a scholarship here for lacrosse. That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Yelena leans back in her seat, grinning. “Been at it since freshman year of high school. My grades were fine, but this was the only offer that was a full-ride.”

Wanda hums, eyeing the door with a soft expression. “That’s nice. I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

When she leaves, you’re once again emerged in that strangely charged atmosphere that seems to gravitate between you and Yelena.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not stick around to hear Natasha and Wanda go for round two.” She says, wrinkling her nose.

“Dunno, the kitchen is pretty soundproof apparently. This could be our only safe space for a few hours.” You say it flippantly, meaning it entirely as a joke, but suddenly Yelena looks like the cat who caught the canary.

“And what do you suggest we do to pass the time?” She asks.

“You’re right, a day out sounds great,” you stand so quickly the chair almost falls over. Yelena is cackling at you, but you ignore her. “Get dressed, jerk, we’re going into the city.”

- - - - -

“Ooh, this is cool,” Yelena eyes the vest with a hungry expression. 

You snort. “What, are you enlisting?”

She rolls her eyes. “Do you not see all of those pockets? I could fit so many things in there, you wouldn’t even know.”

You’ve been out with Yelena for the better part of three hours, and in that time you’ve come to realize how much you’d missed her. Not that you weren’t aware of it before, but it feels like the world was somewhat dull without her presence. Her sarcasm, her cleverness, her mischievous grin. 

She’s too endearing for your own good. 

And beautiful, too. You think that’s the worst part. You often just find yourself looking at her, in awe of how she looks and speaks and acts. Still so confident in herself and everything she does, in the most mundane situations. Right now, as she pulls on the vest to look at herself in the mirror, she looks lovelier than ever. 

Oh no, you think distantly. This was not a good idea! 

“What do you think?” She asks, giving herself a long once over before turning to look at you. “I look good, right?”

You smile, unable to resist it. “You look very cool.”

“I knew it!” She hisses under her breath, turning back to the mirror. She really is cute. She catches your gaze through the reflection, winking when your eyes meet. You blush, deciding the floor is very interesting and a thousand times cooler than anything else in the store.

“Damn, it’s thirty-six dollars,” Yelena sighs. 

“I’ll buy it for you,” you offer without thinking about it.

Yelena throws her arms around your neck and for a horrifying moment you brace yourself for her lips to meet yours. Instead, she hugs you, and you have to force yourself to relax again.

“You’re so sweet, thank you,” she gushes.

You’re in deep shit, you just know it.

Natasha calls you around two to ask where you and Yelena were. By this point, you’d made your way to a little cafe, where you ended up talking about what happened in your years of separation. Yelena is relentlessly flirty, apparently keen on proving to you that you’re attracted to her and you certainly aren’t making a good case for yourself what with all the blushing and, admittedly, occasional flirtatious comment.

When you tell her where you are, Natasha says she and Wanda will join you.

“Aw, and I was enjoying our date,” Yelena pouts when you tell her the news.

“This was a date?” You ask with an amused snort.

“Of course it was. You bought me this nice vest and breakfast, and you also just bought me coffee.” Yelena rolls her eyes, as if it were obvious.

“Do me a favor and don’t ever call this a date in front of Natasha. I like my blood inside of my body.” You warn.

“So you agree, then?” Yelena brightens. “This is a date?”

“Yelena-”

“I’m just repeating what you said,” she bats her eyelashes innocently.

You sigh, rolling your eyes and pointedly not responding. She seems to take this as a victory, since she’s still in a happy mood by the time Natasha and Wanda join you.

“Cool vest,” Wanda compliments, sitting beside Yelena while Natasha takes the seat beside you. 

“Thanks,” Yelena grins, “(Y/N) bought it for me.”

“What, did she ‘forget’ to bring her wallet?” Natasha scoffs, earning a pout from her sister.

“It’s a few belated birthday presents,” you excuse, heart warming just a little more when Yelena’s eyes meet yours again. Her lips are ever so slightly curved upwards, an almost unnoticeable smile.

You spend another hour or two at the cafe before Yelena complains about having to stay at a dorm her first year. 

“Moving in with you guys would be so much easier,” she sighs. 

“We only have two bedrooms.” Natasha snorts. “I’m not sharing my bed with you, you’re a violent sleeper.”

“Am not!” Yelena gasps, clutching her chest. “That is a baseless accusation.”

“You literally punched me in the face once.” Natasha scowls.

You burst out with laughter. You were actually there for that one. You were all still pretty young, so you managed to squeeze into a small tent in Natasha’s backyard. Yelena practically begged to be between you, but Natasha was right: she’s a violent sleeper. She kicked a lot, but she was always facing away from you, so it was always Natasha who got kicked. When Natasha tried to turn Yelena over to face you because you were laughing at Natasha, the blonde woke up and suckerpunched Natasha with such impressive accuracy you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Keep laughing, (Y/N),” Natasha warns, “and I’ll start thinking you two are up to something.”

You have to fight the very sudden rise of panic in your chest. What the hell are you worried for? You aren’t up to anything! This wasn’t even a date!

“You’ve caught us,” Yelena recovers, casting you a sly smirk. “We’re conspiring against you.”

“I fucking knew it.” Natasha throws a balled up napkin at her sister.

- - - - -

It’s the last Saturday before school starts. Since the party on Wednesday, Natasha and Wanda have been entirely consumed with one another and Yelena has decided that tormenting you is her favorite pastime. When she drops by unannounced, she makes it a point to tease you and flirt with you when Natasha isn’t watching or listening.

Even worse, when you go to sleep, you keep dreaming about her. Yelena has become a permanent fixture in the back of your mind, always a second-thought. You hate yourself for it. You should be thinking of Natasha first, and how goddamn betrayed she’d feel if you went off and slept with her baby sister.

You’ve decided tonight is going to be a good night to get absolutely wasted. 

It’s not going well.

You’re on drink two and you’ve moved to the dancefloor at the behest of Natasha. She’s introducing you to someone whose name you don’t quite catch. She’s hot, sure, but you’re too confused and stressed to really listen. 

The more Yelena hung out with you, the more you were starting to question what it was, exactly, you were feeling about her. She’s Natasha’s sister, yes, and you’ve known her for years. Practically grew up with her. Her friendship was always a valued one, even if she was younger, but suddenly all of that is fogged up by this… great, big something she’s implanted in your brain. 

You want to scream. Or cry. Or forget yourself.

Yes, that last option is too appealing right now.

It’s easy for a while. You let the woman - Carol - dance with you provocatively, her hands gripping your waist in a way that, typically, you’d definitely enjoy. Even when you can feel her hard muscles moving against you, you can’t quite stay in the moment long enough. You keep picturing Yelena behind you, arms around you, hands moving from your waist to your sides. It feels good - you’re definitely turned on - but it’s not what you want and that’s all the more frustrating.

Carol, swaying her hips flush against yours, leans down until her lips brush against your ear. “Wanna come back to mine?”

You should. You should definitely go back to Carol’s.

But you can’t.

“I’m actually feeling a little, uh, lightheaded,” you separate from her, trying not to wince at the kicked puppydog expression on her face. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she recovers quickly, smiling. “Need a ride to your place?”

You shake your head, swallowing your agitation. “I’m fine. I could use the fresh air. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least get your number?”

Because you feel guilty, and because you can feel Natasha eyeing you questioningly from a few feet away, you give Carol your number before slipping through the dancing bodies. Natasha catches you by the wrist before you go, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Just nervous about school,” you lie smoothly. “I’ll see you at home?”

“I’m going to Wanda’s after, actually,” Natasha smiles fondly at the woman still rolling her hips in time with the music. “But I’ll see you at some point tomorrow?”

You nod, giving a polite wave to Wanda before finally escaping the club.

The night is blissfully cool on your overheated skin. You can’t believe how worked up you’d actually been. Maybe you should go back and take Carol up on her offer-

No, that wouldn’t be right. Carol is definitely into you, and she seems really sweet. You shouldn’t just fuck her because you can’t stop thinking about wanting to fuck your best friend’s sister.

Oof.

You don’t think you’ve actually finished that thought before.

God, I’m a horrible friend. You think bitterly, beginning the short walk back to your apartment.

Your mind isn’t any clearer by the time you get home, but you become very sober when you realize the lights are all on and the TV is making noise from the living room. Grabbing the baseball bat you keep by the door, you creep towards the living room on high alert.

“Do you really think a serial killer wouldn’t remove the only weapon you have by the front door while breaking in?” A familiar voice makes you go rigid. Of course. Of course that’s exactly how your night would go. Perfect. Fucking perf- “Are you just gonna stand there like an idiot or are you going to put the stupid bat down?”

You blush, setting the bat aside while muttering several expletives under your breath. Sure enough, Yelena has made herself perfectly at home on the couch. 

“It’s a Saturday night, don’t you have a life? How did you even get in?” You ask, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway that leads from the front hall to the living room, the edge of the kitchen door tempting you to just hide until Yelena leaves.

“Well, I heard Natasha and Wanda were going out, so I figured you’d be home alone.” She shrugs. “And Nat gave me a key.” She dangles the object with a grin.

“What, you thought I wouldn’t go out to a club with them?” You shake your head with a scoff. “I’m not a total shut-in.”

“You totally are, but whatever.” She snorts, scooting over and patting the spot next to her. You eye her with blatant suspicion and she laughs. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, reluctantly sitting beside her with a decent amount of cushion space between you. She’s watching some classic movie no doubt from Natasha’s collection that she keeps hidden in her room.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, withering further into the guilty haze you’d left the club in.

Hey, it’s Carol :) If you change your mind, don’t hesitate to ask ;)

“Who’s that?” Yelena asks, peering at your phone.

You shove it back into your pocket with a scowl. “Nobody important.”

“Bullshit. You know you’re not a good liar.”

You glare at her, but it does nothing. She holds your gaze evenly, almost patiently. It makes you even angrier at her, at yourself, at the way your stupid body won’t fucking listen to reason. “Just a girl I met at the club tonight. She’s a little… eager to see me again.”

There’s a brief look of hurt on Yelena’s face, but it’s so brief you almost don't notice it. “Oh? What’s her name?”

“Carol.”

“Danvers?”

You shrug. “Maybe.”

She scoffs. “You can do better.”

“Yelena,” you begin warningly, disliking the abrupt change in atmosphere. 

“What? I’m being honest.”

“She seems… nice.”

“Just ‘nice’?”

“We didn’t exactly talk much.”

“Oh, so you were-”

“I wasn’t doing anything because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, actually.” You snap, unable to control yourself. You want to sound angry, but really you just sound tired. “Fucking Christ, Yelena. I can’t get you out of my head.”

Her expression brightens considerably at this. She moves closer, and you’re once again snared by those damn green eyes and that dumb cocky smirk that you’ve come to associate with Yelena. “Really?”

“We really, really shouldn’t do this.” You state, hoping you sound stronger than you actually feel.

“And why’s that?” She tilts her head, amused. “Because of my sister? She should give you her blessing. Who else would be better for me than someone she already approves of?”

You don’t like how reasonable she sounds when she’s breathing the same air as you, her eyes searching yours. 

“She’s going to kill me if-”

“If.”

There’s something magical about the word ‘if’. Maybe dancing with Carol had you more worked up than you’d thought. You wish you could blame it on the alcohol but with Yelena so close you’re achingly sober. Maybe there are no excuses for what happens next. 

Yelena’s lips find yours with absolute raw lust. Part of you hoped that just doing this, just kissing her, will satiate the longing for her that plagues your mind. (The rest of you knows better than to be stupid enough to believe that.)

Like with everything she does, Yelena kisses like she has something to prove. Maybe she does. You don’t care because it’s making your mind go completely blank and your body is buzzing with a million galaxies being born under her attention. You drink her in like a woman starved, drowning in her scent and her taste and the feeling of her hands curling into your hair and pulling you closer, closer, closer.

She’s on top of you, you aren’t sure how it happened. Her lips and her teeth and tongue are on your neck, finding places that pull quiet sounds from the back of your throat. You can feel her smirking against your skin, god- 

You are a horrible, horrible best friend.

(Why is it getting harder to care?)

You shove aside the guilt. You want this. You need this. 

“I’ve thought about how you’d feel like this for so long,” Yelena breathes against you. You’re positive she’s just left a wicked hickey. It makes you bite back a moan. “How you’d sound,” she continues, fingers dancing along the edges of your shirt, earning a quiet whimper. You let her pull it off of you, and she’s already unbuttoning your jeans. “How you’d taste,” she purrs, kissing down to your collarbone. She moves between your breasts, placing deliberate, wet, hot kisses wherever she pleases, more often than not leaving a dark red mark behind. When she eases your jeans off of your legs, she kisses your thighs and you’re so fucking desperate your hips twitch involuntarily.

Yelena laughs throatily, tossing aside the clothes with such smug pleasure it makes your teeth itch. “So sensitive,” she notes, almost carelessly tracing the edge of your bra. “Or are you just that desperate for me to fuck you?”

“God, Yelena,” you rasp. This is very much not the rambunctious freshman that ran after your mom’s shitty old sedan. Time has turned Yelena into the perfect weapon against you. Go figure. 

Where the fuck did your bra go?

Your fingers curl tightly in her hair when lips wrap around one of your nipples. Finding it harder to keep your noises at bay, a small whimper escapes you when teeth graze against the sensitive skin. Yelena hums against you, eyes flickering up to meet yours. She switches to your other breast, one of her hands slipping between your legs to rub against you through your panties. 

Her smirk is wider than ever when she pulls away from your breast. “Fucking soaked, just as I thought.”

“Shut up,” you huff.

In an instant, she has your hands pinned above your head. You stare up at her, dumbfounded. “How the hell did you get so strong?” You ask, unable to resist doing so.

She bites her lip, fighting a smile. “You should mind your manners. For being so rude, I’m going to make you beg for it.”

You gape at her. “What? You’re the one who said you wanted to- that you’ve been wanting to-”

“Yes,” she hums, leaning down so that she can place more marks on your neck. How the hell you’ll hide those monsters in the morning, you’ve got no idea. “But I like taking my time. You, however,” she snaps the waistband of your panties against your skin, earning a hiss of pain and pleasure. “You don’t seem like you’ll last very long.”

Yelena brings a lot out in you, apparently. You’ve never really considered yourself ‘bratty’ or anything before. But the idea of doing exactly what Yelena doesn’t want you to do is so goddamn tempting. Maybe because you know she’s going to make it very much worth it in the end. Yelena has always been one to keep promises.

“No.” 

Your answer takes her by surprise, certainly, but she recovers quickly. She looks delighted, even, when she leans back just enough to look you in the eye.

“No?” She repeats slowly. “You sure about that, malyshka?”

You nod, mouth incredibly dry.

Yelena growls under her breath, returning to her assault on your neck while her free hand starts to massage your already sensitive breasts. You suck in a sharp breath, decidedly holding back any noises you want to make. Yelena catches on fast to your ploy by the time she pushes a knee between your thighs to put just enough pressure against your core to make your body feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh, don’t hold back, milaya. I want to hear those pretty little noises you make,” Yelena croons, rolling her hips so that a delicious friction temporarily relieves the growing agony between your legs. You hiss out a curse, hands straining uselessly against the one Yelena uses to keep you firmly in place. “Aw, you want more?”

“I want you in less clothes,” you huff impatiently. 

“You haven’t earned that yet.” Yelena tuts, her free hand now dipping beneath your panties. She finds the pool of wetness waiting for her there and hums lowly. A keening sound that doesn’t resemble any sort of sound you’ve ever made before escapes you, unbidden. “All you have to do is ask nicely, malyshka,” she drawls, “and I’ll make you feel so good.”

With another roll of her hips, Yelena has your resolve reduced to ashes.

“Please,” you whine. “Please, Yelena.”

“Please what?” 

You try not to roll your eyes. “Please fuck me. I need you to fuck me, I want you to make me-” you’re cut off by a long, deep moan that escapes you very unexpectedly when Yelena’s fingers plunge into you without warning. A new look of victory crosses Yelena’s face, lips quirking up into a grin as she watches you with rapt attention, taking note of what makes you break your internal vow of silence.

When she adds a thumb to your clit, you’re incoherently begging for more.

“More?” Yelena taunts. “Greedy thing, aren’t you?”

“Please, please, more,” you rasp. Pathetic. 

“Mm, I love hearing you ask so nicely,” Yelena praises. You’re trembling beneath her touch, now. “Beg me again. One more time malyshka.”

“Please, Yelena,” you meet her eyes desperately. “Please, I need more.”

“Okay, alright,” Yelena hums her low laugh into your skin, lowering herself until she’s between your legs. “You can have more, dorogoy. You can have everything you want if you keep being good for me.” You’ll do anything she fucking asks if she keeps-

With your hands freed, nothing stops you from grasping at Yelena’s t-shirt while a long, wonton moan rips itself from your throat. Yelena is eating you out like she was born to do it. It’s amazing how quickly she’s learned to make you fall apart - or maybe you’ve really just been anticipating this enough to make it feel that way - but it isn’t long before you’re reduced to mindless, senseless noises that could be full sentences but you aren’t sure.

Yelena hums when one of your hands grips her hair, hips trying hard to move against her. She uses the hand not currently pounding into you to hold your hips down, not allowing them to budge even an inch as she drives you closer and closer to the edge. When her fingers curl and press against a spot inside of you that makes you see stars, your orgasm hits you without warning.

The blonde is relentless. She doesn’t slow down, just focuses harder on fucking you deep, deep, deep until another climax ripples through you. She waits until you’re a sweating, trembling mess before finally slowing down enough for you to catch your breath.

Yelena places several kisses along your body while she returns to your lips, and this kiss is different from the others. Softer, less rushed. You dare even say it’s passionate. You return the kiss lazily, body limp between aftershocks of pleasure while Yelena slowly withdraws her fingers.

She only pulls back from the kiss to pop her fingers in her mouth, sucking on them obscenely before kissing you again and letting you taste yourself on her tongue. Fuck. Your hands move to her waist, pulling her flush against you. 

This time when she pulls away, Yelena is smiling. Not the smug, cocky smile that you’d been expecting. It’s a real one, a bright one that reminds you sharply of the little girl you grew up with. If you had any doubts before that she’s wanted this for a long time, they’re gone in an instant when you see the joy in her eyes.

Instead of letting the guilt take hold, you press a soft kiss to her lips and smile lazily at her. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

Her eyes search your face, like she can’t really believe that you’re requesting this, but she nods and starts working on her vest - the vest you’d bought for her, you realize with a shocking amount of satisfaction - and shirt. 

With every inch of skin newly exposed, you run your fingers along it or skim kisses in spots that make Yelena inhale sharply. She’s not as vocal as you are, but her hums of encouragement are damn hot so you’re not complaining. She seems very content to be on top of you, apparently, and that’s just fine. Once her pants and panties are off, you reach down between her legs while placing kisses along her neck and shoulder.

You both let out quiet moans when you find the wetness waiting for you there. You wish you could feel more smug about it, but honestly you’re just eager to make her feel something for the way she’s worked you up this week.

You make small, teasing circles against her clit, feeling her hips move in time with the motions. Your kisses move to her jaw, and when her mouth meets yours you slip your fingers inside of Yelena and swallow the resulting groan.

She rides your fingers with reckless abandon. She keeps placing purposeful kisses to your neck, your shoulder, your jaw, collarbone - Yelena is intent on making sure you don’t forget the occasion. When you add a third finger and curl your hand so that she can rub her clit against the heel of your palm, Yelena bites down hard. Without even being touched, you suddenly find yourself dangerously close to having another orgasm; a broken, strangled whine slipping free.

Yelena moans, her breath hot on your ear. She moves until her thigh is pressing against you again, her hips rolling freely against the fingers inside of her. It causes just enough friction to make you clumsy in your thrusts, brain and body fighting for control.

“Come with me,” Yelena murmurs, and just like that, you’re both teetering over the edge together. Your body has officially turned into a twitching, useless mass of limbs. Your breath lingers with Yelena’s as she quakes with aftershocks of her own climax, and when you’re able to breathe again she connects your lips.

It’s lazy, it’s messy. Your hands rest on Yelena’s waist now, the blonde’s body resting on top of yours while her arms rest on either side of you. You’re incredibly tired - and a little bit thirsty, but you’re way too comfortable to move right now. Yelena is warm, and it feels nice having her this close. 

When she ends the kiss, she places another quick peck to your lips before resting her forehead against yours. You already feel guilty, but there’s just too much coziness in the afterglow of this moment. Yelena’s eyes are searching yours for something, her smile tender.

“I really have wanted this. For a while.” She says quietly.

“I know.” You move one hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear. 

“I missed you.” She leans into your touch, never breaking your gaze.

“I know,” you repeat, kissing her gently. “I missed you, too.”

Guilt be damned, Yelena’s smile is worth it.

~ part 2 ~

- Gen. Tag List -

(To be tagged, just let me know + Specify if you’d lke to be tagged for a series, a character, or all of my works)

@nobody13 @fireflyglass @swords-are-cool @artapdarkstr @pasta-bandit @multi-images @women-am-i-right

#to explain my absence i will summarize the summer as such: #i was being a hoe sorry #like i needed that idk what to say #ur girl just needed 2 eat out for a few months LSKDJFLASKDJF #anyway im back and im gayer #yelena belova x reader #yelena x reader #yelena x fem!reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena imagine #nobody13 #fireflyglass #swords-are-cool #artapdarkstr #pasta-bandit #multi-images #women-am-i-right

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 12

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 15, 1996 9:06am

To: [email protected]

Subject: This weekend

Hey,

It was good to run into you yesterday. Your sister seems nice. Is she older or younger? I remember you said you had three siblings; where do you fall in there?

Let me know if you can come by this weekend. Priscilla promises to provide a better beverage selection this time. She was unimpressed with my hosting abilities.

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 15, 1996 10:23am

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:This weekend

Hi,

I was surprised to see you in Georgetown again, what brought you by? Not your drug dealer again, I presume (disclaimer to anyone reading this that it’s a joke). I’m the third of four; Missy is two years older than me. Our oldest brother is Bill and little brother is Charlie. Do you have other siblings, aside from the sister you told me about?

As for this weekend, I’m free in the evening on Saturday. I had the thought, though, that it’s perhaps not appropriate for us to be spending time alone at your apartment. Not that I think you have or would behave inappropriately in any way, just for propriety’s sake. Sorry if that seems old fashioned. Maybe we can get dinner? Send my regrets to Priscilla.

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 15, 1996 4:45pm

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:This weekend

Given the later half of your email, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to admit that I went by that coffee shop hoping to see you there again. So let’s just say it was indeed to pay a visit to my dealer.

Nope, Samantha was my only sibling. Mom and Dad divorced after she disappeared. It was far from a Hallmark movie, but I turned out okay (I think).

Scully, if you don’t trust yourself around me behind closed doors, all you have to do is say so. Jokes aside, I can respect that. I actually have an idea of something we could do that is very public and not at all inappropriate. Will you trust me if I tell you it’s a surprise?

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 16, 1996 9:36am

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:RE:This weekend

I go by that coffee shop most Sundays, sometimes with my sister or mom, sometimes alone. I’m not sure what your dealer’s typical hours of operation are, but I tend to be there around noon. For future reference.

I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I would say you turned out pretty well, but then again I hardly know you.

I will trust you with a mystery public outing so long as you let me know what to dress for and also if there will be food involved. Something you should know about me; if you don’t feed me I turn into a Gremlin.

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 17, 1996 8:56am

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:This weekend

Hey, sorry I never got back to you yesterday. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice to say that criminal profilers are not immune to workplace drama.

As luck would have it, my dealer runs a blue light special at 11:30 am on Sundays, so I tend to be in the neighborhood around that time. A stunning coincidence.

I think you know me better than the vast majority of the people I interact with at this point, save for a select few. I’m not sure if that speaks as much to the fact that I like hanging out with you as it does to the fact that I don’t have many friends. My spooky reputation tends to scare people off, but I’m not exactly crying in my cornflakes over it.

I wouldn’t want you to turn into a Gremlin on me, so refreshments will be provided. Wear something you can move in, definitely not a dress or heels (it pains me to say this). Can I pick you up at 5:00?

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 17,1996 2:31pm

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:This weekend

Workplace drama knows no bounds. I’ve been getting the silent treatment from one of the other pathologists because I questioned whether they’d calibrated the scale before weighing internal organs.

I think you’re overestimating how well I know you, Mulder. I know next to nothing about you, outside your interest in the paranormal and a bit about your childhood.

I’m resisting the urge to ask what you have planned. Why don’t we meet somewhere? If you’re taking me UFO sighting...we better see a UFO is all I’m saying.

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 18, 1996 9:10am

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:The weekend

I want to make a comment on the fact that weighing internal organs is part of your job description, but I spent an hour today debating whether someone sticking pencils in their victim’s eyes is some kind of Freudian penis envy thing.

You know more about me than you think, Scully. You know I’m a cat person, and that I have terrible taste in beer. Also that I like Radiohead and am not beneath asking a woman out while she’s trying to do her job. I’ll offer you a bonus fact, or more accurately a confession: I didn’t really need to come down to Quantico last week when we had coffee. I just wanted to get coffee with you. Don’t tell my boss.

Now you have to tell me something about yourself. It’s only fair.

If there were any good places to spot UFOs around here, I’d take you in a heartbeat. If you’re ever up for a road trip out west, let me know. Washington State is a hotbed of UFO activity. Plus they have really good coffee.

Can you meet me at the Hoover building? I’ll drive us from there.

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 18, 1996 1:19pm

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:This weekend

So what was the verdict on the pencil/penis eyeball situation? Fruedian or no?

I’m touched that you’d go so far as insubordination to have coffee with me, however I hope you won’t make a habit of it. Next time you come down here I’ll have to email your boss and ask him if you got permission to come out and play.

Something about me...I like to read a lot. I think I’d say Jane Eyre is my favorite book of all time (not that you asked). I’m also addicted to bubble baths. Actually, reading Jane Eyre IN a bubble bath is pretty much my idea of heaven (ideally with a glass of wine).

I’ve been to Seattle once. Too much rain, though it was very green and pretty. Isn’t that where Bigfoot lives?

I’ll meet you at the Hoover building on Saturday at 5, wearing my very best ball gown and stiletto heels.

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 19, 1996 8:13am

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:This weekend

No verdict will be reached unless and until we catch the guy and have occasion to ask him if he was using his pencils as...pencils. Profiles are all theory, which can be both interesting and frustrating.

I wouldn’t advise you to contact my AD, he’s kind of a dick. I’ll ask him to write a note excusing me from work next time.

Jane Eyre? I wouldn’t have expected that from you. It’s a very romantic book, and entirely centered around two people who never should have worked as a couple coming together despite numerous obstacles. Is that something you’re into?

You get 95 points for knowing that Bigfoot lives in Washington (you lost 5 for calling him Bigfoot; he’s known as Sasquatch out there). My dream vacation is lurking around the forests of the Pacific Northwest, Squatchin’.

It’s a date.

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 19, 1996 3:46pm

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:This weekend

Don’t ruin my favorite book by overanalyzing it, Mulder. If you’d like to trash Wuthering Heights, be my guest. I pledge my allegiance to Charlotte.

Your dream vacation sounds like it might end in death from exposure, or perhaps a good old fashioned bear mauling, but who am I to tell you how to spend your paid leave?

See you tomorrow, at 5. And it’s not a date.

From: [email protected]

Sent: July 19, 1996 6:55pm

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:This weekend

I would always rather be happy than dignified.

(A little Charlotte to arrive to on Monday)

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #xfiles #alternate universe

[promptprophet]

Welcome back

I am not dead, although I am ready to throw down. Okay so there is a lot under the cut, but by every star in the sky I have been gone from all of my blogs for a while due to some roccuring issues. If any follow my main at @prophet-rebellion then you may have noticed that.

Some pro-tips:

1. Do not attend a gathering with family that does not believe in Covid. Because if they are anything like mine, someone will tell them they tested positive, your Uncle will encourage them to come anyways and not tell a single other person - and then, surprise surprise, everyone ends up with Covid.

2. Do not let your advisor plan your schedule entirely. Even if they are the Dean of your department. Because if they are still like mine, they will give you six classes. Which would not be an issue of 18 credit hours if it were not for the fact that 5 or the 6 are writing enriched. The only one that it not is math-based which is not my strong suite anyways.

But, in other news - I took a toll for the worst at one point. It has since gotten better. Granted, I had to be the biggest pain-in-the-ass to the campus physiatrist because he wanted to revoke some of my medication. Just because I am somehow making all As for the moment does NOT mean that I do not need my ADHD medication.

Speaking of! Yours truly got formally diagnosed with combination ADHD, depression, and anxiety. And after a lot of trial and error, we have found a medication and dosage that actually helps with the latter two! ADHD is still a work in progress because he is fighting me on it. He also doesn’t want me taking my meds unless I have a face-to-face class that day - as if it is some 9-5 weekdays only issue and I do not have class outside of those times, or online ones. But! A work in progress!

Also, Covid gave me the perfect chance to drop an incredibly toxic group of people in my life. One one hand, my mental health is so much better for it, and so is my own sense of self worth. On the other, it is definitely hard to do and hard to adjust to suddenly losing so many people. But I have reconnected with my 14 year old sister for the first time in 5 years - she wants to have lunch. Which is nice considering I have no spoken to my sisters in 5 years for her, 6 years for the older one (the middle). And I am also trying to reach out to my brothers more. It is interesting, because I did not know them until later. I am the oldest out of 5, 2 half-sisters of my mom’s side, 2 half-brothers on my dads, ironically enough.

I am also seeking out a competent doctor even with Medicaid, because I know need two more surgeries. This will make surgeries 4 and 5. It should have been 2 at most. But 5? And that is minimum, not counting if anything goes wrong again. It is taking longer, because I refuse to see my prior surgeon, and the only opening this past winter break as when I had to have my wisdom teeth removed, so, that did not happen.

Given circumstance I have managed to find a place to stay during breaks. Which is great because as some of you may recall I was kicked out after I turned 18 in 2019, and the room I rented over that summer was terrible (maybe leaving a known alcoholic with no regard for privacy alone with a just then 18 year old girl is a bad idea - if the number of times he barged into my room unannounced to try and get me to drink with him was anything to go by), but it was so my parents could travel full-time. Which, they are doing now and I am happy for them because my mom has 10 years maximum if she is lucky before needing oxygen (Smokers Lung), and my dad is dealing with medical injuries he got while serving - they discharged him because they would never heal right.

I have also picked back up with my job on my college campus! So money! And have secured a much better paying job over break than my McDonalds job, meaning I am not so hard pressed for cash. Which is also great because the last week of summer I had to dish out $2500 for my truck after it broke down in Tennessee and we had to get towed back to North Carolina.

So! Down to business! Now that I know what was wrong with me, and I no longer have issues with suicide, I’m on medication, and last semester I had a therapist that was a major help to me. I am actually in a better spot to be here. It has certainly taken a lot of work, and 2020-21 has thrown just about everything that it seems to have been able and hell, I am still looking for a third job.

Speaking of, god damn, the commissions! Jesus H. Christ, I wanted those done by January! And it’s March! Although I have been making progress on them, that is absolutely true - I am working on them a bit oddly though, switching between which ones I do to try and stop burn out and also because I was not drawing while mentally at my lowest. So to anyone who commissioned me who may not be looking at those messages, but sees this, I am sorry, they are being worked on. And I understand this is a ridiculous amount of time to wait for them and thank you all for being so patient.

I have also been considering if it is a good choice for me to come back to this page, and yes, I think that it is. Having something that I do every day has proven to be very helpful, and the amount of joy and love I have for these pages and the followers on them is immense. I was trying to clear out storage on my phone and I have an album just of prompts or asks that you guys have sent that continue to make my day. It really does mean the world to me.

I cannot be too sure if many have noticed my absence, if Prompt Guy did either. But I am stopping it now. I am finally in a good place. And yeah, I have a lot to do still - if all goes according to plan then I graduate next year. So after this I only have two more semesters before I graduate with my Bachelors in Business, with a focus on Entrepreneurship at the age of 20. And I better because I cannot afford to be in college much longer. I want to be back here, and return to my regular postings and interactions. I am getting those commissions done no matter what - that is a constant guilt over my head. Trust me, I know that it is there. I know. But I joined as an admin because I had followed this page the day it was created. And then I saw it had gone dead with no posts, so I applied as an admin. I got it. And things went very well. Well, I intend to hold back to what I wanted when I was first on this page, bringing it back to consistent postings for everyone.

I am here. I am back. And I am staying.

Also, I apologize if there are any typos, I have been doing a lot or writing for homework and personal work (trying to stop burn out and the threat of school ending my love to write) and my eyes have been strained the last few days, so everything is a bit fuzzy. Speaking of fuzzy! Turns out I needed glasses! So I have glasses now!

Yours truly, Prompt Prophet

#I lived bitch #but really I am back #Warning #Long post #Very long post #But god it has been so long since I have been back across ALL of my accounts #And I feel like I owe an explanation and a run down of what I plan to be doing

[theonewiththefanfics]

Because Hearts Get Broken - I Know That You’re Scared (Part 2/3)

Continuation of ‘Because Hearts Get Broken’ - see my masterlist for it :)

Synopsis: She’s trying to move on. He’s still hoping for a chance

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angsty, bruh, but with a sprinkle of fluff and a hopeful (??) ending

Warnings: swearing, emotionally distant mindset... can’t think of anything else, really. 

Word count: 3656

Heartbreak isn’t loud. Y/N doesn’t even know if it had a sound what it would be like. Like glass shattering against the ground? Or maybe like a book being ripped and shredded apart, memories of time spent together ruined. Or maybe it'd like the crackle of a fire, as it slowly but surely crept up and turned everything into charred remains before it became nothing but ash and was carried away by the winds.

        No one in her family talked about feelings. If they did all they received back was ‘suck it up. That’s life’. After that, it was time to move on. So, when she got together with probably the most open-hearted person in the world, it was almost laughable.

        Y/N had always been the friend others went for advice, relationship or not, but she herself never asked for one, simply because she didn’t wanna bother anyone. Not that she thought the others were bothers. It’s just having grown up in a household where emotions were basically suppressed, opening up was quite impossible. 

       Then came Harry. Perfect, impossible, loving, sweet, kind, ridiculously open Harry. God, she just wanted to punch him because no one should be that nice. 

        January 2nd, 2020 he’d called her up, having gotten Y/N’s number from Sarah (after ages of pleading, because as much as Sarah sometimes couldn’t handle drunk Y/N, she’d defend and protect her until the very last breath), and they set up a coffee date.

        Slowly but surely, they spent more and more time together and seeing as her job had her based in LA for a while, visiting Harry was no problem. Then the pandemic hit, and on March 18th the whole stay-at-home order was issued in California. 

        Y/N was in a panic. She was meant to leave LA in ten days, and the hotel her company was paying for had been paid until the 28th. With all flights getting rapidly cancelled, she was scrambling to get one, but even her firm was unable to get her a seat. That’s when Harry had called up, his tone a worried, urgent mess as to if Y/N was alright and what her plans were.

        Of course, him being him, he immediately offered her a place to stay.

        “We don’t even need to stay in the same room, there’s like five other guest rooms you can take up,” he tried to joke, and ease her tension.

        “Fuck, Harry, just rub it in how rich you are.” Y/N cackled, and when she heard him laugh in the background, her heart did that stupid fluttery thing she’d grown so used to. 

        It took a little persuasion from Harry’s side, and reassurance at least seven more times, that Y/N wouldn’t be intruding on his space, and he was more than happy to spend the quarantine with someone else, instead of being alone, and that in no way her taking over a room or two would limit him and his own artistic endeavours. So, apprehensively Y/N packed her suitcases, grabbed an uber, wearing a mask the whole time, and drove to Harry’s place.  

When Y/N saw the gated community and the palace he was living in, the inside of her cheek was practically bitten in half. They’d barely been together for three months, and now she was basically moving in with him, but given how it was either live with Harry in a fucking mansion or walk across the country to New York, she took the first option. 

        As much as Harry loved on her, pretty much shagging her brains out every possible second, and loving on her until her cheeks hurt from smiling, the anxiety about the whole situation never left.

Harry was worried about his mom and sister, Y/N was scared of what was happening in New York. So, when the state boarders opened, immediately, although reluctantly, she flew back to her apartment and her dying plants, but never forgetting to FaceTime with Harry. But they couldn't stay away long from one another.

        Which is why they decided, given how she was able to work from home now, and Harry could do so as well, they’d fly over to one another every two weeks, quarantine together for the next two weeks, and then fly to the other place. Her boss actually loved the idea that Y/N was so willing to go back and forth between the two cities, so all her flights were written off as business expenses, not to mention when she said she wouldn’t need a hotel, he was more than thrilled to let her be in LA whenever she wanted, as long as her work got done.

        It seemed funny to her now, that before Y/N couldn’t wait to get back to the sunny state of Cali. Now when she had to fly over (which was just a couple of times since the breakup), going through JFK security made her sweat, and landing was a vomit-inducing action. And the last time she’d gotten back to the home-base state, she’d actually thrown up, Harry’s last words ringing in her ears.

        It’d been three weeks since Sarah’s New Year party, and three weeks since she’d spoken to him although he still kept calling. Every morning she’d wake up to a couple of notifications of missed calls, and each time she’d listen to the messages; it was all the same – I miss your voice. And every time she’d listen to it, her thoughts were exactly the same. You could say it was almost pathetic as to how many times she’d listened to his albums, just to hear him sing. Almost like he used to do right before she fell asleep.

        But Y/N had no one else but herself to blame for it. She’d been the one to call it quits, she’d been the one who walked out of his apartment, and the one who decided she wouldn’t fight. 

        Now, she was sat by her small magazine table, documents spread out in front of her as if a tornado had rolled through, while an apple and cinnamon candle spread its delicious scent through the air. 

        Y/N would only admit it once because, well, the proof was all over the apartment, but she was very lazy when it came to taking away the Christmas décor. It made her feel warm and comfy. And it reminded her of Harry. How when she’d woken up after their first date, already in the new year, he still had colourful fairy lights strung across the curtain rods, giving everything a soft, cosy glow. 

        He’d also been the one who convinced her that a real Christmas tree was so much better than a plastic one. 

        “Yes, it’s a hassle,” he’d said through slurred words as they’d slinked away from the partying crowd after the countdown was done, and each of them had taken three shots of vodka. “But it’s so worth it. Smells like a fucking forest in your room. Like proper Christmas!”

        And although she’d spent this holiday season alone, Harry had been right. Just like he’d been right about Y/N.

        She tapped her pen against the glass surface and readjusted her position on the floor.

        “This is the periodic table, noble gases stable, halogens and alkali react aggressively,” Y/N hummed as she highlighted the incorrect parts of the paper in front of her. “Each period will see new outer shells, while electrons are added moving to the right.”

        Just as she was about to start off the second verse, her doorbell rang, and her stomach gurgled in response.

        “Ugh,” she groaned to herself. “Pasta come to fuckin’ mama.”

        But when she opened the door, she wasn’t greeted by the Uber Eats delivery man.

        “Harry.”

        Y/N was taken aback. She didn’t expect him to visit her, especially not so soon and especially to fly out to New York (as much as he was most likely there to do other stuff as well, her gut told her he was there for her). 

Sure, she hoped that one day they could be friends, if not acquaintances, he was too important of a person for her to lose completely from her life, but that was looking like five years into the future.

        “I bring gifts.” He raised his hand where her boxes of food hung in a paper bag. “Can I?”

        “Uh, yeah, of course!” She shook her head to clear it from the shock and allowed Harry to enter into the warmth of her apartment and escape from the cold January air.

        “I was on my way up when the delivery man came in, and I recognised by the boxes it was yours.” The smirk on Harry’s face was something Y/N loved to see, but usually, she liked to also wipe it away. Preferably with her own lips. 

        She let out a small scoff, not waiting to see if he followed inside, as she scurried to the adjacent kitchen and grabbed two plates, while he opened up the white cardboard containers and allowed the delicious smell of spaghetti Bolognese as well as a carbonara waft into the air. Y/N had wanted to eat the latter at some point during the night when the munchies hit, but she supposed Harry was probably hungry as well. “Maybe there’s someone else here, who likes Italian.”

        “Probably, but only you would order from the shittiest Italian restaurant just because they have pesto and parmesan bread.”

        “Hey!” She slapped his arm. “They’re not shit. They provide me with everything I need – calories, carbs and bread.”

        “What more does a person need?”

        “Exactly!”

        Both of them let out small chuckles and then settled down on her couch to dig into the meal. They ate in silence, and despite Y/N’s initial shock, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, they were sitting pretty much shoulder to shoulder, as she watched Harry re-read the spread-out articles on the table and use her marker to tick some stuff that could use re-wording. He had a knack for words, after all.

        “I uh…” He wiped his mouth with one of the napkins provided by the diner before clasping his fingers together and looking at the woman sitting next to him, as she slowly set her empty plate on the small cupboard beside the sofa. “I was hoping we could talk.”

        Y/N hung her head. She should’ve known he wasn’t here to just check-in and have some dinner. “We already did. Twice might I add. What makes you think this time the ending will be different?”

        “Third times the charm?” Harry let out a little laugh, and she rolled her eyes. “Look, I didn’t wanna leave everything the way I did. I – I said some pretty shit things.”

        Y/N fiddled with her thumb. ‘I had,’ Harry’s words echoed in her head. ‘Only she didn’t trust that I loved her the same.’ “Nothing that was untrue though.”

        “See, that’s where I think both of us are wrong.”

        That was not what Y/N thought this conversation would be whatsoever.

        “I – “ He cleared his throat. “I know I said I didn’t think you trusted me that I loved you enough. I think you know I did – do.”

        If Y/N still had any food in her mouth she would’ve choked on it, as she bit back the rising lump in her throat, but instead of interrupting him, she let Harry continue. “And honestly, it’s not your fault that it fell apart, ‘s my fault too. I pushed you to do something, you didn’t want to, weren’t comfortable with, when you told me not to… just because I wanted to feel important, ‘nd because I wanted to get a role in your life you weren’t ready for yet. And I’m sorry for doing that. I should’ve never forced you.”

        “Harry…” Y/N was at a complete loss. “I – I don’t really know what to say.”

        He took her left hand in his and clasped it, finally able to properly say what'd been eating away at him. “During the New Year party, I didn’t go about it the right way. I was just – I was just still so hurt, and I wanted you to hurt the same because… it didn’t seem like you cared at all, which I know you did… I know you loved me, and…” He took in a deep breath. “I hope that you still do. At least enough to give us another chance. We can take it at your pace,” he instantly added, knowing how she’d react, expecting the sigh and the almost tired and resigned ‘Harry’ that escaped her lips. But he’d say everything on his mind. “You can take how long you need to feel like you can trust me with what’s bothering you.”

        “Harry,” she repeated, but it didn’t seem like he was about to stop.

        “But I think we can do it, and we can do it right this time. We know where we stand, we won't make the same mistakes.”

        Y/N’s hand came to rest against his cheek, and he practically melted, engulfing her palm with his as to not let her touch leave his skin for even a second. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

        “Look, I know, you’re scared, and the thing is, so am I. I don’t want it to end like that or end. Period. But I do want to try again.”

        And if nothing but to humour him Y/N asked, “And if it does end the same way?”

        “It won’t.” He was so sure of it, she had to laugh.

        “Harry, the big difference between us is – you like to talk about your feelings. You like to go through them and stuff. I don’t. I feel… icky when I even think about talking to someone of what I feel. We’re just too opposite.”

        “Opposites attract.”

        “No,” she pointed a finger at him, stifling her laughter, though Harry seemed not to be hiding his smile. “Do not use science against me.”

        He raised his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not, I’m just supporting my point with facts. Scientific facts, that you can’t argue against.”

        “I mean…” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno… Maybe it was a good thing we ended it when we did. It was ten months – almost ten – amazing months, but… can you imagine if we’d gone so far as to think about moving in together, and then it fell apart? That would’ve been a whole different kind of a mess.”

        “Do you love me?”

        Y/N sighed, resting her cheek against the couch while she smoothed away his brown locks from his face. “Of course, I do. Don’t think there will be a time in my life I don’t.”

        “Then that’s all I need.”

         “Is that really enough for you?”

        “Yes.”

        And there was no lie in that single word. Did he want for Y/N to feel comfortable enough with him that she talked about whatever concerned her, however small? Of course. But he also wanted her to be comfortable enough to be herself. If that meant her keeping things to herself, and trusting Harry to support her decisions, it’d be enough.

        Her Y/E/C eyes hadn’t left his green ones, and they only widened as he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to hers.

        “Haz…”

        Fuck, how he’d missed her calling him that. It wasn’t an exclusive nickname by any means, but when it came from Y/N’s mouth, it was the sweetest sound in the universe.

        He was her Haz when he broke a plate, he was her Haz when she threw her head back as pleasure exploded through her body, he was her Haz when he took her hand in his to quell her anxiety, and he was her Haz when he gave her tissues as they watched a movie, and she couldn’t help but cry each time a dog or cat died (or a dragon, but he was a sobbing mess as well because ‘Dragonheart’ messed with them both).

        His lips were so close, and just as they skimmed over her own, Y/N’s phone rang making her physically spring back, eyes like saucers.

        “S – Sorry,” she stammered, scrambling to find the annoying device between the cushions. It was Sarah’s name that lit up her screen.

        “Hey, what’s up?” Y/N started, voice trembling and shaky. God, when had she suddenly gone so out of breath? And why was her head so dizzy, as if she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster?

        “Yeah, he’s here,” she replied, eyeing Harry. “Yeah, just a sec,” and Y/N handed him her phone with a quiet ‘why’s your phone always dead?’

        ‘Didn’t know it died’, he said, but that was untrue. He’d turned it off so this sort of a situation wouldn’t happen; so a call or text wouldn’t interrupt him at the most critical moment. He had to give the universe a proper talk once he was done.

        “ ‘Ello?” 

        Seconds of silence passed, and Y/N didn’t like how weird it was, so she took the empty plates and put them in the sink to soak.

        “Now?”

        She could see the frustration rise in Harry as his forehead creased, and he let a hand rake through his hair. “Fuck’s sake… yeah, I’ll be there in ten. ‘S alright,” he sighed. “Not your fault Sarah. Tell Jeff not to worry, and that I’m not dead.”

        With that, he pressed the red button and ended the call, drumming his fingers against the screen. God, he really didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not after he’d been so close.

        “Uh, work?” Y/N asked, arms crossed in front of her as if she was protecting herself from the answer. 

        “Yeah, sorry. I uh a meeting from tomorrow got rescheduled for tonight, like right now because there was some sort of an emergency from the label’s side."

        “ ‘S alright, I get it. Showbiz never stops.” Y/N motioned to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

        There were a couple of times in his life Harry wanted to give himself a beating. Once when he was six and Gemma had told on him after he’d broken a favourite vase of their mothers, he decided to get revenge and destroy her favourite plushie. He’d never forget the tears Gem had cried, and how absolutely heartbroken she’d sounded. He vowed although he was the little brother, to never ever let anyone hurt her like that, and if someone did, they’d meet their maker sooner rather than later.

        The second time was when he was still a teenager, One Direction on the rise, and it had gotten to his head just a little bit more than it should’ve. He’d gotten really messed up at a party (which Harry shouldn’t have even been at). The disappointment on his mother’s face as she scolded him through FaceTime was gut-wrenching enough to make him promise to always know the limit.

        And Harry guessed this was the third time.

        He could’ve said no to the meeting. Jeff was there and so was Sarah and Mitch. The three of them could handle it for him. It’s not like he would mind much whatever they came up with if it had given him the time to settle things with Y/N. 

        “It was great to see you, Harry.” She brought him out from the thoughts as she unlocked the door and opened it for him, bringing her jumper sleeves over her palms to hide from the cold outside air. “Really. I – I missed you, and honestly, I’m glad we got to talk. I uh well, take care. And say hi to Sarah from me please.”

        “I – “ he took hold of Y/N’s wrist before she could turn away. “I’m holding a small concert in a week. Here in uh in New York. It’s for charity… I want you to come.”

        “I umm… I’ll have to check if I’m free, but yeah. I will. Thank you.”

        “ ‘S no problem… Sarah missed you like crazy now that you’re not in LA as often… ‘n yeah. Anyway. I’ll put your name on the guest list, so just bring some ID, and they’ll let you backstage.”

        “Okay,” she whispered and gave him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll really try to come.”

        “Yeah.”

        And he was going to go without doing anything else. Harry truly was. But as he released her wrist, going to the stairs, he gave Y/N one last glance back, and it was like his feet had a mind of their own, as they carried him back to where she stood by the still open door, grabbed her by the waist and pressed his lips to hers. 

        He expected Y/N to push him away, but to his very huge delight, she didn’t. Instead, her fingers wove through his hair and her legs almost on instinct rose so he could take her by the thighs, wrap them around his middle and press her against the doorway. 

        The groan that Harry swallowed from Y/N only ignited the fire that’d been burning ever since he met her, but it wasn’t the destructive kind, like the ones that leave nothing but charcoal behind. It was warm. Safe. Like the light of a fairy light. Like the embrace of home.

        “Come to the show,” he muttered against Y/N’s lips, as they broke apart, and he set her down on the ground, not letting go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. “I’ll wait for you.”

        With that, he left because if he didn’t, he’d make sure Y/N would be unable to walk for a week.

        And Y/N watched him retreat while her brain fought with her heart.

        What was it he’d sung in ‘Golden’, as he’d twirled her in the sea of bodies and glitter a little bit more than a year ago? ‘Loving is the antidote?’ 

        Maybe love was the antidote to her fear.

        She closed the door.

        And smiled.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I’ve been listening to ‘Fine Line’, ‘The Periodic Table Song’, ‘Welcome to the Christmas Parade’ (Welcome to the Black Parade mix with All I Want For Christmas) and ‘Rasputin’ Boney M remix exclusively... I feel like a complete crackhead... :D

Decided to tag also those who wanted a part 2 but didn’t necessarily ask to be tagged :)

P.S. I guess there will be a part 3???

P.S.S. if you wanna be added to a tag list drop me a message :)

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fandom #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x you #golden #fine line #one direction #one direction imagine #1d #1d fan fiction #harry styles angst #harry styles and y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles and you #harry styles and reader

[kendrixtermina]

Appreciating the Range of Type 6, or, one stereotypical example, and three that aren’t.

I want to tell you about some type 6 ppl that I know in my personal life.

Exemplar #1: F. B.

Complete Stats

Wing: 5 p or cp: largely phobic – lots of safety worries, outright authoritarian follower personality Instinct: sp/soc Trifix: 613  - 6w5 1w2 3w2 (“The Taskmaster” or “The Middle Manager”) jungian: ISTJ / SLI-Te oldham: Conscientious & Aggressive Essence Type: Mars Temperament: Pure Choleric

What he’s like:

Not pleasant.

Every “strict conservative middle aged guy” stereotype in the book. Control freak, makes a mountain out of every molehill, sees the world as full of axe murderers, judgemental as fuck, horrible temper and yet completely impersonable, all his opinions are copypasted from right-wing news sites. When they say war is good he’s for war, and when they say war is bad he’ll be like “At least Trump did not start any more wars” without perceiving a contradiction. Despite this, he believes is very hot, principled and funny. He is none of these things. He puts people down nonstop. My knowledge of neurochemistry tells me that he must have emotions somewhere or he couldn’t function, but I ain’t ever seen a single one of those emotions. They’re all for his job and a few trusted mentor figures. And his mom. At least he loved her.

If you say anything he doesn’t like, he “throws the sofa out the window” as his wife once put it.

How he’s a Type 6:

Well, he’s pretty much every negative stereotype in a nutshell… other than distrusting his partner. But that might be cause hes sx blind, or cause the wife is big on monogamy & wouldn’t ever cheat.

The one positive trait of 6 that he has is that he does his research. Before moving anywhere he googles the crime rates and if you need a doctor he might find you the best one. But even that can be overriden by ideology (hydroxychloroquine!). And if you don’t take his exact advice, there goes the sofa out the window again…

And I guess the work ethic from all 3 parts of the trifix really comes through – he hasn’t had a single bad grade in his life and always keeps collecting new certifications, and will make sure you hear about it...

Exemplar #2: I.

Complete Stats

Wing: 5 P or cp: pretty much an even mix of phobic and counterphobic Instinct: sp/soc Trifix: 614 - 6w5 1w2 4w3 (Would prolly call herself “The Big Pain” rather than “The Philosopher” ^^°) jungian: INTJ / ILI-Ni oldham: Serious & Conscientious Essence Type: Saturn Temperament: Chlor-Mel

What she’s like:

I’d describe her as serious, mature, discerning, focused and passionate about her friendships, if perhaps somewhat forceful at times, with a dry, sarcastic sense of humor.

Comes across like someone who knows what she’s talking about, with well-articulated points.

Often the Responsible Sibling, Designated Sanity Checker or Bullshit Detector.

Prefers to plan everything in advance in typical Ni dom fashion, even amusement part trips. Gets somewhat anxious without a future plan or shedule.

Often mistaken for a whole lot more sociable and confident that she really feels inside. (even I kinda bought it and got her whole darn trifix wrong on my first typing attempt, though that was when I was new to typology) She can act the boss act temporarily to get the situation over with, but she actually hates making decisions.

She does however have the occasional cute/pure moment where that lower function block comes out.

How she’s a Type 6:

She has saved our family from many a terrible restaurant by making sure to check the reviews. The preparing for all possible dangers is very 6, the acting tough outwardly when youre inwardly anxious, the intellectual problem solving & some tendency towards organization/responsibility/ “logistic” intelligence.

One online test she took gave her 5w6 instead of 6w5 but that’s probably just the ITxx-ness leaking in. I remember this one time we were discussing this artsy-fartsy theater play to which we’d had fascinatingly different reactions, and at one point I half-jokingly said something like “But does anyone ever really feel connected to others, or is that a myth?” to which she wrote, “[Name], what the fuck? Yes I do.” and then immediately deleted it. That’s more of a 6 reaction innit?

Nonetheless the wing does feature in significantly – for example she got very well informed about a lot of topics because she researched them to assuage a random survival-related fear, like, “How to make sure I have enough retirement money”

Exemplar #3: M.

Complete Stats

Wing: 7 p or cp: largely phobic Instinct: sp/sx Trifix: 692 - 6w7 9w1 2w1 (Fortunately very much a “Good Samaritan” rather than “The Stockholm”) jungian: ISFP / SEI-Fi oldham: Sensitive & Devoted Essence Type: Lunar-Venus Temperament: Pure Supine

What she’s like:

Precious! Sweet, nice, good listener, friendly, gives all the best gifts. But also perceptive and good at understanding people, eg. mediating to the parents when one of the younger sisters is having An Emotion™ or winning the trust of problem children.

Unlike I. Who has some soc that helps her keep track of a larger circle of friends despite her introversion, M. tends to enjoy the closeness with her family and have just a few very close friends. Excellent friend material all around! The sx and Se also come out in enjoying art forms involving the body like theatre or dance.

She can be a bit shy, conflict-avoidant and occasionally a lil bit panicky though.

As a small kid she used to be super duper shy but then a wise english teacher encouraged her to play a big role in a play, and since then she’s a lot more confident and doesn’t let ppl push her around without limit, though she’s still a quiet, helpful person. There you see the difference that a good teacher can make.

How she’s a Type 6:

For one thing she moves and emotes faster than a core 9 would, and she fits the body language – big eyes that move around a lot, stands a bit lopsided, talks in a shrill voice on the rare occasions where we exhaust her patience etc. As a xSFx and a w7 she shows mostly the “warm, friendly, likeable” side of type 6. She also has a very 6-ish tendency to very frequently ask people’s opinions & feedback before making decisions. (the other fixes probably add to this)

Alas, she also has a little bit of of the fear/insecurity.

Also she has a social/care job which might be seen as 6-ish desire to serve the community.

Exemplar #4: J.

Complete Stats

Wing: 7 P or cp: largely counterphobic Instinct: sx/soc ?? definitely not sp first. Trifix: 638 - 6w7 3w4 8w9(?) (Shall she be a “Justice Fighter” or a “Kyle”? Only time will tell.) jungian: ISTP / LSI-Se ?? Oldham: ? some Dramatic & Serious, perhaps ? Essence Type: Definitely Mercury Temperament: San-Mel

What she’s like:

The first adjective that usually comes to my mind is ‘cool’. Sassy, energetic & a little bit tough, but also affectionate when she wants to be. (though in admiring way rather than a mushy one)

She says the coolest things, has a certain sly sort of cleverness, and an astonishly good poker face. Bit of an occasional prankster. Hilarious. Knows all sort of cool science facts. Avid gamer. 

Not especially popular or over the top sociable, but she gets sad if no one pays attention to her a while. Will act visibly moody where ppl can see sad or worried and can catastrophize a bit in such situations.

How she’s a Type 6:

I first though we might be getting an ExxP type 7 since she was a pretty energetic child, but once puberty hit and independent thought manifested, she turned out a whole lot too reactive and ‘edgy’ for this, and more on the ‘moderate introvert’ side of things.

Since then the sisterly dynamic has been like one fluffy golden dog and 3 hissing black cats. Hissing Cats #1 and #2 are very proud of her, but cat #1 was forced to conclude that she’s probably not a positive outlook type.

Out of all the reactive types 6 fits best because she does broadcast group identity (like wearing merchandise of her favorite media and wearing buttons in solidarity with ppl she likes.) & has a big case of Big Sibling worship for M, I, and someone else who isn’t on this list due to being a 9. (a 4 or 8 might like their older siblings but probably wouldn’t constantly stress the admiration.), but she can also show lasting, pouty displeasure with authority figures who have slighted her. (Like that one time I went too far in teasing her...)

I’m just assuming the 8 fix because that tends to make 6s more bold, louder & more shameless.

Basically she is the “punk teen” type of 6. She can be a bit dramatic & over-the top but still come to her family on advice (even advice on pranks!) in ways that xSTPs of other enneagrams prolly wouldn’t.

She also tends to use self-deprecating humor in tough situations and deflects compliments to present herself as ‘ordinary’.

...

This may sound like I’m really getting down on my first example (I won’t pretend that I’m not) but the point in bringing him up is that the reason he’s like this is: He was subject to really bad parenting that put a lot of fear into him, there was no good parenting to teach him broader coping strategies, he lived in a crappy environment that crushed his dreams, in a sense ‘confirming’ those fears and making him double down, resulting in a person who is just always rigidly following the same predictable pattern or jumping from one automatic reaction to the next with very little pausing and thinking. That goes for the other types too: A ‘stereotypical’ person is a desperate person ruled by fear, who cant stop or soften up even for an instant cause they constantly feel this fire of threat under their arse.

A lot of descriptions say that 6s ‘Follow authority’ but most would balk at the notion – ‘I do the research!’ they might argue ‘I don’t just trust anyone’ or ‘I’m actually a rebel’. There is of course such a thing as denial  that’s more like the extreme case.

But with a more average, functional 6 it’s not so much ‘obedience’ as that they just like to bounce their ideas off of others to get feedback, or that they feature in other’s viewpoints. So you might get someone who can naturally use feedback (something other ppl may have to learn first) or who is very considerate of others (which others might have to consciously remind themselves to do.)

Those are sometimes pretty good traits actually.

On the other hand this is probably part of what makes decisions hard cause they consider all these possible scenarios of how things might displease or cause harm to everyone involved.

Being able to naturally snap into Action Mode under stress looks a bit enviable from the outside, but I. assures me that it’s actually super stressful & exhausting, even for someone who doesn’t get to a point of just being unreasonably aggro at you.

Though even an extreme case like F.B. would probably claim that he ‘did the research’ even as he’s 1:1 quoting the Pope at you, and then saying that you ‘have to be respectful’ even if you don’t even believe in Christianity. Hence why you get a lot of authoritarians talking about “disrespect”. You didn’t “fail to obey”, you “disrespected the flag” or  “hurt the feelings of the Chinese people”. Because they’re still trying or inwardly thinking that they’re doing the consideritation & considering other’s PoV thing when they’ve long since crossed from respect and consideration into mindless obedience, all while still thinking that they’re very sceptical and discerning cause after all they really distrust the other political party or whatever.  

In a way you get this obsession with ‘mind control’ cause they’re not unaware of & very much looking to guard the blind spot. They’re adults trying to do adult things.

For example, if I voiced an opinion to F. B. which he didn’t like, his reaction was often to ask “who told you that”

That’s just how he seems to think opinions work, somebody tells them to you.

Makes one wonder how he thinks new opinions start.

Yeah - Nobody told me that. I concocted it myself in some corner of my head. And in the interest of objectivity, I should stress that you can also end talking out of your ass that way, if you’re not basing it on enough outside data. Making up new shit has more of a quadratic than a linear learning curve – at least with copying you get something semi-useful right away. In making up your own you might be really off a long time before you stumble on something useful.

Also, I was young at the time and it’s not wholly unreasobale to think that an inexperienced person might be duped. I reacted really badly in part cause he hit my own ego buttons cause I was of course proud of this epiphany that I had concocted by myself, and now he says (or so I perceived it, being sensitive to accusations of incompetence) that I’m too dumb to form an opinion, so of course I launched into full Obnoxious Reddit Dude Mode.

In I. It manifests more on a reasonable useful level like “Oh wait, should [young cousin] be on TikTok? I don’t want him to get sucked into some cultish BS.” which is at least something the parents should have on the radar/ warn him about even if they do let him use TikTok, because for all that it is vital for him to get his experience with independent socializing & experimentig with sel-presentation, people do sometimes get suckered into cults or goaded into unsafe tests of courage.

And in a sense… maybe they overamphasize it but to some extent they’re also simply consciously aware/ mindful of it. The rest of us are not immune to propaganda after all, solong as it’s presented in a way pleasing to our egos. Any type structure can become a ‘hook’ if you’re not careful.

#enneagram #enneagram 6 #ennea 6 #6w5 #6w7

[sometimes-i-write-4-you]

Part of the convocation- Miguel Diaz x reader (sneak peak)

Summary: reader is Johnny's long-not-so-lost-step-niece, and she need a new roof over her head, so she finds herself back in a Dojo with him as her sensai once again.

A/N: this is just the first few paragraphs, figured I'd post it to check the water and see if anyone else finds this interesting.

Update: The full part 1 is out!!

------

Deep breaths. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. I clench my hand into a fist and raise it, placing it in front of me, fully ready to knock on door number 2 that's right in front of me.

After all this time, I don't know if John would even know who I am. If he'll recognize.

"Hey, you must be John Lawrence. I am (y/n) (l/n) but my mom's maiden name is Lawrence, Maya Lawrence" I repeat the lines I planned in my head once again, "that name might sound familiar, because she is your step-sister, from sid's old marriage. You may know, he is no longer with us, and neither is she" the voice in my head keeps going. "Okay, you got this" i mumble to myself and knock on the door.

"Hey, you must be-" I start, but the person in front of me looks way too young to be my mom's step brother. He has dark features too, and from what I remember John is a white, blond-haired, blue-eyed guy. His dark hair fall on his face messily, and his brown eyes had a kind look to them. "-not the person I was looking for, I'm sorry" I say, giving him half an awkward smile. "Uh, who are you looking for?" He asks, returning a half smile. "Diaz, who's at the door?" A voice calls from behind. "I dunno, this girl who's looking for someone" the dark haired boy who I assume is Diaz answers. "Is she a babe?" The voice calls, and Diaz lets out an unsurprised sigh. "She looks about my age, Sensei, so maybe you'd wanna take that back" Diaz calls to the mysterious older-sounding guy in the apartment. I assumed it's his dad, but after that last sentence I am not as sure. "Oh" the man says as he finally steps in my field if vision. 

The man I see in front of me is a tall, white, blond-haired, blue-eyed guy. He looks at me, confused. I guess I am staring, after all, the last time I saw this man was at my Bat mitzvah - my dad is, or I guess was, Jewish. He steps closer, squinting his eyes at me as he switches places with Diaz. "Hey, you must be John Lawrence, I am (y/n) (l/n) but my mom's maiden name is Lawrence, Maya Lawrence-" I start, but he cuts me off with a hug. It took me by surprise, honestly. "Lil (y/n)! I can't belive it, it has been forever" he says, and I hug him back. "Uh, sensei, who is this?" Diaz asks from inside the apartment. 

"This is my step niece, (y/n)" John explains, "(y/n), this is Miguel, he's my student, and my girlfriend's son".

"Hi" I say, waving at Miguel, he waves back. "So, what brings you here? Are your parents here too? I think I owe them an apology for your Bar matzvah-" "it's Bat mitzvah, I'm a girl, and-" I correct him, but he keeps going. "- I was in a bad place back then, and-" he says as he's looking around for the car I got here in, but no success. "Where, uh, where is the car? Your parents?" He asks. "They are, uh, over there" I say, pointing at the sky. He looks up, "on the balcony? There is no one on the-" John says in confusion. "Sensai, I uh, I'm sorry" Miguel looks at me with a sad smile, "I think she means that uh, they are in the sky". "What, Like, On an airplane? How did she get here before-" john says, and Miguel stares at him until the puzzle clicks in my step uncle's brain. "Oh, oh! They are  dead!" John says, a bit excited to realise, but then the realization really hits. "Oh, they are dead" he repeats. "I'm so sorry, kid. Are you staying with sid now? Did he send you here to get that glass statue I stole? Cause I don't have it, I pawned it to pay for this guy's surgery" John says, pointing at Miguel. "What?" Miguel and I mumble, confused. "Um, actually John, I was staying with sid, but he died and you are the only relative I have. Social services tried to contact you, but there was no answer, almost like you don't have a phone" I explain to him.

"I don't have a phone, I threw it on the beach!" John says, pride in his voice. "O..kay…" I reply, "anyways, John, I was wondering If I can stay with you" I finally get to what I was trying to say for the past few minutes. "Sure, yeah, sure thing kid" he says, "come on in, I was just cooking for me and Diaz". I walk behind him into the apartment. It's messy, and smells like beer and whiskey. Of course it is, what else should I expect from good ol' step-uncle Johnny.

As they cook, we chat a little, and John tells me all about the Karate-gang thing, and how his Dojo is bound to win. "Actually, this is perfect timing for you to arrive, we need a girl to kick some asses for Eagle Fang" John says. "You want me to joking your Karate gang?" I laughe, but he look as serious as can be. "Well, of course, I mean you already got moves, I remember you kicking that kid right in the balls at your Bat matzvah" he says, mispronouncing the biggest, most important even of your life once again. "I kicked him is because he kept asking where bat-man is and claimed it was false advertisement" I laughed thinking back at that night. It was all going so well, until John had one, two, ten drinks too many. "And I landed that kick because you trained me. I was your first student, I think" I say, and they both look at me, expecting me to accept the offer to join Eagle claw- no, not claw, fang. "But I bet you I don't even remember any Karate moves" I say quickly. "No, no, karate is like riding a bike" Miguel says. "After my injury, I thought I'm never gonna get back to it, I thought it was doomed. I thought I will never kick ass again, but with the help of sensai here, it all came back in an instant, my instincts were as sharp as ever and my kicks as precise as they were" he opened up as if we didn't meet nearly 15 minutes ago. It looks like these two had a connection, like my step-uncle is actually there for him. Good to know I wasn't mistaken to come here. "Fine" I say, "I'll join your convocation". "You are already having a conversation with us" John says. "Uh, john, convocation is a cloak of birds" I explain. "I knew that" he mutters, making the plates for all 3 of us. "Thank you, (y/n). I'm sure you're just what out team needs" Miguel smiles at me, and I can't help but think it is a cute smile.

#miguel diaz #miguel diaz x reader #johnny lawrence #cobra kai #cobra kai x reader

[palimpsessed]

Writerly Ephemera

I was tagged by @amywaterwings @mostlymaudlin @tea-brigade @effing-numpties @captain-aralias @bloodiedpixie . This is so cool, so thanks for sharing yours! ❤️

Per Amy: We add little bits of ourselves to our writing, scattering memories and places and phrases and things into our stories. The game is to find five examples of this, of YOU, in your writing and show everyone.

I don’t really feel like I put much of my own experiences into my fic, probably because I don’t feel like I have a lot of experiences to pull from. (That’s not me being self-deprecating; that’s me never going anywhere or doing anything.) So, let’s see what we come up with!

Going to tag here. I feel like I’ve gotten to this late so I’m not sure who has been tagged. Anyway. No pressure, loves. Just saying hi. 🥰 @theflyingpeach @bazzybelle @otherworldsivelivedin @unseelieseelie @wetheformidables @caitybug @nightimedreamersworld @foolofabookwyrm @stillmadaboutpetra

1. I have put the most of myself into A Man of Letters. I have my degree in English Lit and when I was in college, I was at the height of my Jane Austen obsession. So I sort of built my degree around the development of the English novel. My senior thesis was on a book called Evelina by Frances Burney, who was one of Austen’s greatest literary influences. Evelina is an epistolary novel—told entirely in letters. I love the epistolary form, for the same reason I love dialogue and texting fics. It’s such a fun narrative technique and can reveal so much about individual characters. It’s actually a bit like the way Rainbow Rowell uses multi POV in her books. Anyway, my love of the epistle was on full display in this fic, which is ofc told in letters. —Do I share a passage? That’s like...the whole fic 😅 So, idk. Here’s Simon being a disaster as he meditates on letter writing:

Dear Penny,

As I start this letter, I already know I'm not going to post it. I know I won't be able to bring myself to do it, because of what I have to say to you. I do feel bad. It's not that I don't want to tell you. And you know I'm so much better at writing things down than saying them out loud. It's only that I feel like this would all sound better coming from me in person. I just don't think I'll be able to make you understand in a letter. I'm still trying to understand myself. And writing all of this down helps me with that. Even if I'm only pretending to write to you, it makes me feel better, to think of you on the other end. I promise I really will tell you everything as soon as we're together again.

2. Also for A Man of Letters, my fascination with Regency fashions, in particular the dandy, was a major factor. I did an art book about this, comparing how fashion has changed over time, especially in regard to gender. (I also did an art book based on Evelina, since I’m on the subject. I minored in book art. 😁) I always fancied the look of a Regency dandy, so that was my gift to Baz.

Whoever has been working their magic on Salisbury should in fact be the person to whom I offer my eternal devotion. Alas, I am left to flounder under the burden of lusting after a man who is incapable of dressing himself.

The utter and unmitigated shame.

Salisbury wore a forest green wool frock coat that set off the golden highlights in his brown locks. This was accented with a green and aubergine striped silk waistcoat that was trimmed in white piping and felt much too daring a pattern for the man. (I don't care if he was a soldier; it takes a hardier man than him by half to choose a stripe like that.) His charcoal trousers were enticingly snug, but not so much to prove lethal. His cravat and points left much to be desired, though that likely reflected poorly on his ability to keep himself in order, rather than the ability of his valet. (Good God, maybe the man doesn't even have a valet!)

3. When it came to my countdown fic, To the Manor Borne, I had Shep make a reference to Cluedo, because Pitch Manor would be perfect for a real life game. Behind that, is the fact that my family played a lot of Clue and I watched the movie a whole bunch growing up, to the point where my sister and I used to quote it to each other. This was a way to pay homage to that. He also talks about playing the game Murder in the Dark, which was one I played at Halloween as a kid. One of my cousins was dressed as a ghoul with glow in the dark face paint and we were in my grandma’s creepy upstairs. Perfect vibes.

I’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room and the library and the study and the parlor. Walking through this house is like playing Clue. (They call it Cluedo on this side of the pond, because they like to be difficult.) (That was a whole thing. Do not get me started.)

I keep thinking Colonel Mustard’s going to pop up out of nowhere and brain me with a lead pipe.

And:

What kind of games do you play with magickal friends who don't have magic? Twister? Not with the wings and tail. Cards? Baz and Penny would cheat. Or accuse everyone else of cheating if they didn't win. Murder in the dark? With these people, in this house, I knew it would turn literal fast, and also it was like ten in the morning. Hide and seek? Simon and I would hide and everyone else would ditch. Snowball fight? World War III.

4. I’ve referenced Mozart in my fics a couple of times because when I was first getting into classical music, I was listening to a lot of Mozart. My sister had a CD of some of his early symphonies, and my local classical station does “Mozart in the Mornings” which happened to fit in the exact time slot between two morning classes I had my first year in college. I’d go sit in my car with a cup of tea, and just vibe with Mozart as my soundtrack. I’ve name dropped him in both A Man of Letters and To the Manor Borne. Also, Mozart wrote 12 variations on the melody shared by Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, which is a lovely tie in. (I also had the gang sing/cast The Holly and the Ivy, which is one of my favorite Christmas carols, and by strange coincidence was playing on the radio at the same time I wrote that scene. 🥰)

"It's a songbook," I tell him, like he can't figure that out for himself. "Did you know that Mozart wrote twelve different versions of the same song?"

He's laughing. "Mozart did not write Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Simon."

"You know what I mean."

"He composed twelve variations for solo piano on the French folk melody Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman."

"Sure. Anyway, this is for the violin. For you to play."

He's still laughing, and I'm trying to figure out what's so funny, but then he kisses me again, on the lips this time, so I figure maybe I'm still doing okay.

Only one more to go! What will it be? 👀

5. Therapy! Eheheh...😅 Look, it’s no secret the gang needs it. And tbh, so do I. Haven’t actually managed to get myself to go yet, and I think that’s where a lot of my “send them to therapy” happy endings come from. I did it in Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne. I started Chamber by Chamber with SnowBaz already in therapy, and then structured the whole thing around therapy that they give to each other and to themselves. It didn’t really fit in A Man of Letters, but if it had, I absolutely would have done it. I’ve only shared from two fics so far, and since it could kind of spoil the ending to Use Your Words (tho saying this may be spoiler anyway...), here are two snippets from It’s a Kind of Magic, Part I of Chamber by Chamber.

I've been working on articulating my needs. We both have. Ordinarily, I'd be afraid of pushing him away by making demands when he's on the verge of a spiral, but my therapist insists that I can't go on treating Simon with kid gloves. If I never ask him for anything, he'll think he doesn't have anything to give.

And

When I told that to my therapist, she said that I needed to talk it out of me and she'd help me find ways to work through it all. She said I needed to talk it out with Baz, too, so that he'd know how to help me when things got bad again—that was something else she said, that things would get bad again, and that I'd need to be prepared for that. That I couldn't expect things to be easy, and just go away.

6. BONUS! I think the biggest way I include bits of myself is in the AUs I’ve chosen to write. I have three I’m planning that say a lot about me, so I’m going to talk a bit about them here. There is ofc my Scooby Doo AU, inspired in large part by the fact that I watched it all the time growing up and also, my sister continues to be obsessed with it. When we were young, my parents were doing a lot of work on their house and we’d take family trips to the hardware store. My sister and I hated it, so we’d wait in the car with my mom and she would entertain us with “Scooby Doo stories”. Other AUs I’m planning? Troop Beverly Hills—please tell me someone else out there loved this movie the way I did when I was 5. It was very influential to baby me and I remember wishing for nothing more than being able to dress like Shelley Long. So, I’m going to let Baz do it, because I think he deserves it. 🥰 Lastly, tho it will probably be the first I write, is my Cupid and Psyche AU, from when I was heavy into mythology and religion. Since these are all forthcoming projects, I don’t really have a snippet. Instead, here’s Baz comparing Simon to Eros, which is what started my brain on that particular AU.

I am lost. I barely know anything about Salisbury, but I can't help being drawn in. At one time, I could have comforted myself that I was only so smitten with him because he looks like he was sculpted by Praxiteles. That excuse grows weaker with every encounter. He's the furthest thing from a lifeless tribute to beauty in marble as one can be. There is something deep and dark and feral inside of him and I want to claw it out. I want to see it, to let it free. To taste his wildness and his pain.

#tag game #writerly ephemera

[fandomnetworks]

HE’S WEIRD.

PART 1  PART 2

Summary: Your past comes to light and the uncomfortable truth seems to intrigue the DEA agents. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Violence and Cursing

Authors note: A lot more of the reader’s past in this part, I felt like it would be a great foundation for future parts. I promise there will be more Javi interactions in the next. Also if you haven’t read the first two parts I’d highly recommend you do!

Thanks my lovelies. 

Were you fabricating lies straight through your teeth the night your so-called friend left that voicemail? Absolutely, and you hoped Peña did not call you out on your bluff. His quizzing eyes made your stomach hurl inside. Thankfully, he was too tired to be "dealing with you" and stopped asking questions. He headed out of your apartment once you assured him you wouldn't go out again, and if anything happened, you'd call him or Steve.

-----

It had been about two days from the time Peña last visited your apartment. Instead, in his place, Steve would see you at night; he was far nicer than Peña and would even bring you food that Connie made or food he bought for dinner. But tonight, you offered him freshly baked cookies you had spent nearly half of the morning looking for all the ingredients.

Taking a seat at the dinner table, both you and Steve had a coffee mug in your hands. He usually stayed about 10 minutes before leaving, and today was no different. "Javi told me some guy is bothering you?" He said in more of a question than a statement tone.

Something inside you stirred; you felt something but couldn't explain the feeling. Your cheeks became red, as you thought, what else did they talk about you when you weren't around. But you also felt terrible that you were lying to one of the few good people you've met since moving back to Colombia. But you weren't ready; you hadn't collected enough information yet to bring your plan to life and take that motherfucker down.

"Yeah, an old fling that didn't spark back up."

"You know, you should be careful with guys like that," Steve noted, eyeing your facial expressions, taking a sip of his drink.

If it hadn't been for the boost of adrenaline due to the two extra spoonfuls of coffee in your cup, you would have never reacted faster than Steve when your phone went off. His arm was just about to stretch out and pick the phone when your body lunged forward.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Lifting the phone from the receiver, you avoided all eye contact with him. You knew the look he was giving you, and between the man you knew was calling and Steve's attitude, you would have collapsed.

"Hello?"

"Mira, yo se donde vives, no me estes jugando con tus chingaderas." (Look, I know where you live, don't play your shit with me).

"Yes, hi, how are you?" You covered the speaker of the phone and whispered to Steve, "it's one of my college friends."

"How am I? Fucking mad, next time I see you, I'll make sure you pay for this."

"Lovely," A smile appeared on your face, "I'm glad to hear you're doing great. Hey, but listen, I have company; I'll call you back in an hour. Talk to you in a bit."

Even though your heart was beating a thousand times a minute, your facial expressions remained free. You tried comprehending that he said he knew where you lived. He, of course, could be bluffing and lying; it wouldn't be the first time. This only infuriated you and made you want to catch him so much more. He couldn't hold your life, your emotions for the rest of your life. But if you did nothing to stop him, he would continue to torture you and the rest of Colombia.

It wasn't much longer until Steve departed, telling you that Connie was probably wondering where he was.

---

Before your brother became president and before you had left for New York, your family was already in the spotlight. Your mom was a well-known doctor, and your dad was in politics himself. That meant people of high society always surrounded you. In one of the many parties hosted by your parents, you met a man named Santiago Matias.

At first, he was the kind of man to open doors for you, call you love names, buy you gifts, and take you out to eat often. His personality and his charm won you over. After a few weeks, you soon found him on one knee proposing to you.

The first red flag you should have noticed and ran in the opposite direction was how mysterious and quiet he was about his life. All you knew was that he was the child of one of your dad's close friend group.

You never thought that the ounce of cocaine in his pockets was just a sample he was giving out to people. He was a drug dealer.

If you had known the truth and the extent of his dealings, you would have never been associated with him. You would have never accepted his gifts and gestures if you knew the refined gifts of luxury were bought with narco money. You would have never fallen asleep in his arms and let his hands roam your body if you had known those hands had been used to take life. And you would have never kissed his lips knowing that his commands caused the death of dozens.

You took off the nearly $5,000 engagement ring and threw it at his face when you confronted him of his "work." You told him you never wanted to see him again, and you hoped he rotted in hell.

Now, you were out for revenge. You felt disgusted that you were once associated with him and needed to bring justice to all the people he ever harmed. When you were 17, the only thing you knew was that you wanted to be as far away as you could from him and that type of lifestyle. But after all these years, you were out for blood, and there was no stopping you.

He had connections to Pablo Escobar; if you could bring Santiago down, maybe just maybe you could bring a piece of information to the table and help bring Escobar down too. Santiago was a chesspiece to Escobar's game, and you were ready to destroy their empire and slaughter the world they created.

You might be "just the president's sister," the damsel in distress, but you had your own demons too.

---

The night was coming to an end, and the clock on your wall read 9:48 p.m. The phone rang for a total of 4 times, and you were sure he wasn't going to pick up; yet, the deep voice of your ex-fiancé sounded through the speaker.

The call only lasted 20 seconds. He only got in a hello before you responded, "6 p.m., you only no one else, at Chonche's." And you hung up before he could answer.

You would get as much information as you could from him at Chonche's restaurant. Once you were close to him, you'd bring him down.

6 p.m. would give you just enough time to meet up with him, extract as much as you could and be back home before Steve's regular visit at 8.

Easy right?

---

Wrong.

According to the leather watch on your left wrist, it was 5:58 p.m. as you entered the restaurant. The knife on your waist dug into your skin every time you took a step. It was a good reminder that you had it in case you needed it. You had tried covering your face and image by covering your body with black clothes and a dark baseball cap. The restaurant wasn't particularly a family-friendly one. Now that you thought about it, you had never seen a single child walk in here, especially not voluntarily.

In fact, every, every person in the restaurant, which was only about five people, including the bartender, was a drug dealer, narco, or a murderer. You laid your head low as you took a seat on a worn-out leather stool at the bar, far away from the men sitting at the back of the room.

Your heartbeat could be heard in your ear, the sweat accumulating around your forehead wasn't going unnoticed by the fabric of your cap. Why wasn't Santiago here? He was always on time, never a second early or late. Something was wrong. Did he set up a trap? Was this a mistake? Was he even coming?

The bartender came up and asked what drink he could get you, and you ordered your favorite beverage. Your leg began to bounce due to the anxiety you started to feel in your chest. Looking down at your watch, it read 6:02.

The front door swung wide open, the face of your ex-lover was nowhere, instead in his place was fucking Javier Peña. Quickly ducking your head, you were surprised it didn't snap.

Had he seen you? Your cheeks turned a light shade of red as the bartender walked up and handed you the alcoholic drink.

Looking back at the entrance where Peña once stood, a sigh of relief escaped your lips; he hadn't seen you.

But then you began to think. Why was Peña in a place like this? Was he a narco? Was his DEA position just a stunt? Was Peña a Santiago? Of course, he was; you only found dangerous men attractive. Your hindsight was absolute trash. Maybe he grabbed the drugs he collected during raids and resold the-

"What are you doing here?" Peña's voice whispered in your left ear as you turned the stool to look at him.

"Are you one of them?" You asked, hoping to hear the correct answer and not the one you were dreading.

"What? No. Have you been following me?" Solely by him towering over you, he started to get some stares from the men across the room.

"I should ask you the same question. I was here before you." You took a sip of your drink, trying to remain calm. If Santiago found you with a DEA agent, he would think you were setting him up and would leave.

Instead of taking a seat next to you, Peña placed a steel grip on your bicep, "Answer my question."

"Would you at least take a seat so they can stop looking at us?"

"No, we're leaving." He pulled you up from the stool.

"Let go of me."

Without answering you, he pushed you out of the restaurant. You let him. There was something wrong due to the lack of your ex's appearance.

Once outside, the two of you walked a few meters away from the restaurant; he pulled you to the side, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and asked, "What were you doing in there."

"I was meeting someone."

"Who?" he was clearly upset by the way he corned you against the wall, his face nearly inches away from yours. He was so close; you could smell the lingering scent of his cigarette fumes, the cologne on his neck, and could see the fine lines that made up his lips.

"San-"

The sound of a loud explosion to the left of you ended with the tear of tissue in your eardrum, making you lose most of your hearing. A fire came blazing from Chonche's windows. The glass from the windows shattered around the ground you had just walked on a few seconds ago. The windows of the businesses around the restaurant broke as well.

Peña instantly launched at you; he used himself as a shield to protect you from danger. The gun that was once inside the worn-out holster was now in his hands as he pointed it at anything that caught his attention.

The sounds of car anti-theft went off; sirens were blaring as paramedics and police officers began to make their way. The sound of wood burning tickled your ears, the crackle in any other situation would be soothing, but right now, it made Peña hyperaware of all the danger around you. In contrast, you could barely hear anything. Everything around you was going in slow motion except for Peña's lips when he turned to look at you. His lips were moving, but you heard jack squat. The way his mouth was opening wide with every word he said and his eyebrows knitting towards each other, you could conclude he was for sure yelling.

You nodded, not knowing what else to say or do.

Which only made him more enraged.

He pulled you out of immediate danger, his hands holding on to you as he pushed you towards his car. He was silent. And you were in no bit surprised. With the amount of adrenaline running through your system, the only thing going through your mind was how to breathe normally again and how to get your hearing back. His main priority was to get you inside his car and make sure no one was following.

Once inside, you asked, "Where are we going?"

He glanced at you quickly before looking back at the road, "Good, you can hear now. Who were you suppose to see?"

"Santiago Matias," You looked at him for a reaction but were somewhat surprised his face remained emotionless. "He's my ex-fiancé."

The worn-out, bruised knuckles on his hands turned white as the grip on the steering wheel became stronger. "You were engaged to him?" Now, the face of disgust was plastered on his tanned face. His words were said through gritted teeth. If you hadn't been paying close attention to his words, you wouldn't have heard him.

"I didn't know what he did when I first met him." You were about to tell Javier Peña about some of the worst times in your life, and you were afraid. You explained how you met, how he manipulated you after the honeymoon phase. What did you know about life at the age of 17? He was nearing 28 when you met him, and he used your naiveness against you. He was just starting his killer life, and as soon as you found out about his "work," you broke things off.

One day while you were walking around a local market buying some groceries, you reached to a vendor's stand. You went to pick up a couple of apples when the elderly lady working the stand caught your forearm. She lifted your wrist to her eyes and began to yell. She claimed that the bracelet you had belonged to her deceased daughter. You were immediately telling her that the bracelet was given to you for your six-month anniversary. She disagreed, pulling an old folded picture from her pocket. It had her daughter with the exact bracelet, down to the customized stones. She asked you to take it off, and you'd find the name Amalia engraved inside of it.

Your face became red; you knew that the name was on it. Of course, you did; you bragged about it to your friends. It was one of the most beautiful bracelets you'd seen. The word Amalia, you had assumed was a brand name. Never had it crossed your mind that it was a personal touch for a girl.

Santiago was known to give you gifts at all times of the week. He seemed like the kind of guy your dad would be proud of. Little did you know that as the elderly lady spoke about your fiancé, your relationship would soon begin to fall apart like a game of Jenga. Never in your worst nightmares did it ever cross your mind that the gifts he got you was bought with narco money or collected from deceased bodies. The woman told you that Santiago Matias had killed her family, including her 3-month-old grandson. The only reason that she was saved was because one of Matias' men knew her personally.

There and then, you took off the bracelet and handed it to the rightful owner. You didn't know what to say or do. Due to the man you were in love with, her whole family was gone. How many other families had he ruined? That very day, you broke off the wedding and told him you wished him a slow death. That you never wanted to see him again, and if he ever came near you again, you'd kill him yourself.

You left to get your bachelor's that very fall and seemed determined never to come back. However, as the short four years passed, and as you began to study to enter a masters program, you were pulled back home. The threat against your brother made him weary, and he wanted you close to home where he could protect you. That's how you ended up trading your comfy apartment with the hot neighbor to Colombia's small apartment. Thankfully the only thing that didn't change was the hot neighbor part.

Once you had finished explaining that time in your life, Peña made eye contact with you as the car came to a stop due to the traffic, "Why didn't you do anything?" The mood in the car shifted from frustration to confusion.

That was your worst regret of your entire life. Maybe if you had stopped him back then, he wouldn't have an empire today with the world's most famous narco. You felt uncomfortable under his harsh and intense gaze. The right words seemed to escape your lips as you tried forming the correct sentence. "I...I don't know. I didn't want to think that the man I was willing to marry could do such a thing."

You closed your eyes, not wanting to look at him, and took a deep breath. You had never told anyone the real story behind your first and probably only fiancé you'll ever have. Turning your head towards the window, you opened your eyes and looked at the passing cars as traffic began to lighten up. The only way you thought you could make things up was by bringing him down.

And apparently, Peña thought the same way, "Well, I don't know what to tell you Y/n." The car began to move, and so did the wheels of his brain as he began to plan out a solution.

"Listen," You turned to look at him, "I've been trying to set up a meeting with him for a while now. Today obviously didn't go as well as I had planned. But I'll try again. I can set up another meeting. It's the least I can do, right?"

He pulled into the base where Steve and Carrillo were, setting things up for tomorrow. Peña looked at you with a look of 'are-you-stupid.' "No what? He just tried killing you." He pulled into a parking spot.

"Exactly-" Both of you got out of the vehicle, walked towards the building; his long stride compared to yours made you trail behind him. "I-we can use that and-"

"No." He cut you off, just as Carrillo and Steve walked out of the building. You looked down at your watch; it read 7:02.

"Hey, where have you been?" Steve questioned Peña, quickly saying hi to you before pulling Peña to the side and updating him on the movement of their operation.

When Carrillo approached you, out of instinct, you gave him a quick hug. It had been a while since you had seen the handsome Colonel, and you did miss his snarky remarks. At first, he was tense but soon loosened up to your touch and hugged you back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Peña staring at your interactions with Carrillo.

Small talk emerged. You asked him how he'd been and asked about the two soldiers who had stayed by your side all those weeks. In return, he asked if you were readjusting to the climate of Colombia. You also admitted you had missed him and invited him over to your apartment. (A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do)

But before he could ask you the purpose of your visit, you told him you had information about Santiago Matias. Which he instantly became intrigued. Once the Colonel caught on to Peña's lingering eyes, he asked you, "What's his problem?" The two of you fully turned to peer at him. Javier quickly glanced at Steve, pretending y'all hadn't caught him.

Brushing it off, you said, "I don't know, he's weird." A chuckle came out of Carrillo. He signaled for both men to follow him as the four of you made it inside the base.

---

Inside, you and Steve took a seat at a large table in Horacio's office, while he and Peña stood in front of you.

Quickly telling them the truth about your relationship with Santiago, you told them everything Peña had just heard and the explosion at the restaurant. In a heartbeat, you were getting a stern look from Carrillo and Steve telling you how stupid your plan was, asking you what the hell were you thinking.

"So what Peña and I were thinking was, I could bait him out by meeting up with him again."

"I didn-"

"What?" Steve yelled, looking at you and then at Peña, giving him a look of, are-you-serious.

"I did not agree to that," Peña stated, taking a seat on the table next to Steve. "We can use Y/n to..."

.

.

Fast forward an hour, countless coffee and whiskey refills, papers skewed around the table, and on the bulletin board, you had a phone to your ear. This time the room was full of soldiers and some higher uppers, which did not help your nerves. Carrillo, Murphy, and Peña sat around you, urgently and stressful waiting for Santiago to pick up.

After the second ring, you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. It felt so odd that the man you were willing to marry all those years back, now made you afraid.

Just as the third ring sounded through your ears, he picked up.

You motioned for Peña to start recording.

"Hello?"

"I'm alive, mi amor."

TAG  LIST:

(Let me know if you want to be added!)

luvzoria smoke-and-sunset xletmetaste-yoursmilex youcancallmeaphrodite

Also sorry for any typos I’ve been editing and revising this for the past week and I have like 3 other versions of how this could have played out. ALSO I really want to incorporate a jealous Javi in the next chapter. 

Again, thanks lovelies for taking a moment to read! 

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #narcos #narcos imagines #Steve murphy #horacio carrillo

[fictitiousfoodie]

It’s A Family Thing

Summary: A boy falls for a girl

Pairing: Reader x Ian Kildner ( fake person)

Word Count: 3847

Okay so here are something to know before you read. The teams are real but all the people fake it was easier for me with this story.

Juliette stood by a high table, wearing a stunning and elegant black dress A-line gown with a respectable but fun slit up the side, talking to a relatively wealthy seeming older gentleman. His tux was custom, hair grey, and thinking, and the date he had brought with him was barely legal to drink, showing almost all her cleavage, and was sipping her cosmo through a straw. But Juliette didn't care about any of that right now. All she cared about was convincing this man that a donation to the team's charity would be a brilliant investment. 

"Mr. Mason donating to the teams' charity is not only a write-off for you with tax breaks, but it allows lots of people to see just how good you and your company are." Manson Construction was responsible for building half of Boston and rebuilding the other half. They had gone through a string of bad publicity when someone leaked rumors of the company cutting corners regarding safety protocols to the local newspapers. The stories had been proven untrue, but they had still caused doubt in the community. Mason Construction was a good company, and Juliette knew that. "Manson Construction on every banner we use when the team works with charities like Habitat for Humanity or does an event with local children's hospitals something like that could change how the community views your company," she said with a passionate and firm promise to her voice. Just as Juliette finished her speech, a loud, sharp crack of noise erupted from behind her. 

Juliette's brother Jack, the youngest of her four brothers, and his girlfriend Ashley had been fighting all night. Juliette had been keeping an eye on it. Ashley was not a great girlfriend. Juliette was pretty sure Ashley was in it for the idea of dating a pro athlete, and Jack was in it cause Ashley was hot. Juliette had noticed more and more that Jack seemed done with Ashley's crap, and from the Way, Ashley was now storming out and the fact Jack wasn't going after her, he had decided to end things tonight in a public place. 

Juliette turned back to Mr.Mason, who was chuckling to himself. "Your brother seems to be quiet, the unlucky fellow tonight in regards to love. But you are better than luck. You're smart, and you've got gumption, Juliette. I like the image you've given the charity, and I think it will provide great support and publicity for my business. I will send you a check tomorrow with the donation. If the team or the charity needs anything, you let me know," he said, smiling and walking away with his old wrinkled hand on his arm candy's ass. 

Jules shivered in disgust as she watched arm candy giggle and kiss him on the cheek, then took a deep breathe she had done it. She had landed another massive donation for the charity. 

Suddenly a large and heavy arm flopped around her shoulder, and her oldest brother Brandon was there by her side. 

"Way to go, Jules. It looks like Mr.Mason was pleased with the idea of being the teams highest paying donor', he said with pride and admiration for his sister. 

"He said he would send over the check tomorrow. I need a drink, and to get these heels off my feet are killing me." She laughed, walking to the bar. 

Brandon was the oldest of the four brothers at the age of 33. He had retired from the league last year due to a knee injury. The team hired him as the skills coach. Brandon was always responsible. He was the boy next door with a killer smile and genuine charm. The next one down was Henry, who was 31 and was the team's new athletic trainer. He was sporty and the smartest. He wanted to be a doctor when he was younger but found a way to combine his love of medicine and learning with his love of hockey and the team he had grown up around. He immediately change to sports medicine. The third one was Eric. He was the middle one, wild and crazy. He was 28, had been on the team as a defender for four years now, and made sure everyone knew his opinion on any given subject.

Jack, the youngest of the brothers, was a sweet kid, but just that, still a kid in many respects. He had the talent and a good heart, but he needed to grow up. He was 25 and still trying to figure out many things about life but was too stubborn to listen to anyone's advice. Finally, there was Juliette, the youngest out of the five children and the only girl. She grew up tough and headstrong, just like her brothers. Her mother made sure she was balanced, though, so she had put her in dance as a little girl, and she had loved it. She still went to classes and taught little ones occasionally. Her brothers were always there in the front row to cheer her on then give her noogies after. She was 24, but most people thought she was older because of how she held herself.   

All 5 of the siblings looked alike, all athletic, tall, and toned the brothers ranging in muscle definition. All five had dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. There was no denying they were family. The dark hair came from their dad, and the eyes had come from their mom.  The whole family was here tonight, and Jules loved that. Everyone in the family had found a way to be apart of the team or organization in a job they loved. She loved being around her family and the constant support they gave. Her mom had started the Boston Bruins charity when her dad had been a player. She was still running it and was grooming Juliette to take over soon. Being a Bruin was a family thing. They had been born into it and loved every minute of it. 

She and Brandon were standing by the bar ordering drinks when she saw out of the corner of her eye, Henry and Eric walk up. 

"So, we all saw the slap that Ashley gave Jack, right?" Henry said in a cautious and questioning tone. 

"Yes, the whole room heard it. Did you see where he went?" Brandon asked cautiously. 

"No, but my guess would be the locker room, someone should go check on him?" Eric said, turning towards Jules. 

"Yea yea yea, I'll go. Even though one of you are married and ones engaged," she said over her shoulder, walking away toward the locker room. 

She found Jack sitting in his locker with a cold beer pressed to his face. head drooped down and fidgeting with his phone. "You shouldn't call her, "Jules said, pulling the drink away to check out the handprint on his face. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had sounded probably just stung. Ashley wasn't abusive, just dramatic. 

"Why? Cause she slapped me?" 

"No, because she gave the bartender her number about 15 mins before that happened. You made the right call. She didn't love you; she loved the status."

"I know. I just thought she was the one at the beginning. "He sighed as Jules sat next to him. 

They sat there for a few minutes in silence. Jules knew he would be fine just needed someone to lean on for a bit, and sure enough, after about 10 minutes, he handed Jules his beer and stated with new energy, "There are plenty of fish in the sea. I have to find the right one, right?!" Jack jumped up and started walking to the doors. 

"Yes, just please be safe and smart and maybe go home alone tonight," Jules shouted to him as he strutted out the doors. 

Jules took a sip of the beer and sighed, starting to take her shoes off, enjoying the silence. When she heard the doors slam open and Jimmy Peters and his date for the evening tumbled though not breaking the sloppy kiss and handsy embrace, they were tangled in. They never noticed her as she grabbed her high heels and beer and left the room. She was in the hall on the way back, laughing to herself about the thought of giving Jimmy a hard time the next time she saw him when she heard the classic catcall whistle from behind her. 

She turned to find Ian Kildern, one of the team's defensive players. He was 6'4", muscled more than the average hockey player and curly brown hair with deep green eyes. His tux was well altered; it hung perfectly on him, showing his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Ian was an excellent player, intelligent, lightning-fast, and a great leader. He was 26 and had been in the league since he was 19. The Bruins had picked him up four years ago when his contract had been up with the Tampa Bay Lighting. They were friends, but Jules was closer to other players, and usually only had a small talk with easy, polite jokes. 

"Juliette Calloway, you clean up nice." He said in a semi-serious, mostly mocking tone.

"Shut up, Ian. Don't you have a date to dazzle like the rest of the team?" She said in a cheeky and light-hearted tone. 

"No, actually, Kelly and I broke up last weekend."

"Oh, that's right; her name was Kelly, and I'm so sorry to hear that after a week together, you had to call quits. You must be devastated. She said with a wink. Knowing fully, he had never planned on keeping it serious. Ian didn't sleep around a lot, but he also didn't keep girlfriends long. 

He chuckled, "Yeah, she was allergic to my dog." He changed the subject when he noticed the bottle in her hand, "You drinking alone - drowning your sorrows?"

"No, actually," she said in a matter of fact tone, "I was consoling my brother."

Ian's face squished up, and he sucked in a breath, "Yea, I saw - well heard the slap. Is he okay?"

"He's fine. It's his pride that's hurting more than anything, although he won't admit to it", She explained on a sigh. 

"Well, I'm glad he's okay. It's tough trying to figure everything out—the balance between the game and social life. Suddenly having money and not know if women want you the status or the money. It can be a rough and bumpy ride."He said with an understanding tone. 

"You sound like you have some experience, but you seemed to have figured it all out." 

 "I had my mistakes and issues, but the key difference is I didn't have a last name that's attached to 2 legends. Jack has a whole lot more spotlight from the league because of your dad and oldest brother. I could make my mistakes in private." 

"So, you had a girl slap you in front of your entire team and about 45 VIP guests?" Jules questioned, intrigued to hear his answer. 

"Okay, well, no, I never had that, but I did have a date throw up on me at an event one time. Rachel Madison, I'll always remember that name now. She hadn't eaten all day and then started doing shots of tequila. The smell was horrendous. It was like...

"Ew, I don't want to know! Please stop you win. That's disgusting." She fussed, cutting him off and giggling at the idea. 

"Well, then, Miss. Date Judger where is your perfect event plus one this evening." He asked mockingly, looking around the hallway they were slowly walking down. 

"Oh, I don't ever bring a date to an event that mom and I are running. I did once or twice and always felt bad that I left him standing somewhere while doing things for the event, plus dating in my life is hard. They tend to get offended when I know more about the game or jealous when I spend all my time here at the arena with you guys OR my brothers bully them, and they can't take the heat." 

They had almost reached the doorway to the main lobby, where the fundraising event was when Ian's ear perked up as he heard his favorite song come on. It Had To Be You by Harry Conick Jr. He grabbed her hand put the bottle of beer in her hand on the floor, and stated softly, "It's a great song - I wouldn't want it to go to waste since you don't have someone to dance with."

Surprised by the sudden change in tone, Juliette lost her voice a little and had to clear it before asking, "Ian Kildern, are you asking me to dance?"

He slowly started to pull her into his arms, saying in a volume just barely above a whisper, "I guess I am. Are you saying yes?"

"I guess I am." She said, staring into his eyes and falling into the sway of his body. Still stiff at first, she slowly drifted further into the daze the music mixed with his look and tone of voice had caused, eventually allowing her to melt completely into him. Neither spoke to busy enjoying the moment. It had been years since she had slow danced, and she was enjoying being wrapped in someone's arms. Not just any someone, but someone who had made her laugh and had been having a good conversation with, not to mention he smelled incredible. 

Ian couldn't believe he was dancing again. He had stopped bringing dates to events because it always fell short of what he wanted the evening to be. But with Juilette, he couldn't help but notice her laugh at his story or the way she had softened and molded to him as they danced. Hand in hand, his left hand rested at the small of her back, her head resting on his chest her right on his shoulder. She felt good in his arms. He felt something different for her, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. The music drifted away as the song ended, and they both stopped swaying. She pulled her head back but didn't pull away; she just looked at him, waiting for him to speak first, but Ian didn't want to say anything anymore. The smell of her vanilla perfume. The blush that had risen in her cheeks, the way she was waiting for him. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to feel those soft pink lips pressed to his. Before he knew it, she was wetting her lips and starting to lean in because she had wanted it too. Never one to miss the opportunity; he leaned in and pressed his hand into her back more, drawing her closer. They were a whisper away from each other when Jimmy and his date exploded from the locker room with laughter, pulling Ian and Jules apart. Jimmy and his date rush by them and unseen to the car in the parking lot. 

"Well, it's late. I should be going," Ian said, trying to hide the disappointment that the moment was gone from his voice. 

"Uh, yea, it's late. I should be finding mom to see if she needs help with anything. Good night Ian and thank you for the dance.", She said, turning and walking away before he could say or do anything. 

It took a split second for him to decide, but he had made his choice he wanted her. He wanted to hold, kiss, love, and keep Juliette Calloway forever. 

Ian couldn't stop thinking about that night. It had been two weeks, and all he could think about was Juliette Calloway. He had been indifferent to her before that night. Ian had had conversations with her but always just regarded her as almost one of the guys. And now he couldn't get her out of his head. The way her eyes sparkled with what he hoped was lust and something more. The way she didn't back away from him and the chemistry in the air. He needed to do something, but what? 

Friday games were always Juliettes favorites. The offices were always more energetic with Friday games as everyone was excited to watch them. Juliette always ran home at lunch for an hour or so to let out Wayne, her Weimaraner, go potty and play, then she would change into her jersey and jeans. She would come back and finish up work, then relax until the game started. Today was no different. She got home and was greeted by Wayne's barks and excited tail. She let him into the backyard and threw her bag and keys on the counter. She loved her home. It was warm and welcoming with leather couches and natural linens. She left the back door open for Wayne to come back in and walked to her bedroom. She was opted for wearing Jack's jersey tonight, paired it with her black jeans and favorite booties. She was excited and happy about tonight's game. Hence, she decided on a smokey eye - if she was honest with herself, she was thinking about her evening with Ian when she had decided on it but pushed it away and assured herself it had nothing to do with him. Wayne had yet to come back in; she went in search of him to find him bathing in the sun and enjoying the day just as much as she was. She called him in, gave him a treat, and headed back to the arena. The game was at 7. The team usually came in about 5. Everyone in the offices had more than likely left for the day; she had a few more things to do when there was a knock at her office door. 

"Come in," she called to the knocker.

"Wow, nice digs," the knocker said with a low and slow whistle. 

Juliette's head snapped up. She had expected it to be a co-worker that was running behind or family. Her brother or mother would sometimes stop by, but she was not expecting him, "Ian...what are you doing here"? 

"Though I'd finally venture up to the offices. Poke around, see what it was like having an office job", he said, waltzing into the office looking around. His eyes settled on the wall of pictures and headlines. The wall was full of pictures of her brothers and father on the ice. It captured each of their timelines, from training to playing to winning championships at all different ages. A particular photo caught Ian's eye, and Juliette got up from her desk to join him. He looked fantastic in a suit more casual than the other night but still just as perfect. It was a solid black suit with a black button-down. He had the first few buttons undone. Juliette was standing next to him when he laughed to himself, saying, " Is this .. Henry?!" 

"Yea, it is. He was like 8 or 9. Mom loves that photo; he hates it", she said with a snicker. The photo was of Henry in full hockey gear. He was standing on the ice for the first game of the season when he slipped and fell. The camera had caught it just right, and all his limbs were up in the air, and his face read of terror and surprise, not know what had just happened.  

"I have to have the team come see this. Look at his bowl hair cut, "He cackled. 

" Don't you dare! He will kill me if he knows anyone from the team has seen it", she said hastily while grabbing his arm to stress the importance and implore him not to tell. 

He felt the electricity of her touch shoot through him. He was no longer focused on the photo but her. The way she smiled and was almost begging him not to spill her secret. He paused and looked at her hand on his arm. She realized what she had done with the casual touch, she could feel his muscle move, and she was immediately turned on and pulsed for him. When she tried to retract her hand, Ian grabbed it, placing a kiss on the top, and looked at her with seductive eyes while asking, "Are you begging me, Juliette?"

Juliette felt the innuendo to her core, and her stomach filled with butterflies. But she was no rose petal. She wanted him and wasn't going to melt for him like all the other women he was used to. She moved just a few inches closer and looked at him with a devilish smile, and asked, "Do you want me to?" Something inside Ian snapped. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. The look in her eyes mixed with her smile and words had him going practically feral. He gave the hand he was holding a tug, and she stumbled into his chest, her other hand landing in between them as she attempted to catch herself. Ian's other hand wrapped around her waist. He dropped her hand and slid his into her hair at the nape of her neck. He paused for a moment, making sure he still saw the same look in her eyes. He was thrilled to see it there but even more intense. He pulled her in and kissed her. 

The kiss was passionate, hard, and needy. Ian pulled ever so slightly on Juliettes hair, causing her to moan softly into his mouth, giving his tongue access to explore. He deepened the kiss, fingers digging into her side, causing more soft moans to escape her. He pulled back ever so slightly to give her air, but Juliette chased him, making him growl and start to grow hard. Juliette's heart was pounding her panties were becoming very wet. She wanted more. They both craved to feel each other skin to skin. When they both broke because they needed air, Juliette saw a softness in Ian's eyes. His thumb stroked her cheek for a split second while he started to ask her out on a date to dinner in a few nights when she cut him off, smirking, "I guess you should be going wouldn't want coach to see you be late to practice." Then with a quick kiss, smirk, and a hoard of giggles, she pushed Ian out of her office and locked the door behind her. Ian was still in shock as he walked from the office to the locker room, both from the kiss and that she had pushed him out without saying anything else. She had a fire and spirit he had certainly never seen before. Juliette slunk down into the couch in her office. She couldn't believe she had just done that. He was incredibly sexy, and she was very turned on. She could feel the blush creep into her cheeks. She knew she wanted him in more than a casual fling way. That's why she was going to play hard to get. Make Ian chase a little bit for once in his life.  

#hockey #hockey smut #hockey fic #hockey story #hockey fluff #jamie benn #dallas stars #boston bruins #tyler seguin #toronto maple leafs #hockey players #fanfic #chicago blackhawks #tampa bay lightning #sidney crosby #patrick cane #jamie benn imagine

[midnightsnyx]

Consequences - Matthew Tkachuk: part 6

summary: you absolutely hate Matthew Tkachuk so it’s just your luck when you wind up pregnant with his child. 

a/n: well... here it is lol 2(or 3?) weeks late. sorry for the wait, this chapter was just a bitch to write and every time i thought i was done, i wasn’t happy with it & i didn’t wanna post just for the sake of posting. but i stayed up until 2 a.m. to finish this, so technically it is sunday so im posting on schedule lol

im not sure how many parts are left to this story, maybe two or three + an epilogue but i haven’t decided yet. 

also, this gif made me feel things 😂

word count: 2.1k (i wish they were longer too but im doing the best i can😩)

warnings: none other than a couple swear words

Part 6

29 weeks

“What are you doing?”

“Researching how to murder someone and get away with it.” You mutter, typing where to buy a tiger in Google.

Becca gives you a wary look and sits next to you. “Everything okay?”

“No!” You groan in frustration, tossing your phone on the coffee table. “Matthew is driving me insane.”

She frowns. “Is he being an ass?”

“He’s being nice. Too nice.” You grumble, ignoring when Becca chuckles. “It’s like he’s trying to make up for missing the doctor’s appointment even though I told him I forgive him.”

Becca raises an eyebrow at you and you try to ignore her pointed look. “Do you though?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask defensively.

“You’re different around him now and I’m sure he’s noticed. It’s like you don’t trust him.”

You start to deny her accusation but stop to think about it. Were you more cautious around Matt lately? You certainly didn’t let yourself depend on him for things that you had been before, too afraid that he would let you down. You wanted to, but there was a nagging voice in the back of your mind reminding you that he’s let you down before and there’s always a chance he will again.

It’s as if Becca can read your mind because she shrugs. “You should be honest with him.”

However, something you’ve learned recently is that too much honestly can get you in trouble.

. . .

Sending Matt a text that said we need to talk, probably wasn’t the best approach because it took him approximately fifteen minutes to show up at your apartment and his is a half hour drive away from yours.

So his windblown hair and wide eyes really weren’t a surprise when you opened your front door.

“So, I think I should have worded that text a little better.”

“You think?” He huffs, walking past you when you step aside. He doesn’t even bother to take his shoes or jacket off, walking straight to the living room and turning to look at you.

“I’m sorry. For whatever I did.” He says and you groan.

“That’s the problem! Stop being sorry for things. It’s driving me nuts.”

He frowns and looks at you in confusion. “So… you don’t want me to be sorry for things?”

“I don’t want you to not be sorry for things, I just want you to stop being sorry for everything. It’s like you’re walking on eggshells around me.”

“I’m just trying to make-”

“Make up for missing the appointment.” you say, finishing his sentence. “I know.” your hand falls to your stomach and you sigh. “We’re going to be parents in less than three months. We need to start trusting each other.”

Matt slowly walks over to you and reaches out for your hand which you let him hold. His thumb rubs across the back of it and he nods.

“You’re right.”

You grin and lightly punch his shoulder with your free hand. “Of course I am. When am I ever wrong?”

He smiles, pulling you in for a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You ignore the way it makes your heart race because the last thing you need right now is your feelings for him to get even more confusing when you’re both finally on the same page.

Things are good now and you can’t risk messing it up.

. . .

31 weeks

He’s like a kid in a candy store, you’ve realized as you follow Matt around buy buy BABY. He has two carts, one already stocked full of things and the other slowly being filled. You stopped keeping count of how much everything costed an hour ago because the number started to make you queasy.

“He has enough clothes, Matty.” You whine, taking note of how Matt trips over his feet when you call him by that nickname. “and he’ll grow out of them before he even gets a chance to wear them.”

“Last one, I swear.” He says, holding up an outfit. “C’mon, how fucking cute is he going to look in this?”

“If his first word is a swear word, I’m going to kill you.” You mutter, taking the outfit from him and tossing it in the cart. Matt just grins and rests a hand on your stomach, hoping the baby will kick.

“How’s Joey?”

“Grayson is doing just fine.”

“We’re never going to come to an agreement on a name, are we?” he asks and you smile sweetly.

“Nope.”

He laughs and starts walking towards the checkouts.

“Did my mom tell you that they’re coming to visit?” He asks and you nod, recalling your conversation with Chantal. She’d called you first to make sure you were okay with the entire Tkachuk clan showing up. She knows how stressful pregnancy is and didn’t want to overwhelm you.

But you were ecstatic when she asked if it was okay for them to visit. You’ve grown to depend on her for any pregnancy questions over the past seven months and even when you needed some regular advice for everyday things, you sometimes texted her.

“Yeah, it’s Wednesday, right?”

Matt nods, smiling politely at the cashier as he starts loading every thing on the conveyor belt. You can tell that she’s a hockey fan by the way her eyes light up when she recognizes who he is.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you can pick them up from the airport?” He asks, catching you off guard. “Their plane lands around noon and I won’t be back until later that night and I don’t really want them to have to take a cab.”

You’re a little surprised that he’s asking you to do this instead of paying someone or asking a close friend to do it instead. It’s an odd feeling, realizing that he trusts you with his family.

“Yeah, I’d love to.” You tell him and his smile warms you to the bone.

. . .

You show up to the airport forty-five minutes early because you can’t decide if you should wait in the SUV for Matt’s family, or meet them in the airport. Would it be weird to wait for them inside like you would with your own friends or family? You double check your phone to make sure that Matt did tell them it was you picking them up because how weird would it be if they were expecting him only to find you waiting.

You’re definitely over thinking it but you find yourself standing at the gates when their plane lands.

Chantal is the first person you see and her face lights up and she scurries over to you, pulling you in for a soft hug.

“Oh, look at you!” She gushes, taking your hands in hers and holding you at arms length. “You’re glowing.”

Glowing isn’t exactly the word you would use because as much as you tried to look nice to pick them up, you’re still seven months pregnant, sweating because of the jacket you have on and most definitely are wearing odd shoes because you can no longer see your feet and Matt wasn’t here to check for you.

But you blush nonetheless, letting Keith, Taryn, and Brady hug you before starting to walk to baggage claim.

“Thank you for picking us up.” Chantal says and you smile.

“It’s nothing,” you say, brushing it off. “You’ve done a lot for me.”

“Anything I can do to help. I know how hard it is being pregnant with your man travelling a lot.”

You want to correct her when she calls Matt your man, but you don’t want to be impolite so you just nod.

“Speaking of your man,” Brady says in a teasing voice, “what time does he get in, again?”

“Around 8.” You say, ignoring the teasing tone and changing the subject to ask Taryn how school is going. You know you’ll hear more comments about the nature of your relationship with Matt from his brother but for now, you chat with Taryn and Chantal about plans for the baby.

. . .

Matt gave you a key to his apartment when you both realized that you spent more time at his these days then you did at your own so you don’t miss the knowing looks Chantal and Keith share when you use your key to unlock Matt’s apartment. You know they can tell it’s your key and not Matt’s because he painted it your favourite colour when he gave it to you.

“So do we get a sneak peak of the nursery?” Taryn asks hopefully and you nod, gesturing for her to follow you. Matt turned one of the guest rooms in to the nursery in his apartment. You haven’t done anything with yours yet because you and Matt were starting to wonder if after the baby is born, at least for a little while, the two of you should just live together. It would certainly make things much easier.

“It’s beautiful.” Chantal says, and you can see her eyes watering a little.

“We’re going to put up letters spelling his name above the crib.”

“Oh yeah, have you guys decided on a name yet?” Keith asks, testing the sturdiness of the crib by wiggling it a little.

“No.” You mutter. “We can’t agree on anything.”

“You’ll find something you both love eventually.” Chantal reassures you. “Now, please tell me my son has food in his fridge, because I’m going to cook dinner.”

You grin, realizing that she too knows how bad Matt is at keeping his fridge stocked. Before you started spending so much time here, you would be lucky if he had eggs in the fridge.

. . .

Matt arrives home just as dinner is cooked and you get to witness what a typical Tkachuk night must look like. There’s lots of chirps thrown but you can tell how close this family is and how much they care about each other. Especially when it comes to Matt and his mom and sister. He treats them like gold and it warms your heart to see it.

After dinner, you volunteer to clean up and you’re surprised when Keith offers to help. You’ve only spoken to him a few times before today and you don’t feel as close to him as you do with Chantal so it’s quiet while the two of you clear up the dishes.

Keith breaks the silence after a couple minutes, turning to look at you.

“I know Matthew can be a handful… but don’t give up on him, okay?”

You’re surprised to hear this coming from Keith because you were truthfully expecting Taryn or Brady to say something about it. Every time you and Matthew touched or spoke to each other, you noticed the knowing looks and soft smiles from the other Tkachuk family members.

It was like they knew something that neither you nor Matthew did.

You’re not sure what exactly to say so you just nod.

“I won’t.” You promise, realizing that you truly mean it.

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #calgary flames imagines #calgary flames fanficton #allies writing

[crystalstar8]

The Eye of the Sky

Ch. 1

Pairing: Namjoon x oc

Genre: heist au, action

word count: 1,285

warnings: action, violence, gun violence, car chases, car crashes, swearing, blood probably

notes: heist au, action, adventure, crime, enemies to lovers, ooc namjoon, because he has his license lol

Summary: Ten years ago, Namjoon's father was killed by his best friend and partner in crime, A man who now goes by the name Hawthorne. Now, Namjoon wants to get into the family business in order to avenge his father's death. After finding the man who killed his father, Namjoon builds a team and creates an elaborate plan to finally take the man down.

But will they be able to get through Hawthorne's state-of-the-art security system? And will they succeed with a mysterious assassin chasing them? Let's just say, it's a good thing Namjoon's team members keep surprising him with useful skills.

@mozy-j  @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @daechwitad-2

It should have been the perfect job. It was airtight, they thought of everything.

               And in fact, it did work perfectly. The Sky’s Eye was in their safe and someone else was getting arrested for its theft. Junghoon didn’t know who it was getting framed, his partner took care of that. It didn’t matter, since it wasn’t them.

Junghoon and Montgomery celebrated in their office. The necklace was finally theirs.

               With the first sip of champagne, Junghoon knew immediately what was happening, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn’t believe it; his best friend and partner in hundreds of jobs…

               Montgomery knelt down in front of Junghoon, who’s flute fell from his hand and shattered on the ground. Montgomery took a slow sip from his own glass and said the words that made Junghoon’s blood run cold before finally slipping away.

               “Do you think your wife can pay your son and daughter’s way through college from prison?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten Years Later

                 Namjoon looked at himself in the mirror and straightened his tie. He was looking sharp in his fitted grey suit, but he figured today was worth it. His younger sister was graduating college, something he was immensely proud of her for. He himself was a recent graduate, receiving his PhD as the youngest of his class. He knew how much work it was. He knew how much work it was without their parents.

               Namjoon and Geongmin supported each other throughout their middle school and college years; ever since their father was killed and their mother was arrested, they only had each other.

               Namjoon adjusted his left cufflink one last time, making sure it wouldn’t fall apart again; he already had to fix it that morning once.

               Down in the parking garage, Namjoon unlocked his black Audi SUV and hopped in. His cufflink caught on the door and pulled off. He cursed under his breath as he shoved it in his pocket and drove off.

               The graduation ceremony was outdoors. It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining and the temperature was mild. The graduates were seated in the front section of seats. He tried to pick out his sister among them, but he couldn’t recognize her within the sea of blue hats.

               Once he was seated and the speeches began, Namjoon pulled the cufflink from his pocket and tried to fix it one last time. The tiny latch was broken, and Namjoon only made it worse by detaching the little screw and dropping it into the grass. He supposed he didn’t like this pair very much anyway.

               The keynote speaker stepped up to the podium and began his speech. The audience cheered when they saw him. Namjoon saw several women throughout the audience swoon and giggle. He smiled and rolled his eyes. Jin just had that effect on people.

               Jin’s speech was long and didn’t make any sense, but Namjoon figured the audience wouldn’t care. He was a celebrity and a handsome face, people were just happy to see him in person.

               Finally, the graduates were announced and their degrees were given. Namjoon cheered loudly when his sister walked across the stage. After the hats were thrown into the air, Namjoon stood up to find his sister.

               Families were mingling and taking pictures all around him, but he found her easily enough.

               “Congratulations,” he said, hugging her tight.

               “Thank you,” said Geongmin. “If only graduation was tomorrow instead of today.”

               “I know,” said Namjoon, pulling away from her and grimacing. It really was a shame that their mother would miss Geongmin’s graduation by only a day.

               “Are you going to find Jin?” she asked. Namjoon nodded. He had been friends with Jin since they were children, at least until Jin started getting famous.

               “You better hurry, before his security team whisks him away,” Geongmin said with a giggle.

               “You’ll let me take you out for dinner, right?” Namjoon asked.

               Geongmin grimaced and said, “Well, I was supposed to go out with some friends…”

               Namjoon held up his hands and laughed, “I figured. Another time then. Promise?”

               “Promise,” she said, waving before bounding away to find her friends. Then she turned around and shouted, “Maybe tomorrow, when mom gets home!”

               Namjoon chuckled and made his way behind the stage, where his friend was waiting for him. Jin greeted him with open arms and a charming smile.

               “Namjoon!” Jin shouted, hugging him tightly. “Is your sister joining us for dinner?”

               “No, she’s with friends tonight,” said Namjoon.

               “Right, of course,” said Jin. “Well, let’s get to it.”

                 The restaurant was way fancier than anything Namjoon’s ever stepped into, but Jin seemed right at home. The hostess knew him and sat them immediately.

               Once they were seated, Namjoon said, “I was going to wait to bring this up with you, but now that we’re alone-“

               “Oh my god, are you about to ask me out or something?” Jin asked. “We agreed we wouldn’t work out as a couple.”

               “What? No, Jin…” Namjoon stared at him. “No.”

               “Okay, please continue then,” said Jin.

               “I have a job for us,” said Namjoon. Now it was Jin’s turn to stare, lowering his voice once his shock wore off.

               “Joon-ah, are you sure about this?” asked Jin. “I thought you said you would never get into this business.”

               “Jin, do you know a man named Cliff Hawthorne?” Namjoon asked.

               “Of course,” said Jin. “He produced half my movies.”

               “He has something I want,” said Namjoon. “I have a plan to get it.”

               “Wait, wait, wait,” Jin said, holding up his hands. They paused in their conversation as the waitress set down their drinks and appetizer. As soon as she left, Jin continued. “Why are you doing this? Why Hawthorne? I though you said you would never get into the family business. I said I wouldn’t get into the family business.”

               Namjoon eyed his friend.

               “Are you in or not?” he asked.

               “Well, you haven’t even told me what your plan is, so I guess I haven’t decided yet,” Jin said with a wave of his hand. He crossed his arms and leaned back.

               “I was watching the news yesterday and there was a story about a party Hawthorne is throwing,” said Namjoon. “Have you heard anything about his party?”

               “I may have heard about it,” Jin said.

               “Anyway, they showed his face and I immediately recognized him,” said Namjoon. “He’s famous, but he’s hardly ever on TV. Do you know why I recognized him?”

               “Namjoon, you’re driving me crazy here, just tell me,” said Jin.

               “I recognized him because he was my father’s best friend when I was growing up,” said Namjoon. Jin went silent and knitted his eyebrows. “I recognized him because he’s the man that killed my father.”

               Jin’s eyes went wide. “But… I thought…”

               “Hawthorne is Montgomery,” said Namjoon.  

               Jin closed his mouth and stared for a few moments. He slowly took a sip from his wine and then said, “So this is revenge. Namjoon, I don’t know…”

               “I won’t kill him,” said Namjoon. “Everyone gets out of this job safe, but we’ll have the one thing he’s been keeping for himself all this time.”

               “You’re not thinking about stealing the-“

               “That’s right,” said Namjoon. “The Sky’s Eye.”

               “Were you going to talk about this with your sister here if she had come?” Jin asked with a chuckle.

               “No, definitely not,” said Namjoon. “She’d never let me go through with this.”

               “Alright, well you have my attention,” said Jin. The waitress came back to set down their entrées, and as soon as she left, Jin spoke again. “I assume you have a plan?”

               Namjoon nodded. “I do. But we’ll need a team.”

#bts #heist au #eye of the sky #bts fanfic #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jeongguk #namjoon #rm #jin #yoongi #suga #jhope #hobi #jimin #taehyung #v #jungkook #jimmy k #captain kirk #star trek