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talesofesther · 1 year

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don't know how to be something you miss

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: On a rainy day, Wednesday recalls pieces of your story together through memories, and wonders if you miss her too.

Requested by anon

A/N: Soft!Wednesday because that's my thing now. This request was really fun to make, hope you like it, let me know. All flashbacks are in italics.

Masterlist

There's something unusual on Wednesday's side of the dorm.

It's small, insignificant, private because there's no one else here to witness it.

Her typewriter still sits by the end of her dark-colored bed, her cello is still stashed beside her wardrobe and her window is still the opposite of Enid's; devoid of color, creating soft shadows on the wooden floor as the rain falling outside collides with it.

But there's an anomaly on the black-and-white hues of Wednesday's side.

The Addams girl sits on the floor beside her bed, her back resting against the cold wall. She hugs her knees close to her chest, making herself smaller; she's wearing a lilac hoodie, one hand gripping its fabric as she holds herself together and the other clutching a polaroid picture, the hood is over her head and she can smell a familiar perfume.

The color is strange on her pale skin, on the black of her hair. Yet she buries herself in it.

It's pathetic. She's broken all her rules and promises.

Wednesday remembers the first time she saw the hoodie she wears;

—

It was potions and elixirs class, one that Wednesday enjoys most of the time; handling deadly substances was always amusing — the classroom didn't lack glass vials that were labeled 'toxic, do not ingest' and she was dying to try them out in her mixing table.

The teacher was about to start talking when a knock sounded on the door. Wednesday glared at it with disdain.

It opened to reveal you standing on the other side, a lilac hoodie draped over your uniform, a lollipop hanging from your lips, and a smile on your face that looked more like a grimace as you apologized for getting lost and arriving late. It was dismissed since it was your first day, and you were left to pick a seat.

Wednesday put on her best stern look so you wouldn't choose the empty chair beside her.

But you did anyway.

She rolled her eyes with a sigh when you sat down, instantly turning to her with a hopeful grin.

"Hi," your voice was timid and sweet.

Wednesday chanced a glance at you and your smile instantly brightened at the attention. She noticed you had captivating eyes, the strawberry confection you had on your lips was now being twirled between your fingers.

"You better be good with potions," was Wednesday's greeting.

And the mixture you made ended up creating something acidic. It melted through the table and created a dent in the floor.

—

Wednesday scoffs at the memory, you were always a bit reckless, following your gut even if the odds were against you. She liked that about you.

There were several things she secretly liked about you.

Sometimes she believes you have the power to read between the lines, uncover things people themselves don't realize yet.

If it wasn't for that, and your incredibly annoying persistence, maybe Wednesday would never have had a story with you at all.

Her bedroom feels bigger, lonelier; the rain doesn't help, the sound of it hitting the stone walls outside gets her mind drifting.

—

You jumped on the puddles, splashing water all around you and most likely inside your shoes as well.

Wednesday was staring at you with a soft scrunch on her eyebrows, wondering what was the purpose of your actions other than inconveniently soaking the floorboards later.

She was leaning back on the wall of the bee shed, under the roof, waiting out the rain. You were doing your chores as if the sun was shining in the sky. Peculiar.

"Why won't you join me, Wednesday?" You asked as if the answer wasn't obvious, as if raindrops weren't rapidly rolling down your forehead all the way to your chin.

"Because I'm sensible," Wednesday stated, her gaze following the path of a droplet that stopped by your lips. She crossed her arms over her chest, clearing her throat.

"Where's the fun in that?" You raised a brow, "the rain washes your soul, you know."

"I like my soul dark, stained, and dry."

You clicked your tongue at her answer, stalking closer with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I think that's just an excuse," you took hold of one of Wednesday's braids, twirling the end of it on your fingers.

Wednesday's lips hovered open at your audacity, her heart pushing against her ribs.

"Because we both know I'm much better at harvesting these hives."

That shook Wednesday out of her trance. She scoffed, "I can do it twice as faster with my eyes closed."

You shrugged, "I'll believe it when I see it."

"You have. And I've been here longer than you."

"Hm, these three jars of honey here say otherwise."

Wednesday clenched her jaw, it was a cheap attempt at getting her to indulge you, and she hated that it was working. She hated that the prospect of competing with you brought a thrill of excitement to her stomach.

When you stepped away, she followed, allowing the rain to pour down on her and soak her clothes and hair.

She did win in the end, and even if you lost you were still smiling widely as you two walked back to the school, feeling the smell of fresh rain hitting the tree leaves.

Mud was dragged on the floorboards of Nevermore when you got back inside and the water dripping from your clothes stained the rugs. Weems got red with anger and went on a tangent about manners.

Wednesday had to agree with you in the end. It was fun.

—

The rain picks up outside, the drops that hit her window are loud and the air is frigid — the wooden floor not doing much to chase it away.

If you were here you'd be scolding her, telling her to get on the warm, comfy bed. You'd take her hands on yours and complain about the coldness of them.

You'd place a kiss on each of Wednesday's knuckles if she let you. And she would; in the end, she knew she would.

But you're not here to do any of that.

A trembling breath passes through Wednesday's lips, creating a small puff of white air.

She thinks she deserves to feel the cold seeping onto her skin.

—

Night had long since settled in, Enid was having a sleepover at Yoko's dorm and Wednesday had the room to herself. The sounds of her typewriter were the only thing filling the air. Peaceful.

Another page was filled, she took it out with care before placing a new one in its place.

"When will you let me read it?"

Oh yeah. You're here too. Being alone feels nicer when Wednesday can feel your presence nearby.

"I doubt you'd be able to stomach it," she responded, curiosity hinting at her tone wondering if you really would read her novel or if you were just making conversation.

You're sprawled out on Wednesday's bed, laying on your stomach as you picked on a few loose strands of her dark blanket. "You underestimate me, Wednesday. The macabre has always fascinated me."

It's strange how comfortable you were in her presence, how you never once hesitated to see her darker side. Wednesday sometimes doesn't know what to make of it. There are no conditions to your apparent affection, you seemed happy to just exist beside her.

Wednesday looked at you, at the way you were swinging your feet in the air, laying your head on your forearm as you raised a brow at her; daringly.

Maybe there was a reason why she started calling upon you every time Enid left. She liked to exist in your presence too.

It was another hour before Wednesday finally stopped writing, and when she did — getting up from her chair and stretching her muscles — she noticed that you had fallen asleep. You lay in an awkward position that would surely give you neck pain later, your hand falling off the edge of the bed as you snored softly.

Wednesday didn't know what to do about you. She had a foreign feeling in her stomach upon seeing you so comfortable on her bed, her space.

The thought of waking you up didn't even cross her mind.

But you had been stupid enough to sleep on top of the covers. And it was winter.

On the guise of not wanting to hear you whinnying about being sick later, Wednesday rummaged through her wardrobe and picked up one of her oversized hoodies. She awkwardly placed it over your still body… and waited.

Eventually making herself comfortable sitting on the floor, she waited for you to wake up, intently observing your sleeping figure. Wednesday memorized your breathing pattern, eventually matching her own with yours, and when it halted for a second, she wondered what nightmares you must be having. She noticed each involuntary muscle twitch on your face, finding herself mesmerized by the way your eyebrows would furrow the slightest bit sometimes.

Was it creepy that she enjoyed watching you? Was it bad that she didn't want to look away?

Wednesday reached out with her heart in her mouth, clogging up her breathing. Her fingertips touched yours, her skin brushing against yours until she was somewhat holding your hand.

Why? She didn't know. But there was no one here for her to have the need to explain herself.

Until you returned her grip, and Wednesday's heartbeat stilled.

"Get your ass off the floor Wednesday, you'll freeze."

—

You had a warmth to you that was captivating. And Wednesday fell right into your trap.

She pays the price now. She never knew what it was like to miss someone until she wanted to rip her heart out. But it doesn't feel good.

Wednesday bites into her lip until she tastes blood. She wonders if you think about it too, about her.

A sharp breath enters her lungs and stays there. She wonders if she is someone worth missing.

You left, so, probably not.

Wednesday stretches her legs, leaning her head back on the wall. She could kill you for cursing her with this. But to what avail? The last living part of her would die with you anyway.

Her thumb brushes over the image of you and her on her hands, the polaroid picture is a little worn out from being kept under her pillow. It's her most valued secret.

You're smiling in the image, beside you, Wednesday has no expression as she looks at the camera; you're illuminated by countless fireworks exploding in the sky; far down, the town fair can be seen; both your hands are out of the picture but anyone could tell they were tangled together.

Wednesday Addams succumbing to something as frivolous as love?

You made it seem as simple as the raindrops that hit her window.

—

You were bouncing on your feet, hair up in a ponytail and lilac hoodie wrapped around your waist. Your eyes couldn't find a place to focus before your attention was already being grabbed by a new attraction at the town fair.

Wednesday followed a step behind you, colorful lights coming from the many amusement rides illuminated her skin.

"Come on, Wednesday," you fell back into step beside her, linking your arm around hers and pulling her along, "you can win me a teddy bear, it gives you an excuse to shoot something."

And she did, she won you the biggest teddy bear on the balloon shooting stand. And if she had a tiny smile on her lips as she proudly handed it to you, no one needed to know.

In exchange, you went into the haunted house with Wednesday.

"Stop squirming, this is hardly scary for a child, let alone for you," Wednesday grumbled as you walked the dark hallways of the old haunted manor, your hand clutching at her arm for dear life.

"We're walking through poorly lit hallways that are designed to scare us. I know something will happen yet I don't know when," you pointed out in a hush, your hand sneaking lower on Wednesday's arm, "of course I'm gonna be at least a little creeped out."

Not even a second later, a man poorly dressed as a zombie jumped from behind a wall. You squealed and Wednesday felt a sudden rush of protectiveness coming over her. She finally took your hand in hers.

Your fingers were snuggly intertwined with each other by the time you went into the Ferris Wheel to watch the firework show.

With little room in the cabin for you to sit, Wednesday's shoulder was flush with yours. Her hand still held onto yours. The warmth of your skin became addicting.

Way down, the town fair looked like a distant reality — for a fleeting moment it was just you, her, and the stars until fireworks started painting the sky a million colors.

And you were probably thinking the same, because you opened your purse and pulled out your instant camera, not giving Wednesday much of a warning before you snapped the picture.

"I always want to remember this day," you told her, your cheeks molding around your smile and your eyes crinkling because of it. There was a soft drizzle in the air, landing on your hair and clothes and making them shine.

Wednesday watched the firework show through your eyes, through the way it reflected on your pupils and made you glow. It was magical. You were magical in a way she's never seen before.

It was only natural for her to lean in, one hand coming up to hold your jaw so she could capture your lips with hers.

—

A drop of water lands on the edge of the polaroid picture, and then another, and one more on the sleeve of your hoodie, turning it a darker shade of lilac.

Wednesday frowns, until she realizes that she can't breathe, and that the droplets are coming from her eyes. She wipes her cheeks harshly, unkindly, almost bruising herself.

But she's careful with the way she dries them off the picture, gently brushing away the tears that almost landed on top of your smiling figure.

She wonders if you still want to remember that day the same way she does.

You are her best memory. And she wonders if you still want to remember her at all.

—

It was raining, had been for a week straight already, but today there was thunder roaring in the sky and lightning illuminating the night.

Wednesday hadn't seen you the entire day. No one had.

You were gone.

And she was losing her mind.

"What do you mean she's not in the school?" She snapped at Thing. The disembodied hand cowered at her tone. "Look again," she commanded, yet the way her words cracked at the end let the facade slip.

She was pacing back and forth on the entry hall of Nevermore, the tall wooden doors were pushed open so she had a clear view of the gates. Waiting — wishing — to see you walk through. All she saw was the rain hitting the ground and making the horizon hazy and white.

Damn you for making her care. Damn you for taking her heart. Damn you for making her realize how dreadful life is without you.

Weems walked back into the room, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.

Wednesday hastily walked up to the principal, "so?"

"No teachers know of her whereabouts either." Weems sighed.

Wednesday clenched her jaw, feeling her stomach drop, "I'm going out."

Weems' features softened, yet she shook her head, "I cannot allow you to leave in these weather conditions, Miss Addams."

"Me?" Wednesday scoffed indignantly, "what about her?"

"We don't know-"

"Exactly, we don't," she interrupted Weems, urgency filling her words because the reality that you could be taken from her just like that, was too palpable, and Wednesday doesn't like to feel a pain she can't control; "for all we know we could find her dead body in the woods and-"

"What happened?"

Both Weems and Wednesday snapped their heads towards your voice, relief evident on both their faces when they saw you unharmed.

You were soaked to the bone from walking in the pouring rain, drenching the rug beneath your feet as your hair and clothes clung to your body.

Weems gave you a glare that let you know you had to explain yourself later, but she left the room right after, knowing you and Wednesday deserved some privacy.

Wednesday's hands were closed into fists beside her, nails almost digging on skin as she watched you walk up to her with a soft frown on your eyebrows; as if you were unaware of the mess your absence had caused on her, as if you didn't know her vision was blurring over because for a second she thought all she'd have of you were memories.

Wednesday was enraged, her lungs being unable to hold air properly and turning her breathing erratic, "are you stupid?" She threw at you, making you flinch.

"What the hell were you thinking?" She continued, taking a step closer to grasp at that damn hoodie you insisted on wearing all the time, "don't dare do it again you hear me? I forbid you." She emphasized each word with a shake to your body.

Your answer was to wrap your arms around her, and she fought you, tried to push you away, but your hold was stronger. You held Wednesday's body to you until she collapsed, her weight mostly supported by you as her tears mingled with the raindrops still on your skin and the wetness of your clothes seeped into hers too.

Her nails dug into the fabric of your hoodie and she buried her head in your neck; breathing you in, feeling your heartbeat against her own.

"I'm sorry. I'm okay," you mumbled countless times like a mantra, your lips brushing the shell of Wednesday's ear.

It felt like a promise that you later sealed with a soft kiss on her lips. It was a little cold and wet, but you were there.

—

If Wednesday knew that would be your last kiss, she'd have held on to you a little longer.

Maybe that's why she feels so miserable today, because of the rain.

It's easier to put the blame on something she can't control, something she can't regret.

Part of Wednesday wants to be selfish and only keep the good memories, not the bad ones, but sometimes your words still echo in her mind;

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything, I just went into town to pick something up, for you, actually. The rain picked back up on my way back… I didn't mean to make you so worried."

And her own words still plague her too;

"It was reckless, it's like you enjoy being an inconvenience sometimes, I was perfectly fine not needing anyone in my life until you showed up."

That conversation ended with you storming out of Wednesday's room, your hoodie staying behind on top of her bed. It was two weeks ago, and she never got to know what it was you wanted to give her.

You haven't exchanged a word with each other since.

Begrudgingly, Wednesday gets up from her spot on the floor. The sleeves of your hoodie pool on her wrists. Your perfume is weaker, fading with each passing day.

What happens when she can't remember what you smell like anymore? When she can't fool herself that your arms are the ones around her and not the lilac fabric?

Wednesday lifts her pillow, placing your picture under it before putting it down again.

Maybe the time to let go is nearing. But it's a hard task when she has glimpses of you every day, in every class, in every corner of the school.

She takes off your hoodie and puts it back in her wardrobe, there's a place reserved for it there. Sometimes she wonders if you'll ever come back to get it.

Wednesday goes to her bathroom and throws water on her face, she doesn't need people looking at her funny because of her red-rimmed eyes.

There's a bit of hesitance on her steps down the stairs. Dinner will be served soon and Wednesday knows what awaits her at the cafeteria, or better, who.

The sound of rain is all she can hear, it's dreadful, you've ruined it for her. You've ruined so many things for her.

Wednesday walks into the cafeteria and finds you almost immediately, in the sea of outcasts, you stand out. You always have, as much as she doesn't want to admit it. You're sitting by the window, lollipop on your lips as you talk with your friends.

Whatever it is that keeps you tied to her — magnetism, gravity, electricity; it must be a little bit of each — it's still there. Because you look her way, it's like you can feel her presence too, your lips halting in their movement when your eyes find hers. But you're shaking your head and averting your gaze from the doors she stands in front of the second after.

Sometimes Wednesday thinks you look at her with the same feelings you forced on her when you left; with longing, with sadness, with something bittersweet.

Wednesday wonders if you'd be willing to give her a second chance. She wonders if you think about her at night too.

She wonders, but she never asks. She doesn't know that all she had to do was ask.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 2 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @simp4wanda26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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alyswritings · 1 year

Note

JJ X sister maybank reader please, she catches her brother with another girl and he tells her to get out when really she needed him the most. She then goes to kie and sarah.

Y/N sniffles as she gets back to the chateau, wiping at her tears. She looks around for her brother, going into the guest room that they use, opening the door, stopping when she finds JJ and a girl making out on the bed, JJ shirtless.

"Jesus! Y/N, what the fuck?" JJ questions the thirteen year old.

"I-- sorry. I just... I-I needed to talk to you." Y/N says.

"Well, do it later. Leave." JJ hisses.

"But, J--"

"Go." JJ growls, giving her an annoyed look, and he gently shoves her out of the room, shutting the door in her face, and she hears the lock click.

"Who the hell was that?" She hears the girl ask.

"Just my sister." JJ says. "Now, where were we?" The room goes silent and Y/N knows they went back to making out already. She huffs, feeling more tears fall down her face and she storms out out of the chateau.

Y/N quietly cries while sitting on the hammock as she thinks of what to do. She goes over to the shed and finds John B's old bike. After testing it, she gets on and pedals away.

Finally reaching Kie's house, Y/N jumps off the bike. She manages to climb up the side of the house, not wanting to risk having to make small talk with Kie's parents.

Reaching Kie's window, she knocks on the window. After a moment, Sarah is walking over, her eyebrows furrowed at the younger Maybank sibling. Sarah slides the window open.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" Sarah asks.

"I, uh... is Kie here, too?" Y/N asks.

"Yeah. Yeah, come on." Sarah steps aside, letting the younger girl climb in.

"Y/N? What's up?" Kie asks.

"I, uh... can I stay here for a bit? Just, like, the night or maybe or something?" Y/N asks.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Why? Is something wrong?" Kie asks.

"Everything." Y/N mumbles. "My dad, my history teacher is out to get me, those kids are picking on me again." She lists, sitting on the bed, her eyes watery. "I went to JJ, but-- but he was making out with a girl and he kicked me out." She sniffles.

"Oh, baby." Kie sympathetically sighs, hugging her. Sarah frowns, sitting on Y/N's other side and rubbing her back.

"Why is your history teacher out to get you?" Sarah asks.

"He always humiliates me somehow. It's not my best class and when he demonstrates bad grades, he always uses my stuff. And I failed an essay the other day and he made me read it out loud so other kids would know what not to do."

Kie rolls her eyes at the teacher, her jaw clenching, wanting to protect the girl she views as a little sister.

"What about the kids?" Sarah asks.

"Just stupid comments that shouldn't bother me, but do. They made me spill my lunch yesterday. And please don't ask about my dad. You already know that kind of shit."

"I'm sorry, sweetie." Sarah frowns.

"How long has this been going on?" Kie asks.

"I mean... it kind of always does. It's just been worse the past couple of weeks." Y/N says.

"Well, we can have a girls night. Nails, movies, games, annoying gossip. Completely forget about all the shitty things in life, unless you're up for an amateur therapy session. How's that sound?"

"Good." Y/N smiles a little and nods.

- - -

The next afternoon, the three get to the chateau, always hanging out there as usual. They're all outside and getting ready to go out on the boat. JJ goes into the chateau to get drinks and snacks, Sarah and Kie following him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Kie sneers, smacking JJ over the head.

"Ow!" JJ cries out, holding his head.

"You ditched your little sister for a hookup, JJ? Really?" Sarah asks.

"What the hell are you talking about?" JJ asks, putting some beer in the cooler.

"Y/N. She said she tried to talk to you yesterday, but you were making out with a girl." Kie says.

"Yeah. So?" JJ asks.

"So, she needed you, you fucking idiot." Kie hisses.

"What are you talking about?" JJ asks.

"She really needed somebody yesterday. But you chose a random chick over her." Sarah says.

"Well, she didn't say she anything. All she said was she had to talk." JJ says, shrugging.

"She didn't look sad or anything?" Kie asks.

"I-- I don't know. Maybe." JJ says. "I had other things on my mind." He chuckles and Kie smacks him over the head again. "Ow!"

"Look, leave her alone on the boat, cause if she starts talking she'll probably start crying, but when we were are back on land, you apologize to your little sister and you listen to her." Kie orders, a finger pointed in JJ's face sternly.

"Yes, ma'am." JJ salutes her.

"I'm serious, JJ." Kie states.

"Me, too. All right, I will. What was bothering her, anyway?" He asks.

"Bullies, history teacher, and your dad." Kie lists.

"History teacher? Come on, that prick again?" JJ groans.

"Yes. The teacher who should definitely not be a teacher." Kie says.

"Okay, okay, I'll take care of her later." JJ says, ignoring the guilt forming in the pit of his stomach.

- - -

JJ did subtle things to watch out for Y/N while on the boat. He gave her drinks even when she didn't ask for one, made sure to notice when she was tired or hungry.

They're back at the chateau and Y/N is inside and making a sandwich. JJ goes inside, slowly walking over.

"Hey." JJ greets, standing across from her on the other side of the counter.

"Hi." She mumbles, spreading the peanut butter on her sandwich.

"So, um... what, uh, what'd you wanna talk about yesterday?" JJ asks.

"Doesn't matter." Y/N dismisses.

"Right." JJ mumbles. "Look, Y/N, I-I'm sorry for kicking you out. Okay? I-- I wasn't in the, um... the big brother mindset. I'm really sorry. I should've noticed you were upset." He says.

"Thanks, I guess." Y/N mumbles.

"Look, um... Ki-Kie told me what you were upset about." JJ says.

"And she's the only reason you're apologizing?" Y/N assumes.

"No. No, I'm apologizing because I feel bad, kiddo. Really, I'm sorry. I promise to never prioritize a hookup over you ever again." JJ says.

"Okay." Y/N mumbles.

"So, uh... do you wanna talk about it?" JJ asks.

"Not right now. I don't really wanna cry right now, so." Y/N says.

"Right. Can I at least beat somebody up?" JJ asks and Y/N smiles a little.

"You'd get sued if you beat up my history teacher." Y/N notes.

"Well, I'm sixteen. It's still not really completely inappropriate for me to beat up some thirteen year olds." He smiles.

"Jayje..." She gives him a look. "I appreaciate the thought, but that's not gonna help anything. It'll only make them hurt me worse, my history teacher would probably sue us or get you expelled or something."

"I'm cool with that." JJ says.

"We're broke enough, don't you think?" Y/N retorts.

"I got a job." JJ shrugs.

"JJ." Y/N gives him a look.

"Alright, alright, alright, okay." JJ holds his hands up. "Fine. No violence." He gets up and walks over to her. "But if you change your mind..."

"Call our designated fighter, yeah, I know." Y/N says.

"Anytime." JJ hugs her, giving her a noogie.

"JJ." She whines, pulling out of his grasp. JJ laughs and gets some peanut butter off her sandwich. "JJ!" She complains again, watching him laugh as he eats the peanut butter.

"You love me." JJ grabs her head and kisses her on the cheek.

"No, I don't." She argues.

"Yes, you do." He ruffles her hair, grabbing a beer and going outside.

Taglist: @glxwingrxse @venomsvl @wildieflower @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @itsmaneskinbitch @ironmaiden1313

#jj maybank #jj maybank x sister reader #jj maybank x sister!reader #obx #outer banks #obx jj #outer banks jj

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that-bi-bitch-writes · 11 months

Text

Paid in Kind

Pairing: Yuuji Itadori x Male Reader

Word Count: 2,053

Warnings: Infidelity, Swearing, Murder, Mentions of suicide. Angst, Major Character Death

Requested by: No one i just missed writing oneshots

Storyline: Yuuji and the reader love each other until death do them part

A/N: I’m bad at angst but I’ve been wanting to write some for years. Nearly a year ago I asked @dont-minchin-it who their favorite jjk character was and they said megumi and mine is yuuji so I wrote this. I didn’t finish it until just now.

[Name] [L.Name] considered himself to be lucky.

When he was a child and the monsters would come out from underneath his bed, he’d close his eyes and grab onto his blanket tightly chanting ‘please go away’. When he’d open his eyes, they’d be gone.

When he’d ask his mom for ice cream before dinner, it’d only take a little bit of prodding for her to cave in. After he failed his first test he’d begged his teacher for an extra credit assignment only to end the semester with an A. He got free lunches when he forgot his, and people would get him a drink from vending machines because they just happened to get an extra one.

When he was 14 he met Megumi Fushiguro. Fuck that guy.

Megumi was one year his junior and an unlikely bully to many, when he first saw [Name] talking to Tsumiki, he made a mental note to check [Name] out and kick his ass.

Megumi learned that [Name] was a normal kid with normal parents and a pretty normal routine. He went to school, he hung out with friends on most days and four days out of the week he took taekwondo classes. Okay maybe Megumi couldn’t quite kick his ass.

“Tsumiki. Who’s that kid you keep talking to at lunch?”

“Care to be more specific?”

“The annoying one who’s oddly lucky. He hangs around those nerds who bring him soda and he gets free lunches sometimes. Is he bothering you?”

“[Name]? No, he's really nice. And he doesn’t make his friends bring him things, he just asks them to get him one if they happen to get an extra. I think sometimes they use their own money to buy them and tell him they hit the jackpot. They call him their own good luck charm”

“Ooh Tsumiki knows him by first name.” Gojo interrupted. He ceremoniously sat closer to the two who were eating dinner. “Tell me more about this [Name] Megumi”

Megumi rolled his eyes but continued “Like I said he’s oddly lucky. I thought he was pulling some strings at first because I couldn't understand why everyone’s always breaking their necks for him but Tsumiki says he just asks. That’s what everyone else says too. He asks nicely and they can’t help but do whatever he wants. He’s charming”

Gojo let out a short and curious hum before Tsumiki and Megumi moved on. Long after the conversation had been over Gojo piped up and asked Megumi to keep an eye on [Name]. Megumi just nodded. He’d already planned to do that anyway.

Nosy Megumi Fushiguro was the worst thing to happen to teenaged [Name]. Adult [Name] paid him back in kind.

[Name] had the worst luck with romance. As in he’d only had two successful relationships–both ending miserably. The first time he was dumped at a wedding. It wasn’t theirs luckily. But it was his childhood best friend’s wedding and he had to stand there and smile like he didn’t get dumped five minutes before the bride walked down the aisle.

PIcture it, a dashing groomsman nursing a wounded heart as he listened to his closest friend promise eternal devotion to the sunniest, most reliable partner anyone could ask for. And the open bar wouldn’t be open for another two hours. Two hours of the perfect couple being fucking perfect. At least when he shed a few tears he could pass it off as being moved to emotion.

The relationships after that, if you could call them relationships, were doomed before they started. [Name] liked sex but adamantly refused to allow himself to get attached to anyone. His excuse was that he was just getting out of a long term relationship and wasn’t looking for anything serious. Unfortunately for him the only person that believed [Name], was himself.

Sex with strangers started to bore him before long but he wasn’t quite done with his avoidant lifestyle so he found himself conjuring excuses to break up with any partner with real potential. He once broke up with someone because they smiled too much. Apparently it made him feel like they were faking their happiness. The cliche avoidant behavior all came to a head when that one person snuck his way into [Name]’s heart.

And then the fucker had to die.

[Name] spent months pretending to mourn. He honestly just felt empty.

Once again: Fuck Megumi Fushiguro.

Not too long after Megumi wormed himself into [Name]’s life Gojo made his first appearance. Wearing sunglasses inside, bright smiles and loud laughs, the man commanded attention and called into doubt everything [Name] knew about himself, the world, and his luck. All of a sudden his life wasn’t in his hands anymore and his luck, which could’ve gone unnoticed, was sorcery. Sorcery that required studying at a boarding school away from his friends, family and the sense of familiarity that felt more like belonging. Sorcery school was a crock of shit.

He didn’t need to learn how to kick ass, and he certainly didn’t need to learn jujutsu techniques considering the fact that he’d stopped noticing curses as a child and hadn’t seen one again until he started channeling cursed energy throughout his body and into his eyes. He could’ve been normal, accepted the illusion of control and gone off to be unfulfilled in a less meaningful way.

I mean who would give up luck and blissful ignorance to risk their lives as teenaged soldiers fighting a war no one else knew about. And his dating pool shrunk before he even got to step foot in the waters. Marrying a sorcerer would only guarantee that his life or even his kid’s life would be ruled by the thing he hated and he couldn’t get out without learning to cope with the lives he could have saved. He had to face the fact that he would grow up to be Satoru Gojo.

Fuck.

Yuuji Itadori was practically a lifeline. Of course with his appearance brought on a whole bunch of other shit but he was the only one who could really understand [Name]. They fucked up his life too. There was no previous exposure to curses, no obvious fucked up origin story, he was at school and met Megumi Fushiguro and boom his life was on the line every day. Yuuji could not enjoy the simple things in life, he would watch friends die, he would not come to terms with the new life he was living. Try as he might.

Yuuji and Megumi were friends. It was hard not to be friends with Yuuji, he inspired people, made them laugh, made them want to live despite the odds. And [Name] was both lucky and stubborn, he would not let go of the one person that could understand him. Not for Megumi, or Gojo or the higher ups, he wouldn’t even die before Yuuji. That’s the promise he made to himself. He’d live for Yuuji. BFFs.

The first time they had sex [Name] was terrified and exhilarated. He was 20, Yuuji 19 and they’d both narrowly avoided death. Neither one of them wanting to die a virgin and just buzzing off of adrenaline. It happened again two more times before [Name] turned 21 and they’d stopped to preserve their friendship. Then they both got into relationships.

Yuuji got married at 26. By then [Name] had already been dumped and thus refused to be one of Yuuji's groomsmen. He showed up early, gave Yuuji his best wishes and then sat in the back during the actual service. The reception was nice, he and Yuuji danced. Itadori’s arms wrapped around [Name]’s waist, [Name]’s arms resting lazily on Yuuji’s shoulders. It was nice to pretend for a while in their little corner of the dance floor, foreheads touching and not a single eye on them. They separated with a grim smile and Yuuji was off to mingle with the rest of the guests. [Name] danced with Yuuta, remained cordial with Gojo and stayed away from Megumi Fushiguro. He didn’t even look at the cake.

Three years later [Name] and Itadori had sex again. It was exhilarating, they worked well together. It was a familiar dance; their eyes closed, forehead touched forehead but they never kissed. Not once. Yuuji was still married after all. Both too selfish to let go of each other, but neither selfish enough to avoid the guilt of what they’d done. What they were doing.

They lasted two weeks without seeing each other. Without ever mentioning it, everything was business as usual. They facetimed each other once a week to catch up and sent each other funny videos to say ‘this reminded me of you’ or ‘have you seen this’.

Yuuji’s marriage fell apart. But it wasn’t just the secret that did it. Getting married at 26 isn’t a death sentence but it is stifling when you’ve known nothing different since you were 15 and all Yuuji’s resentment towards jujutsu society and all the fucking people who died and then 3 years of marriage to a wonderful wonderful partner who just reminds you of all you lost and what could have been. Not even love could save his marriage. So he turned to what he knew best, what felt good no matter what. He turned to [Name].

Four months later Yuuji decided he wanted a divorce and he wanted to be with [Name] who was willing to throw it all away if Yuuji really wanted to. And he did want to. But [Name] didn’t want to put Yuuji in the same position again and told him to go to therapy. Apparently Itadori thought that meant couples therapy. Two months of couple’s therapy made Yuuji want to try and be better.

He had a plan-a good plan. He was going to leave. He was going to leave [Name]. They met on the rooftop of [Name’s] building to discuss the future. Facetime calls reduced to 20 minutes once a month. No more outings alone for the foreseeable future. They would be joined by Fushiguro.

“Kiss me” [Name] begged “If you’re going to leave me for good kiss me once and i’ll let you go. Forever.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” Yuuji looked hesitant. His eyes glanced down to [Name]’s lips and his jaw clenched

“If you’re afraid kissing me will break your resolve then you shouldn’t be leaving me in the first place.” [Name] said resolutely. His eyes steeled with determination as he said “Kiss me. Kiss me my love and i’ll let you go for good”

Yuuji stepped closer. Once he bridged the gap [Name] launched forward and returned the kiss with a bruising passion. Yuuji pulled back for air just before the two of them got lost in it. They touched foreheads panting, breathing in each other’s air.

[Name] pulled away first and stepped toward the edge looking over.

“Don’t.” Yuuji panicked and inched closer hand seeking [Name]’s

[Name] looked up and let out a hollow laugh “I’m not gonna do anything” he said smiling as if anything about his behavior would reassure Yuuji.

“You just told me you’d let me go forever and then stepped toward the edge of your 15 story building i’m sorry if i’m a little worried”

“Come here” [Name] said, pulling Yuuji closer. Yuuji could see tears in his eyes “I’m not gonna jump.” Yuuji gripped [Name]’s shoulders and stared into his eyes only finding truth. He sighed and relaxed, letting go of [Name] who briefly kissed him on the cheek and smiled solemnly. He took a deep breath and finished his thought aloud: ‘i’m not gonna jump yuuji’

“I’m gonna push you”

Megumi Fushiguro ruined [Name]’s life. So [Name] killed Megumi’s husband.

This was a kind of sorrow [Name] could bear. Megumi took everything. His friends, his freedom, his childhood and the love of [Name]’s life. And he’d known it all along. How [Name] resented him long before Tsumiki got sick. As he consoled the grieving Fushiguro, the only thing [Name] said was “I forgive you”

Fushiguro thought it was odd that [Name] forgave him for ruining his life, as if the death of Yuuji washed away all their hatred and sin but no.

[Name] had already repaid him in kind.

#male reader #m reader #m!reader #x male reader #male reader insert #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #that-bi-bitch-writes

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boyfhee · 2 years

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𐀔 RED STRINGS OF REWIND | n. riki

PRECIS. you and riki meet again, and again, and again, before you run away from him, only for fate to intertwine your paths, and start from zero, all over again. ( 6.75k )

GENRE. vampire ! riki, mystery, thriller, angst

WARNINGS. mentions of blood, hospitals, murder & deaths, depiction of potentially obsessive behaviour, multiple semi-graphic to graphic descriptions of self-harm, reader is kinda sick in the head both literally and metaphorically, riki is psychotic & he isn't actually a vampire or could be one tbh it depends upon your interpretation, transitions from past to present

NOTE. my cue to dip for next few weeks yawl <3 BTW IM SO PROUD OF THE HEADER BUT TUMBLR RUINED IT AND IT LOOKS WEIRD ON PHONE </3 big thanks to sai ( @jungwonize ) for helping me figure out the characteristics of a vampire pls that legit solved half my issues with this fic and also beta-ing this fr he's so <3 if you don't understand what's happening, i recommend you to read the whole thing because that's the only way for this to make sense. see y'all in a few weeks, happy reading <3

the first time you ran away from riki was when you were five. it was a pleasant day and you were enjoying your evening in the playground downstreet, playing catch with other kids around. an escape wasn’t necessary but you had accidently hurt riki while helping him speed up on the swings. that was the first time you had seen the boy shed tears. ultimately, being the last ones remaining, you saw the sun disappear behind the horizon as his sobs increased, the sand turning red due to blood. at that moment, all you could think of was to run; and so you did.

consequently, you started avoiding him at school. despite being just a kindergarten student, you had a keen eye, always looking out for things that could affect you negatively. perhaps, riki made it to that list, and you found yourself noting his every move. you had your eyes on every breath he took, every action, every word. you sat at the bench farthest from his seat in class, yet still your eyes didn’t leave his sight even for a second. you started lying whenever his mother called your mom, saying she was sleeping or simply, not home. you lied about the parents-teacher meeting being cancelled in case your teacher brings up the events from what happened at the park a few days ago.

the same went on for days, weeks even. you saw the everlasting friendship between riki’s and your mom turn shallow, hanging by a thread, on the verge of breaking. you didn’t mean it. the damage, you didn’t want this to turn into something big. your mom has known his mother since her college. being the top students and the best friends they were, they decided to live in the neighbourhood after the death of their husbands. your father died in a car accident. as for riki, from what you recall, his father never existed in the first place.

maybe the gods were on your side because soon after, your mother was fired from her job and luckily enough, your uncle helped her secure a job in the capital. it was nice, living two thousand one hundred and fifty two kilometres away from him, in tokyo, it felt good. you could finally breathe in relief. maybe, you feel bad for your mom since she had to leave her friends. perhaps, a part of you is upset since you had to leave your friends; though, if you had the chance, you would do it all over again.

you wanted to live peacefully. you don’t want people to blame for what happened. you didn't want to be the reason behind the dark blood stained patch on the sand that made the kids shake in fear in the dead of the night.

the second time you ran away from riki was in highschool. it was unbelievable, having him this close to you. you thought you left him behind, in okinawa, however on the first day of highschool, you had him standing in front of you, and you felt your heart sink into a never ending pit of horror. an escape wasn't planned but it was the only way left when he tried to strike a conversation with you. you both were alone in the dance room, a smile plastered on his face as he recalled the events you buried in the past. you felt your heartbeat accelerate, and your first instinct was to run; and so you did.

you spent that day in the cubicle, crying and fighting your anxiety attack. a couple few knocks on the door made their way to you but you didn't respond, knowing you're better off alone.

it felt horrifying to have your past come back to you. having riki standing in front of you was like a nightmare come true. you had noticed the scar of his forehead; reminding you of everything you buried deep, making sure no one would know about it. you wouldn't say you never expected to see him again. your grandparents live on okinawa and every time you visit them, a part of you anticipated seeing the boy somewhere around. it wasn't scary, really, for you don't live in okinawa and riki doesn't know where you live.

things were perfect, better than you had planned initially, since never once did you come across riki in okinawa. you even visited his house, asking neighbours about him and his family. someone said his father came and the family moved to germany with him. however, you knew that was a lie. your mother might've said that his father passed away when he was three, but you know he never had a father in the first place.

so, eleven years later, seeing him all the way in tokyo, attending the same school as you, it was like seeing death on your door. as if the reaper is at your doorstep, asking for your soul. however, your perfect highschool life turned into a pit of hell when the incident you've been hiding resurfaced again and this time, on a public stage.

‘how did you get your scar?’ a student had asked him, and you froze in your seat. the greater gods weren’t on your side since in the second half of second year, riki transferred to your class. you don’t know how that happened— or if it’s even allowed— he just did, and sat right behind you as you felt the situation grip out of your hands day by day. you expected him to disclose the intels to everyone the way he stared into your back. your heart skipped beats whenever his hand brushed past your back, or when he randomly grew a habit to play with your hair in the middle of science lessons. you didn’t think riki had any intentions of ruining things for you; that is, until that question was brought up during self study class.

you heard him shift his eyes on you as he smiled at the question. ‘ah, it’s a long story.’ he had responded. your grip around the pen in your hand tightened. suddenly, geometry was long forgotten and all you could focus on were the words leaving his mouth. ‘i was playing in a park with a friend,’ he continued, and you gripped the measuring compass, pressing its needle into the desk as your pulse surged up. ‘and got injured. the friend, however,’ you felt his gaze settling on your back once again, goosebumps rising at the sudden eerie change in the air. you lifted the divider off the desk, your right hand fisted up so tightly that you felt your nails leave marks on your palm. ‘what about the friend?’ the student asks, and oh how you wished you could wipe them off their curiosity forever.

sitting and letting him continue would be a mistake, like digging your own grave and waiting for someone to bury you. you couldn’t tell him to stop because that’d be no better than showing up at death’s door. ‘the friend, well,’ you felt him digging holes on your back by the way he’s staring at you. you felt him smirking through his words and sitting would be a mistake, so you took the measuring device and pierced through your wrist, making a deep wound that stained your shirt red, the same way riki’s blood stained the sand.

the students gasped, teachers rushed in, you were escorted to the infirmary. no one questioned about the injury, why or how it happened. their questions concerned your wellbeing and nothing else. their eyes were on you while yours were on riki, who waved at you with a smile before turning his attention towards the blood splatter on your desk like a moondrunk monster. that was the third time you ran from riki. an escape was vital and your first instinct was to get away from him; and so you did.

you didn't attend school after that.

the first few days were off as an excuse for your injury. you deliberately went for your dominant hand, knowing it would offer greater impact than any other part. it was a sporadic decision, yet proven to be worth the pain. you had your friends drop notes at your house, occasionally checking up on you as well. but as your hand got better, the reasons to stay home narrowed to a few numbers, ones that you can count on your fingers. so, burdened by the need of the hour, you prepared another plan.

attending school after three weeks would've been amazing if your brother hadn't called the local suicide hotline. it was six-thirty in the morning, you were in your room while your mom had sent your brother to call you for breakfast, only for him to find on your bathroom tiles, all red and pale from the blood loss from your previously injured wrist. you hated him for calling the suicide hotline. it was a wasted move, but you couldn't blame him when he made things easier for you.

news spreads fast, and gossip spreads faster. the details about you were headlines, if anything. while your teachers worried about you for taking such destructive measures, a few of your friends started suspecting that you had gone crazy. one of them saw you stab your own wrist, other heard you mumbling to yourself. you were also spotted staring at riki with your gaze bearing daggers against his neck. an anonymous post from a kindergarten classmate claimed you to be 'obsessive,' briefing about how you used to stare at riki all day, like a predator eyes their prey.

in just two months, the tables turned and you became the 'creepy' one amongst them. soon after, you stopped having visitors. while you declined some of their visits, others stopped caring about you, as if you would come for them next. your days started feeling longer than usual as your stay at the hospital increased. from psychic ward to er and from er to psychic ward, those were your only two destinations for the next few months. bottles of pills and syrups awaited for you thrice a day as the excessive test procedures became your only companion in the house of dead.

you had spent nights laughing and crying about your poor condition. you didn't think you would ever end up this way, between machines and syringes, taking pills as if they constituted a major part of your meals. it was pathetic, almost shameful. you were tired of running. you changed cities to escape riki. now, you're holding death's hand to save yourself from the same boy you thought you had left behind. you had considered quitting altogether at some point. you remember cutting your wrist right above a major artery, making it deep enough to drench the sleeves of your white hospital gown. you expected it to be the last time you would see your mother. however, you woke up amongst tubes and bandages the next morning, feeling weaker than ever.

your eyes fell upon your mother's pale figure, noticing how thin she had gotten since the last time you saw her. a nurse informed you that you had woken up after four days and your mother didn't even drink enough water during that period. that day, for the very first time in years, you wondered about how this might be affecting her.

suddenly, this game about life and death made no sense. running from riki seemed illogical. staying in the four walls of your hospital room started making you feel suffocated. watching your mother fight for your life day and night made you question your ways for the very first time. for the first time, you wondered if what you had been doing was right. you were ready to quit your act, deciding to change your ways, just for your mother, but that was until riki's name showed up on your mother's phone one night. a look at the call log signified that she had been in touch with riki all along, taking almost every day, texting even.

it felt unreal, like a betrayal. sure, your mother doesn’t know a thing about what you had been planning for years, but riki, of all people, it felt like living with a knife up your throat, and you realised that staying with your mother would be an open invitation to let riki into your life again. so, you decided to run again.

2 : 49 am — you had it planned. you left your room eleven minutes before three in the morning, knowing damn well that your mother would have the best sleep of her life with those five pills of temazepam you had managed to get your hands on after the doctor prescribed her a stronger medication for insomnia. somewhere inside, maybe, you felt guilty for deceiving your mother; or more like, overdosing her with sedatives to execute your escape plan. but none of it seemed to stagger you when the thoughts about your mother keeping in touch with riki flooded your mind.

echoing footsteps with moonlight illuminating the empty corridors, it was too late before you realised that you ran in all the wrong directions, trying not to bump into any hospital staff. you had seen it in the movies, but mortuaries always felt creepier than they make it to be in fictions. there’s an eerie glow in the air, one you can’t see but feel as fear crawls up your skin. you ran your fingers over the ice cold walls, strolling through the empty floor, finding your way out. despite the sinister flow in the air, your heart felt at ease, unlike your thoughts running at a thousand miles per second.

you drag yourself towards the elevator, legs almost giving up from the fatigue stacking up inside of you, the lack of food finally surfacing as your blood adorned fingers leave their imprints on the white walls. you were so busy escaping that you didn’t realise when the dressing on your wrist loosened, consequently making the blood drip down your hands everywhere you go. the elevator chimed, marking someone’s arrival, and before you could process the situation, his name fell off your lips.

‘riki—’ you had whispered in fear, stepping away from him as his feet ascended towards you. there was a smile on his face. not that you could see it, for he was looking at the floor, but you heard his faint chuckle spin into the air. ‘you shouldn’t leave any hints if you’re trying to escape,’ he had answered, wiping off a speckle of blood from his lips as his vision sharpened at the sight of the blood streaming down your hand. his antics were beyond your comprehension. maybe, he was the crazier one between the two of you. he called your name, voice pitched low as your breath hitched. another step towards you and you were running away with tears brimming your eyes.

the escape was impromptu, but equally necessary. your sense of direction dissipated as tears blurred your vision, heartbeat pacing up as you heard his footsteps echoing closely behind you. at that moment, you wondered if running away from him for the first time was the right choice. you could’ve helped him reach his home— which was just a few blocks away from yours— maybe, could have explained the whole situation to his mother and owned up to your mistakes. at that moment, the seventeen-year-old you pitied the five year old yn for the direction your life would proceed in after that innocent incident. and again, you could’ve helped him— could’ve— but you chose not to, for the five year old you were petrified at the sight of the boy looking at his own blood lusciously.

a striking pain surged up your ankles, and you found yourself rolling down the stairs; and if you recall correctly, you had screamed. it was more of a shriek, or a shout for help, one that alerted the couple few staff monitoring the mortuary. their muffled voices reached your ears as the pain emerging from your head seemed to nullify all your senses. you don’t remember a lot from that day, except him, or the way he stared at you with a frown sitting on his face as the nurses put you on the stretcher, a frown that morphed into a menacing smile soon before as your mind gave up on keeping you conscious.

which leads to the present day— in nagoya, where you’re living with your mother— surprisingly — doing quite well at twenty-seven, working as a lawyer at a local law firm. there are days when you look in the mirror, letting your eyes fall over all the scars you have given yourself. you let your mind trace over all the dreaded memories from the past, wondering how you made it out. it was quite funny, actually, resorting to death to escape it.

you haven't heard from riki in the past ten years. not that you want to, but he didn't try to contact your mother like he used to. he's just a sweet little kid in your mother's heart who stopped calling her one day. he's just a figment of her memory, or like a wild nightmare for you. you had heard from your mother that riki's mom passed away a few months after he started attending highschool, and that she sent him money every month to support him.

she's upset, but you're glad he's gone. you're thankful to the deities for finally putting him out of your life. your life feels easier. the incident from your childhood no longer sends chills down your spine. your mother looks healthier, you don't walk on eggshells anymore. occasionally, you wake up in the middle of the night, hyperventilating, whenever an incident from the past slips into your mind as a dream, but it’s fine. you have medications for them. you take medicines for anxiety attacks, for migraines, insomnia, and a lot more, honestly. your problems haven’t disappeared. they’re still there, actively being the reason for the tear stains on your pillow. they are still here, inside your mind, or beside you, walking hand in hand to remind you that you aren’t perfect— you never were. despite your perfect grades and physique, you struggle to remember things. you take antidepressants to continue with your profession. it was a fight, a war, maybe; it still is, and will continue to be one, but it feels nice to live this way, as if the universe has offered you a second chance at life. maybe, it was all worth the risk, worth enough for you to do it all over again.

“you’re zoning out again,” a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and it belongs to jay. his soft laughter spins into the air, mixing with the fragrant vanilla and cinnamon filling the cafe’s atmosphere with its magic. it feels nice to live this way because you have jay.

you had met him in college when you got lost on the campus. it was your second day, after all, and the locked rooms along with the lack of lighting on the deranged floor reminded you of the hospital. you were close to breaking down when you heard footsteps approaching you, accompanied with a concerned voice. that day, he didn’t leave your side even after classes, making sure to drop you home before continuing on the way to his’.

jay is a nice guy. yeah, he teases you a lot, points out your horrible sense of direction in front of your other colleagues, makes fun of the way you whine every time you have to work past the destined working hours, but it’s fine. he helps you whenever possible, has reserved his weekends for you unless work stacks up his desks. he feels like the highschool friend you wanted to have, like the person you would’ve had a crush on in school if he helped you with your assignments. in short, jay is nice, and even being twenty-seven year old with several never-ending issues didn’t stop you from falling for him.

“ah, by the way,” he speaks up again, gaining each and every ounce of your attention. “i won’t be able to drive you home today.”

“it’s fine. i can go by myself." those are the words you tell, however, a part of you feels upset since you planned on asking him for dinner. "honestly, i don’t know why you drive me home when i live just fifteen minutes away.”

“maybe because your directional sense is basically non-existent?” he mocks and you both step out of the cafe, your steps following him to his car. “still, take care. you know that killer is still out there, right?”

“of course,” a pause. you wonder if jay has something to say— and you swear you're not letting your hopes escalate higher than they already are. over the years, you have learnt to wish for the best and that's all you're trying to do right now.

“do you also think he's a vampire?” he asks, referring to the person the team had indicted this morning.

the question leaves you astonished. one wouldn't expect him to bring up a case that isn't his. jay has his habits— a fixed schedule, appointment limits, minding his own business— there are more. so, having him strike a conversation about something that didn't concern him was new. "what?”

“i don’t believe in vampires and all, but have you seen the fang imprints on the victims’ neck? it seems plausible, no matter how much i try to overlook it.” no, really, as an attorney, you could only think of how obscene this all sounds. you have heard about the rumours, they say the culprit is actually a vampire so hunts every wednesday, sucking people off their blood and leaving them to die, thus earning the notorious name; the vampire killer.

at the age of four, riki told you about vampires. he asked you if you knew what they were, and you responded with the classic definition that any other four year-old would've given. 'bad people who drink blood and are scared of the sun' with an uninterested grimace. your brows furrowed as you saw a sour expression settle in his face. that's when he told you another fact about vampires— they have a set target, and they chase it until it's theirs, no matter how long it takes.

you don't recall if he added anything else, not that you understand his words either, but the smirk on his face told you that riki liked vampires, probably a lot more than anyone else did.

“even if he is, they can’t say that in court,” and to be very honest, you don't want to involve yourself in a case that isn't yours either. it simply isn't worth the time. sure, the rumours going around may fuel everyone's curiosity, but not yours.

he sighs, getting into his car before rolling down the windows. “see you tomorrow. let me know if you get lost on your way home,”

“i will,” you affirm with a laugh, watching him drive away as you proceed to your walk back home.

the last time you represented a murder case was ten months ago, never again. you had a hard time dealing with everything. every mention of dead bodies reminded you of him. but you knew it was all your imagination, for riki was never a serial killer. he was just a boy, though with unusual habits, but still just a boy you had known long ago.

yet you still had your suspicion. you spent days wondering if he's schizophrenic or something along those lines, or if psychosis got the best of him. a clearer look into his condition led you to haemophilia— obsession with blood— which is fine, really, not everyone is the same. people are born different, with distinct characteristics. riki happened to be one of the very few; and honestly, he was never the one to fit the crowd.

you halt in the middle of the streets, interrupted by a call that displays 'prosecutor jung' on your phone screen. “hello?”

"attorney yn, you're required to report at the prosecution office urgently."

"right now?" you ask, confused by the sudden request and that too, two hours after your shift is over. "i'm almost home."

"we have, uh, a few things to discuss about the vampire killer case with you. please report as soon as possible."

and the next second, you hear silence devouring the other side of the line. you sigh, texting your mom that you'd be late so she doesn't have to stay up. call it overthinking or parental care, but even at twenty-seven, your mom looks after you like a five year old. you've had your aunts tell you to move out but honestly, you're having a good time living with your mother. it's better than living alone, given your health conditions.

resultantly, you make your way back to the law firm. this time, with a butter face. the extra working hours don't affect you anymore. you've done that a lot and it's a part of job responsibilities at this point. what's has your attention is the topic of concern, the vampire killer, a case you aren't associated with in any way. you haven't even read all the articles they had published regarding the case, and even if you had, you aren't sure if you would change your mind about the case being an utter idiocy.

you arrive at the firm, taking the elevator to the main prosecution office situated on the fourth floor. the building feels lonelier at night, especially with just a few people working in their cabins as even the quietest of sounds fills in the eerie silence. lifts and hallways always remind of the hospital and everything that had happened there. your skin runs cold whenever you find yourself in an alone hallway at night as the urge to run away tries to conquer your mind.

you have learnt to pay it no mind, though, just like now, as you walk up the empty halls while humming a song to put your mind at ease finally arriving at the designed venue.

"attorney yn," she shoots you an exhausted smile, the fatigue evident on her face. "thank you for coming."

you didn’t want to, actually; she forced you to come. and her being your senior, you had to follow her orders no matter how much you loathe it. "it's alright. what did you want to talk about?"

"yes," she turns around to grab a few documents off her desk before turning back to you. "we've been trying to question our prime suspect. however, he refuses to say anything without a lawyer. here are the files—"

"wait," you interject her words, cutting her off mid sentence. "why me? i mean, i'm not a criminal lawyer."

"we'll, you were requested by the suspect." she explains, her words making you freeze in your stance. "he claims to know you and wouldn't accept any other attorney."

you don't ask further questions, or rather, are not allowed to as mrs. jung and her team escorts you to the questioning room. she assures you that you only have to ask a few questions and after that, their lawyer would take over, but honestly, that's none of your concerns at the moment.

you don’t even know the name of the person indicted. they prefer not disclosing it. you haven’t even seen him because of your sheer indifference towards the case. you don’t know anything except that, his victims die of anaemia. you’ve had your suspicion— it’s him— and you’d be lying if you say you didn’t sleep for days when the news broke out. the truth is, you never recovered from the trauma. you claim to have forgotten the boy you used to play for hours with. you say his name doesn’t affect you anymore. however, the mere news about the blood-thirsty killer in the neighbourhood was a spark to your fears, gradually igniting it, and now it burns like a forest.

amidst all, you find yourself standing before the questioning room, ready to go in, and you have your one thing clear : this isn’t about riki. but that’s just something you’re convincing yourself to believe in for your sake.

you open the door, stepping in, eyes wide open at the sight of complete emptiness in the room, except one police official standing in a corner. you sigh in relief, taking a seat, maybe you weren’t just ready to face the suspect; or perhaps, you simply didn’t want to. the officer informs you that the person you’re about to would be back shortly, for he has gone to the washroom. in the meantime, you decide to look through the intels regarding the case, provided in a file handed over by the prosecutor in charge. there’s no picture— or maybe they didn’t add one— which is odd. there are blank spaces all over the pages with very few details written along the lines : suspect is in his late twenties, unemployed, lives alone, is conjectured to be suffering from renfield’s syndrome— those words leave a bitter taste on your tongue.

you don’t know much about that term. actually, scratch that, you don’t know anything about it at all. you don’t think the team handling the case does either, for there’s only scarce information present in the documents given to—

“it’s been a while, yn.” your breath hitches, heart skipping a few beats before beating restlessly. shivers shoot down your spine as your grip around the papers tightens, crumbling their corners. “we meet again.”

it’s him, you know it, it is him, nishimura riki— you know. he hasn’t changed much. riki still has his devilish eyes beholding a sinister glow. the menacing smirk still adorns his face like diamond jewellery. it has been ten years but the way your name rolls off his tongue still makes your skin crawl, giving you chills as all those memories flood back inside your mind. there’s a pen in your pocket, and you wonder if running away is still an option. you bite the inside of your bottom lips, tapping your foot nervously on the granite floor as the taste of iron conquers your mouth. a part of you wonders how riki would react to that. you look at the officer, and then contemplate doing exactly what you did in highschool.

“you can’t run away now.” riki chuckles. it’s more of a taunting laughter, one that reminds you of all the olden times. it’s infuriating and at the same time, is inducing fear inside your veins. you can’t look him in the eyes— you won’t— it’s the same as losing a game at the cost of your life. you take a sharp breath, digging nails into the palm of your hands once again, before his next words manage to seize your attention. “why have you been running from me, yn?”

it’s an innocent question, really, you wonder if the cameras in the room make you seem like a socially incapable person at the moment. “i’m in a hurry so let’s make this quick—”

“tell him to go out.” you flinch at his words, you always do. there’s nothing in the world that makes you shake in fear as much as riki’s presence. you look at the officer, and then at riki— his lips, because you don’t want to look into his eyes ever again. his words ring inside your head while you consider his request. “you’re taking a lot of time for someone who’s in a hurry, yn.”

you want him to stop calling your name. it’s not appropriate, quite literally, because you’re no longer friends. you’re his attorney and he’s your client, you want to create a line between, though, you dare not to. you look at the officer, gesturing to him to leave as he hesitates for a brief second before stepping out of the room. your instincts are telling you that it was a wrong move, for being alone with riki is equivalent to standing at gunpoint where the trigger pulls when the timer goes off.

“alright, let’s star— let me just—”

“my god, yn, you’re shaking.” he cuts you off, making your fingers wince at his voice. your gaze falls upon the floor, blinking nervously as you bite the inside of your cheeks, making your blood hold the only taste in your mouth. your eyes follow his actions as he stands up from his seat, the metal chair sliding against the floor, making you wince again, taking a sharp breath as he crouches in front of you. “are you scared?”

his voice is no louder than a whisper, but it resonates like a loud thud against your ears. as if someone is screaming in your ears. irritability surges inside of you as you start pricking the skin alongside your nails obsessively, glancing into the camera, waiting for someone to arrive and help you get out of this. the silence in the room trails on your skin, eating you out, before you decide to take the matter in your own hands.

you stand up, pushing your chair away from him with your legs as you exhale heavily. “please, go back to your seat.” you don’t look at him, actively avoiding his sight by running your gaze all over the room anxiously, but you feel his eyes on you like a burden on your shoulders. there’s a sudden shift in the air as he stands up, dragging his chair just next to yours before taking a seat and waiting for you to continue.

“is this okay?” it’s not, and you hate how you feel as if you’ve lost your ability to speak and counter his actions, simply nodding as you sit apprehensively on your chair. you pick one of the files, frantically going through the pages instead of reading it with proper attention. at this point, the case is the last thing you care about. with a heart pacing unbelievably fast, you feel like you’re going to have a heart attack, while your mind is reciting nothing but chants and prayers for the prosecution team to come inside.

riki’s eyes follow your gaze, watching you as you flip though the documents, sweat covering your forehead. his irises settle upon your hand, the one you had injured deliberately in highschool, and then the scars on your fingers and wrist that you had acquired over the years, finally residing upon a certain word on one of the papers that makes him chortle. “do you know about renfield’s syndrome?”

it’s a question that leaves you perplexed, making you freeze in your stance. “yes— i mean, no, i don’t.”

“it’s clinical vampirism, obsession with drinking blood.” there’s slight amusement in his voice as he inches towards you, whispering those words with a straight face. that’s the first time in years you look into his dreadful eyes. a pause, silence fills in the air between the two of you before he claps abruptly, startling you with his maniacal laughter. "it's crazy, right? people don't want to accept that vampires exist so they make it a medical condition."

your blood runs cold at the sound of his laughter. riki was arrested as the prime suspect for one of the most gruesome cases, yet no remorse has been evident on his face ever since you stepped inside the room. you pay his words no mind— try to—because indulging into his thought process would do more to you than you want done, and is, if anything, unnecessarily time consuming. "what were you doing this thursday?"

you inquire, waiting for his response, but not a word comes out of his mouth. he leans against the chair, playing with the ring on his index finger with a stoic face. your breath fastens again, nervousness creeping in as the silence drowns you inside of it. you're scared of riki's words, but you fear his silence even more. it's like a thousand screams lay unveiled behind his silence, and he looks at you as if you're going to be one of them soon.

"why do you always run away from me, yn?" there's sadness dripping off his words along with unknown beads of guilt. "from the playground, then school. you had always run away from me." he removes his ring, placing it on the table before looking at you with a luscious glint in his eyes, the one you saw that day, in the playground. "it makes me want to chase you even more."

another series of villainous laughter spins in the air as you stand up, rushing towards the door to call for help, only for him to make you trip on the calloused floor with his legs. you think you’re finally connecting the dots. however, you don’t want to accept it. his questions hold no meaning to you since he knows exactly what happened. riki knows you didn’t run away from the playground. you told him to stay while you called someone for help, but you turned around when his sobs stopped, only to see him devouring on his bleeding knee succulently. running away was the only escape for the five year old you, who had witnessed her only friend turn out to be a devillious monster.

you fist up your hands again, wanting the nails to pierce through the skin of your palms. you find yourself in the same situations you used to run from in the past, except, there are no escapes with time. your vision blurs as a single tear rolls down your cheeks while you attempt to stand up again.

"there, there; let me help you," the only sound you're able to perceive is his footsteps approaching you as he locks the door, sliding the key back inside his pocket before crouching in front of you once again. “c’mon yn, stop running away. don’t you think we should catch up after all these years?”

strings of no’s fall off your lips along with the tears streaming down your face as you drag yourself away from him, against the cold floor. you look towards the cctv, praying that someone would report soon. truthfully, they should’ve been outside, checking up on the situation since it has taken so much time. you hear riki sigh before shooting you a pitiful gaze. “you know, the cctv isn’t working.”

and just like that, the last strands of hope you’ve been holding onto breaks as you look into the eyes of the person you’ve been running from all your life. it feels as if the world has stopped with your breath caught up inside your throat. you watch his lips curl into a smirk as he inches closer to you, halting a few inches before your ears, whispering, "no one will come." and before you could react, you felt his fangs pierce through your neck as you feel all your senses died down.

perhaps, your biggest mistake is that you saw a friend in a monster. you had known it all along, his habits, the way you saw his mother drink down his father's blood— all of it; and yet, you wanted to believe riki was different. the truth is that everyone is the same under their varied skin. their true colour surfaces according to the need, making them someone the world never assumes them to be, like the innocent boy you once knew became your worst nightmare. and now, all you could do is wait to die as the excruciating pain makes it harder for you to breathe with every passing second.

and hour flies by, and the door finally unlocks, revealing a gruesome scene mrs. jung— blood splatters on the floor and on the wall, scratches on riki's faces, signifying that you had tried to fight, although ending up losing terribly. your pale blue body catches her attention, especially your lifeless eyes that still stare at with disappointment and shock. riki stands up in a daze, handing her his blood-drenched handkerchief. "her mother is next."

taglist in the rbs.

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icanseethefuture333 · 7 months

Note

hello, could you do Zendaya red flags/green flags?tysm

Zendaya's flags 🏳️‍:

Green flags 🟩:

Acknowledge(s/d) when her behavior was self destructive or self sabotaging and took accountability for her actions instead of being angry and blaming others

Stays clear of things that could set her down the wrong path (substance abuse, hanging with a bad crowd, etc)

Feels it is important to heal from generational trauma and wants to set herself and her future family free from those toxic cycles

Her character Rue has been a outlet for her and she hopes that she will be able to shed light on those suffering from mental illness or drug addiction

Very intelligent

Uses whatever tools she has (mentally or an actual object) to achieve success

Shows gratitude to what she has even if it's little or a lot

She is able to turn anything into something magical (scripts, art, a performance, etc)

Fast learner

Stays out of gossip

Trustworthy

Considerate of the feelings of others

If she doesn't have something nice to say she doesn't say it at all

Wants to do things that haven't been done before as an actor

Passionate about creating more spaces or roles for black people or poc in general

Refuses to let Hollywood change her as a person

Defends herself and others from people in hollywood, she will never let anyone turn her or someone into a victim while she's present

Good communication skills

Would gladly share tips on things she's knowledgeable about when asked

Could have wanted to be a teacher if she wasn't famous

Red flags 🚩:

Can be detached, cold, blunt, or aloof when talking to people

She needs to learn to balance logic with empathy, she's too logical or overanalyzes things at times

Projects an image or uses her characters she plays as a way for personal gain

She's constantly acting or playing a role even when she doesn't need to

Inner child wounds (something happened to her when she was a child where she was unable to defend herself, so the possibility of not having control again terrifies her. Zendaya needs to learn to let go and understand she can't always be in control all the time)

Holds grudges or anger towards her past

The show "Shake It Up" could be a bad memory for her. She gets triggered when it gets brought up or feels bitter about it

Takes it very personal when her partner does something that hurts her or makes a mistake, she's valid when it comes to her feelings but she also needs to learn how to forgive when it is necessary, otherwise she could be losing the people that she cares about and also care for her

She possibly suffers from sort of mental health problem (Post traumatic stress, Anxiety, or Disassociation. Its like she's numb or nervous at times. This isn't necessarily a red flag, but it's something people have to be mindful of when getting to know her)

Lets her talent get to her head. When things don't go as she planned or what she wanted, she can be very stubborn and arrogant

Nags or complains a lot when she's not in a good mood. Can be a downer or ruin the vibe when she's around others. Its very obvious when she's not happy and it can make some people uneasy

"Nevermind I'll do it myself"

This is a interesting take but she could be reverse codependent??? Like she's so hyper independent that she wants to always take care or help her partner to the point they don't know how to be responsible for themselves anymore?

In her relationships her partners loses their identity, they just become known as "Zendaya's partner"

Similar to the dynamic of Barbie and Ken in the movie ("Barbie" "and Ken" vs just Ken)

#zendaya #celebrity readings #ask #anon #oracle cards #oracle #tarot #tarot readings

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violescent-scrolls · 2 years

Text

That’s How (Shinsou x fem!reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Very light mention of insecurities and cursing.

Genre: Fluff with a dash of angst

A/N: This is based on this one TikTok I saw a while ago which was this cute song. It was really cute but I couldn’t find it.

Summary: You may or may not have accidentally confessed your feelings for Shinsou during a late night/early morning FaceTime with him. The obvious solution is to avoid him.

Prompt: “I think I’m in love with you.”

You couldn't sleep.

It was 3 a.m. You’d tossed and turned but alas, sleep just refused to come to you. Your brain just couldn't stop thinking.

Now, this wasn't a new occurrence. You were known to have the occasional bout of insomnia. However, it was significantly more difficult this time around.

Previously you'd had your best friend, Shinsou, to keep you company during these sleepless nights. He often spent most nights up until the early hours of the morning, so when you had trouble sleeping, you'd sneak over to his room. The two of you would play video games, watch movies, or just talk. It was fun.

This year was different, however. Since Shinsou had been accepted into the hero course, he’d also had to move dorms, which made sneaking over to his dorm room just about impossible. You really wished you had a teleportation quirk right about now.

If you were being completely honest, the thing or, well, the person your brain couldn’t stop thinking about was the indigo-haired insomniac himself.

Over the past year, you’d developed feelings much stronger than just friendship for him. You loved how you could talk to him about anything and everything, his sarcastic nature, and how he didn't give up on his dreams of being a hero despite his quirk being considered villainous by many.

You didn't think your feelings were utterly one-sided. Or at least you hoped they weren't.

Sometimes he did little things that made you think he likes to back. Like, for example, he always remembered even the tiniest details about everything you'd tell him, whether it was your favorite pocky flavor, which he just so happened to always have on hand, or that one episode of that one show that always makes you shed a few tears. He always tried to help you study, even now that you weren't in the same curriculum.

Though, there was the possibility that you were sure you had to be projecting your feelings onto him. That you'd wanted it so bad that your brain convinced you that he returned your feelings.

There was no way he liked you, right? After all, the Hero Course was filled with so many nice, attractive students. Who are training to be literal heroes! Shinsou Hitoshi is handsome. Many others find him attractive. So why would he choose you over them?

Still, sometimes it felt so real.

You decided just to bite the bullet and confess to him.

The thing is, you’d been trying to confess to him for weeks now. However, there was always something in the way, whether it be the bell ringing, school work, classmates, or even teachers. On the off chance that there weren't any interruptions, your nerves would get the better of you, and you'd ultimately chicken out.

Suddenly, you had an idea.

Getting up from the bed, you turned on the lights and walked over to the mirror you had in the corner of your room, just to make sure you didn't look too bad.

Deciding you look decent, you climbed back into bed and grabbed your phone, unplugging it from where it was charging on your bedside table.

Shinsou always had trouble sleeping, so he’d most definitely be up. You could just FaceTime him. It wouldn’t be the same as your old late-night chats, but surely this would be just as nice. You just really wanted to hear his voice.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you called him. He usually answered pretty quickly whenever you called, but this time it seemed like he wasn't going to. Just when you were going to hang up and surrender to the uneventful hours ahead of you, he answered.

It seemed as if he had propped his phone against something, maybe a wall, so he didn't have to hold his phone, but you could still see him. The sight before you made your heart flutter.

A very sleepy-looking Shinsou Hitoshi was on the other side of the screen. His usually messy hair was even messier than usual, and he was wrapped up in what you could only describe as a blanket cocoon. He was lying down on his side, cheek smooshed against his pillow adorably, so that he could property face the phone.

”Hey,” you greeted, waving a bit even though he couldn’t see you, realizing you'd been too quiet for too long, ”Are you awake?” You immediately wanted to punch yourself in the face. Of course, he was awake. How else would he have answered?

“Mm, not really,” he said in a sleepy, raspy voice, followed by a yawn.

You immediately felt guilty. Just your luck, the one time he could get some actual sleep, you'd wake him up.

”No? I am so sorry. I'll just- well, I'll just call back later, it's nothing important or anything. It's stupid really,” you rushed out, looking away from your phone, regretting the idea immensely.

”Don't worry about it; it's okay,” he reassured. God, his morning voice would most definitely be the end of you. You were okay with that, though. It would be a great way to go, all things considered. “How are you?”

You guys talked for a while, about anything and everything. You told him about how General studies were going and any new classroom drama. In return, he spoke to you about how the Hero Course was and told you stories about all his new classmates. It was nice.

After you finished telling one story about how your class currently had an ongoing prank war in the dorms, you looked to your phone to see he had fallen asleep. You couldn't blame him. After all, you'd called really late, and apparently, his class had been put through the wringer during a training exercise during the day.

You were going to hang up, really you were, but he looked so calm and at peace. You couldn't bring yourself to look away. Much less actually hang up the phone.

”You know how I've been trying to tell you something for a couple of weeks now?” you asked the sleeping Shinsou while looking up at the ceiling. Your sleep-deprived brain decided that, hey, he's asleep, now is a good time to practice declaring your undying love for him. ”Well, I guess what I've been wanting to tell you is that I think I'm in love with you. I've been trying to tell you for forever now, but every time I try to tell you, a million thoughts go through my head all at once, and my brain short circuits, and I wanna kiss you so bad, but I don't know how.”

You couldn't help but laugh at how horrible that sounded, relieved he was asleep. You would definitely not be confessing like that.

You looked back at your phone, expecting to see a sleeping Shinsou.

Only, he was very much, not asleep. He was looking at you with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape, obviously surprised. Your blood ran cold, heart-stopping for a couple of beats before restarting at high speed. You swore he would see your soul leave your body.

You were startled into action when he started to speak, hanging up the phone before he could get a full word out.

He tried calling you again, but you didn't answer. You felt like throwing up and weren't quite ready to face the possibility of rejection.

One thing was for sure. You were not getting any sleep tonight.

You were avoiding Shinsou like the plague.

Was it a little immature? Maybe.

Did you plan on facing him anytime soon? Fuck no. You knew it was a cowardly move on your part, but you just weren't ready to face rejection just yet. You'd leave the bravery for the hero course students.

So, you’d resorted to eating lunch out in the courtyard and going back straight to the dorms as soon as class was over. Thankfully you had a pretty good idea of Shinsou’s schedule, being such close friends with him and all, so you knew what hallways to avoid when making your way to class. Sadly this also meant you had gotten to class late once or twice.

Your plan, though carefully and strategically thought out, only really worked for three days.

Your last class of the day was English. It was, to say the least, a little dull. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the stuffy classroom the moment the bell rang. Still, you stayed in your seat long after the classroom was deserted, taking longer than necessary to pack everything.

You'd waved off your friends, telling them you'd meet them at the dorms in a bit. After all, the longer you waited, the fewer students you'd find roaming the halls, which meant the less likely you were to run into Hitoshi.

After around 20 minutes, you decide it was safe to leave. It had been a long week, with all the school work, avoiding your indigo-haired crush, and you’d gotten little to no sleep this week. You wanted nothing more than to get to the dorm and change into the most comfortable pair of pajamas you owned, perhaps take a nap as well.

Yawning, you gathered your things and made your way out of the classroom, wondering whether or not you felt up to joining the weekly movie night in the common room.

On the one hand, you felt like sleeping all through the weekend. On the other hand, you felt like you hadn’t hung out with anyone in forever, with changing your schedule so abruptly. You owed it to your friends, especially since they’d brought you food from the cafeteria.

Maybe-

“Well, well, look who we have here. I take it you're not done avoiding me yet?” Your heart leaped to your throat. You knew that voice. Almost too well. In fact, you doubted you’d ever be able to forget it.

You turned around, shoulders a bit tense.

There stood Shinsou Hitoshi, sporting the same messy hair and tired purple eyes. He was leaning against the wall, one leg propped against it, shoulders crossed, and a backpack slung against his right arm. You couldn’t help but glare lightly at the shoulder with the bag strap. You always scolded him for doing that. He was going to end up hurting his shoulder. He was right next to the door you’d just exited from, obviously waiting for you.

He was a sight for sore eyes.

You hadn’t quite realized how much you’d missed him these past couple of days until just now. It’d only been three days without him around you, yet those had been the three most challenging days you’d had in a long time. You’d been moody, mopy, and, as much as you hated to admit, irritable. The effect his presence had on your mood was almost frightening.

You wondered if he felt the same way.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you tried to defend yourself feebly, wringing your hands together while looking at your shoes as if they were the most exciting thing you'd ever laid your eyes on, ”I’ve just been strategically going where I know you won't go.”

”That’s the textbook definition of avoiding someone,” Shinsou said in a deadpan voice, rolling his eyes. You winced slightly. He used his leg leaning on the wall to propel himself a bit away from the wall. He walked until he was right in front of you, close enough so that your shoes were touching. You felt your heart was somersaulting in your chest.

”Look, ” you started, taking a tiny step back, bracing yourself for the inevitable rejection. Rejection sucked, sure, but at least you'd get your best friend back. ”I’m sorry for avoiding you. I was just- I guess I was just embarrassed. Really embarrassed. I still am, actually. I didn't want you to find out like that, and then I just freaked out and hung up on you and-”

You were caught off abruptly by a pair of warm hands cupping your face, followed by a soft, slightly chapped, pair of lips on yours, not a second after. Apparently, Hitoshi had decided you were rambling too much, and kissing you was the obvious way to shut you up.

You really hoped this meant he likes you back. Otherwise, it was just going to be really weird between the two of you.

The kiss was relatively short, but sweet nonetheless. He pulled back after a couple of seconds, a small smile gracing his face.

”That’s how,” he stated, dropping his hands from your face.

You blinked in confusion, letting out a ’Huh?’ noise. You were still a little dazed.

”When you were confessing your undying love for me, ” you rolled your eyes at that, ”you said you wanted to kiss me, but you didn't know how to. Now you do. Feel free to do so whenever you feel like it.” With that, his left hand grabbed your right, lacing your fingers together, pulling you a bit so that you'd start walking.

”This means you like me back, right?” you asked, just to make sure, swinging your hands in a gentle back and forth motion.

He turned to look at you incredulously.

”Nah, we’re just really close friends, ” he teased, sarcasm dripping from his voice, as you exited the building. This caused you to glare playfully at him, bringing your free hand up to flick his nose lightly so that it wouldn't hurt.

”Where are we going?” you inquired curiously once you realized you weren't heading in the direction of the dorms.

”On a date.”

“Shouldn’t we change out of our uniforms first?”

After the both of you changed out of your uniforms and dropped off your backpacks at the dorm, the two of you had dinner at a nearby Cat Cafe.

It was pretty purrfect.

Thank you for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. <3

#shinsou x reader #shinsou x you #shinsou hitoshi x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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daydream-cement · 1 year

Note

hi can i request one where weems and student reader are really close, she's like a mother to him, but them people start talking cause some think they like each or something, so weems just tells r to back of and leave her alone cause it's weird than after a lot o hurt (i need pain) she sees what she did and try to make it better. make it a happy ending please

Lines of Propriety

Larissa Weems x m!reader

Authors Note: I based a bit of the friendship between reader and Larissa off if my own friendship w a professor. I also am giving you guys my take bc situations like this scare the shit out of every teacher.

You went by Principal Weems office for your usual little chat and hang session. Every week you would stop by her office so you could catch up with one another. And you would always share a bit of Nevermore gossip with Principal Weems as well. In many ways, you felt like you and Principal Weems were the same person, platonic twin flames. You just understood each other.

Today Principal Weems was seated to her desk, filling out paperwork. You stopped at her doorway and greeted her before she saw you, “Good morning, Principal Weems.”

“Mr. L/n. Good morning.” She didn’t look exactly happy to see you, which made you a little nervous, “I don’t have time for our little chat today.”

She had canceled your guys’ hangouts due to work before, but you couldn’t deny that it hurt your feelings a bit. But you faked a smile so she wouldn’t know you were so disappointed, “No worries! I have homework to do anyway.”

You came back a couple days later and she said the same thing. The week after that she made the same excuse and again and again and again until you stopped visiting her. It was obvious that she didn’t want you coming around her office anymore.

You were crushed. You thought she loved you the way you loved her. She was like a mother-figure and a best friend at the same time. You have laughed together. You have cried in front of her. Now it was all over and you couldn’t help but shed a few tears over it all.

A few months later after your final rejection, you were sitting in the quad, working on homework. You didn’t notice Principal Weems until she sat down with you. You almost didn’t even want to speak to her, but knowing she was still your principal had you fake a small smile, “Good morning, Principal Weems.”

“Good morning, y/n. I wanted to talk to you about lines of propriety.” Larissa was quick to dive into her intentions for coming to find you, not wanting to leave you in the lurch.

“Okay…”

“A few weeks ago, I caught wind of more unscrupulous rumors about our relationship. While I do love our conversations, I found it important to distance myself.” You felt confused. Who would say such things about your relationship with Principal Weems? She continued onward, giving you the relationship repairing words you hoped for, “I’ve realized that I was wrong to do that. Our friendship is important. From now on, I do ask that we meet in the library or in the quad, just to maintain lines of propriety.”

You hadn’t even realized the predicament that Principal Weems had been in. While you were still a little disappointed in her for cutting communication, having her back and talking to you now made up for it, “I really did miss our conversations. I’d be happy to talk anywhere as long as I get my Principal Weems time in.”

You ended your sentence with an overzealous smile that made Principal Weems roll her eyes, “You flatter me Now fill me in, who is dating who in literature class? I understand there have been some shifts in relationships.”

#larissa weems #m!reader #larissa weems x m!reader #wednesday netflix #fanfic #gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #oneshot #platonic

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leiawritesstories · 1 year

Note

"Don't touch me! Your feet are cold! " for elorcannn

as you wish ;)

very quick lil drabble i whipped up because it's blizzard season and therefore winter fic time

word count: 510

warnings: language probably

enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elide heard Lorcan entering the house long before she saw him. Though that may just have been the winds slamming the door shut behind him and the grunted string of curses he let out as he unwound his scarf and shed his coat, shaking the crust of snow and ice onto the towels laid out in the mudroom and hanging the coat over the drying rack. "Shit, it's cold!"

"Wonder if that has anything to do with the literal blizzard going on right now," Elide deadpanned, flashing her hulking, grouchy husband a grin.

Lorcan rolled his eyes. "Thanks for pointing that out, El, I hadn't noticed," he drawled.

"Always happy to help, Lor." Her smirk curled across her face. "Since you big broody men are always missing obvious details."

"Such big sass from such a tiny woman," he teased, poking her in the side.

She giggled and nudged his hand aside. "How were the roads?"

"Not horrible, considering the storm." He wound his arms around her waist, stooping down to kiss her messy bun. "Guess the city's doing their best to clear the main roads."

"And you put the chains on yesterday, so you were fine."

"Yeah." He took a deep inhale of the pot she was stirring. "Dinner?"

"Soup." She leant back into his chest, tilting her face up for a brief kiss. "Thought we could have dinner and watch our show tonight."

"Sounds fuckin' perfect," he agreed. "Gonna change into regular clothes, though."

"Go on," she chuckled. "It should be ready when you get back downstairs."

Shortly later, Elide handed Lorcan a steaming bowl of soup and a spoon and plopped herself down on the couch, settling down among the pile of throw pillows and blankets she'd tossed there earlier. Lorcan put his soup down on the coffee table and slid under the blankets as well, pulling her into his lap, his bare feet brushing against her legs.

Elide squealed, pulling away. "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Lorcan reached out to her, but she shook her head, curling herself into a ball under a couple of blankets.

"Don't touch me!" she protested, giggling at his utterly confused expression. "Your feet are cold!"

Seeing how that was her concern, Lorcan just sighed, mumbling something about his trials and tribulations. "Happens when you've gotta walk inside in a goddamn blizzard, El."

"There's this thing called socks, ever hear of them?"

"Nope." He smirked wickedly, swooping her into his embrace before she could protest. Along with her blanket bundle, of course.

She pretended to protests for a short moment but quickly settled into his arms, content in her cocoon of soft blankets. "So how about we--ay, ¡putaMADRE!" she shrieked, kicking Lorcan's cold foot out from her blanket nest. "No!"

His deep laugh rumbled through his chest, the vibrations thrumming in her core. "Cold feet, babe?"

"You're impossible," she grumbled fondly, throwing a spare blanket down at his feet. "C'mon, Lor, don't try and tell me you hate our snowflake blankets."

Given that he'd been the one to insist they bought said blankets, he really couldn't complain.

~~~

TAGS:

@charlizeed

@cretaceous-therapod

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@nerdperson524

@fireheartwhitethorn4ever

@morganofthewildfire

@rowanaelinn

@wesupremeginger

@stardelia

@shanias-world

@mybloodrunsblue

@swankii-art-teacher

@wordsafterhours

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@violet-mermaid7

@holdthefrickup

@goddess-aelin

@rowaelinismyotp

@dealfea

@irondork

@elentiyawhitethorn

@live-the-fangirl-life

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@chronicchthonic14

@lovely-dove-zee

@sweet-but-stormy

@hanging-from-a-cliff

@jorjy-jo

@rowaelinrambling

@thegreyj

@silentquartz

@backtobl4ck

@throneofus7

@elizarikaallen

@llyncooljones

@booknerdproblems

@julemmaes

@earthtolinds

#my writing #answered prompt #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elorcan fanfic #fluff #tiny quick drabble #quick drabble

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yuungmenace · 7 months

Text

* ◟ : 〔 BILL SKARSGÅRD , CIS MAN + HE / HIM 〕 DONOVAN 'DONNIE' KOWALSKI , some say you’re a TWENTY NINE YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both HUMOROUS and IMPULSIVE, one can’t help but think of SHUT ME UP by MINDLESS SELF INDULGENCE when you walk by. are you still a SOLDIER for WHITE CROCODILES, even with your reputation as THE RABID DOG? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and BURN SCARS FROM STUBBING OUT CIGARETTES ON SKIN, SPLIT LIPS THAT HIDE A BLOODIED GRIN AND NOTCHES ON A BEDPOST FOR A KILL-COUNT, although we can’t help but think of GORO MAJIMA ( YAKUZA ) + MURDOC ( GORILLAZ ) + ALFIE SOLOMONS ( PEAKY BLINDERS ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

FULL NAME: Donovan ‘Donnie’ Kowalski NICKNAME(S): Don, Donnie, Kowalski, AGE: Twenty-Nine GENDER: Cis Male PRONOUNS: He/Him/His BIRTHPLACE: Chester, Pennsylvania OCCUPATION: Gas store clerk GANG AFFILIATION: Soldier for White Crocodiles FC: Bill Skarsgard

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOUR: Light Brown EYE COLOUR: Green HEIGHT: 6”3 PIERCINGS?: Left ear, tongue, both nipples. TATTOOS: Multiple, most prominent are ‘EAT SHIT AND DIE’ on his neck, a white-ink crocodile on his left hand and the Eye of Horus on both palms.

TRAITS

POSITIVE: Funny, Confident, Dedicated NEGATIVE: Impulsive, Unreasonable, Boisterous

BACKGROUND

TW drugs, murder, child abuse, child neglect, death, prison

Does it matter when he was born? Donovan doesn’t think so, life’s a blur when you’re that age, it only really begins when you can remember it did. He remembers stained mattresses, sandwiches of white bread and jelly and reruns of late night cop shows. The house was filthy, he was filthy, yet nobody seemed to care about it. What he does know is he was angry, always angry, as his sisters and brothers came along all he felt was rage at the person he called mother laid on the couch, staring with glazed eyes at the ceiling and father, drinking from large bottles of vodka and smacking his face when he didn’t change a diaper. Donovan tried - he always tried to make things easier, tried to make sure there was food in the cupboards, tried to make sure his momma didn’t choke on her vomit, that when men came over they all stayed in their rooms and waited for them to leave. If teachers or parents at school noticed how small all the Kowalski kids were, they didn’t say anything, a scruffy family.

Things like this don’t end well, and to this day Donovan doesn’t know what happened. The shed out in the woods, the one where substances were made (they brew potions, he once told his younger sister, dangerous ones so you need to stay out) suddenly blew into a storm of fire and death. Donovan lost both his parents.

He should’ve called someone but didn't. He knew what would happen - they’d split up the remainder of the family. Once again he tried to keep things going, selling jewelry, telling the others that it was just them now. Mom and Dad weren’t coming back, but it was going to be alright. The money ran out though, the food ran out and one day his younger sister let slip to someone who cared that Mummy hadn’t been around for nearly two weeks now. Not once did he say anything, lips tightly shut as he sat in a small chair in a room that was painted brightly. Toys on the floor, cartoon stickers for doing so well talking to the nice officer lady! Bodies were recovered, fractured events pieced together. Donovan hugged them all and said he’d come visit. Then the Kowalski kids were split up, and he never saw any of them again.

Fast forwards to orphanages, fostering, kicked out for running away. Another family, knocking out his step-brothers front tooth. Another family, kicking the cat. Another family, stealing cigarettes. It didn’t matter how loving they were, how many difficult kids they’d worked with, Donovan was always the breaking point. He barely attended school, preferring to hang out in parks or on street corners with his friends and commit petty arson and robberies. This behavior escalated, sending him to juvie once or twice before Donovan aged out of the system. It was always petty crime and shitty jobs, though his criminal history meant they were hard to come by. Luck was never on his side till he ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time - a gang fight. It was nothing to do with him of course, he was familiar with some low-level activities but not this. He shouldn’t have got involved but he did, jabbing a blade into someone’s neck to save another life as the cop sirens came screaming down the street. In those few brief moments, a deal was made - Donovan would take the rat for a capo and no matter the sentence, would be allowed into the gang as thanks afterwards.

Prison was prison, a 6 year stretch that saw Donnie 26 when he finally left but, at least he had somewhere to go after - White Crocodile’s made good on their word, and invited him to their gang.

OTHER

Owns a pitbull named Malibu - she’s his pride and joy.

Has poor literacy and writing skills.

Lives in a two room apartment that’s literally just one room for the bedroom and kitchen and then the other room is a bathroom.

Has never worn an ironed shirt in his life.

Likes 80s pop music and rollerblading.

Has enough knowledge of torture methods to be able to flay someone alive - is sort of known for doing it to a persons hand.

Eats mainly microwave food, can’t cook and rarely eats anything ‘fresh’ or ‘healthy’.

Scrappy as fuck in a fight.

Cuts his own hair

#lawlessintro #child abuse tw #child neglect tw #death tw #drugs tw #prison tw #tw murder

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silvfyre-writings · 1 year

Text

Aizawa Cares Pt. 27 (MHA Fanfic)

Hello, and welcome back to another chapter!! This week is Tsuyu, who was interesting to write. And it's a short chapter this time, only because I kinda just lost my creative juices, but I'd already committed to the chapter so I kept going? So for that, I apologize if the quality is lacking.

Either way, I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Out of all the students in his class this year, Aizawa found that Asui was the quietest one. He didn’t mean ‘quiet shy’ like Koda, or ‘quiet trauma’ like Todoroki; instead, the girl was often ‘quiet thoughtful’, thinking over her words rather than just blurting them out like her classmates were seldom to do. This made Asui appear wise for her age, but Aizawa just had a feeling that it was because Asui didn’t want to have to repeat herself if she got spoken over. Which Aizawa understood quite well; he too, wasn’t fond of repeating himself, which was why he had long perfected the glare that brought about immediate silence.

But sometimes Asui got too quiet, so much so that she faded into the background entirely. These days, Aizawa noticed how the girl would still hang around her friends, but would be much more withdrawn, letting them do all the talking and whatnot. Aizawa didn’t know if her friends were aware of this or not, but that wasn’t his business. Asui would also refrain from speaking in class, even if he called upon her; the look he was often given by the girl was enough to have him turn to another student to ask the same question.

Sometimes the kids just had off days, and forcing them to participate instead of letting them back away was just a recipe for disaster—Aizawa had learnt that the hard way at the start of the year when he’d tried to push a very recluse Jiro into participating, resulting in the poor girl nearly deafening the entire class.

Aizawa had learnt.

Winter was the worst for it, he found; the cold already making Asui lethargic and difficult to engage with, with even those closest to her struggling to do much else than drag a tired greeting out of the girl. So, to throw that quietness on top of Asui’s hibernation mode, it left Aizawa feeling just a little more than worried for his student whenever colder weather came around. But every time it came, Asui managed to come through to the other side.

Until now.

This winter had been a bad one, so bad that Asui had literally gone into hibernation after valiantly dragging herself to class. Aizawa had let her stay, before sending her back to the dorms with Todoroki and Bakugo—the two boys more than capable of generating enough body heat to keep Asui walking—to stay until warmer weather. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but Aizawa had always told his students that their health came first, and thus, Asui was considered to be on a medical hiatus from school.

But now it was spring, the cold still lingering, but effectively being chased away by warmer weather. Everyone was starting to shed the thick coats that they’d needed to wear nearly every day, even inside the classrooms when the heating blew from overuse.

Yet Asui still hadn’t returned to class.

Aizawa didn’t know how long the girl’s hibernation mode lasted once the cold weather passed, but he had a feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be this long. And judging from the worried looks her friends threw at her empty seat, they didn’t think it was normal either.

“Uraraka, can I talk to you for a moment.” Aizawa called out into the room as his students were packing up and getting ready to leave.

Uraraka jumped at being addressed so suddenly, clearly not expecting her teacher to speak to her. But the girl nodded and came up to stand before him. “Is something the matter, Aizawa-sensei?”

“I was just wondering if you’d spoken to Asui recently?” Aizawa asked.

Immediately, Uraraka’s face fell, and his student began to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. “I haven’t… we’ve been trying too though! But Asui never answers her door, and whenever we send her a text, she either ignores it or doesn’t respond for hours. Jiro and Shoji say she seems fine, but for some reason, she just isn’t coming to school.” Uraraka froze, and then frantically waved her hands. “Not that I’m saying Asui doesn’t want to come to class, but maybe she has a really good reason why she isn’t? Could her hibernation be affecting her still?”

Aizawa raised a hand to stop Uraraka before the girl threw another twenty questions at him. “I’m not sure. But thank you for letting me know. I’ll swing by the dorms after school and see if I can’t talk to her.”

“Okay, sensei.” Uraraka paused for a moment. “Thank you, sensei. We’re all really worried about her.”

Aizawa let his expression soften and rested a hand on Uraraka’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Uraraka. I’m sure Asui knows that.”

The fifth floor of the dorms was silent as Aizawa walked down the hall towards Asui’s room. The only other female on this floor was Yaoyorozu, and he’d seen the girl in a study session with her friends on his way to the dorms, so there was no one else except for the student he was looking for. Aizawa paused outside of Asui’s room, listening carefully for any signs of life coming from inside. But just like the silent hallway, there was nothing to indicate that his student was even inside. Which had Aizawa a little worried. Even in the dead of night, when he was doing his dorm checks, his students made noise; whether it be because they were moving about in their sleep, or just staying up late, he didn’t know. But the point was, the dorms were rarely ever silent.

It was concerning, and Aizawa quickly knocked on the door in front of him. “Asui? It’s Aizawa, are you in there?”

A faint noise that sounded suspiciously like a thud came from inside the room, followed by the sound of someone coming closer. The door creaked open slightly, giving Aizawa just enough room to see Asui staring at him with a rather dead look that should never be on a child’s face. It was the kind of expression that you saw in heroes that had gone through something traumatic and were struggling to cope, the kind you saw on someone that had nothing to live for anymore. It wasn’t a kind look to have.

And it broke Aizawa’s heart to see such an expression on one of his student’s faces.

“Hey there, kid. May I come in?”

Asui stared at him for a moment before she nodded and stepped away from the door so that Aizawa could walk into the room. Aizawa quickly stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and plunging the room back into darkness. He remained by the door, watching as Asui simply went back to her bed and crawled into the mass of blankets gathered upon it, shifting around so that she was still watching Aizawa. How did I miss this? I know the signs; I should’ve seen them. Aizawa couldn’t help but think as he made his way over to the desk in the room, commandeering the chair so that he could talk to his student on her level. He didn’t think it would be wise to stand above Asui at the moment, not when he didn’t understand just what was running through his student’s mind.

“Your friends are worried about you.” Aizawa settled on saying.

Asui didn’t say anything, but it looked like she was listening to him at least, which was fine with Aizawa. He wasn’t expecting Asui to speak with him if she wasn’t feeling up to it.

“They were worried once the warmer weather came and you didn’t come back to school. They were thinking that maybe your hibernation was still affecting you.” Aizawa took a second to lean down in the chair so that he could meet Asui’s eyes at her own level. “But I think that something else might be going on. And seeing you like this; I think I can gather just what it is.”

The moment he finished speaking, Asui began to cry. It wasn’t the messy crying that he’d witnessed from his other kids, instead it was silent, big fat tears rolling down Asui’s cheeks and dripping onto her pillow, fists clutching the blankets so tight, it was a surprise they didn’t tear. Aizawa practically threw himself out of the chair the moment he heard Asui’s breath hitch as she tried to fight back the tears. He came to crouch before her, one hand held out for her to take if she wanted to; a hand much smaller than his own quickly taking hold, and not letting go.

“S-Sensei, I—” Asui’s voice broke off with a sob.

Aizawa was quick to reassure her. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Asui broke completely then, sobs becoming louder and louder until they filled the room. One hand held tight onto Aizawa’s and the other beat against Asui’s pillow, as if the girl wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Meanwhile, Aizawa just sat there, offering his student the quiet company she needed, waiting for her crying to calm down so that they could properly talk.

Everyone needed a good cry at least once in their life.

He knew that from experience.

Aizawa didn’t know how long it took for Asui to stop crying, but it must’ve been long enough for his students to arrive back at the doors if the shuffling from outside the room was anything to go by. Not that that meant he was going to leave anytime soon; nothing would drag him from Asui’s bedside right now, not even a villain attack. Some other teacher could deal with that.

“Do you feel better now, Asui?” Aizawa asked, taking great care to keep his voice quiet and gentle. The girl nodded, letting go of his hand to wipe her face.

“Thank you, Sensei.” Asui croaked. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“I… I don’t know.” Asui admitted.

“Then you don’t need to apologize.” Aizawa said, shifting positions so that his knees would stop screaming at him for sitting on them for so long. Old age, hah. “How about we talk about this? Is there something going on?"

"No, I just... I don’t know… I just woke up after hibernation and didn’t see the point in leaving my bed, I guess.” Asui paused. “I know what it looks like, Sensei, I remember you teaching us about it when you gave us that lecture of taking care of our mental health.”

“If you knew, then why didn’t you come to me? Or one of your friends?” Aizawa asked, also remembering the lesson Asui was talking about. After a few too many breakdowns from his kids, Aizawa had sat them all down in the common room for an unofficial lesson, talking to them all about taking care of their mental health alongside their physical health, and going into depth about the signs of some of the more common illnesses—all while expressing that they could affect anyone.

But did that mean his kids came to him when they struggled? No, of course not, because they were all stubborn teenagers dead set on trying to deal with their problems on their own. Which was fair; Aizawa distinctly remembered being the same way in school himself.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want his kids to be better though.

Asui sighed, burying her face into her pillow, her words becoming so muffled, Aizawa had to lean forward just to hear them. “I just didn’t want it to be real, I guess. I’m sorry, Sensei, I don’t really have an answer for you.”

“That’s fine, I don’t expect you too. But let me help?”

Black eyes peered up at him, a little bit of hope shining beneath the exhaustion. “Okay. But, how?”

“Well, for starters, let’s see if we can’t convince Bakugo to cook something. And then we’ll see if Uraraka and the other girls will help tidy your room. Just small steps, Asui. Just small steps.”

Asui nodded, and reached out her hand.

Aizawa took the offered hand and squeezed it tightly, conveying as much as could through that grip that everything would work out, and that everything would turn out fine.

#mha #bnha #tsuyu asui #aizawa shouta #dadzawa #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #writing #fanfic #mha fanfic

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secretlifeissecret · 2 years

Text

Should I be working on some of the fanart for fics I have in my draft? Yes. Yes I should.

HOWEVER-

I am instead going to fantasize about my dol OC.

Arden the Delinquent,

The player can find Arden behind the school most days, hanging around a supply shed, Standing at about a 5'10 and generally looming.

They keep a baseball bat nearby.

"...What? D'you want your ass kicked or something?"

The PC could endear themselves to Arden by being generally pleasant, or just use them to grind that sadomasochism stat by instigating fights. It's not hard.

Arden is socially an idiot, so attempting to endear yourself with jokes, or laughing at their expense, feels threatening, so they'll attempt to kick the shit out of you.

High-love Arden has a chance of saving PC from other students, but will request that the PC doesn't tell anyone that it was with the intent to help them.

"Hey, if you aren't careful someone is going to seriously hurt you..."

Arden has long hair, Always!

M!Arden keeps his hair in a low ponytail and has this really sturdy jacket that they keep over their uniform

F!Arden keeps her hair loose, but with an undercut,

Universally, Arden is a pretty brunette, they always tuck their uniform shirt into their pants/skirt and have the top few buttons undone

Paranoid idiot. Knows exactly what the town is like.

Total Virgin. Inexperienced. Partly because they assume people are asking for a fight.

Hates, fears, and respects the nasty good doctor Harper

A submissive!PC will have an easier time befriending Arden, since Arden thinks you're high-key pathetic and need help and protection. Simply for the reason that if they were you, they'd want one safe person

"You need money right? Take it then. No questions asked. It's fine. I want you to have it."

Defiant!PCs who endear/befriend Arden are given a degree of respect. A smidgeon. A little. Defiant!PC gets invited to steal shit/break stuff. A more emotional Arden tends to be more volatile. PC gets to keep whatever they steal/give it to Arden and get cash value for it.

"What are you waiting for? It's just glass, they can afford to fix it.

If you're worried about getting caught, don't. I'm the one who swung the bat."

Some more miscellaneous interactions that I like to think about;

Relationship to NPCs;

Gets embarrassed when returning books to the library if the PC is there, always returns the book on time/early, Sydney comments on it.

Likes Kylar in the same way that they like pathetic PC, like, they're just a little guy. Kylar hangs out on the stump behind the school and is in a relatively safe since Arden is there.

I headcannon that Whitney and Arden used to be neighbors and played together when they were kids, so Arden hesitates more to help the PC if Whitney is the one harassing them. (Will save the PC if they mention their name at high love, but takes -love for putting them in that position.)

Desperately wants Whitney to quit smoking.

Dismissing Arden should be an option and I've thought of a couple of ways to go about it; have Arden arrested, they get the blame if when you raid with them you leave tons of evidence. Two, leave them alone, do not engage, Arden takes care of themselves in a default circumstance. TBA

Arden does not trust any of the staff at the school. They're already in shit with the teachers, they'd just be blamed anyway.

Actually really likes math, since they're good at it. Used to only attend classes taught by River.

Owes Harper money

Others;

High skulduggery PC who goes straight to Domus street after school as a chance of encountering/noticing Arden who looks at them like,

Embarrassed if you notice the shitty duplex they live in.

Chance encounter of finding Arden in the hospital, with a high skulduggery, visiting a patient. If Arden finds out, relationship depending, they attempt to kick the shit out of you

#.secret speaks #.oc #Arden the Delinquent #dol OC #dol ocs #.secret ocs #feel free to ask about them!#I like being interacted with and asked questions

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purinsesusempai · 4 months

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A gift to myself is the completion of my non-fictional memoir that I make literature revolved around why narcissists need a safe space to shed that dead skin like a snake. There’s no way people can think we can heal narcissists on a grand scale by only pointing out their flaws

The same flaws that’ll give them more drive to do only God knows. I feel like if you’ve experienced a narcissistic relationship, whether that be; platonic, romantic or on a business level? One can all agree they wouldn’t wish a narcissist on their enemy right?

If you wouldn’t wish a narcissist on your enemy let’s NOT avoid them due to their flaws but help by involving ourselves in their lives authentically because they need it…that’s if we want to reduce narcissists in the world which I ABSOFREAKINLUTELY want & will do

I’ve always been the kid in elementary to finish my work 1st & help the teacher wherever she needed me

I’ve always been the kid to stand up to bullies when I’d see kids being bullied in middle school

I’ve always been the one in HS that was proof that beauty & brains exist…(I’d legit complete my homework in class since I just learned the lesson so I can have time after school to hang out with no worries, legit hung out with the “nerds” in school & “popular kids” after school)

I love advocating for things that brings; peace, balance & harmony to the world but I can also see how my good energy tends to make me susceptible to bad energy since I have allowed low vibrational situations to bring me down to a place I had to pray my way out of

With that being, I’m excited for all the connections I make (good or bad) since I’m not even in my prime as yet & I don’t (won’t) know everything but learning is an exciting journey that grants so much wisdom overtime

Last but not least the reason why I show myself so much love is because I was bullied for the very things people get plastic surgery/cosmetically done for now, naturally full brows that people get microbladed, full lips that people get enhancements etc for now like people were just so cruel growing up & I couldn’t understand it because my mother raised me with such grace, compassion & integrity

#purinsesusempai #thoughts #love #me

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warningsine · 4 months

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When I was little, my mother told me the same anecdote several times. It was from when she’d just married my father. They married very young, at sixteen and eighteen, because my mum was pregnant – a pregnancy she lost at six months. They hadn’t been dating long, so they didn’t know each other all that well. Soon after moving in together, while they were eating lunch, they had an argument, some silly teenage spat that ended up getting heated. My father raised one hand as if to slap her. And my mother, not messing around, plunged a fork into his other hand, which was resting on the table. My father never tried to play the big man again.

Every time she told me the story, I found myself wondering which of those forks – and I loved that cutlery set with acrylic yellow handles they’d been given as a wedding gift – had tasted my father’s flesh.

I don’t remember a specific conversation about violence against women, or any particular warnings from my mother on the subject. But the topic was always there. It was there when we talked about Marta, the neighbour whose husband used to beat her, and who in turn knocked her own kids about, especially Ale, a little boy who only ever drew spiders. Sometimes we lay in the grass to look at the sky, and if we saw those long, thin, lumpy clouds, bunched together, like waves, he’d say: Look, my dad’s been ploughing the sky. His dad was a farmer. Ale died in a motorbike accident when he was sixteen.

It was there when we talked about Bety, the lady from the corner shop who hanged herself in her garden shed. The whole neighbourhood said her husband used

to hit her, and that he knew how to do it so you never saw the marks. No one reported it. After her death, word got around that he’d killed her and covered it up, making it look like a suicide. It was possible. It was also possible that she’d hanged herself, sick of the life she was leading.

And it was there when we talked about the wife of López the butcher. Her daughters went to my school. She reported him for rape. For some time, as well as beating her up, he’d been sexually abusing her. I was twelve years old, and this news made a big impression on me. How could her husband have raped her? Rapists were always unknown men who grabbed hold of a woman and dragged her off to some patch of wasteland, or who broke into her house by forcing a door. From a very young age, we girls were told not to speak to strangers, and to watch out for the Satyr. The Satyr, in those early childhood years, was a figure as magical as the child- snatching Solapa or the Sack Man. It was the Satyr who could rape you if you went out alone at the wrong time or strayed into desolate places. Who could appear out of nowhere and carry you off to some building site. They never told us you could be raped by your husband, your dad, your brother, your cousin, your neighbour, your granddad, your teacher. A man you trusted completely.

And it was there when Cachito García would disturb the whole neighbourhood’s siestas by yelling at his girlfriend. Cachito was a petty thief and he was dating the eldest daughter of our neighbours the Bonnots. Don Bonnot worked building roads and was away from home most of the year. His wife and numerous female offspring, all very pretty girls, lived by themselves. Cachito, a jealous guy, was forever having a go at his girlfriend because she wore make-up or tight clothes or he saw her talking to another guy. One time he went a bit further. The Bonnot house was a wooden prefab and Cachito sprinkled the sides with kerosene and threatened to set it alight. The neighbours stopped him before everything went up in flames.

Alongside these situations sat other, more minor examples. My friend’s mum, who never wore make-up because her husband wouldn’t let her. My mother’s colleague, who handed her whole salary over to her husband each month to take care of. The woman who couldn’t see her family because her husband looked down on them. The woman who wasn’t allowed to wear high heels because they were for whores.

I grew up hearing grown women discussing situations like these in whispers, as if they were embarrassed by the poor woman’s plight, or as if they too were afraid of the man who hit her.

My mother discussed these stories loudly, indignantly, and it was always her fellow gossiper who signalled for her to lower her voice, or who gestured at us children, murmuring in the usual code: Careful, there’s laundry hanging up… as if saying those things were like saying dirty words, or worse, as if they were a source of unimaginable shame.

Mirta, Sarita Mundín’s sister, suspects that Dady Olivero used to hit her. Sarita never told her outright, but she was scared of him. In private, the two of them used to call Olivero the Randy Pig. Towards the end, whenever she knew he was coming over, Sarita would fill the house with her friends, guys and girls her age, so she didn’t have to be alone with him. Olivero would hang around for a bit, hiding his annoyance, drink a few mates and then leave in a huff.

The last day she spent with her sister, as if Sarita knew it was the last and wanted to teach her something that would stay with her, they had a conversation that Mirta will never forget.

Her sister told her: Don’t let anyone push you around. You have to make people respect you. Never let a guy lay a finger on you. If they hit you once, they’ll hit you forever.

Sarita was pregnant when she got married at fifteen. Mirta was following in her footsteps, single and expecting a baby at fourteen. Soon after Germán was born, Sarita’s husband started demanding she bring in some cash. Sarita turned to prostitution. She was picked up by Olivero, who would be first her customer, then her lover and protector, and the last person she was ever seen with.

From hustling by the roadside, she went on to build up a client list among the local branch of the Radical party. She and her friend Miriam García were party activists, two pretty young girls who soon caught the eye of the elderly men, distinguished members of society with the hypocrisy to match. Perhaps because of her fresh, girlish appearance, she was a hit with the old guys. But although things were going pretty well with the Radicals, and she had Olivero’s protection, too, there was one customer Sarita didn’t stop visiting. Another elderly, single man who lived in Oncativo, a city forty miles from Villa María, and who, according to Miriam García, helped her out with money.

José Bertoni, a bachelor uncle of my mother’s, also had a woman, La Chola, who visited him at home. José owned a dumper truck and transported sand and stones short distances from a nearby quarry. He lived in a very nice house that he’d built himself. My cousin and I always went there to play because he had a huge garden with swings and because he let us do whatever we liked. Some afternoons, we’d see La Chola turn up with three or four kids around our age. She went inside with my uncle and we carried on playing. We knew that on no account were we to go inside or call them while they were in there. After a while they came out and had some mate, and La Chola fixed us a snack.

One of her children was a girl not much older than me. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember she was pretty and turned into a little woman overnight, with large breasts and wide hips that stretched the child’s dresses she still wore. And that on one of those afternoons she was the one who went inside with José Bertoni, while La Chola stayed on the patio drinking mate and we carried on playing as if nothing was going on.

Visiting a single man who slips you some cash in return is a kind of prostitution that’s normalised in provincial towns. Like the maid who meets her employer’s husband out of hours to add a few pesos to her salary. I saw it with girls in my family, when I was little. In the night, from the street, you hear a car horn. She’s been waiting, she grabs her purse and hurries out. No one asks any questions.

After Sarita’s disappearance, Olivero went on visiting the family. He took them cash, and packets of meat from his processing plant. Although the mother suspected he’d been mixed up in what happened, that he’d done something to her daughter, she accepted the gifts, swallowing her fury and pride. They were so poor that sometimes they had nothing to eat. Mirta was pregnant and they were raising Sarita’s son. The mouths needed feeding somehow.

It was Mirta who put a stop to Olivero’s charity visits. That last conversation with her sister was what gave her the courage to call time, on the afternoon when the Randy Pig showed up with the packets of meat and asked her to step into Sarita’s shoes.

Dead Girls by Selva Almada (translated by Annie McDermott) is published by Charco Press.

Selva Almada is an Argentine writer of poetry, short stories, and novels. Her work has been translated into French, Italian, Portuguese, German, Dutch, Swedish and Turkish. Dead Girls is her first book to appear in English (being published in collaboration with Graywolf Press, US).

Annie McDermott translates fiction and poetry from Spanish and Portuguese. Her work has appeared in publications including Granta, World Literature Today, Two Lines, Asymptote and Alba.

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