#some days i am ugly. or at the very least not pretty. and that's not me hating myself or not valuing myself.

[dawningfairytale]

"what type of pretty are you? bunny, cat, fox, or deer?" i'm a sleep-deprived university student, hope this helps

#anti tiktok #we don't have to be pretty #tiktok culture #let me be - well not ugly - but actually fuck that #some days i am ugly. or at the very least not pretty. and that's not me hating myself or not valuing myself. #it's that my value in that moment is not dependent on categorising my appearance #sometimes i try to be pretty. sometimes i am on my period and had 3 hours of sleep in the past two days and need to wash my hair. #and sometimes i just don't need to care about being pretty #why do we have to act as though women have to be some sort of pretty to matter or be desirable #i don't know what my point is #if you like identifying as fox pretty or whatever then i'm not going to stop you #but. i don't know. it just seems like another category some tiktokers are pushing that we don't need

[deceitfuldevout]

Highest Bidder

Dark!Robert Fishcher x Sugarbaby!Reader

Word Count: +3,066

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Loss of virginity, Human auction, Housewife kink, Breeding kink, Misogynistic remarks, Insults, Just plain abuse, Robert is a warning himself.

Author's Note(s): I have been thinking about this for a hot minute. Inspired by @mypoisonedvine Robert Fischer fic go check it out!!

You couldn't stop checking your phone for an update. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Did he bail? Part of you had hoped so. It would make things a lot easier. Years ago, if someone had told you that you'd be auctioning off your virginity, well, the first thing you'd do is laugh in their face.

That was before everything went to shit. Your parents ended up in neck-deep debt trying to pay off your college, borrowing money from some sleazy loaner company. Soon having no choice but to debate on filing for bankruptcy. Everything they've worked hard for, gone. You didn't want them to worry about that anymore.

This wasn't a huge deal for you. Personally, you've never had any luck with guys and would rather get this over with. Growing up you were always the awkward, ugly duckling of the friend group, so a boyfriend was out of the picture. Only sharing an innocent kiss with a childhood friend, but that was a long time ago. It was only after you reached your 20's where you began to bloom.

He'd bought your outfit and covered the cost of everything. He wants you ready and waiting for him, all wrapped up like a pretty present. He's very particular about these things, even making a list of errands to run before the big day. He requested for photos of the hair and makeup you'd be wearing for the evening. Scolding you every time you did something he disliked. He wouldn't even try hiding it. You reread his previous text message: Change the makeup. It makes you look like a cheap whore. You scoff at the response...how rude.

Even before all of this he would try to test your patience. Sending messages like, 'Do you know who I am? You should be more grateful that I'm giving you this much attention," or "Anyone would be lucky to be in your position,' which made you physically roll your eyes. This morning, he had given you a call as a reminder of where you would meet. He send you the hotel address with money for a cab.

He made sure to give you call in the afternoon as a reminder of what to do after arriving, ending it with, "I don't want to hear any complaining when I get there." before hanging up. You grumble a stray of curse words, this had better been worth it...

You couldn't believe your eyes on how luxurious the hotel was. It's entrance had been decorated with marble and brass statues. There wasn't a drop of it that didn't scream 'money'. You sheepishly sign in, allowing a worker to carry your bag to the room. It had taken a while before you could reach the top. Part of you was impressed, he had really gone all out.

As soon as you enter the room there was this sort of romantic ambiance to it. From the lighting, to the breathtaking scenery of the city. It was all so...dreamy. But this was no dream. You were going to have sex for the first time with some old, rich geezer, gross. You take note of a shopping bag left on the bed, opening it to find a lingerie set.

You held the fabric, inspecting the material. White lace, with hints of glitter that shine in the light. At least the old man has good taste. You take a look at yourself in the mirror, humming at the sight of it. Not bad...hell, you looked fantastic.

Suddenly the door knob jingles, then a heavy knock follows. You leapt from the bed, approaching to open the door for him. But before you could reach the knob it slams open. A man enters, sporting a well-tailored suit, dressed to the nines from head-to-toe. His hair is combed back, a few strands dangle against his forehead. As you scan the man's face, you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.

There's a light rosy hue to his cheeks. You first notice the striking blues of his eyes and how long his lashes are. He looks like he'd have no problem at all searching for someone. So what is he doing paying for someone like you? For a moment, you were in awe of his presence. Staring back at the man like a deer caught in headlights.

The meeting today had taken its toll on Robert. He was supposed to meet with you hours ago, but there had been an emergency with the company's shareholders. He could practically feel his blood boiling, to the point where it felt almost difficult to breathe. He tugs his tie off and yanks for his shirt to open, a few buttons go flying. He lets out a huff, scanning the room with his blue orbs for something, more specifically, someone.

"So you're the one I've been talking to eh?" a hint of humor in his voice, "Let me guess, you're a good girl caught up in the wrong crowd? Is that it?" he taunts, "I'm sure you've 'never' done this before," the corners of his mouth turn upward into a sinister grin. His eyes are emotionless. Cold as ice. Yet why did they seem so comforting? As if you've seen them before.

He drops his suitcase at the end of the bed, turning towards you. He eyes you up and down, as if he were deep in thought, "Give me a spin," and of course you follow his orders. He raises a brow, "Come here," he commands. You stare back at him, unsure of what he'd just said. Robert sighs, he doesn't have time for this. He's slightly drunk and exhausted from work. Right now he just wants some hard, animalistic fucking.

He tugs your underwear to the side, examining his prize. He bunches up the waistband of your panties before yanking the fabric down. You held your breath, now riddled with anxiety. This was a bit too...casual for comfort. He fists the fabric, holding it to the side while the other hand held your hip.

His voice is deep, much deeper in person, "Hold it for me," he wants to get a good look at his purchase. His thick fingers slide down your pubic area, grazing against the bare skin, he hums, "Even waxed yourself like I told you to, good girl." he slaps the side of your hip, as if he were examining livestock. Your stomach coils at the realization. Never in your life have you felt so...objectified. Still, now wasn't the time to back down. He pushes you against a desk. Until you were now leaning on the table.

He spreads your folds with his thick digits, examining them closely. He held your clit between his fingers, pinching it lightly. You let out a whine from the sensation, bucking your hips from the sudden discomfort. He retreats his hand before flipping you over. His chest now against your back. He pushes you against the table, bending you over for a better view. He was in no rush.

He rubs his fingers over your bare slit. His thumb caresses your bundle of nerves. As soon as he retreats you finally snap the fabric back in place. Now lowering your head with embarrassment. He grips your chin, lifting it until you're face-to-face, "No don't hide from me now..." he plops himself on a chair, tilting his chin up, "Why don't you make yourself useful and help me get this off?"

If you weren't getting paid you would've scoffed at his rudeness. It was obvious he was into power play. Being in total control of everything. Now wasn't the time for letting your emotions emotions get involved. You help him remove his coat and tie, even unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. He's still wearing his pants, now unclasped. He stares you down, a smirk now lingering on his cold features, "Take off your clothes,"

When you start to quickly unclasp the garter belt, Robert's voice booms, "Stop." he orders, "Do it slower," he leans back in the recliner, already palming his erection. You shyly unclasp your belt, letting the straps fall off each shoulder. His hand grazes on an exposed breast, sending shivers down your spine.

He chuckles, "Oh...don't tell me you're that sensitive?" a crude remark. Your brows furrow, why did he have to tease you so? He notices your obvious discomfort, "Don't worry darling, your only job is to fuck," as if that would make things better, "Do you know how to suck cock?" he questions. You give him a hesitant nod, "No...I've never done it before this is my first time--"

"I didn't ask for a whole life story,"

"...No," your lips press in a thin line. He was really pushing it, "So you've never had sex or sucked cock before, tell me, what have you done?" he pulls out his member, already hard and leaking. It's tip was flush pink, the same as his lips. He spits into his palm before working himself up, he knows you're nervous. He wants you to be intimidated by him. He pumps his shafts with slow strokes, "Tell me, what gets you off..." he sighs.

You look down to your feet, suddenly his voice booms, "No, do not look away," to which you began to tear up. His voice is soft now, "Sweetheart, look at me," he huffs. You look up at him now with tearful eyes, he groans, "Oh...that's it..." stroking his cock faster. A finger points directly at you in a 'come hither' motion. You walk towards him, still eyeing his shaft. How was that going to fit?

You felt warm despite the lack of clothing, there's a pooling sensation between your legs. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap. His tongue darts against a breast. He teases the bud with his teeth. He made sure it was swollen and sensitive before giving attention to the other breast.

You never knew it could feel this...good. As soon as your hands reach for his hair he instantly stops, Robert remembers the reason why you're here. It wasn't to see him. You only wanted one thing, and he doesn't have time to play pretend. He just came here to collect what he's owed. At the end of the day, you were just a hired whore. He swats both hands away, giving you the cold shoulder. He lifts himself from the seat, throwing you against the carpet. You're confused at the sudden mood swing. It frightens you. Where the hell did that come from?

"It's a shame, you were doing so well," Robert sits up, his leaking cock now presses against his abdomen. He's pissed. He paid you for your time, you were suppose to focus only on his needs. Every word that came from his mouth dripped with anger, "It seems like you need a reminder on whore etiquette," he knows you've probably fucked a few before him, this was all part of your little roleplay act.

"I'm not a whore!" you detest lying, what made him not believe you? Forget it...this wasn't worth an argument, "You know what? You can take your money back asshole! Fuck this and fuck you--" a hand grips around your neck. He'll have to show you a thing or two of what comes with selling yourself out, especially to a complete stranger. You've always knew deep down that you'd regret your first, but this was downright terrifying.

This man, he didn't even see you as a person. As a human being. To him, this was all a transaction that was paid for, "What did you think that website was for? It's a human auction. Not just your cunt. Meaning I own your ass for the next few hours," he leans in, pressing his nose against yours, he growls, "Remember your place..."

Robert pulls you up by the hair, throwing you onto the bed. You scramble to get away but he's much stronger. He began to wrestle you. To which you land a slap on his cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. You pause, now too scared to move. He touches the tender skin, it would surely leave a bruise tomorrow. Which just so happens to be an important meeting, "You little bitch..." he grips your jaw until it aches, forcing your mouth to open.

He takes the opportunity to spit inside, covering your mouth and pinching your nose. You felt like you wanted to gag. Finally, after fighting to hold your breath, you swallow. He grins, "See? even if you try to fight me, I always get what I want..."

You, of all people, should know this about him. Instead you try putting up a fight, "I hate you! I hate you! Let me go!" thrashing around. Both of his hands now pressed against your throat. He scolds, "If you want it to hurt I'll make it hurt like nothing else..." he flips you over, pressing his body against your own, making it harder to breathe.

He lets his pants slide down. Tugging off his boxers. He spits a wad into his hand, that should be enough to get comfortable, for him. But for you? Well, he wants it to hurt you. Otherwise, how will you learn? Whores like you deserve to feel pain. That's what you get for teasing him in your photos. He growls into your ear, "Time to try my pussy..."

He yanks down your panties before pressing his leaking tip against your opening. He muffles your cries in his palm. You couldn't hold back the tears. This man is going to break you! As retaliation you tilt your head to the side and bit into his forearm. He grunts from the pain, it only encourages him to carry out your punishment. He thrusts harder, grinding down his hips to reach as deep as he could go.

You sob from the pain, going limp from shock. All you could do was cry into his hand, bracing yourself against the cushioning below. You turned your head to face the mirror, taking a good look at your own sad, pathetic reflection. You were being dominated by a complete stranger. How did it get to this point? When did you become so pathetic? So desperate to the point where you became a whore for hire?

He held you close to his chest. He knows now you're too tired to fight him off. He kept jutting his hips back and fourth, moaning in your ear with a deep grumble. You could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. It repulses you. The only sounds that could be heard in the room were of skin-to-skin slapping, Robert's insults, and your muffled cries.

"Fuck....fuck m'gonna cum..." he grunts. He rubs his nose against the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scented perfume. He drags his face across the soft, supple skin. He can tell by the shimmer that you applied an expensive lotion earlier. Of course you wanted him, what woman wouldn't? He's handsome, rich, successful, he's the entire package.

So why were you begging for him not to finish inside? You were just being stubborn, that's all. He'll have to remind you of who's in charge, "I bought this pussy fair and square. If I want to put a baby in it, then bitch, I will," he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, biting until the skin breaks. He doesn't stop thrusting his hips. Plunging his cock deep inside to coat your womb. He moans, furrowing his brows from the feeling of your velvety walls.

"You think you're better than me huh? Old enough to fuck but not old enough to get knocked up, yeah fucking right" he huffs, "You just wanted an excuse to be whore..." His voice becomes hoarse, as the pleasure began to increase, "Fuck...fuck I'll buy you a big house just so I can fuck you in it...hm...yeah you'd like that wouldn't you?" he doesn't stop his vigorous thrusts, "I’ll fuck some babies into you hm? You'd like that? I’ll give you a baby with blue eyes…something to remind you of me…" he flips you over, locking an arm around your neck.

All you could do was whine as you wait for the inevitable. Robert licks a stripe against your ear. He grunts with satisfaction, "Want you to remember this for the rest of your life....every time you think about your first time, you'll be thinking of me...." he fastens his pace. All you could do was stare back at your reflection. A tear trickles down your cheek. You couldn't help but agree. It was true, this moment would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Robert knows it. That's what gives him such an ego boost. He felt like he was on top of the fucking world. He growls in your ear, "Remember this, I.Fucking.Own.You." before unloading his spunk deep inside. He muffles a moan in the crook of your neck, bowing his head down to feel the bliss of it all. Fuck, he never came so much in his life. Was it the adrenaline or the pussy? He doesn't care. All he knows is that it's money well spent.

He slowly begins to pull out, hissing from the pleasure your pussy gave. He moans at the sight of his shaft dipped in a crimson tint, "Fuck me...if that isn't a sight for sore eyes..." he's made sure to mark his territory. He flips you over, you're too scared to even look at him.

He slides his hand from your stomach to your pelvis, "Hold on...I want to see it.." giving your lower abdomen a light push, forcing the rest of his seed out. It's mixed with a string of red. His lids are hooded, there's a twitch to his features. He grins, "Fuck...guess you weren't lying about me being your first..." he chuckles, "And here I thought you were just another lying whore..." playing with your emotions.

Robert lifts himself from the bed. He retrieves his belt on the floor, tying your wrists to the bed post. He doesn't want to risk you running away from him. Not while he still had a few hours left. He fixes himself in the mirror, coming his hair back to how it was before. Making sure that there wasn't a single strand out of place. He admires himself in the mirror. He felt like a fucking champ. Like nothing in the world could stop him, and so far there hasn't been.

Robert knew this was a good idea the moment he saw your profile online. He'd been tracking you down for quite some time, it's been a while. His obsession growing with each message sent. He had to own you. Mind, body, and soul. It was a good idea to install the hidden camera in the hotel. He could only stare at you from his office, viewing you changing into the set he'd purchased, admiring yourself in the mirror. He had to wait another agonizing hour before work was finished.

He notices the way you'd tried being presentable, all for him. How you would constantly check your phone just to see what his orders were. Submissive, compliant, needy. So fucking needy. That little pussy of yours needed his cock to break it in. He doesn't want it to end, he tosses a few bills onto the mattress, you don't even flinch. Your mind had already escaped.

Robert leans in, caging your body with his arms, "Why don't I keep you as my little plaything, hm?" he knows you've recently graduated. But what use was a degree compared to what he could give? What greater reward than being his pretty little housewife? You might as well put those looks to use. He plants a kiss against your lips, humming in satisfaction, "Need a good girl to balance me out..." he begins to rant, "And if you ever think of leaving me, I'll send a video of us fucking to your parents,"

But the thing is, you never told him who your parents were. It was then when the pieces began to fall into place. How could you be so stupid? His username was R-Morrow.

This was no other than the owner of Fischer Morrow, the man responsible for your landing parents in deep debt. Of course they trusted him, because he's your childhood friend. You lift yourself up and face him. Your voice in disbelief when you question the identity of the strange man, now with a tearful look, "R-Robbie?" you whisper. He pauses for a moment, head turning to the side as he looks your way, "Did you miss me?"

"...Why? I-I don't understand..." you began hyperventilating. This wasn't happening. Your childhood friend had taken your virginity. At one point, he was your entire world. He approaches you, no longer a lanky young boy but a man. He cups your face, pressing his forehead against yours. He sighs, "Don't you remember the promise we made? To find each other?" his eyes bore into yours, "I could only dream of it, but now?" he wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him, "Now you're finally mine..."

#dark!robert fischer #dark!robert fischer x reader #reader #reader insert #fem!reader #afab!reader #fab!reader #dark!fic #dark!fanfic #dark!fanfiction #dark!smut #dark fic #dark fanfic #dark fanfiction #cillian murphy character #cillian murphy smut

[nmakii]

THE GIRL IN MY STORY HAS ALWAYS BEEN YOU!

— in which alastor’s dear is ridiculed. he’ll take care of those insolent wretches later… comforting you is much more important

— lol a little drabble bc i j found out one of my former friends called me ugly last school year and i kinda get it cause i had a huge forehead (i got bangs to fix that) but i just feel a little insecure rn

you hit your head on the pillow, your smile faltering as soon as you were alone. what an awful day… today was exhausting, being ridiculed by those demons in the carmine district was hurtful, to say the very least. most especially when they poked at your looks.

appearance was always a taboo subject to you, all that anyone ever wants is to be beautiful.

creak…

“darling, what are you doing back here so early in the day?” alastor asked, walking over to you as he put his face near your’s. “don’t wanna talk about it…” you frowned, turning away from him.

alastor’s curiosity grew as he turned you back over. “is something wrong, my dear?” he asked, a soft smile on his face. “what is it that happened? c’mon, tell me about it, love.” he said as he sat on the bed, pulling you onto his lap.

“am… am i pretty, alastor?” you sniffed, eyes growing wet with tears. “my dear, of course you are! what makes you think otherwise?” alastor raised an eyebrow.

“uuh… some demons were kinda…” you started, leaning your head on his chest as your tears stained his coat as he waited for you to finish speaking. “t…they were calling me ugly…” you finished, a hiccup interrupting your breaths.

“my love, don’t let those wretches’ blind comments plague your thoughts. you’re beautiful, i promise you that, on my own grave!” he quietly laughed at his own joke. it didn’t seem to calm your thoughts though. “dear, trust me, you are gorgeous. you would not have any idea how many other demons i had to fight off to earn the right to court you!”

it made you feel slightly better, the thought of it making you smile a little. “come now, smile, my dear! you know you’re never fully dressed without one!” alastor’s smile growing wider as he pointed to his own grin.

alastor’s trademark motto making your smile grow wider as he wiped your pearly tears away. “don’t cry anymore, darling. your pretty face is meant to smile.” he said, kissing you on the head. “say… what are the names of these demons?” he asked.

“aah… i don’t know… it was when i was in the carmine district…” you said, looking at alastor’s eyes. “don’t go after them.. you’ll start some sort of overlord war with ms. carmilla…” you frowned at his clear murderous intent

“i wouldn’t care for that at all, darling. a war with carmilla is the very least of my worries right now.” he rolled his eyes at your worry. “not when there are sinners who need to be taught a lesson.”

you leaned into alastor’s touch as he stroked your back comfortingly. “thank you, love…” you sighed. “i’ll always come through for you, darling. don’t ever question that.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hasbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hc

[solarmorrigan]

( @nitro502-the-sequel​‘s tags on this post made me ugly laugh and then I had to write something, I hope that’s okay??)

Wait, no, this is hilarious, hold on

Steve drops Eddie off at home later that night, where Wayne is awake and puttering around in the kitchen making what might possibly be lunch (he tends to keep overnight hours even on his days off, so as not to completely fuck his sleep schedule, but hell if Eddie can keep track of what time of “day” it is for him).

Wayne gives Eddie a nod of acknowledgement and turns back to the pan he’s stirring on the stove. “How was your–”

“HE CROCHETED ME A SCARF.”

This was a little louder than Eddie had meant to be, but Wayne, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. He turns back to look at where Eddie is standing in the middle of the living area, clutching the ends of the aforementioned scarf like it’s a towel at the end of the world.

“Who did?”

“Steve.”

“Huh,” is all Wayne says. “Is crocheting the thing with the…?” He holds his fists out in front of him, rotating them at the wrists like he’s rowing a very tiny boat.

“No, that’s knitting. Apparently, they’re different,” Eddie says, brows raised and hands held up in front of him, like he can fend off the ghost of Steve’s surprisingly enthusiastic lecture on the subject. “Crocheting is with a hook, like–” Eddie holds out one curled fist, trying to demonstrate, but it mostly just looks like he’s either stabbing something or failing to pick up some invisible spaghetti. He gives up and flutters his hands in front of himself, clearing the image. “He showed me – never mind, it’s – you’re missing the point!”

“And I’m sure you’re gonna tell me what that is,” Wayne says, turning back to the stove before the beans (Eddie’s pretty sure it’s beans he’s smelling) start to burn.

“Steve crocheted me a scarf,” Eddie enunciates, because putting the proper emphasis on certain words will definitely solve the problem.

Wayne just hums. “Well, that was nice of him. Lord knows I can never get you to wear anything warm.”

Eddie groans, clutching at this scalp and then running his hands through his hair. He’s at least seventy-five percent certain Wayne is being obtuse on purpose.

“But what am I supposed to do about it?” he laments.

“Wear it, I’d say,” Wayne replies. “Can I see it?”

Eddie hesitates for a second, because it’s his scarf and Steve made it for him, and he doesn’t want anything to happen to it when he hasn’t even had it for twenty-four hours, but then he decides he’s being ridiculous, because if he can trust anyone with his stuff, it’s Wayne. He unwinds the scarf from around his neck and passes it over.

Wayne’s brows go up as he looks over the close, even stitches, running his fingers over the little ridges Steve somehow made with yarn. He nods appraisingly. “It’s nice,” he says, handing it back.

“Right?” Eddie tosses it back around his neck with a sigh.

“Did you say thank you?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, before thinking back over the moment when Steve had told him that the scarf was for him. “…more or less.”

Wayne shakes his head, turning back to his food with some unfavorable mutter about Eddie’s manners.

“Okay, but I think you’re still not seeing the problem here,” Eddie insists.

“Looks like the problem is that you’re having a conniption over a scarf in the middle of the damn living room,” Wayne shoots back.

“No, that’s– well I mean– no,” Eddie sputters. “Okay, look, what would you do if a girl made a scarf for you?”

Wayne pauses, and Eddie loves his uncle with his whole shriveled heart, but it is always funny watching him try to shift gears when he realizes they’re talking about gay things now.

“Well,” Wayne says slowly, “pretty sure I’m a little too old to have any girl knitting me a scarf.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie groans. “Fine! A mature woman, then. Work with me here!”

Eddie gets a raised eyebrow at the mature woman comment, but Wayne lets it slide. He tilts his head consideringly as he spoons some beans out onto a plate by the stove, where he’s already got toast waiting. He tilts the pan at Eddie, wordlessly offering, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I suppose I’d have to get her something in return,” Wayne finally says. “Or make her something, if I was the creative type.”

Eddie gets another pointed look at those last two words, and he groans again, letting his head fall back in defeat, because he’d been afraid that would be the answer.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to make. It’s not like I can make him warm clothes or do anything useful,” Eddie says, so caught up in the sudden and dramatic realization that all of his hobbies are entirely useless that he doesn’t manage to duck in time when Wayne gives him a not-entirely-gentle smack on the back of the head as he passes by into the living room.

“Stop that. The things you make are just fine. It doesn’t have to be useful, it just has to be thoughtful,” Wayne says, settling into his chair. “So quit standing around whining and go come up with something you can make to woo your boy.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie covers his face, even though Wayne will definitely already know he’s gone red. “You’re actually the worst. I don’t know why I talk to you.”

“You’re welcome for the advice,” Wayne drawls.

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him, but the quick “thanks” he throws out afterwards is entirely sincere.

He retreats to his room after that; apparently, he has some thinking to do.

[Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

#eddie munson #wayne munson #eddie & wayne #steddie #stranger things #what does eddie make for steve?? #fucked if I know there is absolutely a reason I stopped writing where I did #I've also never written wayne before but it was fun to try #solar wrote

[lovingksuki]

✰ SECRET ADMIRER

— highschoolers bakugo x fem!reader

synopsis: an anonymous love letter appears in your locker on valentine's day. surprised, you and your best friend start an investigation to uncover who was that person observing you from afar. meanwhile, a flushed bakugo tries to ruin your plans on the undercover alongside his shitty-haired buddy

cw: sfw; mostly fluff; lil angst; very insecure bakugo; romantic comedy; puberty; silly jokes; little swearing.

a/n: this is part one of three. let me know if you want this mini series to be continued :) and pls be patient since english is not my first language hehe ;;

word count: 1k

"oh c'mon! what if there's a heart shaped letter in your locker? you never know..."

"there's not."

"you can't be so certain about it. my girl is never looking her surroundings, who knows if someone got their heart pierced by an arrow?" mina pointed.

"shut up, every year the same thing..." you rushed and right after turning the corridor you captured by distance. "ok. maybe you were right." you said finding the metal compartment half closed.

then you grabbed the red paper in her hands, paying attention to the almost dry daisy taped lazily on the front; glanced around not spotting anything or anyone suspicious about it, then turned to your best friend.

"i got a feeling you're part of this." spurred.

"whoa, i was joking just now! even i am chocked. who's the sender?" the pink colored girl held her hands up in protest.

"i don't know, there's only my name." you stated carefully sticking the little flower out.

"let me search for a hint." mina took the letter from your hands suddenly, mumbling while quickly skimming through the words looking for something useful. she gasped before smirking at the content and then continued mumbling.

"enjoying yourself!?" you sighed waiting.

"mkay, done." handed the letter. "nothing between the lines. who wrote this sure is smart enough to not leak their identity."

"that's for me to decide. you ain't the smartest kind." you chuckled.

"hey!"

"more like the pretty girl type."

"you sly thing! you received a love letter, who's the pretty girl again?" both laughed at the statement and headed out to the cafeteria. "not reading it?"

"can't think when i am this hungry. we should hurry."

at the lunchtime the subject was the same. you two were discussing with your mouths full, sitting by yourselves on a table far enough from eavesdropping.

"hear me out. there's this line that seems to be rewritten over and over, it's a bit tattered." you mentioned. "it says: 'i'm still hesitant about what you think about me' and thanks to the pressure they put on paper seems to be 'afraid of who i am' underneath."

"adds a lot of nothing to our investigation. that's what everybody would say in a confession, i mean, nobody likes being dumped." pinky pointed out unfazed.

"yeah but, i don't think it's meaningless, what if this person is truly insecure about themselves." you pondered.

"or they're just ugly." mina chewed on her meal.

"i don't think that's the case... remember when you told me that thing you read about pretty boys' handwriting?" you brought up.

"did you actually believe that!? was just a discussion in a girl's meme forum." the pink one remarked.

"but there's some truth behind it. if you consider that people with a smaller hand can grip on a pen better when writing, also means the ones with big hands tend to have a sloppier handwriting!" you stated confident about your theory.

"girl, you're tripping... does this mean we're going across the school measuring boys' hands?" mina smirked unconvinced.

"precisely."

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

"what a fucking waste of time..." said raging.

"dude, calm down. at least you poured your feelings out..." eijiro reassured his bestfriend trying to point out the bright side of things.

but while he's the bright side, katsuki was the dark side. they say a good relationship is based in balance, in this case it makes total sense.

"you even checked if she read it?" asked the red haired.

"when she and mina walked by me at the corridor they were whispering and giggling like little lambs. probably laughing at that letter though." pouted.

"you're being paranoid, they're always like that."

"they're up to something..." bakugo murmured.

whilst the two struggled to put up with the 'plan cupid', the other two were constructing the 'plan pretty boy's handwriting'.

"as i was saying, a pencil has six inches approximately, we're looking for a hand as big at least. if we measure our hands we can compare with theirs without them noticing." stated grabbing a pen off her case.

"you're truly a genius. i refuse to accept you failed strategic test last week." mina complimented.

"i was in a really bad mood that day... anyway!" justified while traced her own hand in a empty page of mina's notebook. "fifteen centimeters. do yours and we're good to go!" demanded agitated.

when looking for friends of theirs, the girls pretended to just have a walk around the school.

"what if it was a girl?" mina asked suddenly.

"i doubt. how many girls with large hands do we know?" claimed.

"mmm... asui-san?"

"you've got to be kidding...!" pulled her phone and dialed quickly a number. "hey!" you smiled. "no, nothing really urgent, i just wanted to ask... are you perhaps in love with me?" questioned without any filter.

"girl you gone mad?" mina whispered holding back a laughter.

"uh, ok. anyways, thank you. we talk later, kisses!" you hung up. "see? that's not her."

"woah you're so straightforward! it scares me sometimes..."

the boys exited the restroom still discussing, but when the blondie heard a certain voice he stepped back. pulled eijiro's tie to hide behind a pillar with him. "shut it!" mouthed.

"i just wanted to ask... are you perhaps in love with me?"

"uh, ok."

his face started to burn as he became more anxious. could only hear a few words, enough to bring the boy into complete state of panic.

after the girls left he released his breath.

"stop overthinking! she just received a love letter, of course she's curious!" kirishima said.

"i didn't say anything, shitty-hair!"

"your face shows!" sighed. "seriously, how can she be so oblivious? just look at you! you're terrible at hiding."

"i- i... she doesn't even talk to me that often..." katsuki pitied.

"bro, you're not the friendliest around here. but she doesn't seem to be afraid of you." kiri pondered. "have you ever tried to smile?"

he looked at the red spiked guy and opened a shy smile.

"a bit more."

every time bakugo tried to put on smiling face it looked creepy. "be more genuine." said eijiro.

trying his best, but even with so much effort... his buddy analyzed. "ok. it looks absolutely terrifying."

"shit."

#mha fanfiction #mha bakugou #mha fluff #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugo x reader #self insert #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n

[zukosdualdao]

through all of the shadowy corners of me

zutara month, day three: (re)meet ugly/meet cute. @zutaramonth

summary: as katara's plans on the anniversay of her mother's murder fall apart, she ducks into a teashop to wait out the storm and finds herself familiar with the rude tea server she comes face to face with and promptly bursts into tears. because of-fucking-course.

warnings: grief, nightmares, references to kya's murder (and ursa's disappearance, though that is less explicit), and references to ableism wrt facial differences. also, just, some lightly gratuitous swearing, on behalf of katara's no good very bad day. she deserves it.

other notes: title taken from landon piggs’ falling in love at a coffeeteashop. because i am basic in that way.

Katara’s pretty sure the universe is conspiring against her.

First, it was the fucking felt-tip markers being all dried up—damn it Sokka—she needed for the posters for the protest she was supposed to head.

(She tries not to think about how really, first, it was the dream she woke up from, that she wakes up from often, but especially on this day, the dream with fearful eyes and the ominous drip of blood and the feeling of too late too late too late. The dream that is also a memory.)

Someone had to make the posters—because seriously, why was the school shutting down the campus food bank when a third of the student population was food-insecure?— so she missed her first class of the day to get new ones from the closest craft store, over half an hour way with traffic. There was supposed to be a quiz, too, and the professor is notoriously stubborn about absences and make-ups. 

And then there was this huge storm, so they couldn’t even have the protest today like they’d planned.

Now, as Katara ducks out of the rain and into the tiny little hole-in-the-wall ambient tea shop—The Jasmine Dragon, the sign had said—which is all warm lighting and soft ringing laughter from the bare few patrons inside, she figures she can at least get a cup of something hot to drink. It’s been a truly horrible day, and she can’t wait to get back home, sleep for ten hours straight, and wipe it from the record of her memory, but right now, this is her one saving grace.

So, when she gets to the second place in line, very patiently waiting as the server at the front snipes at the man in front of her, part of her wants to reel up to confront him. Sure, she knows customer service can be a day-in, day-out nightmare—she didn’t spend her first two semesters waiting tables because it was fun—but really, he could at least try to be a little nicer. The man wasn’t doing anything wrong, as far as she could see.

When she gets to the front, Katara opens her mouth to say—something, she doesn’t know what—and is caught off-guard to find that she recognizes him faintly. With his eyes the color of amber, swoopy, dark hair, and a shiny, painful-looking burn scar set against the left side of his face, on her right—yes, he was a boy who was in Sokka’s class back in high school. And he was a total jerk, barely speaking a word to anyone except to get into arguments, whether with teachers or other kids. She didn’t know him all that well herself, but she’d never liked him from the stories Sokka told or for the way he seemed to bristle at everyone and everything as she watched from a morbidly curious distance.

Zuko. Yes, she remembers him.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice almost a snarl when she spends a beat too long taking in his features, though he’s not looking at her, instead glancing down at his scratchpad. “I’m supposed to tell all of the customers we’re out of the oolong,” he adds in a rough voice, without looking up.

Katara wants to rage, wants to scream, why does he think he gets to treat people like that, god, at least have the decency to look me in the eye and treat me like a person when you’re being a dick—but instead, she bursts into tears. 

Very loud, messy tears. It’s been a long day.

And, well. He certainly looks up then. 

“Um,” Zuko says in lieu of an actual reaction, his right eye wide. His expression has softened considerably, his mouth shaped in surprise, his browline furrowed. “We have jasmine?” he tries.

Well, she thinks as he stands there stiffly, the perfect image of a deer in headlights, before reaching over the counter to push the napkin dispenser toward her, this is humiliating.

At least it’s not terribly busy in here. There’s no one standing beside her, and she only feels one or two worried glances from the tables, the shop mostly empty.

“Sorry,” Katara says through her tears. “God, I’m sorry. I just—I’m having awful day,” she says, motioning to her face as a way of explanation before yanking a napkin out from the dispenser to dry her face.

Zuko’s lip curls in what she thinks might be sympathy. 

“Me, too,” he admits on a sigh. “Sorry. What can I get for you?”

“Um,” she says, shaking her head and smiling through still teary eyes. God. “A cup of jasmine tea would actually be nice.”

“Sure.” 

She pays quickly and tries to ignore his eyes as they follow her over to the tiny round table she chooses in the corner. One cup, she thinks. She’ll drink one cup of tea and be out of here quicker than even the lightning flaring outside, before anyone can say anything about it, and then head back to her apartment and think through every turn in life that got her there, sobbing in line at a tea shop as a mean boy she knew from high school tried not to call her on it.

But he has other plans, because when he brings her order to her, he doesn’t just leave like he’s supposed to, standing there for several awkward moments that feel as though they’re spanning lifetimes.

Yeah. The universe is definitely conspiring against her.

“So… you’re… good now?”

Katara stares at him blankly for a moment, feeling her jaw grow a little slack.

“Are you… checking on me?”

A beat. “I’m just very committed to customer service,” Zuko deadpans, and Katara can’t help but laugh.

“Right,” she says. “Yeah. I’m… good. Thank you.” He nods—just once, a rigid jerk of his head—and starts to turn on his heel to leave.

But for some reason, she suddenly doesn’t want that. He’s being… almost kind of sweet, and it’s so incongruous with the memory she has of him that it kindles a new kind of curiosity.  “We went to school together, you know,” she says quickly, before he can fully turn around. He pauses in his tracks. “You probably don’t remember, but—”

“I remember you,” Zuko says before she can even finish. She frowns, intrigued. “You always wore your hair up in a braid and those loops. And once, even though we barely knew each other,” he adds with the faint traces of a smile, “you told off that kid when he was… uh…” The smile fades.

Katara remembers suddenly. It was an overcast day, not unlike the way this one had started, and Zuko had been sitting alone in the courtyard, not bothering anyone (for once) as Katara made her way to lunch when she saw some other kid go up to him to start needling him, saying horrible things about his scar. Very loudly.

Katara hadn’t liked that, so she’d marched right over and told the kid so. Also very loudly.

She’s pretty sure that’s the only time she and Zuko even tangentially interacted, and even then, they hadn’t spoken any actual words to each other. Everything else she knew about him came from stories and distant observation.

“When he was being a dick,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. Peering through his eyelashes, he adds more quietly, “I’ve always remembered that.”

“Really?”

A shrug of his shoulders. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway.”

“I don’t like cruel people.” He nods, hands in his pockets, eyes suddenly downcast and looking almost a little ashamed. It makes her sort of sad. “Do you have time to sit?” Katara asks suddenly.

He looks surprised as he glances back at up her. “What?”

“I mean, I know you’re working, so don’t worry about it if not,” she adds in a hurry, tripping over he words. “I just thought maybe…”

“My shift’s actually over,” he answers, and suddenly, there’s a soft, sort-of-shy smile playing on his lips. “I—I could sit.”

He pulls the chair out and sits while Katara sips at her tea. It really is quite good.

“This is almost making up for the rest of my day,” she laughs, and his face scrunches up, maybe almost amused.

But then, the expression morphs. “Why was your day so bad, Katara?”

She’s surprised to find he ever knew her name, let alone remembers it now. He really is full of surprises. 

She could tell him the simple version, the actual events without the why she was taking it so hard, without divulging what it was really about… but, well…

He seems sincere enough in asking, at any rate.

“I just… I lost my mother when I was really young,” she begins to explain, feeling sort of choked-up and tight in her chest again, but no tears threaten to fall right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and she looks up to meet his gaze, swimming with undeniable sympathy. “That’s something we have in common.”

She looks at him for a long moment, surprised. This is something they share, then. Something they can understand about each other. “I’m sorry, too. It’s awful. And… today is the anniversary. I usually just try to keep busy, but…”

“But everything went wrong?”

Katara hums.

“That’s the fucking worst,” he says bluntly, and Katara laughs then. He has very little tact, it seems, but also, yeah. It is. And it’s nice for someone to be able to… just say it. To feel it with her.

“It is the fucking worst,” she agrees. “But… I really am doing better now.”

“I’m glad,” he says, but he frowns, staring down at his hands, which are splayed on the table. “I really shouldn’t keep you from your day."

“I mean… the rest of my plans for the day have sort of fallen apart, and I should probably wait out the rain anyway, so I might, uh,” she says, feeling suddenly shy and hesitant. “I might stick around for a while. Get one more of these,” she nods down to her cup, warm and solid in her hands. “You know.” She takes another sip.

His smile glints, but it’s soft, too, definitely as shy as she feels. “I could do with a cup.”

Katara’s own smile grows wider.

The kindly older man who runs the shop—Zuko's uncle, Katara learns quickly—brings them out another round of jasmine, two cups this time, and Zuko slowly raises his in a cheers motions motion, a little awkward and a lot funny.

“To awful days?” he says with a raise of his brow.

“And to perfect storms,” she adds in agreement, laughter bubbling in her chest.

They clink their teacups together.

#zutaramonth2024 #zutara #zutara month #my fic #me internally: idk how i feel about writing a modern au i don't feel like i can get into their headspaces the right way #also me: writes almost 2000 words about it #atla #zuko #katara #trigger: grief. #trigger: nightmares. #trigger: murder. #jic #trigger: ableism.

[milaisreading]

Blue lock, but make it Demon Slayer(pt1)

A.N: u all smth possessed me to wite this☠️

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura. Demon Slayer is owned by Koyoharu Gotouge. Might do requests if anyone asks. Will add in characters gradually

Living in a village that was pretty much isolated from the rest of Japan was a struggle at times, but for the most it had its perks. At least (Y/n) thought so. She liked that her best friend and his family lived close by and that she has a tight bond with most of the villagers. But with some of the perks came also certain struggles, one of them being marriage. (Y/n) was by now 15 and a lot of girls her age were already looking into possible suitors or even getting married. And while (Y/n) was far from a ugly and plain person, she just wasn't appealing to the local boys or their families. One reason would be (Y/n)'s unusual strength, which her parents and Yoichi always praised her for, the 2nd reason was her appetite. She loved food, it was something she and her father bonded over, along with arm wrestling. Most of the families found it very unladylike and turned down any marriage idea.

'Even if you don't get married, we love you more than anything. You can stay with us here, forever. Maybe you will get a chance to visit the cities, too.' (Y/n) sighed as she looked at the darkening sky. It was winter and night fell sooner than normally, but she couldn't stay in the house anymore, she had to get out. Yawning, she put on her scarf and walked out of the house, walking closer towards the forest, when a voice interrupted her.

"Huh? Where are you going, (Y/n)? It's pretty late."

"Yoichi! I am just going to get some fresh air. But what are you doing here?" (Y/n) smiled as her friend stopped in front if her.

"My parents want to talk over something with yours."

"Is it something important?" (Y/n) raised her eyebrow at Isagi's flustered face and the boy shook his head.

"Nothing, just some random things... Do you want me to come with you? It's getting dark." Isagi asked in concern, but (Y/n) just shook her head. She really wanted to just be alone and think over some things.

"I can handle myself, don't worry. I will be back soon." The girl reassured the boy and he reluctantly agreed, although there was some heavy air looming above the home.

The walk was something (Y/n) really needed, the more she was in the quiet environment, the more her mind was at ease.

'Maybe I am just not meant for marriage. Besides, staying home and helping my parents, maybe even leave the village for a city one day won't be bad.' (Y/n) smiled, then stopped in her tracks when she saw a familiar old man struggling with some wood.

"Suzuki-sama! What are you doing out here this late?" The girl asked the old man as she ran to his side. The man was startled for a moment but gave the girl a kind smile, once he recognized her.

"Ahh, (Y/n). What are you doing out this late? It's too late for a child, demons might attack you. You know how vicious they can be."

(Y/n) wanted to roll her eyes at that part, never fully believing those tales.

'Old people tales.'

"Well, it isn't safe for you either, Suzuki-sama. Let me help you." (Y/n) said, picking up the basket with the chopped wood as the man chuckled.

"I always forget how strong you are. Kind of you to help this old man."

"It's nothing, Suzuki-sama. How is Mrs. Suzuki doing?"

"She is a little jumpy these past few days. Always talking about some ominous aura looming over the village."

"You don't believe her?" (Y/n) asked, amused a little.

"It's not that I don't believe her, she just gets too paranoid. The looming aura can be a snowstorm too." The old man chuckled.

What (Y/n) thought would be a quick trip to the Suzuki household ended up being a sleepover by the old couple. While she was protested the idea, not wanting to worry her parents, Mrs. Suzuki kept her back, saying all kinds of demons will attack her. (Y/n) wanted to say that what she was saying was nonsense, that demons aren't even real, she just couldn't. The look she was getting from the woman was breaking her heart, so she ended up agreeing.

'Mom will definitely scold me, and Yoichi will just go on how worried he was.' (Y/n) thought as she was walking through the forest, eating the sandwich the older woman packed her.

"I wonder what is on today's plan. Mrs. Isagi said she needs to clean out something. Maybe she will need help with carrying something-" (Y/n) stopped in her tracks as she smelled something... something off. Gulping, she took a better whiff of the air, her heart dropping her food as she realized it was blood. Dropping everything, she ran to where the smell came from, her heart racing when she realized it came from her own house. Gasping, (Y/n) saw the door wide open and someone laying on the ground, a poll of blood surrounding them.

"Mrs. Isagi?!" (Y/n) yelled in fear and ran to where the woman was laying.

"Dead... mom! Dad!" The girl yelled desperately as she ran into the house, only to find her dad and Yoichi's dad laying on the ground.

"Dad..." (Y/n) muttered in shock, feeling like her legs were about to give up on her.

'Who did this? It doesn't smell like a human was here! It smells so rotten.' (Y/n) took a deep breath and slowly walked through the rest of the house, hoping that her mom and Yoichi escaped whatever this attack was.

"Who did this... who did this... where are they?" Breathing heavily, (Y/n) walked into the garden, only to find Yoichi and her mom laying in their own blood. It looked like Yoichi tried to protect the older woman from the attacker, but was sadly unsuccessful. She ran to the two and checked up on her mom first. Removing Yoichi's arm from her, she tried to feel a pulse, but nothing came.

"No no no... mom... I am so sorry..." (Y/n) held back her tears and looked at Yoichi, her eyes widening when she saw a few movements from him. He was still breathing! Weakly, but still breathing!

"Yoichi... Yoichi..." She muttered and crawled towards him. Moving the boy to lie on his back, (Y/n) looked at his chest, only to find slow up and down movements.

"I can still save you. I need to bring you to our doctor!" (Y/n) gulped and put the boy on her back, slowly getting up and running into the forest again. Dread and desperation took over her whole form, realizing how far away their house from the village was.

"This is bad... I need to hurry up and bring him to the doctor... who did this?" (Y/n)'s thoughts were racing and she just wanted to bring Yoichi to a safe place.

'I can't lose him... I don't want to lose him...' She thought and started walking up a hill.

"Huh? Yoichi, are you awake?" (Y/n) asked, surprised when she felt the boy stir in her arms.

"Don't move Yoichi, I will get you to the village as fast as possible. Just relax-"

The girl got cut of as she heard the boy growl and his.

"Yoichi!-" The girl gasped as the boy started tugging on her hard enough to cause her to fall down the hill along with him.

"Thank God for the snow..." She groaned and sat up.

"Yoichi, why did you do that?" (Y/n) asked and looked at the boy, only to freeze in her spot when she looked at him. Yoichi was glaring at her, with eyes a far lighter shade of blue than they normally were. His wounds were completely gone, only leaving blood marks behind.

"Are those...fangs?!" She muttered in fear when she saw Yoichi's teeth.

'What happened?' Was the last thing she thought as Yoichi ran at her in full speed, tackling the girl to the ground. Quickly, (Y/n) put her hands on the boy's shoulders, holding him back from attacking her.

"Yoichi! Calm down! It's me, (Y/n)! Please come to your senses!" The boy stopped growling for a moment and blinked down at her.

"Please... I don't know what happened, but we can fix this." (Y/n) spoke a little more softly now, wanting to cry when she saw Yoichi's state. He looked so confused and... lost.

"I am sorry that I wasn't there to help you, but please... please calm down. I am sorry for all of this, please don't lose it." Yoichi blinked more and tears escaped his eyes, his grip on her shoulders got looser and (Y/n) sighed in relief, hoping he will turn to normal. Suddenly, Yoichi froze up in his spot and looked to his left, barring his teeth out again as a figure approached the two.

"What-" (Y/n) muttered as Yoichi grabbed her again and jumped a few meters away, growling at the newcomer.

"Who...who are you now?" (Y/n) gasped as she looked at a silver-haired man, who wore a weird black uniform and was holding a katana. The man looked at her for a moment and then at Yoichi, who tightened his grip around (Y/n).

'This is bad... the demon boy could attack her any moment if I don't act fast...' The man thought, keeping his stoic look as the girl asked him who he was, again.

"That demon... you know him?"

"Demon? No, this is my friend! I don't know what happened to him, but-"

"Idoit, your friend turned into a demon!" The man scolded as (Y/n) gulped, looking back at Yoichi.

'He couldn't... but that might explain this weird behavior...' She thought, cringing as he growled at the strange man again.

"I came here to kill him. Otherwise he might go on a killing spree in the village."

"Kill?! No, no you can't kill him! Yoichi would never hurt anyone! Please, give him a chance-"

"A demon is a demon!" The man yelled, his grip on the katana tightening.

"This isn't the Yoichi you used to know!"

"No, he is different! There is a way to turn him back into a human!" (Y/n) ripped herself out of Yoichi's hold and stood up, protecting the demon boy from the stranger.

"Please." She pleaded, walking closer the man.

'Aside from pleading I can't do much. He has a sword of all things!'

"You are being stupid. You want to risk more people's lives to get lost for him?! Demons can't become humans again." The man yelled, causing Yoichi to hiss and get up.

"Please! There has to be a way! I will find it!"

The man looked at her and then at Yoichi, sighing.

"Sorry, I can't help you. A demon will always be a demon." The man lifted up his hand and hit the girl on her neck, causing (Y/n) to fall unconscious to the ground. Yoichi gasped when he saw the girl's body hit the floor. The man looked back at him and readied his katana again.

"Sorry, boy." The man said, running to where Yoichi was. The boy sent him a glare and jumped away from the weapons,and ran to where (Y/n) was. The man was about to attack again, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Yoichi hug (Y/n) and then glared back at him.

'That boy... is he protecting her?' The man thought as he inspected Yoichi, not feeling the usual lust for blood coming out of him.

'He used up all his energy to transform into a demon and heal his wounds... yet he didn't try to eat her... is this Yoichi boy different?' The man raised his eyebrow, putting his katana away. Walking towards them, Yoichi hissed at him, but the man paid no mind and quickly knocked him out as well.

"Hmmm..." The man muttered and picked the two up, carrying them back home.

"(Y/n)...(Y/n)... wake up, please!" The girl looked in shock as her and Yoichi's moms were looking down at her. She was laying on the ground and resting her head on her mom's lap as the two women spoke up again.

"Wake up, Yoichi needs you."

"Mom... I... I don't know..."

"Yochan need you, (Y/n). Please help him." The other woman pleaded as the girl's vision turned blurry.

"Protect Yoichi, save him from that fate."

Gasping, the girl sat up from the snowy ground and frantically looked around, sighing in relief when she found Yoichi sleeping soundly next to her. She noted that he looked very normal, except for a bamboo strapped around his mouth.

"You are awake?" Turning away from Yoichi, (Y/n) looked at the man from before.

"Did you put this on him? And why are we back in my garden?" The girl asked, still a little tense.

"I had to bury your parents and couldn't leave you two alone in the forest. As for the bamboo, I put it on him because of the fangs."

Slowly nodding her head, she watched as the man sat in front of them.

"I won't hurt him, there might be something in this boy, Yoichi that makes him different from other demons." (Y/n) sighed in relief and patted the boy's head.

"You said you are willing to find a cure, right?"

"Yes! If there is a cure I am ready to do whatever I can to get it!" (Y/n) nodded her head quickly.

"Did you ever heat of Demon slayers? Or the corps?"

"No...to be honest, I didn't believe demons were real until today." (Y/n) admitted as the man nodded his head again.

"Our main job is killing demons and protecting humans from their harm. Not a lot of people know about us now, but we exist for centuries. I will make you a deal."

"What would that be?"

"You become my student and I will train you into becoming a demon slayer. You will have way more access to demons this way, and finding a cure for you friend."

(Y/n) stayed quiet for a moment, knowing that whatever she was getting into could kill her, but...

'Yoichi... I can't let him stay like this. I will save him, he was there for me my whole life.' (Y/n) thought, looking at the sleeping boy.

'I have nobody left but him...'

"Alright." She nodded her head as the man sighed, getting up from his spot on the ground.

"Travel north, across that mountain is my home. I will be waiting for you there. I have some business to attend to now." (Y/n) nodded as she got up, keeping an eye on the said mountain.

"Also, demons can die if sunlight hits them." The man warned.

"Thank you...sir?"

'I never asked for his name!' The girl thought.

"Noa...Noel Noa." He simply said before disappearing from her sight.

"So fast!" She said, amazed with the speed.

"Ngh..." looking down at Yoichi, (Y/n) watched as the boy slowly opened his eyes.

'Well... this is my new life...' The girl thought, trying to calm her ever-growing fear down.

Which breathing form would u all want Yn to have?

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi #alternative universe #isagi yoichi x reader #bllk bachira #reo mikage #chigiri hyoma #noel noa

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for wanting to spend a night out with a guy?

I'm twenty, study in university and still live with my parents. I've been planning to move out since I was eighteen, but they told me to keep living at home and not get a job so I could focus on studying while they take care of me financially. This arrangement has worked mostly well in the past years save for a few small conflicts, but it's escalated in the past 3-4 months.

The issue is my time schedule. I have a very active social life, am active in the local art scene, do political work and a lot of extracurricular stuff for university (I'm a straight A student, I might add!). Because of this, and because I'm a natural night owl, I usually come home late several days a week (between 10pm and 2am) and stay out all day for most of the week. This means I can't do a lot of chores, and usually there's a lot of housework because my mum has a bit of a cleaning anxiety and wants to make sure everything is spotless 24/7.

Enter this guy, I'll call him Tim. I met him at a festival last summer and we became long distance friends. Tim has visited me for a day several times before, but this weekend he offered to come over for two days and we agreed to spend the night stargazing together without sleeping. I loved the idea and immediately said yes. It was gonna be just us, a couple energy drinks, and some bench in the city center, and I was really looking forward to it.

The thing is, my mum does not like Tim. Like, at all. She thinks he seems very sleazy and generally distrusts him because he feels "too nice" for her. Mind you, he's just a somewhat shady looking guy who is generally pretty anxious he might make a bad impression, so he overperforms the whole "respectable member of society" act a bit around new people. I've introduced him to my friend group and even the more sceptical people absolutely love him and think he's a very sweet, helpful person. In basically every stressful situation I've ever seen him in he's been deescalating, protective and helpful, and he has on several occasions been my first source of comfort when things went to hell.

Today I told my mum in an offhanded comment that I won't come home between Sunday and Monday and the situation escalated completely. She was crying, accusing me of ruining her month, saying I didn't care about this family, it got ugly. The main point she had was that I was staying out all night with someone who's a total stranger to her and she doesn't trust him at all. In the end we compromised that Tim and I would spend the night awake, but not in the city, at home.

I feel really humiliated by this whole situation and honestly, kind of betrayed, because I was promised stuff like this wouldn't happen, and it just hits in a much safer situation than ones I've been in before (I used to get blackout drunk and sleep at parties a lot.). I'm a legal adult, have been for years now and it's so disappointing that my parents still treat me like a child sometimes and are so judgy towards my friends too. At the same time, I'm wondering whether I've acted wrong too by not telling her about this earlier and not taking her concerns that seriously. I forget sometimes that I talk to Tim every day for hours, but my parents only briefly ran into him once, so of course their view of him is skewed.

PS: I should add that when I told him about this, he immediately apologized, asked if I needed anything or wanted to change the plan and decided to dig out the least offensive outfit he could find so he'd make a good impression on my parents. So he's definitely trying his best.

#am i the asshole #aita

[tiddygame]

You give me goose bumps

(repost because Tumblr was being Funky on my end-- sorry!)

Ao3

Summary: Ghost sat there, trying to figure out how in the hell he had gotten himself into this situation: Lying on the floor of the safe house with a massive werewolf using him as a teddy bear. Honestly, the sequence of events wasn’t too complicated.

Tw: violence, nightmares, and a smidgen panic

It was a few days before a full moon and Ghost and Soap were on a simple, low-stakes mission. All they needed to do was find some flash drive in a building that had been abandoned. Ghost really didn’t even need to watch soap from his vantage point.

The mission was intentionally simple. Having a task force composed almost entirely of monsters did have its downsides. Every full moon, one of those disadvantages reared its ugly head.

In general, when it came to the werewolf side of things, Soap had a pretty good grasp on staying in control and not involuntarily shifting or going berserk. The amount of control he had over both forms was honestly impressive.

Full moons were a different story. In the days leading up to them, instincts always got a bit harder to defy and shifting at will would sometimes go out the window entirely. It’s why they were here, at an abandoned building. A low-energy mission to not trigger a shift, but something that needed to be done and a good outlet for pent-up energy at the very least.

Ghost watched from his perch outside as Soap methodically searched the building, occasionally catching glimpses of him through windows. Soap didn’t need his help, he was just watching the exits, making sure no one went in or out. That didn’t stop Soap from complaining to him the entire time.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“Is that your official assessment, sergeant?”

“Oh piss off, you’re outside in the middle of the day. I’m in this creepy shithole looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Focus, Mactavish.”

“I am! You might be different, but I can talk while doing something.”

Ghost didn’t grace that with a response.

“Any clue why they vacated?”

“Negative,” he tried not to think about how if it had been anyone else, he would’ve chewed them out for unprofessionalism three comments ago.

“They left in a hurry, some poor sod didn’t even finish his coffee,” it was said in a joking tone but Ghost could hear the genuine unease behind it.

“Just find the flash drive and get out. Sooner you’re done, the sooner we can leave,” he replied not unkindly, he might enjoy teasing the man but that didn’t mean he didn’t trust his instincts. If Soap felt like something was wrong, he’d take his word on it.

Ghost repositioned slightly, watching the floor Soap was on, looking in the windows through the scope. He was barely able to see his sergeant, just in view of the window. He saw when Soap stopped in the middle of the room, and turned in a circle, definitely looking for something but not a flash drive.

“Soap, sitrep. What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong,” he’d never seen his sergeant so spooked. He wanted to be angry, wanted to use his lieutenant voice to tell Soap to get a move on, but he couldn’t ignore the dread that was overwhelming him as well.

“Ghost, I don’t think we’re alone here,” well fucking Christ, did he have to say it as creepily as possible?

“Johnny—?” he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, whether to tell him to continue or to cut and run, but it didn’t matter. It took him a few moments to realize that the windows were slowly being covered by a black fog. He could see the wisps of smoke curling towards Johnny.

Soap noticed it too, “For fuck’s sake, I hate dealing with wraiths.”

Soap wasn’t too concerned, but Ghost was. He quickly abandoned his perch and booked it for the building. There wasn’t much a sniper could do against a cloud of smoke.

“I’m on my way, don’t die,” he hoped it went through but the way the radio was crackling didn’t fill him with hope.

“Aff—m—ve,” he was barely able to hear what he said, the radio now spewing a high-pitched ringing as if his tinnitus wasn’t already bad enough. He had to agree with Soap’s earlier comment, he hated dealing with wraiths.

If he didn’t already know the right floor, the unmistakable growl of a pissed wolf and loud crashes would have been a dead giveaway. He climbed through the stairwell as fast as he could. He burst through the door to the fourth floor, the open office space giving him a clear view of the confrontation.

His sergeant, obviously having shifted, in the corner, growling with his teeth bared. In front of him, a wraith stalking him, trying to find a weak point. It looked at him, deciding that between the two, Ghost would be the easier victim.

Ghost felt deep within him when the thing turned Its full attention to him. Wraiths were born of pure misery, torture, and dread, and they were intent on making everyone else suffer an even worse fate than they did. (For several, several years Ghost was convinced he was doomed to become one too, until a certain Scotsman entered his life, at least.) This one was strong, as It stared at him, he could feel all his happy memories turn necrotic.

The two of them stalked towards the other, Ghost’s boots stomping heavily on the ground and the wraith imitating him despite Its floating. It lunged, only becoming tangible when Its hands wrapped around his throat, trying to cut off his airway. As utter dread washed over him, he stabbed at the thing but it turned back to smoke before it could connect. They had entered a fatal tango, though It seemed to have forgotten that there was another involved.

With the wraith distracted, Soap pounced. The tricky thing with fighting wraiths was their ability to become intangible at will. Standard protocol for dealing with one involved lengthy planning and strategizing, wearing them out before—

Oh, good god, It was already dead.

Soap ripped the thing apart in the same way a dog would its favorite chew toy. He had the thing’s neck between his teeth and was shaking It back and forth, the wraith trying to claw at his snout. It was clinging to life until the final tendons gave way and Its body dropped with a heavy thud. Ghost couldn’t find it within himself to feel bad for the thing.

While Its body was now detached from Its neck, Soap still wasn’t done. He put one paw on the thing's head and kept going, not stopping until the wraith had been separated into three parts.

Soap grabbed the throat and happily trotted to Ghost, wanting him to put his hand out.

Uncomprehendingly, he did. Soap dropped it in his hand and barked, his tail excitedly wagging away.

He realized as it was nudged towards him that it was a gift. Soap had gifted him the throat of the creature that tried to kill him. He really couldn’t tell if that meant he was lost in his instincts or if it was Soap being Soap.

“Thanks,” he was touched either way.

The werewolf barked and spun in a circle, having too much energy for such a large thing in such a small space.

“Let’s find that flash drive and get out of here,” Ghost had to fight to keep the baby talk tone he normally used when talking to dogs out of his voice. Werewolves weren’t domesticated dogs and it was beyond rude to treat them as such, regardless of which form they were in or how far in their instincts they were. Still, Ghost couldn’t help but compare the way Soap was jumping around to that of a puppy that didn’t know its size. He was far from an expert in them but he knew Soap was rather large for a werewolf; it was a miracle he fit through the hallways.

They went on to clear the building, eventually finding what they were after a few floors above where the wraith had attacked. Ghost still didn’t know what to do with the esophagus he had been given, so he just… held on to it. What was werewolf etiquette for being gifted a body part?

He remembered the whole thing with cats bringing their owners dead animals because they thought that their owners couldn’t hunt and internally groaned. Please, please, please do not tell him he is expected to eat this?

He hadn’t wanted to set it down because if Soap was in control and had knowingly given it to him, that would just be a dick move. And really, the same applied for if he was lost in his instincts, it would still be mean to simply toss it aside. Maybe he was just overthinking this.

Can you overthink being given the throat of your enemy? It seems like it might be one of those things that you can only under-think.

His pondering was interrupted by Soap stopping and sniffing the air. He let out a rumbling growl, sniffed once more, and then began herding Ghost to the exit. He wanted to ask what was wrong but it wasn’t like the wolf would’ve been able to answer. Regardless, just like his instincts earlier, Ghost knew to trust Soap’s senses.

As they made their way to the ground floor, he could hear engines in the distance.

“Ah, shit…” Why now did they have to return to reclaim their stupid building?

He looked around the perimeter and saw an abandoned truck near the fence. Ghost got Soap’s attention and gestured to the vehicle, both running for it.

When the door didn’t open, he didn’t hesitate to smash in the window. As he hotwired the car, Soap started pacing back and forth, clearly unhappy at the fact that he wasn’t able to help in some way. When the werewolf heard the engine start, he perked up and ran towards the driver’s door, spinning in circles.

Ghost stepped to the side, wanting to let him in before he got behind the wheel. There was shouting coming from in front of them, some poor guard trying to get their attention who likely didn’t realize he was staring at the people who just stole incredibly valuable information right out from underneath their noses.

The guy, somehow not noticing the werewolf, approached, talking about how Ghost shouldn’t have access to the truck. He had the advantage, already holding his gun. They needed a distraction.

Some men stormed out of the exit of the building they had just fled through, gesturing wildly with their hands, shouting, “Something already killed the wraith!”

When eyes turned to the truck, Ghost had already gotten in and put it in drive.

If the guard hadn’t realized earlier, then it probably dawned on him as he had to jump out of the way to avoid getting run over. Some others tried to stop him, but there was a reason Ghost never got a driver’s license. He had spotted a locked chain link fence gate that looked just right for their grand escape and floored it. He laughed at their panic when they realized he wasn’t slowing down but tried not to be disappointed by the lack of sudden speed bumps. Soap had his fun earlier, why can’t Ghost have his?

They cleared the gate with ease and were speeding down old, back country roads in no time. Soap had moved to the backseat (the front being nowhere near big enough for him) and pawed at the window. Ghost, still riding the high of almost running people over, chuckled and let down the window, looking in the rearview mirror as Soap stuck his head out.

Knowing him, he was probably still mostly there and was enjoying having an excuse to be even stupider than usual. Ghost tried not to watch him, but he was happy to see his sergeant so happy. Besides, he’d seen enough shifts gone wrong to know that they were lucky he was still in such high spirits after a fear-induced shift.

He felt something by his foot and glanced down at the floorboard, seeing the throat still sitting there from where he had dropped it to hotwire the car. Huh. Seriously, what in the ever-loving fuck are you supposed to do in this situation?!

When he could safely say that no one was chasing them, he pulled over and got out, Soap following, running around to get out energy that was still pent up. He radioed Price, updating him on the situation. Luckily, there was a safe house nearby. Unluckily, it was a shithole.

It looked like the military saw a house going into foreclosure, bought it, then left it to rot. Even from the outside, he could see that the roof looked one more storm away from collapse and the windows had been boarded up with plywood. The only thing keeping the walls up was the structural support from how much vegetation covered the outside. How homely.

The front door wasn’t even big enough for Soap to fit, they had to go around and find a sliding back door that opened wider (he didn’t chuckle at the fact that the front door was too small for the behemoth of a werewolf, definitely not.) It didn’t take long to clear the house, the only hostile he found was some mold growing in the corner that could probably start another strand of the bubonic plague.

Ghost went back to the main room and picked through their MREs, preparing them while Soap sniffed every nook and cranny of the house. The novelty of such a large thing in such a small area had yet to wear off, and he still silently laughed at Soap having to squeeze through the doors. The wolf continually let out annoyed huffs and Ghost knew that if he still had human vocal chords, he would be prattling on and on about how stupid the door frames were.

Once Soap had checked the house himself, he made his way back and shoved his snout in Ghost’s way, both to see what he was doing and to be a nuisance. Ghost laughed and shoved his face away, knowing Soap was about to start a campaign to make sure the lieutenant wouldn’t be able to prepare their dinner in peace.

His left hand being designated as the ‘shove Soap away’ hand, he was able to continue setting up the heating element one-handed. At some point, Ghost stopped pulling his hand away and left it on his forehead, pushing as needed. And, because Ghost’s main talent is ruining things, it evolved into his left hand scratching Soap’s ears, apparently having forgotten the most basic rule when interacting with werewolves.

“If you wouldn’t do it to a human, don’t do it to them. You wouldn’t walk up to a stranger and start petting their head, would you?”

Ghost stopped and pulled his hand away, muttering an embarrassed apology that wouldn’t come close to making up for treating his sergeant like some random street dog. Throughout the petting, Soap’s head had dropped low, likely having feared retaliation if he protested the ministrations and just deciding to grin and bear it.

Soap growled, shoving his head towards his chest.

“I know, I shouldn’t have done that. It was just…,” just what? Instinct to dehumanize the person who just saved your life?

“Just… nothing. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

This time Soap whined and dropped his head in Ghost’s lap, staring up at him sadly.

“I know,” this time even quieter, “I’m sorry.”

By some saving grace, the MREs were ready. He set Soap’s next to him before subtly inching away, not wanting to force the poor man to eat next to him.

Soap huffed and nudged his food closer to Ghost before plopping down practically on top of the man and digging in. Ghost was frozen for a second, staring at his sergeant, before he too relaxed and began eating. It didn’t take long for them to finish up, both inhaling their food as fast as they could. Soap doing so from the increased appetite brought on by shifting, and Ghost hoping that he wouldn’t have to taste whatever the military considered edible.

Within no time Soap was stretching and yawning while Ghost situated himself at the window.

“I’ll take watch while you sleep,” he didn’t even bother trying to lie and pretend that he would wake Soap up to take shifts. No human vocal cords meant no arguing. He got comfortable, moving the curtains to just the right angle for him to see out while keeping the view from outside obscured.

Something was tugging his sleeve. Maybe the werewolf was further in his instincts than he thought.

When he looked, as expected, he saw Soap trying to gently pull him away. Ghost chuckled again, Soap always had to be careful watching his strength when shifted. He pulled his hand back and went to ruffle Soap’s ears before aborting the motion short. He’s not making that mistake again.

“Go to sleep, I know you’re tired from shifting. I’m the one that can still operate a gun.”

Soap growled. Ghost rolled his eyes and turned back to the window, “Go to sleep, sergeant.”

Soap backed away and, for a foolish second, Ghost thought that was it, that he had won.

He tried to lean back against the window frame but his shoulder wasn��t even able to make contact with the wall before something was latching onto his wrist, pulling him towards the corner that their bedrolls had been tossed to.

“Mactavish, that is enough,” he put as much authority in his voice as he could while being yanked around by a very stubborn werewolf. Ghost tried to pull his arm away but, unlike before, Soap’s grip tightened. It wasn’t enough to hurt, at least, so long as he went with Soap it wasn’t.

Soap growled. Just like the grip, before it had been playful, but not now. Ghost went with him, mostly out of shock. It was the first time the wolf’s ire had been directed towards him.

As he was shoved towards the makeshift bed, he gave in, “Alright, alright, I fucking get it.”

He laid down but didn’t remove any of his gear, as soon as Soap was asleep, he would be taking point at the window.

To his great frustration, Soap already seemed to know his plan and was biting at his tac vest. If Soap was far in his instincts, how would he know why Ghost kept his gear on? Was Soap, of sound body and mind, actually throwing a tantrum over who took watch?

“For Fuck’s sake, sergeant. Pull yourself together,” even as he said it he gave in to the repeated nips and growls and removed most of his gear, save for a gun holster and a few knives.

Soap seemed pleased and pushed his head into Ghost's chest to make him lie down again. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling, knowing he wasn’t exhausted enough for sleep’s mercy to grace him. It was bad enough on base, but on missions, his inability to sleep was somehow worse.

His misery was interrupted by something walking in front of him.

“What the hell was the point of making me lie down if you’re not going to watch either?”

Soap didn’t answer, just turned in circles getting ready to lie down. Until he saw Ghost moving to get up. Then he switched gears and dropped himself on top of him so he couldn’t get up and paid no mind to his gasping.

“Johnny, you-,” he shoved at the wolf and let out a wheezy breath, “you heavy bastard, move.”

Soap did no such thing and stared down at him from a sharp angle, noses less than two inches apart. As Ghost got used to the weight, he was able to breathe fully, finding most of Soap’s weight was dispersed enough that he wouldn’t be dying of crush syndrome anytime soon.

He also knew he wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon.

Ghost sighed to the best of his ability and reached for his radio.

Soap, as expected, growled.

“I’m just grabbing my radio to tell Price we aren’t dead. Is that alright with you?” the sarcasm in his tone was heavy but Soap just huffed and dropped his head back on (and completely covering) Ghost’s chest.

Price is a traitor and he revokes any positive comment he has ever made in regards to the captain. When Ghost informed him of his predicament and the fact that Soap had trapped his superior officer, the cruel bastard just laughed.

Price told him that Soap would hear someone before Ghost could see them with a scope and that he should enjoy the break and sleep. When he complained more, Price had the audacity to wrinkle paper and tell him the signal was dropping. Bastard.

He dropped his radio on the floor and readjusted himself. Chances were, he’d still be able to shrug off Soap once he fell asleep, it would just be a bit more difficult. Johnny was leaning into him and somehow managed to snuggle closer.

/\/\/\/\/\

Simon awoke with phantom images of blood on the carpet and the echoing of screams ringing in his ears.

He was still lying there, trapped underneath his sergeant who he seemed to have woken up with his sudden panic. Thankfully, the wolf moved and let him sit up, still trying to parse through his memories (real, fabricated, and embellished) and unable to get his breathing under control.

Something was tugging his sleeve.

He couldn’t see much beyond his blood-stained hands but recognized the sensation of fur under his fingers as he grieved once again. How many fucking times would he have to go through this? He pushed himself so his back was to the wall and closed his eyes.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

And yet they're still dead, aren’t they?

There was a weight in his lap. It was something heavy. He felt it and felt the same fur from before. He clenched his eyes tighter and tried desperately to breathe. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8.

He lifted his hand, feeling like he had to rip out his hair, but Johnny noticed and rooted around, getting his nose under Ghost’s hand. Ghost moved his hand away but Soap just shoved his head back under it. Simon began very hesitantly scratching his ears. In for 6, hold for 9, out for 10.

He allowed himself to relax, if only slightly, and even brought his other hand up to scratch his other ear. Simon buried his head in the fur in front of him. In for 8, hold for 11, out for 12.

Simon cried. He hated doing it, especially in front of others, but he could hear Johnny admonishing him, telling him that crying was healthy, that it was just as necessary as laughter. He always hated the weakness and vulnerability it brought, hated the idea of people knowing he was upset, but Johnny was always the exception, wasn’t he?

After an embarrassing amount of time, he leaned back and wiped his eyes. He saw Johnny’s head resting in his lap, stupidly blue eyes watching him with care. The rest of the room eventually made its way in, light trickling in through cracks in the roof and an early morning chill settling around them. Later, it would likely be so hot that the ice of hypothermia felt desirable, but as for now, Simon shivered.

Johnny wormed closer and curled around him. Unlike last night when it was meant to make sure he would stay down, this time it was to make sure as much of him was covered as possible. Simon felt bad for forcing Johnny into the role of service dog and weighted blanket, but Johnny’s not-quite-snores were rather helpful in assuring him that the wolf enjoyed their current position as much as he did.

Simon continued scratching his ears and muttered a quiet, “Thank you.”

Johnny huffed happily and nuzzled closer.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #soap x ghost #werewolf au #werewolf!soap #my writing

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Fall Drabbles, Day 6

prompt: beanie

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt takes an interest in your knitting.

warnings: swearing, sweet fluff as always

a/n: This one is all over the place because I'm thinking through a new fic for later this year, but it's still cute (I think). Hope you all enjoy!

w/c: <1k

“Let the marathon commence!” Foggy exclaimed, turning out the lights with a malicious laugh, before immediately lighting a few candles (that he claimed were for “the vibe”, but you were pretty sure it was because he was too chicken to sit in the dark while watching scary movies.)

Tilting your head towards Matt, you shook your head ”Remind me how the two of us got roped into a movie marathon?” 

Though you and Foggy got along really well, your interests aligned more closely with Matt's. Whether that was because you'd known the blind lawyer since he was picking fights at St. Agnes, or because you were an introvert who preferred a good book to the cheesy special effects of Foggy's favorite films, it was unclear. Yet here you were, planted comfortably next to Matt on Foggy's worn out couch, about to work your way through his top five scary movies. 

While you had little interest in the activity, you had no idea why Matt had signed up to take part in it. Not only were movies not something he regularly indulged in, for obvious reasons, but he had previously admitted to you that horror movies were some of his least favorite because all of the jump scares were ruined by the audio descriptions. 

Shifting so that his shoulder pressed up against yours, Matt chuckled. “Because Fog asked us to, and we would do just about anything for him.”

You grumbled in dejected acceptance, unzipping the large pocket of your bag and pulling out your crafting supplies. 

“Woah, what's all that?” Foggy wondered aloud as he sat on Matt's other side.

“Knitting stuff,” You shrugged, unspooling the color you were holding and threading the giant needles. “I'm behind on Christmas gifts.”

“I don't know what I want to know more about: the fact that you're handmaking holiday gifts or that October 6th is considered 'behind' schedule.“ Matt scoffed, tucking an arm over your legs as you threw them across his lap to start knitting.

“I make winter hats for my young cousins and the members of my aunt's assisted living facility. They usually appreciate them and I like having something to do with my hands.” You shrugged, explaining the tradition indifferently. 

“That's really nice!” Foggy smiled, elbowing Matt in the ribs. “You should make some for us.” 

Matt rolled his eyes, “Fog, it sounds like she's got her work cut out for her without us adding to it. Besides, you already have a stack of very ugly hats from your late grandmother.” Turning his attention back towards you, he grinned, “'Have you seen the one with the giant flower attached to it?”

Smiling roguishly, you looked expectantly at the blushing blond, “No I have not. Foggy, care to model that one for me?” 

“Ok, FIRST of all,” Foggy glared at his business partner, “Things that you see when I am drunk off my ass in college should be kept in confidence. Secondly, she had dementia and forgot that I was 19. And a boy.” 

“What, boys can't like flowers?” You asked with mock offense, biting the inside of your lip to keep from giggling at Foggy's evident frustration.

“I WASN'T SAYING THAT!” He spluttered, “I was just explaining why I own that hat.” 

“Don't worry, Fog. We won't tell anyone you're a bigot.” Matt smirked.

Foggy huffed as you laughed openly. “Whatever. Next time, I'll watch these on my own.”

“No you won't.” You giggled. 

Stony face breaking into a toothy grin, Foggy agreed. “No I won't.”

While you were definitely paying more attention to the movement of your darning needles than the characters on the screen, you were enjoying yourself. Foggy's eyes were glued to the screen, still flinching at every jumpscare despite the automated verbal warnings. Matt was alternating between laughing at his friend's reactions and listening to the movie, all the while running his fingers over the feather soft yarn you were working with. 

Usually, knit products bothered his skin—the wool or polyester blends scratching at every available nerve with vigor—but this material was downy and comforting. He wondered if the recipients of your painstakingly crafted gifts were as appreciative as you deserved. It was unlikely.

The quiet, consistent clicks of your needles were soothing, slowly lulling him to sleep. His eyelids must have been drooping noticeably because you adjusted your position to allow his head to pillow on your shoulder. Inhaling deeply, he tuned out the movie—choosing instead to focus on the lullaby composed by your steady pulse and kind hands. 

A few weeks later, Matt was returning to his office after running an errand for a client. It was just as he left it, save for the paper box tied with a ribbon sitting in the middle of his desk. 

“Fog, what’s this?” He called across the empty space. 

“A gift for you from a special someone!” The response he received did not answer his question. 

Unraveling the bow cautiously, Matt slid the top off the box and ran his hands around the contents inside. It was a hat, woven together with strands of that marvelous yarn you’d been working with. 

“Fog,” He called to his partner, who had followed his curiosity straight into Matt’s office. “Did she make me a hat?”

“Looks that way,” Foggy chuckled, stroking the delicate material. “It’s…beautiful. Deep red, like your suit.”

“Oh,” Matt’s voice was strangled with emotion. 

“Still think your feelings aren’t reciprocated?” Foggy asked coyly. 

“Shut up,” Matt murmured, clenching the heartfelt gesture in his hands.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #marvel #matt murdock x you #charlie cox #matt murdock fanfic #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock fanart #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock my beloved #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #marvel daredevil #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fic #daredevil mcu #daredevil netflix #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #netflix daredevil #my writing #mm #fall prompts 2023

[nyx-is-missing]

SUNSET PART 2

Or a pretty bad doctor

Clarisse La Rue x Cassandra De Young (oc! Apollo's kid)

Summary: Clarisse is going to colect her dept, by treating her wounds with a very bad doctor. Or the one when Clarisse likes to taunt people.

Warnings: that time when you actually stop to think about your own life, mentions (one) of blood, confident Clarisse (she likes to taunt pretty girls, even when they are bad doctors)

(We actually get a clarisse pov today!)

Part 1 is here!

There were exactly seven demigods in the Apollo's cabin this afternoon.

An absurdly low number for a summer everyday, but considering im early, this must be common.

I've never seen camp so empty, its feels like another reality if im being honest, nobody saw when me and Clarisse walked in togheter, nor when she walked with me to the front of my cabin, and dropped the suitcases on the grass and started to walk towards her own cabin.

"Hey Clarisse! ....thank you! I wouldnt have made it withou-" she turned her head to me

"You owe me, dont forget that."

Like she would allow me to, why children of Ares got no patience? Or like, actually willingness to be sociable? They cant act like that with everybody, can they?

This was the first time i actually got space in this cabin, as well as the first time i could pick my own bed and place all my things calmly, is this how castor and pollux live everyday? Lucky them.

I mean, i love my siblings, but we are too many to such limited space.

And as much as that does leads us to somewhat funny situations, we are still too many, with too few bathrooms and mirrors.

Being like this allowed us to breathe, and think slowly, as if a person who lived his whole life in the busy city moved to a town who was mostly farm.

And that was when i started to miss the mess my siblings made when we were all togheter, when i actually had time to stop and think.

I cant even imagine the things my grandpa is saying about me, how he must be trying to poison the family against ourselves, he does that even when the smallest things dont go his way, and right now, the whole family must think of me as if i am Queen Mary I, and they are the protestants im trying to burn alive.

I didnt go to dinner that night, nor to the campfire, i wouldnt manage to eat without feeling dizzy after, and i was sure i was not in the mood for singing that night.

I just showered, put my pajamas on, grabbed a book, layed on my bed and hoped that time ran faster.

Coming to camp earlier had its benefits, at least to me, pick the bed, be aware of any new faces earlier, train more (with people who could actually be named opponents, wich just meant they had better sense of combat than a inflatable doll from a gas station) and of course, run away from insufferable family members who i had to face for nine months, to see more insfferable family members who i'll still have to face for three months.

Funny.

I just wouldnt expect to see her there too.

She always likes to spend some days of her rich girl summer life in her family's yatch, or shopping..not that i keep track of her life, i know very little, but i do know that she likes to get to camp when its already messy, people all around, shooting arrows, swimming, painting, fighting, singing and all, but this year she was here early and with a strange look on her face.

It was just..weird.

I didnt felt right.

But what surprised me the most was she asking for my help, and being in dept with me.

She didnt even looked at me in a normal day.

I think there is something to do with her family, they look at me, almost always with a ugly face, and then they keep her away from me.

So, she speaking to me was a surprise.

But to be honest, if i hadnt saw her earlier, i wouldnt even know she was here, i mean, she didnt left her cabin all...not that i kept track of that, but still, unsual, especially for a Apollo kid, they always love to be out and about under the sun.

But then, the whole afternoon? Nothing

Dinner? Nothing

Campfire? Nothing

At night when i went to practice a bit more with my sword? Nothing

She better not have run away, because she is still in dept with me, and im going to collect it right now.

It was late, but the cabin still had a small light coming from inside.

Strange, all of the cabins had their lights out, they were sleeping.

I knocked on the door, waited and knocked again, after a few seconds a sleepy Cassandra oppened the door, rubbing her eyes and taking a few seconds to realize what was happening.

Then she looked down, and saw me holding my own arm to stop the blood.

"Already?" She looked at me again, and started to tie her hair up, it always amazed me how in every situation she was her.

If people didnt knew she was a demigodess, they would probably think she never even stepped in earth ground, that she never had to share, or suffered any problems at all, her family raised her to be little miss perfect, and little miss perfect she was, even when what she was wearing looked like it came straight out of a beach party, she made it look like designer clothes, she looked expensive, always.

"You said whenever, today is whenever too" i said, walking in when she stepped aside to give me space to enter. "Wait, where are your siblings?"

"We were only in seven today, and since the camp is empty, they are probably sleeping with their friends, or boyfriend and girlfriends." She looked around, probably for a first aid kid.

"What about you? Nobody invited little miss magazine cover for a sleepover?" She grabs a kit and sits at one bed, starring at me...oh right, i sit down by her side.

"Im not in the mood for that tonight, Clarisse"

"Based of the fact you are still fully d-"

She stomped her feet on the ground

"Do you always have to be like this? Thats why my family wont let me talk to you! Im not in the mood for jokes, for sleepovers and specially for us to keep stinging each other" she oppened a little alcohol bottle, to clean the wounds i think.

"Oh they wont let you? so you wanted to? That-AH WHY?" I screamed when she just poured the alcohol straight into the cut

"Okay that didnt hurt....a lot, youre being dramatic, also, enough of that talk" she said while cleaning my cuts with a piece of cotton. "Now, we dont have nectar or ambrosia in here, and going to the infirmary is to risky..but you have small cuts, i think this will do....dontfinditweird... please"

"Why would i find it weir-" i was cut mid sentence by her giving a small kiss in my arm, and starting to bandage me right away, though i did saw some of my cuts getting better. "Im sorry, you do that since when?"

"Its..been a time, i just never used it because, you know, going around kissing random demigod's wounds would be, weird and unhygienic" she holded a finger up, and then a second, as if counting the reasons. "But hey, you are all set, and you should go, before anyone notices the lights on"

"Hey they were on before i even came in" i got up, and so did she, gathering all the used stuff and throwing them in the bin by the side of the bed.

"True, i was reading before, and fell asleep...i guess thank you... in a certain way, if you hadnt came here they would stay on the whole night and the chance of my siblings getting caught being out of the cabin was huge.." i looked around, "The song of Achilles" was it was half open on one of the beds.

"Greek myth retelling?" I ask walking towards the door, she just hums in agreement.

"A pretty good book, you should try to read it...i dont know if you like books very much but.. yeah"

"Maybe, tell me when you finish it, ill see if im in the mood for it" i open the door and put a step outside, but before i trully left i said "You are a pretty bad doctor, you know? Not even treating all the wounds, my lips are also cut" i watched her face go from confusion to realization in a second

"Clarisse! you-"

I slammed the door.

#lesbian #fanfic #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #pjo series #pjo tv show #clarisse la rue x oc

[divinenanny]

Feedback Fest 2024: The Nanny recs!

It's International Fanworks Day today, and @transformativeworks is asking for fic recs! (for more information check out their post!)

The Nanny is a very small fandom, I have 1872 fics (from all sites, including RUNHP via the Internet Archive) in total, and just 407 of those are on AO3 (including crossovers in which The Nanny is not the main fandom).

But despite being a small fandom we are and have been blessed with amazing writers. I have had trouble limiting my recs to just 10. My recs cover both CC/Niles and CC/Fran as ships, most are rated E/M so check the rating if you care about those things. In no particular order:

what would you do (if they never found us out) (affectionately known as wwyd) by @groovebunker - CC/Fran - In Progress - CC and Fran cannot keep their hands off each other, starting with being locked in the wine cellar. They're together and figuring this relationship out. The writing is amazing, the characterization spot on and @groovebunker introduced and convinced me of CC/Fran as a valid ship and I am forever grateful to them.

i like you (a latke) also by @groovebunker (I recommend everything by them but want to highlight these two) - CC/Fran - Fake dating and a hanukah party at Sylvia's. So sweet. So comforting. So lovely.

Christmas Special by @7billionneedles - CC/Niles - An amazing advent project, publishing a chapter a day in December 2023. They are at least 60% responsible for getting me through that month. Also fake dating, a little mystery, a little adventure and so much fluffy loveliness. And long, I love long. It was great reading this a chapter a day, and rereading it was even better.

The Hell Of It by @7billionneedles - CC/Niles (ish) - Major Character Death - MCD is not my jam. But this one. This one. It is so beautifully heartbreaking. Making me cry ugly tears in just 1259 words. If you can handle MCD, read this one. Now.

With Luck Like That by @tayryn/Tayryns_tower (restricted) - CC/Niles - Niles accompanies CC to a weekend away to woo some backers, and instead they woo each other. All kinds of shenanigans, lots of spice, but also romance and fluff. A great comfort read.

In Vino Veritas by @seariderfalcon - CC/Niles - The summary covers it: Blame it on the alcohol. Six times Niles and C.C. let liquor loosen their inhibitions and one time they didn't need it. Many lovely kisses, eventually matching up with canon (yay, Dummy Twins).

How Will I know (If She Really Loves Me)? by @enchantedslothh - CC/Fran - In Progress - CC meets Fran in Flushing the day Fran is fired from the bridal shop. Fran goes to work for the Sheffields, and the story pretty much follows canon, but it is CC and Fran starting a relationship (and CC is a lot quicker than Maxwell). It is lovely to see canon through this lens.

vignettes from the kitchen (and the couch) by @itsfantasticallyhomoerotic/iffoundreturntomissbabcock - CC/Fran - CC and Fran decide to fake date to make Maxwell jealous. Well, that never back-fired in the history of (fan-) fiction ever :D

Life As We Knew It by Aninsomniac1999 - CC/Niles - Lots angst, dating other people, not admitting that they belong together.

normal days on upper east side by uppereastsidegirl - CC/Niles - In Progress - Lots of scenes between CC and Niles, during canon. Great to see them in the spotlight. This fic is translated, so does have some grammar/spelling issues, but it is worth it.

Special mentions I couldn't fit in anymore: it's all there in black and white by @groovebunker (CC/Fran journalist AU, in progress), Enemies With Privileges by @7billionneedles (CC/Niles, during canon)

Also, if you want, you can check out my own fics on AO3 (all CC/Niles).

#feedback fest #ifd2024 #fanfic recs #fic recs #the nanny #cc x niles #cc x fran #cc babcock #niles the butler #fran fine #ccbds #cc babcock defense squad

[imperatriceauxdiamants]

What’s your ideal self like (if you’re not her already)?

I believe I'm at a point where I'm already pretty satisfied of myself, I'm at that "click" place. It took several years to get to that point.

Tea time every morning, I start off my day with a good tea, at least one hour to just drink and read a book. And I mean, not awful bagged tea (some brands out there are okay actually, but you gotta find them)

Healthy meals that I actually enjoy, every meal. Sometimes I indulge but with friends. At home, I mostly cook myself some healthy homey meals that I actually enjoy.

Knowledgable and fluent in several languages (currently learning my third). It is still an ongoing process, I think my end goal is to make it four languages. (French, English, German, Japanese)

I am very tidy in everything I do, I budget consciously, everything is steamlined, there's 0 stress in my daily life which leaves me more mental space to focus on what actually matters.

JOURNALING! Now I'm so much more able to refuse, to express boundaries, to reflect and apply the smartest solutions, I'm so much more posed, poised, just because I take time to reassert myself on a daily, almost bidaily basis.

A few years back, I wanted my ideal self to be this educated babe, and to be honest, I think I'm there where I wanted to be. I am pretty versed in several unconnected domains (science, medecine, computer science, languages, arts), and I've realized I went the whole Renaissance woman route without realizing it.

Body wise I'm very satisfied of my body, and I've gotten over my past self-confidence issues and saw me for who I was, and damn girl, I'm sure lot of us think we're meh/ugly but we actually are pretty! A ton of women are actually cuties 🥰.

I've started travelling this year, which was something I always wanted to do, but I'm still waiting on my passport (it's being processed!). Next year I'm going to France with my mother, and Hawaii with some friends (Still not certain!). In 2025, I'm going to Japan for a long stay with my new partner, for at least 3 months

I've learned that instead of constantly seeing work to do in myself, it is more productive to first assert where I was at, congratulate myself for getting there, then from there, determine the next steps to a higher self. The steps therefore seem much more doable.

#personal #ask

[sneezypeasy]

*sigh*

Y'know, this really doesn't/shouldn't matter, but as this particular accusation keeps getting thrown at me over and over again - oh fuck it, I'm gonna take the bait this one time and set the record straight once and for all. Honestly my "appetite" in this context is truly not anyone's business (and if you don't care to hear about it this is the one warning you'll get to click away lmao) but I've reached the point where if you really wanna attack my credibility based on who you think I enjoy fantasizing about, I'm gonna throw you a bone and tell you exactly what type that is - cuz as much as I'm sick of the ad hominem attacks the Aussie in me is even more sick of watching them miss so fucking hard. If you're gonna roast me, the least you can do is hit me where it hurts, goddamn it. Get it right or go home you uncooked noodles. Capiche?

When it comes to my taste in men, my "type" is: big, strong, hairy brutes. There, I said it. Give me lumberjacks, give me cavemen, I want my Jason Momoas, I want my Ma Dong-Seoks, I want them broad shoulders and tree-trunk calves and I wanna see those muscles bulge. If a fictional character ever gets me biting my lip at the screen, it's never gonna be a fine-featured pretty boy, it's gonna be a good thick daddy who can take my wrists, pin me against a wall and [--------------------------------‐---sustained bleep sound effect---------------------------------]

1:38-1:51 🤣

Personality wise, I'm a basic bitch who has approximately zero defenses for the "jerk with a heart of gold" stereotype. Gets me every time, without fail. The smooth-talking playboy who flirts with everyone and who could bed anyone he wanted, but who only lets you see him at his deepest, dearest, most vulnerable moments? Sorry, am I supposed to not fall for that shit or something? Well frankly I don't understand how and I'm not ashamed to admit it. If he happens to be built like a fortress on top of that? Yeah, I'm done. Have me bathed and brought to your tent, sir, please and thank you.

I admit, it's rare that a character with the physique I like also has that heartbreaker personality I'm a sucker for. Guys in fiction are usually strong and mean or they make up for their lighter frames with silver tongues and barbed promises - rarely do writers create a character who's stacked with both brains and brawn, so to speak. Makes sense though, as while irl people can max out any combination of stats that they put effort towards - in fiction a character who's too good at too many different attributes can come across unbalanced or Gary Stu-ish and will fail to resonate with audiences unless the writer really knows what they're doing.

That being said, there really isn't any character in ATLA who fits my type - either of them, actually. There are some bit characters like Chit Sang who get close in terms of physical build - but Chit Sang has very gaunt, angular facial features that I'm really not a fan of and tbh, while I get that I can't expect all my big buff boys to also be masters of wit and cunning and charm, being dumber than a box of rocks does seal it for me, sorry. In terms of personality, I guess the closest character would be Jet, and he's cool and all but yeah, the whole "would go as far as killing kids" thing makes him a bit of a hard sell for me too. (And yes, it's worth questioning the writers' choices to create him with those flaws to begin with but look, that's a discussion for another day 😂)

All this to say, if you wanna tease me about coveting fictional characters and allowing thirst to cloud my judgment - COME AT ME BOYS. But not with Zuko, for fuck's sake. The character that makes sneezy.exe blue-screen ain't him. It's actually the late great Carthaginian General Hannibal Barca, the man the myth the legend may he Rest in Peace if anyone's seriously wondering. Look, I do like the scar, and the awkwardness is endearing - he's definitely not ugly or unappealing by any means so please don't misunderstand, I'm not trying to bash him or nothin' - but if I'm being brutally honest, he's not my type! Not physically, not even emotionally. If I ship Zutara, it's because aspects of the ship appeal to me that are unrelated to my personal opinion of Zuko as an object of fantasy, which if you must know (and now you do, congratulations, you're welcome), the kind of boy I do fantasise about when I'm in the mood for that sort of thing could literally and figuratively sweep Zuko off his feet - and then sit on him. In either order.

P.S. While we're on this topic, the character I personally relate to most heavily is not Katara either btw. It's Toph. If you're going to accuse me of bias, questioning my views on Toph would make the most sense for that reason. But really, it's hardly my fault that she's basically the most perfect flawless irreproachable badass in ATLA or practically all of animation as a whole. Come on now. *whistles innocently*

#anti anti zutara #fandom nonsense #zuko's nice and all but if you want him you can have him #seriously #I'm good thanks 👍 #if he were built more like the Hound in GOT #well now we're talking 🤣 #text post #long post #rebutting antis like Iroh teaching that mugger to mug better #LOL #Youtube

[hayleyarts]

Darkness

*Author's note: This is a blurb I literally just threw up on a page. Bear with me for any spelling mistakes. And honestly, this could technically be a Spencer x Reader, however it's mainly just a blurb. Also! I was listening to Lewis Calpaldi's cover of when the party's over while writing this so I highly recommend you listen. It's VERY good*

Darkness. That’s what happens when you die. At least that’s what happened to me when I took the final burning breath; my lungs filling with water and other lake debris. Drowning isn’t how I thought I would die, considering my profession; I figured a stray bullet would take me out. But here I am, sinking slowly to the bottom of a lake in the middle of nowhere. Drowning almost seems peaceful, in a way. Once the final burn of water leaves, you drift. It’s a comfortable type of drifting. 

When my day started this morning, I didn’t think it’d end this way. The team and I were working on a case in Oak Creek Wisconsin. It was your typical case, bodies of young women were washing up on the shore of Lake Michigan. The M.O, however, wasn't drowning. All these women died from blunt-force trauma and then dumped in the lake. We figured the Unsub lived near the lake in some capacity because he was comfortable there. But we also knew that he wasn’t confident; he snuck up on these women. He either was too shy, or felt like he was too ugly to talk to them. Regardless, this case felt pretty cut and dry; especially when Garcia found his information quickly once we narrowed-down the suspect pool and we quickly went to pursue him at his remote cabin on the lake. 

We broke into two groups; Hotch, J.J, and Emily taking the front while Rossi, Morgan, Spencer and I took the back. Morgan leads the charge in the back as we clear rooms; calling out as we do so. Eventually we cleared the whole cabin, the Unsub nowhere to be found. Spencer and I decide to move out and search further into the backyard. If it were different circumstances, I’d say the view of the lake was beautiful. Aside from the garbage littering the grass and the various tools laying haphazard throughout the yard; it looked normal. We knew it was anything but. 

I didn’t get a lot of time to enjoy the view, as the Unsub bursts through the doors of the decrypted shed and runs towards the lake. Spencer draws his gun, shouting at the man to stop but I don’t hear him as I run past. I wasn’t going to let this coward run away. I tackle him into the lake, trying to detain him and pull him to shore. He was a lot stronger than I anticipated and we struggled; him throwing punches and curse words my way before dunking my head under the water. 

I emerge from the murky abyss a few times, but the Unsub doesn’t give me enough time to catch my breath before holding my head down again. It was when my lungs were burning that I heard the muffled bang of a gunshot, but I was already drifting into the darkness. I didn’t feel the Unsub’s lifeless body fall into the lake beside me, nor did I feel the arms of my colleague pulling me out. 

I embraced the darkness, it felt warm and comforting considering all the hell I’ve seen and experienced on this job. It was the exact opposite of what I thought death would feel like. I’ve heard Spencer describe death as a light; him retelling his traumatic encounter with Tobias Hankel. But this was mere darkness; like hiding under your blankets at night. 

I knew it wasn’t my time though. I still had so much left to do in the world; so many more people to save. So when I started to feel pressure on my chest, I knew it was Spencer performing CPR. What I didn’t know was that he was crying the entire time; begging me to come back. 

I cough violently, the water leaving my lungs and being replaced by air and I open my eyes, suddenly feeling so very cold. 

“Spencer?” My voice didn’t sound like mine, it sounded far away. 

“Thank god.” Spencer pulls me into his arms, warming me up completely from the chill of the abyss.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds blurb #spencer reid blurb #fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias - Lost in Sardinia Part 5/8

Ooof, this chapter. 😮‍💨

It's a long read and I received some great advice following the last chapter, on how to use the correct warnings for chapters that are explicit or triggering in anyway.

I don't think this chapter need any warnings, other than that it deals with anxiety and confrontation.

Summary - Ruben is on a getaway in Sardinia. There he meets a girl named Fiorella. She starts to wonder why Ruben won't tell her what exactly he is getting away from, or even what his real name is.

Enjoy!

Fiorella stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps of her bridesmaid dress. Chiara's dress fitting happned at a beauty parlor in town, the owner of the parlor was a seamstresses who happened to be a dear friend of Nonna's.

"What is this Chiara? Are you having a wedding or a funeral?" Sophia studied her bridesmaids dress in the mirror, looking very displeased with the choices Chiara had made for them.

"Don't be bitter just because the dress has no cleavage." Chiara chuckled. She came up behind Fiorella, resting her chin on her sisters shoulder. "How do you like the dress Rella?"

"It's fine."

Chiara frowned. "Just fine?"

Fiorella raised her head, realizing that she had been drifting away. "I mean it's perfect Chiara, it's really pretty."

"Don't lie now Fiorella. The two of us can still vote for another dress."

"You wouldn't?" Chiara gasped.

"Watch me." Sophia challenged. "I'll tell Miss Bedotti right now."

"No you won't. Get back here Sophia!"

The two of them ended up chasing each other around the beauty parlor. Fiorella kept tugging at her dress in front of the mirror. She had to agree with Sophia on this one, she wasn't feeling the dress. Not because it showed too little skin, the opposite really. Fiorella's eyes fell upon the reflection staring back at her, she couldn't shake off the feeling that the dress showed too much skin, making her feel exposed and vulnerable.

"Okay, fine." Sophia surrendered, sruggling to catch her breath. "Since it's your wedding and all, I guess I can compromise on wearing an ugly dress. It's only for one day, right?"

"Geee Sophia, how generous of you."

The the two of them returned to the big mirror where Fiorella stood.

"It settled, you're wearing the dress." Chiara said victoriously.

"Great."

"Fiorella, what's with you?" Chiara met her sisters reflection, expressing her concern. "Why have you been so down lately?"

"Haven't you heard." Sophia fell back against one of the leather sofas. She reached for the tray of pastries placed on the table before her.

"Heard what?"

"Fiorella has fallen for some tourists in town. I'm assuming it's not working out so well."

"Is this true?" Chiara said, turning back to meet her sister gaze in the mirror.

"Apparently he's some kind of big shot hiker from Portugal. What was his name again, Rory?"

"Ruben." Fiorella hissed. "His name is Ruben."

Fiorella told her sister about her troubles in confidence. After what happned with Ruben on his boat she hadn't been able to shake the nasty feeling in her gut, the feeling that what happned between them wasn't right, and so she told her sister about it, or at least about the mixed emotions that she had.

"Why am I informed about this now?" Chiara said, hurt to be the last one to know about Ruben.

"Well for starters, you're never here." Sophia picked at somthing stuck between her teeth. "How could you possible know anything that's happening in our lives if you're never here?"

"Don't start Sophia." Chiara sighed. Her attention was brought back to Fiorella. "Tell me everything about him, where did you guys meet? Is he cute? Is he old?"

"He's older than me, yes. But only by a few years."

Fiorella had actually forgotten to ask Ruben his age. She even tried to do a background check on him, but she couldn't find anything googling the name Ruben Sanchez, adding 'hiking' as a reference. The hiking community must not be that big.

"I would love to meet him." Chiara said, cheerful as ever. "I know! You should invite him to the wedding, as your date."

"What?"

"What?

Fiorella and Sophia seemed to agree that Chiara's suggestion was a bad one.

"Why not?" She insisted.

"Well I don't really know him that well." Fiorella said. "We've only gone out once."

"Go out again. Make sure to ask him then."

"Chiara you're such a fool." Sophia said, rolling her eyes. "Fiorella is clearly not that into the guy, right sis?"

"Like I said..." Fiorella straightened her dress. "We've only gone out once."

********************************************

A day passed.

Fiorella still hadn't gone for a swim at the docks since her night with Ruben. In a way she was avoiding him. He did know where she lived though, so it wasn't like he made an effort to get in touch with her either. Perhaps Sophia was right, the best thing would be to forget about him entirely. What he wanted from her she didn't feel comfortable giving to him. It had just come as suprise, a surprise that Ruben wasn't who she thought he was.

"Acqua!" Fiorella's little brother exclaimed. The two of them eagerly made their way to their local beach in Sardinia.

Compared to the docks, the beach swarmed with tourists, however, the sun shone brightly overhead, casting a golden hue on the crystal-clear waters. It was the perfect day for an adventure, and Fiorella had been longing to swim again.

With her snorkel gear in hand, she led Dino to the water. She took it upon herself to teach him how to dive for clams. She taught him the basics of diving down and scouring the sandy ocean floor for the elusive clams. With each successful find, Dino's face lit up with joy and curiosity. Though they only managed to catch a few, Fiorella reveled in the moment, making memories with her brother that would last a lifetime.

As they made their way back to the shore, clam shells clutched in their hands, Fiorella's heart skipped a beat. There, standing near the edge of the beach, was Ruben. He wore shorts, no shirt. His hair and torso damped with sweat. He looked to have just returned from a hike up the mountains near the coastline. Ruben's eyes widen as he recognized Fiorella. Spotting her, he raised his hand, waving for her attention. 

"Fiorella."

He said her name with such longing, as if the two of them had gone a year without seeing each other.

"I've been wondering where you've been."

Impossible, she thought. She had been home, on the farm. Where else would she go? Her sister was getting married, Fiorella was pretty sure that she had shared that with Ruben. Either way, her cheeks flushed with a mix of surprise and pleasure. She hadn't expected to see Ruben again so soon.

"I've been taking my little brother Dino snorkeling for clams," she explained, gesturing towards Dino, who flashed Ruben a toothy grin.

Ruben looked impressed. "Snorkeling for clams? That sounds like quite the adventure!" He was leaning towards Dino when he said this. Dino who proudly showed off his catch of the day, two palourde clams, clutched in his tiny little hand.

"You caught those by yourself?" Ruben asked, brightly.

Dino eagerly nodded his heads.

"How impressive."

"Give him one." Fiorella said, nudging Dino towards Ruben.

With his hand out, Dino heaved up to his toes, trying to hand the giant that was Ruben his clams. Ruben met him halfway way, crotching down in the sand before him.

"Thank you." He smiled, accepting the clams from Dino.

Fiorella's head tilted as Ruben stood. He noticed the sun irritating her eyes and moved to block it with his body.

"Have you been busy, with your sisters wedding and all?" He asked.

So he was aware.

"Not that busy." She muttered.

Ruben's eyes search her face, perhaps not sure of what to make of the distance in her gaze.

"If you aren't too busy with the wedding...." Ruben scratched the back of his head. "I'd like to see you again, to maybe..." His eyes shifted to Dino then back to Fiorella. "...maybe talk things over?"

Fiorella nodded, she wanted to talk. She needed to talk. "I might be free tonight."

"Well...you know where to find me." He shrugged.

Fiorella nodded. Her and Dino then bid their farewell.

Returning home Fiorella had a decision to make and it was either gonna make things better or worse.

********************************************

"We'll be waiting for you right here Fiorella, don't worry."

"Will you shut up." Sophia hissed.

Fiorella had told her sisters about meeting up with Ruben again. She had also expressed some of her worries about him, mostly the fact that he was some what a stranger to her.

Chiara volunteered to accompany Fiorella to the docks, which seemed like a sensible move for a big sister. Sophia, however, had her own agendas for coming. She said it was mainly to see how ugly Ruben was.

"Just give us a call if somthing goes wrong." She said, holding Pluto in his leash.

The presence of the three of them calmed Fiorella's nerves as she made her way to the docks, towards Ruben's boat.

As she stepped onto the sleek white vessel, Ruben greeted her with a smile. "Fiorella, it's so good to see you," he said, his voice filled with exuberance. "I've missed you."

Fiorella nodded, forcing a half-hearted smile. She followed him onto the deck, taking in the panoramic view of the marina. The afternoon sun reflected off the tranquil waters, casting a warm glow on the surroundings. Fiorella's uneasiness began to subside as the memories of how she and Ruben first met returned to her. It gave her hope that maybe they could work thinks out, that that night was simply a misunderstanding.

Her hopes were shattered though, when Ruben released the boat from its stationary ties and steered it away from the docks. Panic surged through Fiorella as she realized they were leaving the safety of the harbor and venturing out into the vast expanse of the ocean. Her heart raced, and she stumbled backward.

"Ruben, what are you doing?" she cried out, her voice barely audible over the sound of the engine. "I thought we were going to talk things over, not go sailing."

Ruben turned to face her, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. "Fiorella, trust me. We need this."

Fiorella's fear turned into anger. She had agreed to meet Ruben under the assumption that they would have a conversation, not get trapped on a boat with him alone. Her mind raced, searching for a way to assert her independence and regain control of the situation. She could scream, her sisters could hear her and alert the police. They were drifting away fast though. Too far away for her sisters or anyone else to hear her scream.

"I didn't agree to this, Ruben," she said firmly, her voice filled with determination. "You can't force me to be here. Take me back to the docks right now."

Ruben's smile wavered slightly, but he kept his hands on the wheel and continued steering the boat farther from the shore. "Fiorella, please. Just give me a chance. I believe we can still make things right."

Anxiety flooded Fiorella's mind as the boat sailed further into the endless blue waves. She searched her surroundings desperately, seeking any opportunity to escape and find safety. But miles away from land, there was no one to hear her cries, and no means of escape.

As the magnitude of her situation sunk in, Fiorella realized that running away from Ruben was no longer an option. She had to confront him, face her fears. With newfound determination, she looked Ruben in the eye and spoke with unwavering conviction. "Ruben, I can't change the past, and I can't predict the future," she said, her voice steady. "But I do know that I cannot be with someone who forces me into situations I'm uncomfortable with. If we are to have any chance at all, it must be based on trust, mutual respect, and open communication. Take me back to the docks, or I will find a way to get off this boat myself."

Ruben's expression softened, and he finally acknowledged the seriousness of Fiorella's words. He nodded reluctantly and steered the boat back toward the direction of the marina.

Fiorella felt a sense of relief wash over her. She knew that her confrontation with Ruben was a crucial turning point, and she had reclaimed a small part of herself that she thought she had lost.

As they approached the harbor, Ruben docked the boat just outside of the reef. Fiorella felt more relaxed knowing she was no longer trapped in the middle of the ocean. And now, if things went really south, she could always jump ship and swim back to shore.

"Ruben." Fiorella ran a hand down her face. "What happened that night, If that's the kind of stuff you're into...."

"It's not."

"You sure, because you seem pretty fucking into it."

"I know Fiorella, but I made a mistake. I'm really sorry."

"I'm not looking for an apology Ruben. I'm just here making myself clear. To me that can never happen again, not now, not ever."

"If I could take what happened back, I would. But the truth is...."

"What?"

"The truth is that...."

"What is it Ruben, just say it."

"Look." He sighed. "I've made some mistakes, alot of mistakes that I have been trying to do right ever since I got here. Then one day you showed up and I started forgetting about my mistakes, the fact that I've jeopardize alot of things in my life for not dealing with my own baggage.

Fiorella folded her arms, indicating that she was listening.

"Meeting you, I wouldn't say it was a mistake, but it was selfish of me to get you involved in my shit. We should have never gone on that hike and I should have never brought you home with me that night. It's a mistake I'll never be able to undo. But trust me when I say that I regret it more than anything, and that I'll understand if you never want anything to do with me again."

A minute of silence.

"I need some time...." Fiorella said.

"Of course, take all the time you need."

And with that he let her go.

As they docked the boat, Fiorella thanked Ruben for bringing her back. Without another word, she stepped onto the solid ground and returned to her sisters.

"Oh my god was that him? Where did he take you?"

They ambushed her with questions, questions that Fiorella didn't have the strength to answer right now.

"He was hot wasn't he? Look at the picture I took when he helped you onto his boat."

Fiorella's eyes couldn't focus on the screen Chiara flashed before her eyes. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

Ruben had alot of baggage, she thought. Things that he wasn't and perhaps would never tell her about. Fiorella asked if what they had for a brief moment was worth fighting for? Was it worth getting involved with someone whom she knew was keeping things from her? In her current state Fiorella felt that it probably wasn't worth it.

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