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abbyshands · 2 months

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PALESTINE LINKS

in honor of the media blackout this week, i wanted to compile a list of links and resources regarding what’s going on in gaza. i advise all of you to give these links a look at, or to at least reblog them. the people in gaza need the bare minimum from us in that sense. &, well, if you can’t take enough time out of your day to give these links at least a look, a like, or share, then, bye !

& for all the the last of us fans out there, you need to see this. it’s genuinely a must. not to call anyone out, but i see a lot of people who have not spoken out about this at all, who, for example, keep publishing or reblogging fics etc during the blackout. i love a good fic as much as anyone else, but you can wait a week. there’s really no excuses here. if you didn’t know about the previous blackout, then now is your chance. don’t turn a blind eye to this.

at the end of this post are links specifically for those engaged in the last of us tumblr. if you aren’t going to look at the links before that, then at least look at those.

oh, & for the dumbasses who are unfollowing me for spending a week to post about a fucking genocide? fuck you, & good fucking riddance. you are not and never were welcome on my page. i don’t want you here anyways!

PALESTINE LINKS

SEVERAL ways you can help the people in gaza. some of which are fully free.

SEVERAL links regarding info around this genocide, such as places to boycott, and ways to learn more about the nature of it all.

SEVERAL ways you can help, including ways to donate, petitions you can sign, and campaigns you can join.

places you NEED to boycott. don’t buy from them, regardless of if they really fund israel or not. if they support them, that is more than enough. boycotting is a way to resist, so do it. at the end of this post are also places that are helping those who are in gaza, and families you can help escape by donating.

know that this issue did NOT begin oct. 7th. this is so much deeper than you know, and has been going on for 70+ years. click the above link to educate yourself on that front.

CLICK HERE TO HELP PALESTINE! this site has already been debunked on if it really helps the people in gaza or not, and it does. just one click is all you need. one button, once per day. you can even do it on different devices or browsers so you get more than one click in. click it daily!

CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVES using this link, and this link (this will help you find ways to call or email them depending on where you live). also, urge biden and congress to do right by the people in gaza. the U.S. sends billions of dollars to israel every year, funding the genocide that’s ensuing as we watch on from the comfort our homes. do the bare minimum, & hold them accountable. please.

HERE ARE WAYS YOU CAN DONATE or find a PROTEST near you! not everyone is readily available to do these things, i know that. but looking into them could never hurt, or at least sharing it elsewhere so there is more awareness surrounding it.

LEARN OF AFRO-PALESTINIAN EXPERIENCES, & the efforts they have made over the years. i think it’s so, so crucial that we hear their voices, &, god, learning of all that they’ve been through, & all that they’ve done, is so inspiring.

here is some more info regarding BOYCOTTING. boycotting does, and has been proven to work. this post explains the subject a bit more in case it happens to confuse anybody, along w/companies and such that need to be boycotted, & why. as i said before, boycotting is a way to resist. so do it!

HERE IS A 🇵🇸 MASTERLIST including ways to educate yourself, donate, books you can read, & films you can watch. this is one of the best links i have regarding this genocide, and i highly recommend you look at it!

SOUTH AFRICA took israel to court for this genocide! read about it in the above link.

FOR THE LAST OF US FANS

do not remain in the dark about the last of us’s link to the ongoing conflict in gaza. neil druckmann, the director of the game, is a ZIONIST. he grew up in israel, and TLOU2 is rooted in israeli themes. now, no one is saying you have to quit playing the game, or dislike it, for all you dense ones out there. but i ask that you remain aware of this aspect of it, especially if you are regularly engaged in the last of us tumblr.

this is a link that i highly, highly recommend you read through. it discusses the HEAVILY ISRAELI THEMES TLOU2 displays. click the following link to learn more on TLOU2 & NEIL DRUCKMANN.

DO NOT BUY TLOU, TLOU REMASTERED, TLOU2, TLOU2 REMASTERED, OR ANY GAME FROM ND! neil druckmann has donated money to the IDF in the past. & where do you think he’s getting his money from? yeah, you got that. watch gameplays, pirate these games, or buy them secondhand. several shops sell used games. & for those of you who went and purchased the game anyway, knowing about all of this? fuck you.

if you think your $10 doesn’t matter, then think about this: okay, one person spends $10 on the game. whatever. but when 100,000 people do it? that’s a million dollars, going into the hands of a zionist, who is using YOUR money to help kill innocent men, women, and children. put that in your pipe and smoke it.

it is not just the games you need to boycott. HBO’S show also needs to be. follow this link to learn of more movies and shows you need to boycott, & the reasons why, including the last of us. let’s also not forget that dina & abby’s actresses are in support of israel, and BELLA RAMSEY, ellie’s actress, has also shown support.

boycott. the fucking. show. there are a million websites where you can pirate it, so you are not giving any of your support to it. resist.

i understand that not everyone is educated on this subject, and that not everyone knew of the previous media blackout. for the last of us fans, i understand that not everyone knew about the game or show’s israeli nature. but it is never too late to take part. it is never too late to care. i promise you that. if you purchased the game, at least donate to one of the sources above. that’s just bare minimum.

get educated, get loud, & GET PROUD! these are innocent people who are dying as you read this from your bed, couch, whatever. the least you can do is like & reblog so this reaches more people. your voice matters, big account or small.

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE 🇵🇸🍉

#gaza #palestine #free palestine #free palestine 🇵🇸#free gaza #gaza strip #israel #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #abby anderson #neil druckmann #boycott israel #the last of us remastered #the last of us 2 remastered

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familyvideostevie · 3 months

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you have me, you have me only

joel miller x reader you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3

___

"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."

The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.

"How's the head?"

Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.

"I'll live."

He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.

"Thanks for back there," he says.

You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell.

"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."

You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.

But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.

He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."

"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?

"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."

Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"

"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."

He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.

"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."

The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.

"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."

"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."

Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.

"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."

Jesse laughs.

Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.

It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.

You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.

The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.

He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.

"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.

Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.

"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."

His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.

Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.

In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.

"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.

"You wanna explain...this, then?"

His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.

But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.

You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.

"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."

He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.

But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.

Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."

He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.

"Gotta clean that," he says.

"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."

Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.

"Shower," he says. "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.

You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."

More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.

It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.

You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.

But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.

You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain.

Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.

"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"

"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."

The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on.

Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.

He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"

You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.

"What're we dealin' with, here?"

You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.

"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."

"You sure?"

You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.

"Cut could use a stitch."

He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.

"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."

His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.

"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"

"Joel."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."

You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.

"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.

"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.

"Nothin' broken," he says.

"Told you."

He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.

"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.

"How was your patrol?" you ask him.

He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.

"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."

The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.

Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.

"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."

You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.

It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.

But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.

You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.

"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."

"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."

"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.

"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."

Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.

"Fuckin' hate those things."

"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."

"Should've been wearing gloves."

You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."

"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.

He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.

But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.

The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.

"Lucky me," you say softly.

You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.

Joel drags his lips along your cheek.

"Knees," he says.

He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.

"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”

You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.

"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."

"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.

"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.

He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."

You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.

The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.

You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."

He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."

"Now who's flirting?"

Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.

You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.

Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.

He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.

And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.

It's just another way he takes care of people.

"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"

"And hungry."

He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.

"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.

"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."

"C'mon, now."

He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.

"I'll heat some soup."

Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.

He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.

You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.

"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."

He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."

"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"

Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.

Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.

"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"

You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.

Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.

But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.

Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.

Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.

Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.

You can hold each other in the dark.

"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."

You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.

"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."

It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #just and just as

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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 4 months

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Just Call Me Santa - LN

Request (asked to be anon): i was wondering if you could pls write something where the reader spends christmas with lando bc she has a bad home life? (this is my life rn and wish i had a lando). maybe he calls her on christmas eve and sees her crying or whatever and instantly drives to pick her up and despite protests, says she's going to have a good christmas with people that love her :') he spends all night and day doting on her and making her feel better. i love fluffy lando :')

For the record, I have literally chose to spend christmas' on my own away from my family because they're just not the easiest people to get on with a lot of the time, especially when all put in a house together. So this is going to be easy to write and thank you so much for sending this in. Since it's Christmas themed, I have prioritised writing it to try and get it up before Christmas (it's still the 24th where I am rn so hopefully I'll get it finished soon, if I've succeeded then you're reading this before the 25th)

Lando knows y/n wasn't exactly thrilled about going home for Christmas, her family is dysfunctional to say the least. Cram them in one room to open gifts where they'll not hide their judgement of each other's choices of gift. If they don't like it then they'll let each other know, that's for certain.

Hence why y/n was near to tearing her own hair out when it came to buying gifts for her family. The stress had gotten to her and Lando was hesitant about letting her go home at all, but she insisted she hadn't seen so many of her family members for months and it'd be wrong for her to miss the occasion.

Y/n was determined to have a good time even if it'd be hard.

What she didn't expect was that in her absence of travelling around with Lando so much and sort of focusing on herself through the year, she'd missed out on knowing about all the drama and internal family arguments which have apparently continued into the holidays.

Y/n sits in the living room, watching her cousins on one side of her family scream at her aunt and uncle about some wedding or engagement? She's not even sure, but some earlier event in the year, that she must've ignored the invitation to attend, where apparently her aunt and uncle were out of line. Her grandparents have even got involved in the screaming match.

It's not till her phone rings that she notices the time, they started the pyjama gift opening. Quite a common tradition in families to get new pyjamas on Christmas Eve ahead of Christmas morning. All of them matching so they can take pictures and pretend to actually be a cohesive and happy family.

Y/n's mum used to try and endure the holidays sober for the benefit of her children, but now they're all adults, she allows herself the numbing haze of alcohol. Her dad and a few other men (ones that haven't been pulled into the drama by their female counterparts) have escaped into the conservatory to drink and smoke with the shouting slightly less deafening from a distance.

Seeing the call is from Lando who promised to call before his Christmas Eve dinner. Since his family are significantly more well off than her own who only just make it into the middle class territory thanks to their postcode more than anything else.

She manages to weave her way through the overcrowded living room, going unnoticed thanks to another cousin making a comment just to add fuel to the flames and the reactions are explosive.

"Hey-what is that noise?" Lando questions still being able to hear the noise as y/n grabs her coat, ready to step outside.

"Extended family bickering about something."

"Bickering? Baby, it sounds like one of your neighbours might call the police on you guys." Lando states with worry heavy in his voice, and that just triggers some sort of ache in y/n's chest as she sniffles. "Baby? Speak to me. What's going on?"

"It's just...I just wanted to come home and enjoy seeing my family." Y/n sniffles then sighing. "I don't know why I ever expected it to be better. It's not going to get better just because I want it to be better...the police probably will be called on us tomorrow. Christmas Day is only ever worse than Christmas Eve. More alcohol and more judgment."

"I'm coming to get you."

"No. No. I wasn't even invited-"

"You are always invited." Lando states almost as if he's angry at the mere suggestion and maybe he is. "I'm coming to get you. I'm leaving now."

"No. I promised-"

"Y/n, get off the phone with your fucking sugar daddy. You're my sister, you're supposed to be on my fucking side!" Y/n's sister screaming as the door flies open. "I'm being fucking attacked in here by a pack of rabid dogs-"

"Don't you dare call me a dog!"

"I'm sorry, baby. Enjoy your dinner. I'll see you on Boxing Day. I have to go. Love you."

"Jesus are you crying?!" Is the last thing Lando catches before the line cutes and he nearly growls standing up.

"I'm really sorry, I have to go." Lando states jogging down the stairs and into the family room where his parents and siblings are sitting, along with his brother's wife and nieces.

"Is everything ok?" Adam frowns making Lando shake his head.

"I'm going to get y/n and bring her here. She's in tears over there and I can't just leave her there." Lando states earning some sad expressions. His family have loved y/n and treated her as family since they met her, t the point that they didn't think it was needed to invite her for Christmas because they were sure she knew how welcome she is.

Nearly all of them have spent time with her without Lando having to be there, sometimes not even in the country. His sisters joke about preferring her company to his. The idea of her being miserable because she's at home with her own family who don't know how to just enjoy each other's company.

"Go get her. She's going to spend Christmas with a family who really love her. Go on." Cisca nods shooing at her son who smiles lightly, leaning to kiss her cheek before he rushes off.

Y/n begins to wonder if the police might actually show up when it hits midnight and her family seem to have only gotten louder. Nearly 9 hours of arguing. Surely someone has the courage to call the police on them.

It happened last year and nothing came of it.

The year before that, some members of the family called the police on other members of the family. You'd think by now they'd have learned to just not involve themselves in a "family" Christmas.

She should call Lando back. Apologise to him for the abrupt ending to the phone call.

There's banging on the door and the family falls silent for the first time in hours. Finally the police were alerted and they'd all be told to shut the fuck up which would ultimately end in everyone finally going to bed.

It's already Christmas officially but god knows when they'll actually get Christmas morning. If anyone is awake before midday tomorrow it'll be the team of family on cooking duty or people who haven't slept at all anyway.

"Oh well if it isn't Santa here to save the fucking day." Her sarcastic cousin states, the only one at the ready to probably punch a police officer in the face for daring to interrupt their tirade.

"Where's y/n?" A voice that perks y/n up from the seat she'd balled herself up in.

"Y/n! Prince Charming is here to save you from your big bad horrible family."

All eyes turn to her, some with a rage, some void of emotion and some filled with jealousy that she has another place to go.

She gets up, moving through the room and disappearing out the doorway where her cousin is standing with Lando who looks like he might be the reason the police are finally called for. At least if his reads as a book for just how violet his thoughts seem to be.

Y/n doesn't say anything, instead pushing her cousin with little regard out the way of the door and closing it behind herself as she steps outside with Lando.

"I told you-"

"I don't care, if you think I'm letting you stay here when there's a real family waiting for you who love and care about you enjoying Christmas like you deserve to. Then you are mistaken. Now go inside and get your stuff because you're coming home with me."

Y/n wants to be upset by the tone Lando is using on her, but honestly she can't. It's nothing on what she's heard from the people she shares blood and a last name with.

"Or you can just come with me and we can leave right now."

Y/n looks at her for a moment easily at war with her promise vs putting herself first.

"Ok, let's go." Lando states since it's a few hours of driving and it's already very late.

Lando tried to get y/n's mind off of her family and what she just left behind but she eventually fell asleep. By the time they arrive at his family home, it's nearly four in the morning.

"Come on baby." Lando whispers as he picks her up from the passenger seat.

"I can walk." She mumbles still very much completely asleep.

"I know you can." Lando smiles lightly as he kicks the car door closed and manages to press the button to lock it.

He gets her up to his room and kisses her softly as he places her in the bed. She was in her pyjamas from her family, so he just undresses and climbs in beside her. Pulling her to cuddle in with him.

The rest of the family leave them to sleep as long as possible, Cisca waking them up only an hour before midday so they don't miss too much of Christmas but are also as well rested as they can be since she did hear them come in and checked the time.

"I'm so glad you're here, we all bought gifts for you that we were going to have to wait to give you. Seems wrong for you to not be here with us." Cisca states earning an agreement from the family as Y/n sits on the floor with Lando taking a spot behind her.

Y/n gets just as many gifts as Lando, who insists on her helping him open some of his gifts just so he can make her as involved and feel as big as part of the Norris family Christmas as possible.

They sit down for dinner and while at first y/n was pretty visibly uncomfortable and looked like she wanted to hide away even with everyone making it obvious how much they wanted her there and how happy they were she was there to be apart of the family celebration. She settled into a more comfortable mood while eating.

Seeing y/n really in her element with his family, Lando just sits back eating and watching her. Admiring her in silence because he is just so in love and he knows this is going to be the first of many Christmas' that she spends in this family. And one day she'll be a Norris among the rest of the Norris', that he's almost certain.

Eventually they've eaten themselves into some food comas and shifted over to the living room where Lando's nieces are the only ones who can move without groaning.

"I'm glad I kidnapped you." Lando whispers making y/n turn her head from the tv where The Grinch is playing.

Everyone else beyond the kids have fallen asleep and she was only just awake.

"I'm glad too. I'm sorry I tried to fight you on it."

"You thought you were doing the right thing. But you know this is your family even if it's not by blood...and we all love you more than you realise." Lando states making her tear up, but he's wiping at her eyes quick enough to catch them before they've fallen properly.

She sniffles before moving her fingers up to her lips, kissing them and then moving her hand to pass the kiss to him. Still too full to try and move. He just kisses her fingers earning a grin before she yawns a little.

"We should nap like everyone else."

"Yeah, recovery nap." Lando hums twirling her hair around his fingers which is already making her drift off.

It might not have been the Christmas she had gone into the holidays wanting but it surpassed her hopes and she'd not go back to change anything, aside from maybe just not bothering to go to her family's house at all and instead come straight here.

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kaiijo · 5 months

Text

FRIENDS TO LOVERS — [KNB]

characters: aomine daiki, midorima shintarou, hanamiya makoto content: gn! reader, reader has implied tieable hair in midorima’s, toxicity (it’s hanamiya, no one is surprised) notes: scenarios inspired by prompt list here

aomine daiki ✶

aomine yawns again as he reclines against your pillows, sitting up only to peer at you. you’re working on homework that’s due in a couple of days, headphones covering your ears. you promised that you’ll order in food and play super smash bros with him when you finished, but it’s nearing eight and you’re still hunched over a problem set.

aomine groans loudly, “are you even close to being done?”

you move one headphone cup off. “i would be closer if you didn’t interrupt me every ten minutes.”

“i didn’t ask to hang out just to sit around.”

you roll your eyes. “you can go if you want, daiki.”

he sits up fully now, moving to the edge of your bed. “why’re you even doing this? s’not due ‘til friday.”

“some of us want to be good students.” you slide your headphones back on and turn back to scribbling out complicated equations on paper.

a couple of minutes pass again and instead of asking you anything, aomine stands up and shuffles behind you, reaching around and snatching the paper from underneath you. “hey!” you protest, shooting up from your seat and tearing off your headphones. “give it back, daiki.”

“no, you said you’d be done, like, two hours ago.”

“i swear i’m almost done!” you make a lunge for it and aomine just holds it above his head, his long arm adding to his already-massive height.

“no.” he smirks at the way your eyes furrow and your cheeks puff out. your head tilts to the left, and he knows that you’re thinking. he’s sure you’re going to try and jump of it again, so as a show, he stretches up further, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly. he swears he catches your eyes flickering down and something in his body sings a song of triumph and satisfaction at the motion. he can’t say why.

what you do next though is nothing that he expects. you stand on your toes, rest your hands delicately on his shoulders, and gaze up at him through your lashes. he startles; there’s something so… heated about your expression, about those half-lidded eyes.

“daiki,” you say softly. it’s almost hypnotic, the way you say his name, and he’s watching you with one raised eyebrow. the tips of his ears feel like they’re on fire.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing as his arm lowers, heading for the dip of your waist. he only snaps out of it at your victorious cry. “ha!” you take advantage of his still half-dazed state and push him firmly out of your bedroom door, closing it. the lock clicks into place and he hears you call on the other side, “one more problem, daiki, i promise. be a dear and set up smash in the living room?”

he walks down your hall automatically, the fire-like feeling spreading to his neck.

midorima shintarou ✶

takao holds up a porcelain statue of a cat. “what about this?’

“takao, what about that screams ‘midorima shintarou?’”

takao shrugs. “i don’t know, maybe it’ll be december 25th’s lucky item. does oha asa put out horoscopes ahead of time?”

“no, that’s why he listens every morning when it airs,” you reply, setting down a teapot from a bigger set. you thank the tired-looking cashier, who just waves drowsily as you two exit the shop.

the two of you have been shopping all day for midorima’s christmas present, wandering all over japan and into various tchotchke stores to look. he’s a notoriously hard person to please, especially with gifts, and neither of you want a repeat of the ‘grey’s anatomy incident’ where four people got midorima the same book last holiday season when he announced his intention to go to medical school. nor do any of you want to get that look from him that struggles to look somewhat grateful while being very, very obviously displeased.

“we’ve been walking all day!” takao whines, clutching his stomach as it lets out an ungodly rumble. you check your watch; you two have been out for at least four hours. you point at a small diner boasting american food. “would you be okay with that?”

“i’d eat you right now if you’d let me.”

you snort, “hard pass. come on.”

the hostess sits you two at a booth and you shrug off your heavy winter coats. you pick up a menu and glance over it, but when you go to ask takao what he’ll be getting and if he wants to split a large order of assorted fries with you, you see he’s not looking at the menu.

you definitely do not like the way takao is eying you right now. “what?” you ask defensively, hands flying to the top of your head to try and pet down at hair you presume has been ruined by your excursion. “do i look bad or something?”

“is that shin-chan’s sweater?”

fuck. you had forgotten about pulling on one of the sweaters midorima left at your house the last time you studied together. it’s insanely soft — a mix of gray wool and cashmere — not to mention extremely cozy and warm. you tried to return it to midorima before but he just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and huffed, “wear it until you get proper sweaters. no, sweatshirts don’t count.”

you internally groan. you don’t need takao on your ass again about whether or not you’re sure you and midorima aren’t dating or if you like him like that. honestly, the only reason you haven’t given him a certain yes or no is because… you don’t really know yourself.

you don’t have proper time to answer before the bell to the restaurant chimes and you see very recognizable green hair. of all the time and places he has to show up. (well, he did text you this morning that your zodiac sign was the least lucky and to wear a blue watch in order to improve your fortune; you should’ve found the watch.)

“oh! shin-chan!” takao waves him over, giving you a sly look. “we were just talking about—” takao’s stupid hawk-eyes zero in on midorima’s wrist as he tugs off his gloves. he looks way too please with himself as he asks, “shin-chan, is that they’re hair tie?”

hanamiya makoto ✶

hanamiya steps out of the locker room shower, cracking his knuckles as he makes his way to his locker to dry off and change. he rolls his shoulders, toweling off his hair as he changes back into his school uniform. yamazaki and hara a prattling away, snickering under their breaths about the injuries they inflicted: sprained ankle, a hairline fracture, a minor concussion.

hanamiya doesn’t even turn around as he growls, “can you two shut up?”

to just bug him more, hara pops his gum. loudly. “who pissed in your cereal, captain?”

furihara drones, “you were sloppier today. almost got fouled by the ref.”

hanamiya doesn’t reply, yanking the knot of his tie down furiously. “fuck off.”

hara lets out a low whistle and seto asks, “does this have to do with your little friend? they got a boyfriend, right?”

hanamiya lets out a long breath through his nose and he spins around to face his teammate. “for now,” he says, slamming his locker shut.

“you got a plan, captain?” asks yamazaki as he digs through his duffel bag.

“when do i not?”

———

you greet hanamiya’s mother with a thin smile when she opens the door. her face lights up when she sees you and she pulls you into a warm hug, telling you that hanamiya’s in his bedroom and that you could go right up.

you wonder if she can see the glossy film to your eyes or if she was polite enough not to comment on it.

hanamiya’s sitting at his desk, head propped up on his knuckle. he languidly flips through pages but you know he’s not really reading the material. he’ll get away with it too and get an a anyways, the bastard. he glances at you. “you look like shit.”

usually, you could banter with him. it’s why your friendship works; you have a thicker skin than most and you give just as good as you take, especially when it comes to hanamiya’s sneering, half-joking insults. normally, you would have replied with something like “still better than you,” but instead, your frayed nerves snap and you feels the hot tears start rolling down your cheeks.

hanamiya’s simpering expression sobers up and he sighs heavily, ushering you to sit on the bed. “why’re you crying?”

you sniffle and tell him that the guy you’ve been seeing from your literature class broke up with you. just out of the blue told you that you two wanted different things and you were going to colleges in different areas and that wouldn’t work and he was sorry and… that’s all you gleaned because his words were so rushed as he scurried off as fast as he could.

hanamiya’s brow furrows sympathetically and he draws you into a hug, saying, “i told you i didn’t like that guy. fuck him.”

you sink into his arms. “yeah,” you mutter, “fuck him.”

as you relax against him, hanamiya can’t help but smirk to himself in satisfaction. someone who runs off after a little confrontation doesn’t deserve anything from you.

#knb x reader #kuroko no basuke x reader #kuroko's basketball x reader #aomine daiki x reader #aomine x reader #midorima shintarou x reader #midorima x reader #hanamiya makoto x reader #hanamiya x reader #knb scenarios #knb imagines #knb #kuroko no basket #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes

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callofdudes · 8 months

Note

Best idea

Y/n had to go MIA/KIA to keep the 141 safe, once Simon founds out angry cause he mourned for his best friend only to find out their alive and in hiding, demanded platonic cuddles as their “punishment”

Ok, I'm gonna get the brain juices running for this one. Another one based off a story my bestie @itsscromp and I did. But I changed it up. Hope you enjoy, it's longer than I anticipated it being.

Also, I should have fully expected the repercussions of letting you guys vote Egg as a callsign... but I'ma still use it.

Where did you go??

Summary: They thought you were gone, dead. Turns out you were under their noses and a call away the whole time.

Cw: Angst. Nothing much else.

Your mission had gone... Well for lack of a better word it went to shit. Whole thing blew up. An ambush, a bomb, it would be a long road to explain what all in all happened but it did, and now you were paying for it. It had gotten so bad they couldn't pull you from the junction you were stuck in.

You were supposed to be infiltrating an old base which had become home to a drug ring. But no one happened to mention the mines you'd step on and fuck up your leg with. Or the live wire that alerted the whole base after said mine went off.

So now this entire base was up in arms, you have a broken leg and probably other damage. You were lucky your leg hadn't been blown off.

And to be quite frank, these men were extremely dangerous which meant your fuck up was astronomical. The second they found you you were probably going to die.

So you commed into Price, telling him your situation.

"Alright Egg, I'm going to go in on foot and bring you back to the helicopter just hang tight soldier."

"Yes sir." You lay down, catching your breath and willing yourself not to look at your leg because if it felt bad it probably looked bad too.

Not twenty minutes later Price was approaching your form, bending down to check on you. "You broken??"

"Yeah I'm pretty sure... I don't want to look though."

Price nodded, tucking his gun away and grabbed your arms. "Alright, up we go," he hauled you up into his arms, hefting you over his shoulder and going back the way he came. Just... A little quicker this time since things were looking good for the oppositions infantry.

Price brought you back to the helicopter where you were bandaged up. The mission could have been better planned so they didn't end up sending another team out.

Price had the team drop you off near some loading stations far off the location of the base.

"What... Are we doing here??"

Price got out of the helicopter and checked your leg before pulling you out with him. "I can't bring you back to base. It's a security risk if I do..."

You frowned. "What do you mean?? Where am I going then??"

"There's a secure underground safehouse that will keep you hidden. It's got the provisions you need and the people you need. They'll keep quiet and keep you safe. For now, for however long, I need you to lay low."

You opened your mouth to protest but then shut it again. "I understand. Will I get to see the others..?"

"No, you are not to contact them in any way at all. Until I contact you, you are to remain on the downlow."

Your head falls slightly, but you nod. "Alright, I can do that."

Price nodded and patted your shoulder. He picked you up and helped you into the truck waiting for you. "They'll take care of you. I'll contact you as soon as it's safe. If I do not contact you do not contact us. Got it?"

You nod once again, taking the instructions to heart. You wouldn't be able to contact Ghost, Soap or Gaz. You wouldn't be able to contact anyone. But you knew this was for the best.

So with a last goodbye Price closed the door to the truck and the soldier in the driver's seat drove down the empty road out of the landing space.

"How long will we be gone??"

"Until we get the word from Captain Price. Don't worry. It'll be kept under wraps..."

...

Price returned to the base, taking a deep breath and having had time to figure everything out. He immediately called the others into a meeting.

Considering you and Price weren't supposed to be back for the rest of the day, or even two days or more the meeting was seen as urgent.

Ghost was there first, the sergeants following his trail as they came into the office. "Price... What are you doing back?" Ghost asked sternly, hands clasped tightly as if ready for action at a moments notice.

"Relax... There won't be any fighting. I need you all to sit."

Soap threw Gaz a concerned look as they sat. "Where is y/n, are they still out there??"

Price straightened his posture. He didn't exactly want to lie to his own men, but he'd done worse and he knew this was completely for the best.

"The mission didn't go well as soon as we went in."

Ghost frowned. "Didn't go well?? These drug traders could be connected to Shepherd's on power, how did it wrong??"

"Ghost, relax." Price replied firmly. "I realize that we didn't think this over as well as we should have... Their base was much more protected than we originally thought so Egg went in blind."

"So what happened? Did you pull them??" Ghost was growing more agitated the longer they sat there.

"They commed in about an exploded mine and... We couldn't find them."

The room grew quiet. Soap and Gaz shared concerned looks as Gaz spoke up. "Did you do a full search? We're they hidden in the dirt or something and you missed??"

Price shook his head. "Too risky to go on foot and search. We didn't know how many more mines were out there." Only a small white lie, but a lie nonetheless.

Ghost squared in his chair. "Then we need to go find them. What are we sitting here for just waiting-!"

"Ghost, if they are safe they'll comm in. For now I can't risk sending men in there with the base on high alert and their supposed boss on speed dial. So for now we sit down and we wait to see if Egg comes back with anything."

Ghost was boiling up underneath. Feelings of rage that Price couldn't have waiting a little longer. Worry because they left you out there probably still alive... And fear. Because what if you weren't alive.

"I won't make any calls on it now, but this is where we are at so remain patient. I'm doing what I can to sort this out." Price had to rewire this plan to keep all of his men safe. All of his soldiers, including you.

"Dismissed."

The air was tense when everyone left. The idea you were out there alone, still alive and possibly if not injured and with no help. It scared them all.

Gaz was the first to try and get in contact with you. But any of his efforts were proving ineffective.

Soap just had to wait it out. To hope they could find you or you could find them in time.

Ghost... Ghost didn't know what to think. He knew you were capable. He knew if you were alive then you'd comm in. Once you were safe he knew you would make contact. You could protect yourself... He had to believe you would be ok.

That mentality lasted right up until a week later when Price called everyone back in to pronounce you MIA. Stamped on a card to your file and just like that, they truly had zero traces of you.

They were devastated. A week and no turn of anything from you. This is when Simon started to call your phone. Leaving you text messages.

He couldn't sleep because all his thoughts and dreams were of you. Hoping you were ok and alive. That hope was dying, waking up in cold sweats on nights he could close his eyes for even a moment.

Clutching his beating heart while his body rattled with panic, phone pressed to his ear only to hear your voice over the same simple voice mail as ever.

He couldn't be without you. You were a crucial part of his life. Of his mission. He couldn't just abandon that connection. You had to be alive.

Price cut communication with the safe house you were being taken care of. Unless it was an emergency Price knew not of your condition, only that you were safe. He too was worried, bouncing around through meetings and talking with Laswell and this and that and the other thing.

Trying to figure out what to do now that they needed a new plan and how long they could wait to re-infiltrate.

Simon had started leaving you voicemails, not knowing if he'd ever hear your voice again.

"Hey, this is Y/n, I'm currently busy but please try to leave a message so I can get back to you!"

Simon laid awake, staring up at the ceiling as he held the phone to his ear.

"Y/n.... If you can hear me you gotta respond. Please, I don't know if you'll ever hear these again but if you're somewhere out there I know you're alive. Anything, please, I..." He closed his eyes, thinking back to the last time he saw you. Taking off in that helicopter, a pat on the shoulder and a good luck...

"I miss you. And I'm not giving up on you. I'm not." He wouldn't cry... He wouldn't cry. He would not cry.

"I'm going to come find you. I know somewhere you're still alive. Even if their torturing you I promise I won't leave you out there to die you hear me."

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he covered his eyes, curling up on his bed. "I know you hear me...." He choked out. "I know you can hear me...." He stares at the phone. "Please Y/n.... Please, anything..."

He stared at the phone, waiting like you would magically pick up and reassure him even for a second that you were ok and alive and even if you weren't thriving you were still breathing.

But no...

The voicemail lasted for over an hour. Simon laid there, staring at him phone, unable to bring himself to hang up again.

His thumb hovered over the phone. He wanted to say one last thing... He opened his mouth, but he hesitated. His eyes downcast and one last tear rolled down his cheek as he ended the call once again. Only to face another restless night of no sleep.

By the eighth month mark you were pronounced KIA.

Simon had pretty much known by that point. He'd lost his best friend but he had been in denial until Price told them. They couldn't find a trace of you. No body, no tags, no clothes, no weapon. You had simply... Vanished.

Simon continues to mourn all while you were still being held up in that underground safehouse. Sitting on the small rickety bed, watching the higher ranked soldiers also staying watch at the safehouse talk in the other room.

It was beyond difficult. No contact with outside, you ate, slept, the others tended to your leg and occasionally sparred with you to help you back on your feet.

You missed your team. Your friends. Your family.

You listened to every single voicemail Simon sent. You couldn't reply. Couldn't text him back or even pick up the phone for a second to let him know you were ok.

You remained radio silent.

Even as you'd lay awake at night with your phone replaying the voicemail, listening to the recorded lapse of Simon's breathing while he stared at the phone with an empty, sorrowful expression from the other side.

You missed him so much. You wanted to see them again. But you couldn't. Not yet. Would you ever get to see them again?? They couldn't leave you down here forever.

There was a brief knock on your door as one of the sergeants nodded to you. "Food is ready, new supply just came in."

You nod, pausing the voicemail. "Thanks... I'll be out in a minute."

You sighed, turning off your phone and tucking it away, praying that you'd see them soon.

...

Simon had lost you. Didn't even get a chance to protect you. It had gotten to the point where his lack of sleep would lead to seeing figures of you disappear down hallways. In a spark of hope and joy he'd rush to find you only to find nothing...

On the off days he'd run into a recruit or a sergeant wandering the halls. As soon as they would turn around though... The illusion would shatter.

His own mind was killing him from the inside. Sending you hundred and hundreds of text messages. Every morning and night, rants about his day and what he was feeling. If he was going to pour everything out like you'd ever see it he did it now.

Knowing you'd never pick that phone up again, knowing you'd never look him in the eyes again. Knowing he'd never hear your voice or feel your touch or know your comfort ever again.

This drove him further and further into the spiral. Price had never seen Simon beat up the punching bag so much he bled all over it. He'd never seen Simon get snappy and angry I'm split decisions like he did.

He'd never seen Simon grow so desperate and over protective of Johnny and Kyle. Because Simon's new fear was he'd lose them just like he lost you...

This went on for the next three months after that. Nearly a year since you'd died and they were back out on that minefield. A proper plan, a new way in, a new goal.

Simon was desperate to tear that base apart and even find a trace of your body. Even just a piece of your clothing or your signature engraved gun hanging in their armory somewhere.

But in the end he was left with no more questions answered than when he first entered that meeting room eleven months ago.

Simon had followed the trail to the last thread. The main office of that base. Pulling open every drawer and every cabinet.

"Lt stop you're making a mess-!"

"There's got to be a file or something here! There fucking has to be!"

"Ghost stop we found the information we needed. We have the shipments contained the base is clear what could you be looking for??" Gaz asked, trying to understand what had gotten Ghost in such a frenzy.

"A kill list or an interrogation chart. Anything."

"For what Simon!?"

"For Y/n!!" Simon snapped at them both. Breathing heavy as he finishes emptying every drawer in that office.

Price stood silently in the doorway. Enough time had passed. He wouldn't put them through this anymore.

"Come on lads... I think it's time I show you something."

Their attention turned on to him. Simon was almost vibrating with rage and anxiety. He just wanted any knowledge of what happened. He knew you were dead but his soul was restless without knowing. He needed to know...

They left, Price piled them in the helicopter and the ride back was silent. Simon stared at his hands the whole time. Soap fidgeted, knee bouncing and chewing his lip anxiously.

Gaz picked at the loose strap of his gun, also attempting to distract himself from the elephant in the room.

When the helicopter landed they weren't on base. They landed on the small helipad you had been brought to some some before. Price got out, motioning the other three to follow.

"Where are we Price??" Soap looked around, not recognizing the place.

"You'll know soon enough." Price brought them to a truck, talking with the officer in charge of the station before climbing in the driver's seat.

The sergeants got comfy in the back and Simon slipped into the passenger seat. His eyes remained fixed on the passenger window, watching the open land pass by and the fields of undisturbed flowers and wildlife.

What if he had found you here? May you would have liked that better. Surrounded by the flowers and the soft blowing breeze instead of wherever your body lay, ashes or not.

He turned away, fixing his eyes to the dashboard to try and distract himself.

The ride was quiet once again. Lasting about an hour and a half before Price stopped, parking the vehicle outside a small outpost of sorts. It wasn't build very high off the ground and was concealed by trees and wildlife.

"A safehouse. Why cannae we jus' go home??" Soap asked as he jumped out of the vehicle with the others.

"I'd prefer we made a stop here." Price said, leading them to the entrance where surpisingly a soldier was there to bring them in.

"Occupied? Now there's something new." Gaz whispered to Soap.

Simon didn't understand why they were even making this stupid trip. He wanted to go back to base. He wanted to hide once again like he always did.

"Captain Price, welcome back." The soldier shook Price's hand and walked them further inside.

"Sergeant! Their here for you!" The soldier called out, walking to one of the small rooms where you were. Where you spent most of your time.

You looked up. Who was here for you?? Your eyes widened. Them, your team! It had to be them they were back!

You pushed off your bed, leaning into your good leg and moved faster than you had in almost a year. Turning the corner and there they were. Price, Simon, Johnny, Kyle. All of them.

But.... This wasn't the hopeful reunion you'd pictured in your head over and over again. No one moved. The thought of Simon rushing the hug you didn't come true as he didn't move.

Price walked over, embracing you. "Good to see you again sergeant." You hugged him tightly, so good to be held by him, embraced by Price again. You'd missed him so much.

Johnny was the second one to snap out of it, running over and wrapping his arms around you tightly. "What the hell is wrong with you doing this! You had us all sick and worried and heartbroken!!"

"It wasn't my plan... I'm sorry." You hugged Johnny back. "I'm so sorry Soap, I'm so sorry." Johnny couldn't stop his tears, not wanting to let go in fear you'd slip away again.

Gaz followed, hugging you tighter than you'd ever felt him do before. You'd never seen Gaz openly cry but he was balling, sobbing as he hugged you tightly.

"We thought you were dead, captain told us you were dead!"

"I had to do it to protect them... To protect all of us." Price knew this would probably take a bit for them all to come to terms and forgive him for, but it had to be done.

When the others were done cooing and coddling over you, there was just Simon left.

He felt alone. He felt cold and separated. He felt like he wasn't a part of the same bubble as the others... He watched them embrace and kiss and love on you... You. It was you.

You turned to him, but Simon didn't move. He didn't know if he could. He felt so consumed by his darkness and his grief it didn't allow him to step into the light.

He'd consumed himself so much if he touched you he felt he might burn. That you fall like sand from his fingertips and the illusion would shatter...

"Simon...." You whisper, stepping toward him, causing Simon to step back.

You could see the fear in his eyes. The lack of trust, the amount of hurt, the pain he must have went through to have one of his lifelines ripped away and then thrust back into his life suddenly like it was fine.

"I'm... I'm sorry Simon I didn't mean to hurt you. I listened to every voicemail you sent. I knew every text that went through. But I...."

"You could have told me you were fine! You could have told me you were ok!! Bullshit that you couldn't!! Bullshit!!" Simon thundered.

You remained silent. Simon glared at Price. This was his fault. You'd been taken away without warning. He could have kept it a secret he could have carried that knowledge and not been out through a years worth of fire from hell!

Simon threw his gun to the ground, not even carrying as he left again.

"Lieutenant! Simon!" Price called after him as Simon left the safehouse.

You placed your hand on Price's chest. "Don't... It's ok. Let me help him."

Price looked down. But he nodded.

You left the safehouse, finding Simon around the corner huddled up, shaky hands trying to light a cigarette to get his nerves to calm down and his mind to clear up.

"You hid from me." He cursed, acting like he was seconds from spitting your name into the dirt and squashing it. But you knew. You knew inside he was hurting more than anyone else on the team.

You knelt beside him, gently taking the lighter from his hands. "I never meant to hurt you. If I didn't have strict orders from Price I would have contact you right away."

"Why couldn't he have at least told us you were ok. That you were alive."

"I... I don't know Simon, you'll have to ask Price about that one. But I promise I never meant to hurt you. I listened to every voicemail, I didn't give up. I can see the pain it caused you."

You moved closer, slipping into his arms and hugging him tightly. The second you wrapped your arms around him. He felt your weight, your warmth, your heart pounding in your chest against his own.

Simon finally looked at you, tears spilling down his cheeks. He was shattered. So hurt from losing you.

"You fuckin' abandoned me!!"

"I didn't abandon you Simon. You know I would have picked up and came running back even if my leg was missing."

He knew it was true. But he was so... So angry and torn and upset. He wanted to scream and fight and he felt so small and helpless.

The real you.

Not some illusion passing corners or drifting through his peripherals. The you he could touch and hold and protect.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, never letting go of you even once. He didn't stop those tears as he pulled you impossibly closer.

"I'm here Simon. I'm not leaving again ok? I'm right here."

He remained silent, crying as he held onto you. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck. It felt like hours passed. It felt like time slowed. What felt like two hours was twenty minutes when he finally pulled away enough to look at your face.

To see the light in your glimmering eyes, to see every feature of your face that made you, you.

His sergeant. His teammate. His family.

You smiled softly, gently pulling up his mask off his head to cup his cheeks, rubbing your thumb gently over the dimple in his cheek you've seen when he shows you his smile.

"Smudged your paint a little bit," You whisper. "Let's get that fixed." You gently brush your finger over his face, feeling him start to relax at that familiar and missed touch as you fix the paint around his eyes.

"There we go. How can I help Simon. What will help make this better?"

Simon tried to flick away the rest of his tears, huffing softly. "Cuddles. And you are not allowed to say no after what you put me through. This is your punishment for making me go through that shit!"

You chuckle. "Oh, cuddles with Simon, scary. I'll pay the fine, I'll do all the punishment time of cuddles you request. Sound good?"

Simon nods his head.

"Ok, well how about we go inside now? I could use some cuddles too."

You were about to get up when Simon hugged you again. "I'm glad you're ok..."

You smiled softly, kissing the top of his head. "I am too Simon." You help his mask back on and the two of you head inside.

Simon would let out his feelings to Price sometime later when his head felt less foggy. For now, he was content to crash on the rickety old safehouse bed and koala cling to you till kingdom come.

Nuzzling up and holding you tightly, not letting you go for even a itty bitty millisecond.

And you were fine with that. You were glad you could be back with your family. Simon was glad to welcome you back. You'd be serving a lot of cuddle prison time. A strenuous task, but one all too rewarding.

Running your hand down the back of his head, scratching his back to help him relax and set himself at ease.

All he needed was to koala crush your soul into his soul, and then he'd be ok. Slowly, his eyes started to close after the exhaustion of the mission, but he fought to keep them open.

"I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise, I won't be going anywhere." You whisper to him.

"You promise?"

"I double swear it. I won't leave. I'll be right here."

He snuggled you impossibly closer and let his eyes close. He let his mind rest. His heart soak in you and heal. Slowly you could help mend what has fallen apart.

And cuddles were never a bad place to start...

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #captain john price x reader #platonic x reader #cod modern warfare

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kpopnstarwars · 4 months

Text

Second Chance: Jeong Yunho x Reader

A/N: i honestly feel like i went through multiple divorces writing this (also i have never written a standalone fic this long, like this is double the longest fic i've ever written, but it's huge like yunho so what can i say)

tw: alcohol, swearing, HUGE angst, eventual fluff, people are drunk, there's a party (yes that deserves a warning), gets a little smutty at the end, mention of marriage (twice), could be kinda ooc near the beginning because i started writing this within a month of stanning

wc: 5.3k

The second you step through the doorway, you're already regretting conceding so easily to Wooyoung. He's got his nagging technique perfected - you'd probably be curled up on your sofa binging your favourite movies, surrounded with snacks and fluffy blankets and the comforts of your own home if he wasn't nearly as persuasive as he is.

Instead, here you are, at a party you're not very... invested in, half sulking as San welcomes you in, wishing you were at home, watching the Star Wars prequels back to back with Seonghwa.

San is already half drunk. It's easy to tell; his face and the tips of his ears are blushed a rosy pink, and he's giggling at nothing in particular as he hangs off your shoulders, clinging onto your shirt as if he'll lose you in his own semi-crowded living room. You anticipate another five minutes of clingy San, punctuated by tipsy zoomies, before the alcohol he had (probably just a few shots, to be honest) kicks in, and he begins to feel sleepy. With practiced ease - yes, you've done this many times before - you steer him towards the sofa, grinning at Yeosang as you dump San next to him.

'Nooo...' San mumbles. 'Where are you... where...' You pat his shoulder. 'I'm not leaving yet, don't worry. Yeosang will look after you.'

Retreating into the small crowd before said man can protest at this forced role of caretaker, you wade your way over to Seonghwa and Hongjoong; greeting both, you have a quick exchange about the former's outfit - one he altered himself - before briefly summarising your wishes about watching Star Wars with the latter. In response, he nods sympathetically, but you can tell he's got his eyes fixed on a girl somewhere over your shoulder, so you move on quickly, searching for Wooyoung. Vaguely, you spot Mingi towering over almost everyone in the corner, but knowing that the one person you're trying to avoid today may be with him, you look away before your eyes seize the chance to find him.

'Look who showed up!' A voice crows behind you. You turn around, rolling your eyes. 'And whose fault is that, Woo?' 'He's looking out for you,' Jongho tells you, appearing beside Wooyoung. 'Maybe you needed to get out of the house and - ' 'And talk to you-know-who,' Wooyoung finishes. 'No,' you snap. 'Absolutely not.' He pats your head. 'Here, have a drink. Maybe after it you'll be more open to the idea.' Reluctantly, you take the cup from him. 'Thanks, I guess.'

Wooyoung and Jongho begin talking about some trend on TikTok that they're planning on roping Mingi into doing with them - in truth, it doesn't quite capure your attention as much as the tall, achingly familiar silhouette across the room does. Before you can stop it, your gaze snags on him, on the angles of his jaw and his elbows, on the curving slope of his shoulders. Inhaling sharply, you quickly look away.

And then you glance over at him again.

Just once, and just long enough to see if he's with anyone.

If he's with a girl.

You know he's perfectly capable of it. You know many people at this party who wouldn't say no to him, even if they knew it was just a rebound. You tell yourself you wouldn't really care, it wouldn't really bother you, but it would. Especially if it was her. Somewhere deep inside you, he's still yours; yours to covet, yours to touch and kiss and love.

But he's not, and he brought that upon himself.

'Hey,' Wooyoung says, waving a hand in front of your face. 'You in there?' You smack his hand away. 'I wish I wasn't.' Jongho raises his eyebrows. 'You should just talk to him, if it's bothering you that badly. It's almost been three weeks, you know.' 'Or if you don't want to talk, you can get as drunk as San,' Wooyoung adds helpfully. 'You would definitely forget everything. I don't think our Sannie even knows his own name right now.' You glance down at your cup, and your stomach twists. 'No thanks.'

Wooyoung wraps an arm around you and squeezes you tightly, smiling sadly. You know he just wants you to cheer up, and this realisation makes you painfully aware of the way you're ruining the mood, of the pity in your friends' eyes as they look at you, of the stifling press of bodies that aren't even that close to you. Handing your drink to Jongho, you tell them that you're heading to the toilet.

You take the long way around San's living room. It's partly to avoid the area that you know he is in, and partly because you can feel Mingi's eyes boring into the side of you head. Skirting around the sofa - which is somehow crammed with triple the amount of people it's designed to fit - you wave at Yeosang, who's glaring at you from where he's half squashed under San. In the bathroom, it's a lot quieter, the thumping bass from Hongjoong's playlist and the hum of voices muffled by the closed door. You glance at yourself at the mirror; you're confronted with your own slightly downturned mouth.

Well, you promised Wooyoung you'd come, not that you'd be happy about it.

After a few minutes, you deem it time for you to emerge again. Schooling your features into something a little more cheerful, you step out of the bathroom, only to be ambushed by the one and only Song Mingi. You sigh. You know what he's here to say, you know he's your friend and he means well, but still, you can't help but feel the beginnings of annoyance bubble up within you. Immediately, you push it down. None of it was Mingi's fault.

'Hi, Mingi,' you say, unable to erase the hint of tiredness in your tone. 'How are you?' He asks, concern bleeding into his features. 'I'm doing alright,' you reply, knowing he sees through you easily enough. 'Haven't been sleeping too well, though.' Scratching the back of his head, he looks at you apologetically. 'Look, you know what I'm going to say.' You sigh. 'Go on.' 'You're both my friends,' he sighs. 'It sucks to see you both sad. Yunho's been beating himself up about it for weeks, ever since it happened, and... I know you miss him too. Please, just give him a second chance.'

You blink. It's the first time someone's mentioned him by name tonight, and the pain wells up in you again, fresh and cutting, ripping away the hazy walls of apathy that you'd struggled so hard to build around yourself. Maybe it's fitting that Mingi is the one who causes them to crumble; before everything went to hell with Yunho, it was always you three who hung out together the most, who relied on each other and supported each other, no matter what. It was the closest thing to perfect you've had in your life.

Then Yunho had to ruin it.

He was too heavy handed when he had your heart in his grasp, he was too careless with the trust you'd put in him. Of course you miss him, of course it hurt when you tore him out from he'd been embedded in your life, nestled into the softest part of you heart. Of course you hate avoiding him, but you hate how you let him hurt you more. You refuse to let him in again, just to make the same mistake.

Slowly, you shake your head. Swallowing around the bitterness on your tongue, you look up at Mingi, a deep sadness springing up inside you at the despondency in his eyes. Your voice sounds disembodied, the words far away as you speak.

'I'm sorry, Mingi. I don't think I can do that.'

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

After your talk with Mingi, you begin to see getting as drunk as San in a more favourable light. You let Wooyoung shove exactly two shots down your gullet before you realise that tonight, alcohol isn't going to help you; the shots are acrid in your throat, and the deep throb of the bass - which you normally enjoy - is beginning to give you a headache. Defeated and deflated like a rather morose balloon, you tell Jongho that you're going to get a glass of water.

You realise you've misplayed as soon as you step into the kitchen.

He's there.

Yunho.

Digging your nails into your palms, you jerk your head aprubtly to the side to avoid his eyes as they search for yours. There's no way you're backing out of the kitchen because he's here, there's no way you're so weak that you can't stand the sight of him. Determined, you turn your back to him, reaching into the cupboard to grab a glass, filling it up and sipping at the water. You can feel his eyes burning into your back, and this time you can't help yourself.

A glance over your shoulder is all it takes for the sudden onslaught of memories. Months of dates and years of friendship flash before you, tugging your heart this way and that. He stands there, propped against the counter, his brown eyes anchored on you, his lips half parted as if he's about to speak, and all you can see in him is scene after bittersweet scene: Yunho holding your waist in a crowd, Yunho dancing with you around the living room at two in the morning, Yunho making you laugh until you can't breathe, Yunho holding you tight as you cry, Yunho with his pretty lips on yours, Yunho with his beautiful hands on your body, Yunho telling you that he loves you, Yunho, Yunho, Yunho.

And then it's Yunho, bathed in morning light as he lies in bed beside you, his features serious and solemn and deceptively honest as he tells you the sweetest words you've ever heard in your life.

Finally, it's Yunho the traitor, seen across a crowded, badly lit club on the same day, Mingi beside him, disbelieving as he gapes at your boyfriend kissing a girl, a girl who is not you, who could not even be mistaken for you. You've replayed the scene many times in your head, the way he looked up, catching your eyes as you turned to walk away. He caught up with you in the street, and you had the worst arguement of your life in a seedy, dark alleyway, refusing to let him touch you as you cradled the broken pieces of your heart to your chest - it was no longer his to have.

Looking at him now, he looks different; like your Yunho, but tired. There are bags under his eyes - at least you aren't the only one losing sleep - and his hands clench and unclench at his sides, his jaw working as he searches for words. Carefully, you set your glass down on the counter, crossing your arms.

'I...' He starts, but trails off.

Something ignites in your chest as you watch him fumble over words, stumbling over unfinished sentences. Anger burns bright inside you, a potent mix of frustration and longing and bitter sorrow welling up like poison, making you want to hurt him like he hurt you, demanding retribution. All you can see his lips on hers, and it fucking stings.

'Why are you talking to me?' You ask lowly, voice frosty. Yunho takes a step closer. 'I - I'm sorry. I miss you - so fucking much. I want you back, I need you. I just wish I could make it right so we could - ' 'If you want me back so badly, why did you kiss her?' You hiss. 'Did you forget about me in that moment? Or did you just not care?' He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. 'I, I know I fucked up, badly, and - '

You scoff. You're too angry, too raw, to care about the anguish on his face. He doesn't understand: he doesn't understand that he broke your trust and your heart and you, he doesn't understand that his apology is too late - it was late the moment he touched that girl.

'Fucked up badly?' You snap, incredulous. 'Just badly? Do you remember what you said that morning, on the very same day, while we were still in bed? Do you remember what you told me? You said that you were really serious. You said that one day you were going to marry me. Do you know how happy I was, thinking that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me?' You throw your hands up in the air. 'Well, I guess it was all a shitty lie.'

Yunho staggers back as if you actually punched him. His eyes are wounded as they search yours, and he steadies himself against the counter, gripping it so hard his knuckles bleed white. Clenching his jaw, he stares at you, speechless, and you know that you succeeded in your mission to hurt him. It doesn't feel as good as you thought it would.

Then, the kitchen door swings open.

A swell of music spills inside, along with a very tipsy looking girl. Laughter floats through from the living room. Both you and Yunho just look at her, forgetting that you were arguing in San's kitchen, at a party, and she returns your gazes, bewildered as she looks between the two of you.

'Uh, sorry, I didn't know I was interrupting something. I'll, I'll come back later?' You force yourself to smile, despite it being the expression your features least want to make right now, your voice surprisingly steady. 'Don't worry, you're alright, come in. We should probably go somewhere else.' 'Yeah,' she mumbles, quickly retreating and firmly shutting the door despite your words.

You glance over to Yunho. His hands are shaking as he lifts them, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, and all the fight leaves you at the sight. For all the years you've known him, he's cried maybe four or five times. Your stomach churns with guilt. You caused his tears.

'Hey,' you say softly. 'Do you want to go somewhere more private?' He nods, his voice thick when he speaks. 'Y - yeah, my car's two minutes away. It's in the multi-storey car park.' 'Okay,' you sigh. 'Let's go.'

He's silent as you rinse out your glass and put it on the dish rack, wiping your hands on your trousers. Ducking your head, you weave your way to the front door, slipping past Wooyoung and avoiding Yeosang and Mingi's eyes as they stare at you, surprise evident in their features as they spot Yunho trailing you. You don't want to consider what they must be thinking at the look on his face. There's no chance that they won't miss the pain in his expression, and you feel sick, burdened with the knowledge that you were petty enough to sharpen your words to deadly points and wield them like weapons.

You remain silent as you walk with him to the car park - he doesn't keep in step with you, instead hovering a few paces behind. The quiet swallows you whole, smothering any rage left in your system, and you hold the lift for him, retreating to the opposite corner as he reaches out to press the button for the top floor. Out of the corner of your eye, you study him in the scratched mirror. Although you don't dare look up at his face, you can feel his gaze, and a lump forms in the back of your throat, thinking of how many times you've been tucked under his arm in the lift to his apartment, his long fingers stroking down your side.

Harshly, you swallow, reminding yourself that you can't let him in.

You can't open your heart, just for it to be broken again.

Despite this, you find your gaze straying over his reflection. He must have left his jacket at San's, because all he has on is his black t-shirt and jeans, the former of which is slightly damp down the front - someone probably spilt their drink on him, and the fabric clings to his skin in a way that makes you yearn to press him against the wall and kiss him until you're both dizzy. One of his hands is shoved in his jeans pockets; you desperately wish that you could slip your fingers in with his, just to feel his warmth and his skin against yours. Even under the crappy lift lights, he's beautiful, as beautiful as ever. It's how you've always seen him, how you always will.

The top floor of the car park is open, and during the time you were in the lift, it's begun to rain. You begin shivering, and out of your peripheral, you see Yunho lift his hand before he pulls it back quickly, as if he was going to reach out to you and tug you close before he thought better of it. His car is the only one there, seeing as it's well into the night, and he unlocks it as you walk towards it. Hesitating with your fingers on the passenger door handle, you pause, debating with yourself - he hovers on the driver's side, watching as you deliberate before choosing the backseat.

You don't want to admit it, but you want to be closer to him.

Within seconds, you're sitting next to him in the back of his car, and you're faced with the looming need to pick up your disaster of a conversation where you left off; raising your eyes to find his, relief washes through you to find them steady, the emotions in them whirling and a total mess, but not too overwhelming. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself to ask the question that's been on the tip of your tongue all night. You tell yourself that you can do this, that you can pretend this doesn't hurt as much as it does, but it's quickly proven a lie when your voice comes out weak and smaller than you'd like.

'Why - why did you do it?'

A haunted look enters his eyes as he scrubs a hand over his face.'I... I don't know. She pulled me down, and I just didn't move, I just let her, because it was nice to feel wanted - ' His voice cracks. ' - even though you had always given me so much more than that. You loved me and I fucked it up. I took you for granted and - '

Harshly, he swallows, cutting himself off. His words are rushed, tight, his hands fisted in his lap as he looks away for a second, breaking eye contact and staring out into the car park as he steels himself. You're reeling from his words, from the painful honesty that laces them, like poison on a blade. There's no doubt that, even with your walls up, you still love him, because his desperation is like a knife twisted in your heart - hesitantly, you reach out, wanting to touch him, to comfort him somehow. In response, he grabs your hand, almost crushing it in his grip.

'Please,' he whispers brokenly. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I - I just need you to let me love you again. I never wanted to hurt you, I - ' 'But you did, Yunho,' you reply softly, grief making your voice thick and unsteady.

His face crumples. Bringing his trembling hands to his face, he turns away to hide the tears spilling down his face, and regret shoots through you like a bullet through the heart. Gripping his hand, you pull him to face you, but suddenly you can't stop, won't stop, tugging him closer until he's in your arms. It feels so right to share space with him, and you wonder why you ever tried to get over him and push him away when he's all you ever wanted, when he's your home. Sobs wrack his body, and you press your lips to his forehead, your own tears running down your cheeks into his hair as you tighten your arms around him.

'You hurt me, Yunho,' you choke out. 'I can't deny you hurt me. But it hurt because I loved you, and I love you now. I loved you when you kissed her, and I hated myself for it, but I guess my heart knew who it was made for, because I never stopped loving you.'

His chest heaves, a great shudder running through him, and he trembles, a giant felled by your sweet, healing words. He presses his lips against your shoulder, tasting the salt of his own tears in the wet material of your shirt; his fingers twine into your hair, and you can feel the effort it takes for him to get his words out between his rattling sobs in the strain of his voice, but he does.

'I - I missed you with every breath I took while you were gone,' he says. 'I lost the best part of me when you left. I love you, I'm a fucking fool, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - '

Gently, you press a finger against his lips, making him look up at you. His words don't matter any more, not while he's in your arms and not while you know that you should have never let him go, that you should have never let either of you try to live without the other.

'I missed you too, Yunho,' you murmur. 'And I will never stop loving you.'

At your words, he goes completely still. He's frozen for a moment, his face inches from yours. A shiver runs down his back, and his eyes dart down to your lips.

'Can I - fuck - I need - '

He's taut as a bow string, thrumming with energy, and you can see the desperation on his face - he needs your lips on his as much as he needs to breathe. And yet, he still asks. You know then, with every fibre of your being, that he's what you want, that he's the only one you'll ever want, ever love.

'Yes,' you breathe. 'Yes.'

Cold moonlight limns his features as he leans in, but there's nothing cold about the look in his eyes. One hand cups your jaw, the other cupping the nape of your neck, his long fingers warm against your skin - his breath flutters softly against your lips before he closes the gap between you. The breath is knocked from you; he's never kissed you with this sort of aching tenderness, and you sink into his touch, eyes drifting shut.

You feel like you're falling again, the way you did the first time, when you'd rant to Mingi for hours about the smallest touch or moment you shared with Yunho, except this time, you lean into the tug of gravity with an eagerness you've never felt before. Like before, you teeter on the edge of a precipice, except, this time, you know what's at the bottom; you know the exhiliration of the fall, and the deep, aching love that awaits.

You jump, arms outstretched, knowing Yunho will catch you.

After you kiss Yunho for what seems like hours, running your hands up his back and burying them into his hair, pressing him closer to you and drinking him in, he drives you home. You're still drunk on his taste as you curl into him on your sofa, talking to him about nothing in particular, just soaking in the euphoria of being in his arms again; truly, you don't notice that your words become further and further apart, and that your eyes are drooping - you're too busy listening to the soft timbre of his voice. Nothing matters to you in this moment. It's just you and him, wonderfully relaxed against each other, not allowing an inch of space between you. Honestly, you're unsure where you end and Yunho begins.

Your heart is overflowing.

You're home.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Yunho isn't quite aware what the words leaving his mouth mean. He's too busy studying the tilt of your neck and the way your lashes fall against your face, relearning the essence of you. A smile tugs at his lips when you finally succumb to sleep, head flopping against his chest. It reminds him of the many occurences when you'd fall asleep on him while watching movies: the times before he asked you out, when he'd carefully hold you, his heart pounding in his ears, and the times after, where he'd cradle you to him, peppering kisses all over your face.

Gently, he gathers you up in his arms and carries you to your bed, laying you down and tucking the blanket from the sofa over you - he knows you hate to get under the sheets without a shower and your so called 'outside clothes' off. Planning to quietly return to his car, Yunho straightens, but a small tug at the bottom of his shirt prevents him from standing up all the way. A glance down finds your fingers fisted in the hem of the black fabric; blearily, you blink your eyes at him, peeking out from beneath the blanket.

'Stay,' you mumble. 'Please.'

Yunho's heart flutters in his chest. You're beautiful, even with your hair a mess and your eyes and face still a little red from crying, and he could never resist you. He thinks he'd do anything for you, if you'd dare ask.

This time, he's determined that he's going to marry you. He wants to be yours forever - he wants to wake up by your side every morning, he wants to come home to you, he wants to tell you he loves you in your every waking moment.

Sitting down on the mattress beside you, he lets you clamber into his arms and snuggle into his chest.

'Whatever you say, my love.'

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

When you wake up the next day, you're utterly relaxed. It's as if your body knows that you're in the safest place you could ever be - in Yunho's arms. His breathing is still deep, his hair a mess, the way it always is in the mornings. You don't think you've ever felt this comfortable; the mattress seems to cradle your back, the blankets a warm cocoon around you, and Yunho is draped over you, his long limbs tangled with yours. Smiling dumbly, you kiss his fluffed up hair, carding your fingers through it. A soft laugh leaves you when you realise his mouth is half open and that he's drooling on you, his cheek pressed against your shoulder.

Extracting one arm from beneath the blankets, you scrabble around your bedside for your phone. Yunho makes a soft sleepy noise, a frown digging into his forehead, and you hush him, rubbing his back soothingly; you're terribly relaxed right now, and you don't want to get up just yet.

In fact, you're pretty sure you want to stay like this forever.

Quickly, you snap a few pictures of him on your phone, unable to resist. Scrolling through your notifications from last night, you find a text from Mingi, asking how you are - he doesn't ask why you left the party with Yunho yesterday, or how it went, but his curiosity is still evident. You open the chat, a grin making its way onto your face.

Second chance granted, you type.

And then you throw your phone back onto your bedside table, ready to enjoy your morning with the man stirring in your arms. Yunho huffs quietly as he surfaces from his dreams, his long arms tightening around you; he buries his face into your neck, pressing a sweet kiss there, then another and another. Threading your fingers into his hair, your eyes close as he mouths at the hollow of your throat. He shifts so he's more comfortably situated between your legs, and you kiss his temple.

'Mm,' you hum contentedly. 'Morning.' 'Morning, love,' he replies.

His voice is raspy - deep and familiar as it always is in the morning. A memory comes to you: one of the many mornings you spent with him in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs with his skin on yours, and your stomach flips, warm longing bubbling up inside you. Gently, you tug at his hair, and he responds immediately, something that you suspect was already semi-hard nudging at your core before he shifts back quickly.

You frown as he pulls back a little. Searching his eyes, which have brightened a good deal since he first blinked them open, you examine them for any caution, but all you find is a deep seated fire.

'What's up?' You ask softly, cupping his face. He turns his head so he can kiss your palm. 'I - I want to... but I don't want to do anything too fast if you don't want it. I know I hurt you.' Leaning in, you press your forehead against his. 'Fuck going slow, Yunho. I love you. You know I do.'

It feels wonderful to say. The infatuation soaking the words is sweet on your tongue, magnificently domestic, something you missed saying to him every day, whispering it into his hair and against his lips like an oath. You feel like you're floating, a thrum of heat flushing through your body at the look in his eyes. He's tense, his muscles rock hard under your hands, his gaze transfixed on yours. Slowly, his lips part.

'Sweetheart,' he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your neck. 'You're driving me insane.' His touch travels to your cheek, his breath ghosting over your skin. 'I love you. More than you could ever know.'

He holds your gaze for a moment, and you find yourself mesmerised by him - his hair's a mess and his t-shirt is rumpled and emotions burn in his eyes, setting you on fire.

Fuck, he's glorious.

You grab his chin, fitting your lips to his. Yunho reciprocates like a man starved, his tongue licking into your mouth, hot and wet, his fingers curling around your waist and bringing your body snug against his - your head falls back against the pillows, eyes drifting closed when his hands trail teasingly up your body to cup your breasts, pushing up the hem of your shirt. Dipping his head, he nips at your skin, and you wouldn't stop the way your hips buck up into his even if you could.

A soft noise leaves your throat when his fingers ghost over your core, and he chuckles softly; you groan his name, nails scratching lightly at his shoulder, spurring him on as gently, he pushes your legs open, smoothly moving down the bed so that he's framed between your thighs. He keeps his gaze on yours as he slips your underwear off you, a smirk tugging at his lips when a shudder wracks your body at the first touch of his fingers on your slit, your back arching - you'd be embarrassed, but there's liquid fire in your veins, and all you can think of is him.

'Fuck, Yunho,' you choke out. 'Fuck.' 'You like that?' He teases, slipping a finger inside.

A whine rips from your chest. You clamp tightly around him, vice like, and he begins to pump his fingers in and out, his lower lip trapped under his teeth as he watches your face contort in pleasure. Wickedly, he curls his fingers inside you, sending bolts of pleasure shooting white hot through you, his carnal expression turning almost sadistic, as if he's studying the exact angle at which your eyes roll back.

On your bedside table, your phone dings once, then three times more in quick succession. You know it's Mingi.

You ignore it. There are more pressing matters at hand, slotted right between your legs and pressing feather light kisses to your thighs.

#ateez #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho #ateez yunho #ateez angst #yunho angst #yunho fluff #ateez fluff #jeong yunho x reader #yunho smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #yunho fanfic

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sanguineterrain · 5 months

Text

savior | jason todd

Summary: Red Hood is the stuff of nightmares. Red Hood is no hero. Red Hood is your best friend.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings/tags: angsttt, reader is afraid of red hood and they discover that he's jason, injured and kidnapped reader, emotional hurt no comfort.

A/N: hey guys! i didn't know what the hell to write so. this is what i came up with. hope ya like it :) if you like this fic, lmk through comments and reblogs!

the divider

“You fucked up!”

You wince at the shouting and the ringing in your ears. You try to sit up but that makes things hurt, so you lie still and listen.

"What? You said pick a civilian!”

"I don't give a fuck what I said; obviously, you screwed up! He's not coming!"

You close your eyes, trying not to throw up on your gag.

Batman? Batman isn't coming?

No, that can't be. Batman knows everything that happens in his city. He wouldn't abandon a civilian in need.

You try to take a deep breath, but your chest tightens instead. Jason's probably tearing his hair out if he's home from work. He always stresses safety, to the point of paranoia.

Lock your doors. Don't walk down this street. Did you get home okay? Text me when you get home.

You hope Batman's out there, somewhere. Or any of the Bats. You don't want to die. You really, really don't want to die.

Thump!

Something hits the ground. There's a shout.

“You fucking shitheads! You were supposed to check the—”

Gunfire erupts suddenly, and you tuck your head between your knees as best as you can, with your hands and ankles bound.

Thump! Thump!

More bodies hit the ground. But Batman doesn't do guns.

"What the fuck is this?" comes a distorted voice.

Your blood chills.

"H-Hood!” one of the kidnappers squeaks. “Sh-shit. What’re you doin’ here?”

“Protecting Gotham,” Hood says. “What’re you doing, McKelly? Thought you were on the straight and narrow. Thought the Bats taught you what happens to people who lose their way. Did the lesson not stick?”

“It’s not what it looks like, Hood! We just needed some extra cash and Black Mask—I swear, we weren’t gonna do anything to—”

“Was it worth it? He’s got my attention now.”

“It was meant to draw out Batman! Not you, honest! Aw, Hood, please. I’ll be good after this, I swear!”

“You assholes just don’t learn your lesson, do you?”

He turns and locks in on you. You freeze, tensing up.

“You hurt them," he says, voice like steel. "You hurt them. And you would've hurt them more, wouldn't you?"

“Hood—”

"I’ll kill you all.”

He shoots McKelly in the chest. You scream through the gag. Red Hood looks at you, and it seems to rekindle his anger tenfold.

He shoots the two remaining guys in the head. McKelly writhes, screaming. You shut your eyes and turn away from the bloodshed, stomach rolling. The crunch of bone and muscle makes you sick.

"Hood, please! This ain’t your s—”

The next shot silences the room. Your heart rate skyrockets; is this a rescue or a massacre?

As the footsteps get closer, you press yourself into the wall and quiver. Red Hood is terrifying. He's merciless, bloodthirsty. You know the stories. You don't even know why he's here in the first place. This isn't his territory; you live far from Crime Alley. What is he doing all the way out here?

You peek one eye open. Red Hood freezes. He's about two feet away from you. His jacket and helmet are splattered with dark blood. Tears prick your eyes.

"Hey," he says roughly, like he’s not fully present. "’S okay. Y’alright?”

You nod rapidly. In reality, your ankle throbs, you might be concussed, and you’re sick with fear. And you don't want Red Hood anywhere near you.

"Okay. I'm gonna remove the gag."

You can't really protest; Red Hood's a big guy, and he has a lot of weapons on his body. All you can hope is that he won't decide to pick up where your kidnapper left off.

He removes the gag. Then he pulls out a blade.

"Please don't hurt me," you say.

Red Hood stills. His voice is thick when he speaks again. The modulator doesn't soften his words.

"I would—I would never hurt you. I don't hurt innocents. I... I came here to save you.”

It still doesn’t make sense in your mind, Red Hood being so far from the Bowery. You press your cracked lips together. You don't want to throw up. If you throw up in front of Hood, he might change his mind about saving you.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s alright. I’m gonna remove the zip ties now, okay?”

You don't have a choice, so you watch the blade whisper past your skin. It would be so easy for Hood to cut more than the restraints. It's all you can think about, frankly.

He makes quick work of the binds. His hand lingers on your wrist. There’s blood on his sleeve. Your heart pounds in your chest.

He finally lets go and you pull away, scooting to the side. That puts pressure on your ankle, though, and you can't hide your wince.

"Your ankle," he says. "Let me see.”

You shake your head. "No, I'm f-fine. I just want to go home. It'll heal.”

Hood seems to make a decision then. He reaches for his helmet. It clicks and he pulls it off.

No. No, it can’t be. It can’t.

“Hey,” Jason says, smiling a little. “‘S just me. Just Jay. You’re safe.”

Your eyes dart between Jason and the bodies. This time, you can’t swallow your nausea; you throw up. There’s tears in your eyes. Your face is hot and sweaty.

“You–you killed them,” you whisper.

Jason’s smile fades. “They hurt you. I… I saved you. It’s okay. ‘S just me.”

You clench your hands, willing them to stop shaking. He watches you for a long moment. Then he puts his hand out. You flinch.

Silence stretches. Then Hood—Jason speaks.

"You're scared of me.”

You shake your head. "Please, I just want to go home—”

"You want Batman instead?" He sounds choked. “You want Batman to come save you? Or Nightwing? Or Robin? You want a good guy?”

This feels like a trap. You know better than to fall into it. This is the Red Hood.

"No! No, I-I don't have any problem with you, Hood, really, I'm just—"

“It’s Jason!” he shouts. “You’ve known me for three years! Jason! You know me!”

The night is catching up to you; tears begin to spill from how overwhelmed you are. You wipe at your cheeks quickly, trying to calm down, but it's too much.

Jason creeps forward like he wants to touch you. You press against the wall without thinking about it.

“Fuck, you’re—you’re terrified of me,” he rasps. “You think I’m a monster.”

Your panic has reached a peak now; you lose track of time and space, hyperventilating through your cries. Jason shoves himself backwards, tearing a hand through his hair.

“I’m good, I’m a good guy. You know me, you know me. I would never hurt you!”

You could've died tonight. The Red Hood is Jason. The Red Hood is no hero.

You don’t look at him, curled up and cradling your ankle. You’re afraid you’ll get sick again if you open your eyes.

Then someone's hand holds your shoulder. You flinch hard, expecting cold, glowing eyes in a red helmet.

Instead, you see white lenses. Nightwing smiles sadly at you, squatting to your level.

"Hey, there," he says. “I’m—”

"Hood’s here," you blurt. "Watch your back."

Nightwing glances behind him; Jason is across the warehouse, as much distance between you as possible. He has his knees to his chest. The corpses lie between you. Your eyes widen and you turn into Nightwing’s shoulder. He rubs your back.

"It’s okay. I know him. He works with us a lot these days."

“I would never hurt you,” Jason says quietly, voice cracking. “Never.” He doesn’t try to approach you again.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

"Please don't make me go with him,” you whisper. “Please, please…”

It hurts to breathe. Nightwing puts your hand on his chest and tells you to follow his breathing. It lasts a lifetime, it seems: Nightwing crouched to your level, exaggerating his breaths until you're no longer gasping for air.

"Alright, it's alright. I'll take you home," he says. "It's okay. You're safe. I won’t make you go with him.”

Nightwing helps you stand, and when you stumble through your injured ankle, he catches you, bracing you with his arm around your back.

"Let's wrap your ankle first, okay?”

Nightwing guides you to a lone chair so he can tend to your injury. When you look up again, the Red Hood is gone.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #angst

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house-of-lovin · 1 year

Text

over

Tara Carpenter x F!Reader

masterlist | love language (2) | safety net (3)

Summary: Tara Carpenter loves to play games with you. (inspired by over by lucky daye)

Warnings: toxic!tara, jealous!tara, mature language, sexual themes implied.

Note: Chad is one of the bros. Reader is just a bit emotionally-stunted. Tara is just a bit toxic but its okay cause shes still bby :')

Word Count: 3.3k+

“We need you, now.”

An arm clasping onto your forearm breaks you away from your dancing – the thudding of the bass reverberating through your body making you feel buzzed, or maybe it was all the alcohol. You can hear Chad’s protests as you are dragged away from him and the two girls he roped you in to dance with.

Something about helping his chances with the ‘ladies’, you were too drunk to put up a fight.

“Wha–” There was no time to argue as Anika leads you away from the crowd in the middle of the living room. “Tara needs help.”

The sound of her name washes over you like cold water – sobering you up.

“Where is she?”

“She went upstairs with that Winston guy from Kappa Delta.” Your nose scrunches in distaste at hearing the fraternity name. They were always bad news. “Me and Mindy tried to stop her but she was being stubborn–"

You shake your head as you push through the herd of people, stomping up the stairs not bothering to listen to the rest of Anika’s explanation. With haste, you start roughly turning doorknobs once you got upstairs – hoping one of them contained the unruly Carpenter.

Pretending like you didn’t see the couple having a quickie in the closet, you slam the door shut, trying to get the image out of your brain. You were trying to ignore the thudding in your chest as your panic increases the longer it takes you to find Tara, the couple you just caught also not appeasing your anxiety.

After a rough shoulder to the next door, it opens. You stumble inside from the sheer force; looking up and scanning the room. Your aggressive entrance seemed to have broken Tara and Winston away from their trance as they break away from almost kissing. The image has your stomach churning unpleasantly, probably all the alcohol, you reason.

“I think Tara’s all good, buddy.” You say when you finally gain your senses back. Tone, straight and even.

“Who the fuck are you?” He stands, but he’s all wobbly on his feet, clear signs of his inebriation.

“Doesn’t matter. Get away from her.” You can see Tara’s eyes fluttering between you and Winston from your peripheral. Curious to see what’s about to happen until you link eyes and suddenly she’s looking away from your glare.

“I think Tara can make decisions for herself.” He slurs, turning to look at the girl still sitting on the bed. She’s silent as you both look at her for a comment.

You’re growing tired of entertaining this conversation. “She’s clearly drunk you fucking creep.” You stomp over to him, yanking him by the shirt and dragging him out of the room.

“If I see you anywhere near her, I’ll break your fucking kneecaps.” You grit into his face, holding him up by his shirt. He was basically a rag doll in your arms, his drunkenness not helping his senses as he stumbles around when you drag him. Then you push him into the wall, slamming the door shut in his face.

You give yourself a few seconds to calm down, back still facing away from Tara. For a moment, you wonder if the other girl can hear how loudly your heart was pounding. You can certainly feel her piercing stare.

When you finally turn, she’s leaning back on her hands, legs crossed over the other as she sits on the foot of the bed. Her downturned chin makes her eyes look sharper as she continues to examine you. You certainly don’t miss the slight smirk on the corner of her lips. A spark akin to irritation begins to manifest in your chest the longer you stared at her smug expression.

No one says anything as the air stagnates; a stare-off ensues between you two.

It wasn’t until Tara rolls her eyes, uncrossing her legs is there a break in the silence. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

You shrug, disregarding her probing tone, “Anika said you were in trouble. Seemed like he was taking advantage.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Seemed like there was more to it.”

This time you’re standing straighter. She’s trying to pull something out of you.

You and Tara toe the line of a friends-with-benefits situation that sometimes blurs when it comes to ‘friends’. The benefits part of it was great. Sex with Tara is nothing short of amazing and mind-blowing every time; she definitely knew her way around the bedroom.

But with your lives being so intertwined – you being in basically all her classes, Mindy’s roommate, and consequently her friend group – it was beginning to be difficult just to remain ‘friends’ with Tara the more she allowed you to learn about her. Sometimes your friends caught you staring at her with what they call ‘heart eyes’ something you ardently deny.

Tara’s given no indication that she wants this to go past hooking up. She's so… closed off. Save for the bedroom you’ve never seen her be vulnerable in any capacity. It was as if she couldn’t allow herself to. Given the Ghostface Attacks, you weren’t the least bit surprised that Tara acts the way she does – pedal to the metal, always on the go, never allowing herself to look to the past.

She carved a silhouette of her in your heart, unknowingly.

You wanted to protect her and care for her; show her that she doesn't have to be brave all the time. Regardless if she kept you at an arm's length.

From then on, it seems you lived your life revolved around the Carpenter. No matter how much you tried to deny or stop the inevitable heartbreak you’re bound to feel when she tells you she can’t let herself feel the same.

“Y/N… we’re just hooking up.” She says, approaching you.

“I know.” You say as impassively as you can. “That’s not what that was about.”

She hums, unconvinced. This time she’s looking up at you with that doe-eyed stare that always manages to lure you in.

“You sure?” She says almost tauntingly.

“Positive.” You grit, staring back blankly into her eyes.

She’s examining your features, trying to see if you’re lying – something you’ve caught her doing more often these days; just watching you. You always give her a confused look and ask why she’s staring but all she does is shake her head and plucks something from your face, muttering on about lint and whatnot.

“Okay.” Is all she says before roughly tugging you down by the shoulders. Your lips find hers instantly, as your arms slide under her shirt to cup her waist. Your body instantly on fire as it recognizes the familiar grooves of Tara Carpenter and how (as if it had a mind of its own) loved the feeling of it against yours.

Her assault is rough, as her lips press firmly against yours; occasionally parting so she can swipe her tongue against your own. Her aggressiveness has you leaving indents of half-mooned fingernails on her waist – your arousal clouding your senses. It was pathetic that all she had to do was kiss you and you'd be putty in her hands. “Fuck, you wanna do this here?”

She hums against your mouth forcing you to swallow the vibrations; goosebumps rise on your skin. Then she’s nipping and sucking at your neck, sloppily. She’s biting down so hard that you groan from the pain. “Tara, no marks.”

Instead, she growls, biting down harder as a challenge, this time you were sure there would be a mark – and that it would be a bitch to cover up. Then she’s releasing you all within the next second giving you whiplash. She’s stepping back from you, eyeing your dishevelled and dazed state; running a thumb over her stained lipstick with a smirk. “Have fun explaining that to the girls you and Chad were dancing with.”

You’re blinking, confused as to why you suddenly feel cold and why Tara was so far away from you. But before you can say anything, she’s walking past you and back out to the party.

You shake your head. This girl and her mixed signals.

–//–

“Get off your phone.”

The bright device is snatched from your hand before you even get a chance to say anything.

“Dude, what the fuck?” You chide Chad, who’s holding the phone against his jacket-clad chest.

Muffled sounds of shushing are heard around you – making you jump, looking around the library. You connect eyes with the librarian standing behind his station, aggressively tapping his pen against the surface as he glares at you behind glasses that were far too big for his face to look intimidating. Rolling your eyes, you tug your headphones off your ears and glare across the table at Chad; ignoring the daggers being shot at you at the moment.

“What’d you do that for?” You whisper-yell as everyone turns to go back to what they were doing.

“You’ve been staring at your phone for the last ten minutes. You said you were gonna help me with my exam.” He crosses his arms, raising a brow at you; daring you to say he’s wrong.

You relent, “sorry, sorry. You’re right.”

You tried, you really tried to focus on the lesson you were teaching Chad but it was proving to be difficult.

Tonight was supposed to be yours and Tara’s ‘time’ together – every Friday.

But one problem, it’s exam season. Which meant endless all-nighters and unhealthy doses of caffeine, it also meant copious amounts of stress to majority of the student body. Because of this, Tara reasoned that she needed some ‘time’ to focus on studying for her exams, which meant the time you spent together was cut short for the moment. You agreed, the stress of exams is weighing heavily on you and you’re desperately trying not to buckle under it. You’ve been cruising through school the last couple of months since meeting Tara, and your grades definitely showed it.

Shamefully ignoring your academic responsibilities in favour of catching a few stolen moments with Tara Carpenter.

So, even though you didn’t like it, you buckled down for your final exam with Chad in the school library, dedicating the weekend to diligent studying instead of having fun like most college kids; a majority, now finished with their exams.

“What’s got you so distracted anyway?” He asks, leaning forward to give you the phone back.

“Nothing, just this exam. It’s the last one then we’re off to spring break. I’m just excited,” You brush off.

He nods, not really believing you. You and Chad had grown fairly close in your short time of knowing the friend group. Being Mindy’s roommate meant Chad was always around – it was the twin package deal (you learned to deal with it after barging into the dorm half-naked after a shower, only to find Chad sitting on Mindy's bed with one hand in a bag of chips as the other drops his phone to hurriedly cover his eyes)

You came to learn that he’s a real sweetheart under all the bravado.

“Don’t believe you. I know you’re thinking about Tara.” He calls you out.

You roll your eyes, already in denial. “No, I’m not. Can we just get back to studying?”

He’s shaking his head, ready to debate. “Maybe I can help, I have known her for a long time.”

Your nose crinkles, “No offence, but I don’t need your advice in this area.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.“ He says in feigned offence, then he’s standing. “Fine, don’t tell me. But let’s get some coffee and come back. I think we’re both too distracted to get any work done anyway.”

You frown, this exam is really important and you definitely needed to just sit down and study. But, Chad is right, you were both far too out of it to get any decent work done. Following him, you stand to gather your phone and wallet. “Fine, let's go but you're paying.”

When you’re both walking out of the library, he slides in beside you, hands in his jacket pockets with a cheeky smile. “Now that we got some time to kill, why don’t you let me hear what’s been bothering you.”

You groan but begrudgingly tell him anyway – grateful for the sympathetic ear.

–//–

“So let me get this straight. You’ve been like this all night–” He waves a hand at you, keeping in step as you trek to the coffee shop, “--cause you couldn’t get some with Tara Carpenter.” He’s howling, bending forward.

You’re rolling your eyes so hard, you’re surprised they’re not stuck; already regretting telling your friend about your troubles of the night. “Shut up. It’s not that.”

But he’s wiping invisible tears off his cheeks that has you clenching your jaw, “Oh man, that’s gold.”

You elbow his side, making him puff a pained breath. “I said I'm worried about her 'cause she isn't feeling well.”

“Well did you offer to come over and help her feel better?” He winks, once the pain in his side has subsided.

“Of course I did.”

“So then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know!" You shout, "Earlier she was asking if I had plans for the night – it sounded like she was asking me to come over. But then I told her I'm studying with you and then she tells me she's feeling sick so I offer to come over and take care of her but then she says no! So I don’t know man, I’m just feeling a little frustrated!” You huff out in a rant.

Chad is silent for a few moments, brows raised, a little shocked at your outburst, “Damn…”

“Well, why didn’t you just go see her anyway?” He asks after a few moments.

You frown, “‘Cause she literally said don’t bother.”

“Yikes, you got some grovelling to do,” He pats a comforting hand on your shoulder, leading you both inside the coffee shop. It was a quaint, yet well-known spot on campus, frequented by many college students and others. It was situated on the same street across other restaurants and bars well-known in Blackmore. So this area is always bustling with people, especially on a Friday night.

You thank the heavens for whoever invented 24-hour coffee shops, as you step inside. “I don’t know man. I’m just getting a little tired of the mixed signals. It sounds like she wants me to be there but then says ‘don’t bother’? Like, what am I supposed to do with that.”

“Have you tried reading these signals?” He inquires, as you both stand in line. There was a couple of stragglers with their head in their books trying to get some extra cramming in. Definitely not the place to be discussing relationship troubles but everyone seems to be preoccupied.

Your nose scrunches, “No! I’m not a mind reader. If she wants to tell me something, she’s gonna have to say it.”

“God you are so clueless, and if I’m saying that, it means something.” He says exasperatedly, fed up with you and Tara dancing around each other.

“Shut up. One moment she says we’re just hooking up, the next she’s leaving hickeys on my neck and acting all jealous when I’m around other girls. Can you tell me what signal that is?” You ask sarcastically. A little defensive, if you were being honest. These are all things you’ve already thought about when it comes to Tara. She plagues your thoughts turning you into an insomniac as you spend your nights thinking about her. You never could wrap your head around the Carpenter girl regardless of how much sleep you sacrificed.

“It sounds like you two need to talk.” He offers, stepping up to the counter to order you two drinks. You stand behind him, thinking about his words. For once, you have no quip for that. You know it’s the mature thing to do, lines were being blurred and unspoken boundaries were being crossed that would inevitably lead to heartbreak.

A selfish part of you, however, doesn’t want to talk. A talk feels too real and confrontational and impossible for your emotionally stunted self. Fear of rejection is present in the forefront of your mind, so even though it hurts and it's confusing, you’d deal with this over potentially losing Tara Carpenter.

“Thanks so much,” Chad says to the barista, grabbing the hot drinks for you two before walking. He nudges you to open the door, “Come on, let’s get out of here so I can tell you what you should do about Tar- Tara! Hey Tara!” His eyes widen.

Your eyes snap up to see Tara, holding the door of the coffee shop open with a guy you don’t recognize standing behind her. “Oh, hey guys!”

She’s smiling at you and Chad but you were still eyeing the guy behind her, waiting patiently. “Me and James were just getting some coffee.” She explains.

James leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you wish to blame it on the coffee you’ve yet to drink. “I see… I thought you weren’t feeling well?” This time you turn to her and the smug look on her face annoys the hell out of you. She knows you’re seething from the inside and she’s having a grand ol’ time just watching.

“Well, I was starting to feel better after I took something for it,” The insinuation is heavy as her piercing stare, you don’t miss how her eyes flicker up and down your figure, “then James texted and I was free, so.”

You don’t respond, opting to clench your jaw in agitation. She’s always playing games with you.

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation as Chad desperately tries to usher you two out to escape the tense, awkward interaction. Though everything around you passed in a blur, you don't miss the sly wink Tara sends you as Chad leads you out the door and past James.

Only once you were both an earshot away did you speak, “Can you tell me what signal that was?”

Chad shakes his head, frustrated at how dumb his friends are acting.

—//—

“I’m coming!” You gruff out, legs stumbling as you try to find your footing in the dark room. Loud, rushed knocks continued despite your loud complaints telling them to stop. If this was Mindy forgetting her keys for the fifth time this week, you were seriously going to change the locks just to fuck with her.

With a yank, you yell, “What!”

Tara blinks up at you, unfazed by the protruding vein on your forehead. “Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna let me in?”

You frown, moving aside. “What are you doing here, Tara?”

“I came to see you?” She says in an obvious tone, scanning your room.

“What, you got bored with James?” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean against your door, unmoving.

She smirks, facing you, “Why? You jealous?”

Your grit your teeth, trying to shove down the feelings threatening to bubble over in your chest, “Of course not.”

She hums, pouting a little for effect as she walks closer to you. “No?”

You shake your head.

Her pout deepens comically, “Well, that’s unfortunate.” She steps forward; the space between you disappearing as she places a hand on your crossed arms to bring them down.

“‘Cause I was jealous.” She admitted.

That has you frowning, “Why were you jealous?” She’s brought your arms to your sides, stepping in between your legs to place a hand on your chest. She doesn’t say anything, instead electing to pepper light kisses on your throat and jaw.

“Tara.” You say firmly, but make no move to stop her.

“You’re spending too much time with Chad, I don’t like that.” She answers – whispering against your skin, after leaving a trail of wet kisses.

“We were just studying.” You groan, gripping her waist when her teeth bite down on your pulse. “He’s just a friend.” You try to say against the pressure she was making on your neck.

“Doesn’t seem like it… I mean he’s got you turning me down, so what? You guys can get coffee together?” She says sneeringly, her grip on the back of your neck is voracious with every passing word.

“You literally said don't bother…” You disputed, but she’s connecting your mouths together in a frenzied kiss to shut you up. You don’t even recognize the fact that she’s leading you back to your bed until she’s pulling away to push you down by the chest.

You barely have time to sit up before she’s climbing on you, legs on either side of your lap, hands tugging your shirt off. “I was gonna play nice even though you didn't come after me even after seeing James..."

She peppers light kisses up the side of your jaw to your ear, "But the fact that I had to come to you... well, now I'm gonna fuck you so good that you won't even think of turning me down again." She whispers a hair’s width away from your mouth before smashing your lips together.

With not much fight, you fall into all that is Tara Carpenter, allowing her to encompass all of your senses as you let her do as she wishes.

—

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x fem reader #scream #scream movie #scream vi #jenna ortega x reader

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fairuzfan · 4 months

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Thinking you can "help" by donating to NGOs as the end all be all is particularly insulting because:

1) my family, and many Palestinian diaspora families, have been donating to Palestinian charities for years and look at where we are at now (ie, the systematic violence has not been addressed AND we already have been consistently donating to make a difference, contrary to what people on here claim we aren't doing)

2) reframing this as a humanitarian issue rather than a systematic violence where a people are occupied by a colonial force

By all means, donate to charities I'm not going to say they're not necessary. They absolutely are. I donate to Palestinian Children's Relief Fund myself. It's a cause near and dear to my heart. However, monetary support and a hands off approach only goes so far and does not address systematic issues that communities face. If all we do is donate, we succumb to an endless spiral of reactive responses to violence rather than preventative.

NGOs are great but to say "just donate" and then ignore the issue completely is incredibly harmful. Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank are PLEADING for you to take action, get involved, spread information. So find your niche and please help! Make art! Attend protests! Hell, even reblogging posts with the intent to educate is useful.

Remember, our goal is short term AND long term liberation! So keep Palestine on your mind! Keep Tigray on your mind! Congo! Kashmir! We need to remember that the world we live in is not ok but it could be BETTER!!!

#we can do it everyone!#we can make a better world!!!#palestine

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fredwkong · 10 months

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Genie: Marcus’s Wishes

Click here to see the genie’s first master.

Marcus wasn’t your average jockboy. In school, he had been the class queer, marked for bullying because of his femme interests and gay voice. Worse, because he was one of the only Black kids. At university, he’d caught the iron bug and gotten huge, but kept the femininity, too. Nowadays, even with his powerful bod and handsome face, he still got dirty looks for his paisley shirts, peppy attitude, and swishy walk.

It was somewhere around 3 AM, and Marcus was feeling well and truly used. He hadn’t been topped like Mr. Peters had topped him in… he didn’t know how long. The Daddy dom’s husband, Lars, had told Marcus that the couple never double dipped on a guy, which sucked, but Marcus had more than enough wank material from this night alone to get him through.

Lars, still naked, followed the half-dressed Marcus to the living room. Mr. Peters was lounging on the balcony upstairs, smoking. Lars was giving Marcus the instructions for getting to the main street in his thick German accent. The other boys had left a few hours ago to catch the last busses home.

Something caught Marcus’s eye in the dimly lit room. A glint of light off of brass, an old, traditional lamp sitting next to Mr. Peters’ humidor. “What’s that?” Marcus asked.

Lars looked at the lamp like he’d never seen it before. “Some object of Daddy’s,” he grunted. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” Marcus was living in his own place for the first time, and he was starting to decorate. He drifted over and lifted up the lamp. He could base a whole room off of its aesthetics.

“Take it.” Lars waved away Marcus’s half-made protestation. “If Daddy thought it was important he would tell me,” said the German model. “It clashes with our decor.” He moved closer, and growled in Marcus’s ear, “You deserve a present for being such a good slut.”

An hour later, Marcus crashed into bed, not bothering to undress or unpack his bag, leaving the lamp in his gym duffel.

The next morning, he woke up late and made a protein shake for breakfast. As he chugged it, he pulled the lamp out of his bag. Held it up against different spaces in his apartment. It would clash with the Britney poster in the bedroom. Ditto for the Barbie display in his office. He settled on the entryway. He could get a pedestal for it and make an Arabian nook or something.

There was some kind of stain on the side of the lamp. Grabbing a hanky, Marcus started to rub it, but was interrupted as the lamp slid from his grasp and released a cloud of rainbow smoke. When it cleared, a burly Arabian man in a thong and a slutty stringer tank stood in Marcus’s apartment.

“Hey cutie,” said the genie. “Make me some wishes and I’ll get you hot.”

Marcus’s eyes caught on the genie’s ample bulge, and then he processed what he was being offered. In the second before he made his first wish, all he could think was masculinity. There was a corner near his apartment where Hispanic men gathered to shoot the shit in their jeans and tank tops. Their manliness was effortless, totally unstudied, what Marcus had dreamed of being in his childhood.

“I wish I was more manly, like a Latino guy.”

“Got it,” said the genie, with a snap of his fingers. “One Latino meatlover, coming right up.”

Marcus found himself surrounded by a cloud of orange smoke. It smelled like sweat and spices, and Marcus found himself inhaling it deeply. The scent blazed a trail through his mind, and Marcus started to think in Spanish rather than English. His university education vanished, replaced by the foundation of his own landscaping company at 18, and all the hard, manual labour involved in maintaining and building yards for rich, lazy white people.

At the same time, the smoke pumped up Marcus’s big Black muscles further, and lightened them to a sun-kissed tan. His hair straightened and retracted partway into his scalp, leaving him with a simple, masculine haircut. His dick and balls expanded, and the extra testosterone threw his already ripe armpits into overdrive, filling the room with the smell of his sweat. Finally, the last of the smoke thickened into threadbare white briefs, tight jeans, and a tighter tank top, an outfit fit for the masc Latino guy Marcus was becoming.

The genie snapped his fingers once again, and Marcus’s apartment became Marco’s house, a one storey bachelor pad full of thrifted furniture, hand-me-downs, and Marco’s curated selection of Tom of Finland prints hung on the walls.

Marco looked around with satisfaction, his big, callused hands on his hips. “Buen, cabron,” he told the genie in his deep, firm voice. “I need to go work now.”

“See you tomorrow, hermoso,” said the genie, vanishing back into the lamp that sat on Marco’s living room dildo shelf.

During the day, Marco drove his pickup truck to the office, maintained the lawns for some clients, and handled everything it took to run his own business. He hadn’t done great at school—too busy working so his mami could rest—but once he’d founded the business he’d discovered a knack for accounting, so he sat in his air conditioned office to do paperwork while his college boy employees worked through the heat of the afternoon.

Well, he finished the work in an hour and spent another two sniffing his spicy pits while he tugged his thick cock.

After work, Marco drove home, checked his immaculate front and back yards for anything that needed maintenance, and fired up the barbecue. He didn’t realise he had cooked for four until he sat down at the table with a mountain of meat and no one to feed.

The next morning, Marco summoned the genie bright and early with his second wish. “I wish I had some amigos to share the evenings with.”

“Aww, you could have just asked,” the genie cooed, and blew Marco a kiss as he vanished, sending a heart-shaped orange smoke ring to hit Marco in the face with the scent of musk and spice. When nothing seemed to change, Marco shrugged and loaded up his truck for work.

At the first client’s house, Marco dealt with the usual white housewife cooing over his big muscles and blue-collar masculinity with a roll of his eyes. But then the woman’s son, a lean twunk home for the summer, stumbled down the stairs for coffee. He glanced at Marco, who was setting up the lawnmower, and saw a flash of orange light as his nostrils filled with the scent of the Latino’s musk, and his mouth with the flavour of unwashed Latin cock.

As Marco packed his truck back up, the twunk stepped shyly up next to him. At first, he asked the usual questions about Marco’s gym routine, but then Marco raised his arms, showing his hairy pits and releasing a cloud of fresh, sweaty musk, and the white boy seemed to swallow his tongue. He handed Marco a paper with his number on it and fled.

It was the same with every client that day. At some point while he worked at each house, a cute young white boy would walk up and hand Marco his number. Some were little femme twinks, others buff jocks, and a couple were cute hairy cubs. All were shy, pretty, and lived in the rich neighbourhoods Marco worked in. While he was in the office that afternoon, Marco was so busy talking to all his new boys that he fell behind on the accounting.

That evening, Marco’s house was full of the voices of hot young guys. They filled the dining table, the couches, and the patio Marco had built with his own hands. Marco barbecued to his heart’s content and wandered among the boys with his own plate. As he greeted each new boy, Marco instinctively pulled them in for a firm kiss and grope, then said “Hola, mi chiquita.”

As the night went on, the boys got rowdier and hornier. The rich, potent smell of Marco’s musk and the genie’s magic filled the rapidly heating space, and Marco found himself on his bed in a happy pile of rich white boys desperate to sniff and lick him all over. Just at the stroke of midnight, the genie heard Marco, facefucking a little twink while some jocks and cubs worshipped him, mutter, “I wish I could see myself fuck this little gringo.”

A blast of magic suffused every corner of the house with musky orange smoke. When it cleared, Marco’s bed was surrounded by film cameras, taking different angles as he shoved his thick Latin dick into the white twink’s throat. In the spare room, two of the nerdier boys sat naked at monitors and called shots for the stream. Each room had a camera setup, including a hidden corner on the patio and a secluded bower in the garden.

Once he was done with the twink and a sweaty musk worship session with a couple of jock boys, Marco got dressed for bed in a pair of stained white briefs and turned to camera one. “That’s all for tonight, gringos,” he told his viewers in an playfully thick Spanish accent. “Come back tomorrow once I’m done working hard on your lawns.” He fondled his pouch, and the stream cut.

As Marco stood by the door, kissing his boys goodbye, one young lad caught sight of a weird lamp sitting next to Papi Marco’s dildo collection.

Idea with inspiration from a chatbot of my own creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

#genie #wish #reality change #male transformation #daddification #blue collar tf #latino tf #muscle tf #musk tf #dumber tf #race change #genie of the lamp #male tf #all fwkong

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mogai-sunflowers · 2 months

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🇵🇸 Free Palestine- A guide for getting involved (Somewhat USA-focused)! 🇵🇸

This post is going to get very long, so I'm trying my best to break it up into manageable sections! Some parts of this post are applicable to people outside America, but at this time, I'm only knowledgeable enough about the movement in America to make a post about it!

Find Out About Local Organizations To Get Involved With

The best place to start is to find out what's already happening locally! If you live in a large/larger town/city, chances are something's already happening nearby!

For Americans: Look here to find out about the closest PSL (Party for Socialism and Liberation) chapter to where you live! They are involved in direct activism all across the US!

Find out if there's a PYM (Palestinian Youth Movement) chapter near you! They are extremely active

For college students in the US: Find out if there's an SJP (Students for Justice in Palestine) chapter on your campus! If there isn't, try founding your own! Look at their website here to learn more!

Also for college students in the US: Find out if there's a YDSA (Young Democratic Socialists of America) chapter on your campus!

Participate in BDS (Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions)

Find out how to get involved here

Hold Local News Outlets Accountable

Find out about the local news outlets in your area

Keep up-to-date with their publications

If it's a digital source, search it for any and all publications related to Palestine and Israel- if this search yields results, are the articles supportive of Palestine and its supporters?

If you encounter an article/multiple articles that lean towards or outright try to justify Israel's actions or spread propaganda, then you can do a few things-

1) If the article is digital, make a public comment correcting any misinformation in the article. Try to keep your comment straight to the point and factual.

2) Find out who wrote the article and reach out to them personally to discuss said article and the issues you have with it. Share your point of view and discuss misinformation and harmful language contained within the article.

3) Find out the editor of the article, and write a 'letter to the editor'. Such letters may have a word limit varying between different news outlets, so keep your letter brief yet powerful and deconstruct your issues with the article

4) Reach out to the owner of said publication and ask if you can try your hand at writing an opinion piece for them. Sometimes, it can take awhile to get one of your opinion pieces accepted, but if it's something you're passionate about, keep trying!

If a particular news outlet has a repeated pattern of dehumanizing and villifying the Palestinian freedom cause in their publications, try getting in touch with local activist groups! They can help- from organizing letter campaigns to actual protests outside the news headquarters!

Urge Your Town/City to Pass A Ceasefire Resolution-

First, check and see if there's already an organized movement in your town or city to pass a ceasefire resolution (via pressuring your local town/city council)- NOTE: If you live in a very small town, the chances are smaller that there is already an organized movement- but that doesn't mean you can't help to start one

If there is already a movement, find out when the public comment sessions for your town's/city's council are, and find out how you can sign up to speak- if you do so, you can also try and connect with the organizers of your local movement for advice on writing a statement in support of a ceasefire resolution

An addendum to the previous point: if you sign up to speak, find out if you can also provide a visual presentation for your statement- these are often especially powerful

If there isn't an organized movement yet, that doesn't at all mean that one can't be started. I recommend reaching out to the nearest town/city you know of that has an organized movement for a ceasefire resolution

Send emails and letters, and call, to all your town/city council members to consistently urge them to pass a ceasefire resolution

Pressure Your Representatives to Vote against Aid to Israel-

This is not US-specific- if you have representatives of your local area on the national level, you can pressure them through calls, emails, letters, setting up meetings, and direct action, to not sign off on aid proposals for Israel

Setting up meetings is particularly impactful- you have a chance to speak with them or their reps one-on-one with your point of view

Call/email EVERY DAY! Pressure only works if it is consistent, and ask your friends and family members to join you in contacting them to build even more pressure

Donate To-

These fundraisers to help various families leave Gaza

Your local/closest Palestinian Children's Relief Fund's chapter

1 or more of the Global Rahmah Foundation's projects for Gaza

ANERA

HEAL Palestine

Local drives for the World Food Pantry and other local fundraisers are also super important!

This is not an all-inclusive list of ways to support Palestine, it's just intended to be a guide for getting involved for people who want to get involved but aren't sure where to start. Please suggest or correct anything for this post, and please spread it around! @fairuzfan @palipunk @tamarrud @el-shab-hussein @apollos-olives @metalheadsforblacklivesmatter @bfpnola

#🌌when the stars align ; reigns rambles🌌#palestine #free palestine #anti zionist #anti zionism #from the river to the sea #palestine resources #stand up for palestine

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snowy-vee · 2 months

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ALL MINE: Hidden Scene (1)

n/a: I will bring another ff that I've been working on soon ☆

NO ONE IS FREE UNTIL EVERYONE IS FREE

Chapter 2: Abby x Reader; Party scene

(…) someone took away the glass and took you somewhere no matter how much you protested. The other person had a strong grip, and no matter how vaguely you were saying to let you go, they didn’t.

It was Abby. You looked around scanning if you saw Ellie, if she saw you with her., she wasn’t near you and you had already entered the room feeling the hands of Abby on your waist while kissing your neck.

“What are you doing?” You said half-heartedly. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy the kisses but you weren’t in the mood, not when Ellie and Dina where downstairs giggling and having a great time but who knew if one of them wanted to go upstairs and suddenly open the door? You had to be careful.

“You don’t like it? Your moans this morning said different things”

“Yeah, you’re right but that was in the morning” You shrugged remembering how rough she was fingering you in the couch of the apartment and you liked it but what really made you reach climax was the furious face of Ellie if she found you two in that position in her house, in the couch she sits everyday. “Also, I am mad at you, you and I are nothing, stop making scenes after class. I don’t want people to think we are.”

“People or Ellie?” As she said the name of the auburn girl she stopped kissing you and holding you while taking a step back facing you.

“Again, you and I are nothing, why do you care?”

“I don’t get your game, If you want her, why not be with her?” She questioned before start smirking “Or is it because you’re not Ellie’s type? Oh, she is the one that doesn’t want to be with you, that makes sense! But what am I hearing? Ouch, it must be the first time someone rejects, huh?”

“You don’t know shit, Ellie loves me, we are best friends, we will be together forever”

“Yeah, I hear you, but you want more, right? Ellie won’t cross that line because she don’t see you as more than a friend… and for how I’ve seen her look at Dina, you don’t stand a chance” Silence. Your lips are pressed together in a thin line. “I did asked myself multiple time why you were having sex with me and the thought of you doing it to annoy Ellie passed my mind, but I dropped it, now it makes sense, you filthy bitch. Do you even know why me and Ellie don’t get along? Why she hates me? I doubt you do because you would never started something with me if you really did”

Abby was laughing and you? You started to feel humiliated, one, because she could easily read you and two, because it was true that you had no idea what went down with they. Years ago Ellie came to your house, tears on her eyes and her knuckles with blood saying that Abby Anderson ruined something special for her and how much she hated her by then, you only knew Abby from basketball games since she lived in another town and you were there to cheer on your local team.

Ellie made you promised that you would never have any kind of contact with her, which you promised while cleaning the blood of her hands “promise me, promise me, promise me” she repeated frantically and with a hurt voice.

“And what about you? You’re not better than me, you know that I am using you and you let me use you, thinking that I will end up with you in something more than sex, which will never happen, because you’re like a stress ball to me, whenever Ellie makes me mad I go and let take it all in you” You had some tears, more of anger than anything else but you wouldn’t let her talk to you like that “So between you and me, who’s more fucked up? Because at least I can be beside Ellie in every space, maybe not like a couple, but she likes to be around me, but you? I don’t like sharing the same air if it isn’t sexually and you can’t change that because if you open that little mouth of yours Ellie will fuck you up, I will deny everything”

And with that you opened the door and closed it behind you laughing while cleaning the tears until Ellie’s voice startled you. When Abby came out of the room she locked eyes with Ellie for a mini second, she could feel the rage in those green eyes… Oh boy, was she going to open her mouth? She was going to do more than that, after all, Images speak louder than words. You were going to regret that and come back at her.

taglist;; @boobdrug @lovelyxbaby @pedropascalsbbg@cherryimaa @yumimak @amberputh @cattjull @carylinflors @ghostlyfangs @teawithnosugar @azxulaa @elliesexual @gato-chino

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blingblong55 · 8 months

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Did you care?- König

Part 1 is here

F!Reader, angst, no happy ending, cheating

"König!" you laugh, the waves of the warm summer ocean crashing against you. His family had invited you with them that summer, the first girl he ever brought home. He never told you that though. "Oh my Liebling." he laughs with you, taking you deeper into the ocean. It was then that he knew how strong love can be. Hours later, as you chased his little nieces and nephew along the shore, his family told him something he still remembers.

The accident, that is when you knew he still cared. At the age of 37, that is when he became a father to a woman he never loved. A car crash and stitches, that is what brought you to him. A father and a boyfriend, never to marry anyone else that isn't you, that is what made him a coward to his girlfriend's family. "R/N, König has gotten into a car accident." his mother called you around 2 am, her voice so tired and filled with fear. You dropped everything, including the late-night dinner you were having with your then-partner.

"Love, where are you going?" he questioned you. "A friend needs me, she...she broke up with her boyfriend and she needs me." The first of many lies you told to keep him safe. You didn't cheat but you lied to visit the guy you will always love. As you drove to the hospital, tears ran down your face. It was fear, regret and shame. "Hallo, ich muss einen Patienten finden-"

"R/N." his mother came rushing to you, tears on her face. You hugged her and walked with her to the waiting area. His father was there as well, you hugged him too and after minutes of breaks and cries, the story lay in your hands. The mother of his child ran away with his kid, he begged and cried for her to return. She lost their kid, got arrested and after a week of looking, he heard his child was found. One drunk driver, that is all it took to have you sit there, holding the hand of his forlorn mother. His child was under the custody of the police and he was in a grey room.

"You think you'll ever end up marrying me, R/N?" he looked over at you as you hung up decorations for Christmas. "I don't see myself ever marrying and there are times I fear of it. Just know this, I know I am meant for someone." He nods and keeps the ring in his pocket tucked away. "Yeah." was all he answered. You looked at him as he looked away at some decoration.

"For you, that is who I am meant for. I don't want a ring, a dress or a ceremony, I want this, this life you and I already have." you wished to say but those words never came out. Month after month you gave him clear clues that you wanted to be the one he lived with, old and grey.

You didn't even notice when his parents had gone to his room. You sat and stared at the white wall. The two years and a half that you spent trying to forget him all come crashing down. One phone call from his mother and you were there at his disposal. Many ask, what parts of life flash before someone as they near their possible death? For him it was you. The day at the beach, Christmas, the drunk karaoke, silly argument over movies. "Harry and Sally stayed together!" you protested. "Mein Liebling, Harry and Sally are two of the people I know will not make it to old age together. It was a kiss, maybe Sally left after that."

The one thing that he knew flashed before his eyes was the conversation at the beach years ago. Once you were let into his room, you sat by his bed. Parents out in the hallways, you held his hand. Fear was to die alone but this image was the current fear. Tears ran down your face, it didn't matter that he cheated years ago, that you two hadn't spoken since but what mattered was him now. You stoked his hair and kissed his forehead with trembling lips. Before, you couldn't stand him, but he was in this world alive and that brought you tranquillity. The thought of him no longer in it, that was the fear. Who cared if he moved on, he was alive, healthy and happy.

The muse to the blues you whistled, the kiss he gave you on the mysterious bruise, the cliche dance in the kitchen at midnight, and now you sit there, looking at his scarred face. You whispered for only him to hear, "That evening in December, when you were going to propose, I would've said yes, I was meant for someone, remember?" You stood up and walked out of the room. "R/N, will you stay?" His father asks. "I'm sorry, I have to meet someone early in the morning but keep me updated." You kissed his father's cheek and hugged his mother.

Meanwhile, König lay in that bed, eyes teary as he heard your confession. The ring he wanted to give you was on a chain that hung by his neck. Always to be by his heart. "Liebling." he whispers. "I want to marry you, over and over again." That is a promise two young lovers made.

"When we get old, you and I better retell the story of us," you say as you lay in the green grass. "And I will tell it to you every night," König spoke softly. "Every night," he holds your hand. "I will always tell you the story of how I met the greatest thing in my life." He smiles and sighs happily, "And I'll make you fall in love with me all over again." He meant every word, he wanted the spark of love between them to never die, for them to always be in love. "I'll always fall in love with you as if it was the first time, every single time." He cared, more than you'll ever know.

"You never let her go, my son." his mother sternly says. He sighs and looks over at you, his youngest niece hung by his arms, his nephew chasing you both. The giggles from the children and your laughter, yeah, he wants that life with you. "You think she'll want to?" he asks his parents. "If not today or in a year, I know she will." He looks at the ring and nods. "When I marry her, can you both please not give a long speech?" This caused his parents to laugh and nod a little.

Maybe the movies and all the news articles are right, in some universe, you and him are together. And in that universe, he has his three kids, a wife and the picket fence to his home. A home with you, two hearts that beat for the other. He cares.

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