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perpetuallyburntout · 2 months

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S4!Five Hargreeves x Reader

Strawberry Blonde - Mitski

‼️SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON FOUR OF UMBRELLA ACADEMY BELOW THE CUT‼️

Okay so I know I wasn’t the only person absolutely crushed by season four of Umbrella Academy, but in the middle of grieving over it, I had the best/worst idea. Technically a fanfic idea, but I don’t know if I have the commitment to write the whole thing, so if someone else would like to, by all means :)

The events of season four start six years after the end of season three. Six years of (mostly) peace. Let’s just say Five met someone in that time (for the sake of making sense, I’ll refer to them as Lover). Met someone he found himself falling for. And they fell for him, too. And it was perfect. And for the first time in a painfully long time, Five was happy. Content. He had his suspicions about how long this peace would last, but… for now, things were good. More than good, they were wonderful. He’d met the love of his life.

And then the events of season four begin to happen. And Lover is there with the group the whole time. At this point, they’re family, too. They want to help, and Five wants them to stay close to him.

Until he and Lila decide to go on their own on the subway, leaving Lover with the others. And in the seven years Five and Lila are stuck together, the same thing happens. And when they finally return, Lover knows something is off. And when the truth comes out, their whole world comes crashing down.

Diego grows angry. Lover just grows somber. It’s even worse, because when they look at Five again, his expression is different. The aching love that used to shine in his eyes whenever he looked at them… it’s dulled to something faint. Still there, deep down, but… unsure. As if he’s questioning himself. Questioning what he should do now. Who he’d pick if given the choice.

Of course, he’s not given the choice. Not even the choice to take Lover far away and talk to them and really explain and try to do something. No, no… the world’s ending. For the final time. And he knows how to make sure it never comes to an end ever again.

Lover’s there for the entire conversation. Every bit of grief and anger they’d felt towards Five suddenly melts away, replaced by desperation. They’d let the world end for the rest of eternity if… if it meant maybe things could be different. If it meant maybe he’d love them, and maybe he’d never love anyone else besides them.

They’re eventually forced to leave with Lila’s family and get on the subway. And while everyone else is confused and emotional, they’re curled on the ground, gasping and sobbing, knowing what this means.

And the Hargreeves stop the world from ending. And all the timelines reset. And everyone else in the world gets their happy ending.

And Lover thinks they’re happy. They do. But they never fall in love again. For some reason, every time they think they find someone, an aching pain in their chest makes them hesitate. An unfamiliar voice calling their name makes them pause. A flash of something, perhaps a memory, too fast to register but not fast enough to ignore the heart wrenching pain of, makes them withdraw. It’s almost as if…

They’re waiting for someone that never existed.

°。°。°。°。°。°。

So! When I had this idea, I was listening to Strawberry Blonde by Mitski, and here’s how the lyrics played out in my head:

I love everybody because I love you

When you stood up, walked away, barefoot

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape

I looked over it and I ached

(12:00 PM. August 8th, 2024. Lover’s enjoying their day in the park, sitting in the grass, eyes shut against the light breeze and warm sun. They turn to their side, almost as if to tell someone about how lovely the weather is. But no one’s there. A weird pain begins to ache in their heart.)

I love everybody because I love you

I don't need the city, and I don't need proof

All I need, darling, is a life in your shape

I picture it, soft and I ache

(Others—perhaps friends or family—come over and greet Lover, noticing their confused and distant expression, and ask what’s wrong. Nothing, they say, though they can’t escape the deep longing in their chest for… something that was never there.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

(Flashback timeeee- or… alternate timeline time? Flashback to a time in an alternate timeline, there we go.)

Reach out the car window tryna hold the wind

You tell me you love her, I give you a grin

Oh, all I ever wanted was a life in your shape

So I follow the white lines, follow the white lines

Keep my eyes on the road as I ache

(Shows Five and Lover together, in love, making memories together. Happy.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

(Events of season four began to play out, but ofc with Lover being part of the story.)

Look at you, strawberry blond

Fields rolling on

I love it when you call my name

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm?

Watching your arm

I love it when you look my way

(The climax of the story. Flashes of the last two episodes. Five and Lila returning, the explanation, the heartbreak, Five finding out how to save the world for good, Lover meeting his gaze one last time as the subway pulls away forever.)

Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah

(Lover repeating his name to themself, trying to remember for as long as possible, not able to let go.)

Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah

(Flashback ends, returns to Lover in the grass on that sunny day, murmuring the name to themself. They’re not quite sure why.)

°。°。°。°。°。°。

I hope you all enjoyed this little idea! I got a little rambly and wrote WAY MORE than I planned on, but it’s an idea I’ve fallen in love with this past hour and I wanted to be able to share it with all of you <3

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 2 months

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When They Accidentally Bring Up and Insecurity | Chan

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

The evening at Chan’s apartment was lively, filled with the hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses. You were mingling with the group, enjoying the company of friends and Chan’s younger sister, Hannah. She had flown in to help celebrate her older brother's success, and make a much needed visit to finally meet the object of Chris's utmost attention.

You guys had immediately hit it off, Hannah already talking about the wedding preparations- although Chris had yet to propose, since you had only been dating for around six months. Although, you both were for certain going to spend the rest of your lives together.

Needless to say the night had started off pleasantly, and continued to be pleasant until Chris made an unsuspecting comment.

As the evening had progressed, Chan and Hannah began reminiscing about their childhood and their close family bond to you. You wanted to know as much about Chan's family as possible, since Hannah had been the only one you had met so far. Chan was in high spirits as he talked about their family’s recent vacation and how close-knit they all were.

You listened to both of them, admiring the way they smiled the same and how they both had love and adoration pouring out of them as they spoke about their family.

Hannah then turned to you, and smiled.

"So Y/N, do you have any siblings?"

You opened your mouth to speak but Chan interupted, wanting to tell his sister all about his s/o.

"Y/N has siblings but they rarely ever talk about them. Matter of fact for the longest time I thought they were an only child." Chan said with a laugh. “Honestly, I never hear much about any of Y/N’s family,”

The casual delivery of Chan’s comment hit you hard. It felt like a sharp dismissal of your own family dynamics, and you couldn’t help but feel that your family was being trivialized or ignored. Your relationship with your siblings had always been a source of insecurity for you, and hearing Chan’s remark made those feelings painfully real.

You knew he intended to play it off as a joke; that he would never purposefully taske a low blow at your familial bonds- especially considering you didn't ever talk about your family, so he had no way of knowing just how much his words weighed.

Hannah laughed slightly and then looked over at you cautiosuly as you took a sip out of your wine glass. Chan was about to say something but Jeongin ran over excitedly with Felix, rambling on about something that Chris just had to come and see.

You took this as an opportunity to extract yourself from the conversation using the excuse of needing to go to the bathroom, feeling a wave of hurt wash over you. You needed to escape the situation and process the sting of Chan’s words, so you found a quiet corner in the apartment, away from the group.

Hannah, noticing your sudden withdrawal and sensing the discomfort, followed tentatively.

"Y/N?" She asked quietly. You looked up and smiled, silently thanking God that you hadn't shed any tears because that would have been extremely embarrassing.

"Hi Hannah." You said, trying to keep your voice even.

"Are you okay? You seem a bit...upset at what my brother said." She squeezed in next to you in the love seat you were occupying.

"I'm okay."

"You're lying." Hannah says blatantly, looking at you with a pointed look. "I'm not exactly sure what sturck a nerve, but just know my brither is dumb. He's a guy and you know guys do idiotic things sometimes." She says with a sigh. "But...if you want we can talk about it."

You swallowed and felt at ease with Hannah, which was strange considering you had just met a few hours ago. But you knew you could trust her.

"It's just...he's right about me never talking about my family. I...you know I just figured maybe he would have assumed my relationship with them was strained considering I don't bring them up often or especially considering that I moved away from them in the first place? Like...I don't know...it just...kinda sucked to hear him make that kind of joke?"

You continued ranting to Hannah and she listened attentively, while on the other side of the apartment Chris was searching for you.

"Minho have you seen Y/N or Hannah?" He asked the slightly younger member, who shrugged.

He made his way over towards the formal living room and saw you and Hannah talking animatedly.

He smiled to himself, happy that you were getting along so well with your soon-to-be future sister-in-law.

But that happiness immediately washed away when he saw you were crying.

He rushed over to you without a second thought, kneeling down in front of you.

"Baby, what's wrong? What happened?"

Hannah looked at her brother with a pointed look. "You can be rather dense big bro." She said sarcastically.

Chan looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Hannah took a deep breath, her tone careful. "The comment you made about Y/N’s family—saying it’s almost like they don’t even have a family—could be seen as dismissive. Saying things like that might make someone - in this case Y/N - feel like their family isn’t valued or important."

Chan’s face showed a mix of confusion and realization. “I didn’t mean to be hurtful. I was just commenting on our own family experiences and made a joke...”

Hannah nodded. “I understand, but sometimes comments like that can come across as more critical than intended. Comments like that might make someone feel like their family doesn’t measure up to ours.” Hannah looked at you, as you looked at Chris. "Which is nonsense. Because everyone's familial dynamics are different. You just have to take the time to understand the differences." Hannah wraps her arms around you, laying her head on your shoulder. "And Y/N will make our family even greater."

Chan’s expression shifted to one of regret as he turned to look at you. Seeing the hurt in your eyes, he gently took your hand. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize my words would come across that way. I never meant to suggest that your family isn’t important or that you don’t have strong connections. Although...I don't know about your family connections. I never asked and I'm horrible for that. I'm so sorry love.”

You looked at him, your voice trembling with emotion. “You're not horrible Chris. Don't say that. It’s not entirely your fault, I never open up about my family. I’ve always struggled with feeling like my family dynamics and the way my family functions aren’t as great as others’, and hearing that made me feel even more isolated. Even if it's true-”

Chris's face hardenened. "Its not true Y/N. Just because you're family may not be close, doesn't mean that they should be minimized to nothing by stupid comments like the one I made. And...family isn't always blood you know?" You smiled at the accent he had when saying "know". It was something that had made you melt for him so quickly after meeting him, and to this day still made your stomach flutter. "You have me, you have the guys, and now you Hannah." He said motioning to his younger sister, who looked up at you with a smile, still clinging on to you.

Chan’s face softened with genuine remorse. "I’m truly sorry for making you feel this way. My comment was thoughtless, and I should have been more aware of how it might affect you. Your family is important, and I never meant to belittle your experiences." Chan continued; his voice filled with sincerity. "I want you to know that I care about you and your family. I’ll be more mindful of my words in the future to ensure I don’t hurt you. And if it's okay with you I'd love to learn more so I can at least begin to understand."

Chan pulled you into a gentle hug, his embrace comforting. “You’re not lacking in any way. We all have different family experiences, and that doesn’t make yours any less significant. I’m here for you, and I value you and your family.”

The evening ended on a more positive note, with Chan’s apology helping to mend the rift caused by his thoughtless comment. Hannah’s intervention had been crucial in bringing the impact of his words to light, and her support was deeply appreciated.

Which you vocalized.

Along with Hannah's vocalization of Chris's idiocy.

"You can be such an idiot Chris." Hannah stated later on in the evening. The rest of the guys had gone home and it was just you, Hannah and Chris in his apartment.

You sat on the couch, waiting for your boyfriend to come back with some snacks for an all nighter cartoon marathon of Hannah's accord.

As the theme song of Adventure Time played in the background Hannah gave up on helping her brother set snacks on the coffee table and decided to come cuddle next to you on the couch.

Chris just looked in shock as his sister placed her back up against your shoulder, and kicked her feet out taking up the majority of the couch, causing Chan to squeeze in between you and the arm of the sofa.

Hannah mindlessly munched on snacks as the show played, her attention completely encapsulated with it, but Chris completely focused on his annoyance.

"Hannah you do realize that Y/N is my partner right?" He said with a huff, as you cuddled into him with a chuckle.

Hannah shrugged. "Yeah, but I could easily steal Y/N from you, I have so much rizz you can't even fathom it." She said without so much as a blink of an eye.

Chris huffed once more. "Y/N would never leave me for you."

Hannah snorted. "Never say never, Chris."

Chan looked at you as you smiled.

"You wouldn't leave me for Hannah would you jagiya?" He whispered quietly, thinking his sister was too engrossed with Jake making bacon pancakes to hear your hushed conversations.

"Never." You said quietly, pecking him on the lips.

Hannah held back the ogre-ish gag she wanted to give to tease you two, and instead smiled.

Silently agreeing with her brother that they had the best family dynamic.

Especially when you'd be joining it one day too.

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

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@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel

#christopher bang #hannah bahng #bangchan fluff #skz bangchan #skz stay #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz reactions #skz fluff #stray kids reactions #stray kids

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grlpartdoll · 6 months

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Azriel is quiet, yes, but not for the reasons people might think. It's not something he does to be mysterious — or to frighten others. Sure. It works well for that, too. But.. Truth is, he has been quiet all his life ; perhaps a symptom of always being belittled when he tried to speak up for himself, be that by his step brothers, his stepdad, or by Rhysand himself.

Azriel has never really had the luxury of having his own opinion. His life has been — for better or for worse — a binary code, 0, 1, a black and white painting, and an immense quantity of yes' and no's.

Since living with the shadows, he's had his step brothers to fear, and then when he goes into the camps, he has Cassian and Rhysand to fear — to watch his mouth around.

But of course, as the story is told, things change, and then before he knows it, he's following his new brothers into battle because even beneath it all, ignoring the fact that he has suspicions that he does not exactly belong within their troops, they're brothers, damnit, and he will walk through fire for them.

And then they grow up, and the war ends. He becomes Rhysand's father's spy, and he goes into that job without any beliefs of his own, his life built around trying to survive his abuse and then the Illyrian camps.

And when he and Cassian and Rhysand finally become old enough, and Rhysand takes the throne, well, at that point he's got an unbreakable devotion to the night court and the citizens within it, and to his brothers, too — beaten into him, caking under his nails like blood, running through his veins like some type of venom to which no one has the cure to.

But even then, when things begin to settle, and everyone finds their place in the Inner circle, he doesn't really know himself, doesn't know where his place truly is. Sure, he's devoted to something, and likes these people enough to forget himself, but. Who is he, really? What does he want? Where does he belong?

Which is why — when he meets you, something wild and free and immovable in your own beliefs and person, he can't help but find refuge there ; in your wild, unkempt person, in your loudness, your clinginess, your unashamedly huge heart.

You're a freshly born… something. The girl born from the Mother, they call you. You're created from the necessity of there being balance again in Prythian during Amarantha ; sent by the Mother to hunt the falsely crowned High Queen of Prythian, and then kill her.

For your service, after you've killed Amarantha and redistributed the power around to their respective High Lords, everyone takes an oath to protect and shelter you whenever you need it.

You spend years between Courts, refining your skills, your powers, enlisting the help of all the helpful High Lords and their Ladies. Rhysand and Feyre, after a few years and the war finally passing, both deem it safe enough and decide to introduce you to their inner circle. You're introduced to them as the person who saved Prythian, as the girl who freed Feyre and Rhysand from under the mountain.

You fall in love with Velaris, and you take a liking to the members of the inner circle. But you become closer friends with Azriel than anyone else you had ever met before.

You, from some kind of instinct or because of the unspoken link you share with Azriel, know he is lost. You are, perhaps, the first to see it.

It's easy to follow and do the same, you suppose. To copy you, devote himself to something new, something other.

But you don't want him to take you as just another thing to protect. To lose himself in. You don't want him to follow in your footsteps just because he has a personal debt unpaid to you for saving his family members, you don't want him to be to you what he is to Rhysand.

So at first, you reject him. And he takes it as well as a man like him takes any sort of rejection. He withdraws easily like a tortoise into its shell, and for a great many days, is unavailable emotionally as well as physically. You don't see him, don't hear from him.

Eventually, Feyre falls pregnant, and you're the one, with your powers, to save her and the two males along with it. Rhysand gifts you lands of your own for it. Drapes you with the honours of being their Saviour one more time.

So you go to that place — to your new home in the wild, unowned lands beside the prison — your paradisiacal islands, and begin building a life for yourself. You make your own home, on the highest cliff you can find. Rhysand provides you with workers and builders, and eventually, a tiny town begins to bloom in the islands. It's slow living, like water lapping at the shore, every member of your tiny budding city lives happily, feasting on their hunts, and on the plentiful fruits of their plantations.

Azriel comes around often by means of checking on you for Rhysand. And you accept it, even though it is a lie. Eventually, your friendship rebuilds again, though. And you know that there is no shifting point, no sudden change — but it sure feels like it, when one day you are standing miles apart, and the other, you're in his arms, letting him sway you to the sound of the waves.

The progression is slow, but as you coax him out, with a bit of rough love and a handful of gentle praise, you begin to see the little things.

His armour loosens by the day. Sometimes, when he comes to see you, meeting on the beach down the mountain where your home resides atop of, he wears only warm weather clothes. His truth teller is left behind, and he lets himself be free of what it means to be the ShadowSinger, while enhancing what it means to be HIM.

And one day you catch him drawing. He'd told you once that a lot of the things in his head often begged to get out, to find a way to be put down and kept down and out of him. You suggested drawing. And he'd huffed at first, shaking his head and murmuring about how his hands would never being able to draw up those things. Good or bad.

You'd smiled gently and shrugged ; telling him that practice made perfect — that you hadn't become good at what you do in a day, either.

The first drawing he finishes is a portrait of Velaris. As though it is something he is trying to purge from his soul — the hold this city has on him. He tries to give it to you, but you refuse. You tell him that this is a part of him and no one else should be allowed to own these drawings. That this is him, on paper, all these little sketches, and that he was the only, sole owner of them.

So he begins to put them up in the room you keep for him in your humble home atop the mountain peak. You take your time keeping them in extra good condition, and as you lay down on the sofa while he sketches you, he asks you why you spent so much of your days in his room, cleaning and removing dust, making sure everything was kept safe and remained beautiful.

And you reply that if they were precious to him, then that meant they deserved to be cherished. And it takes a moment for him to register that — sure, the inner circle loved — loves — him, in their own way, but he'd never been loved the way he needed it. Had never been so seen by someone. Rhysand saw him as his most trusted weapon, but never as the lover he could become. Rhysand did not see Azriel ever being a good lover to any of the women in his inner circle. He never saw him being good — whole — enough for it.

Cassian saw him as his brother in arms, he saw him as a man he could trust with his life when it came down to violence. But when it came to gentleness, Cassian did not. He did not blame him for it.

And Feyre, the woman he considered a sister, only saw him as the protector of her family. She had always been closer to Cassian, from them starving so young, and then finding a family of their own, they could relate. Azriel could not relate to her that way, and she knew it, too, which kept him an arm’s length from the true her.

And Mor — Mor saw him only when she felt it convenient for her.

But you. You cleaned those pieces of paper where horrors he’d seen with his own two eyes were depicted and did not flinch. You saw those happy moments, and did not ignore them, either. You did not pick and choose which sides of him you wanted. You appreciated him wholly like no one ever had.

Progress after that day only doubles.

He begins to stand up for himself. Says no to the missions he knows will only break him inside a little more when he is just starting to stitch up all his broken pieces.

He draws. And sings. At first, he sings only alone, in the vulnerability of his own room, for himself. It's a way to get his feelings out — again. But then one day you take him to the bar in Velaris during one of your stays there, and he decides to sing for you. He'd done it for himself first — because it made him happy, but now, he wanted to show you, too, that to the bottom of his soul, he was starting to find himself.

And when you cry as the song ends, he gathers you in his arms and rocks you until you can breathe steady again.

After that night, many things change.

He's away from you more, but when he is around, he's the happiest you've ever seen him be — as though a weight has finally been lifted off of his shoulders. He stays no longer than a day at a time, and each time he comes back, he brings you a new story to tell — a new discovery he's made about himself.

A year later, you're in your garden, knees in the dirt, knuckles deep in the roots of an orange tree when you hear the familiar flap of his wings in the distance. He lands outside the tiny fence you keep around the garden to limit wild bunnies munching on your fruits. He has a bag on his shoulder, no heavier than a few shirts and pants. No armour in sight. He smiles, tired and worn out, but no less free, and no less in love, and you don't question it. You only raise yourself to your naked feet and step towards him. He cups your face, and you smile, nuzzling in it, that warm, scarred hand.

“Welcome home.” You say, soft and gentle but as firm as you can make it.

He presses his forehead to yours, dips down, and kisses you.

The next morning, you wake up with sunshine lapping at your bare skin like waves, your opened french doors letting in salty sea air into the room, shifting the curtains forward and back. Your body is draped over Azriel’s, who holds you loosely at the waist, his face serene with his eyes closed and eyebrows softly curved upwards.

You trace the small smile on his lips with your longest finger. His lashes flutter, and his hazel eyes find yours. He massages your naked waist as he comes to, blinking a few times, bringing you in closer.

He touches you with reverence, with so much love it's dizzying. “I resigned from my place as Shadow Singer of the night court. I trained Nuala and Cerridwen to take my place.” He announces after a few kisses that steal the air from you.

You don't say anything because you know that at this point in time, he doesn't need your approval, or your point of view on it. He'd done this for himself, and you were beyond proud of him for choosing himself above his prior court for once.

After that day, Azriel finds himself a place in your own little world. In that community you're growing in the mountains. He doesn't leave for Velaris anymore, and when you're called in, he will join you only rarely. Not in an attempt to forget — but because he does not feel the need to. He sees Rhysand and Cassian every month, and Feyre comes up with Nesta and Gwyn and Emerie and Elain sometimes to see you, maybe once every two months, to have a girls night of sorts.

And eventually, years down the line, your little community continues to flourish. You work hard to build a safe heaven for the people that trust you — that up and left their own courts to find you. Some people from the night court, others from spring, and a grand majority from other islands faraway.

Your home builds itself so beautifully over time, that the other courts agree to count your Island as the last court of Prythian — as a sign of respect, and some kind of political grant you don't truly understand.

You don't delude yourself into thinking you're any sort of High Lady, but as you see Azriel helping your citizens with their farms, deep brown skin tanned and slick with sweat instead of blood, playing with the kids with that beautiful, beaming smile on his face, shadows dispersing to trick and make toddlers and youngsters alike giggle, helping fix homes up after rather rough storms hit your village, you think that he'd make a perfect High Lord.

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar

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wileys-russo · 1 year

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house wife II l.willamson x reader

for our charming LW6, yet another fixation of my blondie obsession.

house wife II l.williamson x reader

if they said the way to someone's heart was through their stomach, one woman who would never disagree, was leah williamson.

with no cooking ability of her own, life since living out of home had consisted of jumping from one team mates table to another when wanting a hot meal, or seemingly endless takeaway containers and microwave meals filling her yellow bins.

little did she know that was all to change, the day that leah met you.

for you, life growing up with three older brothers meant a childhood and early adolescence of rough housing, relentless teasing, and playing football with only boys. and as much as you were more than able to stand up for yourself physically when pushed around, all thanks to having three older brothers, you had always been a lover and not a fighter.

choosing your words diplomatically and carefully even from a young age your brothers often teased that you were adopted or dropped off on the doorstep by the postman one morning, all of them preferring to settle things with fists than words. but as they soon found out just because you preferred to speak things out, you weren't above a swift kick to the groin or firm punch to the stomach at their teasings.

growing up around boys, playing football with boys, befriending boys, meant you craved feminine company and attention in other aspects of life. this lead to most of your free time on a weekend spent tucked away in the kitchen with your aunts, grandmother and mother, attentively watching and eagerly learning all of the little tips, tricks and secrets of cherished family recipes.

the older you got and the more serious your football career became, the more your passion for being in the kitchen grew, cooking becoming a somewhat therapeutic escape from the pressures of the pitch.

hosting dinner parties for loved ones, dropping off baked goods and flowers to friends on birthdays, your heart swelled to see people appreciate your laboured work.

your favorite part about cooking being doing it for other people, your own little love language.

having grown up in the young lionesses playing alongside the likes of georgia stanway, alessia russo, ellie roebuck and ella toone, you had heard of leah in passing from your friends and team mates long before you actually met her.

you should have met her during your senior call up for prep camp pre olympics, but unfortunately suffering a bad tackle in your early seasons playing for man city you'd missed out on your chance due to a knee reconstruction surgery. though an also injured alessia and yourself still made sure to watch every game together on the couch at home, screaming encouragement to your friends through the tv as if they could hear you.

your confidence in your football ability took its first serious knock when you completed your post reconstruction rehab with flying colours and returned from injury, only to learn your man city contract was in fact not being renewed.

you admittedly shut down at the news, withdrawing into your shell and pushing away friends and family who attempted to console or support you .

you fell out of love with being in the kitchen, preferring instead to sit on the lounge and feel sorry for yourself as you spent time encompassed in all of the creature comforts you’d often forgo in order to be match fit and game day ready.

but all of this came to a screeching halt the day you got a call from your agent, well the day you answered a call from your agent. the older woman finishing telling you off for the days spent ignoring her, your stomach flipped as she then announced multiple clubs had been reaching out and showing interest in securing you before your man city contract was up within the week.

some of the figures and sums put forth to you that day had been more money than you ever knew.

you grew up mostly comfortable in a middle class family, but with four kids being raised by a single mum, times could be tight and often were full of over sized hand me downs and second hand boots.

there was one club offer however that peaked your interest far more than the others, which had absolutely nothing to do with money. it was the team you spent years secretly supporting behind closed doors, hiding jerseys and flags in a battered and beaten shoe box underneath your bed, lying about your whereabouts to sneak off to games.

your brothers all chelsea supporters you were sure you'd be disowned and thrown out on the streets had they discovered the arsenal merchandise squirreled away expertly all throughout your childhood bedroom.

but now all adults and very proud of you (and forever telling people they taught you all you know), you couldn't help but tease as all three of them proudly showed you the bright red shirts with your last name and number plastered across the back the day your signing with the club had been finally announced.

the sheer euphoria felt at this new opportunity meant you quickly readjusted back into life, calling and messaging friends and team mates you'd been icing out, offering sincere apologies and making plans to catch up. you returned to the kitchen, sending off cupcakes, cookies and brownies to your loved ones, cooking cosy home cooked meals for friends as they came over for dinner parties once again.

having been given a proper tour of the arsenal grounds and emirates stadium, and days spent full of media and interviews during the last of the off season, you didn't get a chance to meet your team mates until around a week and a half after news of your signing had gone public. though never being a particularly shy or outspoken individual, it didn't take long for you to get to know the team, and in turn for them to warm up to you.

leah having been given a very stern warning from georgia to look after you, it was following a particularly brutal training session that the older girl properly sought you out, asking if you wanted to join her in the recovery pool.

only having encountered the defender briefly during your first few days you were quick to agree, relishing in the opportunity to get to know her a little better.

having been taken under the equally watchful as they were dangerous wings of katie mccabe, the irish woman had been whom you partnered up with for most drills and spent your off time hanging out with.

but needless to say after only a short twenty minutes speaking with you leah found herself absolutely enamored with your cheeky smile and quick wit, unknowingly setting into course the actions which would eventually flip her world upside down.

fast forward a few years and here you stood now as her girlfriend staring her down from the end of the lounge, having happily lived together in your shared flat for the past eighteen months.

"lee please!" you begged, stepping to the side to again block the tv with your body as the england captain tried to crane her neck to see past you, attention fixated on the arsenal mens match on the screen.

"babe they just scored and i missed it!" leah moaned in frustration as the crowd erupted behind you, the blonde dragging her hands slowly down her face. "they lost 4-2. you promised me you would do this while i'm recovering!" you now glared at her sternly as the blondes mouth formed a small o in shock.

"and you said you didn't watch it without me!" leah huffed at the betrayal, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring right back at you, once again completely ignoring the rest of your sentence which had been your reason for interrupting her in the first place.

"leah." you warned as you continued to stare her down, free arm reaching to point away from the living room and into the kitchen, also known as your girlfriends least favorite room of the house. the blonde simply moaned louder at the silent request, throwing her head back and soppily sliding her body down the lounge like that of a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"or we could just order dinner?" she tried with a charming smile, holding up her phone and wiggling her eyebrows. "okay fine you win lee. i'll just continue to cook for us as always. but of course let me first just take my arm out of this sling and-" you began with a shrug, reaching out to undo the velcro strap hooked under your elbow, having dislocated your shoulder at last weeks game, nothing too serious but it meant needing to take a further 2 weeks off for rehab.

"don't you dare!" leahs eyes widened and she scrambled to grab at you, carefully tugging your free hand away from the sling and holding it firmly in her grip. "sling stays on." the defender commanded, determined both as your girlfriend and team mate for your recovery to be a smooth one so you could return to the pitch again as quickly as possible.

"then you cook dinner tonight." you retorted back in the same tone, staring her down stubbornly as the two of you stood locked eye to eye, neither wanting to be the first to back down. "kitchen, go!" you ordered firmly, pointing again in its direction as leah simply scoffed. "you know that sounded a bit sexist." the girl retorted as you raised your eyebrows in challenge.

"the other morning you quite literally woke up and the first words you said to me were 'well where's my breakfast then woman?'" you mocked your girlfriends MK accent, her unimpressed glare melting into an amused smile. "yeah that was a good one." she chuckled fondly to herself with a shake of her head, smile quickly dropping from her face when you continued to blankly stare her down.

"oh for fuck sakes fine!" leah gave in with a loud groan, dropping your hand as you smiled victoriously, leaning in to quickly press your lips to her own. "yeah yeah, just get on with it!" the blonde rolled her eyes moodily, pulling herself to her feet and trudging after you as you practically skipped off towards the kitchen.

for years you had happily cooked for and fed the english captain without any complaints, after all it was one of the main ways you showed your love.

but as time passed on you began to try to attempt to teach your girlfriend to fend for herself in the kitchen, but the defender would always insist she didn't need to know, and you were honestly worried that if anything should happen she would have no choice but to live her life off of 5p tesco ham sandwiches, with no mayo of course.

so as the weeks and months ticked on, determined no longer to let her be completely useless you began to request her help more and more frequently. knowing that with a bat of your eyelashes and a few sweet words you could get her chopping or prepping things for you, which though seemingly small was still a huge win in the long run.

now, with your arm needing to be in the sling for almost the entirety of your days, and very minimal things you could actually cook and prepare with only one good functioning arm, was your red hot chance to commence phase two of your master plan; teaching leah to actually cook something.

this of course was all heading up to the final hurdle. it was long overdue yours and leah's turn to host team game night, and with the hosting duties came the responsibility of feeding everyone. due to commitment clashes, family events, game days, early training's or just rotten luck, it had been rescheduled about 5 or 6 times now.

but it was locked in for the upcoming weekend, and as much as leah had begged you both reschedule and blame your injury, you were determined to avoid this at all costs. the backup option was of course to just order in some food, but following beth and vivs elaborate 3 course meal of the last game night, you figured the least you could do was teach leah to whip up an easy pasta and some garlic bread.

though this a seemingly simple task to you, it loomed over leah like her own personal everest.

having talked her through the steps twice, and now supporting her to locate all necessary ingredients, you sat on a bar stool happily instructing from the island in the middle of the kitchen.

with your ongoing encouragement and praise at even the simplest of tasks, leahs competitive drive had kicked in and she found herself believing there was maybe a slim to slight chance she could pull this off.

"you know i don't like the look of this. i thought this was a pesto pasta!" things began to click for leah as she grabbed out the last of the things she needed from the freezer, peas. "i fink you'll find it is the same pasta i cook for you frequently babe, which you love." you replied, purposely mocking your girlfriends common tendency to replace her th's with f's.

"we agreed you would no longer mock my speech impediment." leah deadpanned at the comment, hands on hips as she glared toward you unimpressed. "you do not have a speech impediment, you're just from milton keynes." you continued to tease with a cheeky grin, loving nothing more than winding the older girl up when you had the chance, the shoe often on the other foot with her own relentlessly teasing of your habits and quirks.

"well the secret is now out. it is not a pesto pasta, the green sauce is made from blending peas, mint, olive oil, garlic and lemon juice. delicious!" you kissed the tips of your fingers before flicking them into the air, a look of bewilderment and disgust forming on leahs face as she registered the information.

"but i hate peas." leah grimaced, glancing to the bag on the counter with utter contempt. "no, you think you hate peas. realistically, you've been enjoying them all along!" you smiled smugly, popping a strawberry segment into your mouth from the bowl on the counter, already having had leah cut them up for you as a refresher of her knife skills.

"right. so then our entire relationship is built on a foundation of lies!" leah yelled dramatically, throwing her hands into the air before smacking them back down on the counter and pointing a finger toward you threateningly. "what else have you been secretly feeding me then woman?" the girl asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion as your own practically rolled into the back of your head at her childish antics.

"those are secrets i will take to the grave williamson, you'll never know." you replied cryptically, popping another strawberry segment into your mouth before clapping and ordering her back to the task at hand. "so bossy." leah mumbled to herself, now her turn to roll her eyes as she busied herself prepping things, you ignoring her little comments about how she would never get over this pea related betrayal.

"ah! we're doing that from scratch." you tutted at her as she opened the freezer, reaching for a pack of pre made garlic bread. "what! need i reminder you i am a beginner." leah protested, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout.

"oh i know, i don't think i've ever put anything as bland or unseasoned into my body as that sandwich you made me for lunch yesterday." you shook your head sadly, shuddering at the memory. "oi! how's that for gratitude then, should have just let you starve." leah huffed, shifting her concentration to dicing up the bacon she had just finished frying off.

"need i remind you again of the 'well where's my breakfast then woman?'" you cocked an eyebrow in her direction as her face again broke into a grin, the blonde once more chuckling to herself at the memory, never being someone afraid to laugh at her own jokes, especially if she was the only one laughing.

"i obviously meant to say where is my breakfast then my gorgeous, wonderful, lovely, lovely girl." the taller girl smiled charmingly, making her way around the island and slotting her body in between your legs as you spun around on your chair to face her. arms wrapping around you your back pressed against the edge of the cool granite countertop. "nice try." you hummed against her lips, pushing her away from you as her tongue ventured into your mouth.

"mmm not yet, littlee bit more." leah was careful of your injured arm and shoulder as she pressed you harder against the counter top and reconnecting your lips. quick to take advantage of a hitch in your breath as her cold hands wandered up the inside of your hoodie, which was technically her hoodie, easily dominating control of the kiss.

"no, you're cooking. focus!" you pulled your head from the cloud of pleasure it forever drifted to when consumed by leahs affections, once more shoving the taller girl away and smacking lightly at her chest as you panted, now slightly out of breath. "cock blocked by a bloody kitchen, typical." leah rolled her eyes, pushing herself off of the counter she had you trapped against and padding back towards the stove.

"i can't believe you won't just let me order pizza for the girls, they won't care!" leah whined as she stirred the sauce, glancing at you over her shoulder, bottom lip jutted out in a pout. "it's the principal of it baby. if only life was like ratatouille and i could sit on your shoulders, tugging on your hair and doing all the hard work for you." you pouted back at her, eyes twinkling as she shook her head, shoving her hair to the other side of her head with her spare hand, still stirring the rapidly thickening 'pesto'.

"well now my girl you know i would never say no to you practically sitting on my fac-" you cut off the girls cheeky remark before she could finish, calling out that her pasta water was over boiling, leah turning quickly and letting out a yelp of panic at the sight, looking to you with wide eyes for help.

talking her through what she needed to do to settle it again you watched on in amusement as she zoomed around the kitchen, focus heightened, multi tasking between watching the pasta and sauce both cooking on the stove and making sure not to burn the home made garlic bread baking away in the oven.

and sure enough her focus paid off as a little while later she finished off the meal with a small sprinkle of grated parmesan into your serving, refusing to add the same into hers despite you pointing out you'd always done that for her anyway, another thing she hadn't picked up on.

"i'm so proud of you lee." you beamed, jaw almost hurting from the face splitting grin you sported as the two of you sat tucked up together on the lounge, bowls of pasta resting on your knees as leah browsed through the tv trying to find something to watch.

"yeah yeah, no biggie." the girl muttered dismissively, but you didn't miss the small smile of pride that flickered across her face at the praise, craning your head back to sweetly kiss her jaw. "oh no come on, leah!" you protested loudly as your girlfriend clicked in to watch a golf tournament repeat, full well knowing you absolutely detested the sport.

"ah ah ah. i cooked, i choose, isn't that right?" leah smirked down at you as she held the remote out of your reach, echoing back your own regular words as you huffed moodily, protests falling silent as you shoveled a mouthful of pasta into your mouth instead.

"good girl." leah whispered into your ear, kissing your cheek which had flushed bright red at her words, settling back into the lounge as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound the clinking of your forks against your bowls and the droning on of the golf commentary on the tv.

"where you going?" leah asked a couple of hours later with a confused frown as you unwrapped her arms from around your mid section, carefully sliding your body out from where it laid between her legs.

“upstairs. it’s shower and movie time." you stretched your good arm, glaring down in annoyance at the one strapped to your chest, feeling pins and needles crawling around but unable to really do anything about it.

"where do you think you're going? you cooked, you clean. isn't that right?" you mocked her words from earlier as she stood to follow you, nodding to the small mountain of dirty cookware laying in the kitchen sink. "what!" leah spluttered out in shock, protesting that it wasn't fair.

"1, i can't help you clean even if i wanted to." you started, gesturing to your slinged up arm. "and 2, you never help me clean up after i cook unless your mums here to nag you about it!" you reminded with a shrug, turning back around and heading for the stairs, leah collapsing back onto the lounge with a loud and frustrated moan.

"better hurry babe, i think you forget i require your help to shower." you called downstairs, grinning as you heard leahs feet pound off into the kitchen, the obvious clanging of pots and pans signaling her frantic efforts to finish the task as quickly as possible.

game night.

"well, i personally think a big congratulations are in order!" katie announced, standing to her feet and clapping to gain everyone's attention. the rest of your team mates sprawled around your living room quietened down, bowls of pasta in their laps and a large board of garlic bread sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

"this should be good." leah quietly murmured in your ear, a smirk crossing her features as she readied herself for the praise coming her way from the irish woman for the meal she had cooked, mostly on her own.

your arm now out of its sling you had assisted her with prep but refused to do much more than that, blaming your shoulder was paining you with a pout as leah had rolled her eyes and playfully swatted at your bum as you left her alone in the kitchen.

"to y/n - for making none other that leah williamson into the little domestic house wife none of us thought was possible!" katie shouted proudly, raising a glass of wine into the air in a silent cheers as you suddenly burst into a fit of laughter at the unexpected toast, leah yelling out shocked protests toward your team mates cheers of agreements to katies statement.

"nah that's a violation!" leah huffed angrily, head shaking firmly and eyebrows knitted into a deep frown as she stabbed aggressively at her pasta, lia reminding her to lighten up with a laugh and a light shove from beside her.

some more light teasing and a few heated rounds of mario kart later, leah had downed a few drinks and indeed lightened up. "you all laugh now but once her shoulder heals up she'll be right back into her old position. attending to my every need like the well practiced little house wife she is." leah grinned, right arm wrapped around your neck as you laid against her chest, most of your team having slowly filtered into ubers, only the two of you and a few select others left.

"i'd love to deny it but this was truly a one off fluke, without me she's useless!" you slurred drunkenly, katie reaching over to swipe your glass of wine as you reached for it, pouting up at her as the older woman shook her head, downing it herself and handing you back the now empty glass with a wink.

"mccabe!" you gasped, flipping her off as she returned the gesture, glancing at her phone and announcing the final uber of the night had arrived to take the last of your team mates home.

wishing them all goodbye and making brief drunken plans for brunch tomorrow which none of you would likely remember, they headed off down the driveway and leah closed your front door.

just before making quick work to press your smaller frame against it as soon as she had.

"hi." "well hello."

you grinned as your lips met and the usual fireworks exploded in your stomach at the sensation. fueled by red wine and a few too many rum and cokes, the kiss quickly turned sloppy as leahs hands groped at you anywhere they could, a quiet moan leaving your mouth as her attention quickly turned to your neck, knowing exactly how you to send your body into overdrive.

"no we can't, i'm still a cripple!" you cried out both dramatically and drunkenly, pushing her away and stumbling at the sudden action, leah quick to dart in and catch you before you fell over entirely.

“okay bed time it is." the older girl chuckled, though drunk she was not quite as bad as you, the taller girl tossing you over her shoulder and heading for the stairs.

"it feels demeaning you can do this so easily." you slurred out, smacking at her bum as the two of you ascended towards your shared bedroom. "you look after me, i look after you. that's how this whole relationship thing works." leah gently placed you down onto the bed, stealing a kiss and making quick work of changing into something more comfortable as you did the same, though with a little more struggle.

flicking off the lights and climbing into bed beside you, leah clicking into netflix the two of you were quick to intertwine your bodies, your girlfriend selecting the first thing she saw knowing it was more so going to be white noise than something either of you paid attention to, already fast fading toward a good nights sleep.

"you did really good tonight baby, my house wife in training." you mumbled quietly, blindly reaching up and patting at leahs cheek, feeling her body gently vibrate with laughter underneath you. "don't get used to it, you deserve far better than a mediocre pasta every now and then." leah smiled, running a hand through your hair and placing a soft kiss to your warm forehead.

"now i know you're capable of washing dishes best believe i'm never doing them again." you muttered into her elbow, burying your head into the crook of the defenders arm. "you're lucky you're cute." leah smiled tiredly, eyes fluttering closed as both your breathing evened out, drifting off into a dreamless sleep as the office played quietly in the background.

no longer one but now two happily domesticated house wives.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #arsenal

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patscorner · 3 months

Text

One More Try

Summary: It all went downhill when your dad died. You were drowning, and time and time again, Nika would jump in to save you. Until you started to take her with you.

wc: 2,335

Contains: Alcoholism, death of a loved one, addiction

a/n: The Croatian translation I got is from Google Translate, so I have no idea if it's correct or not. If it isn't, let me know, and I'll change it. Enjoy!

______________________________

Part of you wanted to go back in time. The other part wished you could speed up, past the hard part. But you couldn't.

You'd dated Nika for two years, starting your sophomore year of college, and everything was amazing. She was kind, caring, and anything you could ever want in a girlfriend. You had your flaws, but you managed to put them behind you for her. You did a pretty good job, for the most part. Everyone slips up, but Nika was there to catch you.

That's not to say that Nika didn't have her own issues. She did. She'd built up walls from a previous relationship, walls that you tediously tore apart. You both loved each other despite the other's problems.

Arguably, though, your issues were far worse than Nika’s. While hers was a mental block, yours was not only mental, but physical. Before you met Nika, you were a party girl. Every weekend was filled with going to a bar or club, searching for an exhilarating night out constantly. It was okay at first, college is supposed to be filled with drinking and partying, but eventually, that's all you did.

Your grades began to slip, and you lost all of your friends, ones who tried to coax you into reining it in, and focus on your work. You were angry. Angry at your friends, angry at your family, angry at the world.

Then you met Nika. She was like a breath of fresh air. Even as your friend, she helped you clean up. She helped you realize you had a drinking problem, something your other friends never had the patience to do. She was always there for you. Through the withdrawals, through the sleepless nights, through the relapses. She was always there.

Eventually, you realized you'd fallen in love with her. You pushed yourself to be clean, for her. She deserved someone who had their problems under control, and you wanted nothing more than to be that for her.

You did. When you hit your one year sobriety mark, you asked her out. Much to your surprise, she said no at first, reasoning that putting too much emotional strain on you might cause issues. But with enough convincing, she eventually said yes.

And that was the start of it all.

Two years go by, and you've never been happier. You were three years clean, and you rarely went to clubs and bars anymore.

Until your dad died.

Your entire world crashed, as did your sobriety. He was your whole world, and even though he lived miles away, he always made sure to talk to you everyday. He loved Nika, their bond one of the strongest. She saved his little girl, how could he not like her?

When you heard about his death, you immediately called Nika, who was at practice at the time.She didn't answer, but with tears in your eyes, you dialed her number seven more times before giving up. Having no other good ideas, your heart broke further as you packed a bag and drove until you ran out of gas. You found yourself at a convenient store in the middle of nowhere, alone with your thoughts. After sitting in your car for two hours, you went inside and bought a bottle of liquor.

You downed half of it, tears running down your face. Your phone was off, so you couldn't get the thousands of pity messages from family and close friends.

You sat in the bed of your truck, bottle in hand, for hours. You watched the sunrise, feeling nothing but your heart being shattered.

Meanwhile, Nika had finally gotten a break from the excruciating practice following the team's loss to South Carolina. She checks her phone, and her eyebrows furrow in concern, noticing the missed calls from you and a couple of calls from your brother and mom.

She immediately stands up and walks out of the gym, standing outside as she calls you back.

No answer. She calls again.

No answer.

She repeats this process a few more times, before deciding to call your brother back, who answers immediately.

“He-” She starts, before being interrupted.

“Have you seen her?” Your brother asked abruptly. “Wha- no, no, I just got out of practice. What's going on? Everything okay?” She asked, her voice laced with worry, her brain flying through any possible scenario.

He's silent on the other end for a second, but answers quietly. “No-uhm. Dad died a couple hours ago, and nobody's been able to get in touch with her since mom told her. Was really hoping she was with you.”

Now it was Nika’s world to crash. She had no idea where you could possibly be. She'd done her research on recovering alcoholics, and she prayed you hadn't relapsed.

She finished her conversation with your brother, before going back inside, eyes filled with tears.

Immediately catching everyone's attention, she fills them in, and they all agree to help find you. They split up in groups of two, Nika being paired with Paige.

After three long hours, Nika starts to give up hope. “Maybe we should try again tomorrow. It's getting bright-” Nika starts.

She's interrupted by a phone call from KK and Aubrey. Paige picks up and puts in on speaker.

“Yo, what color is her truck?” Aubrey asked. Nika’s heart starts to beat a little faster. “Blue.”

“We found it. KK, pull over next to it.” Aubrey speaks. “ You want us to wait for you, Niks?”

“Fuck no.” She responds without hesitation. “Ju-just make sure she's not hurt please.”

“She doesn't look hu- oh shit.”

“What?!” Silence.

“What's ‘oh shit’?!” Nika all but screams into the phone.

“She's not sober, Nika.” KK answers softly. Nika freezes. All your progress, gone, and it's all her fault.

“Wha- what do you mean?” Nika asked, even though she and everyone else knew exactly what the brown girl meant.

“There's a half empty bottle of liquor in her hand.” Aubrey elaborates.

“Where am I going, Aubrey? Send me the ping, or whatever.” Paige says, before Nika can say anything else.

Aubrey hums in agreement. “I'll send you the location.” As soon as Nika gets the ping, Paige speeds towards the destination. Aubrey stays on the phone, and Nika can hear her and KK trying to get answers from you, to which KK informs Nika that you weren't speaking, and staring into space.

This worries her further, but she can't do anything. You don't answer. KK puts the phone up to your ear so Nika can talk to you. Nika’s body shakes with anxiousness, Paige rubbing Nika’s thigh, attempting to bring her some comfort. “Sranje to sam unčinio.” Nika mutters, putting her head in her hands. (Shit, what have I done)

Eventually, Paige pulled up to the other two cars.

Nika is out of the car before it stops moving, sprinting over to you, eyes raking over your body, inspecting for any signs of harm.

“Bebo, are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong?” She stood between your legs, bombarding you with overwhelming questions, before noticing the distant look in your glazed over eyes.

All you can do is shake your head, tears falling down your face as you look into Nika’s eyes. Her eyebrows stay furrowed as she pulled you a tight hug. “I was so worried about you.” She whispered against your shoulder.

You don't hug her back, you just rest your head on her chest.

“He's gone.” You mutter. She hums, her chest vibrating against your head. “I know.” She whispers.

“‘m sorry.” You whisper so softly. She almost misses it. “I'm so sorry.”

She shakes her head and pulls away from you, putting her hands on your cheeks, cupping your face. “It's okay, my love. It's okay. I'm just so glad you're okay.”

You shake your head, looking down at the half empty bottle that you drank. “I fucked up.”

“That's okay. Everyone falls. But what matters is that you get back up.”

Your heart flutters, the first thing it's done in about seven hours. “I don't know if I can come back from this one.” You look up at her.

She's beautiful in the sunrise, and even under the circumstances of her panic state and your drunkenness, she's the most angelic girl you've ever seen in your life. Her hair out of its normal ponytail, and in a bun on the back of her head.

She'd say the same thing about you, how your eyes were glowing in the sunlight.

“You will. You're one of the strongest people I know.” she pulls you into a hug, and this time, you hug her back. "We got this bebo." She pulls you into a gentle kiss before hugging you again.

After a while, she and Paige help you as you stumble to the car.

You wish that this was the last time they did so.

But after the incident, things only got worse. Your grades slipped once again, and no matter how hard she tried, Nika couldn't pull you out of this slump. But you weren't exactly helping her. You didn't want help. You'd found comfort in the toxic liquid, numbing the feeling of emptiness in your heart where your father once was.

Eventually, Nika had to cut it off. You knew it was coming, and you understood why, though that didn't make it any easier.

You'd always been supporting her basketball career, always going to games, picking her up after practice, and making food for her.

You didn't do those things anymore. You didn't do anything anymore. You didn't plan dates. You didn't leave the house unless it was for more drinks. You were right back where you'd started.

So when Nika showed up to your dorm in tears, you knew what was going to happen. In your head, you'd replayed how this would go in your head, and every time, you were angry with the Croatian. But when she said: “I can't do this anymore” all the resentment was forgotten, replaced with love and understanding.

She tried. She tried so hard to rescue you, but you can't start a car without the key.

You knew she was strong, strong enough to break up with you, because God knows the other, easier option was to stay with you and potentially lose herself while helping you find yours.

So you weren't angry. You were proud.

Fast forward a year, you were barely passing your classes, doing the bare minimum. You knew your dad wouldn't want you to give up, so you stayed, even after the break up. Nika was heartbroken by the breakup and threw herself into basketball.

When things got really bad, you thought about calling her, but you never did. You'd exchanged texts occasionally, her checking in on you, but the conversations never lasted long.

So all of that led you to here, handcuffed in the back of a police car.

Well, actually, what led you there was a bar fight you'd started, because you heard some bitch shit talking Nika. After all this time, you were still madly in love with her.

You don't even really remember how you got there. You just remember throwing punches. Throwing punches for someone you didn't know anymore.

And when the cops asked you for an emergency call number, only one came to mind, and that could be because you were young, drunk, and alone, or it could be because she's all you've ever known.

You gave them her number, and they called. No answer. They called again. No answer.

It's funny how the cycle repeats itself. They called once more before asking you for another number.

“I don't have another number. Try it again.”

The cop shook his head. “Sorry, kid, we called three times, no answer.”

Tears brimmed your eyes. You needed her. “I don't give a fuck, call her again.”

The cop sighed and called the number once more before coming back over to you. “Call it again.” You said. You're not giving up. The dial tone is all you have, and you need more. You need her.

This time, he put her on speaker, and it rang. And rang. Then, for the first time, on the third ring, it went to voicemail.

Declined.

The cop looked at you with sympathy. You just looked down at your lap. “Do you have anyone else to call?” he spoke softly.

“Only her, it's always only been her.” You say, tears falling down your face. “Call her again.” You whisper.

He shook his head. “She's not gonna pick up, kid. You can't think of anybody else?”

You shook your head, your frustration leaking through. “No. No! Okay!? There's nobody else! I don't have anybody else!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, alright. Why don't we go down to the station, and see if she answers when we get there,” he suggests.

“Just let me call, I'll give you the blood test, I'll- I'll go to jail, I'll pray to God. I'll do anything. Just call her again.” You plead with him. “Please.”

He sighs deeply. “Let's go to the station, see if she answers?” he repeats.

“I swear she'll call me back, just wait please. Please, she'll answer, okay, she will.” You say through sobs.

“Ma'am, are you on any medication?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Fuck that, sir, look, call her again. Then-then, if she doesn't call back in five minutes, you can take me to jail or whatever.” You sigh out.

The cop contemplates for a second before nodding. “One more try.”

He dials the number once more, letting it ring. It rings once. Twice. A third time.

“The number you were-”

“Fuck!” You exclaim, putting your head down in defeat. Tears fall from your eyes, as you look at the officer, who looks at you with pity.

“I'm sorry kid.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I'd dial drunk

I'd die a drunk

I'd die for you.

______________________________

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris-deactivated20240 @cosmopretty @hellokittyfeenie

#patsworks #nika muhl x reader #nika mühl #nika muhl #wbb x reader #wbb #seattle storm #wcbb x reader #wnba basketball #wnba #wnba x reader #Spotify

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yan-lorkai · 9 days

Text

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I'm very normal about Idia, guys. Being his friend would be great, I just know. Yet he is an interesting character to me so at the same time he'd want you to spend all the time by his side, he also idolizes a version of you, smth smth I love him, enjoy this <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warning: Yandere content, control and manipulation tendencies, guilt tripping, gn!reader

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia becomes intensely possessive when he first make friends with you, something he’s not used to. His loyalty runs deep and he expects the same in return, often feeling jealous and anxious if you spends time with "the normies", as he likes to call them. He tries to monopolize your attention by filling your days with online games, late-night chats and gossip sessions and anime marathons, making it difficult for you to spend time with anyone else. He even try your blogs if it is something he can do inside his or your room.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Sometimes he beg you to spend the day in his room, studying online as he does, when he is dealing with a particularly bad day - which are slowly turning into a daily thing.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ While Idia doesn’t confront people directly, he’s skilled at subtly manipulating you. If you mention hanging out with someone else, he’ll sulk or act overly dramatic, making you feel guilty for not spending time with him. He wants youto believe you’re the only one, besides Ortho and his family, who truly understands him, ensuring that you stay close. His tech expertise also gives him an advantage over you as he keeps tabs on your online activity, always aware of who you’re talking to or what you’re doing when you are away from him. And if you tell about how suffocating is to be with someone like him or something like that, Idia will make little changes in himself so you won't be bothered by how he acts.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ To further isolate you, Idia draws you deeper into his world, introducing rare games and niche interests that only he can share with you. If you try to make plans outside your usual routine, he’ll always have something special, a one time offer that you simply can't resist. Deep down, his tendencies come from a deep fear of rejection. He’s terrified of being abandoned and he believes the only way to secure your friendship is to make you depend on him as much as he depends on you. He wants to be your hero, strong, fierce, yet he turns into your villain, your tormentor.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ As the friendship deepens, Idia’s clinginess becomes more apparent, though he tries to hide it behind his usual awkwardness. He starts to get anxious whenever you doesn’t respond immediately to messages, bombarding you with worried texts or even calling, something he normally hates doing. When you finally reply, he plays it off but the relief he feels is palpable. He needs that constant reassurance that you’re still there, still close to him, that you still like him.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia’s jealousy, though subtle, can become intense. If he notices you are growing closer to someone else, he starts planting doubts in your mind, making snide comments or pointing out flaws in the new person’s behavior. His aim is always to make sure you realizes that no one will ever be as loyal or understanding as he is. He never wants to be obvious about it but his bitterness leaks out in small doses, enough to make his friend second-guess their other relationships.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ When things don’t go as planned, Idia retreats into self-pity, making you feel responsible for his mood. He might withdraw entirely, going quiet for days at a time, only to return with cryptic messages about feeling “left behind” or how much he hates being alone. This emotional tug-of-war keeps you constantly on edge, never wanting to hurt him or push him away, which only feeds into Idia’s control over you. Wether you realize what he does or not, Idia will always find a way to have control over you, no matter what.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Despite his fear of being too obvious, there are times when Idia’s obsession shows more openly. He might create custom in-game avatars of you, carefully crafting you to reflect his idealized version of a romantic relationship. He’ll obsessively collect items or trinkets that remind him of you, even going so far as to create private spaces in games or online where it’s just the two of them, away from anyone else or have an AI of your voice saying sweet little nothings to him, or singing. This, though, he'll never let you know. He doesn't want for you to think he is a weirdo, he just really love you, his bestie.

#yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst idia #twst idia shroud #yandere idia #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia x reader #idia x you #idia x reader #idia x yuu #idia x mc #yandere idia x mc #yandere idia x yuu #lorkai headcanons

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capricornlevi · 1 year

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on the cusp | miguel o 'hara x reader

summary:

Miguel O'Hara is many things: a patron at your bar, an occasional drinking buddy, your not-quite-friend with benefits, someone you barely know.

Or so you thought. Maybe, somewhere along the way, you've gotten to know him a bit better than you'd originally thought.

cw: alcohol consumption, casual sexual relationship, PIV intercourse, oral sex (m and f receiving) praise kink, a teeny bit of biting kink if you squint but nothing explicit and no blood/violence of any description, all consensual & enthusiastic - NSFW, MDNI

word count: 3.5k

You can count the things you know about Miguel O’Hara on just one hand – that is to say, the real things. The important things.

First of all, you’re aware that he has a stressful job. Not one to divulge any specifics, Miguel’s only description of the aforementioned job is that it involves a lot of late nights and keeps him out of town more than he’d like – you consider that to be just one fact since it all affects you the same.

You also know that his family life is … complicated, to say the least. He withdraws whenever you bring it up so you’re not even sure exactly where the issue lies; his parents? Siblings? An ex? It could be all of that or none. You learned long ago not to pry, but in your opinion, this still counts as a fact – after all, you’re aware of just how sensitive a topic it is for him. That counts for something, at least, some clue as to what made him this way: withdrawn, headstrong, and at times, a little cold.

Thirdly, you know that he drinks. Not heavily, mind, and you’d be the one to know since you work as a bartender at his favourite dive bar, the sort of establishment where people don’t try to hide their indulgences. He knows his limits and toes the line on a regular basis, never tipping over it. He is always sober enough to walk home. Which, you have to admit, is more than you can say for the rest of your patrons.

You met him at that bar - three, four years ago, depending on which one of you is recalling the story - and didn’t make much of him at first glance. He was just a stranger to you then, even more closed off than he is now. All you could judge him on was physical appearance and in that regard, he was - is - beyond imposing, towering above the next tallest person at the bar. Broad shoulders, strong arms, and the ability to make himself seem ever larger if needed – if some drunken pig started pushing you too far or refused to take the hint, Miguel never even needed to say anything to scare them off. Taking a step in their direction was usually enough to do the job. You’re not sure when it started, but that’s how you grew … not close, exactly, but … familiar.

Miguel knows you can fend for yourself - you’ve both accepted as much - but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t handy to have backup when you’re behind the bar by yourself. You had better things to do than swat away their leery advances all night, and word spread fast that Miguel was likely to step in if anyone tried their luck. It made your life a lot easier.

Now having moved from strangers to acquaintances, you learned a fourth fact about Miguel; that he really enjoyed listening to your stories. It took you by surprise at first since he’s not much of a talker – he still isn’t, but he’ll listen all night long to your rambling tales about the bachelor party who disassembled the bar’s pool table with their bare hands, or whatever new event occurred during your work week. If it’s quiet, you end up talking for hours.

Part of you felt guilty for taking up so much of his time. It feels strange to talk at length about yourself to someone who never interrupts, never pipes up with information of his own. But you soon learned Miguel likes it this way. He likes to sit at the counter with a glass of subpar whiskey with half-melted ice and listen to you, eyes following your every move, never zoning out. It relaxes him, he said once. It’s nice for him to be able to get out of his head, and if it means hearing about the ninety-year-old deliveryman who dropped off a couch infested with termites to the apartment next door, so be it.

It’s not that you never gave Miguel the opportunity to share. Every night, you tried to pry some more information out of him:

“So, have you ever worked in a bar?”

“No? Where do you work?”

“So what does that involve? What sort of work do you do?”

And you’d get a non-committal answer to every question. He has a unique talent for talking without revealing too much of himself; he’ll mumble something vague that technically serves as an answer, but you’ll leave knowing little to nothing definitive.

But this setup worked for both of you, so you never objected too much.

That’s how things were for two years (or maybe three). For the most part, he’d come in a couple of hours before closing on quiet nights, so you were able to talk til last call. It was nice – and it still is nice, because you still have the same routine – for the most part.

There’s just one significant change.

The fifth and final thing that you know about Miguel O’Hara - the most exclusive fact, since it’s a secret between the two of you - is that on the nights when he gets to take you home, he wants to fuck you like you’re both in love.

And it’s a fact you’re completely sure of since his face is currently buried in between your thighs, whispering unintelligible praise into your soaking folds.

The ‘in love’ part isn’t actually true, really, you don’t think. You’re not sure it’s even possible to love someone you know so little about. But when he’s like this, tongue swirling your clit with a look on his face as though he could do this all night, you know that this is what he wants.

Intimacy. For just these fleeting moments you share.

And, like the other little things, you’re more than happy to give it to him.

“ F-fuck,” your broken moan echoes around your bedroom, your hands pawing at the covers of your unmade bed, “right - right there, fuck, yes, yes, keep going.”

Miguel’s lying on his impossibly toned stomach, half-naked since he only had time to remove his shirt before setting you down on the bed and spreading your legs open, and he’s more than happy to take instruction. He stays in that spot, flicking it with the perfect pressure, mumbling something about adding a finger.

Your head is swimming but you manage to reply - or make some sound that shows your assent - and you feel him press a thick finger into you, an easy slide with how wet he’s made you, curling up for just a moment before it slides back out.

Then back in, then out, and all the while, you’re crying out for him.

You think he likes it when you say his name in bed. You don’t count it as a fact since you’re not completely certain, but whenever you do say it, he makes a low, groaning noise deep in his throat and speeds up whatever he’s doing – licking you, touching you, fucking you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was possessive.

Now, with you saying his name over and over and over again, he looks up at you with heavy, lidded eyes, an animalistic desire flashing over them. It’s enough to make you shiver. The power in his body, the strength he possesses …

He is never rough without your consent, but when his eyes get that hazy look and his grip on your thighs gets a little tighter, you can see how he keeps his impulses on a tight leash.

If you were of a clearer mind, you’d wonder again what he actually does outside of the bar, outside of this, what could get him worked up to this extent.

Thankfully, your thoughts are very much elsewhere. Right now, they’re focused on how quickly your orgasm is building, low and hot in the pit of your stomach.

“ Miguel ,” you gasp, voice pitching upwards as he adds a second finger – this time you really feel the stretch, but it’s anything but unpleasant. It makes that ball of heat burn brighter and brighter, your thighs shaking around Miguel’s face, your breaths coming out in short pants.

“ Miguel, fuck, oh -”

His fingers are hitting just deep enough, just in the right spot, you can hear how wet you are, you can feel how you’re soaking his hand and mouth, how much he’s enjoying this, maybe even more than you are –

When you come, it’s almost blinding. You could feel it building but it somehow took you by surprise anyway, it always does; the intensity, the duration, the way Miguel keeps licking you open until you’re trembling with oversensitivity.

The waves wrack your body continuously. You’re more than happy to get lost in it, to relinquish control and let it wash over you.

It’s so much that tears collect at the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks when you eventually regain the strength to sit up.

This is the sentimental part. Miguel sits back on his haunches, wipes his soaked lower face against his bicep, and leans over to wipe the tears away with his thumb. When there’s no trace left, he leans in a little further to press kisses on the apples of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your lips that part against his.

It’s enough to make you ache, but everything else is so enjoyable that it keeps your mind elsewhere. You don’t want to overthink and ruin this. That’s the last thing either one of you needs; the loss of this outlet.

You run your tongue against his lower lip and he groans, pulling you onto his lap in one swift motion. You kiss him fervently, tasting yourself on his mouth, and notice how the already-noticeable bulge in his pants hardens even more as you start to rock back and forth against it.

He kisses back hungrily, strong hands gripping your waist. Every time he kisses you it’s like the first chance he’s ever had to do it, as though he’ll never get the opportunity to do it again.

Somewhere in the haze, you remember the actual first time; the time you closed the bar early on a particularly quiet night. He helped you lock up, stack away chairs. He laughed at your shitty jokes and toasted the night with a shot of whiskey, and then you two were kissing, he was backing you up against the door, caging you in with his arms as you started to tug his shirt off.

Though you dispute the exact date, you both agree on the details. How could you forget images of him holding you up against the door, legs wrapped around his trim waist, your bare shoulders pressed against the cold wooden panels but not caring because everything else was burning, so hot and so perfect -

“Help me with my belt?” Miguel murmurs into your ear, warm breath over exposed skin raising goosebumps all over your neck.

He likes to see you do it, likes to see your fingers scramble to get the loops of his belt undone, so desperate to wrap your hand around his length – as much as you can, anyway, since your fingers don’t meet with you stroke him.

You manage a little nod before working his belt open, willing your fingers to stay steady, and soon, his pants are pulled down and tossed to the floor with the rest of the clothes, leaving him in black boxer briefs that do little to hide the straining in the front.

He’s the one who takes off his underwear since the sight of you rocking against his thigh is too much for him to keep up the pretence of teasing. Soon, he’s completely bare before you, his thick cock bobbing against his stomach and …

You want your mouth on it. Not just to return the favour, either, you want to hear the desperate grunts that escape him as you suck him off, you want to feel his hand at the back of your head, guiding your movements.

You want it, so you do it.

“Oh - ah, ah, fuck, you - you’re gonna kill me,” he says, half-slurring as you wrap your lips around the head, lapping at it so you feel it throb against your tongue. “F-fucking hell, oh - oh my god.”

You’re not sure why the sound of him so desperate gets you going like this, but it does. Miguel, for a man so secretive, contains multitudes; he’s animalistic, possessive, but he’s not afraid to show desperation. Maybe even vulnerability.

In bed, of course. Only ever in bed, but you’re fine with that. Completely fine.

You moan as he leaks onto your tongue, hitting deeper and deeper with every thrust into your mouth.

A couple of minutes later, you pull your head up and run the tip of your tongue down the prominent veins on the side of his length. The noises he makes have you feeling more than a little self-satisfied, knowing your touch reduces him to this.

You go to take him fully in your mouth again but he stops you, cupping your jaw carefully as he sits up straight.

“Can I fuck you?”

You know that he’s asking now because he’s getting too close with you sucking him off. He doesn’t like the risk of edging before he gets to actually fuck you, and when his voice gets all low and heated and with just a hint of pleading buried deep in you, you know it’s a matter of urgency.

By way of answering, you climb back into his lap. You kiss him again, sliding up and down his length as you do so.

You look down, but Miguel catches your chin with his thumb and forefinger. He tips your head back up so you’re looking him in the eye.

Your next breath comes out shaky and tattered, your chest rising and falling.

He’s so close. Of course, since you’ve fucked countless times before, you’re no strangers to closeness. But the intimacy of this, of the eye contact and the embracing and the pretty names he calls you when you ride him … it feels new every time.

“I want to see your face as you sink down on it,” he grumbles, his throat bobbing between the words. You want to bite him there, sink your teeth into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck — not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel him tense underneath you. You want his body to go rigid, taut, you want him on a hair-trigger, you want him to be free of the thoughts that haunt him and just surrender to this sensation.

You want him to be able to lose control, for once. He’s earned it.

You kiss just under his ear, teasing the sensitive skin with your teeth as he gasps - gasps - and cants his hips up, his fingernails pressing into the flesh of your ass so that it’s just shy of painful.

You smile, lips curling against his throat. He’s just where you want him.

Moving slowly, inch by torturous inch, you kiss every part of exposed skin you can. As your eyes move further down you see a constellation of pink bruises forming on his throat, and, keeping your unspoken promise, you lift your head to look him in the eye as you lower yourself down on his cock.

Even after having his fingers inside you, it’s still a stretch; but again, a pleasurable one. You can feel everything, every ridge, the shallow thrusts as he adjusts to the feeling of you wrapped around him.

The only light in the room is from the lamp at your bedside, but you swear you can see his pupils dilate – no, you definitely can, they darken so much his irises go almost black. Hungry, like before. Somehow tender as well, as though you’re his favourite prey.

And he’s yours, too.

You start to lift up and down, balancing yourself on your left knee and the ball of your right foot as you ride him, the pace gathering a momentum of its own.

Both moaning with every thrust, you still hear the sound of skin-on-skin bouncing off the walls around you. Your bedframe creaks, your sheets crumple underneath; you don’t care about that, only focusing on riding him so well that praise spills from his pretty lips.

“Beautiful, beautiful, so fucking perfect for me,” he whispers, the words sounding almost torn, “you were fucking made for me, d’you know that?”

“Hm?”

You ask only because you want him to say it again. He’s happy to oblige.

“You were fucking made for me, made to ride my cock, made to have my tongue in your pretty cunt,” he says, voice bleeding into a low groan. “So … so perfect, I could fuck you for the rest of my life.”

You know you’re both only hooking up with each other, nobody else. You had that conversion before, right when you went on birth control and started forgoing condoms, but the words sound different now. Like they carry a weight even Miguel doesn’t realise.

It sounds reverent, adoring. In the deep, dark, fantastical part of your brain that you only occasionally indulge, he’s saying he only ever wants you. He needs you and only you, always, and this is the only time he allows himself to admit it.

But that train of thought will lead to overthinking, and, as you noted earlier, this isn’t the time for that. Right now, Miguel’s words are having other effects too; you’re throbbing around him, wet, more turned on than you ever remember being. Your clit grazes against the thatch of dark curls at the base of his cock, and every time you take him fully, the sensation has you choking out weak-sounding mewls of pleasure.

Keeping one of his hands on your hip, Miguel lifts the other up to play with your breasts, biting his lip so hard you think he’ll draw blood. He tweaks one of your nipples and you tighten around his length, and you know by the way his brows furrow that he’s close.

You love this moment the most. Seeing Miguel lose control, surrendering to the pleasure, it’s gratifying in a way that you can’t put into words. For the weeks when he doesn’t have the time to go home with you, because of work or responsibilities or whatever it is that keeps him away, it’s this image that you picture in your mind when you lay in bed, touching yourself.

His strong jaw tenses, his features twist with pleasure, and you come undone just looking at him.

He bucks up into you as he comes, pulling you against his chest while you writhe helplessly, boneless in his arms.

It’s good, too good, better than the first. It radiates throughout your whole body. Every limb, every muscle, every nerve is bathed in a warm glow that doesn’t pass until the sweat starts to cool on your skin, until Miguel’s breathing has slowed back to normal.

You stay like that just a moment longer, head resting against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat.

You savour it while you can – you think you were wrong earlier. There’s a sixth fact you know about Miguel, and it’s this; after you’ve finished fucking, after he kisses you another time and helps you get dressed, he always, always leaves afterwards. You stopped taking it personally after the third time and now, it’s just part of the routine. It doesn’t sting quite like it used to, but it’s not exactly something you look forward to, either. It’s just another unanswered question.

You pull your head back and give Miguel a lazy smile, one that he returns. He kisses you, soft and slow, unaware of how it’s messing with your mind – but you don’t stop the kiss, either.

When you eventually break apart, you sit back on the bed and smooth down the covers as best you can, distracting yourself as you await the inevitable.

Miguel doesn’t move. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds pass, and he goes nowhere.

You stop your fidgeting, throwing him a curious glance. Another beat passes of surprisingly weighted silence. Miguel opens and closes his mouth a few times, seemingly having a tough time getting the articulation just right.

You don’t say anything, but you don’t need to – for the first time since you’ve known him, he eventually answers your unspoken question.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

The words are delivered plainly, devoid of a deep sentimentality, but you know the significance of him asking them. His expression is earnest. He means what he’s asking.

It’s not like it’s life-changing. It doesn’t mean the routine is disrupted, it doesn’t mean that he’s your boyfriend or that you’re in love or any of the other nonsense that forbidden part of your brain filters in every now and then.

But it’s something. It’s a start.

Your routine has changed before, it can stand to be changed again. Maybe you’ll learn something new.

“Yeah,” you answer after just a moment spent thinking it over, heart quickening in your chest for reasons you can’t quite explain, “yeah, you can stay.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #may tries to write #miguel o'hara x you

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a-tiny-thing · 8 months

Text

break in pt.3 // m.l

burglar!mark x rich!reader

pt.1 , pt.2, pt.3, pt.4

mark didn't expect himself to be back again in this familiar mansion, in the middle of the night.

he promised himself to never return there ever since that "accidental" kiss you both shared, but oh well, you found a way on how to make him close to you by taking his favorite wallet.

his wallet literally has his money in it, his old school ID and the family photo he only has that he cherishes the most after leaving their home.

he actually never told anyone why he left his own home though, not even haechan. all that haechan knows was that mark has good pickpocketing skills, that's why they became best friends.

mark, with his burglar skills, entered the mansion through the window without even breaking stuff.

all he needs to do is to locate his wallet and then escape immediately, and maybe steal a few jewelries he could find there.

mark opened all the drawers and cabinets inside the kitchen, thinking that maybe you hid his wallet somewhere around there.

"shit, where is it..." mark cursed as he failed to find it after all the scavenging.

"where did she even put it?" he asked himself, thinking while scratching his temple as he slowly looked up the stairs.

right, her bedroom.

mark palmed his face, before he climbs up the stairs to locate your room.

he first went to the door of your parents' bedroom to check it if it was yours, he turned the knob slowly and quietly to peek.

he saw two people on the bed sleeping peacefully, it must be your parents. he moved his head back and closed the door slowly.

somehow, the door made some noise as it clicked when he closed it.

"huh? what was that?" your father's groggy voice was heard by mark, so he quickly moved away from the door.

"oh just go to sleep honey, it's probably just a squirrel outside" your mother sleepily said to your father before they went back to sleep.

mark let out a sigh of relief, happy that they did not bother to come out of their bedroom.

after a short rest, mark is on his way to find your room again. and he's glad it didn't take hours for him to find it.

like he did with your parent's bedroom, he turned the knob slowly and opened it to peek inside. and he saw you.

you looked like you were having a great sleep due to the random position you were in.

he also can't ignore the fact that your shorts was riding up your thighs and your stomach is peeking under your oversized shirt, but that's not important right now.

mark entered quietly, focusing on the cabinets and drawers inside your bedroom, pulling them quietly and moving your stuff around to find his wallet.

but he still couldn't find it.

"what? it's not even in here?" mark said as he became frustrated for not finding his wallet immediately.

mark turned to look at your sleeping figure, still sleeping heavily.

mark started to wonder where you placed or what you even done to his wallet, he maybe thought you destroyed it or threw it away.

or maybe, you didn't actually steal it.

mark was about to leave your room until he noticed you moving. he turned to look at you again, your arms unconsciously wrapping around the pillow underneath your head.

wait...

mark came close to your bed, walking over to the left side where your face is looking.

mark then quietly reaches his hand under your head to lift it, and tried to lift the pillow up but oh boy, you grumbled in your sleep as you felt some movement.

he quickly withdraw his hands away from you.

your face turned to the other direction and your body changes its position.

he waited for a minute to make sure you were sleeping heavily again like a baby before he continues what he's doing.

and when that happened, it was now his time to make a move. he moved one of his hands to carefully lift up your pillow instead before dragging his other hand under it.

mark had his eyes furrowed when he still couldn't feel it.

maybe it's hidden on the other side of the pillow?

mark switched his hands to the other side of your pillow instead of walking over to the side of the bed, unconsciously getting his knees up there as he reached his hand further underneath it.

then mark knew he made the biggest mistake when his left arm accidentally brushed your nose.

your brows furrowed from that action, but you still have your eyes closed. mark thought he was gonna get caught in that moment until you wrapped your arms around his left arm.

"mmh mark..." you sighed dreamily, smiling in your sleep.

what?

mark froze when he heard you sighed his name.

he watched your eyes flutter open, still frozen on top of you as you process what's happening right now.

"what the? AH-- hmmph!" mark is too damn quick to shut you up again.

"no no no, be quiet, it's just me, mark" mark said to you, his hand covering your mouth as he begs you to be quiet.

you followed what mark said and signalled him to put his hand away now.

you immediately backed away from mark and lifted your blanket up closer to your body.

he lets you back away from him, but he was still kneeling on the bed.

"look, i didn't mean to break in your bedroom, i'm just-"

"are you taking advantage of me?" you cut him off his words, which made mark stood up from your bed immediately.

"what? no! i'm not- i'm not that kind of person you think i am!" mark says, almost on the verge of yelling. you let go of your blanket as you could tell that he is not really doing that to you.

"i'm here to look for my wallet, and i think you took it" mark said straightforwardly.

you, on the other hand stayed quiet, as you suddenly turned to your bedside table and pulled out mark's brown wallet from its drawers.

how come he did not see that when he was searching in all your drawers?

"you're looking for this?" you asked as you showed him it.

"yes! thank you, now give it to me" mark stepped closer to you to claim it but you backed your hand away from him.

"hey, what are you doing? give it to me" mark said, attempting to grab it again but you hid his wallet behind your back, still remaining quiet before you spoke.

"but mark, if i gave you this wallet, there's a chance i won't see you ever again..." you reasoned to him.

mark sighed, looking around the bedroom as he tries to find the words to say.

"uhh look, that kiss we had before, it was an accident, i didn't mean to do that"

"that was my first kiss" you quickly rebutted.

"i-i'm sorry, i didn't know"

"so now you pay the consequence of staying here with me" you said to him, with your arms crossed on your chest. keeping the wallet behind your back.

what the hell is up with this girl?

"uhh look, uhm..." mark trailed off, realizing he doesn't even know your name yet.

"y/n" you said blatantly.

"y/n, uhmm i know that we shared your first kiss together in an accidental way but, i know there are some other guys better than me out there that could be giving you everything you want in a way that i couldn't. i'm sorry that i couldn't be that guy for you..." mark said to you in the most sincere way he could ever do. so poetic.

...

"okay" you shrugged while staring at him.

"can i have my wallet back now?" he asked.

"nope"

"what? dude, i just told you that-"

"and? you're still not gonna have your wallet back..." you told him.

"okay, what do you want me to do?" mark asked, repeating back the words he asked again before the accident.

"hmmm..." you looked around the room to think of what he could do for you.

i know!

"how about...you, take me out on a date on saturday?" you asked him.

"i can't do that, i'm sorry...just give me my wallet back!" mark says before reaching his hands behind your back to get his wallet.

"no! i'm going to scream!" you said, trying to prevent his prying hands from your back but it won't budge him.

"just give me back my wallet" mark said as he continues to get his wallet.

"no!" you quickly hid his wallet underneath your blanket and between your thighs.

"what are you gonna do now?" you taunted him.

"geez fuck! you're so difficult..." mark mumbled underneath his hands that was planted on his face due to the frustration.

on the other hand, you just giggled at his actions.

"okay, you win, i'll take you out on a date tomorrow" mark told you.

you let out a squeak of victory.

"now please, let me have my wallet back?" mark asked you, trying to make himself calm.

"nuh uh, how would i know you're true to your words?" you asked him.

fuck, what a smart girl

"okay, just bring that damn wallet tomorrow on our date" mark said, before backing away from you.

"give me your number so i could text you where we'll meet up" he told you, and so you happily brought out your notepad and scribbled your number on it before ripping it and giving it to mark.

"here you go" mark accepted the note in his hand and looked at it.

"i'm going to leave now, make sure you show up" mark said, heading to your door.

"i will, just also make sure that you show up" you smirked at your words, making mark shake his head out of disbelief.

mark finally exited your bedroom, going back to haechan's basement carrying a piece of paper with your number on it instead of his precious wallet.

mark realized on his way home that he really really messed with the wrong girl.

and now you're one of his problems.

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 1 month

Text

the world (it burns through me)

Ao3 | 3.6k Words | Freelancer's POV

Gabriel Shaw raised his son in this fire house, in this office as Captain. And Asher’s dad was his lieutenant. And Milo’s dad was the beat cop who would divert his route to clear a scene when he heard the 10-19 was on a call. The house was fill of lineage, full of families of firefighters and their sons.

It was a lineage that you weren’t a part of.

Firefighter/EMT au. Darlin is still the black sheep. Quinn is still a problem. Sam is still a healer, of sorts. He still heals them, in a way.

TW: blood and injury, medical talk, burn out, passing out from exhaustion, generally dissatisfaction when receiving medical care, refusal of medical care

It was the winter after you flunked out of medical school and you were buttoning up the starched, navy EMT uniform shirt that you’d received a few hours before. Gavin thought that this was a good idea when you’d pitched it, but not for the reasons you’d brought up. You originally wanted to be an EMT as an appeal to your mother, who had, upon your withdrawal from school, languished that her youngest was as much of a disappointment as their older siblings.

Your sister was a school teacher. Your brother was an artist. By ‘disappointment ,’ Mom meant ‘ not a doctor or lawyer .’

But you couldn’t stay in med school. You tried, you did. You took yourself as far as you could go. You pushed, pushed, tried so fucking hard. You didn’t sleep, skipped meals and social hour and ignored your phone when your friends called. And you were perfect. Straight A’s right up until the end.

And then Damien found you on the floor of your kitchen at the end of finals week. You’d burned as long and as bright as you could, but by the end, all you were was burnt out.

Your boys dragged you kicking and screaming to unenrollment.

Two months later, Gavin insisted that you do something. Not for the money, that wasn’t an issue. What he’d already earned off of his OnlyFans could carry you two for the rest of your lives, let alone what he was yet to make. When you two got serious, Gavin made it clear that you didn’t have to work, that you could leave school and chase a passion, chase a dream. But all you had was medical textbooks and the hazy vision of being a surgeon of some type some day. You wanted to put that prefix in front of your name, hang up your diploma in the living room so everybody could see it.

You didn’t know if you loved medicine. You thought that you probably just loved a job well done.

Your hair was a mess. You smoothed it down in the little mirror affixed to the door of your locker. You caught sight of your surname embroidered in gold on the breast of your uniform shirt. Sam had gotten it done the day after your interview. Vincent said that he’d never seen Sam be so sure of something so fast.

It was no use staring at your reflection. You’d always find something to tweak if you squinted hard enough. You shut your locker and made your way out of the bunk room.

Station 10-19 was nice, very nice. A huge locker room, individual shower stalls, full sized beds with pressed white sheets. The kitchen had two ovens, a huge fridge, and the biggest pantry you’d ever seen. The firehouses you’d visited while getting certified were much smaller, much less impressive. All of this must have cost a fortune.

“Shaw’s a master of budget balancing,” Vincent had told you that afternoon during your tour. “I swear, the dude spends hours sitting in his office crunching numbers. It’s honestly a little worrying.”

You’d met David Shaw in your interview, but Sam Collins was your direct report. Shaw was a big dude, but after meeting a few of the other firefighters, you just started considering yourself scrawny. The whole firehouse was full of mutant giants.

Everybody was nice, but Vincent acted like he’d just gained a new best friend when he’d introduced himself that afternoon. He was a tall, slender man with bright gray eyes and a sharp smile. You recognized his last name, Solaire. His dad was the chief of surgery at Daliah General, the only level one trauma center in the area. It was your top pick for your residency.

Solaire wasn’t a common name, but if Vincent was the son of a two time Harper-Avery winner, he didn’t show it. He moved with a cool confidence, and seemed to have that same confidence in you. He spoke to you like you knew what you were doing. Which, to be fair, you did. You just weren’t used to people treating you like it.

“Don’t let Sam’s grumpy attitude fool you,” Vincent grinned as he led you towards the ambulance. “He’s a softy. A bit rough around the edges, but soft for sure.”

You couldn’t imagine Sam Collins being soft, but you smiled and nodded anyway. Vincent showed you where everything was on the bus, and then reiterated the few things that you would likely actually use. The compression machine, the heart monitor, the AMBU bag.

When the first code blared in your ears just as Vincent finished shoving everything back into their assigned cubbies. He grinned and patted you on the back, jumping up to the front and hopping on the radio as he revved the bus’s engine.

Sam made his appearance a few seconds later, hopping into the bus and pointing you towards one of the two passenger seats in the back, strapping himself in. He nodded for you to do the same.

It was quiet for a long time. Vincent called a few things into the radio before shouting back to Sam.

“Single vic, third story apartment. Not sure the extent of the injuries. Landlord just found a blood trail.”

“Let’s prep for a GSW and a laceration.” Sam replied. He grabbed for a few things within reach and threw them into his jump bag. “BleedStop’s over your head, Probie, grab me a few.” He held out his hand. It took you a second to realize he was talking to you. You jerked and reached up blindly, coming back with a few red and white packages.

“Are these standard issue?” You asked softly, flipping one over in your hand. You heard Vincent laughing from up front. Sam grinned.

“You were in medical school?” Sam asked after a few minutes. You nodded. “Internal medicine, peds…”

“Surgical.” You answered his unasked question. You ducked your head, looked away. Sam was quiet for a long moment. “I was four years into my residency when I called it quits.” He said. When you looked up, he was focused on the computer output, a pinch in his brow. You didn’t dare ask a question, break his concentration, but something in your chest eased.

After roughly three minutes of sirens wailing and lights flashing, Vincent pulled up outside of a dilapidated, five story apartment building. This was the sort of street that you would refuse to let Gavin walk down alone, the sort of area you wanted Huxley next to you in. You shivered and kept close to Vincent as he loaded a jump bag on each of your shoulders.

“It’ll be bloody.” Sam cracked his neck in anticipation. “Just keep your cool. You don’t gotta do much this time around, Probie. Watch the two of us closely and try to keep up.” You nodded sharply and followed him into the building.

The landlord was waiting for you in the lobby (if this could be called a lobby). He was a short, round man with more bald spot than hair. He was tapping something out on his phone, the font blown up to such a big size you could read his message from this distance. You politely avoided looking at it, instead planting your gaze between his bushy eyebrows and trying to carry an air of confidence about you.

“Finally,” he huffed, attaching his phone to the little plastic holster on his belt, “took you guys long enough. It’s upstairs, third floor.” He slammed a set of keys into Sam’s hand and turned on his heel, retreating through an office door. You heard the lock slide in place before any of you could say anything.

“We’ve got the fastest response times in Dahlia.” Sam shouted after him, his face twisted up with annoyance. “Come on,” he turned towards the elevator and took a deep, calming breath. His rugged features somehow looked more handsome when pinched with frustration. The line between his eyebrows was present even as his face relaxed.

The elevator doors opened to a pool of drying, congealing blood. Vincent whistled, shaking his head.

“Dude,” he had the nerve to laugh, “these people really don’t like being alive. Whoever this is should have gone straight to the hospital.” The three of you piled in, stepping carefully around the blood. It resulted in you being awkwardly pressed against three separate walls. Vincent stretched to press the button for the third floor.

“Look at where we are.” You waved your hand around the concerningly rickety elevator. “If they can only afford to live here, I’d bet they don’t have health insurance either.”

Vincent’s face slackened in confusion, as though that thought had never occurred to him.

“Dahlia Gen has a free clinic for that very reason.” Sam said. The elevator groaned and he caught the handrail nervously.

The blood trail continued when the doors opened, leading you straight to the vic’s apartment. The door was painted a sloppy brown color, the latest in a long line of landlord-specials. It was peeling around the corners, revealing white, beige, yellow, green…

Sam inspected the door for a few seconds before leaning into his radio.

“Engine Two to Dispatch, confirm no PD?” He kept his voice low. His radio crackled as a voice called back.

“Confirmed, Engine Two.” Dispatch replied. “Paramedics were the only ones called to the scene.” Sam sighed softly and scratched his head.

“Cap?” Vincent asked.

“Proceed with caution.” Sam replied. “You two stay behind me. We don’t make any moves until we see what we’re dealing with.”

Sam stepped up to the door and knocked hard, three times, with the side of his fist. “DFD,” he shouted, “Paramedics, open up!”

There was no reply.

“Hello!” Sam called again. “Paramedics!”

Something shifted behind the door. You heard a curse, a stumble. Sam backed up and herded you and Vincent away from the door.

It swung open wide. The apartment inside was dark and barren, like somebody had just moved in. A slumped figure was leaning against the doorway. You could see where the bloodtrail was coming from. Their hand was pressed firmly against their side. The steady drip of their blood against the floor made your stomach turn.

Were you really ready for this? Maybe medical school wasn’t so bad.

“What?” They growled. Their shoulders were tensed and drawn up to their ears.

“Jesus.” Sam breathed. He was stunned into silence for a moment, but only a moment. He jerked and then moved slow, indicating his movements boldly, so as not to surprise them.

Even hunched over and bleeding, they cut an intimidating figure. Clad in a pair of ratty sweatpants and a muscle tee, you could see every inch of lean muscle and scar tissue that made them up. They were as tall as most of the firefighters in the 10-19. You thought they’d fit right in against Lieutenant Talbot’s frame, that they could hold their own in a fist fight against Captain Shaw.

“You can leave.” They spat, their teeth lined with blood. They had something wild in their eyes, and you were concerned for a moment that they would lash out at Sam to get him away. He held strong, though, didn’t back down or look away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” He pointed to their hand and cocked his head to the side.

“This is private property.” They gritted out, close to a growl.

“Private property owned by your landlord.” Sam nodded. “Who called us. You gonna bleed out on your feet or are you gonna let us in?” He put a hand out to steady them as they listed to the side. They jerked away from him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” They snapped, curling in on themself.

“Well, excuse me for trying to help you!” He held his hands up in surrender, telegraphing his movements even as he griped. “Keep barkin’ at me like that and I’ll let you bleed out.”

“Yeah well, my bite’s much worse.” They managed. They had gone a bit green and, when Sam reached for them again, they didn’t protest.

“Well, ain’t you just darlin’.” Sam drawled. His face had gone serious, his focus pulled to the blood dripping down their side and the leg of their pants. “Come on, let’s get you sat down before you fall out.”

Sam started steering them towards the patch-covered couch that sat in the center of the room. The apartment was a studio, although even that felt like a generous description. It was, really, a dingy, gray box. A sink sat dry in one corner next to a mini fridge and a poor excuse for a counter space. There was no bed, just the dirty, brown couch that looked as though it had been pulled from off the curb. A large section of the lumpy middle cushion was darkened with blood. There was one window that you didn’t think even you could fit out of, let alone your hulking patient. A shadeless lamp sat on the floor in the corner opposite the sink, casting the room in stark, dramatic shadow.

Sam deposited your patient on the couch, where they collapsed in a heap of muscle and blood. He snapped on a pair of white gloves and held a hand out to Vincent, who snagged a jump bag from your shoulder and supplied him with the gauze he was apparently reaching for. It would be difficult, you thought, to keep up with them at first. These two seemed to be so familiar, so connected that they didn’t have to talk to know what the other needed.

“Can you tell me your name?” Sam asked, raising his voice to try and cut through the buzz that blood loss left in the ear. “And where you are?”

“I’m fine,” your patient groaned, shoving at Sam as they tried to sit up again.

“Hold still .” Sam used his forearms to press them back into their couch without contaminating his gloves. “You’re gonna tear your stomach right open if you don’t ease back.”

“You need to work on your bedside manner, Doctor.” The patient grinned. Their face had gone sheet white.

“Well, good thing I’m not a doctor, Darlin’.” He replied. Actually, you thought, he was. If he had been in his residency, he would’ve had to have a medical degree. He was a doctor, license or not.

You reached for the BleedStop you’d stashed in the bus just as Sam’s hand swung back again. When you clapped the pack down in his palm, he turned, surprised. Vincent bumped your shoulder with his, smiling broadly.

“This is gonna sting.” Sam informed them before dumping the BleedStop over the wound and packing it with gauze. They shouted, short and hard, as they clamped a hand down on Sam’s shoulder. Vincent jerked as though to pull them off, but Sam shook his head sharply. Vincent backed off. “Saline,” He said, holding his hand back to you. You dug through your bag quickly before finding a pint of it. Vincent supplied a large syringe.

Watching Sam work on a patient was like watching an artist paint. He had an intense air of focus about him, and his whole face lit up when he bent over the wound. He watched with rapt attention as the bleeding slowed and clotted. After a few minutes, he pulled a syringe full of saline from the bag and rinsed out the BleedStop.

It was a stab wound, surrounded by ugly, red and purple bruising. It looked as though someone had punched the blade into them.

“Can I lift this up?” Sam asked, indicating their shredded and blood-blackened shirt. They nodded sharply once. You watched as their steely face crumbled a bit as Sam touched them. Their bottom lip trembled. “Hey,” Sam said softly, freezing until they met his eye, “it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” He said it like it was true, like there was no doubt about it.

In the end, despite the stab wound and the slash on their thigh and the obviously broken ribs and their split lip and their bloodied knuckles, they refused to go to the hospital. Sam spent fifteen odd minutes arguing with them. Honest-to-God arguing, shouting, cursing, lecturing. You thought that was probably against protocol, but he was right, so you weren’t going to snitch to Captain Shaw about it. The stab wound was concerning enough. The broken ribs were dangerous. One bone fragment, one twist of the skin to make it a compound fracture, one stutter of their lungs in just the wrong way. It could all prove deadly. They let Sam use suture glue on the stab wound and the cut, let him dab anesthetic against their knuckles, let him press a cold compact into their ribs. They didn’t let anybody else touch them.

“There is a free clinic at Dahlia Gen.” Sam reiterated one last time as they hurried you out of the door. “If you start bleeding or have trouble breathing,” he patted around his uniform until he supplied a scrap of paper and pen from his breast pocket. He scrawled out a phone number and handed it over. Their fingers spread red across the crumpled, white paper. “Please call me.”

The door shut hard in your faces.

You made your way back through the blood stained halls. Sam turned the keys in to the landlord. You walked out into the crisp, winter air.

“Are they all like that?” You asked as you took several deep breaths, free from the iron tang of blood that had permeated their apartment.

“No.” Sam shook his head sharply.

“It’s mostly drunk people.” Vincent assured you.

“And kitchen knife incidents.” Sam chimed in.

“And cardiac events.” Vincent nodded, hopping into the driver’s seat. You settled into the back of the ambulance with Sam and studied your hands. There was blood on the cuff of your uniform. Sam huffed and reached under his seat, pulling out a fresh uniform shirt.

“Here, Probie.” He said.

“Does it get easier?” You asked all of a sudden as you took the shirt from him. Sam smiled.

“The blood?” He asked. “Yeah. Yeah, the blood gets easier. But not much else.”

The two of them were right. Somewhere along your drive back to the 10-19, you got a call for a possible cardiac event that turned out to be an anxiety attack. You held the hyperventilating kid’s hand, walked them through breathing exercises you’d learned for Lasko while Sam assured their mom it was nothing to worry about. Straight from there, you got a call for an older woman, Mrs. Henrick, who claimed she fell and broke her hip. She was apparently a widow and a frequent caller. She just wanted Sam to put her kettle on and to ogle at Vincent for a while. He was impressively obliging, and matched her flirting one for one. It was a few more hours of just that; bouncing from call to call, emergency to emergency, but nothing quite like that first one.

It was nearing dawn by the time Engine Two was finally cleared to return to the 10-19. You were just this side of exhausted, the adrenaline that kept you pushing through the night long worn off. Vincent walked you through the breakdown of the bus. Checking off the medical supplies one by one on your little inventory sheet was almost meditative. It lulled you towards the rest you knew was coming. You were on call for the next twelve hours, and then you’d be off for another twelve. You longed for that plush bunk room and the reprieve a few hours of rest would give you.

Captain Shaw was in the kitchen when you and Vincent clambered in. He had looked so severe when you met him in your interview, clad in the navy button down of his daily uniform. He must have been getting on duty, because now he was wearing a tight, heather gray t-shirt with the Dahlia Fire Department logo emblazoned across his back. The shirt was stretched across his chest and arms, giving you a full view of his musculature. Sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting his dark features in warm, welcoming light. He was handsome. You couldn’t wait until you had an excuse to introduce him to Gavin. He’d have a field day with a man like David Shaw.

“There can’t be that much blood in the human body,” he rumbled into his coffee cup. Sam laughed from his spot across the large, family style dining table that filled up most of the floor space in the room. There were pans out near the six burner stove; sausage, bacon, some weird looking strips of what must have been a vegetarian substitute. There was a plate stacked with pancakes, another stacked with waffles, and a bowl filled with sliced fruit. Two cartons of eggs were waiting, untouched, next to the stove.

“You would be surprised how much a person can bleed and keep going if they have the will power.” Sam shrugged. He was flipping through a pile of paperwork, probably the releases from their calls tonight.

“Captain Shaw cooks every morning.” Vincent indicated towards the feast on the kitchen counter. “You should eat. Once morning shift gets in, it’ll be gone.”

“And they refused transport to the hospital?” Shaw scoffed.

“Yup.” Sam popped the ‘p’ in his mouth, shaking his head. He handed over a file from the top of his pile to Shaw, who flipped through their release form with only a bit of interest.

His dark eyes flicked over the page once, and then widened. He sat up straighter, bending to get a better look at it. His eyes landed on the bottom of it, where your patient had printed their name next to their sloppy signature.

Shaw’s coffee cup shattered in his hand, sending shards of ceramics and hot coffee all over him, the table, and the offending report.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted sam #redacted vincent #redacted darlin #redacted freelancer #firefighter au #redacted audio #redacted fanfic #redacted fic #my redacted writing

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st4rbe0m · 2 months

Text

SUMMARY ▸ 20 years ago, a gruesome murder shook the town hard. A type of murder that should've never happened, much less in their quaint town. A lovely family killed in cold blood with an unforgiving axe wielding maniac - a mother, a father and a little girl.

It's been 20 years down the road, hasn't it? Then why are these 10 teenagers stuck in a loop of the same day, being haunted by a little girl who died 20 years ago?

PAIRING ▸ Park Jongseong (Jay) x fem!reader

STARRING ▸ Enhypen members, aespa members (Giselle and NingNing). Any pairings made between Enhypen and aespa members is with clear fictional intent

WC ▸ 2.7K

TAG LIST ▸ open!! send an ask to be added

A/N ▸ I'm so proud of this cliffhanger hehehe had my hands rubbing devious grin on my face and everything as I typed it out. Also thank you for the support on this fic! Pls PLS don't be silent readers and do leave comments and reblogs! I'd love to hear thoughts and remarks from you guys <33

WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE THE BODY SEARCH ?

▊ yes -> CHAPTER 6

▊ no -> CHAPTER 4

BODY SEARCH MASTERLIST

The salt air is sticky and tangy on everyone’s tongue, mouths wide open in shrieking laughter and joyous squeals. A much needed break, it was today, the repeat of the day before and the day after, that the group had decided to head down to the beach.

“I can feel my lungs close around me. I can’t breathe guys. I can see the light.” Heesung was sprawled across the stone bench of the school park, while Sunghoon chewed on a mango popsicle and eyed his friend wearily, annoyed by his complaints. “Heesung, you’d probably stop dying if you complained less”, said Sunoo, equally fed up with Heesung - not because the boy was in any serious danger. No, he just missed his girlfriend. Giselle, it seemed, reveled in the time she had with Y/N and NingNing, which made her boyfriend’s spirits shrivel as he was left to hangout with the other boys of their group. “You don’t get it, you guys. It’s withdrawal symptoms. Oh Jungwonie, I can barely even see you, my vision is going out.” Jungwon called out from where he was - completely opposite and in no way near Heesung’s line of sight, as he exclaimed, “I’m nowhere even near you dipshit, of course you can’t see me!”

Jay was sort of done with Heesung’s whining, and if he had to hear about how much Giselle would save Heesung from his fate, his head would explode. So he did the only thing he could think of, the only solution - he dialed Y/N. He had just remembered to ask her for her phone number just yesterday, when they walked to class together. Hands intertwined, sharing warmth, it certainly made his classmates raise hell when they saw the school loner with the school’s golden goose. But it didn’t matter, because they didn’t remember anything today anyways.

The memory of yesterday still had his heart leaping in gleeful somersaults inside him, as he remembered just how beautiful Y/N looked under the waning glow of the sunlight, hair caressing the sides of her face softly, skin that he was sure would feel like heaven under his touch. Maybe if he got bold enough, one day he’d get there. One day, where the sun rose for a second time to greet a different day.

“Jay, you’re thinking something again”. Y/N pointed out as she noticed the furrow in his brow. “Nothing, nothing”. The pair kept walking down, hands now swinging in mild amusement of their circumstances. Now they were recounting their hilarious fails from all their deathly escapades every night - “I honestly don’t know how she found us in the pool! And seriously, I don’t know what got into NingNing that made her think hiding in the pool - a body of water where we can drown easily is a wonderful idea!” Y/N animatedly recounted to Jay, hands flying about as she chatted along in enthusiasm, Jay hanging on to her every word with wonder, as he gazed upon the girl who seemed more talkative than ever now that she’d broken out of her shell. “Wait, you can’t swim?”, asked Jay, who was now more than amused as he got to know of this little tidbit. “Hey, that’s not what you should be focusing on right now.”, she laughed and swatted his arm. “No, no. I just think it’s cute that you haven’t learnt even after the water park.” “Well back then I had you, didn’t I?”. Y/N looked at him with a twinkling mirth, which made his breath hitch in his throat. And having no idea where the surge of confidence came from, he just looked right back into her eyes, and said, “Aw, so you still need me to save you? Just stay close to me, like I said”, flexing a bicep up, he added, “I can fight.”

In any other case, this would’ve had Y/N cringing. But this was Jay. Tall, smart, muscular and chivalrous Jay. So obviously, it just had Y/N standing in a flustered mess as gaping eyes stared into him. Breaking out of the embarrassing stupor, she just continued along, tugging at the boy who was now sporting a confidence in his gait, “Alright, alright we get it, basketball captain.” Offhandedly, she also said, “At least we know Sunghoon can’t save me since he’ll be busy saving Ning”, in reference to the newfound knowledge she had about her friend’s feelings, when she gasped in realization about what she’d spilled. Looking at Jay in shock, she hastily waved her hands around, trying to undo the damage. “Forget I said that! Who even is Sunghoon? I don’t know anyone with that name!”, laughing unsurely. Jay just slowly grabbed the palm of her hand that she’d let go from his, pulling her closer by just an inch to him, as he said smugly, “Don’t worry, I know. Who do you think has been wingman for both of them?”. That’s when Y/N remembered why NingNing and Jay would hangout so often. Softening up from her slip up, her hand relaxed into his as they kept going again. “Yeah, Ning told me and Giselle while we were talking about our crushes.” “Our crushes?”, asked Jay, which had Y/N slightly stiffening up again. Damn Park Jay, she thought, he has me spilling everything out in the open just like that. “Ning has a crush on Hoon, we know this. Giselle and Heesung have been together since eternity. So ‘our’ here would also mean the crush you have on someone, right?”. Damn that Park Jay, was all Y/N could think as she laughed nervously and said, “Well not necessarily right? I don’t think so.” Jay halted Y/N again, still holding her hand. The smile he gave her was dazzling this time, and it seemed that Y/N was collecting all of his charming grins like a bouquet in her mind. “That’s a slight relief.” “Why?” Y/N was confused. Not meeting her eyes, he just said, “Wouldn’t want the prettiest girl in school falling for anyone else now, would we?”

That was yesterday. And today, as Jay had dialed up Y/N and explained Heesung’s lamentations, a half-annoyed, half-charmed Giselle had just asked the boys to meet the girls where they were planning to go - the beach. To have a day off, and as a celebration. Because the group had achieved something they were building up to for a while - they’d collected almost all of the body parts. In fact, only one crucial part was missing. The head. The head of the missing, dead girl was all they had to find, to brave past the girl covered in blood bent on haunting them.

“Last one in the water loses!”, called out an excited Jungwon, breezing past the girls in his striped tank top and pineapple beach shorts. “Someone’s excited”, commented Riki, who was lugging along a picnic basket he’d arranged impromptu. The youngest of their group, albeit quiet, was one of the most thoughtful juniors Y/N had met. Thanking him for his gesture, he just laughed and gave her a cheeky salute as he joined Jake, wrestling the older yet shorter boy into the water. The excited screams of the group were a much-needed contrast from the blood-curdling ones they heard during their deathly games. The girls had quickly changed from their coverups into their beachwear, and Y/N was involved in a serious game of beach volleyball with NingNing on her team, against Sunghoon and Jay. Giselle was lounging on the beach towel as Heesung, who finally got the girlfriend time he was deprived of, sat next to her, lathering sunscreen onto himself. “How is this split even fair? You guys are literally trained athletes”, complained the ever-competitive NingNing, who also did have a fair point. “Fine then, let’s switch. Sunghoon, join NingNing. I’ll join Y/N”. The double intention of these actions didn’t fly past anyone, as all four of them seemed to be hyper aware of themselves now. Sunghoon, who simply greeted Ning with a nod and cleared his throat as he set his eyes on the ball that Jay was serving, stood opposite Y/N, who was also watching Jay, for completely different reasons. The way the heat beating down on them made him sweat, the sheen covering his tan skin deliciously. The way he posed with accuracy with the ball, slender yet toned arms accentuating his biceps. Jay served the ball with precision, and it was immediately received by NingNing as she expertly passed it over to where Y/N was, blushing as Sunghoon praised her as she did. Y/N also caught the ball with a dip, hitting right over the net by a bare minimum, which had Sunghoon pile diving into the sand to catch.

The game went on until Sunghoon and NingNing won, the pair high fiving each other, giggling to each other with burning ears, praising the way they both handled themselves. A teasing Jay made his way to where Y/N was, dusting the sand off her shorts. “You know what, let me buy you an ice cream. Let’s celebrate how we held our own against the Ice Prince and his Class President Princess over there.” Glancing over to where NingNing and Sunghoon were still talking amongst themselves, now much more calm and with eyes fixed on each other, Y/N simply nodded as she followed Jay along to the corner store right by the beach. After paying the vendor, the two of them sat on the staircase that led to the beach, simply enjoying the weather, the view and the company. A silence that blanketed them in comfort, not awkwardness. “Y/N.” Jay broke the silence suddenly, but not startlingly. “Hmm”, Y/N hummed in response, curious as to what the boy wanted to ask. “Have an ice cream with me tomorrow as well?”, he asked. “Sure, why not”, Y/N said, not thinking too much into it. Her and Jay were hanging out quite frequently anyways, and this was not all that of a strange request from him. “No, I mean the real tomorrow. A tomorrow that isn’t a Tuesday again. A tomorrow where the sun rises over a new time”. His eyes were determined as he looked at where she sat. There was no guarantee in this. This wasn’t one of Jay’s basketball games where the outcome of the match could be predicted. But the way Y/N’s hand was on top of his palm, her body leaned slightly into him, and from the way she smiled at him all the time - he had a feeling the odds were in his favor. “What do you say?”

The hope that was in the air was buzzing. It was thrown into the wind along with caution, and it was about whether Y/N would catch onto it.

“Yes, Jay. I’ll have ice cream with you tomorrow.”

A promise.

A promise between two hearts, young and beating with life and purpose. A promise that neither of the two hearts were sure they’d be able to keep.

“Guys, come here!”. The urgence in the outcry of Giselle’s voice made the two run as fast as they could, kicking up sand to where the rest of the group had already assembled. Sunoo was on the sand, clutching the bag which contained all the evidence Jungwon had collected regarding the body search. “I was looking for my sunglasses in this bag, when I saw it.” There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary in what Sunoo was clutching, the newspaper article and the books. That’s when Y/N looked to see the color draining from Jay’s face, and the rest of her friends looking right at her in indescribable fear. And when she looked down again at the newspaper, she saw the difference.

‘10 year old Y/N Y/L/N brutally murdered along with her parents at Sakcho WaterPark by unknown intruder ; body of the deceased is yet to be found.’

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prime-adeptus · 7 months

Text

AND OUR LOVE IS A GHOST – HANZO SHIMADA X READER

Hanzo faces another ghost from his past.

CONTENT.⠀gender-neutral reader. angst. hanzo and reader are exes. unhappy reunions.

NOTES.⠀part of an Overwatch ficlet collection I've started on ao3 :) this one's dedicated to @kakujis, the Older Brother Character enjoyer <3 I couldn't let us teehee over him too much so here's some angst to balance it out

Hanzo has faced more than his fair share of trials and tribulations in his life.

Those, however, pale in comparison to where he stands now—injured on the doorstep of someone he had selfishly abandoned years ago. It hurts his pride that he was even in this position. He knows he’s damn good with a bow and arrow. He spent years honing his skill, doing everything he could to take back the honour he lost. But it wasn’t enough to fight against a machine.

Though he could treat his injuries himself (he always does; when you are alone, all you have to turn to is yourself), these are too much for him to deal with by his lonesome. He’s not sure what hurts more. The cuts and bruises steadily marking up the skin of his torso or the emotionless stare you’re giving him. He deserves it, he supposes. He’d left you behind without so much of a letter, gone under the radar and never contacted you again. At the time he thought it was for the best. Without anything left to his name, having been stripped of all he had, he didn’t deem himself worthy of you. He was too caught up in his hurt and completely disregarded you, the one who loved him, cared for him—

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it,” you speak up, tone laced with impatience and remnants of anger. “Just come in.”

Hanzo tries not to wince as he follows you inside your home. It’s different from what he remembers—it feels… bleak, barely lived in. He doesn’t have the time to mull over what he’d done to you when you’re pulling him by the sleeve and urging him to sit down. He’s left by himself for a few moments as you disappear into a room before reemerging with a sleek glove in your hand.

You don’t say a word as your hand presses against his chest, a faint white-yellow glow emerging from the glove as pleasant tingles surge through his system. Without knowing it, he closes his eyes and lets himself succumb to relief, his pain and tension leaving his body with each touch.

“A friend of mine gave this to me when he visited.”

The mention of this friend has his eyes snapping open. There’s something akin to irritation—envy—stirring in his chest, but he begrudgingly lets it go. After all, what right does he have to feel possessive of you?

“I’ve been volunteering at the hospital as a nurse. They’ve been understaffed since the last Null Sector invasion.” You’re not even looking at him as you talk, instead focusing on treating him. After a glance at the holopad by your side, you withdraw and step back from him. “What are you doing here?”

“I…”

“There’s nothing for you here, Hanzo.”

His heart sinks. It constantly dawns on him how no apology will ever make up for how he left you—he’d taken a piece of your heart and broken it beyond repair.

“Instinct,” he finally says. “My heart led me here.”

You roll your eyes, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Five years late?”

He knows you don’t owe him forgiveness. Hell, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Still, seeing what used to be love in your eyes turn into resentment hurts him more than any blade ever could. The walls you’d let down for him were built back up, stronger than before, and there’s no way he can possibly get through.

“You’re still living here after Null Sector’s invasion?”

“Some of us can’t just leave things behind to go on our own,” comes your response, quick and snappy. You sigh, your tense features softening just the slightest. “I have friends and family here. I have to help where I can.”

“I… am sorry. I hope they are safe.”

“Sorry enough to help?”

Your words are hauntingly familiar, reminding him of yet another loved one he failed—the young shrine maiden who’s turned to a life of vigilantism to do what he couldn’t. He bites on the inside of his cheek, his eyes downcast. For a man who’s spent years with the most beautiful of words, all of them are lost to him under your glare. Guilt, regret, sorrow—feelings that are even more familiar swirl in his chest, drags him into the depths of the dark.

“I’ll let you stay. It’s late.” You sniffle, and his heart sinks. “But I want you gone by the morning. I don’t care where you go, just… don’t come back.” Then, in a barely audible whisper, you continue, “Please.”

All he can do is watch as you disappear into a silhouette walking down the corridor, leaving behind nothing but faint sobs in your wake. How many tears have you shed because of him? How dare he expect your forgiveness when he has done nothing to earn it? Your agreeing to help him had already been unexpected—miraculous—enough. A selfish part of him wonders if he can ever make it up to you, take away your hurt by being a better man for you.

Hanzo no longer dreams. There is nothing to wish for, nothing he will ever get back. But for you, he dreams that you’ll find it in your heart to look at him the same way you used to again. He’ll do anything to make amends and treat you better if you consider him deserving of a second chance.

For now, he’ll do as you wish and leave just like he did all those years ago. He can’t bear hurting you anymore.

#all #hanzo shimada x reader #shimada hanzo x reader #overwatch x reader

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wannaeatramyeon · 2 years

Note

i just saw that you are biased towards vasco tabasco as well 👀👀👀👀 i beg for anything, i have read all the fics on this app twice and im getting withdrawals from my bit tit himbo 😭

Tell me who isn't biased towards our baby Tabasco and I'll fight them!!

Ty for the ask! I just love Vasco so much. He's THE ride or die and has always treated little Daniel so kindly from the start.

He doesn't always get it right but he tries and he learns and his heart is in the right place 😭😭

I feel like there's just SO much I want to read and know about Vasco. HC, x reader, drabbles, novels. But here you go anon, take some wordvom instead

Vasco Headcannons

The Burn Knuckles said they started the gang just cos they like him. Vasco was probably just shouting about protecting people and being all pure then attracting all these macho dudes that were going down the wrong path. He has a sense of justice that is just... Irrefutable. The kind that kids have before they grow up and get cynical and corrupted and he reminds them of a simpler time.

Also he's strong af so if you don't want to die, you come around to his view pretty quickly.

Damon Goh the rubber ducky guy hid away his ducks until Vasco saw them one day and was like 'omg!! These are so cute!!' with his typical heart eyes and asked for one. Since then, Damon just unapologetically carries them around.

No idea Leonn Lee is a girl. Doesnt care if she is, Burn Knuckles membership is open to all.

Doesn't know there's a tool council, thought it was something for architect class. Never made the connection with the Tool nicknames either.

Unapologetic crier. You've seen his tears. Encourages Burn Knuckles to show their emotions. They hold therapy sessions like a confessional but apart from Jace - Vasco and the rest of the gang share 1 braincell so no good can come from this.

Makes friends everywhere he goes. We've seen Vasco make his own crew out of the Homeless, and that's just how he is. He's made friends with BEARS like cmon.

Not that great with names or faces though, and he's just a general clown so he doesn't actually remember a lot of people.

Has a rather childlike and innocent view of the world with justice and lookism. It used to be pretty black and white but he learns and is understanding of the shades of grey pretty quickly. Let's be real, if Vasco was leader of the world - we would all be a lot better off.

Toxic masculinity who? Gender roles what? Zero interest in subscribing to men can't do this or women shouldn't do that. Will be the best provider or househusband ever, whatever makes his partner happy!

Daniel or Jay busy or out of town? If Vasco is available, he will be looking after Enu or Jays puppies. This is absolutely non negotiable. He always gets first dibs.

Seen and heard enough about Vin Jin to think there's no redeeming features with this guy. Although Vasco might be the only person that thinks his rap is pretty good lol

Very little sense of self awareness and decorum around girls. Not really sure where he's going wrong until Jay spruced him up and his post-date download with Jace.

Says he's married to the Burn Knuckles and he's talked less about finding a partner since then. In all honesty he finds the dressing up and the flowery words exhausting. He just wants to find someone that loves him for him, BNC uniform and all :(

And this is the perfect segue into...

Vasco x Reader headcannons

Vasco is the ultimate friends to lover trope. He needs to get to know you first and your personality before he can begin to develops feelings for you. Your morals aligning with his is a must.

Doesn't think too hard on confessing if he likes you. He's a straight forward guy. Main obstacle is Jace giving him terrible advice based on trashy romcoms.

Only Jace (occasionally) or family call him Euntae. Will be so flustered if you do.

He is 100% innocent your honour!!! You likely need to take the initiative in the relationship. He's a romantic at heart but doesn't know how to express himself and is worried about being too foward. First hand hold? First embrace? First kiss? Gonna be all you.

Gets more relaxed the longer you date. Once he's more confident of your comfort levels and knowing that he can be himself around you, will initiate a lot more.

Not a huge fan of PDA but loves holding hands and holding you. It just feels right with you in his arms.

Vasco would naturally be the big spoon, but omg if you were the big spoon? He has never felt so protected and loved and will absolutely melt.

Huge fan of couples outfits. Not the cool ones, the cheesier the better. "If found return to Y/N" "I'm Y/N". And tbh Zack is sick with jealousy that him and Mira don't do that.

Still has an old fashioned sense of chivalry where he wouldn't want you to fight even if you could. After seeing you fight a few times though, he reluctantly let's you get on with things. Will try to step in where possible, but more that he doesn't want to see you get hurt.

Loves the novelty of classic dates at first, especially after seeing and reading about it all so much. Fancy 3 course meals, grabbing a coffee together.

After a while though, would prefer to just have more meaningful dates and take you to his favourite places. Even if it's that Fish Soup place lol, but you don't mind cos you can see how happy he is and being with Vasco is enough.

Expect good morning texts, good night video calls and everything in between! This man isn't afraid of the double or triple text. There's a lot of "I can't wait to see you!" and "I miss you!!" and just random ones like "I tried to buy milk but forgot my wallet lol"

As long as it's not against his morals, he will do A N Y T H I N G for you. Tired? Foot massage. Craving at 3am? Let me run right out. Prefer him clean shaven? Hold on I'll get the razor. He loves you so so much and it shows!

#lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #vasco x reader #vasco #euntae lee #lookism fanfics #wannaeatramyeon

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