#I’m starting to really miss the wrong people again even though I know I’m better without them in my life

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[itneverendshere]

rafe finding out you’re back to not taking care of yourself, especially when he’s coming back from rehab. you’re going back to full swing less than bare minimum to take care of yourself

thank you for the request!!🩷 hope you enjoy!!

the way you hold me is actually what's holy - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Rafe had this whole plan in his head.

He was finally back in town after spending the better part of six months at that damn rehab center. Finally clean, head clear, body feeling... normal, or at least as normal as it got after kicking all the shit he put himself through. The whole time he was there, he thought about you. How you visited him every week no matter how exhausted you were from your shifts now that you’d been promoted. How you took extra days off work for him, even when you couldn’t afford to miss them. How you always brought him a home-cooked meal because you knew he hated everything they gave him at that place.

And he promised himself that when he came back, things were gonna change. He was gonna change—for you.

It was all worked out. He’d show up at your sister’s place a day before he was supposed to leave, surprise you, maybe bring some flowers. Then he’d ask you to move in with him. He thought about it day and night. He was tired of that house. Of having his dad constantly hovering over his shoulder, even when he was miles away. He was gonna get a new place, not one of those temporary rentals where he barely unpacked his bags. A real place, a clean slate.

A new start. For the both of you.

But when Monica opened the door, his plans went out the window.

“Rafe?” Her eyes widened for a second before her face broke into the widest smile he’d seen in months. And before he could even get a word out, she threw her arms around him, hugging the living hell out of him like it had been years instead of just months. "Oh my God, you’re back! You look... you look amazing."

The way Monica squeezed him, how genuinely happy she was to see him—it hit him harder than he expected. Rehab was tough. Really tough. And he didn’t expect people to be waiting for him on the other side, not like this.

"I’m back," he muttered, hugging her tightly as he let himself breathe for the first time since stepping out of that damn place. Monica had been there for him too, just like you had. She’d kept you company sometimes when you went on those long drives to visit him. He didn’t deserve people like you two in his life, but he wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Monica pulled back but kept her hands on his shoulders, her eyes sparkling with this genuine pride. "You look healthy. I mean, really healthy. It’s good to see you like this."

Rafe smiled, a little bashful. "Yeah. Feels good to be back. I’ve been, you know, working on shit."

She smiled back, her eyes glinting with emotion. "I’m so proud of you, Rafe."

His throat tightened at that. He wasn’t used to hearing those words, you were the only one constantly reminding him of it. Everyone else said it with some hidden judgment or expectation behind them, like they were waiting for him to screw up again. But Monica meant it. She always did. She was your sister, after all.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, feeling more awkward than he should’ve, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m trying, you know?”

She squeezed his shoulder before stepping back, "You here to see her?"

"Yeah. I, uh... wanted to surprise her.”

The smile on Monica’s face dropped just a little, and Rafe’s stomach sank instantly. He knew that look. It was the same one you got when you didn’t want to tell him something that might hurt him. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, even though he already had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Monica sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before she leaned back against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. "She’s at work right now."

“At this hour? I thought she—”

“She’s been working extra shifts. A lot of them.”

Rafe frowned. You already worked so much as it was. Extra shifts? Why? He thought things had been better for you since he left, that you had more time to focus on yourself, maybe even catch up on the sleep you’d missed while dealing with his mess. “Why? She didn’t tell me she was working more.”

Monica sighed again—something that made Rafe know he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear, “She didn’t want you to worry. She didn’t want anyone to worry, actually.”

“Monica, what’s going on?” The anxiety clawed at his chest. He hated not knowing. Hated being in the dark, especially when it came to you.

Her eyes softened, and she took a step closer, like she could feel the panic building inside him. “Listen... she’s not taking care of herself. She’s been putting everyone first—Milo, her job, you—but she’s not eating enough, she’s not sleeping enough. She’s been burning herself out.”

Rafe’s heart sank. You hadn’t said a word about it to him. Not during any of his calls or visits. You were always smiling, always saying things were fine. But they weren’t.

He should’ve known. Should’ve seen the signs.

“She didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t tell anyone. That’s the thing. You know she doesn’t ask for help. She just... takes it all on, even when it’s too much. And with you gone... I think she felt like she had to be strong for you, like she couldn’t let herself fall apart because you were going through so much.”

You had been falling apart, and he didn’t even see it. He’d been so focused on getting himself together that he didn’t notice you slipping. And now he didn’t know how to fix it.

“I should’ve done something.”

“No.” Her voice was firm, and she reached out to touch his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “This isn’t on you. You were getting better, doing what you had to do. She loves you, okay? She wasn’t going to let you worry about her while you were in rehab. She’s always been like this. Always putting herself last. It’s not about you. It’s about her not knowing how to let people take care of her.”

Rafe’s chest tightened, his mind flashing through all the times you’d pushed aside your own needs in the past, all the times you’d taken care of him instead of yourself. He thought that was never going to happen again. He’d been so blind to it, thinking you were the strong one. But you were just as fragile as he was, maybe more, because you didn’t let anyone see it.

"She’s working until midnight tonight. You should go talk to her. But... don’t be mad, okay? She’s doing the best she can."

Rafe nodded, his throat tight. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t angry at you. He was angry at himself for not seeing it sooner. For letting you drown under the weight of everything while he was too busy figuring out his own shit. “I’ll go see her.”

Your sister gave him a small smile, a little sad but understanding. “She needs you. Just... be there for her, okay? And don’t guilt-trip her about this. She already feels like she’s failing everyone.”

“I won’t,” he promised, even though the guilt was eating him alive inside. He had to be strong for you now, the way you’d been strong for him all this time. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to fix this.

With that, he left, heading to his truck, his mind spinning the whole way to The Country Club. He didn’t know how he was going to make this right, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let you keep doing this. He wasn’t going to let you fall apart, not when he was here now, ready to carry some of the weight for you.

The country club was quieter than usual when he pulled into the parking lot, but the bar inside was still buzzing with its usual evening crowd. He walked in, scanning the room, his eyes instantly finding you behind the bar.

You were moving like a pro, handing off drinks, shaking up cocktails, giving out that charming smile you always had for the customers. But now that he knew what was going on, it was easy to see how tired you looked. The dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped just a little between orders. You were running on empty, and it broke his heart.

Before he could even think of what he was going to say to you, your eyes found his across the room. For a second, everything seemed to stop. Your eyes widened in surprise, and your breath hitched, like you couldn’t believe he was actually there. He felt his heart skip a beat, and then—

“Rafe?” you breathed out, your voice soft and disbelieving. Without another thought, you bolted from behind the bar, not even bothering to tell anyone to cover your shift.

He barely had time to react before you practically jumped into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms circled his neck. You clung to him like a koala bear, and Rafe caught you, holding you tight against him, his heart racing as he buried his face in your neck.

“Holy shit, you’re really here,” you mumbled into his neck, your voice strained with emotion. You clutched him tighter, like if you let go, he’d disappear. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” He explained, his voice muffled against your skin, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, even with all the heavy stuff on his mind. Just having you in his arms again felt like a weight lifting off his chest.

You leaned back just enough to look at him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears as you cupped his face in your hands. “God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too baby.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his hands gripping your waist. “I’m back, okay? I’m here.”

A small laugh bubbled out of you, even though there were tears running down your cheeks now. “I can’t believe I’m crying at work. I never cry at work.”

Rafe grinned, brushing your tears away with his thumb. “I’ll let it slide this time.”

You laughed again, but then you seemed to remember where you were. You glanced over your shoulder at the bar, where a few customers were still waiting for their drinks. “Shit, I— I’m working."

He set you down gently, his hands still resting on your waist as you adjusted your shirt and ran a hand through your hair, clearly flustered but trying to get back into work mode. “I should get back to it.”

“Take a break,” He pleaded, his hand moving to grab yours. “Please.”

You blinked up at him, the tiredness you’d been hiding for months finally showing through. For once, you didn’t argue. You just nodded, squeezing his hand before leading him to quieter corner of the bar where you could talk without interruption. Once you sat down across from him, you took a deep breath, like you already knew something was coming.

“What did Monica say?”

Rafe paused, his fingers absentmindedly drumming on the table as he tried to figure out how to start. “She told me you’ve been overworking yourself. Taking extra shifts, not sleeping, not eating enough.”

You sighed heavily, leaning back in your seat and rubbing a hand over your face. “She wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Rafe asked. He wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, but he needed to understand. “You’ve been doing all this, and you didn’t say a word to me.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers twisting together in your lap. “You were in rehab, baby. You were going through so much, and I didn’t want to add to your stress. I didn’t want you to feel guilty about me.”

“You don’t have to carry everything on your own,” Rafe said softly, his chest tightening. “I know I was a mess before, but I’m better now. I want to be there for you the way you were there for me. The way we used to be before.”

You shook your head, “I just... I didn’t know how to stop. You needed me, Monica needed me... work needed me. And I thought, if I just kept going, I could handle it.”

He reached across the table, grabbing your hands and holding them tight. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m here now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time you didn’t try to hide them. You let them fall, your grip tightening on his hands like you were afraid to let go. “I don’t know how to let go again.”

“Let me help,” Rafe whispered, leaning closer. “You’ve always been there for me, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. You don’t have to keep doing this by yourself.”

You nodded slowly, wiping at your tears with a shaky hand. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

The conversation gave him a sense of Deja Vu. You two had been here before.

“You’re not a burden,” Rafe said firmly, “You’ve never been a burden. You’re everything to me. And I don’t want you burning yourself out like this. Not for me, not for anyone.”

You took a deep, shaky breath, your eyes meeting his again. “I just missed you so much. And I didn’t know how to handle everything without you.”

Rafe’s heart clenched at the honesty in your voice, and he reached out, pulling you into his arms again. “I’m here now. We’ll figure this out together, okay? You don’t have to keep doing this alone.”

You clung to him, your face buried in his chest as you finally let yourself relax in his arms. And he held you determined to make things right. He was going to be there for you, the way you had always been there for him.

It felt so good to be in his arms, to finally let yourself feel vulnerable after holding everything together for so long. You closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. You could see how much he cared, and it made you feel safe, but also exposed, it’s like you’d momentarily forgotten how good it felt to be so close to him.

As if reading your mind, he brushed a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, “I don’t want to see you like this anymore,” he said quietly. “You deserve more.” You opened your mouth to retort, but the words stuck in your throat as he continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future while I was gone, and I know things have been tough for both of us, but I want to make them better. I want to be better. I want you to be better.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your heart pounding as you searched his eyes for answers.

He took a deep breath, his expression serious but tender. “I want you to move in with me.”

All you could do was blink in surprise.

“Rafe...” Move in? After everything? After months of barely surviving and keeping your head above water, now he was asking you to dive into something that felt... big. Scary even. You blinked again, and the look on his face was so serious, like he’d thought about this a hundred times over. Maybe he had. But you hadn’t. You’d been too wrapped up in keeping things from crashing to even imagine a future like that, let alone moving in with him. “Are you serious?” 

Rafe’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, “Yeah. I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t want to be apart anymore. I don’t want you running yourself into the ground, and I sure as hell don’t want you dealing with everything alone. I’m here now. I want us to have a fresh start, together.”

Your heart clenched. This was the Rafe you’d always believed in, the one you saw past all the shit he went through. And it was everything you wanted—more than you’d let yourself hope for. But then the doubt crept in. What if it was too much, too soon? What if things went wrong?

You dropped your gaze, focusing on the way your fingers tangled together, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t even know if I’m ready. I mean, everything’s been so... I don’t know, chaotic lately. I can barely keep my own life together.”

He let out a soft sigh, leaning closer. “I get that. I do. But that’s why I’m asking. We don’t have to do it all at once. We can take it slow. I just... I don’t want you to feel like you’re in this alone anymore. I need you with me, and I think you need me too.”

You did need him.

You’d missed him so much it ached, but you were terrified of leaning on him again, of letting yourself fall into something that might not last. But then again, wasn’t that what love was about? Taking chances, even when everything felt uncertain?

You swallowed hard, lifting your eyes to meet his. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But we take it slow, alright? I don’t want to mess this up.”

Rafe smiled, that slow, crooked grin that always made you fall deeper in love. “Slow is good. As long as we’re doing it together.” He tilted his head, watching you closely. He always seemed to know when you were lost in thought. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice was soft, patient, like he wasn’t in a rush for an answer.

You gave a half-smile, shaking your head slightly. “I just... it’s a lot, you know? If I start freaking out, you have to promise not to take it personally.”

He chuckled, the sound so familiar it almost made you cry all over again, “Deal. And if I start freaking out, you’ve gotta do the same.”

You smiled, finally feeling the tightness in your chest ease. Maybe this could work. Maybe the two of you could find your way back to each other. You believed him wholeheartedly. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t just making promises he couldn’t keep anymore. He was standing in front of you, offering something real, something he was willing to put in the work for.

Rafe’s gaze softened, his lips quirking into a small smile as he cupped your cheek. "I know we say this all the time, but I love you," he said, like it was second nature, like he was reminding you of something you both already knew, something solid and familiar. There wasn’t any grand declaration because it didn’t need to be—it was the quiet kind of love that had been there all along.

You leaned into his touch. “I love you too.” The words came so easily, as natural as breathing, because they were always there, hanging between the two of you, even on the worst days.

His thumb stroked your skin his eyes never leaving yours. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered like he wasn’t just saying it for you, but for himself too. "We always do."

You nodded, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small, tired smile. “Yeah, we do.”

[sleepiexx]

The Sad Expression on the Face I Love So Much

Remus Lupin x fem!Reader

Note: one bad week and suddenly I’m a fic writing god again. Had a Sirius oneshot planned out and mostly written but I pumped this one out before I could think of an ending to that one so you’re getting this first!

Summary: Your boyfriend patiently awaits your arrival home after a day out with your friends, only to be met with your saddened form.

Warnings: describes what i would refer to as a panic attack, but it’s never expressed to be one

Word count: 1310

Remus was a good man, it was such a shame you couldn’t match his upbeat energy when you entered the door to your shared apartment.

He had heard the front door click open, which sparked a smile on his face. He never wanted to stop your outings with friends, as he knew having relationships with people other than your partner was important— his own friends the truest testament to that statement— yet he couldn’t help but miss you when the house was left without your presence. Which is why he was pleasantly surprised by your early arrival home, no waiting up late for his nightly cuddle tonight, no, rather a nice long cuddle with a movie in the background.

He called out to you as he stood from the couch, scrambling to make his way to the foyer, “you’re home early, darling, how was your day out?”

He stopped in his tracks when he saw you. Your frame stiff, eyes glued to the floor, clearly shined over with tears that have yet to be shed, keys still clutched in your hand, likely because you’d been too distraught to even reach up to put them on the key hook.

“Oh, sweet dear, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” His worried words and the safe environment he had provided made the tears finally fall. In an instant, he was in front of you, wrapping you in his arms. A pained sob ripped its way through your chest, you’d been holding it in far too long.

“My friends…” you began, having a hard time composing yourself to even say what was wrong.

Remus had a hunch what the problem was. He didn’t like your friends for a very specific reason, but he had always stayed firm in the fact that you were the judge in who you were friends with and it was really none of his business who you did and didn’t hang around. He knows he would not listen if you had said you didn’t want him spending time with his friends.

“I- I just… I’ve been really anxious this week,” You started to talk with the shakiest of voices. Remus could tell from the way your breaths started cutting you off that you were beginning to hyperventilate. He didn’t want to stop you from talking it out, though, so he led you to come and sit down beside him where he’d been on the couch before allowing you to continue.

“And irritable— and- and- and you know how I- how I spiral when I’m irritable, because- because I just think such mean thoughts, and- and I just hate myself,” your stutter only got worse the more you revealed, because speaking about it made you think about it, and thinking about it made breathing harder. Not to mention the sniffling you had to do every five seconds so you wouldn’t cover your upper lip in snot.

Remus held your hand, rubbing soothing circles overtop your knuckles and keeping his own breathing as steady as possible in hopes that you would eventually sync up. His free hand moved its way to your back, rubbing up and down.

“I just thought,” you sniffled, futility wiping your face with your sleeve as you continued to cry, “that maybe I’d f-feel- feel better if I went out with- with my friends but..” your lungs seized and your voice came out strained and cracked, “but no.”

You wanted to keep your breathing steady for Remus, but it proved impossible. Your diaphragm seemed to have a mind of its own as it contacted with no care whatsoever of your say so.

“They just kept- kept making that stupid joke,” your voice was drowned in a visceral sadness and a defeated anger, making evident to Remus how you’d held off on sharing your feelings for far too long.

He knew well what joke you were talking about. It never sat right with him, made him clench his fists every time he heard it. It took everything in him not to blow up on your poor excuse of a friend group. He’d played the diplomat with your friends as long as he possibly could.

“Where they-“ sniff. “Pretend that-“ sniff. “They hate me- but- but-“ sniff. “But they get away- get away with it because-“ sniff. “Because I’m such a pushover and- and I never call them ou- out on it.”

Another sob wracked your whole body, Remus pulled you into him, your cheek pressed to his chest as he made a valiant effort to calm you down with his soothing touches.

“I know- I know that I’m a lot-“ sob. “But I- I’m kind. I- I treat th-them good so- so why d-don’t I deserve the same?”

Remus felt his heart drop, holding you steady through what felt like, to you, endless sobbing. He had always thought that you deserved so much more than the friends you made, but he just thought you had a really thick skin towards the subject. Everyone has a breaking point, he supposed, and for his sweet girl, this seemed to be it.

“Oh dove,” he cooed, “of course you deserve better. You are not ‘a lot,’ you are true to yourself, if they don’t understand that then that is their problem. You do so much just for them to be so ungrateful.”

You buried yourself further into him, holding onto him tightly as though he were a buoy in a storm. You sat for a while like that, until you could speak without stuttering as much— still, your quiet voice hardly carried and the heartbroken rasp in it was a sound unlike any heartache Remus had ever experienced “I wish I could control myself sometimes. Just- just make myself shut up once in a while.”

Remus scoffed, “I don’t.”

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, “really?”

You looked as if even a small gust of wind would make you shatter, yet Remus would guard you from it all, wind, or storm, or even shitty friends who don’t appreciate you.

“Of course not, sweetheart, I love how genuine you are. It’s what made me fall for you. That, and how hard you love. I’ve never doubted myself for a second when I’ve been around you.” He brushed some stray hairs from your face, “I have never been able to stand your friends, they aren’t as kind to you as you are to them.”

You nodded. He knew that it would take a while before you fully believed it, but he was willing to shower you in love every day until you believed it. In fact, he was already planning on integrating you into his own friend group, James and Sirius adored you and he had no doubt they’d love the idea. Lily, Marlene, and Mary would all love you too, he knew for a fact that girls nights with them had to be more fun than with your old friends.

For now, though, he’d settle for the calm you’d finally achieved after talking your way through such an intense wave of emotions, he was proud.

“What do you say we go back to our room, have a cuddle, and watch your favorite movie?”

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“Yeah?”

You nod and repeat yourself as he cracks a grin.

You walk hip to hip to your bedroom until you’re finally able to sink into your bed. Remus hands you the tv remote before disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a soft, wet rag covered in makeup remover. Your cheeks seem to tingle as you remember the mess of mascara that must currently paint them, Remus doesn’t hesitate to come wipe you clean. When he’s done, he tosses the rag and leaves a chaste kiss on your nose.

“There,” he mutters, lying beside you and pulling you into his arms, “this is much better, isn’t it?”

[yummymitzy]

Hi! I love your writing! Could you write a part two to Dangerous, right? Maybe it's their first mission or Nat needs a rescue and sees the reader's true form? Can you make it really angsty with a happy ending though?

Dangerous, Right? Part II

Summary: Hydra mission goes wrong on Natasha’s side, but did everything else go wrong?

Pt I

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader , Lucifer Morningstar x Reader (platonic)

WC: 2320

A/N: Sorry if it’s not as angsty as you expected😭😭

ᨖᨖೱᨖ⧗ᨖⴵᨖ🕷️ᨖⴵᨖ⧗ᨖೱᨖᨖ

Tonights mission wasn’t any different from any other mission, infiltrate the base and grab the necessary intel without suspicion. Until it wasn’t easy anymore, she hadn’t suspected that they’d be waiting for her.

It happened all so quickly for Natasha, one minute she was confident she’d make it home before the night falls; then the next minute a group of agents ambush her.

She felt almost embarrassed that she’s got herself in this position, but she’d dwell over that later.

The agents were quick on their feet, never faster than her. Her only negative was that she was out numbered, she didn’t feel any better when more agents swarmed through the door.

Her heart was thrumming in her ears while she clutched her fists tighter, the surrounding agents were sprawled on the floor of the room. Natasha’s adrenaline was so high, she hadn’t felt the blood soaking through the leather encasing her waist.

Once the adrenaline slowed, a sharp pang shot through her side. Reaching her hand down and grazing it against the wound, blood was all she saw on her fingertips. Cursing under her breath, she couldn’t believe how she let this mission turn to shit.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside the door caught Natasha’s attention, it wasn’t one person either. This really should have been the one day she would have taken a day off, Natasha thought.

She wanted to be at home, the compound, watching White Chicks with her friends while her eyes slowly drift towards you, losing focus of the movie. She hadn’t meant to be so forward with you during your first interaction.

It just felt all too fast for Natasha, she’s grown used each and every one of them with every moment that passed by. She never expected she’d had to repeat that process all over again when you and your brother turned up at the door.

Feeling guilty wasn’t a foreign feeling for Natasha, but this emotion felt more overwhelming than usual. Was it because she was on the brink of dying? She wasn’t sure.

She felt guilty for all of the innocent people she’s killed, guilty for the people who she wasn’t able to save. Guilty for how she acted with you. If only. Just if only she had spent her time getting to know you instead of judging.

Unbeknownst to her, FRIDAY was quick to alert the team of her condition. Right as FRIDAY displayed Natasha’s vitals, you were out the room, determined to get to her.

“Y/N!”

A strong voice echoing the hall of which you were rushing to get out of. Time wasn’t on your hands even if you wished that it were.

“Y/N! Take me with!”

The strong voice yelled once more. You had already known it was Lucifer from the start, his stern voice wasn’t one you were able to miss.

“Then catch up. I’m not waiting around.” You said over your shoulder, footsteps never faltering as you rushed down the corridor. The heavy footsteps behind you were all you needed to know.

“Do you think we’re able to make it fast enough with the quinjets?” Lucifer huffed behind you once you stepped foot onto the landing pad of the building.

“Ohh, no. Those things are slow.” You huffed a laugh as your wings extended behind you. Sparing a glance at Lucifer, a look of confusion was painted on his face, accompanied with a hint of exasperation.

“Now hurry up and catch up! If I hear that she’s dead, your grave will be dug next to hers!” You yell over your shoulder, feet lifting off the platform as you drive through the air towards Natasha’s location.

-

Dying really wasn’t the best feeling. It was a feeling Natasha became familiar with, it came with the job. But this time, it felt different.

The pit in her stomach wasn’t from pain, it was an emotion she couldn’t define. What was it? Was it guilt? Natasha questioned, until the emotions began rushing through her.

She didn’t know what she’d die first from, the guilt or her wound. She felt sorry for how she made you and your brother feel unwelcome, it was a defense mechanism she wasn’t able to shake off.

Neither of you deserved that, it was barely your guys’s first day and the tension she created was unbearable. She was angry, frustrated with herself that she had judged your character. A hint of sadness also resided within Natasha, a foreign feeling to her. She was upset she wasn’t able to establish a great relationship with you, she wanted to be your friend, maybe more.

But that couldn’t happen now, and she was scared. Being afraid was an emotion she crossed paths with too many times to count. She was afraid of dying, afraid of not being able to clean the red off of her ledger, afraid of not being able to start off new with you.

Natasha had came to peace with the idea of dying, but not like this. She wanted to die once her ledger was cleaned, once her life didn’t feel like she was living off of the same schedule everyday.

She didn’t want to die with the guilt of her past weighing on her shoulders, she wanted to be free of that. Letting out a shaky sigh, she slowly seated herself onto the floor ; leaning upright against the wall as her hand tightly clutches her wound in an attempt to ease the bleeding.

Was Natasha close to dying before? Yes. But it never left her this fucking exhausted. She felt as though she was trying to compete against the two supersoliders in a race and still graciously lost.

Her worries eased as the surrounding area around Natasha blurred. Natasha’s head felt lighter and the tension in her body slowly lifted, and the pain from her wound numb enough to leave the throbbing. Natasha wasn’t against death if it was ever this calm, if she doesn’t include how she died.

The moment she shut her eyes, an explosion immediately caught her attention. So maybe she wasn’t going to die peacefully after all, she thought. Her eyes darted around the room, the room seemed untouched, meaning that explosion wasn’t near.

Huffing, her head lulled back, her eyes burning holes into the ceiling above her. Until the explosion reached her ears again, the pain in her side increasing tenfold. The explosion sounded more closer this time.

But before Natasha could dwell on it more, the door to the room she lays in opens. Two silhouettes were all she could make up due to the blinding light behind them. Were they here to kill her off? Might as well.

“It’s a quick in and out, don’t bother wasting time on any other agents.” A familiar voice stated, the owner of the voice stepping closer to her. Was it you? Was it really you? Why had you gone all this way to save her? Especially when she made you feel so unwelcome.

“..Y/N?” She croaked out, her voice wavering from not being used for a good minute. Her vision clearing slightly once the figure that she now knows is you is stood right in front of her.

She hears another body drop once more and she doesn’t need to turn her head knowing it’s an agent. Once her vision clears up, she’s shocked. Natasha wasn’t expected to be greeted with another sight other than your face.

Well it was your face, but different. It seemed more…devilish. Horns protruding out of your hair and curving away from your face, much like a goat. Your irises shone a bright red as your wings fluttered behind you. The only thing she could make out of your features was compassion, and something else she couldn’t define.

“Hey, Nat. We’re going to take you home, okay?” Your voice drops to a softer tone than she’s ever heard, she wishes to hear it more often. The guilt once more pangs against her heart, how could you be so kind to seek her out with how she treated you?

She hummed, that was the only response she could give at the moment. She was shocked, she understood why you were placed in the Avengers now, you really did have potential. She never doubted that for a moment. But that wasn’t her reason.

She was speechless to how you flew all this way without the quinjet all just for her? If she felt guilty then, then she felt even more guilty now. She wasn’t even sure if you really had forgiven her, consoling her in the dead of night.

Black spots started to form in the corner of Natasha’s eyes, vision becoming blurred once more before her eyes shut. The action sent a panic through your body. It was as if somebody had dumped cold ice water on you.

You didn’t waste any time rushing towards Natasha’s limp body. Sending a look towards Lucifer, you bolted towards the nearest window and slammed your side into it, preventing any shards from impaling the already injured woman.

You’ve flown countless of times before, but flying with a limp person in your arms?

The adrenaline kept you on your feet, as you drove through the wind. The gusts of wind kept you in reality, and the city lights looked beautiful from above. Only if the situation at hand wasn’t so drastic, you would have taken Natasha to gaze with you as a way to mend your friendship. relationship?

The flight back to the compound was incredibly fast, you didn’t even wait a minute before rushing towards the medical bay. Stealing a glance down towards the redheaded woman you’re carrying, she looked peaceful. Ever yet more graceful than she already is.

Why hadn’t she alerted any one of her state? Why did you and the rest of the team have to find out from FRIDAY?

Questions were piling in your head at 100 mph, your feelings are conflicting. You felt worried for Natasha, guilty that you hadn’t been there sooner, and another emotion. Was it admiration? Did you like Natasha? Fuck that, you’ll focus on that when she gets better, if she even does.

Once you reached the med bay, Dr.Cho immediately took over. The worry for Natasha was filling your bones, you had just met her but you felt as though the both of you could be so much more.

You shut your eyes, Dr. Cho was quick and efficient and you trusted her skills.

You didn’t know how long your eyes had been shut until Dr. Cho tapped you awake. Her worried gaze was the first thing you saw.

“She’s stable and the wound should heal nice, all that’s left is for her to wake up.” She stated, her words slow as she was trying to find the right words to ease your racing mind.

“Alright. Thanks doc.” Not once have you looked away from Natasha’s sleeping form. She looked gorgeous, even in a hospital bed.

You were true to your words that very night. You forgave her, there wasn’t anything to hold against her even if you thought harder about it. There wasn’t anything about her that you would dislike, her radiating smile, her fiery hair and personality, the kindness and compassion she holds with her teammates.

One twitch from her fingers was all it took for your thoughts to vanish. She was awake.

Seeing her eyes flutter open left you breathless. All the worries disappears when you saw her forest green eyes peer up at you.

“Hey Nat. How are you holding up?” You sat up, watching her in your peripheral while you fixed her a glass of water. Accepting the glass, she was quick to finish it, her eyes peering up at you once more as you placed the glass on a nearby table.

“Feels like I’ve been shot.” Apparently her attempt at joking didn’t fly past you from the glare you sent towards her.

Taking a deep sigh, she looks you dead in the eyes, a genuine glint shining in them.

“I feel like I should really apologize, Y/N. Although you said you forgave me, it doesn’t make up for all of the things I said.”

“Nat-“ “No, let me finish, I need to say this.” Your eyes widened a fraction before staying silent once more. Natasha shouldn’t feel the need to apologize to you when you already forgave her.

“All the things I said, it was unnecessary, not to mention not professional. I couldn’t help but judge, I felt like Fury just let you guys in the team like it was an open audition.” She huffed a laugh before continuing once more.

“You saving me proved that you really are worth being on the team. I never meant to hurt you, I just felt….protective, this team grew to be my family and I felt forced to trust you and Lucifer so quick. I’m really sorry, Y/N, you don’t have to feel bound to empathize with me. I just wanted to let you know of my intentions.”

You were shocked to say the least, the words that spilled from Natasha’s mouth brung tears to your eyes. You fought hard to not let the tears spill as you processed the information.

Neither were you able to find any words to respond to Natasha’s speech. Natasha noticed that, retracting herself from you with insecurity written on her face. She expected you to turn against her and leave her alone in the room.

Next thing Natasha knew was feeling a warmth embrace her, you were hugging her. Carefully raising her hands, she embraced you further, her hold on you becoming tighter as you both shared a moment that will impact your relationship forevermore.

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by an absolutely insufferable boy-mom skit on tiktok

“I was wrong,” Steve announces as he enters the kitchen, “It would have been better to just go by myself.”

Eddie looks up, eyebrows furrowed, because – A) it's not exactly what he’d expected his husband to say first thing after arriving home from a day spent in the Berkshires at his coworker’s wedding, and B) Steve can be stubborn as a mule when he wants to be, and almost never admits defeat – not for dumb, petty shit, anyways, like how Steve almost didn’t go to the wedding at all because Eddie couldn't go with him until their oldest daughter Moe gallantly volunteered to attend in his wake.

(Which Steve had been goddamn thrilled about too, mostly because he’s hoping if Moe sees enough wedding propaganda, she’ll start thinking about popping the big question to her partner, Gray).

“Not a fun party, I take it?” Eddie asks.

“I had a great time,” Moe shrugs.

“Oh, I know,” Steve replies, “I know you had a damn fantastic afternoon.”

Steve has a tone, and it's the same tone he used when he found out Moe helped her friends password-protect all the Fox News Channels on their WASP-y mom's TVs, the same tone he used when Moe got kicked off the basketball team the same day she received an academic award from the school for having a 5.0 GPA (which, for the record, Eddie didn't even think was possible), the same tone he always uses when Moe stirs up her very specific flavor of trouble. Thing is though – Moe is twenty-three, and while she’s been a menace since day-one, she’s got a more than decent head on her shoulders and a fine-tuned sense of place and time. It’s not exactly like her to cause problems at something as important as a wedding – not without cause anyway.

“I think I’m, like, best friends with the bride now or something,” Moe is saying, and again, Eddie’s brow furrows as he looks back at Steve.

“Wasn’t your coworker the groom?” he asks.

“Yep,” Steve sighs, “Moe got into it with his mother.”

“Oh, god.”

“It had to be done,” Moe nods, “She wore a veil. She was openly complaining about how he danced with his wife – the bride – before he danced with her. She kept getting all worked up because her baby boy was leaving her. She needed to be stopped.”

Eddie had to keep a look of understanding off his face (in solidarity with Steve, obviously), because he’s been a certified girl-dad for over two decades now and he’s had his fair share of encounters with the dreaded boy-mom (a girl-dad’s natural enemy, he’s pretty sure).

“Hon, it was not your job to get involved,” Steve tiredly insists.

“I totally disagree,” Moe replies with another casual shrug, “The maid of honor was trying her best but she clearly needed help. And – I maintain that I pulled my punches. I could’ve spilled wine on her dress, but I didn’t. There’s only one rule at weddings and it’s don’t piss off the bride. The bride thanked me afterwards, so…it was fine.”

"You've got an interesting definition of fine," Steve tells her, "I really think there's an unspoken preserve the peace rule or something that wedding guests shouldn't start shit in the middle of the reception – especially not with anyone in the wedding party."

“Oh, what would you know?” Moe fires back, “You didn’t even have a wedding!”

“And even if we had,” Eddie comments idly, “there wouldn’t have been a mother-of-the-groom present to screw shit up. Hey – people get all up in arms over the bride’s mom and the groom’s mom. What about the dads?”

Moe shrugs.

“I think the bride’s dad was just happy they didn’t do the stupid garter thing,” she says, and she misses the way Eddie’s face falls, his eyes meeting Steve’s over Moe’s head to see he’s got a matching grimace on his face.

[hvly]

WINDBREAKER VIRGINS YOU SAY 👀👀👀

— ⋆｡˚｡⋆ ｡˚ 𓆩𖥔𓆪 ˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆ —

speaking : yep, you heard right 🙂‍↕️ every show/manga i read is gonna get hit with my virgin ray. "i love virgins, anon ! I LOVE VIRGIIINS !"

𓆩𖥔𓆪 — disclaimer ! these are just my opinions ! if you disagree, cool. let's keep it cute. tbh, they all could be virgins, but they’re the most pressing in my eyes.

Nirei Akihiko

Don't get me wrong, I like Nirei alot ! I think he's super cute and he's so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. But, until his confidence goes up, ain't nothing going down. i do think he has a separate notebook with sex tips that's he gathered from various sources. From friends he worked up the courage to ask, to Cosmo articles, to the pornos he watches on lonely nights. When he finally get brave enough to try though, best believe he'll be prepared for any possible scenario.

Sugishita Kyotaro

Again, I feel like perhaps because he's tall, quiet and handsome, y'all think he'd be laying pipe. I mean, the quiet ones are usually the nastiest in bed, right? extremely loud incorrect buzzer. It'd be a miracle to actually get a sentence out of him. And it'd be another miracle to convince him to come shake the sheets instead of playing Umemiya's shadow. The plants he takes care of have a better chance getting wet by him than you ever will.

Tsugeura Taiga

Straight up, he just scares away any possible suitors. Plus, he's a little slow on the uptake. Between being loud and a bit off putting, and his his inability to catch social cues, he is unfortunately stuck in perpetual virgindom. That's it, that's all.

Sakura Haruka

Now, put the torches and pitchforks down before y'all drag me to the town square. How do we as a collective think Sakura would react if he saw you naked? Stand there reveling in the majesty that is you, dick so hard he might pass out? No. He'd turn red and start yelling before you even get your shoes off. Get him more comfortable with being romantic/sexual, and i’m sure the yelling, stomping, flailing and cherry red blush will die down…in a couple years. Best of luck !

Saku Mizuki

Wannabe General Mizuki. The minute I saw him, I knew he was getting NO pussy. And that makes me sad for him, it truly does. He's too stiff. If, for some odd reason on your part, you decided to lay the moves on him, he'd probably lecture you on how it's inappropriate to shamelessly flirt with people. He'd kill the mood so bad. Plus that one dude called him ugly and he turned around..oof

Takiishi Chika

Take this one with a grain of salt, but from what I've gathered...he just would not be interested. I'm sure Endo has tried bringing it to his attention before. And I'm also sure he got the fire knocked out his ass as soon as it left his mouth. Now, if does decide to get his dick wet, I hope you're fully resigned to letting him do whatever he wants and possibly leaving unsatisfied. Utter anything that sounds like you're telling him what to do? Let's leave getting beat up to Endo, mkay?

Shuhei Suzuri

I think he finds fulfillment and joy in his hobbies and that's all he needs. Being able to cook for people and enjoy his games gives him the satisfaction he was missing when he was in extreme poverty. I'm sure he wouldn't really mind losing his virginity either way, but it's definitely not on the forefront of his mind. A consistently full belly and a couple video games is good enough for now.

Choji Tomiyama

He thinks everything is a game and plays entirely too much to just be fucking for real. And I think he's fine with that ! He's carefree and he's content knocking people's heads together. I do think you could probably get him to give losing his virginity a true shot if you compare him to Umemiya or make it a competition, though. But who's gonna do all that to nut? (I really just added him to make one specific person mad. Let me know if it worked <3)

Honorable Mention : Togame Jo & Umemiya Hajime

Just cuz I want to be the one to take their virginity. I have no real reason LMAOOO.

© 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 hvly 2024. 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧y.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Love and War III

Summary: Trapped within the Illyrian War Camp, Reader must decide the best course of action to get home, even if it means trying to seduce the enemy

Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Descriptions of Scars/Blood, Canon Typical Violence; NSFW (a little bit of SMUT, just a tease 😈) at the end.

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

__________________

I can’t sleep.

It’s not because my enemy sleeps with his back to me, inches away, only a couple of furs and pelts between us, though it certainly doesn’t help. All night, staring at the tent wall, the strange patterns etched into the dark leather, the images of my parents, my brother, my people, flash behind my eyes every time I close them. I can hear Tamlin calling me a traitor; hear my parents final, dying screams. They are gone and the male that killed them sleeps inches from me. 

My dagger is next to my boots near the edge of the bed. Several times over the last couple of hours I’ve debated on crawling for it, imagining the heavy feel of it in my palm before I drive it between Rhysand’s shoulder blades and pierce his heart. I have never killed anything but game before, it’s the specifics and all their complications that stop me. What if I miss and he wakes up? What if I manage it but can’t get past the ward, condemning me to the mercy of his entire camp? And worse yet, what if it is not enough for Tamlin to take me back?

I chew my lower lip as I roll over onto my back. I know he would do just about anything to have Rhysand’s head delivered to him on a platter, or at the very least, those great wings to keep as a trophy. But killing a warlord doesn’t remove the threat of his camp, shy of slaughtering every last male, women, and child here, there would always be a chance of retaliation. A new lord would take his place if there was so much as a single survivor, and the bloodshed would start all over again, even if it took a few decades to get to that point.

No, my people deserve peace, to not have to look over their shoulder every day expecting an ambush. I would not live to see any children I might have, grown and subject to the cruelty of this war band. I would not birth anything into a world where my pain could be their own. So killing him is out of the question, at least for now. 

So what can I bring in lew of that? Camp movements? Numbers? Do I try to steal some horses or resort to outright sabotage so that someone else is always to blame when things go wrong? 

My head hurts from all the questions. 

My chest hurts from all the things I know I might have to do. My mother would be ashamed of me. And yet, I hear my father’s voice, telling me to stop being so useless and do something. He tells me I am selfish for hesitating, stupid for not seeing the opportunities in front of me.

I roll over onto my side so I can get another look at the male who claims to be my mate, the male who ruined my life. He’d brought me more food than I’d seen in years last night, had stumbled through the most awkward conversation of my life before offering the whole bed to myself if I was uncomfortable having him near by. An insane notion really, the bed was big enough for us to sleep in without being in arm’s length of each other. Even then, he’d wrapped his wings around himself and slept on the opposite edge, never once rolling any closer, even in sleep. It was an awkward kindness, but a kindness I had not prepared to face. I had spent the better part of the evening with him wondering how I’d deter him from trying to sleep with me, since he’d been so casual with touching me earlier in the day, but it had never come up. Maybe today it would, but for now, he had not entirely made himself as bad as I remembered him to be.

Again, it is my father’s voice in my head, “He’s a male, there’s a clear way to get him to reveal his secrets.” 

He is a dangerously attractive male. I have to admit I’m surprised he has not taken after many of the other warlords and formed a harem of captive brides. Between his power and his looks, he could have had dozens of wives already, yet this tent is void of any feminine objects to imply he’s anything other than single. He would not be hard to seduce, he is already so eager to have me nearby.

I roll over onto my stomach, trying not to huff my annoyance. It is not as if I’m some blushing virgin, I wouldn’t be giving anything over to him that I hadn’t already offered, in secret, to other males. He’d be the most attractive male I’d ever bedded, at that. I shouldn’t need that much convincing, or alcohol, to tumble into the sheets with him. Especially if it means he lets his guard down and tells me something useful. Especially if the distraction keeps him from thinking about asking me to take his mark again. What need for it would there truly be if I’d already surrendered myself to him?

Yet, my stomach rolls at the mere thought of it. Those hands had shed my peoples’, my parents’, blood! In a matter of minutes, those hands had stolen the only security and safety I had ever known, and I haven’t felt a shred of it since, and I was going to let them touch me?

A shiver runs down my spine. No, there has to be another way to get information out of him without trying to seduce him.

I lay there, mind spinning, as soft gray light starts to filter in through the small gap underneath the tent. Rhysand will have to leave me alone in here eventually, I will just have to wait for the right opportunity to start snooping through his stuff and then maybe a better plan will come to me. Perhaps something in one of those stacks of untouched chests in the corner will reveal a weakness I can exploit, some hidden secret I can use to my advantage. I have to hope they hold something, I have little options otherwise.

With that plan in place, I finally close my eyes, and try to let sleep fill the void. No amount of worrying will make him up and leave this early in the morning, there is little else I can do at this moment other than sleep. But it’s not even a full minute after I close my eyes that the tent flap is tossed open, the stiff leather slapping so hard against the wall Rhysand springs up with a dagger in hand, wings flaring behind him, so large they nearly span the expanse of the tent.

“We have a…” I feel eyes on me, over Rhysand’s shoulder, as I sit up, “situation.”

Rhysand lowers the dagger to his side, hand shaking, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping it. Strange, did he often expect to be attacked in his own tent?

“Ready the men,” he orders and the intruders withdraw before I can get a good look at them.

He smooths a hand through his hair, loose now from the knot it had been tied on, the braided strands drifting over his sharp cheekbones. His wings droop until they’re dusting the floor, like a giant leather cape. “You’ll stay in here,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. Dark circles rim his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if I was the only one drowning in my thoughts last night.

I nod, biting down on my cheek to keep the grin pulling at my lips away. Perhaps the Mother is looking out for me after all! This is just the opportunity I need! “You…” I need to play it safe, sounding too submissive too early might get suspicious. I don’t want him to think I’ve so readily accepted this arrangement, but I don’t want him thinking I’m going to try and run off either. I let the words come out slowly, like I’m unsure to say them. “You don’t want me to come with you, like you said yesterday?”

He rubs a hand over his face as he goes to a chest at the edge of the bed and starts pulling out his fighting leathers. “Not yet, not until you’ve taken my mark and I can guarantee it’ll protect you.”

Shit! I need him to stop thinking so much about that stupid mark.

He peels off his shirt, the early morning light coming through the open door illuminating the swirl of dark ink tattooed across his bare chest. I’d been too panicked about our sleeping arrangements to get a good look at him when he’d changed last night, or else I also would have seen the scar across his side, the four lines like claw marks across his bronze skin. There are other, smaller marks, a burn on his hip, a jagged slash across his collarbone, but none are so pronounced as the claw marks. 

My hand goes instinctively to my own side. I know those claw marks. I know how they scar, because I have the same ones on my side. “Stupid, useless girl!” I know them, because like the voice that keeps ringing in my ears, they came from my father.

I don’t know if that’s a sign of what I need to do, as if, even in death my father’s will is still forcing itself on my life, or some cruel twist, like the matching stars on the back of our hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks.

By the time I’m able to focus on him again, he’s already laced up his leathers and sheathed that massive sword between his wings. I give myself a little shake, let my hand fall back down into my lap. “Yeah.”

Like last night, he looks like he might say more, but then thinks better of it as he tightens a belt of knives around his waist. “Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone. 

I stare out the empty door long after his large form is no longer visible, sunlight slowly creeping further and further into the tent’s cave-like darkness. No guards. I eventually crawl out from under the mountain of pelts, the lack of heat obvious as a draft of icy wind blows through the open door. I wrap one around my shoulders as I pad, barefoot, over the rug covered floor to the door. The encampment around me still slumbers, no drum beats to be heard this early. Some of the other tents nearby have their doors open, I glimpse a body or two still sleeping in their own fur covered beds. No guards. No horses. Beyond the camp, the mountain walls of this secluded haven are dusted with early morning mist, the path the men had taken out invisible from this angle.

I do not want to trek through those mountains on foot and see just how well the shield holds up, not yet anyway. Holding the fur a little tighter around my shoulders, I turn back to the tent and decide the best place to start snooping is here. The outside world can wait a few more minutes. 

I go to the chest at the end of the bed first. It’s full of more fighting leathers, some worn and battle scarred, some shiny and new; an old pair of boots, some mismatched socks, another cloak and two, pitted daggers, the wyvern carving in the handle worn down from years and years of use. Nothing interesting or useful. I close the lid and head to the table to assess the piles of random collections Rhysand has made. It’s a lot of books on strategy and star-charting, I flip through a couple of them, looking for things written in the margins or scraps of paper tucked within the worn pages, but there is nothing but dust. 

“Come on,” I whisper to myself as I move to the next stack. There’s a book of poetry and things written in Illyrian I can’t read, the only thing in the margins of the old paper is some random swirls and markings that match the tattoos on his chest. If I have to learn Illyrian just to find useful information, I am going to be here for years, and there’s no way I’d make it that long without being forced to take Rhysand’s mark.

The remaining scattered items on the table are trinkets and gloves and a couple scarves with stains that look suspiciously like blood. Not a map or log book among them. Does he not keep records of his fighting men? Does he not chart supply lines and keep tabs on his merchants? 

I rub my temples as I go to the stack of dust covered chests in the corner. This might make it obvious that I was snooping, considering the dust is thick enough to be drawn in, but if he asks, I can lie and say I was looking for extra clothes, considering I’m still wearing the clothes I came in. 

The top chest is filled to the brim with swords and knives, a couple of bows and arrows, and a wicked looking mace. All well polished and cared for, the blades carefully wrapped as not to be damaged in transit. I pull a knife out to examine it, the ruby in the top casting rays of light over the tent walls. It’s an expensive weapon… if I start collecting enough things, could I find a place to barter them and bring the money back to Tam? Mother knows we could use the extra cash for supplies!

I put the blade back. If I start stashing things now, I’ll have nowhere to hide them and nowhere to take them until I can be sure that I can get out of these mountains, but it is comforting to feel like I have options here. The more things I can bring back, the better my chances at appeasing Tamlin are.

I’ve just closed the lid when someone clears their throat behind me and I all but throw the pelt around my shoulders at them in surprise.

“Snooping are we?” Laughs a feminine voice.

I keep a hand pressed to my racing heart, even as I inch over to where I’d left my hunting dagger. “Mother’s tits!”

In the doorway, stands a blonde female, her hair braided and tossed over one, bare shoulder. The strapless red top she wears, made of lace, baring just a strip of midriff and a swirl of ink, disappearing over the hem of a flowing skirt stitched in gold thread, must be expensive. I’ve never seen anything like it in our markets; I’d never dare touch it even if we had. I hate the spike of envy that bubbles up in my chest. I’ve never particularly cared about such things, not when the comparison wasn’t so in my face every moment. How was it fair? These people took so much from us, and yet they faced no punishment, it was starting to feel like they’d been rewarded for it even.

“Don’t worry, I’d snoop too,” she says as she steps in, holding a tray of something steaming that smells divine. “I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Hi,” I’m not totally beyond pleasantries, even if I do feel like biting the next stranger to come marching into my life as if they have free reign. “I’m Y/N.”

“My cousin says you’re his mate, is that true?” She sets the tray down then sits and puts her feet up on the corner of the table, sprinkling mud everywhere. 

“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t want it to be true, but this is a chance to do something for my people, and I’ll play that part best I can, but it would feel fake if I just suddenly pretended to believe it after my comments on the way here. Better to play it safe.

Mor pats an empty seat next to her in invitation, or perhaps demand, there is a regality to her that doesn’t make me feel I have room to tell her no. I am used to people moving me wherever they see fit, my feet start moving as directed before I can decide that I actually want to. “Show me this scar of yours.”

I sit and offer my hand. Hers are soft as she inspects the eight point scar atop my hand, not a callus to be felt. Definitely some form of royalty. 

“How did you get this?” She asks, turning my hand this way and that to get a better look, as if I’m a piece of meat at the market in need of inspecting. 

I bite my cheek to keep from yanking my hand out of her grip. “I was young and stupid, and my father had sent me out to hunt as a punishment, I stumbled into the Middle, and came across the Weaver. When I tried to escape, she threw a hot poker at me, the end was shaped like a star, I guess. She basically branded me.”

“You fought the Weaver?” A mythical monster, no one really knows where she came from, all we know is she lives in the Middle, in a place where other monsters hunt, in a cottage dripping in dark magic known to lewer in weary travelers, as I had been.

“Fought? Goddess no! Played a very terrifying game of cat and mouse, yes.”

“I’m sure your father was proud of such an accomplishment,” she says as she finally releases my hand and pushes a tray of steaming buns, meats and cheeses, and what looks like tea my way. 

My hand drifts over my scarred side subconsciously, and I do not miss the way her blue eyes track the movement, even as I blurt, “Yeah the beating I got when I got home was a little shorter than usual.”

She drops her legs off the table so she can turn and look at me fully and I wince as I realize my mistake. “My father is like that too,” Mor confesses with startling gentleness.

I’m even more surprised when she reaches out to take my hand, not to inspect this time but to comfort me over our shared past. My chest tightens; a lump forming in my throat. My father was not the worst male in the Grasslands by any means, he kept us all fed and alive, and sheltered for the most part, but he was never kind. 

Mor gives my hand a squeeze. “You are safe here, Y/N. I promise. Rhys won’t give you any trouble.”

I’m supposed to hate her. She is a part of this warband, she answers to Rhysand, she bears his mark--a swirl of stars across her right arm--she is my enemy. I aim to steal all her secrets and use them against her, to take from her all the luxuries my people were never afforded, a life we were never blessed to live. We have nothing! They had everything because they took it. And I wanted to take it from them, from her. So why, when I looked into her eyes did I suddenly feel so godsdamned guilty?

When I don’t say anything, Mor pushes my plate towards me again. “Eat. You’re thin as a board. Then maybe later, I can show you around camp? I’m sure my cousin will give you his tour or whatever, but it’s never the same without a girls’ perspective, right?”

I snag the tea, hoping the heat will burn away the lump still lodged in my throat. Why is she being so nice to me? These people are not supposed to be nice! They’re supposed to be cruel! They’re supposed to be evil, ruthless monsters! 

“That sounds like fun,” I say, the words as bitter as acid. I am a terrible person. She is genuine and kind and going out of her way to be nice to me and I intend to manipulate all of that.

Mor grins as she walks back to the door. “Holler if you need anything, ok? My tent is just down the way.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a warm, sticky bun. It’s so sweet and gooey in the center and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so good in my life, yet, when I swallow, it might as well be sand. What have I gotten myself into? What kind of monster am I if I do this?

I set the bun back down on the tray and put my head in my hands. If I do this, am I just as bad as Rhysand?

------

Rhysand doesn’t come back until nightfall. Mor had come by hours ago with a tray for dinner, and had stayed for over an hour, talking about a lot of nothing, just to keep me company. I found out that she’s married to someone named Cassian, though she confessed after a bit of wine that Rhysand had orchestrated the union to get her away from her father, and that neither of them cared for each other in that way. It served the both of them to have the title, and while they shared a tent, there was little more than friendship between them. She’s very talkative, even with the smallest bit of wine, not that I minded, after several hours alone with my thoughts, it was nice to have something else to think about other than how I might sell my soul to get out of here. By the time she’d left and I’d made myself comfortable in the massive bed, I could only faintly make out the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.

I’d be a liar if I said my heart rate doesn’t spike at the sound.

It isn’t like I was still snooping through his stuff--truth be told I’d forgotten there was still stuff to look through--but I sit up in a panic all the same, trying to figure out where I need to be to look the most innocent. Had I left anything out of place? 

I’m about to jump out of bed and double check the locks on the chests when Rhysand stalks back into the tent, completely covered in blood.

I can’t do anything other than stare, unsure if the blood dripping from his hair and down his face is from the gash across his temple or the gore that looks like it had been hurled at the left side of his head, chunks of something clinging to his ear.

There’s a small area behind the bed with a basin of water and some clean towels and he goes right to it, tearing off the leather gauntlets at his wrists and then his very damaged chest piece. Both make a heavy thwack as they hit the rug, a puddle forming beneath them. 

“Are-are you ok?” There are too many questions in my head, this one slips out first as I twist to look at him over the headboard of the bed. 

He winces as he pokes at the cut on his temple, “Fine,” is all I get before he cups water in his hands and does his best to clean the gore off his face. He’s making a mess. I’m tempted to crawl out of bed and throw a towel on the floor to spare the rug from damage, but the shadows that drift from his skin make me think better of it. 

Powers aren’t rare, especially among warlords, most of the fae need them to survive this barbaric society we live in, but I’ve never met anyone with such an obvious manifestation of them. Shadows trail off his shoulders, over his wings, twining around his powerful thighs. I can almost taste the darkness that leaks from him, even with the space between us. It is palpable and tangible and tied to his anger. A button I don’t want to push in any way. I sink a little lower into the mattress, using the headboard as a shield, just in case. 

“What happened?” I ask softly. 

He yanks a towel off the little drying rack next to the basin so hard it snaps like a whip and I flinch a little involuntarily. “We got ambushed.” He wets the towel and starts running it over his hair. When he unties the braids in the back, clumps of gore fall to the floor. “My sentinels spotted some enemy scouts this morning, when we followed them back, they led us right into a trap.”

Please don’t be Tamlin. Please don’t be Tamlin. “Did you find out who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” he tosses the ruined towel on a floor and reaches for another to wipe off his arms and chest. “But none of them were marked.”

Not typically my brother’s style, but I can’t be totally sure. My anxiety sits like a weight in my stomach. “Any casualties?” 

“None of mine,” he growls. “Just some scrapes. Even unprepared, my men are lethal.”

Not as reassuring as I assume he thinks it is.

“We brought a few survivors back, I’ll know who sent them by morning at the latest.”

If I can get a good look at them, I can know for sure they’re not Tam’s men… “What will you do with them?”

He starts untying the laces of his pants and I hurriedly turn away, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I know he thinks we’re mates, but Cauldron have a little decency!

“Azriel will get the information I need out of them,” he says and I hear the sound of his boots and pants hitting the floor. “And then I will make an example out of them.”

It’s suddenly colder in here than it was a moment ago. I grab a pelt and pull it up to my chin as I draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a beat, the only sound the scraping of a towel over his skin, and then I’m suddenly very aware of his presence at my back, his shadow looming over me. I sink a little deeper into the mattress, heart in my throat.

“This bothers you?” He asks quietly.

I’m glad there’s a thick layer of wood between us, it means I still have time to reach for my knife. “I-” Mother’s Tits what am I supposed to say?! It’s not like it matters, and maybe I could spin it to fit the narrative I need him to see in me, but the words escape me. No one has ever asked me what I think of the senseless violence that has plagued us since Hybern destroyed the world. Regardless of our boundary lines and markings, we all kill and maim each other to survive; we bleed and die and force others to do the same all for the slightest chance that we might escape that fate one more day. And I hate it! I’ve always hated it. I clung to my parents’ stories of better worlds because I’d wanted so desperately to be in one. 

“I don’t like violence,” I whisper. The first unaltered truth I’ve given him; the only unaltered truth I’ll give him.

He leans against the headboard, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I don’t either,” Rhysand confesses.

I almost laugh. Death Incarnate hates violence? But when I tilt my head back to look at him, I see the weight of that burden in his eyes. He places his forehead atop his hands, sighing heavily and it’s like I can feel that weight in my chest. 

“I didn’t…” another breath, “I will do what is necessary for my people, no matter what it costs me, but… but it is heavy.”

I know the burden of leading a people is heavy, I have watched it tear Tam apart for decades. My brother had been kind once, had loved and laughed and had stayed up for hours teaching me how to play the fiddle when we were kids. Becoming the leader of our people had taken all those good and kind things and hardened them. The brother I had grown up with and the one I now answered to wouldn’t recognize each other. I hated myself for it, but the empathetic part of me can’t help but wonder if Rhysand had been like that too? Had he been kind and happy before he took over this position? Had becoming a lord stripped him of the things that had made him loveable and turned him into the monster that I knew?

Would being here turn me into a monster I didn’t recognize?

“It must be hard, to carry it alone,” I say slowly, weighing each word like it could be my last. This is a very vulnerable and volatile position to be in. I’m still very aware of the power that drifts off, his still bare, skin. I cannot upset it. But, can I find something useful here?

I’m playing with fire and I can feel it.

“I am used to it,” he replies.

Another beat and then he softly adds, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

His response simultaneously makes my heart ache and my mind spin. I hadn’t found anything of use in this tent, despite the hours I’d spent searching, and maybe that was a sign. Maybe there was nothing in this tent, because the information was all contained to one thing: The male standing behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence that this morning I had been wondering if I should try and seduce him. My assessment about it being easy to do was already confirmed with this conversation, he was vulnerable, now more than ever, all it would take was a push in the right direction…

I push myself back up onto my knees and turn so I can face him. He looks small here, the wet strands of his hair clinging to his face. 

His violet eyes watch my every move like a snake tracking a mouse. 

There’s still a headboard between us. Still time to change my mind. Still time to keep my soul intact. What kind of person am I if I do this? 

I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out to take his hand. At least there is no more blood on them. Touching him doesn’t immediately make fire rain down from the heavens so maybe that’s a sign the world won’t totally end if I do this. This male took everything from me, and yet, under his own admission, he’d damn his soul for his people. If a monster could do that, couldn’t I do it for the sake of my people?

“How can I help you?” I ask softly. I hope it sounds convincing, that the shakiness in my voice sounds like a lack of confidence and not because I’m trying not to throw up. This was not the plan this morning! But I’ve gotten nowhere all day and suddenly there’s an opening before me and I have to try and take it, don’t I? It might be my only chance, especially if there is fighting on the horizon. If I can distract him, or figure out who Tam needs to join forces with to finally be rid of Rhysand once and for all, I have to take it. 

His violet eyes widen as they settle on the placement of my hand on top of his, as if he hadn’t thought it possible that I would willingly comfort him. 

Am I doing this too fast?

“If… if this thing between us is real, I want to be useful. I want to be a good mate.” Kill me. Please, put me out of my misery, what in the Seven Hells am I doing?! “Please, show me how I can be a good mate?”

My parents are rolling in their graves.

He moves faster than most fae should be able to, hand sliding out from under mine to reach out and thread into my hair, pulling my body flush against the headboard as his lips meet mine. Cauldron, for a male who looked so awful seconds ago, his lips are sinfully soft. It takes a second for me to even register what I’m doing, and by the time that my brain catches up, he’s sliding his tongue past my teeth and I’m letting him, lips parting, head tilting to give him more access. Having the headboard still between us is both an uncomfortable angle to be at and a relief, because at least I have a little time to accept the fact that I just told Death he could bed me if that would make him feel better.

Tamlin can never find out this is how I saved our people. 

But this is for my people. I can play with fire for them.

There are worse ways to do it, I suppose. He’s certainly not a bad kisser. 

Hell, he’s actually a really, really good kisser, if I let myself stop thinking for two seconds and just relax, I might actually enjoy it.

He pulls away by a mere fraction, forehead resting on mine, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Distract me?” He asks, voice so low and husky I think he might actually be begging.

I hate to admit it, but I do get a thrill of seeing such a powerful male so desperate in my hands. Of course, I can’t let him know that. “Show me?”

It’s all the prompting he needs to release me long enough to climb into bed. I’d forgotten he was already undressed until he was pulling the blanket off and climbing on top of me, all warm skin and damp hair and more desperate kisses. Large hands slide under my sweater, exploring every inch of me as he continues to kiss me like a man starved.

My reservations begin to slip with each new brush of his callused hands over my skin, trailing higher and higher. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken anyone to bed, even longer since I’d had the time to let anybody explore my body so meticulously. It’s good. My eyes drifting shut, body arching into his touch. I don’t know which of us comes up for air first, or which pulls the other back for more. As easy as it is to end up in this position, I’m surprised how readily I want it, him. Something tugs at the skin beneath my breastbone, like there’s a thread being yanked on, warmth flaring down that little spot, hotter and hotter with each passing second. I don’t have enough time to consider what that is, what it means, before his lips trail down to my neck, teeth scraping my tender flesh.

I instinctively drag a hand through his hair as he nips and bites at my throat, surely leaving marks. If I ever had any intention to push him away, I lose it as his large hand kneads my breast, slender fingers moving to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as a moan slips out of me. 

Aren’t I supposed to be distracting him?

Before I can ask, he’s yanking my worn sweater over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. Those intense violet eyes run over me,  a grin stretching across his handsome features as he gives my breast another squeeze, but the teasing stops when he spots the scar across my abdomen. Or maybe the fact that you can count my ribs. Maybe both. His hands drift lower, methodically, not teasing but studying, like he might crack open my rib cage and dissect whatever is beneath my skin. 

“Who did this to you?” He growls, hand trailing over the scar.

My whole body trembles under his touch, mind reeling as I try to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. I don’t want to talk about this. Not with him. I’d already admitted too much to Mor earlier. We need to get back to the distraction. “Hunting accident,” I lie.

His hand remains over the scar, “Don’t lie.”

This is too intense, I’m too vulnerable in this position, I’ve lost all my power. My head spins, trying to think of something clever, trying to get myself back on track. Why did I think I could do this? Seduction is not my skill set. Outright anything is beyond me. I move behind the scenes, quietly with my head down, I am not anyone’s first line of defense. I’m not even sure I’m the last line of defense.

My heart’s pounding in my chest and I know he can feel it beneath his hand, because his face softens. His free hand comes to brush my cheek, pushing a few wild strands of hair from my face. Now I’m really shaking. This is far, far too intimate. 

“You’re my mate,” he says gently. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

I don’t want that kind of power looming over me the rest of my life. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wanted a distraction. This-”

The tent flap bursts open without warning, a flurry of shadows rushing in. Rhysand barely has time to grab a blanket to cover the both of us before a male steps out of those shadows.

“Azriel!” Rhysand snarls. “This better be fucking important!”

The male stands at the edge of the bed, fighting leathers splattered in blood, his dark hair falling over a set of deep hazel eyes. He spins a bloody dagger between hands scarred beyond repair. “They’ve talked.”

Shit.

Rhysand is still leaning over me, body and wings shielding me from Azriel’s view. “And?”

Hazel eyes flick to me before returning to his lord. “Amarantha.”

I don’t know if I should sigh with relief or not. Tamlin is still safe. My people are still safe. But having Amarantha knocking at the door while I’m trapped inside here is not on my to do list. My whole life we’ve avoided her and Hybern’s forces by not making too big a fuss. If they want some of our territory, we push into another lord’s to make sure there’s space for us without any direct confrontation with her. We keep our heads down. We don’t make deals or bargain with the other more tolerable lord’s for aid. We stay within our own borders and we stay out of her way. But the Illyrians? They pick fights with her. They apparently have no qualms with torturing her men. 

“I’ll be right there,” Rhysand says in dismissal and his shadowy companion disappears as quickly as he came. 

“I have to deal with this,” he sighs, leaning back on his knees.

I’m relieved, I really am. I tried to do this way too quickly. I am relieved.

So why do I feel a knot in my stomach?

Rhysand leans in long enough to press a kiss to my forehead, the move tender and gentle, and nothing like the male that had entered this tent covered in blood just moments ago. It makes my head hurt. I know the kind of male he is. I know the monster that lies behind this pretty package. So why is he pretending to be anything else? Why act like this with me? What game is he playing?

“Maybe we can finish this later?” There’s a hint of teasing there, but it feels more like an apology.

I want a later. I want to feel those full lips on my skin again.

I absolutely don’t want a later. This whole thing is a mistake.

“Yeah,” I saw anyway.

He’s dressed and gone before I can ask myself why I agreed to it again. I put my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes. What am I doing here? And why is it starting to feel more complicated than it should be?

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

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[p-taryn-dactyl]

dudeeee ik ur reqs are open so why not give this a shot and see what u think abt it! since the new agatha trailer came out I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABT HERRRJDID!! so this is abt her! (plus love ur agatha content!! ive read all of em ALL OF EM)

so.. what abt a AU where agatha is the reader's manager and the reader is a famous actor? this could lead to a dark fic or just a wholesome light one! whichever u prefer ill leave it up to u!

~p.s i hope ur feeling better!! have a nice day and feel free to ignore this if u want to^^

a/n: first off, i love ur energy so much omg, and also SAME! the trailer goes through my mind 24/7 and i’m not mad about it! ooooo i love this idea!! definitely have to take creative liberties bc i’ve sadly never been famous😔 word count: 2.6k warning(s): fun fact: i am making all of these things up, if you're secretly an actor keep everything i did wrong in this fic to yourself - slight jealous!Agatha - friends to coworkers to lovers - agatha definitely knows how to communicate - all movies and characters mentioned in this are worlds/stories i have written- kinda rushed ending but then again i feel like everything is rushed - i really hope you like this! thank you so much for the ask and i am feeling a bit better 🫶🏻 - i really can't write kissing my apologies

i was the saint, you used to adore me

You remember when you first hired Agatha.

You were just beginning to dip your toes into the pool of acting, cautiously testing the waters by sending out your less than perfect resume to anyone who would accept. Agatha was the first, and only, acting manager to respond. She too was new to her field, so far only representing people who specialized in car commercials and medicine ads. She wanted a change of pace and your lack luster resume spoke to her. Some part of you still wanders why she picked to represent you, even though in the end everything worked out incredibly well, you wanted to know why she wanted to work with you.

Because now it seemed like she wanted nothing to do with you.

At the beginning, it was like the two of you couldn't be seperated. Outside of work hours, many movie nights happened, sometimes an excuse for Agatha to show you her favorite directing and acting techniques, sometimes an excuse for you to binge watch Sandra Bullock's entire cinematography. You would fill her inbox with emails of dream roles, she would fill yours with links to acting classes if the number of emails in her inbox from you exceeded 1,000.

She was your best friend.

You missed her.

If you had to pinpoint the time when she started drifting away, it was right after you landed your breakout role of Aerin Fey in the movie Pillars, which became a boxoffice hit, making nearly three times the production cost in theaters. Soon, your portrayal of the multiversal anti hero was on billboards, had sequels and contracts signed, had custom dolls on toy store shelves. It was everything you wanted, seeing little girls inspired by you as you either walked down a red carpet or passed them in the grocery store. You loved signing autographs in the signature Agatha and you spent nights perfecting. You loved taking pictures with fans, almost equally as excited as they were, after all your dream was coming true.

All you wanted was to share these moments with your closest friend but soon Agatha started only filling the manager role in your life. No longer did she appear at your door bearing tubs of ice cream to celebrate a role you had been offered, no longer did she let you cry when you lost a role you had been desperate for. Your texts and emails became dry, only notifying you of roles she had sent your portfolio in for or sending you calender invites for interviews and late night show appearances.

All this was swirling in your head as you scrolled through your old texts with Agatha, your eyes becoming watery as you went further into the messages. You sat in your living room on your large couch, a purchase Agatha practically had to force you to confirm. You still didn't understand why you needed such a large couch or house for that matter, as you were the only one living in the space. It was damn comfortable though. You let yourself sink into the cushions, your mind running wild with theories as to why Agatha suddenly cut your friendship off. Sure, you two would keep a professional appearance when seen together on the carpet but you were absolutely certain people noticed the tense atmosphere between you.

"Bitch if you don't answer this door right now I'm going to assume you're dead and call every TMZ reporter here!"

The voice of your co-star turned friend Wanda Maximoff interupted your self pity episode, making you realize that the pounding you had subconsciously been hearing wasn't a sad theme song your mind created for you. No, it was the furious knocking of the red head. You reluctantly got out of your comfy spot, slightly taking Wanda's threat seriously. You opened your door, revealing your friend holding a folder with Pillar's studio name printed on the side and a bottle of champagne. You nodded to the bottle.

"Where's the rest?"

Wanda laughed, nudging her way into your home, bumping your shoulder with hers.

"Oh so it's that kind of day."

Wanda took her place on your couch, setting the bottle on the coffee table and crossing her legs with the folder in her lap. She patted the spot next to her on your couch, a smile wide on her face.

"Now come on, we have to make sure we know the answers to questions and what not to answer!"

You groaned at the reminder of your TV appearance tomorrow. Which also meant enduring the new cold demeanor of your be-manager. Wanda seemed to read your face as you made your way to sit back on the couch. She patted your knee once you were sat, her face a mix of pity and a bit of anger for your sadness.

"Is Agatha still acting weird?"

You nodded while staying silent, not wanting to cry in front of one of your only real friends. Not yet at least.

"God that's so stupid honestly. The least she could do is tell you what's going on instead of acting like a fourth grader who's favorite swing is being used during recess. I know you love her Y/N, I'm sorry."

You both laughed and choked at Wanda's words.

She was right, you loved Agatha. You've loved her since the first time you met her and your feelings only grew and intensified as your partnership continued throughout the years.

But you'd never say it outloud. That would make it real. And if it was real, that meant the woman you loved hated you and you had no idea why.

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

Agatha was leaning against the wall of your dressing room, her eyes glued to her phone as she typed furiously. You watched her in the mirror as your hair stylist put the finishing touches on the style that was supposed to look effortless. Almost as if she could feel your stare, Agatha looked up from her phone to meet your eyes in the mirror. You felt heat rise up to your cheeks as your own eyes widened, standing up a little to quickly. Realizing once you were up that you didn't have a reason for such a reaction.

Wanda burst into the dressing room, her red dress sparkling in the light.

"They want us to walk on stage together, shall we?"

Wanda held out her elbow for you to hold on to, winking in an exaggerated way. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Agatha's intense glare at Wanda but decided that you weren't going to let your manager's weird behavior affect this interview. You hooked your arm through Wanda's, playing along.

"We shall!"

Agatha followed behind the two of you, her stare burning into the back of your neck as the two of you walked onto the stage, cuing the raging applause and cheers from the audience. Agatha stayed off-stage, watching with crossed arms and an expression that could take down the toughest of tough.

The lights were burning and bright as you and Wanda took a seat next to each other across from the interviewer. You immediately regretting your choice in seat as Agatha stood across from you in the wings, her stare like ice as it stuck to your skin. Taking a deep breath, you plastered on a wide smile as you were introduced. Purposefully ignoring Agatha, you focused on how the interviewer angeled her body towards Wanda, indictating who she would be asking a question to first.

"Ok, I got to say," Darcy Lewis, the host of this show, threw her hands in the air as if she was giving a confession, "I can't ask any questions about the movie until I get confirmation about something that's happened in your life recently, Wanda."

Wanda smirked, obviously understanding where Darcy was going, You, however, were confused, your eyes flickering between Darcy, Wanda, Agatha, and the audience, hating the feeling. Your smile stayed plastered on, not wanting to reveal your confusion. Wanda met your eyes and reached over to cover your hand with hers, her left hand on top almost purposefully. You looked down to see a beautiful ring with a braided band of gold set with a sparkling diamond of reasonable size.

"Oh my god!" You gasped out, grasping Wanda's hand and bringing it embarassingly close to your face. Wanda and Darcy laughed, the latter clapping as her vague question was answered in a hilarious way.

"I can't believe it's taken you this long to notice!" Wanda laughed out, tugging her hand back to marvel at her ring herself, "I've only been parading it around for a week!"

You flushed with embarassment, a real smile painting your lips as you covered your face with your hands. After the crowd calmed down, Wanda confirmed outloud what the ring symbolized.

"A little over a week ago, my long time partner, who I met on this set by the way, proposed to me in the park we had our first date. Oh, he was so nervous but I couldn't let him finish his speach I was so excited! Obviously I said yes."

You wanted to give your friend a giant hug but decided against climbing over the arms of the chairs, choosing to keep your dignity as you didn't want your dress to ride up too much.

Darcy continued with the interview, the air of the stage light and friendly as you and Wanda evaded questions and made jokes about being trapped in these roles until you're 90. You realized once the interview was almost over that you couldn't feel Agatha's stare on you anymore. Since you had been actively avoiding the spot she was standing in the whole time, you hadn't notice her slip away. A spark of anger lit in your chest as memories floated around your mind. What had you done that she deemed worthy enough to sever your relationship?

You were surprisingly thankful when the interview was over, everything becoming a blur as you made it back home. Wanda had a date with her fiance, Vision but told you that she wanted to get coffee the next morning. You already knew you would be needing that coffee, as you had a few pages of script to begin memorizing for a cameo scene you were doing for a spin-off show of Pillars.

You wanted to just curl up on your couch and binge watch old Disney movies but you forced yourself to walk in circles around your living room, script in hand as you acted out your scenes. A few hours in, you were getting frustrated. Your mind just wouldn't grasp the script, each line entering your mind quickly but leaving even quicker. You were about to learn how to use your fireplace just to burn the papers when your door shook with someone knocking. It was rapid, almost desperate and it sent a sense of urgency pooling in your gut. You practically ran to your door, afraid of what you would see on the other side. Did someone die? Oh god, hopefully Wanda and Vision didn't break up that would be awful-

The door swung open.

It was Agatha.

Her eyes were ablaze with an emotion you couldn't pin point, her hair was a mess but it only added to her beauty, and she was gripping her phone so hard in her hand that her knuckles were white.

You were frozen in the doorway, your eyes wide and your jaw slack. Agatha just stared back at you, her chest heaving as if she had ran all the way to your home. Blinking, you broke yourself from your trance, and against the voices in your head that sounded suspiciously like a specific redhead, stepped to the side to let Agatha in. She barged in, going to stand in front of the couch, arms crossed as she continued to stare at you. Wringing your hands, you decided you wanted to mend what was broken.

"I'm just practicing for the shoot in a week, would you help me? I can't seem to get-"

"Were you ever with Wanda?"

Her sudden question made you choke on your words and you were back to being frozen, the script falling dramatically from your hands. Agatha came to stand in front of you, her face inches from yours. Your tongue was heavy with shock and all you could do was shake your head in denial.

Why was Agatha asking this? Did she like Wanda? That would explain why she wouldn't be happy with you, as you had grown closer to the redhead throughout the years and Agatha didn't.

Something clicked in your mind, reversing your sinking stomach into nervous butterflies.

But if she liked Wanda, why would she be glaring at her? Unless, the person Agatha liked wasn't the now engaged redhead and was-

"Y/N, please, I need you to answer me."

Agatha voice contradicted her body language, her words broken and shaky, as if she was afraid of a potential answer. Her hands flexed in the postition of her crossed arms, as if she wanted to reach towards you. You took a deep breath, preparing your answer.

"Is this why you started avoiding me? Because you thought I was with Wanda? I've only ever been her friend, Agatha and we only grew as close as we are because you stopped talking to me! God, I thought you hated me!"

Agatha's eyes lost their iciness and filled with panic instead. Her hands shot out and grasped your arms.

"Hate? No, I love you! I though the giant annoucment at the interview would be that you were in a relationship with Wanda! I didn't want to ruin your relationship with her because of my feelings!."

You shrugged Agatha's hands off your arms and took a step back.

"So you ruined ours? All because you thought your feelings were unreciprocated?" Agatha's eyes lit up with hope at your words, "Wanda's been with Vision for years, all you had to do was open Google!" You had started to raise your voice towards the end, all your frustration being let out at once. Agatha shrugged sheepishly as she slowly stepped to once again be close to you.

"I didn't want to be right."

Agatha smiled nervously as she brushed a hair from your face.

"I didn't know what to do and I'm terribly sorry for how I acted. God, Y/N, it hurt seeing you with someone who wasn't me. I thought you just wanted to be friends. "

Her whispered apology melted away the ice that had been hardening your heart for protection and you reached up to cup her face in your hands. Agatha leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a second before opening and almost blinding you with how much hope was shining towards you.

"I loved being your friend and it really hurt me when you took that away but," you smiled at Agatha, shifting to be even closer to your manager, "I would love to be even more."

Agatha smiled softly, her eyes saying everything her words couldn't. Her smile melted into a smirk as she leaned in, your hands falling from her face so your arms could wrap around her neck.

"I would really love to make up for lost time."

You barely had finished nodding before Agatha's lips crashed into yours, consuming you. Her hands now cradled your face as you kissed, her tongue battling with yours. She started walking, directing you towards the stairs, where the door to your bedroom taunted you with it being far. As the two of you stumbled up the stairs, laughter breaking the kiss, you felt Agatha tugging on your dress, the one you still hadn't changed out of. Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and once you hit your bed, from the look in Agatha's eyes, you wouldn't be leaving it anytime soon.

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

a/n: please tell me u liked this bc i loved writing it :) i love this AU idea and would love to expand on it in the future! i wanted this to be a one shot but the potential in this pairing could lead to a series 👀 thank you so much for reading!! hopefully my writing slump hasn't affected my writing too much but i'm going to keep practicing to get better!!

[starscabaret]

☆First Date Yandere! Vincent☆

pairing: yandere! Vincent x fem reader 

summary: first date and head canons at end

warnings: n/a 

authors note:

You opened your window, slowly at first, you sensed no danger but still aired on the side of caution. 

“Vincent, I know you’re out here stop being a fucking creep and ask to come in.” You huffed at the poorly hidden lanky man. 

He thought you didn’t know he lurked outside of your house staring at you. You knew and instead of being scared and calling the cops like you probably should have … you oddly found it endearing. 

“Uhm hey I’m sorry … I just …. I don’t know.” said a red-faced Vincent, as he moved from his hiding spot rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“Whatever I don’t care, just don’t be outside my house creepin’ like a damn thief in the night.” You said outwardly annoyed even though you really weren’t. You weren’t angry more so curious about his interest in watching you.

After you let him in through your bedroom window, once he stepped inside, he locked it. You then guided him to your living room for a bit of Southern hospitality…. just sweet tea and pound cake for now. 

He sat on your couch looking largely out of place but still so handsome to you. 

“OK, so what’s your deal? Are you trynna kill me? rape me? date me? what?” You spoke rapid-firing questions, no need to beat around the bush. 

“Uh no none of that I’m so sorry y/n, I just, I, I don’t know, I think I’m interested in you.” He stuttered out.

“You think or you know?” you said hand on your hip. 

“I want you to like me, I want to make you smile.” Vincent said nervously. 

“I think you’re trying to ask me on a date.” You replied.

“Is that what people normally do? Is that what you’d want your man to do for you?” Vincent questioned. He obviously had little to no understanding of dating and romance. 

“I believe so, so when and where to?” you asked smiling and smirking.

“Uh can I pick you up tomorrow at 5?” he shyly asked. 

“Yes Vinny, now get out, and I better not catch you in my fucking yard again.” You said while shooing him to the door. 

After you slammed the door in his face Vincent was mind blown. You hadn’t called the cops. and you two were going on a date.

Since he had laid eyes on you Vincent started googling all kinds of silly childish things like, how to tell if you like someone? does she like me? what is a date?

But now he finally had a date planned and he was freaking out. He knew nothing, and he could not fuck this up. Google could only help him so much… It was time to call his mother and ask for advice.

He really didn’t want to; it was his last resort. His mother would be very dramatic, he was sure. But it was you, he needed all the help he could get so he bit the bullet.

He had never expressed any romantic or sexual interest in anyone, let alone to his mother. But for you, he felt both. 

After speaking with his mother on the phone for hours, he felt equipped to court you. It wouldn’t be normal. He wasn’t normal, He couldn’t love you normally. But he could love you. And after his courtship, he wondered if you would love him too.

He knew that his brain was different, and so did his mother, that’s why he wasn’t shocked at his odd attraction to you. He just knew he needed and wanted you. He understood that much. 

From what he knew about you from your first encounter to the few conversations you two had during his time working near your home. He found you enchanting. He felt like you were missing something, and he could be all of that. He would be all of that for you.

He knew even more about you from the time he’d spent outside of your house. Yes, it was wrong, but he liked to see your face before he drove home for the evening. If he didn’t, he’d have to wait until you woke up and went on to your porch the next morning. That was too long for him.

The next day when he took you on your date, you wanted nothing more than to take the gentle giant home with you forever. 

☆⋆。𖦹°‧★☆⋆。𖦹°‧★☆⋆。𖦹°‧★☆⋆。𖦹°‧★☆⋆。𖦹°‧★☆⋆。𖦹°‧★

yandere! Vincent brought you a bundle of beautiful large white lilies when he knocked on the door to pick you up for your date. 

yandere! Vincent held you closer as you hugged him in thanks for the flowers. He looked down at you and used his huge hand to tilt your chin so he could examine your face. 

yandere! Vincent opened the door to his car for you and even buckled you in. 

yandere! Vincent lets you choose the music, while internally remembering the type of music you enjoyed. 

yandere! Vincent held your hand tightly in his as you walked into the restaurant he chose.

yandere! Vincent listened to everything you talked about on your date. When you asked him questions and he answered right away. 

yandere! Vincent refuses to leave the restaurant if you don’t pick a dessert. He wouldn’t have one, but he insisted you deserved it. 

yandere! Vincent is very nervous if the date is going well, but you keep smiling and it warmed his heart. 

yandere! Vincent didn’t want the date to end as he drove you home from your last stop of the night. But he couldn’t think of a way to keep you longer. 

yandere! Vincent’s phone rang while he drove, and he asked that you answer it to your surprise. He wouldn’t risk any reckless driving, not while you were in his car. 

yandere! Vincent’s mom was on the other side, she audibly gasped when she heard a woman’s voice. She knew right away who you are and she began to embarrass Vinny by saying how much he likes you, how much he talks about you, even the dumb things he did as a kid. By the end of the phone call, you were crying with laughter. His mother was hilarious and kind-hearted. Vinny just drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, he wasn’t worried about the conversation between you too. Once parked on your street Vincent took his phone and spoke to his mother briefly before hanging up. 

yandere! Vincent told you his mother said goodnight and that you are a doll. He walks you to the entrance of your home after unbuckling you and opening your door. When at the door you invite him in. You aren’t ready to leave him either.

[absentlurker]

Have a little Ficlet!!!

~~~~~~

Wayne sighs heavily as he walks into the trailer after a long night shift. The lights were off in the living room except for a small Coca Cola night light plugged in above the kitchen counter. He locks the door before dumping his keys on the kitchen table before taking off his jacket. He kicked off his boots after hanging his jacket on the back on the table chair.

Wayne grabs his boots and placed them against the wall beside the front door before walking down the short hall to Eddie’s bedroom door.

He paused before the cracked door when he heard voices softly talking. Eddie and Steve, Wayne thought to himself and started to walk away but paused when their voices started to rise a little in the bedroom.

Nosey old man, Wayne chuckles at himself as he turns his head so he can hear better.

“I know you’re scared to get hurt again, baby,” He hears Eddie say. Wayne’s brows furrowed, “but you can’t let that stop you from letting people in, Steve.”

Wayne hears Steve huff and it’s quiet for a moment before Steve says weakly, “You don’t understand. I think about if we don’t make it and I’m just sick to my stomach.” Wayne hears some movement and Eddie’s bed squeaking as he moves.

“Honey, what’s the alternative?” Eddie questions with a hum, “are you going to let us go because of a maybe? Baby, I can’t see the future but you gotta take risks sometimes.”

Steve doesn’t say anything which worries Wayne because god, Eddie would beside himself if Steve were to break up with him. He’s so gone on that boy.

He’s surprised how calm Eddie sounds when he says, “You know, I’ve been there.”

“Huh?” Steve questions, “what do you mean ‘you’ve been there’?”

Eddie takes a deep breath and says, “When I moved in with Wayne, I had convinced myself I wasn’t gonna trust him.” Wayne stops the noise that threatens to escape at the confession. What?

“What? Wayne?” Steve asks and he hears Eddie’s voice crack as he laughs at Steve’s surprise.

“Yeah, man. I was terrified to let anyone in again. After my dad-“ Wayne’s heart aches as Eddie’s voice breaks, “Well, you know…I didn’t want to let anyone in or love anyone because what’s the point, you know? They’re just going to hurt me and they didn’t understand me anyway.” Eddie snorts softly, “Did you know I didn’t even speak to Wayne for about six months when I first showed up?”

“Really?” Steve asks softly. Wayne remembers those days. God, they were so difficult. Wayne constantly felt like he was doing everything wrong back then.

“Yeah, I honestly don’t know how he managed. I was such an asshole to him for no reason back in the beginning.”

No, Wayne thought, you were a grieving little boy who lost everything he knew.

“He didn’t give up though. God, I still remember when I came home from school when I was like eleven. I had a black eye because I got in a fight over something I don’t remember and I was just angry all the time. I refused to tell him what happened and honestly, I was trying to start a fight with him.” Eddie admitted distantly, “I guess I wanted him to yell at me and prove he was just like everyone else and you know what he did?”

“What?” Steve whispers, he sounds as invested in his story as Wayne is even though he was there.

“He grabbed me and hugged me so tight,” Eddie sounds choked up and honestly, so is Wayne. “He-he said, ‘boy, I understand you’re angry and you miss your old life but I’m going to be here even if you build concrete walls around yourself. And I’m going to love you and care for you and if you think for one second I won’t go down to that school and raise hell because of your face, you gotta thing comin’” Eddie laughs to himself, “and he did! He stomped down to that middle school and told off the principal for not expelling that boy who hit me.” Eddie snickers softly, “Jesus, that was great.” He hears Steve laughing quietly.

“I knew I loved him then,” Eddie continues, “and I wasn’t even mad about it. It was a risk because it was still in the beginning and he could still hurt me one day but you know what?” Eddie sounds content, “He hasn’t. He probably doesn’t understand everything I do and say because dude, I can be so weird sometimes,”

Steve interrupts with a laugh before saying, “True.” Wayne nods in agreement.

“Rude. But he doesn’t care and he loves me anyway.”

Wayne hears Eddie move around before he says, “Stevie, I’m asking you to take a risk with me. I know you’ve been hurt and it’s made you doubt yourself about love and relationships but the planet is going to keep spinning with or without me and don’t you wanna see where it goes?”

Steve sounds on the edge of tears when he says, “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“Yeah?”

Steve laughs, “Yeah, you goof.” Wayne smiles to himself when he hears the obvious sound of lips smacking together.

“You won’t regret it, Stevie, I’ve got a good feeling.” Eddie tells him playfully.

Wayne turns away from Eddie’s door to walk back down the hall with a smile on his face.

Maybe he didn’t mess up that much trying to raise that little ten year old who showed up at his door all those years ago.

~~~~~~~

(inspiration for this was from the song the alternative by Lyn Lapid)

[aetlasx]

prologue

pair: eddie munson x witch!reader

summary: Ah, memories. You journal your first day of high school, but things quickly take a turn just a few weeks later.

tw: menstruation, pad/tampons, bullying, name calling (pls lmk if there’s anything I missed)

a/n: just stick with me lol. he’ll be in the first part. Also, this is an AU!! For spooky season!! thank you so much for reading!!

*the chat font is the diary entry and it goes back to normal at the end*

August 22nd, 1983 It's been a few months since i've written in this thing. I thought it'd be a good time to start now since I finally made it to high school!

You know what that means? Four more years till I leave this shithole!! Better than five. June was actually waiting by the door when I got home, she really wanted to hear every detail of how it went. I told her about my classes, I have Jonathan in two and Nancy in several. I told her how the school and people were so different from anything I was used to. But, it doesn't take her long to find something wrong with the way I think. She started with her usual warnings and advice, all the things I need to avoid, all the mistakes I shouldn't make. I know she's just trying to protect me, but it feels like she can never have trust in her little sister.

On the other hand, at least Teddy asked if I had fun. He's always been the one who knows how to lighten the mood, especially knowing how his wife is. He asked about my teachers and any clubs that looked cool enough to join. He even asked about Jonathan and Nancy.

Jonathan was definitely not as excited as me. He's quite, but he's always been that way.I know that his mom was excited for his first day of high school, she even convinced him to bring his camera. Right now, I'm trying to convince him to join the newspaper but he just shrugs me off. And Nancy, well, although it's been one–girl is practically glow. Within just 8 hours of the school day, she was able to meet a boy. She kept gushing about him and is pretty excited for the rest of the school year here. I'm genuinely happy for her.

Before June could add her two cents, I interrupted her with how I stopped by Aunt Claudia's after school to see how Dustin's day went. He was already sprawled out on the couch, 'exhausted' from fighting with his new math teacher. It had been a bit since I had seen them, I slaved away my summer at my job so stopping by, I felt grateful that they weren't even mad. I'll have to start hanging out with him again.

Anyways, I’m determined to make the most of freshman year with my friends. I’m ready to prove that I’m more than just a product of this stupid town.

Wish me luck!!

September 16th, 1983

I think I lied. I don’t know where to start…but a four year wait is too long. I don’t know where it all went wrong but it started over the weekend.

Sometimes I’d like to think that if my mom was still around, this wouldn’t have happened. Hell, June is like my mom, why did it happen. I’m talking about mother nature’s gift. It seemed as though no on thought to inform me that a girls first period would be this chaotic.

Nance and I had a movie night planned. I hadn’t really talked to her much, only in class, because her new boy toy or whatever—Steve Harrington, was taking up most of her time. I thought this would be a good time to just catch up and gossip, I was wrong. That Friday was horrible. I ended up throwing up, getting the chills, my body ached to no end. But I was still determined to make movie night happen, especially since June and Teddy were gone for the weekend.

As I was dying on the couch, Nancy finally showed up. But to my disappointment, it was only to cancel. Her and Steve were going out on their first date. I don’t know if it was how hot I was feeling or my intestines twisting, but black spots started clouding my vision. I just remember her screaming for Steve and once I knew it, I woke up in the hospital.

What I’m about to write, I’ll say with confidentiality…probably because I’m the only one reading this. Whatever.

A period is probably normal for all females. What’s not normal is having to go to the hospital and having your best friend’s boyfriend make fun of you because the doctor called you a late bloomer. I mean, she apologized but, if I could’ve just died on that bed, I wouldn’t be here.

Even June lectured me when I interrupted her weekend getaway. The whole ride home she kept complaining and saying ‘how could I not know’ and ‘you just gave us another unnecessary bill’. Like, sorry my baby’s natural response has ruined something for you.

Fuck. That’s not even the worst part. When Monday came back around, everyone was looking at me when I walked in. I know how cliche it sounds after what had just happened but knowing how popular Harrington was and who his friends were, he had already told the whole school by now. During gym, Carol and a few other girls threw pads and tampons at me. I got called ‘Bloody Mary’ and ‘Leak Freak’ in the hallways, at lunch, and anytime anyone had the chance. I tried to stay strong, I even hoped Nancy would say something to me during class or at least when she saw me but she just looked at me with sympathetic eyes. It’s just hard to believe that a few weeks ago, everything was fine. We were making fun of our teacher, gossiping with Barb, and even went shopping but I guess things change. Now when I look at her I’m just consumed with rage.

Jonathan has been supportive, though. The evening I got out of the hospital, he had actually brought over some of my favorite snacks and listened to me cry all night. Even when the mocking was bad, he’s stuck by my side. He’s told some kids to fuck off, walks me to class, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong but knowing that I have to wake up and go through it again doesn’t really ease my pain.

I feel like my chances of making friends and actually joining some clubs are ruined. When I try talking to some new, they give me dirty looks. When I go to ask about different clubs, they turn me away. I’ve lost hope. Thought this was suppose to be a fresh start but I guess not.

And just to add more salt to the wound, I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes and drift to away, I’m met with such an unsettling environment. The atmosphere is thick, groggy, red. It’s coated in fog, but a man I’ve never seen before always walks through it. He says his name is Henry, he starts talking about my worries and pain. It’s always the same—he says he’s ‘there to help me’, he’s there to ‘take away the pain because he knows what it’s like’. I truly don’t know what has caused my subconscious to create things like this but I guess I’m just tired of feeling like shit.

I don’t even know why I bother keeping a journal around. Sometimes I feel like I won’t even be here in the future to reminisce on the shitty days like this. Why would I even? I guess it’s just easier to write these things down than having to say them out loud. I thought I’d be able to make my sister, aunt, cousin, and friends proud, but I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this.

Closing the diary, the blonde places it back in the shoebox you hid it in. Pushing it back under your bed, standing from the place he sat. A satisfied smirk on his face.

He’d been following your turmoil closely, knowing that this was just the turning point. Your struggles were feeding into his plans. This entry was straw that broke the camels back—your vulnerabilities, your fears, and your desperations. It was almost too easy.

“Your suffering is almost poetic,” Henry said to himself, walking out of your room, your house, determined to take action now. He planned to finally confront you, to force you to acknowledge the full extent of what your destiny could be with his help—with what he had to offer.

[impala-dreamer]

Meet Me At The Beach

A Supernatural Story

~ Texting and emails can feel so impersonal. There's nothing quite like exchanging tangible, handwritten letters with someone you love...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader, Sam Winchester

4,025 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Angst. SFW. 

A/N: This is for @jacklesversebingo "Writing Letters To Each Other" was the prompt. I hope you enjoy...

June 2

Dear Dean, 

This feels so weird. Do people really write letters anymore? Am I going to get strange looks at the post office when I go to buy a stamp? Will they even know what to do with this tiny envelope and folded piece of loose-leaf paper? I almost don’t know how to write anymore. My script looks kinda like chicken scratch, huh? Hopefully it’ll get better. It is weird not typing though. But emails just seem like work. Impersonal, ya know? Besides, it gives us something to look forward to when we hit the mailbox. Nice to open something that’s not a delinquent credit card bill, huh? 

Speaking of which- how the fuck do you do it? I just got another card canceled. My credit is non-existent. Fuck, I need to get a job. Could you imagine me in an office? High heels and panty hose and my hair tucked into a neat, matronly bun? I shudder to think! 

OK, this is weird. I just wanted to write “LOL” but it’s not an email. Or a text. Why are we doing this again? Oh, yeah, see above. 

Anyhoo- - - - I don’t even know what to say! Umm… I’m in New Orleans for a bit. Not working, just hanging out. My friend Emily from high school tracked me down online and we’ve been chatty. She’s in a band. They’re not bad. Not great, but not bad. So yeah, I took a drive down to see a show and I’m just lingering. Drinking too much, sleeping past noon. It’s fun. Nice little vacation. 

Which - ahem - you should be taking. When are you gonna get your ass out of that dusty old bunker and stick your toes in the sand? I already told you I’d meet you in Pensacola with sunscreen and a cooler of beer. You know you want to. Or are you just scared to show off your ugly toes in flip flops? Your boots might actually cry if you ever took them off, so I guess it’s just as well. 

Hey, do you remember that night in Richmond when it started pouring and your boots sank into the mud puddle? God, that was a mess. We were soaked to the bone. Nice way to warm up, though - cuddled in the back of the Impala. I miss that car. Sometimes, I think I can hear it at night when the world is quiet and the wind is still. It’s like the engine roars in the back of my mind and I start thinking about all our adventures, all the time we spent driving into the sunset. 

I miss you. Is that wrong? I probably shouldn’t. Or at least, I shouldn’t tell you that I do. But I do. I miss you so bad sometimes that it hurts. Like someone has punched me right in the chest. Maybe we can end up in the same town soon. Grab some tacos and sit on the hood. Make a mess. I’d like that. 

OK, before I get too emotional and start asking you to run away with me, I think I’ll end this ranting scribble of horrid handwriting. 

Write me back soon.

Love, Y/N

June 21 

Y/N- 

Your handwriting does not look like chicken scratch. I like it. Mine is like some toddler just learning his letters. Whatever. I never learned that fancy shit. I can sign my name and make a grocery list. That’s all I need. 

This is weird, yeah. But it’s kinda nice. Feels more… like you’re here. Does that make sense? Like seeing your handwriting, the dents in the paper- I don’t know. Just feels more real. Like you’re not just some computer talking back at me. Also there’s something strange about answering questions weeks later. I meant to write this sooner, but I got a little distracted. There was a Kung Fu marathon on and I just lost track of time. Too much pizza, not enough Carradine. Ya know? You know. 

Remember that horrible motel in Raleigh when we both caught that nasty stomach bug and stayed up all night watching old tv shows? Saltines and Little House. I’ll never forget it. You were so sick that day. Shit, I was sure I was gonna end up taking you to the hospital. Sure, I was puking too, but you looked like death. I hated that. Hated that I couldn’t help you, make you feel better. I did cook up a mean chicken noodle soup though, didn’t I? Not that it stayed down for long. 

Thank god for that yellow Gatorade. And yes- it’s fucking yellow. Not green. 

Anyway- I miss you too. I try not to, I really do. Not all the time, no offense, but sometimes I’m just fucking insane with shit going on. But at night, especially, I miss having you beside me. I miss rolling over and seeing you there, or hearing you snore. I miss feeling your freezing feet under the blanket. I don’t know, I just- 

What can I say? I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m the biggest piece of shit in the universe. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. 

Can’t change the past. Just gotta move on. 

Maybe someday you’ll forgive me. I hope so anyway. 

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dump that all out in a letter. I almost ripped this all up and started over. I actually let it sit for a day before I came back to it. But, fuck it- we said we were gonna write to each other and be honest, and here I am, being honest. 

Fuck, I’m so tired. That kinda tired when sleeping for ten days wouldn’t even put a dent in it. Yeah, OK, so things are getting a little better. Chuck’s gone for good this time. Jack’s got things back in place, even made a few improvements. Sam’s- well, he’s Sam. He’s fine, doing his thing. The dog is- did I tell you we have a dog now? Yeah, I know. Me and a dog- yeah right. But we do. Miracle. He’s a good boy. I’ll send you a picture soon. 

Never thought I could slow down like this. Feels like for the first time we can just - work. I mean, I’m never gonna give up hunting, not totally, but- feels like I could just ease back a bit. Been looking at some jobs in town- nothing crazy, fixing engines and stuff like that. Don’t know if you remember, but I’m pretty good with my hands. 

Did you blush? 

You did. 

OK. I guess- that’s it for now. I have no fucking idea how to end this so - bye?

~ Dean

P.S.  I’ll meet you at the beach soon. I promise.

Fifteenth of July 

To Whom It May Concern:

Re: Beach Vacation

Dear Mr. Winchester, 

I am very pleased to hear that you are agreeable to meeting me at the beach. It should be delightful fun to run through the surf and hunt for sea glass with you.

Oh shit! Do you remember that new age shop in… where the fuck was that? With the sea glass necklaces in the window that I said were so pretty and the witch inside said they were blessed to give the wearer riches or some shit like that. Where was that? Who knows.

Feels like we’ve been all over the world together. Well, this country at least. Lord knows I could never get you on an airplane. If only you could drive to Paris. Did I ever tell you about my trip to France? God, it was beautiful. Rained the whole time, but it was this beautiful, warm spring rain that made everything smell like dust and petals. Not rose petals, but those little white ones that grow on trees, ya know? It was so beautiful. Fuck it. I’m taking you one day. You need to see more than the dash of your car and the backroads of America. Time to travel!

Speaking of- I’m glad you’re slowing down a bit. I know that won’t be easy for you but if you think about it, you’ve spent the last forty years running from problem to problem like a damned bomb-sniffing dog. 

A DOG?! Dean Winchester, I never thought the day would come. I can’t wait to see a picture. Don’t forget it next time. 

I think you’d be a great mechanic. It was always very hot seeing you covered in sweat and grease especially if you had those damned coveralls on. I mean… what? I don’t think about you like that anymore, you know. It’s over and done with and we’re just friends. We are friends, aren’t we? Maybe something more than friends, I guess. Ex lovers? Ew. I hate that word. Lovers. So gross. Well, then what are we? Just two souls swimming in a fish bowl…

Year after year. Day after day. Do you know that I put nearly a hundred thousand miles on my poor truck this year? Back and forth, up and down the country. I don’t have to tell you how exhausting it is. Fun, but exhausting. Rewarding, but not. I wonder how many people remember me after I leave? Does that family in New Haven think about me whenever they go into the basement and it’s no longer haunted? Is there a photo of me on a fridge in Wilmington where I saved that guy’s fiance from the vamp nest? Probably not. I’m sure people remember you - The Great Dean Winchester. The sexy hunter with the green eyes and the giant black car. You’re hard to forget. Also, you hang out with a giant. Tell Sam I said hi. 

I do remember that puke fest! And it’s green. It’s literally neon green. Fight me. 

We could probably write a book, you and me. ‘Winchester & Y/L/N Do America’. It’s a coffee table book with pictures of random diner signs and gas station bathrooms. Maybe a list of the country’s best french fry places. Shit like that. Let’s do it. I’ll call my literary agent in the morning. Ha!

SPARTA!! That’s where that damned sea glass shop was. It just hit me! Stupid brain. I swear, I’ve been hit in the head way too many times. Broken too many bones. I’m getting too old for this shit. Did you know that my left knee pops whenever I stand up now? Like, how old am I?? I can’t stand it. I need a month at a spa somewhere in the desert. That’d be nice. 

Damnit. I just got a call from Vinnie Alverez. Do you know him? Hunter out of Pittsburg. Anyway- he needs help on a job. Guess I’ll cut this letter short. Hopefully I’ll find a box to drop this in on the way to PA! 

Miss you. 

Sincerely yours, 

Y/N

P.S. - I do forgive you, Dean. Of course I do. Things were just too hard back then. Life didn’t want to cooperate for us. It’s not your fault. Not my fault. It just was. Please don’t carry that guilt in your heart. You deserve better than that. 

August 2

Dear Y/N- 

You’re a real character, you know that? Love the corporate letter. I’m in for the book by the way. Could be awesome. We do need a full chapter on onion rings though. Make a note. 

I heard about your hunt in Pittsburgh. Came through the grapevine that you kicked some serious wolf ass. Nice job, kid. Hope you’re being careful. I know how bullheaded and impulsive you can get when you’re in the zone. Just watch your back, OK? Promise me. Last thing I wanna hear is that you got your heart clawed out or you’re walking around with a demon in your ass. 

Demons. Haven’t seen so many running around lately. Queen Rowena’s been keeping them in check. So fucking weird that she’s in charge now. Not that I’m surprised- she’s a badass bitch. If I had a nickel for every ruler of hell I was friends with, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. The kids still say that, don’t they? See, I’m not old. I keep up with pop culture and shit. Started watching the tik toks. I still don’t get it, but I like the woodturning stuff. Thinking about taking up whittling. Maybe carve you a keychain so you stop losing them. 

I got a call for a job interview. Chickened out though. I don’t know if I’m ready to start all that, ya know? Start a real life in the real world- just seems- I don’t know, scary. Yeah, I’ve faced every deadly thing on this and other worlds but the idea of getting a 9 to 5 civilian job scares me. I’m some kinda fucked up, huh? 

I think about it a lot though. Getting a job, finding a little house somewhere, settling down. A little fenced in yard so Miracle can run around and dig up dirt. Might put a rocking chair on the porch and watch the clouds, some shit like that. Would you come visit me in my Barbie dream house? I’ll cook you breakfast every morning and you can rub my feet at night. Real cozy couple stuff. 

OK, so maybe I’m thinking about you more and more these days. Maybe I’m regretting leaving. Maybe I’m just an idiot daydreaming about meeting you somewhere in the middle and sweeping you off your feet. One of those running hugs that hurts when you collide but ends in a kiss that makes everything feel better. I’m a real romantic fuck, huh? I was digging through my drawers yesterday and I found a pair of your socks. Those tiny ones that barely covered your ankle. I don’t know why they were stuffed in the back of the dresser, but there they were. Dingy white socks with the pink threads on the toes. I’ll bring them to the beach when we meet up. 

Oh, Sam says hi and he hopes you’re good and he wants you to shoot him a text when you can. You can do what you want, but you better not mail him a letter. That’s just for me. God, my hand is cramping up. I’m not used to this. Oh, and you’re not alone. My knee creaks like a haunted house when I go up stairs now. And my right wrist pops, and my neck makes this weird almost squeaking sound, and my ass- well, I could go on, but just know you’re not alone. Kinda weird to think that we lived long enough to be this old, ain’t it? I never thought I’d live to be thirty and here I am staring down 42. Forty Fucking Two. Can you believe that shit? Goddamnit I got old. Let’s go find a nursing home together. Maybe we can get a double room- or a king sized bed?

Think about it. We could be cranky old people together. Losing our memories and shuffling around with walkers and shit. You’d look cute with white hair. And fuck, my beard’s already going gray. Should I grow out my beard? 

Write back soon. I really like seeing your letters in the box. 

Dean  x

My dearest Dean Winchester, it is with great happiness that I write this letter to you and I do hope that it finds you well and happy and all good things and I can’t keep this formal shit up. Ha!

Anyway- but yeah, things are good. I know it’s been a while since I’ve written, but I was on a little trip around the continent. Headed up to Montreal for a bit. Killed some nasties, salted some bones, generally fucked around. My beloved truck crapped out in Burlington, Vermont, so I had to hang out there for a while and gather my resources to get a new vehicle. I think you’d like her. Green Ford Explorer from ‘94. OK, she’s not as sexy as the Impala, but she gets me where I need to go. Which, apparently, was Maine! I met up with some friends in Greenville. Cute little town full of witchcraft. So much fun. Also had a lobster roll on a pier… I swear to god, they plucked this thing right out of the water and slapped it on a buttered roll. You’d LOVE it. I’m gonna take you there someday. 

Speaking of- We need to make plans for Florida. I picked up a little bikini on my travels and I think I really need to show it off. Maybe you could be my bodyguard and keep the creeps away while I’m sunbathing? To repay you for your services, I’ll gladly let you take it off me at night…

Oh, and I’ve thought about this extensively, and I believe that you should, in fact, grow your beard out. Like, full on, bushy lumberjack beard. I can’t wait to see all that gray. You know I have a thing for older men… and you’ll always be older than me, Dean Winchester and don’t you forget it!

And for your information, I don’t lose my keys anymore! I got one of those… apple taggy things. Now I know where they are at all times. Can’t find my phone to find them sometimes, but that’s another issue. 

Two weeks later, I’m picking up my pen again. Sorry this is taking forever. Things are stupid busy. I wish I could just… put this fucking gun down and go live with you on a farm somewhere. Not a working farm, we wouldn’t keep pigs or anything because gross, but a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Big white house with a giant tree in the yard and a tire swing and a picket fence and a kid chasing the dog around and - 

Shit. Do you ever think about it? I do. A lot. More than I’d like to and it fucking cuts me up inside every time. I know we could never have kept it, and life- I mean- it just wasn’t meant to be. But I do think about it sometimes. Imagine if we’d just walked away from the life and tried to be a family? Impossible, I know. Maybe in another life. 

Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck. Ignore me. I haven’t slept in a while and I just

I want to see you. Can we meet somewhere? Wherever you want. I’ll come to you. 

~ Y/N 

Dear Dean, 

This is my second attempt at writing this. Crumpled up the first one because I’m an idiot. Am I an idiot? Did I piss you off with the last letter? I honestly didn’t mean to. I just- we said we’d be honest, and you’ve been so open in your letters that I thought it was ok to talk about, but I guess not. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have dug that stuff up. 

I’m so tired and stressed and I miss you so much. Since we’ve been writing back and forth it’s almost like I can’t stop thinking about you. I get so fucking excited to check the mail whenever I roll back into town. It’s like… I don’t know, it’s like Christmas every time I see your handwriting in my box. Remember the time you wrote your name on my thigh in Sharpie? That stayed on for like a week. I shoulda gotten it inked on. That’d be something, huh? Branded by a Winchester. 

Fuck, Dean, I really hope you’re not mad at me. I really want to call you, but we said we wouldn’t. Just write me back, please. 

I’ll be in your neck of the woods next week. Got turned onto a haunting up in Abilene. Maybe we can meet on the road somewhere? Please? 

Hey, did you know there’s a Hunter, Kansas? Wonder why they didn’t build the bunker there. I don’t know, made me laugh when I was looking at the map. 

Anyway- Please write me back. Or call. Or text. Or send a damned pigeon with a tiny letter taped to its foot. I don’t care, how, just do it please. Even if you’re mad at me and don’t want to talk anymore, I get it. But please. Just let me know, OK?

I’m sorry. 

Love, Y/N

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t know you and my brother were writing to each other like this, but I found your last few letters to him in his private P.O. Box. I didn’t even know he had one of his own, but I guess we all keep secrets from those we love. I hope you don’t mind that I read your letters. Not all of them, but the last two that came through. Please know that Dean would have responded if he could have, I know he would have. He talked about you a lot recently. Said you two were in contact and that he was hoping to find some time to meet you for a vacation. I don’t know where you guys were planning on going, but I found a new Hawiian shirt in his closet with the tags still on it. 

I know we spoke on the phone after he passed, but I wanted to send this to you. I was cleaning up his stuff and found his notepad. Looks like he’d started a letter before we left for Canton. I think he’d want you to have it. 

I’m closing up the Bunker soon. I don’t really know where I’ll go, but I can’t be here right now. Not without my brother. 

I’ll always be around if you need anything or want to talk. I’ll always answer the phone for you, Y/N. 

Be well,

Sam Winchester

Y/N/N, 

If I could take it back I would. Every fucking word. I think about it now and I know we made the wrong choice. I know we could have made it work if we tried. But we are both total fuck ups who can’t be normal. We just can’t. 

Forgive me

That’s dog slobber up there, not tears. Just fyi. Definitely not tears. I think I might have been a little drunk when I started writing and then well-

Anyway- Maine sounds awesome. We were there once but no time for lobster rolls. Guess I missed out. 

Not much to report since the last letter. Been kinda quiet here. But… I did apply for a job. Well, I filled out the application. Well, I started filling it out. It’s actually underneath this notepad right now. I’ll get to it. I will. I just need a good kick in the ass. Or maybe a pinch… wink wink

I absolutely think we need to get together. Pick some place stupid like the World’s Largest Frying Pan or South of The Border. I’ll meet you. Just say when. 

Guess this letter will take a little longer to finish. We’re leaving for Ohio in a little bit. There’s a buncha vampire dicks making a mess. Gonna take ‘em to batting practice. Show them my machete swing. I’ll give a full report when we’re back home

Dean Dean, 

I made it to the beach. It’s hot, like stupid hot. Had to stand in the water just to keep my toes from burning. I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to think of something to say, but all I can say is I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here with me. I wish things had been different. I wish and wish and wish. 

If I throw this into the ocean will it get to you somehow or will my words just wash away like the sand? 

I’ll see you again someday. I hope so, anyway. Let’s just pretend I’m destined for Heaven. I know you’re up there. You were too good not to be. You sacrificed so much, cared so much, saved so many people. I know you made it. If there’s any mercy in this universe, I’ll be up there someday too. Just don’t have too much fun without me. 

I love you, Dean. Always. 

Y/N

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[turbulentscrawl]

Ganji Gupta General HCs

I'm unable to make a header for Ganji at the moment, but I'll add one to the post later when I can get on my good desktop.

Edit: Added!

-First of all, in case it isn’t clear, Ganji started the fire. However, it’s important to note that Ganji chose arson for a few specific reasons. Plausible deniability was one. The second was that a fire gave people a chance to escape. Ganji believes in something along the lines of karma (I’m not especially religious or philosophical myself so I don’t feel inclined to pick one in particular for him), and a fire better allowed that to step in and save his targets. If the universe or whatever higher power, decided they deserved to live then they would, and Ganji could rest assured that they weren’t a wholly bad person. All but that child perished in the smoke and flames, though, so that settles that doesn’t it?

-Ganji is a man suffering from disillusionment. This is the result of him being taken advantage of. He left everything behind, came to another county just for the sport he loved, for his passion, only to find out that he was seen as nothing more than a novelty item. Something—not even a someone—kept around because his very existence was “amusing.” Disgusting.

-And it all happened because he’s naïve. He knows this, and just about everyone that’s around him for more than a day knows it, so now he’s incredibly protective of that aspect of himself. He’s not self-conscious of it or anything, he knows that naivety is just as aspect of someone being kind and trusting, but he’ll be damned if he lets someone else use him to their benefit again.

-Like Andrew, he’s developed a tendency to be sharp and reclusive as a defense mechanism. However, his emotional walls aren’t as thick, as dense. In a way, his hurt runs less deep because he doesn’t have self-hatred to factor into the cocktail of his pain. He warms to people faster and has a sweeter disposition under his cover…but you’ll have to be persistent if you want to get to that point. Ganji will shrug off offerings of kindness several times before giving someone a chance.

-In-line with his kindheartedness, but counter to the façade he puts up, Ganji can’t ignore someone else in real need. His mask falls as soon as someone’s peace or safety are threatened. He’s either the greatest hero or the biggest liability to have in a match because he can and will charge head-long into a hunter if it means saving another survivor. Even the ones he doesn’t like all that much. Additionally, he’s generally willing to argue on behalf of someone not willing to speak up for themselves.

-This boy is hard-headed. Stubborn! There are so many stupid hills he’s willing to die on. But he’s also not very good at arguments (which is unfortunate, considering the above hc), he stumbles over his words a lot, jumbles his points up. He sounds a lot more put-together in writing than in person, but his handwriting is atrocious so honestly good luck reading it. Poor guy is at a communication crossroads and both roads lead to embarrassment.

-As one might guess, this all makes Ganji very one-track minded in matches…and with most of his problems in life. Something wrong, anything? Swing the bat. At a ball, at a head. You know, whatever the situation calls for.

-His nativity also means that he doesn’t pick up on flirtation well. Someone either has to be very direct or very patient for Ganji to pick up on their interest. When he does catch on, he’s hesitant to reciprocate. He can’t deny the appeal of relationships, but he hasn’t had one since before he left home. Things are different. Really different, considering the manor…but it’s not hard to convince the guy to give love a chance as long as you’re not overly pushy.

-He spends a lot of free time at the manor trying to get people to play cricket with him. It doesn’t matter that no one else is really good at it, he just misses playing. William and Mike are the only ones who agree regularly, and that’s certainly not enough people. Most others only play along for Ganji’s birthday.

[charliehoennam]

from cramps to comfort

a/n: my bestie @harmonity-vibes has been having a bit of a tough day and i just wanted to make something nice for her. luv u, hon 💗

pairing: tommy cahill x f!reader

summary: you're on your period, everything sucks so tommy makes it his mission to help you feel better

warnings: mentions of blood, period, fluff, language, not proof-read

Getting off of work is the only thing you've been looking forward to the entire day. All you can think about is getting home and stewing yourself in a nice, hot bath to relief the aching cramps you’ve been feeling.

The day started off terribly wrong right off the bat. You had felt the cramps settling in the previous day and you even set a pad to try and prevent any accidents, but that was a total failure.

You woke up to the large red stain on your bedsheets and you just knew it was going to be one of those days.

As if the staining paranoia and the gut-twisting cramps weren’t enough to make you constantly uncomfortable, you also struggled to deal with your stupid fucking hormones.

Everything and everyone have been annoying or frustrating you for the past couple days. You hate that you feel like ripping everyone’s heads off and having their spleen for dessert. It’s not their fault; you’ve even managed to piss yourself off to the brink of tears. You just can’t help it.

You had no choice, but to brace yourself for the day. You thought about calling in sick, but you figured you could suck it up and face the day. It’d be over quickly and there was so much that you had to do.

After a hot shower to clean yourself up, you got dressed and took your phone from its charger by your nightstand in your rush to catch up with the clock.

Seeing Tommy’s name on the screen almost makes you forget about the pain.

“Morning, beautiful 🥰 Feeling better? Hoped we could have dinner together tonight?”

You read his message, but you have no time to write back. You’re running late thanks to your alarm and mother nature, so you scramble through your apartment to grab everything you could need.

The minute you lock your door, your phone starts buzzing. You lift it up to see who’s calling you and see your boyfriend’s face smiling back at you.

“Hey, Tommy”

“Morning, baby. You missed your alarm again?”

“Yeah, I think I forgot to set it last night. I really passed out, I was so tired.”

He can hear your footsteps going down the stairs as you make your way to the front entrance.

“Are you feeling any better though? You said you were feeling icky yesterday.”

“And now I know why. I got my period.”

“Oh, damn. I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s not your fault, babe. Just Mother Nature being a bitch.”

“Is there anything I can d-“

“Fucking son of a bitch” you grumble as you push the stuck door to open. “Door never works. Sorry, babe. What did you say?”

“I asked if there’s anything I can do?”

“No, Tommy” you say holding your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you fish for your bus pass in your bag. “Fuck!” you groan. “Why can’t anything go right today?”

“What happened?”

“I gotta go back for my stupid fucking bus pass. I forgot it at home.”

“Baby, lemme give you a ride. I’m just a couple blocks over anyways.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be going to work? I don’t wanna make you late.”

“You won’t be, alright? Just wait there and I’ll pick you up, ok?”

“Alright, Tommy. Thank you so much.”

“See you in ten minutes, babe.”

You hang up and sit on the curb to wait for your boyfriend. The cold air tightens your muscles and you’re reminded of the pain in your core. You took medicine in your morning rush, but apparently, it wasn’t enough to numb it out entirely.

You sit and wait with your head tucked down over your arms. You’re so ready for the day to end.

Tommy soon arrives to pick you up as promised, but the wide grin on his face quickly disappears when he realizes how shitty you’re actually feeling.

It breaks his heart to see you in pain and feeling down in the dumps. He’s got a natural instinct for making people laugh and feel good. Not being able to do even that makes him feel useless.

It reminds him of the mental breakdown his brother went through years ago. Although he's gotten better and was able to return to his family a recovered man, depression hits him from time to time when he remembers what he had to endure.

Tommy never fails to cheer him up and remind him that he's a survivor. He might not be a doctor, but he does whatever he can to remind his loved ones that they are loved.

He listens to you vent on route to your workplace, making encouraging remarks when you mention your driving test is today during your lunch break. Tommy does his best to lift your spirits and reminds you of how well you’ve done during his lessons.

He’d been teaching you for the past couple weeks and, although he says you’ve improved a lot, you’re still nervous about the test because the instructor you were paired up with wasn’t exactly the friendliest of folks. It also didn’t help that Tommy is your boyfriend; he could be a little biased.

As you arrive at work, you thank him for the ride and kiss him good-bye. The hand he sets on your cheek makes you want to cancel the entire day just to be with him.

“Hey… All you gotta do is try the best you can today. And if it doesn’t go well, there’s always a tomorrow.”

His gentle voice chases your worries away.

“I know, baby. Thank you. Wish me luck?”

“All the luck in the world, sweetheart. Lemme know how it goes?”

“I will,” he pecks you once more before you climb out of his truck.

“Dinner at your place or mine?” he questions rolling the window down.

“Uhm, mine? Is that ok?”

“Fine by me, beautiful. Have a nice day. Love you!”

“Love you too” you chuckle and step back to let him roll the window back up. Tommy waits until you’re safely in the building to drive away.

Despite your best efforts, the day does not go as well as you had hoped.

The driving test was a total dud. Your instructor was a grade-A asshole. Your boss is riding you over some stupid report he managed to lose and accused you of not handing it in. Your insides feel like knives are churning in your walls. The headache you already took a second dose of painkillers after lunch still persists.

You can’t stop watching the clock and it seem that, as it gets closer to clock-out, time seems to go by even slower.

While you wither away at work, Tommy heads to the local drugstore. Standing the middle of the aisle, he stares at the vast variety of pads and tampons with a store basket in hand.

"What the f-" he whispers to himself as his eyes roam around in confusion. "Why does there have to be so many?"

His brows furrow like he's trying to build a spaceship. He picks one up to read the packaging. It might as well be in a foreign language because nothing makes sense to him.

He has no idea what difference between a pantyliner and overnight pad is. He doesn't understand why the tampons come in sizes.

Desperately confused, he whips his phone to dial his brother's number.

"Sam, hey! You got a minute?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"I'm trying to get some lady shit for my girlfriend, but I don't understand any of this stuff."

"Yeah, I've been there before."

"Like how do i know what her size is? Is it like the size of her lady bits?"

"No," Sam chuckles. "It's according to her flow."

"How the fuck do i know that?"

"Just get the medium tampons when in doubt. And I'd suggest taking overnight pads. Some girls don't like sleeping with tampons."

"Alright. What are wings though? Should I get them with or without the wings?"

"They're like parts that open up and stick to the underwear, so it doesn't keep moving around. I always get the ones with wings."

Tommy nods and places the phone to hold with his shoulder as he grabs the products from the shelves and sets them in the basket.

"You should probably take some Pamprin too. Midol doesn't work for every girl."

"What the fuck is that?" he frowns.

"Medicine for cramps, Tommy. And my tip? When you're in her bathroom, take pictures of the brands she uses so you don't forget."

"Fuck, I didn't think of that. I gotta do that. Thanks, man."

With 5 minutes left of the extra hours you had to put in due to the driving test, you gather your things and head to the bathroom for a quick tampon change before starting your journey home on the bus.

You haphazardly wrap your scarf around your neck and hook your jacket on to finally make your long-awaited exit, thankfully the day is done.

The door flies open as you eagerly walk outside, but you freeze in your stride as you see Tommy standing in the parking lot, stood against his truck smoking a cigarette as he waits for you in the blistering cold.

He grins watching your face light up at the surprise.

“How long have you been waiting out here?”

“Not too long,” he lies. He’s freezing his balls off, but he doesn’t want to make you feel bad about it, especially since the intention was to surprise you. “I thought you could use a ride.”

“I most definitely can,” you nod walking towards him as he stomps his cigarette out.

He flashes a dopey smile as he cranes his head to kiss you hello. He tastes like smoke, but you don’t mind it. You’re just happy to see him and to feel his prickly beard on your skin.

“Got a couple things for you,” he smirks down at you.

“Oh? Like what?”

“You gotta get home and see,” he chuckles slyly.

You and Tommy had given each other a copy of your home keys as a special milestone in your relationship. It was a major step for him. His time in prison taught him to appreciate his freedom and personal space more, so allowing you to come and go freely meant he trusts you beyond comprehension.

“Just tell me there’s food. I really don’t wanna cook tonight.”

“There’s food, baby. I promise,” he smirks opening the passenger door to help you climb inside.

After a short straight drive home, you head up to your apartment and gasp as you walk inside.

On the table, you find a beautiful bouquet of flowers set in a pretty vase. That wasn’t there before. On the breakfast bar, you see you a box of pizza along with your favorite chips and chocolates all arranged neatly.

“There’s your favorite Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer too. And,” he pauses to walk over to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag off the counter. “I wasn’t sure what products you like better. I don't really understand this stuff but I got you medium tampons, night pads, Pamprin and some fuzzy socks,” he grins proudly. “I just thought they were cute.”

You laugh as you walk over to hug him, tears prickling at your eyes.

“Baby, this is so thoughtful. Thank you so much.”

 “Are you crying?” he asks worriedly.

“Yeah, but to be fair, I’ve cried like three time today already. It’s beyond my control. I’m just so tired and in pain all the time.”

“Aw, baby. I’m sorry. That’s gotta be tough. Is there anything else I can do? I-I can run you a bath? Hot water helps, right?” You nod in agreement.

The bubble bath you soak in melts your pain away. It could just be the medicine working, but the warmth of the water provides the relief you’ve been seeking the whole day.

Looking over at the feminine products on the bathroom sink counter, you smile to yourself wondering how you had managed to get so lucky with Tommy.

He might be a little rough around the edges. He smokes, he curses like a sailor, he’s got a temper, but he also takes care of you so well unlike any of your exes ever have before or at least he tries to.

“How you doing in there, sweetheart?” he smiles, snapping you out of your thoughts as he leans in the doorway already dressed in his warm sweatpants and white t-shirt.

“This feels so fucking good. You have no idea.”

“I don’t mean to rush you, baby. But the pizza’s all heated up. You need to eat too.”

“I know, I’m just so tired to move.”

“Yeah? Do you want me to help?” he asks genuinely worried. “I can dry you off and-and, you know…p-put it in you?”

You follow his hands as he reaches for the open box of tampon and takes one out to study it curiously.

“How the hell do you get this inside though?” he asks frowning confusedly as he lifts the box to read the instructions.

“Where’s the applicator? Wait, was I supposed to buy that too? Does that come separately?”

Despite his eagerness to help, you can tell he’s slightly nervous of the idea of putting a tampon in you. The instruction and the product alone have him so baffled.

Your laughs echo through the bathroom as he blushes and chuckles along shyly.

“I’m just saying, I ain’t scared of a little blood.”

“Thanks, babe. But I got it under control.”

[fumifooms]

I think you made me start shipping Marchil

Your posts got me thinking about their dynamic then I wrote a fic that was supposed to be platonic but midway through I realized it could actually be interpreted as romantic too and now I'm just sad about how little time they'll have together

First of all, you have a lovely icon, second, I’m so honored… I finally read Not a bad way to go and it was soo so good like. My god!!! Pre-canon is underused and you did so many interesting things with it.

It sounded like a cruel joke, that the one who needed her concern the most was also the one least interested in it.

^^^ go read it go read it

Chilchuck was drunk enough that he needed to hold onto the walls not to fall, but apparently still sober enough to remember emotional vulnerability was his worst enemy, as he made sure to avert her eyes and said: “Namari made me come talk to you ” to make it clear he wasn't being nice voluntarily.

Yeah.

“Of course I'm scared of dying.” He scoffed. Did she really think so little of him? “But if I could choose, I would want to die doing something I love, like drinking. Or maybe fucking,”

Maybe you wish you didn’t know but my new favorite HC because of this is that Chil dies yes prematurely not of liver failure though but during coitus. Especially if marchil, the thought of him busting a nut and his heart giving out makes me laugh so hard. My god. Lmao. Oh god. Lmfao. Worst day of her life

Marcille knew Chilchuck wasn't a kid, but she often struggled to take him seriously as an adult because he was just so adorable and small. In this moment, however, she saw them exactly for what they were, even if it was just a glimpse. A sheltered, naive little girl trying to tell a tired, much more experienced man how to live the rest of his life.

Standing ovation

She tried to find an explanation to give him, but she couldn't even find one for herself. Why would she miss him? He was just Chilchuck, her coworker, Chilchuck who was cold, aloof, sometimes crass, evasive, and even outright mean. He who was level headed, reliable, trustworthy, perceptive and clever. He who had the least time left, even in a best case scenario. “I guess that despite your best efforts, there's still a lot to like about you.”

This fic goes so hard, standing ovation pt 2

“I just think it's better if we don't get too close. Don't you agree?” “I… maybe” she said, uncertain as he didn't know how to feel about that. Caring about people would only hurt her in the wrong run, she knew that, but unfortunately she couldn't help it.

I looove how they can be read to be similar on this aspect. My hand clenching around my phone as I rear up to rant about Marcille and the way she does keep people at an arm’s length subconsciously again my god my goood. Obsessed with this obsessed with this, underused for marchil. Terrified of loss through death vs rejection duo I love youuu

Brilliant ending I’m in shambles. I’m not gonna spoil it

You get marchil so much you truly do. The way they mesh, the way their views on mortality clash and both soothe & bruise… He doesn’t have much time left even in best case scenario (which Mr I won’t eat well I’ll drink and smoke a lot I’ll stress all day every day is determined to not make happen) which makes it all the more meaningful for Marcille’s arc when she learns from him to finally enjoy the present moments… It’ll only be a fraction of her life, but to him he’s giving her the rest of his life. What are some decades of love worth? Worth it, surely, if nothing else

[belli5]

Boxer — King Kenny

Pairing: king Kenny x f!reader

Warnings: violence, comforting, not proofread

Summery: based on this request. I was unfortunately too lazy to write🥲

A/n: i dont know how to comfort people tho..?! 😭🙏🏽

Masterlist

Today was Kenny’s boxing match, which you were obviously were so excited to see. Even though all the times you’ve seen Kenny fight, you still got nervous he might get hurt, even though he has always said that he never gets injured or hurt.

Which you didn’t believe because, everyone sometimes get hurt.

As me, Niko, Aj, Sharky and Chunkz were walking to our seats which was front row, there was a nice middle aged man who nicely asked if he could take picture of all of us, which to you of course agreed.

On your left side you saw a guy filming you all as you got the pictures taken. “Y/n, are you excited for Kenny tonight?” The guy who was filming asked you.

“Absolutely,” you began “im really excited for Kenny! He’s been working so hard, and it’s great to see him out there giving his best. I’m really nervous tho.” You spoke into the microphone other guy was holding.

He asked some more questions, and after going to your seats. You listened to the details of Kenny’s opponent, as the announcer talked.

Next they called Kenny’s height and weight, etc. the room was filled with screaming and cheering.

You watched from not far, your arms crossed as you watched Kenny’s brother talk to him. Your heart started beating faster when the bell rang for the match to begin.

Kenny and his opponent, both men sized each other up and tested each others weaknesses with quick jab and punches. You tried hard not to gasp each time he got hit, but it was hard.

She felt the worry seep out of her when he got hit again, Kenny of course quickly brought his arms up to block himself from being hit again.

Then, his body lurched forward and he tried to hit his target, missing by an inch and getting socked in the stomach. What was happening? You felt yourself tensing and inching closer to the ring.

Finally the rang bell meaning it was end of the round one, just as you leaned closer. Kenny went to his corner talking with his brother. You could just hear how his brother was yelling at him.

Niko saw how tense you were, so he put his arm around your shoulder to make you feel better, “Don’t worry y/n. It’s just round one, Kenny will come back. He always does.”

You looked up to him as he was much taller than you, sending him a comforting smile and thanking him. You were so grateful for friends like them.

The bell rang once again, round two starting, you sat back into your seat fully.

It was only 30 seconds into round two, you honestly didn’t know why you were so tense, it was boxing match after all, but you were worried for Kenny.

Kenny’s opponent swung once again, but this time Kenny managed to dodge the swing and counter it with a jab straight to the cheek. The punch knocked his opponent back, and Kenny took the chance to get in a few more.

The crown cheered for Kenny and so did you and the beta squad.

Just as it seemed like things were on Kenny’s side, suddenly everything went wrong. His opponent finally made a move, he managed to to bring his own leg up and deliver a kick to Kenny’s lower leg, tripping him.

The crowd’s cheers instantly dropped, and were replaced with boos. The rules had specifically stated that you couldn’t hit below the belt, hold, trip, kick, headbutt, wrestle, bite, spit on, or push your opponent.

“He can’t do that!” Sharky pointed towards the ring as he shouted at the referee who was making his way towards it.

Referee gave Kenny some seconds so they could continue fighting, you just hoped that it was going off the opponents points.

The match had ended and Kenny had won, after coming back just like Niko had said. But you were still worried, I mean the guy tripped Kenny, and Kenny did take some punches.

When they finally let you in the ring, you went straight to Kenny and when he saw you, he hugged you tightly and slightly picking you up.

It was kinda gross to be fair, from his sweaty body you were sure your top was gonna be wet. When he put you back on the ground he saw the look on your face.

“What happened?” Kenny asked, “are you not happy?”

“No, of course I am happy.” You assured him “I just was so worried, you tripped-”

“Girl, I’m just fine.” He laughed, trying to make you feel better “that trip was nothing, and it was just bad for him.. he got points taken off, not me.” He put his hands in the air.

“I know, I just don’t wanna see you hurt..”

“Well I’m not. I’m totally fine.” He told you, raising his hand up to your cheek “in fact, don’t you think I got him worse..?”

You laughed at him, “maybe.” You said and Kenny took the boxing belt off his shoulder to put it around your waist, for it to go down on your hips.

The belt was heavy, Kenny turned you around a little so you both faced a camera and they both took a picture of you both, you were definitely posting that picture later.

After interviews Kenny finally could go back to locker room, where you both went so he could change and finally go home.

Kenny sat down for a bit, and you were still concerned about him “Kenny, are you sure you’re okay though?”

“Yes I’m fine.” He answered. “Maybe just my upper thigh hurts.”

“What?” You said, walking over to him “why didn’t you say anything back then, when we were in the ring?” You asked, touching his upper thigh.

Kenny was joking with you, but you didn’t realised it. “I don’t know, guess I just wanted to tell you home..” he smirked, only making you now realise he was joking.

“Boy shut up.” You joked back at him, pushing him slightly.