#sorry i was liking. trying to come up with a sufficient answer to this but i just felt like i was ruining it

[natalievoncatte]

There was something inherently unnerving in Superman staring at her, Lena decided. She could *feel* the weight of his gaze on her. If she hadn’t know better, she would have thought that he was trying to steal glances at her. Of course, there was the matter of Lois Lane and all that, and Lena was assuredly not his type. She was, after all, a Luthor.

But he kept staring.

Lena listened to the mission briefing, feeling a bit detached. Her work here was done; she’d worked out the math and it was up to Kara and her cousin to push the asteroid just so, to return it to its proper orbit and send it on its merry way.

It was routine, if two people with godlike powers pushing millions of tons of rock through space could be said to be normal.

There was only one problem.

Clark.

Kept.

Staring.

Lena looked away from him, then slipped out of the room, looking up at the sky. She could see the offending space rock just barely, and extended her arm, covering it with her thumb, one eye pinched shut.

“Hey.”

Kara was in the doorway, not quite emerging onto the balcony. She’d suited up in her space suit, a new design of Lena’s that outfitted her in a stark white with a glowing amber light behind the red-gold frame of her family crest. Lena was proud of her work. It carried a sufficient air supply and was shielded against radiation, just on the off chance they Kara met something up there that bypassed her immunities.

Kara had her helmet tucked under one arm and her hair up on a tight bun, and she looked absolutely dashing. Lena couldn’t help but grin like a big kid, as worried as she was.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” said Lena. “You look good in that.”

“Of course I do, you made it,” said Kara.

She broke across the balcony in three quick strides, and from the way she canted her head, Lena thought it might finally happen. She might crack that last barrier and press her soft lips to Lena’s, stealing some luck to take with her, and stealing Lena’s breath away.

Kara had stolen her heart years ago.

She didn’t, though. Rather than a hug, she ducked down and brushed her forehead lightly against Lena’s, before quickly pulling back.

“Come right back,” said Lena.

“You know it,” said Kara. “Want me to bring you something from my trip?”

“Just come back safe.”

Kara grinned her cocky grin and offered Lena a little salute.

“It’s time,” Clark said, from the doorway. Lena hadn’t even noticed his presence.

He was staring at both of them, now. Lena turned away. The pair stepped back inside, Clark speaking to Kara in clipped, rapid Kryptonese. Lena couldn’t parse it quickly enough, but she made out something about scents.

The mission was not routine.

Lena’s work was perfect. The data was not. Lena white knuckled the railing in her hands as the asteroid drifted down, skimming the Earth’s atmosphere and carving out a channel of unbound flame.

Alex was frantically demanding a status update, but neither Kryptonian answered her. There was only static. Lena watched the control room monitors, and her hands felt as cold as the steel they grasped. She felt utterly numb, on the verge of screaming.

Then the speakers crackled. It was Kara.

“I’m sorry, Lena,” Kara rasped out. “I made a mess of your suit.”

They landed a few minutes later. Kara was the worse for wear, with some of the reinforced plating melted off on her left side. She spun a harrowing tale of struggling to correct the rock’s course, Clark nodding along silently beside her. Lena locked eyes with Kara and let out a slow, agonized breath. She was okay. She was okay this time.

She’d always be okay. Right up until she wasn’t.

After, when Kara had been pried out of her suit, with her cousin’s help, and changed into a hoodie and leggings, she attacked the buffet that was laid out for the two of them in the cafeteria. Shoving around celestial bodies in as hungry work.

When Lena turned and saw Superman staring at her again, she decided she’d had enough and squared up to him.

“Okay, farmboy. Out with it. Why do you keep staring at me?”

“I was waiting for Kara to say something,” he said, “but I guess she’s too shy or she’s worried about what I’ll think. It’s okay with me if you two are together. I don’t hold your name against you.”

Lena’s brain about leaked out of her ears.

“Together?”

“Of course. I noticed earlier that her heartbeat synchronizes to yours whenever you’re in the room, and of course she’s been scent marking you.”

“She’s been what?”

Clark shifted on his feet, either from her tone or her expression or both. He looked strangely young.

“Oh, uh, I see. Anyway I need to get going, long flight back to Metropolis.”

Lena barely noticed him leaving. She stood in the same spot far too long, staring at the refrigerator. She was still standing there when Kara came up alongside her.

“Hey.”

Of course, she was devastating. Kara was in black leggings and a threadbare hoodie that was actually Lena’s, and padding around the place barefoot. Her golden tresses spilled around her shoulders in loose waves, held back by her glasses. The dashing bravado was gone and she was soft, warm, equally lovely Kara again.

“You scared me up there,” said Lena.

“You kept me safe with your suit. You always do.”

Lena looked Kara in the eye. Kara had the most lovely eyes, a gorgeous deep blue that could be as heavy as winter storm or as light as a summer breeze

“I heard what Clark said.”

Lena swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“He caught me red handed,” Kara added.

Lena wondered if she should laugh it off, or make a joke. Kara smiled, pulling her gaze away in a slightly embarrassed way, her cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“Does Kryptonian scent marking mean what I’m guessing it means?”

“It, um, it does.”

“This is how humans do it,” Lena whispered, diving headlong into Kara’s space.

She ducked just a little, tilting her head back, and Kara read her intentions perfectly. Their lips came together, and their first kiss was quick and soft, a promise for later, when there would be only fairy lights and Kara’s couch and soft, eager explorations full of slow, desperate intensity.

For now, Kara simply took Lena’s hands in her own, and very gently nuzzled her nose against Lena’s, breath ticking her lips.

“Take me home, space cowgirl,” said Lena.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #Clark cameo #Kryptonians are Aliens

[ddarker-dreams]

Tastiest Treat.

Scaramouche x Reader.

Word count: 1.1k. 

“No.”

Scaramouche shuts you down the mere second you excitedly enter his line of sight. It isn’t an unexpected reaction, that incessant scowl often seen on his otherwise pretty face. You think looking grumpy might be a hobby of his. How pitiful is that? This is exactly why your presence in his life is a need, not a want.

You consider voicing this sentiment, only to wisely decide against it. To get what you want today, you’ll need to choose your battles carefully. This isn’t a fight you should pick.

… Maybe tomorrow, instead.

“Huh? I haven’t even said anything yet,” you reply.

He waves off your faux offense as if he were swatting a pesky bug. Which, if his current miffed expression is anything to go by, is exactly how he currently views you. That’d be hot water for anyone else. You’d say the temperature feels more lukewarm than anything. Comfortable enough to take a bath in.

“You didn’t need to. Your expression alone is enough to serve as a sufficient warning. Whatever strange request it is you’re inevitably about to ask of me, my answer is no.”

“I hope you’ll set aside your prejudiced misconceptions for just a moment to hear me out,” you reply without missing a beat. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose yet doesn’t attempt to stop you. He probably knows better than to try. “I only want to play a simple game with you. Something tells me you’ll enjoy it more than you think.”

The sales pitch must not have been as effective as you hoped, for he shakes his head. “Enjoyable for you, maybe. For someone who enjoys using the word ‘sadistic’ to describe me, you sure do take a fair share of delight in my torment.”

“It’s not torment, it’s character building. As the only person who isn’t at risk of an excruciating death for so much as breathing in your vicinity, I consider it my sworn duty to keep you humble. Or the closest thing you can get to it.”

He gives you a thin smile. “You sure do love testing my patience, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I love it nearly as much as you do. Now, for the game,” you pull out a thin biscuit-like stick covered in chocolate. “We both start eating from each end. You lose if your mouth comes off it or the opposing player gets to the middle first. Simple, right?”

Scaramouche eyes it warily. “You know I don’t care for sweets.”

“But you care for me, so let’s give it a shot anyway.”

(He noticeably doesn’t deny this).

“My answer is still no. Honestly, I can’t take my eyes off you… the second I do, you’re running off coming up with the most half-witted ideas. Should I follow through with that threat of tying you to my wrist after all?”

The grin he gives you is supposed to be menacing, you presume, but you’re undeterred. Such trials are the spice of life. Besides, you’re already well acquainted with his questionable sense of humor. “Thanks for reminding me to always keep a pair of scissors on hand. Anyway, if you really still don’t want to, then well…”

He inhales, bracing himself for the worst—

“That’s fine then.”

“What?” He blurts out, having all the grace of a newborn fawn trying to cross a frozen lake seconds after being born. Further forgetting the virtues of propriety, he points at you, his senses on the highest alert.  “That… isn’t how this works. How you work.”

The Harbinger keeps you at arm’s length, as if you were actually any threat to him. Apprehension radiates off him in waves. You examine the treat in your grasp with something akin to yearning. Purposeful silence ensues, multiplying the already building tension in the air. He’s waiting with bated breath for whatever stunt you pull next.

You don’t keep him waiting long.

“I mean, I would’ve liked to play the game, since, y’know, it’s possible we might’ve ended up kissing,” you drop your shoulders while he processes the information being presented to him. “I guess I could look to see if someone else might take me up on my offer… well, sorry to bother you—”

“Hand it over.”

“Oh?”

“I forbid you from playing this ‘game’ with anyone else. After all, you said…” he trails off, his face flushing with color, “That… that a kiss could potentially arise as a result. I can’t allow that. Game or otherwise. Because I’m… ahem… the only person who has kissing privileges.”

You blink, finding the swiftness of your success unexpected. There were a few more plans hidden up your sleeve that will get to say there now. You underestimated how quick he’d be to disregard his pride so long as a kiss is on the table. Not wanting to waste any more time in case he regains his temporarily cast-aside dignity, you set the thin biscuit inside your mouth.

Scaramouche latches onto the other end with unrivaled vigor. You’d almost think his life was on the line by how seriously he’s taking this.

Your strategy is a simple one — the classic little nibbles that err on the side of caution. He mimics your approach, having to take a step forward to remain balanced from how close your bodies are becoming. From this angle, you’re treated to an unobscured view of his pretty features. The glassiness of his indigo eyes, the brushstrokes of red surrounding them, the cute creases from his nose being scrunched up in concentration.

There’s precious little you wouldn’t do to experience a sight like this.

You’re both making decent headway, though you’re the slightest bit closer to the middle. Victory should be within reach, so long as you keep this up—

Hm? What’s this pressure you’re feeling against your lips?

Soft, oh so soft. Warm too. Caressing, the slightest bit greedy.

Scaramouche is smirking at you, evidently very pleased with himself, savoring each second of your bewilderment. You mentally scour through the files of your short-term memory. He had moved so fast that your eyes could barely process the motion before them. In less than the time it took you to blink, he had taken a sizable bite, eliminating what little distance remained between your faces.

His teeth tug your lower lip toward him lightly when he pulls away, his eyes lidded. “I got to the middle before you did. Wouldn’t you say that means I won? What’s my prize?”

“Truthfully, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” you admit, to which he snorts. “Uh… best two out of three?”

He wipes a few stray crumbs from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“If I get to keep doing that, then we can go through your whole stupid box. Try me.”

#i just wanted to write a lil something <3 #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche brainrot #my stuff

[angelstate]

“Broken People, Broken Things”

Broken!Simon x Kind!Reader

In times of need it's difficult for him to speak up, a nagging feeling on his chest, a sinful voice in his mind that tells him he doesn’t deserve the help he needs, that after going through so much in life he should've learned to not ask for help.

an alack sentiment filling his head, a loss of hope so profound that makes him feel hollow, no amount of soil can fill the hole in his chest. is terrifying, the absence of himself on his body, as if he can only be the shell of what he once was.

a stray dog who bites the hand that tries to feed him used to be hurt rather than helped. He knows it’s not all his fault, that life wasn’t kind to him from the very start but guilt still manages to spill through crevices, straining his sanity.

it doesn’t matter how much you try to pull him out of his self-depreciation state, his already too far gone into his own head, thoughts of self-hatred already engraved for him to be eaten alive in the middle of the night.

it’s a cannibalistic situation, being the consumer and the consumed, harming himself until he’s bleeding then wincing at the pain, licking the blood of his wound like a harmed animal, self-sufficient and self-destructive, infecting himself with more pain than he already was in, a cycle of torture with no easy ending to relieve him from the pressure in his chest.

in a world where people's opinion of you controls the way your life plays out, he understands clearly why he didn’t amount to anything worth praising, he can recognize that his life was meant to start and end in one painful motion, surrounded by nothing but despair.

He finds it comical, how life pulls his strings and leads him to suffering when he hasn’t recovered from past wounds, like the universe wants to see how clever he can get to salvage his worthless life, how badly he wants to survive despite having no motive to live.

“Are you listening to me?” you speak, voice soft and kind, pulling him out of his thoughts, like being pulled out of the ocean by a kind stranger who saw him struggle to swim, being helped to fill his lungs with air and not water. he looks down to meet your gaze, your doe eyes always holding a warmth to them, your smile of understanding and patience he doesn’t think he deserves.

“Sorry, I got distracted for a second” he answers, voice low and gruff, tongue rolling with a heaviness created by his thoughts, he should’ve listened to you speak rather than lose himself in his mind, you are the only normality his life still has, the only thing he doesn’t associate to a bad memory.

“s’okay..it’s late either way, I should let you go to sleep” you reply, sounding apologetic as you always do, looking down with what he can only guess to be embarrassment, you shouldn’t feel that way, you should never feel ashamed, he knows you never mean any harm, only acting on love and friendliness.

“I’m not tired yet” he lies, he is tired, his body is aching and begging to rest but his mind feels more active than ever, two entities disconnected and acting on their own accord, he wants to lay down and rest but he doesn’t want to leave, not yet…please, not right now.

He remembers when he was a kid, not older than 4 years old, and terrified of the night, fearing something was hiding in it, waiting for the perfect moment to attack, to kill him. His father's screams in the other room and objects crashing against the walls only fueled his fear, that when the sun goes down, the world knows no peace, that monsters come out and are searching to kill him, to kill his mother.

He never grew out of that, he knew monsters as he believed before weren’t real, but that doesn’t mean that a similar evilness isn’t around, a sort of plague, a parasite that spreads every time he blinks. nights for him didn’t get much better either, something about the quietness didn’t feel right, a wave of doom he couldn’t escape on his chest, he could only stare at the door of his room while waiting for the sun to rise, only then being able to sleep.

“I thought you would be tired, you worked so hard today” you comment, it had been mere seconds that passed until you spoke but it felt like ages, like the time slowed down, once again the universe toying with his sanity. 

you always acknowledge his efforts, his actions, and his reasoning even if you are far off of what he intended, you’re always so nice to him, pretending the rumors and whispers about his past and intentions don’t reach your ears, that you aren’t aware of them when he can’t begin to remember the amount of times he heard about them, too many to count, that’s for sure.

“it was nothing…don’t worry” he answers, but oh how much you worry, concern filling your mind every time your eyes land on him, the tiredness in his eyes evident, his heavy steps a clear sign of his body tired of carrying his weight around. you wish you could lure him into his room, put him to sleep, be able to grant him a good night's rest.

Does he want to rest? Does he deserve to rest?

he feels numb at times, something lacking in his brain, stopping him from fully connecting and experiencing his feelings. It doesn't get any easier with every passing day, hours blend together and before he knows it he’s back by your side, your praises for working so hard and doing things he doesn’t find enjoyable for the sake of everyone else around him.

“Want a cup of tea?” you offer, tilting your head to the side, voice softer and sweeter, like one that people use to lure an animal close, trying to capture him and give him a home. It’s unsettling to him how good you make the idea of being welcomed in a home and not being terrified by the people living in it, like that’s a possibility, like if he lets you put him in that cage he won’t regret it.

“would appreciate it if you made me one” he replies, hesitant and doubtful even if you have never shown a sign of evilness, but anyone who offers him something must want something back, he knows it, he was taught that was how it worked. he doesn’t know what you want, what he can give you, and that terrifies him more, he doesn’t want to owe you anything.

“Okay” you say and leave the room with quiet steps, he doesn’t dare to move from his place, eyes focused on the place you were standing a few seconds ago, he’s alone in the room, being able to hear you open the kitchen door and move things around.

he knows you’re only a few feet away, in another room, the door open and your movements are skilled and soft, but you’re still a person in another room, and he is standing alone, in the darkness remaining because the lamp on the corner table does nothing but illuminate the objects that resting on the surface, everything else is dark.

everything else makes him remember when he was a kid and he was scared, he doesn’t want to be scared anymore.

He stumbles for a second, his foot taking a step back before he can realize he is moving, losing his balance and regaining it quickly. It feels like he’s falling apart from the inside out, a pillar inside of him deteriorating to the point he isn’t able to stand the weight of his past.

He doesn't know what to do, why it affects him so much your kindness and why now out of any other time he feels like he can’t stand the fact you’re in another room, you’re not his father, you're not dangerous, you’re not his mother, you’re not in danger. So why is he so worried he feels like suffocating? 

you affect him in ways he doesn’t like, it makes him feel self-conscious about everything he's gone through in his life, he doesn't understand why you bring that out of him, you are not linked to his past, you’re part of the fresh start he created for himself because of guilt.

maybe you remind him of the kindness he was denied, you remind him of what he could've had if life had been any kinder to him when he needed it when he was just a kid, when he feared his father would kill his mother and him one night, in the middle of the dark with no one to save him.

God, you shouldn’t be kind to people like him, who know nothing but to tarnish everything and everyone around him, he is poison and you’re too pure to even associate with him, your kindness shouldn’t be wasted on him he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve you.

He hears something shattering and follows not even a second later a scream of pain that could only come from you, his eyes dart towards the door, the hallway dark and the winces of pain continue.

For a second, a small fraction of a second he doubts the legitimacy of your injury, thinking his memories are getting to him, making him imagine something that isn’t at all happening, then he hears you fall to the ground, sobs ripping through your mouth and he knows it’s real.

He leaves the room with heavy steps, he’s adjusted to the darkness of the place but moves around, turning lights on with a freakish fear, wanting to have a clear vision even though he’s going straight towards his fear.

He reaches the kitchen and enters, his eyes moving around until he spots you on the floor, curled into yourself, hand bloody and burned, the broken cup and hot tea not even a meter away from you as you sob, holding your injured hand out as to not further damage the wound.

the image brings back memories he doesn’t allow himself to indulge in, moving around till he reaches you, grabbing the wrist from your injured hand with a sudden move, making you scream for a second before realizing is him who grabbed you, his eyes are strained on the wound, your skin looks irritated and half of your hand is soaked in blood.

“What happened?” he asks, tugging at your wrist as if the pain will make you speak any faster, he isn’t the kindest but he doesn’t mean to be harsh either, the panic is just too much on his bones to not let it out somehow, you’re the only person he knows is able to stab yourself with his sharp edges and survive to forgive him.

“I slipped and the cup fell on my hand…tried cleaning it but I cut myself” you explain through sobs and whimpers, trying to get your hand out of his grasp but every movement makes the pain of your wound stronger.

It’s stupid, how you managed to get yourself to fuck up something as simple as a cup of tea, it wasn’t a hard task, the floor hadn’t been mopped since hours ago and yet you still slipped and injured yourself like a baby deer with unstable limbs.

you shake your head, embarrassment once again plaguing your mind, he doesn’t differ with you, he doesn’t think you shouldn’t be ashamed of your mistake, you should be, you are ashamed and he agrees with you but for different reasons.

He thinks you should be ashamed of not calling out his name for help, for sitting on the ground and crying instead of asking for his assistance, you deserve to be helped when injured, and you deserve to be taken care of despite having made this mistake before.

you can make the same error again and still deserve to be forgiven and aided.

Because you’re human, and most importantly you are you, the woman who rescues everyone from their troubles like they are trapped in a burning building, you do everything and anything to make sure the people you love are safe and happy.

He can begin to understand why you think he’s worth the effort, maybe it’s pity, maybe with just one look at him and his reputation you can make out everything there is to know about him, every past trauma, every scar, every emotional issue he can’t let go of.

“It's fine…we’re going to be fine” He says, looking into your eyes, a silent promise you can’t decipher, you nod, pretending that you didn’t notice he aligned himself with your struggle, making himself a part of the situation so you wouldn’t be alone.

he doesn’t want that sort of faith for you.

He softly guides you to stand up from the ground, moving you towards the sink, standing behind you as he turns on the faucet, holding your injured hand and letting the cold water wash away the blood and cool off your irritated skin.

his breathing brushes on your neck, and the warmth of his chest spreads across your entire body as traps you between the counter and himself, it doesn’t have any malice in his touch nor does he mean anything sexual by it.

It’s the worry that has his body glued to yours, the need to surround you so you won’t get injured again, as one hides with their siblings somewhere in the house when your parents begin fighting again, it’s something natural that comes to him, used to protect and preserve the people he didn’t want getting hurt.

“I'm sorry for screwing up your tea” you apologize with a soft whisper, eyes focused on the blood washing away, it doesn’t hurt a lot anymore, just a small sting that lingers a bit uncomfortably, tolerable but not ideal.

you’re truly apologetic, you knew he didn’t get much sleep, that resting wasn’t something he usually did so you had tried to help him but in the end, it seemed you only caused more panic in his soul, his pupils still blown out as he assisted you with cleaning the wound, as if he was doing it for more reasons than just kindness.

maybe he was, you don’t know his full story after all, maybe you remind him of someone, of something he had buried a long time ago that you brought to the surface again and left him with anxiousness on his chest and worry in his mind.

“s’alright… it’s too late for tea either way” he comforts you the best he can, the best his words and feelings will let him right now, he isn’t upset about the mistake you made, anyone can fall, anyone can break a cup, he didn’t care about that, messes get cleaned up, a cup of tea isn’t as valuable as your health, you should know that.

It's too late for tea, and it’s too late for the amount of tears that continue to pour out of your eyes even though the pain isn’t overwhelming anymore, this time is your feelings, your physical state has nothing to do with the tears falling out and you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“I wanted to help you…I'm sorry Si” you speak again, a small hiccup interrupting your words but you don’t let that stop you from telling him how sorry you are that you managed to mess up one of the only things you knew he liked, tea.

“wanna make another one then?” he asks you, offering to let you try again, a second opportunity he knew you deserved and wanted, and even though he wasn’t in the mood for tea or anything at all, he was going to drink what you want to make him, even if it’s the last thing he does.

you shake your head, sniffling as you close the faucet softly with your noninjured hand, looking down as neither of you moves away from each other or makes the attempt to gain some distance. You didn’t want to make it again, didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself and making the same mistake, this time in front of him.

“don’t want to screw up again” you answer him, voice low and full of shame. He understands you, maybe second chances aren’t always appreciated and he accepts that you don’t want to try again tonight.

He sees himself in you more than he wants to right now, more than he thought he ever would actually. He guessed that even someone like you could come from a not-so-pretty background, one where making mistakes is a sin that cannot be let go of without punishment.

different houses, different torture, same ending.

because of that, some part of him has to care for you, you deserve that, he cannot believe it enough even though he won’t say it out loud, don’t want to be caught by other people and have you end up being a outcast like him, you don’t deserve that, you don’t deserve that ending.

He makes you turn around softly so you’re facing him, his hands wiping away your tears with a gentle touch, he wished he could do more, turn back time and help you make the cup of tea, or go even further and stop whatever made you believe making a small mistake was such a high offense.

“Are you alright?” he asks, aware you aren’t but it feels cordial to make the question either way, giving you an opportunity to express more than you normally would, he knows you don’t talk enough about your feelings and it’s time you do.

“It’s not fair that you suffer so much and I can't even do something to help you” you reply and his heart stops for a second, the blood on his vein also coming to a halt as he feels himself being delirious of your words.

you did not hold such sentiment for him, nobody did, nobody has and nobody will. That was his life, a never-ending cycle of being looked down upon and having to do everything by himself because why would anyone want to help him or even try to? it’s stupid, you’re being stupid.

“Don’t say that darling..” he shushes you softly, his hands moving to caress your hair, he shakes his head, not wanting to believe you actually care, not wanting to get hope out of lies, it wouldn’t be pretty if he did and you broke his heart in the end.

“years of pain always lead up to isolation, you don’t deserve that” Captain Price once told him after a tough mission, and the words replay in his mind as he has you in his arms, the water mixed with droplets of blood on your hand staining the kitchen floor as he holds you gently.

He's living like his dead, and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like he drags you to that same misery every time you’re around him but he doesn't want to let go of.

what is not devotion but to become a better person for the one you love?

“I appreciate your intention sweetheart…” he says as the silence from you eats him alive, wanting to make the ache on your chest disappear, he had never wanted to make you suffer, even unintentionally.

he is ready to repair everything broken so you won’t get harmed ever again, he’s ready to repair himself for you.

He had never wanted to become what he hates, a lover, a sentimental person, and yet as he finds himself becoming all of that and more, he can’t help but enjoy it, especially if it means never letting go of you.

Love wasn’t something he knew much of, never got the chance to learn when he was a kid and for a very long time he thought it wasn’t real, a mythical feeling everyone lied about existing so they wouldn’t be alone for the rest of their lives.

Your existence and kindness prove him wrong, your persistence in trying to make life easier for him, the way you laughed, the way you acted, your personality, your likes, and dislikes, everything about you showed him that love was real and he was experiencing it with you.

even if it took a lot of time for him to realize it he did now, and he loved you a lot, more than he would ever let on, more than any piece of literature could ever describe.

Tomorrow is a new day, and another cup of tea can be made, you cannot cry for what was never lost, and his gaze never falters from you so you don’t have to worry, he will always help you, you’re his air and he is yours.

Love cannot easily be tarnished and he swears he will never let anything happen to the one the two of you share, even if that is the only thing he does with his final breath.

(little reminder: I'm taking requests if you guys want me to write about something specific xx)

#angelstate #angst #happy ending #ghost x female reader #simon ghost riley #cod men #call of duty x reader #fanfic #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost x you #cod mwii #cod #modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley x you #female!reader #angst ghost

[sp1rit-realm]

༻¨*:· 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ you hate remus lupin, and he hates you. what happens when you get stuck in a lift together?

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 BREATHER!!!!! 𖦹 enemies to ?? 𖦹 fem!reader 𖦹 oh. em. gee. 𖦹 i did not proofread this bc i'm lazy ⎝(ˊᗜˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 1.2k

prologue / hour 6 << pt. 8 -- breather >> IOU

༻¨*:· 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ·:*¨༺

"You what?" Sirius asks with wide eyes.

"I told her I was into her," Remus repeats.

Sirius grins, "And?"

Remus sighs and shakes his head, "It..." He purses his lips, "It didn't go well."

"Well... don't just leave me hanging. What happened?"

"She, um, she walked out of the lift and said she needed a breather."

Sirius claps Remus on the shoulder, "Well, that wasn't a no!"

"Mate..." Remus deadpans, "I don't think it's a yes, either."

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"So... Remus and you..." Sirius giggles over the phone.

You sigh, "There is no Remus and me, Sirius. I hate him."

"No, you don't," Sirius sings, "Plus, you didn't say you didn't like him back!"

"I told him I hated him, and I slapped him."

"Kinky!"

"Sirius, I swear to god, I will kill you."

"Kinky!"

You hang up.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You're miserable. You haven't seen your friends in two weeks, save for Sirius. It feels like the beginning again, where he nagged you to go out with him. Every day, it's always:

"Remus is sorry, please come out."

"I'll buy all of your drinks."

"Everyone misses you!"

"C'mon, stop sitting in self-pity and get out of the house!"

You always answer with:

"Then he should tell me, not have some twat tell me for him."

"I don't feel like drinking."

"Tell them I say hi."

"I'm not sitting in self-pity—I'm simply giving myself the space to process."

And so he gave you time. But it's been five weeks, and you haven't gone out once. So he's starting to lose hope—you're collapsing in on yourself like a dying star, and he's unsure what to do.

You're eating dinner when the phone rings. You roll your eyes, abandon your food, and walk to the side of the room in which it resides.

"I already told you. I don't want to go out!"

"Sorry?"

Your body goes hot out of embarrassment, "Shit! Sorry, I thought you were Sirius," Then the voice registers in your head, "You have five seconds to tell me what you want, Remus."

"I feel like I've given you sufficient time for a breather," He rushes out, "Can we talk? Please?"

You're silent, and he's afraid you've walked away, uninterested in whatever he has to say.

But you sigh, "About what?" You bite.

"Us?" His words are full of hope.

You're quick to crush it, "There is no 'us,' Remus. There is no more feud, no more interacting, there is nothing."

"Please—"

"No!" You interrupt, "No, you lost the opportunity to have an 'us' the second you decided to be a dick!" You yell into the phone.

"I'm sorry. Please, just give it a chance. Please, just... just talk to me."

"You have one fucking chance, Remus. Meet me in the building's cafe at ten. Make it worth my time."

"Okay."

"Oh, and Remus?"

"Yes?"

"If you aren't there at ten on the dot, I'm leaving. I don't care if you've just opened the door. If you are not inside that fucking cafe at ten sharp, I am gone, and you will never see me again. Got it?"

"Got it." He confirms.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Your alarm blares at 9:30. You groan and try to throw it across the room, only to remember that it's plugged into the wall to prevent you from doing so. 

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Get a corded one," Remus laughs, "I used to have the same problem. Well, I used to just take mine and shush it right before turning it off."

You nearly spit your water out.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Fuck," You mumble, turning off the alarm. You don't want to do this—to see him.

You walk downstairs—you don't take the lift anymore—and you're hoping he hasn't shown up, but you see a beige jumper and sandy brown hair through the frosted glass of the doors. You sigh and enter the cafe.

Remus has been waiting for half an hour, and he's convinced he'll get whiplash with how quickly he looks up every time the bell chimes, indicating someone has come in. Finally, twelve people later, you walk in.

You look different than the last time he saw you. You've cut your hair, and you look bone-deep exhausted. He smiles at you, but you don't smile back.

After pulling out your chair for you, he clumsily stumbles back to his side of the table.

"I'm sorry," He starts, "I am so sorry for... everything." He shakes his head, "I— I've been so stupid for the past year. I like you, I really like you, and I'm so sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I'm so sorry I was a dick to you. I'm so sorry I ever made you feel bad. I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I—I just want to be with you, and I'm sorry for my feelings of doubt ruining that opportunity. God, I am just so fucking sorry."

You almost want to laugh. His rambling is cute—you've always found it cute. Whether he's info-dumping on his latest book or just furiously talking about everything he's been doing lately. But the words slowly register, and you want to cry, then you want to scream, and then you want to cry again. 

"So you want to be with me?"

"More than fucking anything. This past month has been absolute torture. Every time I hang out with everyone, I hope I see your smile. You're never there."

"Yeah, it sucks when someone you like and care about ignores you."

Remus sighs, "I'm sorry."

"I don't think I can forgive you."

You see his heart shatter, "Please. Just—just one chance. Let me take you to dinner, and we can start over and— and..."

"And what? I'll magically fall in love with you?"

He frowns, looking down at the table, "Just give me a chance?"

"I'm not going on a date with you, Remus."

Once upon a time, you harboured feelings for Remus. That was months ago. Five months and four days ago. Then you got stuck in a fucking lift with him, and he confessed his love for you, and you felt like you were suffocating. All of the oxygen left your body, and any feelings died without it.

"We can be friends. I'm fine with friends. I just... I don't want to lose you."

You're silent for a moment, and everything runs through your head again. That first night when he attentively listened to your boring stories with a boyish glint in his eyes. The time he drove you home when you got wasted after being stood up. Teaching you to blow o's and how to roll. When he helped you ride a bike again. Your mind flashes to the night you realized you were in love—the night he went to your flat because you were sick. The night he took care of you, fed you soup—the night he risked getting sick for you. Your mind peeks at the memories of his smile, and your heart wanders around his laugh. It still warms your stomach, and you want to cry. You hate that he still has an impact on you. You've spent five months trying to forget him—forget your feelings. And it was all for nothing.

"Friends," You decide, "Let's try friends."

LETS. TRY. FRIENDS.

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#༻¨*:· 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 ·:*¨༺ #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x reader angst #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin forced proximity #remus lupin x reader forced proximity #remus lupin enemies to lovers #remus lupin x reader enemies to lovers

[cauliflowertree]

tom riddle—a certain romance.

.ೃ࿐ྂ tom riddle x fem!reader

summary: tom provides a distraction when your period arrives.

word count: 1.1k

fanfic no. 024

tom wasn’t used to being stood up. he’d had no chance to harbour a dislike for the act because it had never happened until now—not that he could recollect anyway. but now that it had, he hated it.

it was basic manners to turn up to something you’d organised, or at least let him know sufficiently in advance if you weren’t able to attend. he felt cheated. and not that he was particularly concerned with his reputation at hogwarts (but he was), he couldn’t let this go.

currently, unbeknownst to tom riddle, you were hauled up in your dormitory, cradling your stomach, hoping that this change of position would relieve some pain. the water on your bedside had long been empty, and the food you’d taken from breakfast was hardening. on the brink of tears, you slipped a blanket over your shoulders and stared at the ground, wishing it would swallow you whole.

tom, on the other hand, was storming through the castle with a stone cold face, lips pursed and hands in his pockets. it wasn’t unusual for tom to strut through the halls like this, but something about his blank stare caused some alarm with the younger students.

“watch out!” a second year hissed, pulling his friend back by the collar as tom flew past.

he barely noticed.

there was sharp knock at your door, and at first you thought someone must’ve gotten the wrong dorm, but it persisted despite you not answering. stomping over to the door, you whipped it open before another knock could disturb the little peace you had left.

“what?!” you seethed, only recognising the person in your doorway afterwards. “oh, tom. what are you doing here?” you asked.

tom screwed his eyebrows together. surely it was obvious what he was doing at your door. he had waited for you in the library for nearly forty-five minutes—he must have looked like an utter fool. how he hated to be humiliated.

“i-”

“oh! oh, tom, i’m so sorry. i completely forgot,” you threw your hands over your mouth guiltily.

tom looked past you and into your room, noticing the strewn sheets, blankets, stale food and tipped over glass on your bedside. then he looked back at you, expression softening slightly.

“are you unwell?” he questioned you.

“in a matter of speaking, aunt flo has come to visit,” you said delicately.

tom made no answer, only continued staring as if asking you to elaborate further to relieve his confusion.

“that time of the month, tom.”

he shifted. “oh.”

you nodded, leaning against your doorframe. the pain had subsided momentarily in tom’s presence, but now that the excitement had died down, it was coming back full force.

tom said nothing, but his eyes poured into yours, and suddenly his anger had vanished and in its place was a much softer emotion he didn’t care to name. he brushed past you into your room, ignoring the questions you threw his way. retrieving your glass and plate of food, he exited your dorm and placed them on a nearby table.

he was back in an instant, pressing his hand to your lower back and silently ushering you back into your own room. he stopped in front of your bed, and you sat down. the next moment he was gone, and you weren’t aware of how long he’d been away, still trying to understand what he was doing and whether he was coming back or if that was the end of your odd exchange.

but before you knew it, he had returned with a full glass of water and a bowl of fruit. he could barely believe it himself. he didn’t care to look after people other than himself, it wasn’t in his nature, nor in his interest. and he seldom did things that weren’t in his interest.

but he found himself in the hogwarts kitchen arranging fruit in a bowl and asking specially for blackberries because he’d seen you eat them frequently.

“thank you,” you whispered, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

he looked down to you, his gaze sliding down his sharp face and onto yours. he didn’t speak much, not unless he deemed it necessary, and sometimes you appreciated this.

“you’re welcome,” he replied, sitting in the chair in the corner of your room, his ankle resting on his knee and hand gracing over his lips as his elbow rested on the arm of the chair.

it was as if he was examining you. you tried not to wince or react to the pain in your stomach for as long as you could, but eventually you couldn’t help it. tom didn’t move a muscle as he watched you.

“do you like to read?” he asked finally, cutting the tension in half.

“yes,” you answered, “my books are over there if you’d like to have a look.”

tom’s eyes flickered to where you had pointed, and he could see several titles from where he was sitting. in one swift movement he got up from the chair, slipped his hands in his pockets and stepped over to your shelf.

he selected a novel from your collection and returned to the chair.

“you can sit over here, you know.”

tom turned, looking at the space next to you on the bed. “very well.”

the mattress dipped with his weight, and you tried to control your pulse from racing just by him being so near. but his scent was intoxicating—he smelled expensive—and his thigh was almost touching yours. it was the perfect distraction from the pain, though you wouldn’t have guessed such a thing.

tom, too felt nervous, and he didn’t like to feel this way. but he suspected that this type of nervousness wouldn’t be as bothersome as the rest. he pushed the tremble in his voice down and opened the first page of ‘a room with a view’.

his deep voice was calming, diverting, too. though lucy honeychurh and george emerson’s story was also, over time his body had inched closer to yours subconsciously, and now you were touching like it was the most normal thing in the world. after a while, you’d moved back on the bed, head resting against your pillows and legs curled up into you. tom had been resistant at first to make himself comfortable, but had done as you asked and situated himself against your headboard.

bravery had taken hold of you nearly an hour into the reading session, and you dared to rest your head against tom’s shoulder. he didn’t stop reading, he didn’t move, but you could feel him stiffen ever so slightly, and then let go.

after a while, he even ventured to twist his pinky finger around yours, forcing himself to awkwardly turn the pages of the book one-handed—though neither of you were bothered about this.

it was quiet, it was intimate and private, and the moment was yours. and though it was only george and lucy who had shared an embrace, you hoped that it wouldn’t be too long before you and tom would share one of your own.

🏷 @imabee-oralizard @mad-elia @velvetcloxds @garfieldsladybird @flesh--amnesiac

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x fem!reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle era

[saiidahyunie]

i wish i hated you 

son chaeyoung x f!reader 

synopsis: it’s not the truth nor the cure, but hating you’s the only way it doesn’t hurt.

warnings: a lot of heartbreaking feelings, sorry.

a/n: my first entry for chaepril and my (only) entry for angst april (angst4@nr1chaedickrider agenda)

putting pen to paper sounds easy, but it’s a lot more difficult to journal your thoughts when your heart is being ripped out. 

writing had always been the escape for you, pouring out these feelings and emotions to different degrees of ‘how’s your day going’ or ‘today, this happened because i did x,y, and z.’ the silence of your house filled with the occasional beep of your smoke detector in your kitchen was more therapeutic than being in a cafe where it’s busy and distracting. 

sure, there could be some prose of the classic-old cliche of ‘dear diary’ where you write in the lines of having this crush on someone in the same class as you, or how they complimented the clips in your hair, the shirt that was the new from hot topic, maybe even being partnered up for a school project was enough to report in that silly little book. 

the phone vibrates next to your laptop followed by a sound of the doorbell with combined knocking, peering over the screen where it immediately lights up to present your notification form the message app. 

// chae: hey, i’m outside ! 

// you: okay, one second.

before answering the door, you look at the google doc filled with lines of words that may have some subject to the story that you’re writing, putting an ellipsis at the end of the last sentence before stepping away to bring chaeyoung in. 

swinging, the five foot three woman in front of your doorstep stands there unbothered, sunglasses primed and everything with earbuds on with not a single care in the world. she’s so free spirited and soft spoken, you can’t help but smile at the fact that of all people that she could’ve been friends with, she decided to have you as the closest. 

“come on in,” you say. “nobody’s gonna be home until dinner.” 

chaeyoung nods, following just behind you through the living room, plopping her handbag on the couch before trailing to the kitchen where your laptop was. “what you got there? another writing assignment?” 

“no,” you laugh. “just some journalistic thoughts from the depths of my mind.” 

chaeyoung nods, grabbing an orange before seamlessly peeling it while reading the last few paragraphs that were on your laptop screen, eyes scanning slowly but moving at a darting pace that it may look like she’s in a rush. “this story seems pretty interesting. where’s your journal.” 

“oh, it’s in my bag next to you. i didn’t put an entry in yet for today, but i was planning to.”

“what was gonna be today’s report for this journal log, y.n?” 

pursing your lips, you’re humming while the brain cells try to come up with a sufficient answer to chae’s question. “i dunno.” you say, tapping your cheek with a single finger before snorting out of nowhere. chaeyoung also laughs while you’re trying not to meet her face. “what? what’s so funny?” 

“it’s nothing.” you start. “i think i was going to do something more of the theme of acceptance.” 

“acceptance?” 

“coming to terms with something.” 

chaeyoung nods, swapping places with you, standing up as opposed to you sitting down in front of your laptop, staring again at the new blank page on the screen before opening a new page in your journal next to the left side. 

“penny for your thoughts?” chaeyoung asks. 

“is dr. son chaeyoung p.h.d in the office by any chance?” 

“she is now.” she replies, smiling while tossing an orange slice into her mouth. “do you mind if i–?” 

tilting your head, already knowing what her question was gonna be, “you don’t need to ask.” you say to her, standing up before reaching above the portion of the wall over the refrigerator to shut off the smoke detector. 

—

“i need your help with something. writers block” you start again with chaeyoung.

“with what? what are you trying to type, or write?” she asks you, the cigarette between her mouth before taking it off and blowing the air to the open window next to her. 

you’ve been friends with chaeyoung since the beginning of high school, it’s been long enough to the point that you and her know every single little detail about each other. from the bra sizes, to the different tastes of music. everyone had always complimented the contrasting vibes that you two gave off with chaeyoung being more artsy and individualistic as to you being more refined and structured. 

there was one entry that you’ve always wanted to write or at least put to the damn book that shares all of your deepest and darkest secrets hidden away from the world that will never see the light of day. 

you were in love with chaeyoung.

chaeyoung doesn’t know that.

because chaeyoung doesn’t like girls. she likes pretty girls, but somehow got swept up with a guy named zion. 

zion, however, is a saint. he’s respectful, understanding, similar to the vibes that you give off which chaeyoung likes. you could say that he is you personified as a guy.

but in the end, zion isn’t you. 

“so there’s this love story between these two characters.” beginning again while chaeyoung gave her full attention. “i’ve built up a lot of tension between them, but i’ve been stuck on how to get past the frustrated confession of love.” 

“when was the last time you really tried to dig deep into writing something like that?” 

“a while ago. you saw the journal entries that i had about feelings that were unclear for someone.” 

“can you show me? or do you at least remember what you were trying to go for when writing?” chaeyoung asks you, looking at the journal with the blank page and the pen against the spine of the booklet. 

“uh, let me see if i can find it,” you reply, flipping through the pages of the neat and scribbled writing before stopping, “there we go.” turing it around and sliding it for chaeyoung to read. she’s helped you get out your thoughts beforehand. if it weren’t for her, god help you for being in a different state compared to now. 

“what’s this?” she asks, pointing to the topic next to the faded date and time. 

“oh, the title? anecdotes.” you answer her, stopping your typing on the keyboard. “i’ve been writing thoughts down like these to see if i can crank out a big, sweeping scene that hits all the emotional checkmarks.” 

“it was that one morning from that one sleepover we had with the girls, looking at your hair, because you’ve been thinking about whether to cut it. but your hair has so much volume, and so dense, so when you grow it out like this, it looks thick. it suits you.” 

chaeyoung looks up with an arched eyebrow, unsure if she was okay to continue, so you nod. 

“i know you hate styling your hair, so i thought, ‘it looks good like this. unstyled, but full and curly. don’t cut it.’” 

“i’ve been planning for your birthday present for at least 6 months. two rolls of 35 mm film. a screen protector. a scrapbook with pockets that have the right size for your instant photos. the brand of those star-shaped pimple patches you asked me about that one night while staying over.” 

“that first time we saw each other after i got dumped by that one girl one the cheer team who wasn’t into me. i made fun of how you kept yelling at me in the parking lot of how stupid and much of a people pleaser i was.” 

while she was reading aloud, you see the last sentence on your document be something along the hurtful tone of hate. (“this pain i’m carrying, it’s unbearable. but at the same time. it’s perfect in a way to where i can handle it, but i still have a dissatisfaction towards you.”) 

“i admired the way you text me, despite how dry and open ended they were. like a rupi kaur poem, the broken sentences structure like her books. you loved it anyway, and it made you emotional.” 

“i remember you started texting me like that as a joke, but then i realized that i was also doing the same form of texts to my other friends and even my parents.” 

“i’m sorry,” chaeyoung snorts. “this is too interesting and i can’t tell if you’re doing a journal entry or putting me through a whirlwind of fucking relateable.” 

some of it– you stop your train of thought before the words can even leave your lips, “i don’t know what i was doing that day, but i tried to emulate something more of a confession of sorts, but this isn’t me or anyone else. i’m just going off the top of my head.” 

chaeyoung flips through the single page, shocked at how muchw as there on the front and back. “jesus y/n, you really put yourself in the blender for this.” she says, nodding at how much content was put into that one specific entry. 

“are you gonna keep reading or are you done?” 

“shut up, i’ll keep going.” chaeyoung bats an eye at you, pulling the journal closer to her like she’s the one protecting her secrets. 

“i recently realized that i’m terrible at keeping my feelings covert. i’ve been trying to keep my interactions with you comfortable and friendly. then i realized i’ve been catching myself notice and point out the shirt that you look like you’d wear, and i’m up to my tenth movie out of the many favorites.” 

you’re hoping chaeyoung realize that everything that’s she’s reading the feelings that you’ve been keeping from her after all this time, knowing that if she did find out, it would put everything between you two into a sinkhole of ‘i shouldn’t feel this way, and it would ruin our friendship’ kind of deal. 

“when we became friends, i thought of you as a dreamer and a reserved romantic. i liked the way you took an unapologetic approach at the things you cared about in your life.” 

chaeyoung stops to finish the last bits of her cigarette before tapping the ashes in the sink, clearing her throat before speaking. “are you sure this was to help you get your writing creativity up?” 

“yes,” you say, typing away on the doc to most likely finish up the story. “there’s not much after that part so finish it.” 

she pouts, inhaling before looking at the last couple of sentences.

“it’s been a while, probably more than a year. i forget. while a lot happened since then which altered my perception of you, i still think fondly of the romantic dreamer.” 

“y/n, who is this about?” chaeyoung asks, and you’re trying to fight the wave of tears building up in your eyes. 

“it’s not about me.” you say, jaw clenching because your heart will burst if the truth was let out. “that entry is never about me.” 

chaeyoung looks down again and continues: 

“i try not to sit around you and shit like that. it feels like there’s a spark when you crack a joke and they bounce off of it. i don’t say anything. because i know that you’ll chalk it up to just friendship, and i’ll say ‘i know, don’t remind me.’” 

“i notice all the things about you in the time you’re in my life. the way you angle your shoulders when pressed. there’s a note on my phone where you rambleed all of the things you wanted to do when we have our trip to tokyo.”

you look down in disappointment. 

“i walked you back to your place when you found out that mina didn’t feel the same way about you, how the keys to your house have this little star key ring attached to it. even though it was late, you said, ‘i have an extra ramen pack left, do you want to eat it with me?’” 

chaeyoung looks up, noticing that there’s a scribble at the last sentence before flipping back to the front side of the journals’ page. “why’s the last line scribbled?” 

you finish typing the last letter of the sentence, the whole story really, “that sentence when i wrote it in there didn’t have much of a significance of impact that i wanted it to be.” 

“but what did it say?” 

you sigh, rubbing your face to hide the sniffle that broke out from your nose before drinking the glass of water next to you, placing it down after and returning your gaze on chaeyoung. “the sentence said: ‘and with all of these things in my mind about you, i thought to myself. i hope i get to love you in this lifetime.’”

chaeyoung parts her lips, appalled and moved with the thourgful entry that may or may not have destroyed her emotionally. you always had a way with words that make people on your little blog come back for more works to read. “do you think these have got anything in them?” you ask, closing the journal before setting in your handbag next to you. 

“they do, but not for a scene like that.” chaeyoung answers, voice stern, but helpful enough for you to accept her opinion. “maybe the love your anecdotes are about aren’t big for the big sweeping moment you’re trying to get.” 

she’s right, maybe all of these hidden feelings should have a place to stay, like the numerous amounts of secrets inside that small book, they too should not be let out for anyone to hear or read. 

“you’re writing about quiet love.” 

you look at chaeyoung who has a heartfelt smile across her lips, caring for what you were trying to do, and you just have to accept the fact that your feelings will never reach out to her. chaeyoung’s phone rings on the table, looking at it before her face lights up. “yay! z just got off of work and he’s on his way here.” 

“oh, so you were just dropping by?” you ask stupidly, forgetting that chaeyoung texted you about coming by to chill before having her date with zion prior to writing. even if you were gonna say anything, a honk is heard outside the house, “that’s him probably.” chaeyoung says, walking back to the front door with you behind her. 

you see zion in his decked out sports car, something that fits his vibe (and yours too) while chaeyoung turns around to give you a needed hug which was always comforting. “guess i’ll see you later?” 

“one more thing,” you ask, “do you think i should change the ending of the story?” 

“maybe.” chaeyoung simply says, and your heart just sinks. 

soon after she left, you open up your laptop to the same google doc that’s completed, but you’re thinking about the time where she read all of those things in that journal. it wouldn’t hurt to put one more sentence just for good measure before posting up on the blog without giving a care if people liked reading it or not. 

so you type: 

“if i can love the wrong person this much, imagine how much i can love the right person.” 

#hyunie #kpop x reader #twice x reader #chaeyoung x reader #twice chaeyoung #son chaeyoung #twice imagines #chaeyoung imagines #chaeyoung angst #twice angst #son chaeyoung x reader

[aeomianamoure]

— emo beomgyu as your comforting bestfriend <3

warnings <3: friends to lovers kinda? (beomgyu is in love with the reader) angst ): reader has bpd n coping with a bad breakup, cursing, reader has mixed feelings about breakup, symptoms of depression basically

a/n <3: im sorry this isn’t the usual posts i make im currently coping with a breakup and i was with my fp of over two years and im in desperate need of a way to cope that doesn’t involve self destructing please enjoy!!

it’s been about eleven months since your breakup with your partner and it feels like it’s been years since

you’ve decided to try therapy, you even begged for your partner to try again but no avail

you grew helpless, and overall just very depressed

you started spending all day in your room, ignoring your friends, family and even ignoring basic human needs since as eating causing a sufficient amount of weight loss

you didn’t understand why you were still so sad about this breakup, the relationship you had with your partner was dead anyway you guys were constantly on and off and always arguing it really made no sense to you why you’re still so upset over them

you began to have mixed feelings, constantly going back to black and white thinking on your ex wondering what hurt more? hurting with them around or hurting with them gone

you felt overdramatic but this was your fp for crying out loud, your first of everything you felt like you were never gonna get over it

you always knew that it your my bpd making you feel this way bc no normal person mourns a breakup like if the person died

you were absolutely spiraling during the day you felt infinite and felt like you were over your ex and then when you were alone at night and you’re mourning your ex and sobbing hysterically trying to get them back

everyone tells you that time heals and you’ll get over it but you’re really starting to believe that that won’t ever happen

you sigh in defeat as you begin to lay on your bed for the nth day in a row planning on bed rotting until you hear a faint knock by your bay window

groaning as you sit up weakly walking to the sound, you open the window your smiling fainting at the sight of your childhood bestfriend beomgyu you move out of the way to let him in your bedroom

“you doing okay? you haven’t been answering my calls or texts” the oreo hair colored older male asked you taking in the state you’re currently in

your lip wobbles at the question as you try to fight back sobs and falling into the boys arms but you fail miserably as you cling onto your friend sobbing in the crook of his neck scaring him a bit

“are you okay y/n-“ he blinks awkwardly hugging you

you sigh again “no im not okay, im still not over them”

beomgyu looks at you in pity, “how come? they treated you so shitty and it’s almost been a year y/n”

“i know that beomgyu but it’s so hard to get over them when they were my fp” you begin to explain to the boy as he nods

“i got that but you do realize throughout your entire relationship with them you were the glue holding the relationship together right? you were there for them when they needed it the most when they were depressed and they couldn’t even do that for you” the boy goes on a rant

“i know that but maybe i just need to get over this depression phase alone”

“do you hear yourself? no one deserves to go through depression alone!” beomgyu’s heart breaks at your statement as he hugs you tighter

you smile weakly moving to sit beside him instead of on his lap, “you really think so?”

“i know so” he smiles back at you

“hey are you hungry? i hear your stomach growling” beomgyu asked you looking at how much weight you’ve lost

you shake your head making the emo boy frown at you, “well that’s okay let’s just take this step by step okay? im sorry for not checking in on you in person sooner but i’m here now as a friend a shoulder to cry on or someone to vent to” beomgyu brings you into a gentle embrace rubbing his fingers through your hair in attempt to cheer you up

beomgyu felt guilty for this but he was in love with you, has been since high school but he knew the timing wasn’t right and you desperately need a friend right now

even though it hurts him that you may never be over your ex at least he can be there for you rather than not have you at all

a/n: it’s only been a day since my breakup with my partner but i hope i get over them soon bc i know our relationship has been dead for months before the final breakup :( also sorry if this one shot isn’t so good ):

#Spotify #coquette #emo boyfriend #emo x coquette #txt x reader #angelina’s garden ♡! #txt #txt imagines #txt oneshots #beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x female reader

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 3- Don't You Trust Me?

If you guys like this we can do another part for this.. hehe

FICTOBER Promts and masterlist

Patreon

1.2k

warnings- mention of abuse, werewolves, asshole!harry, mention of blood and injury, mention of death/killing

-----

Y/N was silent as she looked up at the man who had the power to ruin her life standing over her. Her arms were crossed, body sat in the corner as his wolfish smile sent a shudder through her body. 

God, he was scary. The alpha of a rival pack greeting you personally in a holding cell was absolutely not what the ideal scenario would be for anyone, but especially not when it was this alpha. He wasn’t known for his kindness, his pack staying to themselves and remaining self sufficient. When her own pack had tried to come in and take over years ago when she herself was just a pup, they’d lost hundreds. The true scale and viciousness of the pack had been extremely underestimated by an arrogant alpha with no sense of fear. Surely he died with one though, at the hands of the one in front of her.

“There, there, pet. Why are you trembling?” The croon was sickening, the eyes dark as he slowly approached her cowering body. “Hm? You’ve got to understand why we had to take you in. Sniffing around our land is… unfavorable. Not a wise move.” His shoes clicked on the cement of the holding cell, the cold floor itself freezing her core. He was pawing at her, playing with his food. “Do you know who I am?” 

Y/N didn’t find her voice yet, nodding as an answer. That wasn’t good enough for him, though, and she felt it when his voice dropped and he stopped right in front of her. “You’re a big girl. Use your words. Do you know who I am.. Where you are?” 

“Yes.” She squeaked, swallowing thickly as she kept her eyes averted. “I know who you are and I know where I am.” 

“So tell me why you thought it was a good idea to turn up here?” He asked, the toe of his brown leather boot nudging her knee. “Hm? Give me your eyes when you’re speaking.” His voice tensed. “Don’t be disrespectful.” 

Y/N was terrified. This was a man who was known for devious things when provoked and the last thing she wanted to do was provoke her, but her body was frozen. “I’m s-sorry, I’m just afraid. I didn’t mean to come on to your land. I got lost.” The excuse was laughed off, the bark of laughter making her clench her fists. Why would he laugh at that? 

“Lost? You avoided all the signs?” His arms crossed over his broad chest making her sink deeper into the wall. His gaze cut like a knife into her own. “I find it hard to believe that. But let’s say I do. Why should I let you go? I see… quite an interesting pack mark on your arm.” His smile was rueful, eyes narrowed as he stared at the mark with clear detestment. “How do I know you aren’t a spy, hm?” He growled. “How do I know that the weak land you come from hasn’t gained another delusional leader, since it seems to run in your stream water, thinking they can overtake my own land?”

“I swear, that isn’t it, I don’t agree with what they’ve done in the past and I-” The interruption was another growl that made her cower back, internally hating herself for it. If she had proper food and water in her, perhaps the snark could come back where it usually sat at the tip of her tongue, but she was too tired and frightened to argue. “I was trying to escape them. I was, I was trying to throw them off my trail and making different lines for them to follow. I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t even know until I was tackled and brought up here.” Rudely, she may add. Tossed into the cell with no answer of why and no chance to explain herself. Until now. 

“Escaping?” Harry quirked a brow, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip as he observed her. There was no telling if he believed her or not, but she was wishing on every star she had that he could spare her. “Why would you try and escape them? They try to advertise being a luxurious and exclusive pack…” His eyes ran over her. “It would make sense for them to think little of me. Send their prettiest pack member over with a sob story, try and break into my strategies and secrets. There are always whispers.” 

“I-I swear to the moon, that isn’t the case. I’m leaving because- because my father promised me to the alpha’s son. He’s dangerous. I’ve been hurt so many times before just in the courting process and they won’t let me back out of this deal.” She swallowed her sob that had been crawling up her throat, terrified of her fate. “I know it sounds fake but I swear it, Alpha. I promise. They’ll put out a howl for me soon, report me missing and stolen but If I was to return, they’d kill me.” She stressed, eyes widening up at the bigger man. “Oh god, I’m going to die either way. You’re going to kill me too.”   

“Perhaps.” The werewolf Alpha replied. “If you’re lying, I’ll cut your throat myself. I’ll make an example out of you and send your arm back to your pack, with that disgusting mark branded over with our own.” It was terrifying, the way he spoke with such little care for her life- as if it would please him to make a point to the pack she was running from. “But, if you aren’t lying.. I think it would be such a beautiful turn of events if I take you in. Rub some salt in the wounds I know are still gaping open back in those artificial crystal encrusted gates.” He sneered in obvious distaste, the true hatred of her birth pack showing with his eyes. Y/N couldn’t help that tiny sliver of hope at his words, though. If he took her in?

“I promise, I swear it, I’m not lying. If you- if you can promise me safety from them, I’ll stay and work for you, I’ll do anything... You won’t regret it.” She pleaded, giving him her most honest look. She was exhausted, filthy, her ankle throbbed and her head was still bleeding from where the guard had wacked it on the tree when she flailed. All she wanted was a warm bed, a wash, some food and safety from the people she knew were hunting her. 

The strong creature gazed down at her with a silent promise. If she messed this up, she was dead. If she was out in the forest, she probably would suffer the same fate. 

“Anything?” That wolfish smirk rose on his lips, a sparkle like glint in his eyes. Y/N knew that wasn’t a good thing, but she had no choice but to nod. “Unwise to promise that, little pet. But i suppose I can let you stay.” Harry couldn’t resist the temptation to win yet another battle from her pathetic excuse of a pack. Having their most attractive member run to him for shelter? That would be the icing on the bloody cake.  “You’ll be put on probation. I need you to be watched and I will be listening in to every rumor and whisper in the wind to assure you aren’t leaking anything back.” Taking a step forward, he extended his large hand, Y/N’s swallow audible as she  was slow to place her smaller, dirt and blood stained palm into his own. 

“Lets move a bit faster, pet. Don’t you trust me?” 

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry fic #werewolf harry styles #alpha harry #alpha Harry styles #harry styles halloween #jarofstyles fictober 2023 #jarofstyles fictober

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Hey, i recently had an episode of trauma coming back (i was a victim of child SA) and i just couldnt do anything; i couldnt speak.

Could you mabye write something about the boys with a s/o whos a victim

Sorry you went through that, friend, and that I took so long to answer this. Many hugs from this internet stranger.

Slashers with an S/O who was a victim of SA

Jason Voorhees

Jason doesn't really question why you seem to hate the horny teenagers just as much as he does. In his mind, that's just the stance any decent person should have. But then, one time, while you two pick off the campers one by one again, you walk in on two of them doing the deed and it takes you right back to what happened to you. You drop your weapon, and, alerted by the sound, Jason rushes to your side, kills both the campers and then sits with you, your head leaned against his shoulder, until you feel better again. After that, he will do the killing alone again, and just let you pick off anyone who is currently trying to escape.

Vincent Sinclair

He knows a thing or two about trauma, just not of the sexual kind. Luckily, there is not much in Ambrose that could directly trigger you... until you stumble over Bo's stash of porn magazines, some including certain fetishes and kinds of roleplay. You quickly put the magazines back to where you found them and flee into the basement, where you literally run into Vincent, causing both of you to topple and fall onto the waxy floor. He immediately knows that something upset you, and takes you to his workshop, puts on some calming music and cuddles with you and Jonesy. Then he will give Bo a strict signing to about having his magazines laying around.

Freddy Krueger

Probably the worst significant other for someone with that kind of trauma, considering he was the cause for that kind of trauma for some people too (like Lori). He will try to make light of it. If you tell him that something makes you uncomfortable, he will do it on purpose, to "desensitize you" (or at least that's what he claims).

Basically this guy is an asshole. But we already knew that, didn't we. The best thing that could be said about his way of handling your trauma is that he offers to pay your abuser a visit and make them regret what they did.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms will yell and rage and pout when you don't feel like being touched at the moment, during those days when the memory is particularly present and raw for you. But with time, you might be able to get him to understand that what happened left scars, just like the fire his parents started when he was a child.

He asks you to tell him what happened. And if you do, he will listen, and tell you "That won't happen again. I'm here now. Nobody gets past me."

Bubba Sawyer

Chop Top and Nubbins tend to make some off-color jokes at your expense, but once you explained your trauma to Bubba, he immediately stops them when he sees that they are starting to hit too close to home. The two middle brothers absolutely aren't used to their youngest brother telling them off or standing up to them at all, so it leaves them sufficiently stunned and actually makes them understand how serious Bubba is about protecting your mental health. As an apology of sorts, they offer to sniff out where your abuser is hiding and make an example of him.

#tw sa mention #slasher x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #freddy krueger x reader

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Be Mine, Please! | Yandere Yor Forger

“Uh hi, Miss. Forger uhm I didn’t realize you were staying with us today.”

The candid question had no effect on Yor, who was still smiling at you with her hands folded underneath her chin. When you arrived at the Forger residence you were under the impression that Anya would be home alone as per the usual schedule. But Yor didn’t follow after Loid in any capacity. Not in a delayed exit or an appointment midday…she never changed out of her casual clothes. 

“Nope! I get to spend the day with you and miss Anya!” 

This was fine. You collected the remaining plates on the table, making your way to the sink. Perhaps she just wanted some help…who were you kidding Mrs. Forger wasn’t one to hide her desires about spending more time with you. You just wished she hadn’t paid you to do so. She seemed like a lovely woman and you wouldn’t have minded going out for a drink or two. But as the morning went on she sipped on her drink while watching you and Anya play. 

It was harder to play spies that morning; you didn’t mind Bond as an audience but not another adult. You couldn’t help your eyes wandering to the reflection of her crimson eyes in the window, watching you with a smile on her face.

“(Y/n)! Why aren’t you doing the sync-up dance? How will we release our powers to complete the mission?”

“Uh, Anya…can we not do the whole dance today?”

“What, why?! You said it’s important we do it every time, with all our hearts!”

“Y-yes but…Yor…is here…”

Anya doesn’t understand your plight, or rather she ignores it demanding you do the dance with her. Reluctantly you did the dance looking away when Yor smiled and giggles at your dancing form. With Anya down for a nap, you were left to deal with Yor without the distraction of Anya. 

“Ah (Y/n) you’re so lively with Anya! Do you have children of your own?”

You continued washing the dishes, watching her rise from the table to lean on the kitchen counter. 

“No b-but I had plenty of experience with young kids…uh y’know family friends and all.”

You were quick to respond, hoping your answer was sufficient enough to satisfy her. 

“Mmmm? Wow, then do you have a partner?”

You didn’t know what this had to do with your prowess with child care but you guessed this might have just been her way of making small talk.

“Uh no not right now…”

She did a little jump-twirling with her cup as she made her way to your side making moves to wash the cup alongside you. Hip to hip she moves to lean her face as close as possible to yours, you back away trying to avoid the waves of heat coming off her body. She only seems to move closer to you, oddly snuggling into you as you finished the dishes. 

“That’s a shame,” she didn’t sound sorry.” But you're such a catch! It's crazy to think no one’s snatched you up yet!”  

“W-well th-thanks Miss Forger.” 

You backed away from the sink to put the dishes away all with Yor in tow. 

Finally closing the cupboard you turned to leave facing Yor as she moves her hand upside down holding your chin with the pad of her pointer finger.

“It’s Yor.”

You nodded your head, backing away to walk to Anya’s room. Hardly making any space between you two as she follows you down the little hallway. It was like that for the rest of the day even when Anya woke once more you were forced to include Yor who seemed more than eager to be pressed into your side for as long as possible. 

Finally, your timer went off, and right on time, Loid walked into the home. Yor and Anya ran over to greet him, letting you relax for the first time today as you packed up the ‘gear’ you used for your spy games.

“Well, I best be on my w–”

“Won’t you stay (Y/n)? Please I’ve been dying to let you try my stew! It actually tastes delicious!”

Her excitement rivaled Anya’s as she turned back to you shuffling her feet up and down as she awaited your answer. You tried to restrain your grimace, having fallen for the trap of Yor’s cooking before. For assurance, you looked to Loid who chuckled hanging his hat and suit on the coat rack.

“It actually is really good.”

“Yeah! Even Anya didn’t die this time!” 

“H-hey!”

You chuckled feeling your heart sway as you tried to think about your choice. You stop when you remember the chores you had to do; so you made your case. Fully prepared for the wobbling bottom lips and tearful eyes of Anya, Bond, and Yor. It’s Loid who puts the nail in the coffin when you feel his ungloved hands wrap around your shoulders, giving a comforting squeeze. When you turn your head you’re met with the sky-blue eyes of Loid who smiles at you. 

“We’d love it if you did stay… I’d be sure to make it up to you.”

You didn’t know if it was the implication of money or the manly cologne that was fragrant around Loid: a beautiful man who made just about anyone weak in the knees–you included. You sighed exasperated as you held your hands out in defeat.

“Fine but I-”

“Yay!” “Ahhh~!”

Grabbing your hands and holding them close Yor nuzzled her nose against yours before pulling you along with her into the kitchen with Anya pushing you from behind. Loid let his eyes become half-lidded as he watched you be engulfed in his family’s chaos. He watched you fluster and give in as you let your silliness be released; he makes a note to himself.

“Well a family that sticks together, stays forever.”

#yandere yor forger #yandere spy x family #yandere forger family #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere loid forger #spy x family #spy x family yor #spy x family loid #yandere yor briar #yandere harem

[kscheibles]

e la vita ch. 1

content warnings: f! reader, drug mentions, drinking, emetophobia, bisexuality (homophobes and biphobes begone I will block u so fast)

word count: 3.8k

I didn’t want to be in Italy this summer.

That makes me sound ungrateful or something, but it’s the truth. Three months ago, I had planned to stay in Brooklyn with Claire all summer long. Hosting dinner parties, eating greasy breakfast sandwiches, dancing to old $1 records in our cramped apartment, picnicking in Prospect Park, and being totally, delusionally in love.

That was before things went south, she stopped trying and left me with more rent than I could possibly pay in the city. When Christina had first mentioned that a group of her friends was headed to Italy for the summer, I’d dismissed the possibility of going with them. Not only did I dread cohabitating with her wealthy, influencer friends who seemed to deal only in clout, I thought I’d be otherwise engaged. Weeks later, I’d gone back to her groveling, asking if I could sleep on the pull-out couch in Nina’s family villa for the summer. Luckily, the sofa was still available.

Now I sit at a wrought iron table – lease broken and all of my belongings sold to wealthy Manhattanites – in the warm yellow light of the Lombard sunset. Around me are chatty, outgoing girls, each more beautiful than the last. They gab about clubs and brands and boys. In the sea of Botox and iPhones, I cling to Christina like a life buoy. I push my tortellini around my plate to make it look like I have an interest in food, but I really don’t. I’m jet-lagged and uncomfortable. And even if that wasn’t the case, I’ve barely eaten since the breakup, relying on oat lattes and dirty water dogs to keep me alive.

“Try the pasta,” Christina jabs, “trust me, you’ll have a lot more fun this summer if you lean in.” I break the shell open with my fork revealing succulent ricotta curds and bright green spinach. The filing swims in a sauce of brown butter and fragrant tarragon but doesn’t affect me as it should. Nothing does anymore. The group’s conversation interrupts my train of thought.

“They’ve come every summer since the nineties, same as us,” says Nina, smirking at the girl to her left. “Hottest little accents you’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Who is she talking about?” I whisper to Christina.

“The boys in the other house,” she says, “the one you see on your way up here.” Nina’s family’s home is at a higher altitude than the rest of the city, necessitating a laborious hike to the bottom to actually do anything while in town. I’m sure that they’d been sold on the privacy of the location, but its impracticality left me wanting. The only other villa nearby sat at the base of the lush green hills before the road disappeared into winding dirt.

Another girl chimes in, “I saw them last year at a dinner in the city. They’re cute, too,” she coos. 

“I kissed George the summer I turned fifteen,” brags Nina and the whole table breaks into oohs and aahs. I usually have a shut-up-unless-spoken-to policy at group dinners, but I know Christitna is right. If I don’t lean in then the credit card debt I’d amassed to buy my plane ticket and the back problems I'm sure to contract from sleeping on a pull-out couch for a whole summer will have been for naught. Think of it as an acting exercise, I tell myself, a performance of the girl who is totally not hung up on her ex and excited for a fun summer with her friends. 

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “who are these guys?”

“They’re in a band,” says Nina.

“Like a real one?” I ask. Years of living in New York have taught me that all bands are not, in fact, real ones. Nina laughs.

“You’re funny,” she muses, “yes, a real one. They’re like famous. We’ll go over eventually, they throw the best parties you can find around here. Get real drugs, too. Not just liters upon liters of Aperol, not that I mind that either.”

With my question sufficiently answered, I return quietly to my pasta, cutting each shell into impossibly smaller pieces until it’s rabbit food that will glide down my throat and do the hard job of nourishing me without any work on my part.

–

After dinner, I tuck into the pull-out couch in the villa’s spacious living room. The lack of A/C and the balmy summer air make it impossible to enjoy the luxurious wool blankets Nina’s family no doubt splurged on. I allow myself to eavesdrop on the elated sounds coming from upstairs: women confiding in each other, commiserating about their troubles, and shrieking excitedly at each other's successes.

I first try to doze off at 10:15, hoping that an early night will be exactly what I need and I’ll wake up refreshed and on Italian time. After an hour of staring at the popcorn ceilings and trying to suppress my crippling fear of missing out, I’ve tired my mind out enough to begin slipping toward sleep. I have fewer and fewer thoughts until I’m jolted by a hip-hop bassline. It resonates through the trundle bed and rebounds off my ribs, cozying itself into my heart. As I begin to come to, I recognize the chords of a house track that used to play at the girl bar Claire and I frequented in Green Point. The melody is warm and familiar and undeniably annoying. How loud must the music be for it to affect me so acutely even as I’m a few kilometers away from them? 

I decide I’m pissed – and yes I decided. I’m freshly single, broke, jet-lagged, and fucking pissed at those entitled rich assholes. I slide my sandals on and head out down the hill in my sleep clothes.

-

I step outside onto the winding dirt road that leads the way to the boys’ home. The night is dark, lit by stars much brighter than I’m used to seeing in Brooklyn. I tilt my head back to look at them, trying to identify the big dipper. After a few seconds, I’m dizzy. I shake myself and trudge ahead, almost lulled into submission by the constant chirping of cicadas and the sweet fragrance of orange blossom that wafts off the bushes. 

With each step I take towards the boys’ villa (what were their names again? Nina said one was called George), the music, electronic and fast-paced, becomes louder. 

When I first knock on the faded wood door, I’m quite sure no one has heard me. I stand outside for a few minutes, contemplating whether I should knock again or cut my losses and return up the hill. I decide I may as well disrupt their party as some kind of karmic retribution for keeping me awake even as I’m exhausted from a transatlantic flight. I raise my fist and rap harshly at the door. A moment later, it flies open, revealing a curly-haired boy. Well, not boy, I decide as I inspect his features – lines decorate his forehead, and gray peeks out at me from within a ringlet that hangs over his eyes. He gives me a once over and can immediately tell I’m not here for the party. 

“Can I help you?” he asks, annoyed. His accent lilts and falls over the words. All of a sudden, I feel insecure in my braless and plaid pajama-clad state. He’s beautiful – and exasperated by me. I double down on my own annoyance. 

“Would you mind turning the music down?” I ask, still cordial, “I’m staying at the house up the way and I can’t get to sleep.”

The guy in front of me purses his lips and considers me for a moment. I feel itchy and uncomfortable. He’s looking at me like he can see through my clothes, to my soft hips and painted toes and peaked nipples. 

“Let me show you around, gorgeous,” he smiles, “then maybe you won’t mind so much.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me into the party. A warmth covers me as I cross the threshold into the villa. The inside of the home smells like college: cheap weed, sweet sticky mixers, and sweat. My sandals stick slightly to the floor, reminding me that I really shouldn’t be here right now. Like the alcohol that’s been spilled on the ground is some great cosmic interference to convince me to go home and get the rest I ought to. 

Suddenly, a big hand falls on the shoulder of the boy who’s pulling me by my limbs.

“Matty!” says the man. I can make out enough to see that he’s tall and devastatingly handsome. 

“George!” the boy – Matty, I remind myself – drops my hand and fully embraces the bigger guy. “Was just showing…” he nods at me to introduce myself.

“Y/n.”

“Around,” Matty finishes. George gives me a once over.

“Did she just roll out of bed? Or get released from prison?”

“Y/n came to ask us to keep the noise down,” Matty declares with fake sincerity, “Not a partier, are ya love?”

“Under the right circumstances, I can be,” I retort. Matty and George’s eyebrows raise in amusement, faces breaking out in smiles. That sounded much more cunning in my head. Now I feel like a toy they’re playing with, winding me up to see what noises I make. It feels infantilizing. I’m uncomfortable, crawling in my skin; pride battered and desperate to go home as soon as it doesn’t look like I’m running away from a fight of my own picking. “I’d better be going actually,” I assert.

Matty puckers his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’ll show you out, princess.” It’s a sweet nickname but it tastes bitter out of his mouth. He seems to twist everything good and make it unbearable. I resent him for it. I trudge in front of Matty towards the door with steadfast focus. As I cross the threshold, I turn to meet his gaze.

“Thanks for nothing,” I say calmly. Matty breaks into a devilishly smug grin. His eyebrows tilt a little and his lips reveal a few crooked teeth at the bottom of his mouth.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he says. I scoff and turn on my heels, leaving Matty in the dust.

–

The scent of freshly chopped garlic fills the kitchen as I stand in an assembly line of young women with cutting boards and chefs knives, each diligently chopping an ingredient for the bruschetta. 

In front of me is a bunch of basil, perfectly fresh and green. I gently remove the leaves from the stem and create a pile in the middle of my board. It reminds me of when I would be tasked with raking the leaves as a kid. Too distracted by my childish whims, I would create more work for myself by piling the leaves on top of each other and taking a grandiose dive into them before scooping them up into a trash bag and discarding them. Each leaf was like a piece of confetti, a celebration of the season and of youth. Now I do these things to prove to myself that I’m young and that I can still conjure up that imaginative, playful nature if I try hard enough. 

As I rock my knife back and forth over the soft leaves, Christina asks me where I was the night before. 

“I came out around eleven to invite you upstairs, but I couldn’t find you,” she says.

Embarrassed, I train my eyes to the task at hand. This is not the group to look like a tattle-tale in front of. Actually, there’s very few groups in which that would fly. My penchant for playing God and divvying out karmic consequences to everyone whose path I cross is a part of my nature I’m not particularly fond of. I’m not keen to share it, especially around people who are still making up their minds about me. Despite my steadfast beliefs and borderline-outlandish behaviors, I maintain a fervent desire to be liked. It’s pathetic. 

“I stepped out for some air,” I murmur.

“Really?” she nudges, “Because I didn’t see you on the porch.”

I turn my basil bunch 90 degrees in a flourish, beginning to chop it lengthwise. 

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep because of the music,” I spit.

“And…” Christina has always been too good at getting me to reveal my true feelings. She goads me torturously until it’s easier to say what I’m thinking than to conceal it.

“And I went to ask them to turn the music down,” I finish, “There, are you happy?”

“Very,” she smiles. 

I pick up the chopped basil, letting the pieces float through my fingers and deciding I need to chop them smaller, still. I whack at the pile haphazardly, ruining the lovely squares I meticulously crafted earlier. 

“They didn’t turn it down, if you were wondering,” I pant, “Pricks.” Christina chuckles to herself.

“No one ever does.”

–

The music of the club is omnipresent as I enter hand in hand with Christina. On my feet are heels too high to be comfortable, but the perfect lift to accentuate my calves. As soon as I cross the threshold, I drag Christina to the bartender, ordering two negronis. We idle by the bar for a moment and I take in my surroundings, savoring the bitter aftertaste of my drink and the waltz of the lights that flicker and cover the dancefloor with reverie. I listen to the synths and flourishes of the melody that envelop my senses. I hadn’t expected to like the music, but the DJ is spinning disco and it just feels right: the cold Italian aperitif, the funky basslines, and the tranquil nighttime air. I almost wish I’d left my phone at home. Nights like these aren’t compatible with phones anyway. The atmosphere feels like a relic of a bygone era, full of free love and intoxication. 

Nina and a friend of hers find Christina and me at the bar and run up to us with inebriated bravado. “You guys made it!” she squeals. Little does she know we were pre-gaming at the villa in anticipation of this exact moment. I couldn’t handle Nina while sober tonight, that much I was absolutely sure of. It also didn’t help that I was alone – for the first time in several years – in a romantic foreign country without the girl whom I still loved. As unhealthy as it was, alcohol made that reality hurt a bit less. Nina grabs my hands and leads Christina and me away from the bar. 

“I need to introduce you to the DJs!” Nina exclaims. I glance at Christina to communicate that no, I’m not particularly enthused at the prospect of meeting some Eurotrash guy whose head is shaved and whose torso is covered in Gucci logos. She returns the glance, silently begging me to behave. I relent.

Nina leads us around the side of the floor to some kind of dark stairwell. Rationally, I should be scared of being kidnapped but my drunken stupor inspires more carelessness than I would usually indulge in. I watch the sway of Christina’s hips and follow her like a lost puppy. Finally, we reach the top and the DJ deck is revealed. It’s shadowy and hazy. To the left is a corner booth with a straight couple making out in a way that really ought to be illegal in public. Past the lookout, laser lights flicker and sweep across the dancefloor, catching on the artificial fog and filling the air with psychedelic color. My eyes fall on the backs of two figures at the DJ booth, smoke rising above their heads. I can make out that one has headphones on and is faffing with the turntable while the other has their hands in the air and the small, flickering glow of a lit cigarette dancing around their figure. I’m dragged towards them by Nina who throws an arm around each of their necks in greeting. As soon as the one with the cig turns around, I catch his eyes.

It’s Matty. Selfish, arrogant Matty. I nod my head and flatten my mouth in a kind of recognition. The room is spinning from the alcohol and my skin is buzzing with discomfort. The bass of the music resonates in my ribs, teaching my heart how to beat. My mouth tastes salty and my knees feel weak. 

I’m running to the corner where I can see a bin. Tears prick at my eyes and my hair sticks to my sweaty forehead as I swiftly empty the contents of my stomach into the small trash can. I kneel on the rough carpet and brace myself on either side of the bin with my hands. Between heaves, I lift my head to shake my hair off the back of my neck. The cool air feels grounding, but I’m soon back with my head in the can. I feel a hand on the back of my head, wrangling my frizzy hair off of my shoulders. I gasp, looking back for the sisterly comfort of Christina’s bottomless, cerulean eyes. Instead, I find a pair of brown, honey-flecked irises: Matty’s. I’m reeling too severely to be upset or confused; I’m just grateful when he uses his free hand to sweep my damp bangs out of my face and nods at me.

“Go on,” he encourages, “better out than in.”

I bury my head in the bucket again. 

“Atta girl,” Matty coos in my ear. I can almost notice his hand rubbing circles on my back. Even when I’m quite sure I’m finished, I keep my head down for a moment savoring the last few seconds that I don’t have to look Matty in the eyes. Curse him for helping me. I wouldn’t know how to interact with him under normal circumstances, much less when he’s been nice to me – and watched me unceremoniously blow chunks into a bin.

“You feel better?” he asks. I lift my head tentatively, still scared another wave of nausea will hit me. 

“I think so, yeah,” I mumble. Matty searches my eyes for any warning sign that I’m still sick.

“Have you got a hair tie?” I instinctually fish in my jeans pocket for one, handing it to him. Slowly, he corrals my locks into a ponytail and secures it, fingers grazing the tops of my ears and making me shiver. I sit back against the wall with my legs splayed out in front of me, knees visibly carpet burnt from my previous position. Matty flops down beside me. He reaches out to touch the red, irritated skin. 

“You don’t need a doctor or something, do you?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I hiss when he applies a little pressure to my knee and shake his hands off me, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“When have I not been nice?”

“You wouldn’t turn the music down the other night,” I state. He smiles at me, eyes scrunching up until his pupils are totally obscured. 

“No one ever turns the music down,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus,” he adds, “I thought you were a buzzkill. Now I can see that’s not the case, sweetheart.”

“I can usually handle my drink better than this,” I protest, “And I’m also usually not a buzzkill.”

“I guess I don’t know anything about you, then,” he acquiesces, thinking for a moment, “Do you want to start over?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” I nod, smiling tipsily.

“So what’s caused you to be sick tonight?” Matty asks, leaning his head back against the wall. His hair is curled up in perfect ringlets and his skin glows golden even in the dim club light. He looks at me carefully, like his stare could hurt me. It could, I suppose. 

“Alcohol?” I say it like that should be obvious. His face wrinkles up again in a laugh I can vaguely identify as something that’s my fault. He looks pretty. I realize I want to make him do it again and again forever. I want to see the crinkles that grow at the sides of his eyes and the curl of his upper lip that reveals his boyishly crooked teeth.

“I figured as much. Anything in particular that drove you to drink?” I frown for a second, trying to remember. 

“My ex,” I say quietly.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, “that’s the problem. She didn’t do anything.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago?” My god, it’s already been two months.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs,  “that’s still fresh.” I shrug.

“It’s alright I guess. You just feel a little betrayed when someone stops trying. I thought that was the whole point of…” I trail off, gesticulating aimlessly with my hands, “love or whatever. To keep trying.”

“I get it,” he utters. 

“People stop trying with rockstars, too?” I tease. He smiles.

“How did you know that I’m a musician?”

“Well, first of all, I said rockstar–”

“Which I chose to ignore because it was sarcastic.” I roll my eyes.

“And second of all, the girls I’m staying with told me,” I finish. He nods in understanding.

“Well yeah,” he sighs pensively, “people stop trying with everybody. Even rockstars. If I’ve learnt anything in my life, it’s that giving up usually has more to do with them than it does with you.”

“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less,” I argue.

“Nothing does. You just have to let it hurt for a while.”

We’re both quiet for a second. I catch a couple of bars of an Earth, Wind, and Fire song and hum along, content with the silence. I let my head fall onto Matty’s shoulder and he immediately turns his head to look at me.

“Oh fuck, sorry. Is this okay?” I ask, hand flying to my mouth “I know I just puked.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “I just didn’t think you would want to.”

“I want to,” I kiss his shoulder through the cotton of his white button-up shirt. He watches me the whole time as though he can’t quite compute what’s happening. Then he snaps back to his regular confident state.

“Let me know if you ever want to deal with your girlf– ex without drinking your feelings away…” he trails off, mouth meeting the crown of my head, “I’d love to show you around here sometime.”

“Okay,” I mumble, the alcohol, tiredness, and emotions beginning to get the better of me and coax me toward sleep.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Matty grabs my hand from my lap and wraps it in his two larger ones, caressing my thumb and humming into my ear.

–

a/n: the next bit is written, but I am still writing the end. smut soon! x

#matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfiction #matty Healy

[suckerforcate]

if you want i was wondering if you could larissa weems x reader where in the readers past relationships they’ve made the reader feel like an inadequate partner (too clingy, annoying sorta stuff like that) but larissa is there for them to make sure they know how amazing they are and how much larissa appreciates them if this doesn’t interest you totally ignore this hope you have a lovely day :)

You're safe now

Pairing: Larissa Weems x Reader

Word Count: 1318

Warning: previous abusive/toxic relationship

A/n: Really liked the idea, hope you like my try on it! <3

Larissa had noticed a few strange situations in the past few weeks that you had been together. At first, she didn't think much of it, but they were growing stranger and stranger.

-------------------------

She had been under the shower when she heard her phone ring. Damn it.

"(Y/n) could you check my phone real fast, it might be important." A few seconds later you had stood in the bathroom, phone in hand.

"I- what? No, I wanted you to answer it. But thanks." She had laughed at it, but you had looked incredibly confused before leaving the bathroom, while she was talking on the phone.

"No, (Y/n). You'll need to take the phone." But you were already out of reach.

--------------------------

You two had been walking through Jericho, after having had a coffee at Weathervanes as the Sheriff had approached you.

"Principle Weems, Mrs. (Y/l/n), nice to see you." Immediately you let go of Larissa's hand and took a step back. Confused she looked at you but kept on talking to the Sheriff. You just grabbed her hand again when the Sheriff was so far away, he couldn't see you anymore.

--------------------------

Situations like that had been strange, yes, but she had always tried explaining it somehow. Maybe you didn't like to display affection in public. Maybe you didn't like taking on the phone. But with every situation it got harder finding reasonable explanations.

-------------------------

Larissa had come home after a long day, incredibly happy to see you. You had already laid in bed, reading a book. She took off her shoes and crawled into bed. Kissing your neck and pulling you closer.

But she fast stopped, sensing that you weren't in the mood.

"(Y/n), we don't have to so this." You looked at her, and for a second she thought she saw panic flash through your eyes.

"No, it's okay. Go on." So she kissed you again, but the usual reaction to her touches wasn't there.

"(Y/n), I can sense that you don't want this. I will not sleep with you, if you don't want to."

"I'm sorry." Your voice had been unrecognisably quiet.

"Darling, there is nothing to be sorry about. We'll just watch a movie or cuddle, okay?"

------------------------------

And it was fully impossible after the latest situation yesterday.

------------------------------

Larissa had come home, expecting you to be there. So, of course she was mildly disappointed, when you weren't.

She had called you and asked what had happened to sleeping at hers.

"Oh, I've gotten my period. I'm sorry."

"Aren't you feeling well? I can come over and massage you or bring you my hot water bottle for cramps."

"Oh no, I'm feeling quite alright. I just know you probably don't want me sleeping in your bed, and I'd rather sleep in my bed than on your couch." Larissa was absolutely perplexed at that and didn't say anything for a hot minute. To you that was a sufficient explanation, so you told her you loved her and hung up. Leaving a still absolutely stunned Larissa at the other end.

-------------------------

The next day, first thing in the morning Larissa's went to your room. You really needed to talk. Gently she knocked and entered after you called.

"Oh, Larissa. God morning." You still laid in bed, having just woken up.

"Good morning, love." Larissa kissed you and opened the curtains, to let the room be flooded with sunlight. She couldn't stop herself from staring at you. You just looked so incredibly beautiful, not really woken up yet and bathed in the sunshine.

She sat down on the edge of your bed, face sterner than before. Stern but still gentle, the look confused you. It made you feel like you had done something wrong, but she would be angry or scold you for it. But that couldn't be, right? Anger and punishment was the reasonable reaction.

"Darling, I want to talk to you." You had done something wrong. Of course, you had. Panic flushed through you, your mind working fast to find out what you had done wrong. Maybe if you'd apologise before she said something she would be less angry. But you had no idea. You had tried so hard not to mess things up.

"Whatever I've done, I'm really sorry. I didn't want to anger or annoy you." Larissa's eyes softened, and she took your hand in hers.

"I'm not angry, why would you think that. I've just noticed a few things in the last weeks that I didn't understand." You slightly nodded, showing her to go on.

"You never use my phone, even if I tell you to. You display nearly no affection in the public at all, you're always very careful with what you say, you apologise an awful lot for awfully much. That were all things I kind of looked over, but I absolutely didn't understand why you didn't sleep over last night, and it seems you always want to sleep with me, even if you yourself aren't in the mood at all. It's as if you'd just follow my word, without looking at your own needs. And as much as I appreciate that, I don't want it. I want you to listen to your body, to your needs and always communicate them." She gently stroked your cheek, you didn't know what to say. You were absolutely startled by her affectionate, loving being. The adoration in her eyes nearly brought you to tears.

"Well I just- my previous partner never wanted me to sleep in his bed when I had my period. He said it was disgusting." You were ashamed even talking about it.

"Firstly that is absolutely horrible. It's an absolute human thing and there is nothing disgusting about it whatsoever. Secondly, I'm a woman too. I also get my period, so if I can handle that I can most definitely handle yours as well. Can I ask, all the rest that I mentioned. Was that also because of your previous partner?" You nodded.

"He had been my first ever boyfriend. I just didn't know better, I thought that's how it's supposed to be, but you're making me question things right now. Her never let me look into his phone, but he had to be able to look into mine at all times. He always told me I was too clingy and affectionate. And if I didn't want to have sex he asked me what I was good for if I didn't pleasure his needs. He always punished me with days of not talking to me, if I'd anger him. And what I feel with you is so much stronger than what I felt for him, so I was really scared to mess thing up and have you not talk to me. I wanted to make you happy at all costs." Larissa was shocked, how could people do something like that? She had had shit relationships and people take advantage of her, but she thought that was mainly because of her ability to shape-shift. But people did this without any reason whatsoever.

"Oh love, come here." She opened her arms for a big hug, which you gladly accepted. Gently she stroked your hair and whispered in your ear.

"What that man did to you is unforgivable. That's not how a relationship works. It's not all about Sex, it's about trust, loving each other, having fun together and being there for each other no matter what. I don't keep any secrets, neither from you, nor from the people at this school. I'd gladly walk through the school and the town, arm in arm, kissing you, showing everyone how happy I am to have you as my girlfriend." You nodded into her chest, clinging to her like a hurt child. But you knew, with Larissa by your side everything would get better. You would get a chance to heal and be unconditionally happy.

#wlw #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie x reader #larissa weems x you #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #principle weems #wednesday netflix #wednsday addams #wednesday

[chiharuuu22]

It's Okay, I Love Everything You Made for Me

Caretaker bit her lower lip while looking at the food ingredients that were in front of her now. Oh, come on. Right now they were on the run and hiding from Whumper, so it was normal that they didn't have an adequate food supply.

However, seeing the various canned and instant foods in front of her frankly made Caretaker disappointed with herself. For her and the team, all these foods are no problem, but do these foods have enough nutrition to restore Whumpee's health?

Canned soup, beef jerky, canned fish and meat, cup fruit, instant cup noodles, white bread, crackers, several types of cookies, energy bars, and nuts. At least, they have a very sufficient water supply.

Caretaker sighed as she looked at the nutrition labels on the food one by one. Her fingers tapped, and she began to mix up what she could make. She didn't want to starve Whumpee any longer.

Some time later, Caretaker was seen bringing the results of her concoction into a room. This abandoned building was very dark, so she relied on the moonlight and was very careful in her steps. She saw several team members on guard and greeted each other quietly, trying not to make a sound while indicating she had plenty of food she had just made so they could recharge before returning to guard.

In one of the resting rooms, Whumpee was seen lying on a thin mat with a jacket folded in such a way as a pillow. A thin blanket covered him from neck to feet. Several other team members were seen sleeping and resting.

"Whumpee, wake up for a moment. You have to eat," said Caretaker quietly while shaking Whumpee's body.

Whumpee's tired eyes opened slowly as he tried to focus. "Caretaker? What time is it? How long have I slept?"

"It's almost midnight, and you've had about three hours of sleep since being rescued," Caretaker answered.

Caretaker helped Whumpee sit an lean in the wall and said, "Here, you should eat and replenish your energy. I also brought you painkillers."

Whumpee nodded, and Caretaker fed him slowly, spoonful by spoonful.

"Sorry, it's just porridge from an instant cup of noodles. I couldn't crush it well. I put in the canned meat too. It's hard to do without proper kitchen tools."

Whumpee shook his head, then smiled at Caretaker. "It's okay; I like everything you make for me."

Caretaker flashed a sad smile and said, "Thank you. I hope you recover soon."

#whumpee #whump #caretaker #caretaking #whumpee x caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #whump writing #whump scenario #recovery whump #hiding place #recovery #whump recovery #whump rescue #whump comfort #comfort whump #food

[poopersdoopers]

Thinking about a hurt & comfort fic with Shanks & Mihawk x reader. fem pronouns and fem presenting. Black reader in mind.

Synopsis:

Reader comes home from work more tired and upset than usual. Her partners want her to open up but she lashes out and goes a little too far.

To her surprise they are understanding and it breaks the damn. They comfort her and talk it out.

Angst, sfw, fluff.

It was another hard day of work. You were pissed and overwhelmed to say the least. 12 hours of emails, meetings, reviewing notes and for what…for it to start all over again.

The door to the train opened with a familiar ding and in no time you were walking home angry.

As soon as you opened the door, your red headed lover glanced over at you, eyes shining with admiration and excitement.

He practically fell over on his feet to great you. Sometimes Shanks’ feet too big for his lengthly body.

And as soon as you could begin to say the word, “Hi”, his arms were around you. His red head tucked between your shoulder and neck. You could smell tonights dinner, nicotine, wine — curiosity of your other lover— and sandlewood.

You would hug back but your arms were occupied by your workbag and take out.

“Hi love”, he squeezed your body closer to him, as if sensing something was off. He kissed the side of your mouth.

“Hey”, you answered back absentmindedly. You shook outta his arms and put your stuff down oh the couch.

Shanks was taken aback a bit but familiarized with your cold, repressed anger. He stood with his hands in his pockets, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure, don’t worry”, the words came out too gruff—to rushed to be believed. You hoped he wouldn’t press you. So you changed the subject.

“Where’s Mihawk?”

“In his study, he’s still working and asked me explicitly to not pester”, he said smiling the whole time.

You raised an eyebrow. The redhead’s eyes looked wicked.

“I’m shocked you’re not pouting.”

He chuckled and you couldn’t help but feel a smile crack across your face.

“Hey why haven’t you kissed me hello yet.”

You sighed. “I’m really not in the mood, for this Shanks. I just need to decompress for a second.”

You began to take documents, your uneaten lunch, and thermos out of your purse.

“You didn’t eat again today, babe? That’s the third time this week.”

You groaned aloud this time. Angry.

“I didn’t have the time to again. I’m sorry, okay? Is that sufficient enough of an explanation for you?”

You crossed over to the kitchen, Shanks didn’t follow. Staring into the hum of the refrigerator you gave yourself a pause.

“Look I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lash out at you like that”.

He didn’t answer.

“Shanks?”, you cocked a head from the kitchen.

He stood there absentmindedly texting, his hand in his grey sweat-pant pocket. You took him in: standing barefoot in your warm home dazzling in light. His soft pink t-shirt doing little to hide his muscles.

“I said I’m sorry”.

“I know sweetheart, but we need to talk. And I mean we, not just you and I.”

You groaned again.

“About. What!?” Your own voice shocked yourself.

Shanks frowned, “Calm down”, he instantly regretted his remark.

You could feel your blood pressure boiling up, “Calm down?! Calm down?! If you even KNEW what kinda shit I wad going through you would not be telling me to calm down. I-“

You stopped at an instant, “please I just need my space and I promise I’ll be good”, your rubbed your fingers to your temples trying to stop tears from falling. You covered your face.

You were embarrassed. You felt like a failure for crying.

“What’s all this shouting for? I’m supposed to be in a meeting.”

Mihawk stared at you, frowning deeply. Your stomach twisted.

You remember the first time something like this happened. The disappointment in both of their faces. You attacked first, “Of course you’re in a meeting. You’re always working late and then getting on my case for working late.”

“People in healthy relationships are supposed to be able to talk freely. However if you need space we’ll accommodate, freely.”

“Fuck you.” You didn’t even know why you were mad anymore but this conversation tired you immediately. Spinning around, crossed over from the kitchen, to grab the screen door walk back outside. It was nearly 10 pm, the fall air crisper than usual. You lamented not bringing a blanket out to escape.

Sitting down on a lawn chair you stared at the sky and tried to calm down.

All you needed was the perfect song to escape to. Scooping out your phone and headphones from your tan jacket, you searched for Spotify.

You heard a ping and immediately tensed. You felt sick.

It was not a “ we need to talk” or “I’m breaking up with you”. No.

I love you. I love you.

Two separate texts from the most wonderful, supportive, and understanding lovers of all time.

You wanted to throw up, cry, scream, but instead you did what you always do: shut down.

Minutes pass you remain panicked.

“Darling I think it’s time you come inside. It’s nearly midnight.”

You glance over your shoulder and stare brown eyes into golden eyes. The raven haired man looked sad — a rare occurrence in your relationship. Had you done that?

Had you caused them to worry? You felt sicker.

“I’m sorry.”

He held a hand out. You couldn’t accept it.

“Love please. We don’t have to talk about it at all, but don’t shut us out like this. Come.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop the tears from flowing freely. You had been distant, distracted, and lashed out at your two lovers simply for just caring. Even turning away back rubs from them. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d ask them how their day was or just sat in a comfortable silence with them. Your squeezed your eyes tighter. Hands pulling at your hair.

Not only were you a failure of a worker, you were a failure at love.

“Hey stop that now”, it was barely a whisper.

When you opened your eyes, you saw your tears falling. Your shame. But you could feel Mihawk’s thumb wiping those pesky tears of shame slowly.

He whisks you into his arms. Suddenly you were back in the living room, lying atop him on your plush couch. You didn’t notice it at first but you were earnestly shaking. You feel a hand at your back —Shanks— rubbing smooth circles. The dam broke loose:

“I’m sorry. I ruined everything. I ruined dinner. I ruined work. I ruined our relationship. I’m not good at anything but getting frustrated and giving up. I’m running the only thing I love every night and I can’t fix it. My whole life, I’ve been waiting to be loved to matter to feel important and I can’t stop fucking myself over.”

Mihawk looked down at his young lover before glancing over at Shanks.

“You don’t to have it all figured out already. Please give yourself more credit than that.”

You started crying again but this time into Mihawk’s silken clad chest.

“Let’s get you into the bath. Hmm?”

He carried you the whole way there. Only setting you down to strip himself, before plunging in the water.

Shanks stripped you of your clothes. Starring reverently at your body and then at your exhausted face.

Before placing you gently in the bathtub between Mihawk’s waiting legs. The deep color of your skin contrasting beautifully against the raven haired man’s pale skin.

He couldn’t help it. He had to kiss you both.

“Don’t get any ideas now, darling”.

Shanks winked, before stripping down quickly and joining the bath beside you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear”. You normally would laugh at such an outrageous lie, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to smile.

“This is the longest I’ve ever seen you cry and I know you don’t feel like talking, but at you okay?”

“Mmm..”

“That’s fair perfect answer, princess. Im gonna start with washing your front now?”

You felt Mihawk kiss the shell of your ear, as Shanks washed you gently all over.

A fresh wave of tears spilled. “Turn over”.

Mihawk could get a clearer view of your face now. Usually he would feel annoyed at someone this emotional and irrational but with you he immediately felt the need to protect and sooth.

He kissed underneath your eyes, then your nose, then your mouth before deepening the kiss. You completely stilled lost in the sensation and hand leaning against the raven haired man’s smooth chest.

“What happened to not getting any ideas?”, Shanks grinned. You broke apart from the kiss.

Mihawk rolled his eyes, “Unlike you, I can control myself.”

Shanks over-exaggerated a gasp, “You wounded me”.

You smiled at your silly lovers’ antics. Finally coming back to yourself a bit but too tired to keep up.

“I’m willing to talk a bit”, you yawned. Maybe having a fried brain was the key to opening up.

“Tomorrow my love. Lets stay in and catch up. You deserve that much.”

“Now it’s off to bed for you.”

Mihawk lathered each of his lovers’ skin in rich oils and body butters. Shanks wrapped you delicately in a fluffy robe. The raven haired man, held his hands out to guide you both to the master bedroom.

“Sleep”, he commanded.

And so you did, snuggled in the warmth of the two men.

Beloved.

#shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader x mihawk #one piece x reader #one piece imagines #angst with a happy ending #fluff

[formula1neverleft]

Charles drabble - request

“can you please do Charles x Arthur's bff ! female reader because that ferrari team pic has me feeling all types of ways. thanks! xx”

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, lil smut but nothing explicit (not me managing to make a 700 word drabble smutty when that wasn’t even in the request i-) , not proofread. Enjoy xx

//

Charles was convinced he was being completely chill about the situation.

I mean, it’s not like this is the first race Y/N is attending, right? She was Arthur’s best friend and was in Austria to see Arthur and Charles race. Simple as that. All he needed to do was act the exact same way as he always did around her.

All he needed to do was pretend like him and Y/N were still just friends.

Sounds easy enough, had it not been for the fact that he’d had her legs up over his shoulders in his trailer about ten minutes ago.

They had barely managed to evade being discovered when one of the Ferrari media people came knocking at his door asking him to come out for the team photo. Y/N had clasped her own hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the laugh she’d almost let out. Charles could still see she was smiling, the laugh lines on her cheeks and her eyes narrowing giving her away, and he had to close his eyes to compose himself enough to answer the person on the other side of the door.  The fact that he was still inside of her was not doing anything to aid the situation, for that matter.

Charles muttered out a quick “okay, just, uhm…give me a second”, relief washing over his face as he heard the footsteps of the person walking away from the trailer.

“Sorry, mon ange, duty calls” he said as he reluctantly tore himself from Y/N’s body.

“It’s okay, we can just take our time in the hotel later” she answered with a wink.

She then quickly got fully dressed and attempted to get her hair back to the state it was in before coming to congratulate Charles. Right before sneaking out of his trailer, Y/N turned to Charles and let her hand wander through his hair softly while keeping her gaze fixated firmly on his face.

“Congrats Grand Prix winner, I’m so fucking proud of you”

Charles didn’t even have time to thank her before she gave him a quick peck and disappeared out of the trailer.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world, and the trophy waiting for him in front of the Ferrari garage was only partly responsible for that.

The entire team had already gathered for the team photo when Charles arrived, everyone sporting big smiles and some still hugging to celebrate the win, some of them stopping to give him a congratulatory pat on the back as they passed him. It was days like this where Charles was reminded why he loved racing.

“Bro, where were you?” Arthur came jogging up to Charles in the garage, “We’ve been celebrating without you”

“Sorry, I, uh, wanted to freshen up quickly, '' Charles answered.

“Then why do you still look so sweaty, wasn’t that hot of a race” Arthur questioned as he took in his brother's disheveled appearance.

“That’s just the champagne, mate” Charles quickly retorted, giving his younger brother a mischievous jab to the ribs.

Luckily for him, that seemed a sufficient answer for Arthur as he dropped the subject and beckoned Charles to follow him for the photo.

“Y/N should be in the picture too, right? I can’t find her anywhere. How much do you want to bet one of the mechanics is flirting with her again? I don’t even know why they try you know, she’s hard to get” Arthur said with a shake of his head.

Charles tried his best to fight the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth as he felt heat rising to his cheeks.

“Yeah, tell me about it” he mumbled, hands moving to one of his shoulders where he still felt the imprint of where her ankles had rested just minutes earlier as he and Arthur took their place on the front row of the group picture.

Just as the photographer was instructing some people on where to stand, Arthur spotted Y/N and called her over.

She looked slightly apprehensive to approach them, but Arthur kept yelling at her that they were about to take the photo, so eventually she had no choice but to make her way over.

Y/N took her place beside Arthur and kept her gaze facing the camera.

Arthur ,however, was staring at her, taking in her messy hair and flushed cheeks, not to mention her awkward demeanor.

Charles could practically see the cogs in his head turning as he pieced together just what was happening, switching his gaze between Y/N and Charles a few times.

“Oh you two have got to be kidding me”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #masterlist #formula 1

[depression-napping]

(Sorry this is much later than I expected to post!)

Ok everyone we did it, we went to Artnia and ate the Vincent pasta and it was beautiful

Full review of Artnia below the cut ❤️

For those curious, Artnia is an official Square Enix Cafe in the middle of Shinjuku that looks like an egg. It’s a bit quieter and smaller than the Square Enix Cafe in Akihabara.

Making a Reservation

You can make a reservation if you live in Japan and have a Square Enix account, but if you don’t, there may be a few spots available for walk ins. It’s recommended to go early, when they open at 11am, to make a walk in reservation. Also, try weekdays for better luck (we went on a Monday). We dropped in at around 12pm and there was space available at 5pm, so we took it right away. They also stop serving food after 7pm I believe, but you can still order drinks.

While it is helpful to know enough Japanese to comfortably make an order, the staff is helpful, friendly, and speak sufficient English. Lots of foreigners visit because it’s a Square Enix cafe, so Japanese isn’t necessarily required.

When you walk in, you can go to the register and tell them you do not have a reservation, but want to ask if they have any space available for that day. If they do they will give you a ticket for an available time and you can come back if it’s later in the day. You can reserve for up to 4 people but you may have better luck for 1 or 2 guests only.

Note that their primary clientele is local Japanese residents, so they do not have an English menu. If you need to, you can use Google Translate’s camera function to better understand what you’re ordering. Not all ingredients are listed, so take caution if you have special dietary needs.

The FFVII Rebirth Menu is time limited and split into 2 parts. The menu items with the yellow triangles say “prior period” and ended on 4/4, so you can’t order them anymore. The ones with the green triangles say “later period” and are available from 4/5 thru 5/10. Blue corners are available throughout the duration of the event (they’re notably Cloud/Sephiroth themed of course).

But what about the pasta

Ok so on to the important part! You already know what I ordered.

Here’s the menu item description:

ヴィンセントデュアルパスタ

二色のパスタでヴィンセントの持つ二面性を表現しました。スパイシーなアラビアータと濃厚なイカスミパスタをご堪能ください。

Vincent Dual Pasta

“A two-color pasta represents the dual faceted nature that Vincent has. Please enjoy* this spicy arrabbiata and rich** squid-ink pasta.”

(*ご堪能ください　go-tannou kudasai means “please enjoy” but it also means “please feel free to satisfy yourself/to have your fill of…” I’m just gonna let ya’ll fill in the blanks on that one 😘)

( ** 濃厚 noukou (rich in taste) can also be translated as passionate hahaha)

I need to talk about the Squid-ink pasta first. It can only be described as bougie AF. Squid ink is already kind of extra. But I think it had frickin saffron ??? And edible gold leaf on top???? And I am fairly certain that in addition to like, a tiny sprinkling of Parmesan (this is obligatory for any remotely Italian meal) there was like, tiny black caviar?????

Saffron?? Caviar??? Edible gold leaf????

If you ever wondered whether Vincent would spoil the heck out of you, the answer is yes. Yes, he would. Only the best with our man ❤️

Squid ink aside, the more standard arrabbiata was also nice. As a pescatarian, I was nervous it would have meat in it, as a lot of spaghetti dishes in Japan generally contain meat. Luckily it seemed to be vegetable-based, there was like a single zucchini or eggplant slice in there somewhere 😂 (Personally, I think a meat-free option suits him better. It’s like, slightly more compassionate than straight up bolognese or something).

Arrabbiata is made with tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, and dried chili. (He pretends to be a vampire so he can get free garlic, guys) It also means “angry” in Italian (or spiciness pushed to excess). This is Square Enix basically telling you they know he is the hottest FFVII character. He’s not just hot. He’s spicy.

Ok but. Was it actually spicy? No, thankfully. Except for wasabi, Japanese cooking tends to be on the milder side anyway—but it did come with some chili peppers as a garnish, in case you want the full experience, lol.

Speaking of garnishes, what is that green thing in the middle?

It’s rosemary.

WAIT LET ME GOOGLE SOMETHING REAL QUICK

…

Oh lord did the people coming up with this concept do their research:

“Rosemary is the symbol of remembrance, friendship and love and was thus used in wedding ceremonies.” (It also has historical links to the Virgin Mary.)

That’s not just a random herb. That’s the most important part. Like?????????????? Is anyone else ok????? I’m glad I didn’t look this up in the cafe or I would have started ugly crying.

The Bottom Line

So was it good? Actually, yes! Artnia is a higher-end themed cafe than most (a lot of them get a bad rap for having barely edible food while overly relying on the fan aspects to carry the cafe). As a themed item it was close to perfect. The thought and care that went into this particular menu was apparent. I really appreciated that.

Also, this was super affordable as a meal. The yen is ¥0.66 = $1 right now, so this was under $10 😭 Caviar, saffron, squid ink and gold leaf for under $10? Seriously what the heck.

(Bonus, here is a terrible photo of the only Vincent decoration I could find in the store haha. It was kind of holographic?? And attached to the bar counter so I had to squat down to take a photo with my very old phone camera. Still made my heart go dokidoki)

The other items on the special menu were also really good! Husband ordered the “Cloud Black Omelette Rice” and he said it was some of the best omuraisu he had in Japan so far. Granted we are not the biggest consumers of omuraisu, but that has to count for something. We also tried the Cait Sith Mog Box drink (REALLY good, if you like Black Sesame) and the Gold Saucer Protein Juice (highly doubt it had any protein but it was a refreshing orange juice based drink).

Plus, for every drink you order, you get a random free character coaster. Check my next post to see who I got ❤️

The special menu is ongoing until Friday, May 10! If a trip to Tokyo is in the cards for you, as an FFVII fan, I do recommend making a trip to Artnia ❤️

EDIT: I lied there is *one* Vincent figure on display and like two tiny pieces of merch (which I will post later, tumblr doesn’t like me rn)

#artnia #vincent valentine #artnia square enix #ffvii rebirth #square enix #square enix cafe #food review #idk if Vincent eats but if he did…? lolol #post for another day #ok the rosemary literally took me out when I looked it up