#and like we as the reader KNOW that these things happen

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows��or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak into the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"But if they don't manage to kill her... her punishment for me will be worse." "Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[crocky-wock]

So... my thought process when reading this post was: "Ah, another 'Those Europeans' post on my dash. Okay, what did 'we' do this time? ... Hm. Yeah, I hate when people barge in on other people's posts, too. This was about the Grinch, if you don't know it, keep scrolling. The post wasn't for you. ... The Glummdorf what? Hm. Don't know Spanish culture enough to understand this... Dutch Christmas Blackface? Hu? What's that supposed to be? ... Okay, yeah, people can be stubborn - or this was someone whose childhood memories just aged very badly within seconds for her and she had no time to digest that fact before being judged for it... whatever okay... Skimbo the what? This is the third concept in this post about how supposedly all European children (including me, once) have "Racism Claus slur down their chimney". Now, obviously I AM European. Should I not recognise at least one of these?

Now, I do know about the problem of "Indian" plays on this side of the big pond. At least I heard about them when I was little. I think they were a thing like... 60 years ago or something. But I may be wrong there. And I understand it is hurtful to have one's culture and history abused as entertainment in countries where the genocidal invaders who invaded one's homeland once came from.

I am happy to say that societal perceptions have changed since then. We're not quite there yet, but a lot has happened since and there is a full discourse going on around the subject. Involving Native Americans who live over here, I am told. And many people are willing to educate themselves on matters of racial stereotypes, cultural appropriation, etc. We are also educating ourselves on specifically American issues, as I am sure you are educating yourselves on contemporary European issues such as current migration discussions within the EU, perhaps the African-British diaspora, discrimination of Sinti and Romanies, or even the issue of "Gastarbeiters" in Germany about 60 years ago.

It just takes more time at such a great distance, I think, because these other, local issues are more pressing to most people. That's just my feeling.

I think I don't understand what the original post is trying to contribute to the conversation other than make very sweeping, generalised observations about cultures veeery unfamiliar to most people in the target reader group. And get a few excellent puns out of it. All of it feels off coming from people who are so remote and don't seem to know (or be interested in) the origin of any of these ominous traditions that I haven't heard of and am too lazy to google.

I do believe I was ticked off by the general tone of that post and I apologise. We shouldn't be fighting over tone in times like this.

my only advice is to BE CAREFUL posting about holiday traditions around europeans. you'll post something casual like "anyone else watch the old Grinch movie every year? what a classic" and a european will appear as if summoned and say some shit like "funny how USAmericans always CONVENIENTLY forget that Not Everyone On Earth is from The USA…….. no of COURSE we dont watch 'the grunch' or whatever the fuck that is…. our tradition is to attend a community showing of Glummdorf the Racial Stereotype"

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ CARMEN kim chaewon x reader

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing ⭢ consume (bonus) ⭢ take your mask off

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, more sakura and yn focus on this chapter, angst, flashbacks, guilt, a lot of confusion, over working, mentions of fainting, mentions of not eating, arguments, guilt, alcohol

it had been exactly a week since the girls stayed at the moons' humble home, and things had taken a strange turn, really strange.

yn returned to the dorms a couple of days later, though this time, she didn’t have much of a choice. their comeback preparations were in full swing, and her absence wasn’t an option.

but ever since their visit to yn’s family home, something felt… off. it wasn’t anything anyone could point out directly, but the shift in the air was undeniable. with everyone back together, practicing and prepping for the comeback, the strange energy became even more apparent.

yet, no one mentioned it. it was as though everyone had silently agreed to ignore the unsettling vibe that lingered between them, as if pretending it didn’t exist might make it go away.

no one noticed.

except sakura.

the first thing sakura noticed was how frazzled chaewon seemed after leaving the moon house. she had gone back to grab her phone and returned looking visibly shaken. when sakura asked what was wrong, chaewon brushed it off with a shake of her head.

the next thing she noticed was yunjin. normally the one to eagerly join in on chaewon’s rants about yn, yunjin had suddenly become... quieter. she didn’t even want to hear it anymore, shutting down conversations with comments like, "let’s just focus on this," or, "it’s really not that serious." it was strange, yunjin had always been vocal when it came to their shared thoughts about yn.

well, all of them except for kazuha, sakura thought.

but now, it seemed like yunjin was distancing herself from anything related to yn, actively changing the subject whenever her name came up. sakura couldn’t fathom what could have caused the sudden shift. what happened at the moon house that had made yunjin so... different?

sakura didn’t know where she found the courage, but she finally asked yunjin what was going on with her. the younger girl’s response was short and cryptic, “we’re a group, we should act like it.”

whatever that means.

you see, sakura had worked incredibly hard to get to where she was now, and she continued to push herself every single day. that was her problem with yn.

yn was the embodiment of having it easy. the brand deals, the fans, the love, it all seemed to fall into her lap without much effort. sometimes, it looked like she didn’t even have to try. she just had it, effortlessly shining in a way that made it hard to look away.

sakura liked to call her teruhashi. whenever yn asked what she meant by that, sakura would just laugh it off, shaking her head like it was some inside joke yn wouldn’t understand.

so yeah, sakura felt like she had every right to feel the way she did about yn. everyone in the group had put in years of hard work to get here, sacrificing everything to make it. and then came her—this rich girl whose dad conveniently got shares in the company, who was plopped into the group last minute before debut, only to become the most popular member overnight.

it wasn’t fair.

the room was filled with heavy breaths, the squeak of sneakers against the floor, and the steady rhythm of the music.

"one, two, three, four, all the girls are—"

"sakura, straighten your arms. make sure your lines are clean," the choreographer called out, scanning the group. "actually, all of you— wait, yn, come here."

they gestured for yn to step forward before turning back to the others. "this. this is exactly how you should be doing it."

"can you demonstrate?" the choreographer asked, turning to yn.

all eyes were on her now.

she stood there, unfazed, wearing bedazzled sunglasses so dark it was a mystery if she could even see. paired with baggy pink sweatpants, a top that barely passed as a shirt, more like a bikini top and, of all things, a pair of low moon boots.

what the hell is she wearing? chaewon had muttered under her breath when they left the dorm that morning and how does someone where that and still look good yn did, gosh she was a mess, a mess who was still the best in the room.

she unpaused the music, and immediately, yn started moving.

yn was versatile. no matter what concept was thrown at them, she adapted effortlessly, slipping into each one like it was made for her. sakura wasn’t going to lie, she had to mentally prepare every time they switched concepts, had to push herself to embody something new.

so watching yn do it so easily… it always made her feel a certain way.

like now.

the choreographer clapped after yn finished the part she instructed her to do, “that’s exactly how I want you guys to do it, keep your eyes on yn for now on.”

sakura kept her eyes on yn the whole time, noticing how the girl didn’t seem all that pleased with the choreographer’s praise.

why was that? if it were her, she’d be basking in it.

“yn you can go back, let’s start from the top.”

the rest of practice was a disaster, not in terms of their dancing, but the energy in the room. it didn’t feel like teamwork. it felt like competition.

sakura didn’t just want to match yn’s movements. she wanted to surpass them, but she couldn’t and that was the problem.

sighs of relief filled the room as the girls took sips of water, exhaustion settling in while they packed up their things.

sakura slung her bag over her shoulder, ready to leave, when she noticed something, yn was the only one who hadn’t packed up yet.

she stood alone in the corner, quietly sipping water from the dispenser, as if in no rush to leave.

sakura wasn’t the only one who noticed.

she watched as kazuha’s gaze landed on yn, her brows furrowing as she said something to her. whatever it was, sakura couldn’t make it out over the chatter of the other girls.

her curiosity only grew when kazuha suddenly shook her head, turning away from yn and heading back toward the group.

"let’s go," she muttered, not looking back.

"wait, wait, what’s up with yn?" sakura asked as the rest of the girls filed out of the room.

kazuha let out an annoyed sigh. "she’s staying to practice more. said she’ll be home in an hour, but knowing her, that probably means tomorrow."

"hasn’t she done enough?" sakura scoffed. "she already embarrassed us today. does she even realize we’re supposed to be on the same level?"

if yn wanted to be that good, maybe she should’ve just been a soloist.

kazuha opened her mouth to respond, but she just let out a sigh and shook her head.

most nights, sakura was the first to head to bed or at least the first to retreat to her room.

but not tonight.

it was nearly 1 a.m., and instead of sleeping, she sat on the couch, mindlessly watching netflix, barely paying attention to the time.

she flinched at the sound of the front door creaking open, instinctively pulling her blanket tighter around herself.

she had just finished a horror movie and was already onto the next so this was definitely not an ideal situation.

sloppy foot steps was heard making her furrow her eyebrows until it hit her, yn.

yn came into view, the sunglasses she had worn earlier now gone, revealing tired, red rimmed eyes. an oversized sweater hung loosely over her frame, swallowing her up.

she stumbled slightly as she walked through the entryway, one hand reaching out to the wall for support.

"yn?" sakura called out, her voice laced with confusion.

yn looked up at her, her eyes barely open. when she saw sakura, they widened in surprise. "um..." she mumbled, unsure of how to respond.

“I thought you came back hours ago, were you still practicing?” sakura questioned, yn’s whole body language setting alarms in her head, “how did you even get back?”

“it was one of my family’s drivers. It doesn’t matter what time, it's their job." yn mumbled, her words barely audible as she completely avoided sakura’s eyes.

"that sounds pretty privileged," sakura scoffed, her tone sharp with disbelief.

"it was either that, or I would’ve passed out with no one around to help." yn snapped back, her words laced with frustration.

"huh?" sakura muttered, finally noticing the hospital bracelet wrapped around yn’s wrist. "yn... were you just at the hospital?"

"what does it look like?" the younger girl shot back, heading toward the kitchen without a second glance.

sakura followed her without hesitation. “what? how? why?”

yn opened the fridge and grabbed a cold water bottle. “you know, the usual, undereating, overworking.”

“the usual?” sakura echoed, disbelief creeping into her voice.

yn let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the counter. “why do you even care?”

"because one of my members was just in the hospital, didn’t contact any of us, and then just casually calls it the usual?"sakura shot back, her frustration clear, “why would I not care?”

"because it is the usual. not my fault you haven’t noticed," yn shot back, her voice tinged with irritation. "and why would you not care? because you haven’t before, sue me."

sakura let out a frustrated sigh. "yn... this is different. this is important. this is your health."

yn shook her head, taking another sip from her water bottle. "it really isn’t different. with all the stuff you say about me, all the things you probably think about me, why on earth would you care about this?"

“yn-”

"well, since you’ve gotten me started, I guess I should finish, right?" yn cut her off, taking another sip of water, her movements sluggish like someone trying to sober up. "you know, you were probably the one who hurt me the most." after chaewon of course but she wasn’t going to say that out loud.

sakura furrowed her brow, confusion flooding her expression as yn continued. "I mean, you’re the older, motherly one who takes care of everyone... but you never even batted an eye at me. so, sorry for being freaked out right now by you suddenly caring."

the words hit sakura like a punch to the gut. she felt a sharp pang in her chest, she didn’t know how to respond.

"and when I found out you and chaewon were former idols, I thought, great, I have someone older who can guide me through this crazy industry," yn rambled, her voice thick with frustration. "but I guess I’m just too rich and perfect for that. instead, I had you laughing along with everyone else while old men belittled me."

sakura opened her mouth, but no words came out. it felt like everything yn said was just pouring out, and she was left speechless.

yn leaned further against the counter, taking another sip of water, and sakura couldn't shake the thought, was that even water?

"maybe it’s just me being dumb and craving that mother figure but it was such a shock for me," yn continued, "because when I was at sm, the girls I was with took care of me so well. you know aespa, right? you probably know I was supposed to debut with them?"

sakura nodded, her mind numb, her stomach sinking. guilt consumed her, she felt sick.

“yn-”

"did you also know I was forced out of the lineup because of my father?" yn’s words were laced with venom, and sakura flinched, the sharpness stinging her more than she expected. "I don’t want to be in this group as much as you don’t want me here."

"yn-"

"I have a question for you, unnie," yn said, dragging out "unnie" with a mocking tone. "do you hate me, or is it your insecurities getting the best of you?"

sakura was speechless. yn was right. yn was rich, pleasant, and constantly praised, yet that was just the surface, what sakura had seen from the outside. she didn’t know the full story, but the proof was standing right in front of her.

sakura wanted to be her in some ways, and that desire had only gotten in the way of building a connection with her.

"yn… I-"

"what’s going on?" chaewon’s voice broke through the tension, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she stepped into the kitchen. "I heard noise—what the hell, did you just get here?" her words were aimed at yn, who just shook her head, walking past chaewon and down the hall.

sakura’s gaze lingered down the hall where yn had disappeared, her chest heavy. chaewon’s questioning tone snapped her back to the moment. "what happened?"

a lump grew in sakura’s throat as she struggled to find the words. "um, nothing. just go back to bed."

she finally understood yunjin.

[g1rld1ary]

heart shaped doodles - james potter x reader

wc: 836

summary: you accidentally get given james' essay, covered in doodles with your intials together

me: wrote this in one sitting i love loverboy james!!!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you were in agonies waiting for your latest potions essay. usually, you had a pretty good grasp of how you were doing academically, but this last project just had you muddled and confused.

the confusion you felt about your essay, though, was completely overshadowed by the utter bewilderment you experienced as you looked down at the piece of paper slughorn had handed you.

all over the heading and through the margins laid doodled hearts, slightly smudged from carelessness. even stranger than the hearts was that your initials sat right in the middle of them, paired with the unmistakable ‘j.p.’.

you quickly paged through the rest of the essay, face draining of colour at the characteristic chicken scratch — and even more so at the clearly accidental inclusion of a page in the middle, filled with doodles and the repeated mantra of ‘mr james’ followed by your last name.

before you could process what you’d just read slughorn snatched the essay out of your hands, booming laugh echoing through the potions classroom.

“sorry about that,” he shook his head as if to reprimand himself, “i must have gotten confused with your initials being all over it.” that got the class’ attention, and several gryffindors craned their necks to catch a glance of the paper as the professor passed.

when slughorn finally made it to james’ desk, dropping the essay down silently, the class erupted into chaos. teasing and heckling ensued as both you and james sunk into your seats, and you were sure your face was the same shade of red as his.

slughorn failed spectacularly at controlling the class after the revelation that the james potter had a crush on you. and not just any crush, a doodle-your-names-together-in-the-margins, down-bad kind of crush. knowing that no more learning was going to happen slughorn dismissed you all, and you had plans to run straight to your dorm and hide there until everyone stopped caring about the whole incident.

remus lupin was immediately at your side, chatting to you about something you weren’t particularly interested in, but you were too polite to tell him of your hibernation plans. you nodded and agreed with him until you were the only ones left in the classroom. apart from james.

you froze, panic overtaking you as you stumbled to put the last of your things in your bag and run when a voice called your name. you knew instantly it was james and turned slowly to face him, forcing yourself to reluctantly make eye contact.

there was still a light dusting of blush above his cheekbones, and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck betrayed his own nervousness.

“hey,” he said, hand clutching the single strap of his bag.

“hi,” you replied, trying to stop your hands from shaking.

“so you, uh, saw my paper?”

“yeah,” you breathed, “um, congrats on the ‘o’ by the way. wish it really was my essay.” james laughed softly at your joke, messing up his hair for something to do.

“i could help you sometime! if you need it, of course.” james cringed at his own reply, the instant realisation that it maybe wasn’t the right thing to say at the moment.

“right,” you trailed off, “well, i’m gonna—”

“wait!” james reached out, a hand catching your bicep lightly. it sent goosebumps up and down the length of your arm. you looked at james expectantly, heart hammering in your chest.

“look, i — fuck. there’s no point pretending we both don’t know now. i really like you. like, an embarrassing amount, as everyone’s discovered today. and i wasn’t gonna do anything about it because i figured you’re so out of my league and aren’t interested, but i suppose i’ve already made a fool out of myself today, might as well full send it. so, what do you say? can i take you out to hogsmeade sometime?”

you pretended to mull it over to give your internal voice time to scream. james potter was without a doubt the hottest guy in school, not to mention smart and funny and good at everything he tried. and he wanted to go out with you! if he wasn’t watching you with anxious interest you thought you might’ve passed out. instead, you played it cool.

“yeah,” you said, smile creeping out despite your best efforts, “yeah, that sounds like fun.”

you almost had to shield your eyes when james beamed, practically its own light source.

“cool!” he said, too loud and fast, “next weekend?” you nodded with almost equal enthusiasm, the two of you sharing the same giggly grins.

behind james you caught a glance of slughorn through the crack in his office door, smiling fondly at the both of you. maybe his slip-up wasn’t so accidental.

“so,” james said, intertwining your fingers boldly as you both turned to leave, “you need me to be your tutor?”

[haikyuubby]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐡𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬’ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞!

short imagines featuring: bakugo, midoriya, todoroki, kaminari, kirishima, shinso, and monoma!

part 2 to my valentine’s series!

❀ - fluff, gender neutral reader

𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨

“you’re asking me to be your…what?

you hold out a pink card, the words “will you be my valentine?” printed on it.

“you’re asking me to be your…what?” bakugo says, reading the card.

you had a small pack of chocolates in your hand, awaiting bakugo’s answer.

it had taken a lot of courage for you to decide to ask bakugo to be your valentine, mainly because you two weren’t “a thing” yet, and because you didn’t know how he’d respond to this sort of thing.

“you’re such a dumbass, you know that? i already got you a gift for today, and it’s sitting in your dorm right now.” bakugo says.

“wait, really?!” you respond, throwing your arms around bakugo’s neck.

“calm down, and yes. i wasn’t gonna ask you to my my valentine in case you thought it was corny…”

“never that! thank you so much! i’m gonna go see the gift right now!”

after you go to your dorm, you find a red box sitting on your bed.

inside of said box was a dainty, expensive looking necklace.

who knew that bakugo could be so thoughtful?

𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐲𝐚

“you want me…to be your valentine?”

as you give a heart shaped sucker to midoriya, asking him to be your valentine, you can’t help but notice his flushed face.

he stares at you in awe, mumbling a bunch of “youreallywantmetobeyourvalentine?!”

you laugh at his antics, saying yes.

midoriya is unsure of what to say, he’s honestly starstruck that you asked him to be your valentine.

“okay, for real, you want me…to be your valentine?” he asks again.

you quickly nod your head, shoving the sucker in his hand.

“thanks, y/n. i’ve never had someone ask me to be their valentine before…” midoriya admits shamefully.

“i’m glad to be the first! i really like you, midoriya.” you say.

he chuckles, opening up the candy you gave him.

“would you maybe want to go somewhere with me today? we can train together then go out to eat?” he asks.

“i’d love to, midoriya.”

𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢

“be your valentine?”

you give todoroki a small gift bag full of self care items and candy, with a handwritten note that reads “will you be my valentine?”

“be your valentine?” he says as he takes out the note from the bag.

“yes, will you?” you ask eagerly.

“i’ve never had anyone ask me this before…i will be your valentine.” he replies, lips curling upward every so slightly.

“i hope you enjoy your gifts, todoroki.”

“actually— y/n, would you like to go out to eat tonight?” he says abruptly.

you nod with a smile, grabbing his hand.

“it’s your pick.”

𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢

“are you seriously…asking me?”

kaminari was currently looking at the card you gave him, asking to be his valentine.

“are you seriously…asking me?” he asks.

“yes, kaminari. that’s why i’m giving this to you.” you respond, awaiting his answer.

“i can’t believe that this is really happening…i’ll be your valentine!”

kaminari wraps his arms around your body, squeezing as hard as he possibly can.

“wait— does this mean we’re boyfriend girlfriend now?”

“if you ask me out properly, then we can be.”

𝐤𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚

“i wanted to ask you first!”

“kirishima, will you be my valentine?” you ask while holding out a red teddy bear in front of kirishima.

“aw man, seriously?! i wanted to ask you first!” he says.

initially, you thought he was going to reject you based on how his sentence started.

after he says that he wanted to ask you first, you smile and hand him the red teddy bear.

kirishima then pulls you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head in the process.

“let me take you out, please?” he asks.

“of course, kirishima.”

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨

“only if you’ll be mine.”

“shinso, i have a question to ask you.” you ask, hiding a red box of chocolates behind your back.

“what is it?” he asks.

you pull the chocolates from behind your back, placing them in shinso’s hands.

“will you be my valentine?” you ask.

shinso analyzes the chocolates you got him, smiling in the process.

shinso sets the chocolates down, and grabs your hand.

“only if you’ll be mine.”

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐚

“be my valentine!”

you walk up to monoma, mischievous intent glinting in your eyes.

you had a small gift bag full of candies hidden behind your back.

before you can even get one word out, monoma cuts you off mid air.

“be my valentine!” he demands.

“hey! i was gonna ask you first…” you say, giving him the candies that you were hiding.

monoma looks through the bag you gifted him, seconds before he starts going on one of his usual rants.

“HAHA! i did it first! i knew you’d ask me to be your valentine!” monoma says.

your eyes roll at his antics, and you step away from him slowly.

under the impression that you’re walking away from this encounter, monoma reaches for your hand to stop you.

“…do you want to go out with me sometime? maybe right now? i really appreciate the gift and i don’t walk you to walk awa—“

“yes, monoma” you cut him off.

“i’d love to.”

[bluebirdsfeathers]

Her Intern

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summary: You get a look into what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Wanda’s temper, but she could never be mad at you.

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: age gap relationship (R is early 20s, W is like 40), mention of stocks, Yelling if that stresses you out.

A/N: Wanted this to be longer but I’m starting class again on Monday and I’ve had way more work to do than I thought. Hope you enjoy this. I’ve tagged everyone who asked, if you want to be tagged in the next chapter, let me know.

Inspiration

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

The silence in the room made every minuet feel like an eternity. No one dared to speak. You could feel your pulse rise as the clock hand inched closer to the number nine. This morning you had gotten ready on auto piolet, showered and once again put on your wrinkled shirt. You hadn’t bothered investing in any new clothing since you began working with Pietro. The lack of dress code made you feel like it wasn’t necessary, so this was still your most professional shirt. It was the same one you’d worn your first day here, now you worried this would be your last.

Sleep hadn’t come fast last night. You’d stayed up for hours running possible situations and outcomes, planning what you’d say for each one in excruciating detail. But by the time morning came all those preparations were gone from your mind. The only thing you could focus on was the memory of Wanda catching you in her office.

She looked so angry.

You blinked away the sting in your eyes and nose, not wanting to cry, not now at least. That could Wait till after the meeting, when you could lock yourself in the bathroom away from prying eyes.

The clock reached nine and the doors to the conference room flung open, Wanda entered leaving the door to slam shut behind her. Everyone in the room sat up straight and turned their attention to the red head, everyone but you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look, instead keeping your head down hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

“Good morning,” Wanda began as she retrieved some papers from her briefcase, “I know I’m taking you away from your work, but I wouldn’t have called this meeting if there wasn’t something important that needs to be discussed.” Her tone was polite, but anger was bubbling underneath. As she finished speaking her eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on you. Wanda faced twitched with annoyance at fact you weren’t looking at her. She cleared her thought before continuing. “Once I have everyone’s attention, I’ll tell you why you’re all here, or better why one of you isn’t.”

You took the hint and slowly raised your head, not expecting to find Wanda staring directly at you, stern eyes softening for a moment before hardening back over. Her words finally reached your brain, and you glanced quickly around table, the other interns seemingly doing the same.

Theo.

Theo wasn’t there. He hadn’t come in with Wanda, which was strange considering how he’d normally be following her around like a lost dog.

“I expect you to already know this, but Westview Paper is the most trusted news sources in the country,” Wanda paced at the front of the room, her voice and posture portraying nothing but power. “We take pride in being able to provide the American public with honest unbiased reporting. So what do you think might happen if an employee threatened that reputation?” She was now stood directly behind you; the room fell so silent you could hear your heart as it raced.

“They would be fired.” The silence was broken by an intern sat across from you. Despite his suit probably being worth more than you all make a month, fit him like a kid playing dress up in his days wardrobe, and he looked like he’d just been caught. Wanda let his words hang in the air for an uncomfortably long time.

“Yes, thank you Jake. They would be fired.” As Wanda moved back to the front of the room her fingers ghosted the nape of your neck, something so innocuous it could have easily been an accident. “Theo had gone behind my back, fed information about stories we were publishing to outsiders, and all to boost his stock portfolio.” Her voice dripped with distain. “He is no longer working here, in fact, he will no longer be working for any publisher this side of the Atlantic Ocean.” She gave her words time to breath, making sure we all understood the gravity of the situation. Your mind went back to yesterday, standing in her office when she came out angrily yelling down the phone, that’s what she was talking about.

“Now I called this meeting as a warning to all of you. You aren’t children anymore, this is the real world, your actions have consequences that go far beyond timeouts, or early bedtimes. So if any of you even think about trying anything that will tarnish the reputation of this organization, I want you to really consider what it means to throw your life away! A life that, I might add, for most in here was handed to them. Dismissed.” With every sentence her voice grew louder, the anger finally bubbling over as she slammed her fits onto the table.

There was a mad scramble for the door as everyone collected their things and piled out the room.

“Y/n, I want to have a word with you.” Wanda called out with a lingering trace of rage. The other interns turned to look at you as you awkwardly shuffled back from the door. Your anxiety was already high and now you truly felt like you were going to combust. It took a moment for the room to clear but once it had, and the door closed you jumped into speech.

“Ms Maximoff, I’m so sorry, Pietro said it was okay, not that it’s his fault, I should have never invaded your privacy like that.” The word vomit just kept coming. “I was just meant to drop off the magazine and leave, I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I’m so sorry, I understand if you want to fire me.” With those last words your lip wobbled, and you could do nothing to stop the tears.

Wanda, who up until now had been watching you ramble with slight bewilderment, moved to comfort you. “Y/n. I’m not going to fire you, don’t be silly,” she shushed, placing a hand on your shoulder and motioning for you to sit down, “quite the opposite actually.” You sat down trying your hardest to steady your breathing. “What do you mean?” You asked, wiping your nose with your sleeve before Wanda instinctively handed you a tissue from the box on the table.

“First, I wanted to ask if you were okay.” She leaned in placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Yesterday, in my office, you left so quickly. I was worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?”

“Yes, y/n! I was because…” Wanda stopped herself and leaned back in her chair. “Because you are my employee, and I think you have a promising future here at Westview.” You go to speak but Wanda continues, “Which is why secondly, I wanted to ask if you would be interested in taking over as my intern. I can give you some time to think about…”

“Yes!” You blurted out a little louder than expected, your cheeks flushed as you saw Wanda’s shocked expression. “I mean yes Ms… I would… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. It’s just… are you sure you want me?” Before you could start to spiral again, you were brought back to reality by the sound of Wanda giggling.

“I’ve wanted you from the start.” She stood up and began walking to the conference room’s door. “For the position of course.” She added before leaving.

As you sat alone in the room you couldn’t help it as a smile crept across your face. You were going to be her intern! Then the reality of the situation hit you. You were going to be her intern.

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Tag list: @wandaslittlehorns @starfire1008 @mirage018 @viosblog112 @nebthetautora @ciaoooooo111 @cowboy-hunter

[wendichester]

𐙚｡⋆ 𖦹 .✧˚ chained reaction,

summary. a curse tied you to dean and the resolution is... messy.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 576

The chain glints in the dim light of the bunker, its cold weight resting between you and Dean. The cursed artifact—an ancient, rusted shackle adorned with strange runes—had snapped onto both your wrists mid-hunt, leaving you tethered by three feet of unyielding chain.

“I still don’t understand how this happened,” you mutter, glaring at the chain as you tug futilely against it.

Dean’s jaw clenches as he paces, the chain jingling with every step. “I picked up the damn thing to examine it. How the hell was I supposed to know it’d latch onto us like a damn trap?”

“Because it’s cursed,” you snap. “We’re hunters, Dean. Isn’t not touching cursed objects the first rule?”

Dean stops pacing and glares at you, his green eyes dark with frustration. “Oh, I’m sorry, princess. Maybe next time you can take point and let me know when something’s about to screw me over.”

Your temper flares, but before you can bite back, Sam enters the room, his face a mix of amusement and concern.

“So, good news and bad news,” Sam says, holding an open lore book.

“Just give us the bad news,” Dean grumbles.

Sam sighs. “The chain won’t come off until you, uh… resolve your tension.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, looking anywhere but at the two of you. “It means you have to… make-up―or better yet, make out.”

Dean barks out a disbelieving laugh. “You mean we have to kiss to break it? That’s ridiculous.”

Sam shrugs, clearly wishing he were anywhere else. “That’s what the lore says. The artifact reacts to unresolved emotional tension between people.” He closes the book, giving you both an apologetic look. “Good luck.”

Sam retreats quickly, leaving you and Dean alone in the tense silence.

You glare at Dean, your heart pounding. “This is all your fault.”

He steps closer, the chain pulling taut. “My fault? If anyone’s got unresolved tension here, it’s you.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, though your stomach flips at the heat in his gaze. “You’re the one who—”

Dean cuts you off, his voice low and rough. “Do you really think this is easy for me? Being around you every damn day, pretending I don’t…” He trails off, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

Your breath catches. “Don’t what?”

His eyes darken, and his voice drops even lower. “Don’t want you.”

The air between you crackles, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “Dean…”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges, stepping closer, his boots brushing against yours.

You can’t.

The tension snaps like a rubber band. Dean’s hand cups the back of your neck, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals your breath. You gasp against his mouth, the taste of him overwhelming as your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer.

The chain jingles as his free hand grips your hip, anchoring you against him. It’s frantic and messy, years of buried feelings spilling out in every press of his lips and every ragged breath.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting, foreheads pressed together. “That enough tension for you?” Dean mutters, his voice rough and uneven.

You laugh softly, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. “I don’t think the chain’s coming off just yet.”

His lips twitch into a smirk, but there’s something raw in his eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to keep trying.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler

[darkbluekies]

Can we have more Jerry content please?

"Familiar, like my mirror years ago"

Yandere!female!mafia x reader

Summary: darling getting shot reminds Jerry of memories she can't help but repress, and is now forced to face

Warnings: gore? Blood, lots of it, pain, trauma? In other words, a dark oneshot

Word count: 4.5k

She can’t believe it. The sight is enough to make her sick. Her darling, her only light in this miserable life, lying unreachable in a hospital bed with countless machines connected. How could she ever have let that happened? She’s been sitting by your bed for hours, holding your hand tightly and not looking away. She hasn’t felt a pain like this for a long time, not since her family died. Jerry tries her best to think of something else, but it keeps coming back. 

“Mom and dad are out, I’m supposed to make dinner for us.”

Yuna looks up from her homework and grimaces. She’s still wearing her school uniform. “Then we won’t eat”, she mumbles sulkily. 

“Hey, watch it.”

Yuna laughs. Jerry’s long hair is tied into a loose ponytail. She sits down on the floor beside her younger sister, watching over her while drinking from a juice pouch. Yuna’s much smarter than her, both in school and life, and that’s good enough for Jerry. She doesn’t have to be smart if Yuna is. 

Yuna lifts her head up from her math book. She looks over her shoulder at Jerry. 

“Sister, there’s a boy in my class”, she says, “and I think that he likes me. He asked me to go to the amusement park on friday.”

“Who’s this rat?” Jerry scoffs. 

“He’s the class president.”

“Oh, your academic rival.” Jerry takes a new sip of her juice. “Is he smarter than you?”

“No.”

Jerry smiles and ruffles Yuna’s hair. “I know that’s right. My little sister is the smartest in school.”

Yuna squirms embarrassedly, but her smile exposed her. 

“Before you go out with him I want to meet this little boy of yours”, Jerry says as she bites the straw. “I need to accept him.”

“He’s nice, I promise.”

“I’ll believe that once I see it.”

“Please don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you? Do you think I’m a child?” She thinks for a second. “Don’t answer that.”

Yuna chuckles. 

“What about you, sister?” she asks. “Don’t you have someone that you like?”

Jerry leans her head against the wall. 

“No”, she replies and smiles. “I don’t need one. Well, are you hungry? Should we get some food?”

“What are you going to make?”

“I’m not going to cook, we’ll go out and buy something. If mom and dad doesn’t know we’re eating junk food, they can’t get mad. I’m feeling like tteokbokki or convenience store food, what about you?”

“Street food sounds nice.”

“Good, let’s go.”

Jerry stands up and goes to grab her jacket. Yuna follows. They walk out of the apartment, out onto the lit up street. The stars in the night sky twinkle beautifully. They walk side by side. Yuna’s shorter than Jerry, for now, but she’ll be taller in a year, she’s sure of that. Yuna’s only sixteen. Jerry’s eighteen. Jerry was Yuna’s age when she started doing things she shouldn’t. It had started small with skipping class, then smoking, then tealing lip glosses from the mall. And then it escalated to robbing and assaults. Jerry wondered where she would be if she hadn’t befriended the wrong people. She had never been good in school, not like Yuna, but had been good at PE. But that doesn’t matter. She has a new chance with Yuna now, to make sure that she does everything Jerry didn’t and make sure Yuna doesn’t do the things Jerry did. 

“Look what my friends got me for my birthday”, Yuna says and shows a ‘Kuromi’ plush charm hanging on her bag.

“That’s cute”, Jerry agrees. 

Yuna’s friends are the type of friends a teenage girl should have. They gossip, go out for fun, have sleepovers, late night talks. But Jerry knows that Yuna’s friends are scared of her. Ever since Jerry got kicked out of school, people have been suspecting her of things she has done. But no one has evidence. Yuna knows about the theft and the assaults, but not of the others. Jerry has made sure that no one knows that she has joined a gang. If Yuna knew, she could get hurt. That can’t happen. Yuna does everything right in life, she isn’t supposed to be involved in these things. The gang doesn’t know about Yuna either. That’s for the best. 

Seoul’s streets are empty, apart from a few people walking their dogs or out on walks. They walk to a nearby food market and buy one thing from every food stand before walking to the nearest river and have a picnic. 

“We should have gotten water”, Yuna says. 

“Go put your head into the river”, Jerry chuckles. 

“I washed my hair this morning.”

“Then thirst to death.”

“Can’t you go buy water? Please?”

Jerry sighs and stands up. 

“Fine”, she groans. “Wait here. Don’t eat everything when I’m back.”

Yuna laughs. Jerry grabs her phone and leaves. She walks to the nearest convenience store and gets two bottles of water and two ice creams. The lady behind the counter smiles at her and wishes her a good night. Jerry wishes her back. 

A cold wind brushes past her as she walks back out into the night air. For a moment, it feels like someone is watching her. Jerry looks around, but there’s no one to be seen. She frowns and hurries back to the river. Yuna has eaten all of the sausages. 

“I told you not to eat all of it!” Jerry says. “If you wanted more you should have bought them yourself. And here I got you ice cream, you ungrateful brat.”

“No, please give it to me!” Yuna laughs and reaches for the ice cream. “I'm sorry, sister, please! You can take all the remaining fish cakes, please!”

Jerry pretends to think for a moment.

“Okay”, she says nonchalantly. “I guess that works. Greedy bitch.”

She gives Yuna the ice cream. Yuna laughs and Jerry can't help but smile.

“Do you think life is pre-planned for you?” Yuna asks after a while. “As in, your fate is already decided, it doesn't matter what path you'll take, you'll eventually end up where you should be?’

“I don't know”, Jerry replies and licks her ice cream. “Wouldn't that be kind of sad, though?”

“Why?”

“If your life is already decided for you. You can't change it. What if you don't like the decided fate?”

“But what if the decided fate is the most perfect for you?”

“What would mine be, then?”

Yuna studies her. “I don't know, but I know that it isn't robbing people. I think you'd be a good psychologist.”

Jerry lifts her eyebrows. “Me? Why?”

“You're good at noticing emotions, and feeling them. You know when I'm upset without me even saying anything.”

“That's because I know you … and you're like an open book, wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

“Maybe, but you know how to make me feel better.”

“I don't think I'd be a good psychologist, unfortunately. I'd be a good mechanic, though. I'd be like a doctor but for machines. What about you? What do you think your decided fate is?”

Yuna sighs and looks out over the river. “I don't know”, she says in defeat. “I wish I knew. I want to get good on the CSAT when i have to do that, get into a good university and get a good job … but i don't know what I want to do.”

“You're sixteen, Yuna, you have time to figure it out.”

“You too. You're eighteen. You can choose something better.”

Yuna’s eyes turn to her, full of sorrow. Jerry’s heart aches. She puts her arm around Yuna’s shoulders and leans her head against hers.

“I'll figure it out”, she sighs. “Don't worry about me.”

“But I do. All the time. I love you.”

“I love you too, but you don't have to. I will figure it out. I will.”

Jerry sobs. Her body is breaking into pieces, can feel the flesh rip itself apart.

Please wake up, Y/N. Please. I can't do this.

She should have done more to protect you. She should have learned from her mistakes. She opens her left hand. A small Kuromi plush charm rests in the palm of her hand. The other hand holds onto yours tightly. The little plush stares at her with cute aggression. She wants to bury her sharp nails into its face, claw away the mocking expression. 

You couldn't leave me without a little bully, could you? When you're not here to tease me, this is.

Jerry looks up at your face and feels her body goes cold once again. You look so small, so breakable. She's afraid of squeezing your hand too tightly, worried that she'll snap it in half.

“This is my older sister Yubin.”

Jerry scans the boy up and down. He dresses well, has his hair neatly prince and styled and bows deeply. A real dream for a mother in law.

“Nice to meet you”, he says. 

Yuna pulls Jerry to the side.

“Please, can I go with him?” she whispers.

Jerry glances towards him. He twiddles with his fingers

“Okay”, Jerry gives in. “I’ll come get you at eight.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to make sure you get home safely.”

She watches her sister leave the apartment with her arms crossed over her chest.

“He seemed like a nice boy”, her mom says behind her. 

“Yeah, let’s hope that, for his sake”, Jerry mutters and walks into her room, closing the door behind her. 

She keeps herself occupied by watching a cheesy drama in bed while eating snacks. Every now and then she glances at the clock on her phone, waiting for it to be the right time.

After four episodes—and not a single kiss yet—it's finally time for her to get moving. Jerry gets out of bed and grabs her jacket. She gives her mom and dad a quick ‘goodbye’ before exiting the apartment. The evening air is crisp, the music blasting in her earpods. Her ears are always surprised by the sound, either heavy rap with skillful execution or upbeat bubblegum pop. 

She walks through lit up streets full of students taking advantage of the fact that there is no school tomorrow. Fridays being out the wildest in even the calmest of teenagers. Jerry should know.

Suddenly, the feeling of being watched enters her body again. She doesn’t stop to look around, doesn’t want to give any potential stalkers the knowledge that she’s aware. Jerry shakes it off, she always feels watched. She’s paranoid. 

She sees Yuna and the boy stand outside the gates of the amusement park. Jerry walks up to them, hands in her pockets. Yuna smiles and waves goodbye to the boy.

“I had so much fun!” she tells her as they walk.

“I can tell”, Jerry says, trying to sound unbothered but the way her lip curls upwards exposes her. “So, how much money did you waste?”

“None, actually. He paid for everything.”

Jerry raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh?” She can't hide her surprise. “He did?” But quickly composes herself. “As he should.”

“I feel bad though, he spent so much money trying to win me a stuffed animal at those machines, you know? The ones with a claw? But I think they're rigged.”

“Of course they are.”

Yuna yawns and leans against her older sister. Jerry chuckles and wraps her arm around her shoulders.

“What?” she questions. “Are you tired now?”

“Yes”, she replies. “Can you carry me?”

“Fuck no, you can walk by yourself.”

“Please?”

Yuna clings onto her and stops walking. Jerry groans and lifts her up on her back, piggyback carrying her. Yuna hugs her neck.

“I think I like that boy”, she mumbles with a smile.

“If he ever hurts you I'm breaking his neck, you know that, right?” Jerry says. “No one hurts my sister.”

Yuna hugged her neck tighter. “No one gets to hurt my sister either.”

Her heart breaks. Jerry has moved away from the bed and sat down beside the window, looking out over the city. The sky is dark, lights twinkling everywhere, like stars.

There's a knock on the door. Jerry looks over, eyes swollen from all crying. Her boss walks in with a bodyguard behind him. In his hands is a colorful flower bouquet, surrounded by soft, pinkish gift paper. He glances at you before turning his eyes to Jerry.

“I came as soon as I heard”, he says and places the flowers on the chair by the bed. “How are they?”

“I don't know”, Jerry says quietly, voice not reaching more than a broken whisper. "Nobody knows.”

Her boss takes a deep breath. He's much more careful than Jerry has ever seen him. 

“If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to let me know, ‘kay?” he says.

“Kill that coward”, she says coldly. “No, don't. Save him for me.”

“I will.”

Jerry makes the mistake of turning her eyes towards you. Your poor soul. Her boss walks over to her and, to her surprise, puts his arms around her. He has never hugged her. In the four years she's known him, he has never hugged her. She has to control herself to not break out into childish sobs again.

“I really love them”, slips out of her before she can stop herself. “Oh, fuck, what do i do?”

“You don't do anything”, her boss says. “You'll stay here and watch over them and I'll do the rest.”

He leaves shortly after, wanting Jerry to have time to herself. She can't cry in front of him, and crying is exactly what she needs.

She walks to the bed and picks up the flowers. There's a little card attached to the gift paper. Jerry opens it.

“Get well soon, Y/N, the entire organization is sending its wishes for you to heal quickly and come back to Jerry — M.”

Jerry smiles slightly. She places the bouquet in her water bottle.

A small noise is heard from the bed and she turns to see you slowly, but surely, open your eyes. Jerry feels her heart stop. She throws herself forward, getting closer to the bed.

“Y/N, babe, I'm here”, she breathes out. “Babe.”

Your eyes seem to not be able to register anything in the bright light, but as they move to see where the sound is coming from, they pupils seem to grow. They fill with tears. Jerry turns your cheek with a trembling hand and wipes it.

“It's okay, baby”, she whispers. “It's okay.”

“Jerry …”, you croak out.

She nods. Tears filled her eyes. She squeezes your hand tighter.

“My pretty baby”, she sniffles and wipes your tears. 

“It feels weird.”

“You have machines connected to you, that's why it feels weird. But they're there to help you.”

“How am I alive?”

“I don't know … it's a miracle.”

She must have someone on her side, a guardian angel … or someone that has seen it all before and couldn’t let it happen again. Jerry looks down at the little Kuromi plush in her hand, heart sinking. 

“I never thought that i would be shot”, you admit. 

“It’s my fault”, Jerry says. “I should never have let it happen. I’m an idiot … but fuck, am I happy you are alive. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t woken up.”

You look around the room, eyes stopping at the flowers. 

“Did you get those?” you ask. 

“No, my boss did”, she replies and takes out the card. “He even wrote a little message for you.”

She reads it out loud to you and breathes out in relief at your small smile. 

“I must be the first person to get that kind of message”, you joke weakly. 

“You are”, Jerry says and takes a risk at a joke. “I hope that you’re grateful, because you won’t get another one unless you die.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

Jerry smiles and caresses your cheek. “That’s my baby. You’re not dying for a long while, and I’m going to make sure of it.”

You notice the plush in her other hand. 

“What’s that?” you ask. 

Your weak hand reaches for hers, trying to get a better look at the Kuromi figurine. Jerry feels her heart stop, her body turn to ice. You knew that she had a sister before and that something happened, but not what happened, or where she is now. Too stunned to react, you’re able to take the little plush out of her hands. You hold it carefully, turning it around to get a good look at it. 

“It fits you”, you say quietly, smiling slightly.

“It wasn’t mine from the start”, slips out of her, breathlessly and unfamiliar to her. “It’s not actually mine.”

“Did you steal it from someone?” 

If only.

“No”, she says slowly. “I didn’t. It was my sister’s.”

You pull your eyes away from the charm and look at her. She has gone pale by now and stares empty in front of her. The stare reminds you of soldiers who’s seen too much and you apologize for bringing it up. 

“You don’t have to apologize”, Jerry mumbles and takes the little plush carefully. “I guess that you should know the story. If anyone should know, it should be you.”

“What was her name?”

Jerry smiles sadly. “Yuna.”

“Yuna.”

Hearing you say it breaks her heart all over again, makes it bleed into her throat. She wishes that you could have met her, and that Yuna got to met you. 

See? Jerry would have teased her. You didn’t think I would get a good partner, what do you say now? 

“You would have loved her”, Jerry says quietly, still wearing the painful smile. “And she would have loved you—adored you. She loved everything and everyone. A soul too good for this world. She never broke any rules, never did anything stupid … and when she did one time, I scolded her so bad that she never did it again.”

Jerry can see the hesitation in your eyes before you ask the question. 

“What happened to her?”

Jerry’s head pounds in pain. Blood runs down her chin, from the corner of her mouth. She wipes it with her sleeve. She really should stop getting into fights, it never ends well. Even if she wins them, she’s left with aching limbs for days to come. But the pride from a win makes her do it again, and again, and again. She usually gangs up with a few people from her gang, and go at it until they can’t anymore. But today was different, she thinks as she makes her way home, through empty streets. They smiled too much today, provoked her more than usual. When she was ready to leave, they pulled her back in with their taunting words, knowing exactly where to press to rile her up again. As if they didn’t want her to leave. It was weird, different than usual. 

Jerry drags her feet over the pavement. She will have to take a shower to remove the blood—whether it’s hers or not doesn’t matter. 

The door to the apartment complex isn’t fully closed. A small drop of blood sits on the ground. Is she bloody enough to drip? She opens the door and walks into the building, pulling herself up the stairs to the apartment. This door isn’t closed either. Jerry frowns and opens the door, walking into the hallway. She can tell, right away, that something is different. There’s a new smell in the air, one she is oddly familiar with. 

The smell of blood. 

Her heart stops, nerves crackling with panic before she runs forward, into the livingroom. 

“Mom?” she shouts. “Dad? Yuna?”

Blood covers the floor, the walls and furniture. Jerry spins around, desperately trying to find where it leads. It seems to have been smudged in all directions. She opens the door to the bathroom. Empty. Her parents room. Empty. Kitchen is empty. Her hand hovers shakingly over Yuna’s bedroom door. Please don’t, Jerry thinks as sweat runs down her back, please, please. She opens the door. The room is covered in blood. Her parents are lying across the room, blood smudges across the floor exposing that they’ve been dragged here. Their throats are slit. Jerry stumbles backwards, hand reaching for something—anything—to grab onto. Her heart seems to be everywhere in her body, beating irregularly. An ice cold, burning nausea covers her fully, like water. 

“Mom—”, she chokes out, sinking down on the floor. She can’t form a sentence, let alone an understandable one. “Dad … oh, my God. Oh, my God, oh shit.”

Her vision is blurred by tears.

A thought enters her head, and suddenly she’s on high alert again. 

Yuna … where’s Yuna?

On shaking legs, she clumsily pulls herself up and stumbles out into the corridor again. All other rooms are empty, where is Yuna? Where the fuck is Yuna?

There’s only one room left. Jerry’s. She drags herself over to her closed door, feeling like she’s going to vomit any second. After a long while of waiting, she finally opens the door, revealing her own room. Jerry screams. 

Yuna is lying in Jerry’s bed. Her school uniform is covered in blood, her black hair spread out over her face. One arm lies over her stomach, the other hanging over the side of the bed. Jerry has to grab onto her desk. Suddenly she doesn’t feel like she’s there. She can’t feel her legs hold her up.

Without noticing it, her body has moved her forward. She’s standing by her bed. Theres a folded note on Yuna’s chest. Jerry’s hands tremble as she opens it. 

“See this as a warning, bitch, next time it will be you.”

She throws the note across the room. Her heart hammers in her chest, but this time in anger. Those disgusting creatures. She can’t find words to describe them. They’re subhuman, but not even that is enough. 

She tears down everything on her desk, including her laptop and lamp amd when there’s nothing left for her to destroy, she hits herself, clawing and pulling at anything she can get her hands on. As long as it hurts. It’s her fault. She put her family in danger. Her choices led to this. She killed them. 

When her body loses power, she sinks down on the floor, shaking and crying. Jerry covers her face in her hands to avoid looking at her little sisters lifeless body. She can’t remember the last time she cried like this. It exits her body in a whine-like howl, her pain needing to come out. 

But even those end. All feelings end at some point, leaving her in a numb, broken shell. She looks towards her bed. The arm that’s hanging of the side of the bed seems to hold something. Jerry crawls over and opens Yuna’s hand slightly. Her skin is still somewhat warm under her touch. In her hand lies the Kuromi charm plush, still somewhat clean. Jerry takes it out of Yuna’s hand and holds it in hers. She hugs it, breaking out into new sobs. 

Realizing that she can’t stay here—the ones that have done this will most likely return, or the cops will arrest her for the deed—Jerry stands up. She grabs one of her black backpacks and throws in whatever she thinks that she can need before leaving the apartment for the last time. 

Your eyes are filled with tears, and so are hers. You reach forward to wipe hers and she squeezes her eyes shut. She can’t look at you. 

“I’m so sorry”, you say. 

“I can’t lose you too”, she hisses. “I fucking can’t lose you too.”

She can feel you hug her and she’s quick to remove your arms. 

“You shouldn’t move”, she says with a panicked voice. “You’re hurt. Just let the medicine and what fuck-not do it’s work, please. Just do as I say.”

You lay down again. Jerry sighs out heavily and wipes her tears harshly. 

“That’s why I joined this organization”, she says angrily. “I realized how vulnerable I was by myself. I needed people that could protect me and have my back … and I’m so fucking sorry I pulled you into it, too. I should have learned my lesson with my family, but I didn’t. I was so fucking selfish doing it again, just because I fell in love. And i could have lost you too. Ic ould have repeated my fucking mistake.”

“But you didn’t”, you say. “I’m here.”

Jerry sighs and holds out the little plush. 

“I, somehow, feel like she did this”, she says flatly. “As if she couldn’t watch me go through it again, so she saved you. Yuna died holding this charm. Somehow thinking that it would protect her … or she just didn’t want to die alone.”

Jerry has never said these thoughts out loud before. And when she does it, she doesn’t dare to look at you, scared to see a judging look in your eyes. But you don’t, you look at her with such empathy, such sadness for her. 

“I can’t bring myself to get rid of it”, she says and sighs. “Because this was so important to Yuna. I don’t know why.”

“Did you ever get the ones that did it?” you ask carefully. 

“No … never. But I will find them one day, and I will make them pay. And the one that did this to you is going to get what he deserve too. I will never let anything hurt you again. I will do whatever it takes, but so help me, if anything ever happens to you again.”

“I think that if she saw you now, she would be proud of you”, you say. “Maybe not for what you do, but for how loving you are.”

Jerry scoffs, but you see that your words hit her hard. 

“You are”, you insist. “Not everyone sees it, but you are. Even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” she scoffs. “How ‘loving’ can I be after everything I’ve done to you?”

You swallow, thinking of everything Jerry has put you through but shake it off. Not the right timing. 

“You sat here with me all this time”, you say. “You’ve cried for me. Worried for me.”

“Well, yeah, I’m not a monster.”

“You aren’t. You are human. And that’s why it wasn’t your fault, for anything that happened. You didn’t do anything.”

Jerry sniffles and looks down at the plush, and then at you. 

“Thank you, Y/N”, she says, giving you a small, sad smile. “Thank you.”

After you’ve fallen asleep that night, she places the little Kuromi plush on the pillow, by your head and smiles sadly. She falls asleep with her head on the free space on the bed beside your legs, eternally grateful that you came back to her, and with a new peace in her body. As if a heavy weight has lifted off her shoulders.

[fangirl-erdariel]

One thing that sometimes bugs me in the comparisons to Tolkien is that - it's not even like Tolkien's works are entirely devoid of sexual violence?? Like. He doesn't go into graphic detail on it, it's not something Tolkien has in central focus. But it most definitely is there. (And hey, Tolkien also doesn't go into detail on non-sexual violence if he doesn't need to)

More specific examples and rambling on the topic under the cut, bc this got long on what is already a long post

It really doesn't take a particularly attentive reader to figure out Wormtongue's intentions and desires regarding Éowyn, for instance; like yeah he never lays a hand on her as far as we know, but the threat of what could have happened if he'd gotten his way is... pretty obvious

And Silmarillion has its share of male characters desiring women (or the political power of those women's families, depending) and attempting (sometimes succeeding) to force them into marriage. I don't feel like getting involved in the debate of whether Aredhel initially not being "wholly unwilling" to marry Eöl and stay in Nan Elmoth disqualifies her from the list or whether the amount of coercion involved is enough to still make it count.

But Lúthien most definitely is kidnapped against her will, and though she escapes before anything happens, Celegorm's intention explicitly was to marry her whether she wanted or not. Upon seeing Lúthien, Morgoth, the evil dark lord "conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart", and I think we all can figure out what that is (and his lines in the Lay of Leithian, talking of Lúthien as "a pretty toy for idle hour" and speaking about kissing and then bruising and crushing pretty flowers... it's not particularly subtle), even if once again he doesn't get to actually do so.

And there's Maeglin, who desires Idril, and who is promised "the possession of Idril" as reward for betraying the location of the hidden realm of Gondolin, "and indeed desire for Idril -- led Maeglin the easier to his treachery"

And in the children of húrin bit there's Aerin of the folk of Hador whom the invader lord Brodda takes as wife against her will. And then of course there's Míriel of Númenor, whom her cousin Pharazôn forcibly marries in order to seize her throne that is rightfully there

All those are just what I can think of off the top of my head; I'm sure there'd be more examples if I cared to go digging through the material, but I can't be bothered

So, like. Yeah. Sure. Tolkien doesn't really ever use the word "rape" for the things that happen (he seems to mainly use that word in the more archaic meaning of large-scale destruction and/or robbery by violent means, rather than in its modern definition). And in Lúthien and Idril's cases, of course ultimately nothing happens, they escape and all. And as noted, Aredhel's case is more debatable since she wasn't "wholly unwilling". But still.

I'm pretty dang sure that Tolkien understood that a woman being married against her will would be subjected to sexual violence, and is assuming that to be the reader's understanding of the situation when those cases come up. Gríma's, Morgoth's, and Maeglin's intentions towards the women they desire are definitely to be understood as violent and with no care towards what the women in question want (and at least in Morgoth's case, judging by Lay of Leithian, even actively delighting in the idea of doing it by force to an unwilling victim)

And just. I don't know. It kind of bugs me when people act like Tolkien's setting and works are unrealistic because they're devoid of sexual violence? Like. Well first of all, as earlier posters in the thread have pointed out, massive amounts of sexual violence aren't necessarily realistic to begin with. But like also it is a thing that does happen in the setting too... I don't even mean this as a like "oh isn't it so fun doesn't this make the books so much more adult" or anything, and I understand people who enjoy Tolkien's books because it doesn't have like explicit rape scenes the way some other authors do. I just like... the fact that people keep claiming that sexual violence pretty much doesn't even exist in Middle-Earth, when it very much does, it's just kind of left as a threat and an implication or spoken of in very vague terms, is kind of baffling? Honestly it kinda gives the impression that the person saying it either hasn't read Tolkien since they were thirteen or doesn't actually spend the time to understand what the text they're reading means beyond the most obvious surface level. Or they're deliberately saying something that isn't true because it serves some point they want to make

Like, just because something is not shown explicitly in graphic detail with pages upon pages of description, doesn't mean it's not there in the story or the setting at all? You're supposed to pick up on implications and read between the lines and understand those as deliberate choices from the author and a part of the story and setting too?

Someone over on Discord asked, "I'm morbidly curious: How BAD is A Song of Ice and Fire in terms of the authenticity George claims it to be?"

My reply was straightforward:

The long and the short of it is that ASOIAF is basically a vehicle for GRRM to present both his rape fetish and his Hobbesian view on human nature and has less historical accuracy than Frozen or most other Disney movies.

That's actually a good way to think of it, now that I've said it--he's Family Unfriendly, they're Family Friendly, but both have the same relationship with History: just Pure Aesthetic with no consideration for how the worldbuilding would work.

[bosbas]

Chapter 7: I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 2.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, mentions of pregnancy, ANGST!!!!!

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

July 13, 1812 - Waking up the past few days had been absolute torture. But waking up today and seeing the blood on your sheets was worse than any morning you’d ever had. 

A part of you was relieved. You had gotten your courses. You weren’t with child. You didn’t have to trap Anthony in a loveless marriage.

It was good news, right?

That’s what you were desperately repeating to yourself over and over as you sat in your bed sobbing uncontrollably. 

It truly was over then. There was no baby, and there would be no marriage. You’d be lucky if Anthony ever talked to you again, though you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. All because you thought it would be a fun game to dabble with someone’s real feelings.

What's more, your courses actually came a few days early. It was like the universe was completely and categorically rejecting the idea of a happy ending with Anthony. It was what you deserved, you supposed. At least the misery of not knowing was over.

To make matters worse, your crying was so loud that your father popped his head into your room, an extremely unusual occurrence. 

“What is all this ruckus?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”

Not having the time, energy, or desire to fully explain what was happening, and doubting he’d care, you told your father, “My courses came.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly growing very uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

Predictable. He wasn’t one to get involved with women’s issues.

---

You had given yourself a few hours to mope around your home, mourning the loss of what could have been. But it was time to face your fears, and you headed over to the Bridgerton residence.

It was usually only a few minutes' walk, but you were dreading the impending conversation so much that it was almost fifteen minutes before you reached their front door.  

What scared you the most was that you had no idea how Anthony was going to take the news. You knew the responsibility was yours to go to the Bridgerton home and inform him, but you hadn’t seen him or Daphne since the day after your fateful ball.

As you reached their front entrance, before you could even knock, the door burst open and you saw Anthony standing in front of you. 

Not that you were in a position to enjoy it, but he looked exceedingly handsome. He was clearly on his way out to go to town, and you didn’t know whether to curse or thank the universe for putting him in front of you before he left for the day. 

“Oh!” you gasped, startled. “Um, hello, Anthony,” you greeted awkwardly. 

He just stared back, unmoving. He hadn’t been expecting to talk to you for at least a few more days and was entirely unprepared now.

“Daphne’s just inside,” he said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. 

“No, I’m here to speak with you, actually.”

“Oh,” he said simply, not giving away what he was feeling. It hadn't even been a week! Surely there was no news yet? Surely he could still hold out some hope?

He stepped outside and closed the door, allowing you two some privacy for the conversation you were about to have.

“I- Well, I just wanted to inform you that my courses came this morning,” you said, your voice wavering. 

“Oh,” he repeated. 

Was that really all he was going to say?

You cleared your throat stiffly. “And evidently no one saw us sneak off to the library the other night, otherwise we’d have heard the rumors by now.” A pause. “I suppose this means you won’t need to propose, then. And we can go our own ways.”

It was like your words ignited something in Anthony, and he finally moved to cross his arms in front of his chest, a prominent scowl on his face. 

“I suppose it does. Congratulations. Your little plan worked perfectly, then. Daphne was able to court a scumbag while you distracted me and remained perfectly detached.”

His angry words cut you deep. Almost out of habit when you needed comfort, you reached out for his broken hand that was still bandaged. He took a step back, almost looking panicked as he eyed your outstretched arm. 

You felt tears welling in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You deserved no sympathy from the man in front of you.

Blinking them away, you sniffed. “Anthony, I know nothing I say will ever make it up to you but I truly am sorry. It was never my intention to let it go on for so long.”

“And yet you did.”

“I did,” you replied, feeling ashamed. “But you must know, the time we did have together-”

But Anthony interrupted before you could continue. “I’ll be moving into bachelor’s lodgings as soon as possible. That way our paths won’t have to cross again unless there’s a big family event. I wish you the best in your future endeavors, and I sincerely hope you find a love match eventually.”

You choked back a sob. “Is this truly the last time we’ll talk?”

“I can hope,” he responded, cruelly echoing back the words you had said to him a few days ago. 

And with that, he pushed past you down the stairs, going toward his waiting carriage, not sparing you a second glance.

You were left crying outside of the Bridgertons’ door, head in your hands as you realized the gravity of Anthony’s statement. 

That was exactly how Violet found you twenty minutes later. 

“Oh no, my Y/N, what happened?” she asked, placing a comforting arm around your shoulders. 

You could only turn and sob into her shoulder, too shaken up to form any coherent words. 

Violet, bless her, rubbed your back soothingly as she led you back into her home, her afternoon of shopping completely forgotten now.

“Why don’t we ring for some tea and you can talk to me and Daphne about what’s bothering you?”

An hour later you had calmed down considerably and Daphne was in the middle of apologizing profusely for telling Anthony while Violet tried to process the information her daughter and her best friend had just divulged. You had scrubbed any mention of your escapade with Anthony from the story you told his mother, of course. But most other details remained accurate.

“It’s not your fault,” you waved away Daphne’s apology. “You only told him the truth. He was going to find out eventually, one way or another.”

“But it was my idea in the first place!” she insisted. “And a stupid one at that, seeing how things ended with Phillip.”

“Which we are not done discussing,” interjected Violet, still horrified that someone like him could treat her daughter that way. 

“Regardless, I would have come up with the idea myself and gone through with it if you hadn't,” you reassured her. “What’s done is done. I’m only sorry he’ll be leaving home.”

Daphne laughed and shook her head. “He’d been wanting to leave for ages. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some more peace and quiet around here.”

Always one to stay on topic, Violet kept up her line of questioning. “Why don’t the two of you get married still? Your feelings for him are clearly real, no matter how you ended up having them.”

Surprisingly, tears welled up in your eyes again After the day you’d had, you didn’t think you had any left in you, but the situation was just too dire not to cry over it. “He told me earlier he wishes to never speak with me again.”

Violet gasped. “That can’t be right, he would never say such a thing!”

You could only nod glumly, remembering his cold, uncaring eyes as he moved past you earlier that day. 

“I just can’t believe I ruined it all,” you cried. “It would have been so wonderful if only I hadn’t acted so carelessly.”

Violet tsked. “You wouldn’t have even looked at him in a romantic light if it weren’t for your silly plan. Who knows if things would have really been different.”

“At least I wouldn’t have a broken heart,” you said softly, wistfully looking out the window. 

“There is simply no world in which he can just forget how he feels about you,” insisted Daphne, trying to stay hopeful. 

“There’s nothing left,” you said, well aware of the situation you were in and rejecting any fantasies that would make you feel better temporarily. “I made the choices I made and I must live with them now.”

---

“Why is Y/N never round for dinner anymore?” asked Hyacinth suddenly one night. 

“Yes, I miss playing chess with her before I go to bed. No one else here seems to want to play,” complained Gregory, in a rare moment of agreement with his youngest sister.

“She does seem to have very suddenly stopped showing up,” said Francesca. She eyed Daphne and Anthony suspiciously, knowing one of the two was bound to be the cause of your absence. 

“Well, I certainly didn’t tell her to stop coming,” said Daphne, glaring at her older brother. 

Anthony laughed coldly. “That’s rich coming from you. You know exactly why she stopped showing up, and it’s not exactly my fault.”

“Anthony!” exclaimed Violet, shocked at the sudden outburst of anger.

“Forget it,” he grumbled, standing up from the dinner table and storming off to his study.

A few moments later, Violet knocked on the door of Anthony’s study, not waiting for a response before she slipped in and closed the door behind her. 

“You’re not truly angry,” she stated, not even posing it as a question.

“Yes, I am,” Anthony insisted. 

“Your anger conceals something deeper, and it might do you some good to let it out.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anthony responded, but his voice lacked his previous conviction. “I am angry,” he repeated, his voice breaking as he tried to convince himself of his feelings. 

“It’s not a crime to feel things for someone, you know. Even when they don’t work out.”

“What is the point then? If they amount to nothing?” Anthony pressed, struggling to find a greater reason for the complete heartbreak he felt day in and day out. 

It was torture to be away from you, to be sure. But he knew he would never be able to hold it together if he saw you in the flesh. Regardless, that didn’t stop him from missing you. Your rosy perfume. The way you threw your head back when you laughed. How tightly your hands held his hand when you were anxious about something.

And that was what killed him. He’d had real and profound feelings for you. He thought that was it. That you were it. He’d thought he'd found the person he was going to marry. He’d found his present and his future and everything in betweem.

But it had all been a lie. And so the anger kept coming back. And he could do nothing to stop it. 

It was misplaced anger, he knew. At you, at the world, at the fact that your courses had come and you would not have his child, and at the fact that he could never have you in a way that truly mattered. 

“That is exactly what makes you human, Anthony. You can’t go around life expecting to never be hurt. It’s a rare thing to feel that way about someone.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s rare. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Anthony!” Violet gasped, scandalized. “Love is not a curse.”

“It certainly feels like one.”

“You could still be with her, you know. All this misplaced love, it’ll do you no good to keep it bottled up.”

“I can’t,” insisted Anthony, his voice breaking again. “I wanted to marry her still. I even asked her. I thought she’d love me back if I only had some time to convince her. But she didn’t want to marry me,” he confessed, succumbing to his feelings and putting his head in his hands as he cried. 

“Why don’t you try talking to her again?” suggested Violet, rubbing her son’s back comfortingly. 

“I can’t,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “It’s for the better.”

—

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[cjjohansson]

i remember.

natasha romanoff x reader - angst, fluff - 6.2k

You don’t know what’s happening. That’s the first thing you think of when you wake up in an alley, gloved hands covered in blood. Confusion filters through your head. 

What happened?

Where are you?

You stand up slowly, your body swaying as you look down at what you’re wearing. You’re in a pair of black jeans, with rips throughout both legs and as you look closer you only notice how the rips have been made from slashes of a knife as your blood is dry underneath them. Your hoodie is soaking wet, your hands going into the pocket to be met with a gun and a knife. 

None of this makes sense. 

Standing there confused you try your hardest to remember anything. Anything at all. 

Red hair. Piercing green eyes. 

Death. Destruction. Pain. Loss. 

Memories whip through your brain as soon as your hand wraps around your gun. But still, none of it makes sense. 

What year is it?

You stumble down the alley, hand still wrapped around the gun resting in your pocket. You stare up at the buildings surrounding you. New York. You’re in New York. 

You watch as people pass by, words fading in and out of people’s conversations. You feel a pull, your body trying to get you to move in a certain direction but you have no clue why. 

You decide to give in, allowing your body to move. You stumble into someone muttering a sorry as they tell you to watch where you’re going. 

“What year is it?” You ask them, panic and confusion filling your voice.  “2018…” Panic feels you all over again. No that doesn’t make any sense. That’s not the year. 

Red hair. Piercing green eyes. 

A name to match the features. It echoes around your head in confusion. You know her. You can feel it. You can feel it with everything inside of you. 

Your breathing picks up, and you need to hide. You rush down another alley, hiding behind a dumpster as your head falls into your hands. 

It hurts. Your brain hurts. 

Everything is rushing through you. A place called SHEILD, the Avengers. Red hair and piercing green eyes. 

But then that stops. 

Memories of your hands hurting people now rush through you. People hurting you.

Cold. Dark. Wet. Pain. Agony. 

Then it all hits you at once. You can remember it so clearly. 

The mission, your arm getting trapped under rubble, telling her to leave. The building exploding. All you can remember after that was black and then it’s the pain. 

5 years. How, how has it been 5 years? 

Natasha? 

Natasha. Red hair, piercing green eyes. 

Her face is now so clear in your head. 

You’ve been gone 5 years. You need to find her. 

You stand up again. Walking out of the alley, taking in your surroundings as you try to get your memory to cooperate with how to get to the tower. 

She will be at the tower. 

She is the only person who makes sense. 

Everyone else is a blur. 

You find yourself walking so fast down the street, people staring at you as you practically start running. The route becomes clear in your head as you finally stop outside. 

Your hand grips your gun, you can’t be too careful, not until you find her. They could still be looking for you. 

As you walk in, alarms go off behind you as you pass through the door. Confusion fills you as you hurry to the desk. 

“Natasha. Where is Natasha?” Your hand is gripping your gun so tight.  “We need you to step back.” Voices surround you. You turn slowly, people with guns ready and raised. Your hand now lifting out of your hoodie, gun in hand like it would even match theirs. 

“NATASHA. WHERE IS NATASHA!” You shout, frustration coursing through you, why won’t people answer you?  “PUT THE GUN DOWN!” You don’t. You move closer towards the man who is shouting. Before you can reach him he shoots. 

You feel the bullet lodge into your shoulder. But you don’t stop, no pain registers. 

“I need Natasha! Listen to me!!!” You beg, you plead. Why won’t they listen?  “Natasha, who?” You wrack your brain for an answer, you try so hard, your hands finding your head as you start to hit it to try and remember. 

“Red hair, piercing green eyes!” The men around you turn to each other, murmuring as they continue to look at you.  “Come with us.” Sirens go off in your head. You aren’t leaving unless it’s with her.  “No. No. You bring her here to me, NOW!” You raise your gun again. Everyone raises theirs to face you, matching your stance. 

“We need you to drop the gun.”

“Not until she is here.” You don’t give up. If you’re leaving it’s with her. 

She is the only thing clear in your head. Your body calms with the thought of her. Memories of whispered confessions, secret nights lying beside one another, her laugh, the way your body reacted to hers, and vice versa. She is the only thing clear. You need her here now. 

“Y/n?” A man’s voice has you turning around. Your gun now facing him. His face seems familiar but you can’t place a name. It’s so frustrating, having that familiarity, but none of it makes any sense. “I don’t, I need Natasha.” You stumble over your words, tears filling your eyes at the pain going through your head. 

“Okay, okay. Do you remember me?” The man asks you, you close your eyes, trying so fucking hard to remember but you can’t. You shake your head at his question, opening your eyes to see him moving closer. 

“No, stay back! Don’t, don’t come closer!” You shout at him. His movement instantly stopped at your words. “Ok, I’m sorry. I’ll stay right here. Everyone clear the room!” He shouts his last sentence your body tensing as you watch everyone start moving around you, hurrying to the doors. You’re left in the lobby of the tower, just you and this man standing opposite each other. 

“Natasha.” Is all you can get out of your mouth once everyone has left. “She is coming, ok. How about we lower the gun and take a seat?” You shake your head no. You can’t sit down. Your hands find your head again. Your gun hits the side of your head as your frustration builds. You’re pacing around now. Even more, memories spiral around. 

The man with you, his face shows in some of the memories, but his name is still so far away. It frustrates you to no end. All of this is so confusing and you’re becoming tired. 

“Clint? What’s going on?” You turn around at the voice. Your arm lowers as your body sags in relief. Her voice is the same, she is the same. 

“Y/n?” She asks in shock, your body shaking as tears build in your eyes. She is real, you remember her. She starts rushing towards you and you hate how your body’s reaction is to raise your gun again. But she doesn’t stop moving. She keeps coming closer. 

“Stop, stop.” 

“Y/n, it’s okay. I’m here.” No, no. This could be a trap. 

“Tell me something only you would know.” Her eyes widen, you can see her wracking her brain for anything. 

“You have a birthmark that looks like a giraffe on the inside of your left thigh.” She smiles shyly at you but it only breaks you more. 

“No, no, they…they’d know that now!” You shout at her, gun gripping so tight as you move your aim to her head. If you pulled the trigger it would hit right in between her eyes. 

“Ok. Ok. Let’s calm down. It’s fine. Your favorite time of the year is winter, and it’s because it means we have longer nights in bed where we can just cuddle and be us. We can make hot chocolates and watch films in the comfort of each other arms. With no one else annoying us because they know it’s our time. Your favorite color is green, but not any green but the green in a forest when the sun hits it just right, it’s your favorite because you always said it reminded you of me. You only like marshmallows when they're toasted over a fire, other than that you hate them, they have to be gooey. You only like peanut butter with apples, anything else and you hate it. You used to hum songs in the shower no matter your mood. You would always wake before me and pull me closer to you and let me sleep for a little while longer before we had to get up to train-”

“Natasha…” You sob out, dropping the gun as you fall to your knees. Natasha finally approaches you properly now. Her arms surround you as she brings you so tightly into her. You hesitate to put your arms around her, but you grip her thighs so tightly you’re afraid you’ll leave bruises. 

“I remembered you. Only you. It’s taken me too long. I’ve been gone. I got taken. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Five years. Natasha. Red hair, piercing green eyes. I remember you. I only remember you.” You can’t stop crying, your face pushing harder into her neck and finally, you allow your arms to surround her as you take in the scent of her shampoo. 

“You’re ok. You’re here now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Natasha whispers into your ear. Her hand comes up to the back of your head, holding you where you are, not letting you out of her arms. It’s like your body reacts to her now exaggerated breathing, her silently telling you that you need to calm down, you need to breathe. You take yourself out of her neck, your forehead finally resting on hers as you stare into her eyes. 

“I remember you.” You mutter. A smile and tears grace her face as she cups your cheek. 

“I’m glad you did. Let’s get you home, okay?” Confusion fills your face. Moving back and looking around you. “This is home?” You’re confused and rightfully so, it has been 5 years. 

“We moved a few years ago, somewhere bigger, more private. Come on, let me and Clint take you home.” She starts to stand up, her hand reaching out for yours. “Who’s Clint?” You whisper, holding her hand gently as she starts to walk towards the guy who called your name earlier. “This is Clint.” She points to him, he offers you a gentle smile, your face staying straight as you take him in. You know his face is familiar and you know that you do know him, the earlier memories of him popping up but everything else is blank. You hate it.

You stay silent the whole car journey, your hand fiddling with Natashas as she sits in the back with you. You keep trying to remember, but nothing is coming through, memories rifle through your head but they're all silent. Only she is clear, her voice is clear, her laugh. Nothing else. You can feel Natasha's eyes on you, moving between your bloodied gloved hands that she hasn’t said anything about, to your face, and then the blood seeping from your wounded shoulder. 

You pull up to the ‘compound’ as Nat called it, people rushing out of the doors have your body tensing, your hand instantly going into your pocket to grab your gun but come up empty remembering that you dropped it at the tower, but your hand wraps around the knife still present in the pocket. 

“Hey, it’s okay. They’re good, they’re safe. You know all of them but 3, it’s okay.” Natasha turns to you, her hand finding your cheek as she tries to reassure you. 

You step out of the car slowly, Natasha staying close to you as you finally approach the people standing in front of you. 

“Y/n?!” You meet eyes with another tall man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was in your memories. He seems shocked, relieved, and also kind of scared. But you’re not shocked, they must have thought you were dead for the past 5 years. You go to reply but stop short when you take in the person coming up behind him. That’s another face in your memories but they’re not good. 

You take a glance at Natasha, her gun in a holster on her side, you reach towards it before anyone can see what you're doing, aiming the gun at him. Everyone stands still, no one talks, no one breathes as you stare at him. 

“You said it was safe.” You say out loud, your words aimed at Natasha, but you can’t look at her, you can’t take your eyes off of him. “It is. Put the gun down.” Natasha steps in front of the gun but you aim it higher, moving your body a fraction so if you shoot it will still hit him. 

“It’s not safe if he is here!” You try to tell her but she shakes her head. “He is good, whatever memories you're thinking right now, he is good. He was taken too. He was brainwashed, he is Steve's best friend, think back more, before the Avengers, think!” You close your eyes when you feel Natasha’s hand touch your chest, your arm lowering as you allow her to take the gun. You try to think, pushing away the bad, you try to think of anything and then it happens. The guy's face coming up next to the blonde man, both wearing army uniforms. It hurts, it’s confusing, and nothing makes sense.

“You’re safe here, I wouldn’t lie to you. Would I lie to you?” Natasha whispers between you both, your eyes opening and meeting hers, your body relaxes again as you shake your head no. She wouldn’t lie to you, she never would. She sends you a small smile as her hand finds yours again, walking you towards the compound, towards the people who move out of the way for Natasha and you. Only one person goes to speak, but Natasha shakes her head and pulls me along with her, the person instantly silencing themselves. 

You take in your surroundings. Counting every step you take, remembering the way to where Natasha is taking you. She places her thumb on a doorknob, the door clicking open, and she takes you into what looks like an apartment. You walk through yourself stopping just after the door not knowing what to do with yourself.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can talk, okay?” You nod your head, words seeming like they can’t come to you right now, the confusion lingers, and nothing makes sense. Everything is so quiet. 

A knock at the door has you gripping your knife again, Natasha pauses and moves back towards it being met with the guy called Clint. He hands some clothes to Natasha, sending her a smile before she closes the door again and meets you back in the middle of the room. She walks you through into a bedroom until she opens another door and you're suddenly in a bathroom. 

“Do, do you want or need help cleaning up?” You stare back at her, you don’t want her to leave, she is the only thing that makes sense. You nod, accepting her help as she places the clothes onto the side, moving to another cupboard taking some towels out, and placing them onto the same side. She stands opposite you, her eyes still filled with tears as she takes a deep breath. Her hand moves slowly to your jacket, peeling it off of your body gently, her hands then go to the bottom of your hoodie, lifting it over her head. When it hits the floor she steps away from you, her tears falling, her mouth hanging open as she stares at you. 

You don’t understand why until you look down on yourself. Your left arm is…it’s metal? Shock feels your face as you take off the gloves covering your hands, your flesh arm moves to touch the metal, it’s freezing. You spot a mirror on the wall moving quickly to stand in front of it, you try your hardest to ignore Natasha's gasp as you stand with your back to her. You take yourself in, your metal arm, scars littering your whole torso. 

You close your eyes again. 

Your left side was trapped in the explosion. You open your eyes suddenly, more memories coming to you as you hurry to take off your trousers pushing them down your legs. Your left leg is metal too… You suppose it makes sense, you were trapped, they were probably ruined, and whoever got to you knew you’d be useless to them without anything replacing them. You flinch slightly when you feel hands slowly gliding up you're back. You look into the mirror your eyes spotting Natashas as she looks back at you through the mirror. 

“You were trapped…” 

“I know.” 

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“I told you to.”

“I shouldn’t have listened.” 

“You’d be dead if you stayed.” 

She doesn't say anything to that, because she knows it’s true.

Her hands surround your waist as she buries her head in between your shoulder blades. 

“I missed you, every day, I missed you so much.” You hear her mumble. Your back starting to get wet from her tears. You don’t know what to say, the past 5 years don’t make any sense, you can’t tell her you missed her too when you don’t even know if, in those 5 years, you even remembered her. And it breaks your heart when your silence makes her sobs echo within the bathroom. 

You don’t move, allowing her to get out what she needs to. This can’t be easy for her either. She thought you were dead for 5 years just to show up all over again. The years of bent-up anger and grief spilled out of her. 

You only then move when you feel her arms losing their grip and her sobs only seeming to get louder, if that was even possible. You turn around just in time to catch her, her body giving out to her emotional turmoil. Bringing her head to your chest, while holding her so tightly just so she can feel that you're real, feel like you are truly here after all this time. And secretly to remind yourself of the same things. She is still here too, she is also real, she isn’t something your mind has conjured up in your state. 

It isn’t long before she pulls away again, turning her back to you as she subtly wipes her eyes and cheeks before moving towards her shower. She doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t make a single sound while she focuses on her task at hand. And when she is done, she stays with her back to you and leaves the room before you can even utter any more words to her. 

You let the water completely engulf you as you try to focus on everything flowing through your head. You need to remember everything, every single moment, every single name and memory. The bad, the good, the ugly, you don't care. You lean over to grab some body wash on the side and the smell seems to trigger everything. 

Memories flood through you, names, faces, voices, everything. Your whole life flashes before your eyes and it should overwhelm you. But all you feel is relief. Relief of remembering, regardless of the bad you remember after being taken, that somehow fades away when Natasha’s face sits at the front of your mind. 

You're drawn from your thoughts when you can hear shouting echoing through the sound of the water hitting the sides of the shower, rushing out and throwing on the clothes Natasha left you before stepping out of the bathroom. 

Natasha is standing with the door wide open as Fury stands opposite her. They both stop talking when you slam the bathroom door to draw their attention away from one another.

“Nicholas.” You say clearly, shock filling Natasha's face as you move closer to them. 

“Y/n.” He echos right back, a smirk filling his face when you finally approach him, your arm winding around Natasha's waist to bring her closer to you, needing to feel her body heat against your cold skin. 

“Why are you both shouting, I could hear you both in the shower.” Natasha stays silent, her eyes furrowing as she looks up at Fury, his face having the same expression as hers. He doesn’t answer you and neither does she, he simply looks between you both and then speaks to Natasha, “10 minutes, meeting room.” And then he walks away. 

Natasha gets out of your grip, closing the door when Fury moves away. She stays quiet again, her back facing you as she stays with her back to you. The coldness confuses you, it hurts just as much. 

“We should head to the meeting room.” She finally says, her back still to you. “Nat, what’s, what’s wrong?” You whisper, placing your hand on her shoulder but you're met with her shrugging it off and moving away from you. 

“You were dead, for 5 years, to me, to all of us, you were dead. I grieved you, I put flowers on your empty grave every week. Every week since your funeral. For a whole year, I couldn’t go on missions, I couldn’t work. I didn’t leave the tower until your funeral, and then after that, I didn’t leave my room for 3 months. I then didn't go on missions for 6 months either, because you were dead. And I, I hated you for that, I hated that you made me leave, I hated that you radioed Tony to come and get me and I hated that we were forced to leave without even looking for your body. I hated that when I finally found the strength to pack your stuff away, I found a ring in your shoes. And right now, god I am so fucking happy and relieved you're alive but…” She breathes, she wipes her eyes and she meets your eyes, and the look in them breaks you. 

“But, I have now lived 5 long years without you and I’m not the ‘me’ you remember or know, Y/n. I’m not.” 

“I remembered you, Natasha, I woke up in an alley not even knowing what year it was and all I could remember was you. I remember YOU. I can- let me get to know who you are now, let me, let me remember you for who you are now.” You beg her, you need her. Especially now.

“You remembered the old me, Y/n. I’m not someone who you can love anymore. I’m not, that’s gone, that person died the day that you died.”

“Natasha…”

“We need to go to the meeting room.” She tries to deflect.

“I want to talk to you more than talking to Fury.”

“I can’t do this right now, please. Just please, let me take this in, you're here and you're alive and I don’t, I can’t process this right now.” She opens the door and walks out, the conversation over with. 

She leads you down to the meeting room, walking in front of you the whole time, every time you try to match her pace she only walks faster to get further away from you. You hate the distance between you both but you do understand it, as much as it hurts. She needs to process this, you’ve been gone, a lot has happened in those years and you can’t force her to stay if she doesn’t want to. So you’re not shocked when she walks you into the meeting room and leaves immediately after. 

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

You tell Fury everything. How you somehow survived the explosion, and how you remember your body being pulled from the rubble, thinking it was SHEILD but it wasn't. You tell him about the months of tests completed on you, the super soldier serum that now floods through your veins. You tell him every mission you remember, the dates, the countries, the kills. He takes you to the med bay next, and more blood is taken from you as you show them your new leg and arm, they pay close attention to the scars covering your body and you try not to cower away at that. After he is done with that he takes you to the gym, making you run the fastest you can, lifting the heaviest weights you can. You ignore the looks of shock on his and Marias faces as they write everything down. 

When you finally land back in the meeting room, you all sit in silence. Fury and Maria, continuously look at each other and then back to you. You sit back twirling your thumbs as you wait for them to say anything. And Maria is the first one to choke. 

“How do you feel? You couldn't remember anything but Natasha 5 hours ago.” I shrug my shoulders trying to find the right words to say. 

“Honestly, I feel okay. At first, it was overwhelming not remembering anything, but then when everything hit me, I was just relieved, relieved that I could actually remember. Yeah, my time at Hydra was shit, but it happened, and I’m here now. And there is only one Hydra base left which I just gave you the location too and within days that will be gone too. So I feel relieved because I won’t go back there. Because I am here, with people I know and remember. I may be different now, I know I’m different and in a week I could be feeling completely different, so if and when I do feel different, I will come straight to Maria. I promise, I am here and I am present.” I lay my hands on the table as I finish talking, Fury and Maria nodding their heads at my words. 

“I’ll sort out your death certificate. I’ll sort out your bank account and ID, all of that stuff. You’ll have it within a day. Oh, and all of your pension that we owed you for being dead I guess.” Fury tells you, standing up and leaving, but not without placing his hand on your shoulder and saying, “I’m glad you're back Y/n.”

Maria stays sitting for longer, her hands fiddling with paperwork as she gets it all together. You know she wants to say something, but you know she won’t. “So, Natasha kind of hates me, I guess.” You try to break the silence, but Maria's sighing makes her stop her movements. 

“It was rough. She wasn’t Natasha anymore, any trace of her was gone and it took a while to try and bring her back but she didn't, not really anyway. I’ve seen Natasha be so many different people, around different people but around you, that was Natasha. How she was with the guys, it wasn't how she was when you were here. But no one could do or say anything because we all knew it wouldn’t matter. Because you were gone and because of that, she wasn't ever going to come back. Especially after she found the ring. She used to wear it you know. All the time, no one said anything, worried about how she would react and then one day she stopped, and we all just thought, she had accepted it. That you were gone and wasn't coming back. She doesn’t hate you, I know she doesn’t, but right now, those 5 years of grief and loss, she is hating herself for giving up when you were out there all along, alive.” Maria, sits herself down next to you, leaning against the table as you furrow your brows, trying to process her words. You get it, like you already said, you understand. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if the roles were the other way. Honestly, you would probably react the same way she is. 

“It wasn’t her fault.” You whisper, tears building in your eyes.

“To her, it is, was her fault. So what are you going to do about it, super soldier?”

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

You had been at the compound for a week now. It had been good, fun even. You knew most people, that is the original 6 of the Avengers. It was nice to be with them again, joking and laughing like you did all those years ago. It also helped that some new additions to the team were also nice.

It would have only been perfect if Natasha was there too but she wasn't. She had disappeared when you finally came out of your meeting with Fury and Maria, and it didn't surprise you when Clint was also gone. You knew where they were, at Clint’s farm. She needed space, you understood that but you wished she at least told you she had left, but you had to realize she didn't owe you that at all. 

It was by the second week at the compound that it then started to feel like you were now intruding into Natasha's life without you. She still hadn't come home. The constant thoughts of just leaving so she could come back were always floating around your head but another part also kept telling you that she just needs to process this and then she will be home, she will be back and it will all be okay. 

It was so conflicting, the constant back and forth. You wanted, no needed to call her but knew you shouldn’t. It kept you up most nights, resulting in you ending up falling asleep on the couch instead of in your cozy new bedroom, courtesy of Tony, it felt weird sleeping in a bed without her. It might have been 5 years, but in those 5 years, you hadn't even slept in a bed. It just never felt right, you didn't know what to do with your arms, and you didn't know how to lay. It was as if you could only exist with your arms surrounding her and it was tearing you apart.

By the third week, you were begging Maria for permission to use a jet. Natasha hadn’t answered any of your calls, texts, or even emails. Neither had Clint. Everyone could see it was affecting you, they all kept trying to tell you she would be back when she was ready but at this point, it didn't feel like she was coming back. Clint showed up in the middle of the third week, you tried speaking to him about Natasha but he wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t answer any of your questions, but he could hear and see the distress. You felt erratic, you didn’t feel like yourself and it was making it all worse. He wouldn’t let you see her or speak to her, he wouldn’t even say her name. He wouldn’t even tell you if she was safe, and that’s when you lost it. 

You had him pinned against a way, Bucky and Steve on either side of you trying to pry you off of him but even with their strength, you didn't move a muscle. And finally, when Clint realized you weren’t going to let go that’s when he muttered that Natasha was safe, something he could have done 30 minutes ago when you had asked in the first place. But you continued to hold him. Maria walked into the room then, coming up by your side and telling you to let him go. You could hear it in her voice that she wasn't going to ask again and you dropped him, walking away and out of the door without turning round. 

It got to the point where the weeks turned into months. Still no sign of her, still no word from her. It was breaking you apart. You completely distanced yourself from everyone, only coming out of your room in the middle of the night to go to the gym and then taking as much food and drink as you could back up to your room. You hadn't slept, and the bed still didn’t feel right. It was exhausting. 

And that’s when it suddenly felt like you were being punished. 

That this was only a fraction of what Natasha felt. And that she was doing this on purpose.

It all turned to anger. 

You didn’t expect to get taken. You thought you were going to die. It wasn’t your fault you lived, it wasn’t your fault you didn’t look for her. You didn't remember anything until waking up all over again in an alley 5 years later. 

She was punishing you, even if she didn't realize it. 

You called her again. Her answerphone breaks you. You cried down the phone, begging for her to come home, to talk to you. To stop acting like you had died. That you have both already lost 5 years, you don’t need to lose more. 

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

Tony was having a party, you don't know what for. Something about it had ‘been a while’. You wanted nothing more than to stay in your bedroom, but Bucky and Steve wouldn’t let you. They forced you up, made you shower and get dressed. 

The party was boring, Thor had gone back to Asgard so in turn had taken his mead, which was the only thing that could even get you the slightest bit drunk. It felt pointless drinking when it didn’t do anything. 

The night seemed to go too slow, people coming and going as they pleased. People greet you for one minute and then say goodbye. It felt pointless. It felt like maybe 5 years ago you should have died instead. It felt like life didn’t have a meaning anymore. 

Everyone tried to get you to stay, the party still in full swing but you felt so dejected and so far from everyone it just seemed so pointless. All of it seemed pointless. They could see it too, the light in your eyes was gone, the lingering thoughts of Natasha affecting how you carried yourself every day. They saw the similarities from when Natasha lost you. It started to feel like Natasha definitely wasn’t coming back and everyone else finally started to agree. 

The party had been over for a few hours now, the clock reading 3:23 am. The room was still a mess but it felt fitting that it was the only place that would stop your thoughts from flying all over the place. You were no longer in the clothes you wore to the party but were now sporting an oversized hoodie and sweats. You got yourself comfortable on the couch. Throwing the rubbish on top of it onto the floor, someone else will deal with it tomorrow. 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You needed to sleep. It had been days since you last slept, you were well and truly exhausted. You just needed to sleep to get your head straight again. 

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

You felt a weight on your chest, your body going tense instantly, wanting to sit up. But a hand on your cheeks stops you. You keep your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them it won’t be real. That the familiar touch and smell isn’t Natasha, that she is a fragment of your exhausted and emotional mind. Her whole body lay on top of your own. Her head is tucked into your neck. Her hand tangled in the hair on the side of your head. 

“I know you're awake.” She whispers, her breath tickling your neck. 

“You’re real.” You sigh out, opening your eyes and wrapping your arms around her back. Holding her tightly against you. Her body fits perfectly with your own.

“So are you.” She whispers again, not wanting to ruin the quietness that surrounds you both. 

“I’m sorry, I left, I just…”

“I know, I’m sorry too.” You move your body to lay on its side, Natasha's body falling beside you, trapping her between yourself and the back of the couch. You move your hand slowly to run through her hair, her breathing slow and gentle. She stares at you so intensely, and you can’t help but stare back. 

“You remembered me.” She whispers, moving closer despite the very little space between you both anyway, resting her forehead on yours. 

“I think I will always remember you, Natasha.” You breathe out, a small smile gracing her lips as she opens her eyes after taking a deep breath. 

You feel her head moving again, so slowly and subtly but you know her, even if it has been so many years, you know her. Her lips meet yours slowly, and your body starts to shiver from the action. 

The kiss is slow, but hard, every unspoken word flowing between you. 

“I will always love you, whether I am dead or missing, or simply just alive, I will always love and remember you, Natasha Romanoff, that will never change, I promise you that.” You whisper against her lips as you both pull away, a smirk now lying on her lips. She presses her lips against yours again, short and sweet just like her. 

“I will always love you too.”

You remembered her, and you always will. 

[arkhamsbrat]

are you sick of me? would you like to be?

jason todd x reader

jason couldn’t help the constant feeling of being out of place, even with your invitations. your constant, incessant invitations. one night sleepover? come have dinner? sincerity poured out of you. warmth, goodness, everything he wasn’t, couldn’t be.

why were you so insistent on having him around? smiling at him with teeth that wouldn’t tear his skin open. he’d let you, if you asked. shred him up and leave him behind. at least he’d see you smile at him again. its all worth it.

he waits for the day you get tired of him. or bored, scared, disgusted even. one day itll happen. whether it be when he tells you about Red Hood, how he let his rage get the best of him- or when he finally breaks. when he shows you just how badly he needs you. it felt like his ribs were cracked open, with you consistently pulling his heart into your hands, squeezing tightly. he waits for the day you drop it onto the concrete, for you to watch it roll away in the grime.

you don’t. your teeth nip at his arm affectionately when it wraps around you at night. your hands tangle in his hair rather than his veins. you just keep letting him in, practically begging him to stay. gentleness is in your nature, at least with jason. it’s clear he hasn’t been treated kindly, you could tell that from day one.

you were selfish, well, in your own opinion. creating a safe space for him so he did need you. but its only because you needed him just as much. ghosts chase him from a life you hope he’s left behind while he sleeps. his arms tug you closer and you fight back that proud feeling in your chest. you press a kiss against his forehead and whisper that you’re staying, for him. no one else but him.

he’d asked you if you thought he overstepped, took up too much space. you scoffed at him, and leaned against his arm. you wanted to crack him open, wanted to crawl in and never leave the safety he provided you. the guilt would leave him, eventually, when you started demanding he add “his touch”. you wanted it to look collectively like you both lived there. not just you. you started coming home to little things. his books moved from the box under your bed, to your bookshelf. he hung his jacket by the front door

it’s unspoken when the rest of his things slowly migrate to your apartment. one drawer for him on weekends turns into half of the dresser, the closet, the bathroom. your shoe rack has his only three pairs, an extra key for the apartment found its way on the ring that hung by your front door. he didn’t need to ask- you didn’t want him to. what was yours was his. coffee, toothpaste, towels, blankets, anything. all of you.

you tug him with you when you shower, smiling at the false grumbles. his hands massage at your scalp, knowing the favor will be returned when you look back from the shower head. his fear is never gone in full, but it slows. quiets down. he gets to be selfish too now. trap you in his embrace and hide you from the world. from anyone who would ruin this for him.

the feeling of belonging seeped into him every day he came home and there was two plates on the table. when you’d come home from your snack run with two new drinks that you thought looked gross, but you wanted to try with him. when the holidays came around and there were two pairs of disgustingly ugly socks because “we needed them, jason.”

“your apartment” became “our place”. your shared safe haven that would have to be ripped from him piece by piece. you couldn’t leave him, even if you wanted to. jason had cracked you open, crawled to the depths of your heart and chained himself to it. he’d made a home he felt safe in. he’d stopped feeling panicked at the realization that you did the same. he’d take his own hands and tear his chest apart to let you in.

all you have to do is ask.

[awrkive]

[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you. 

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, FEBRUARY 15TH | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started? 

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton. 

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are. 

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair. 

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread. 

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar. 

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes. 

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?” 

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice. 

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab. 

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.” 

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee. 

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent. 

Most especially when it comes to annoying you. 

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you. 

“Did you know that—” 

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god— 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—” 

“—we’re like parallel lines?” 

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay. 

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head. 

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.” 

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it. 

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive. 

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again. 

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing. 

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.” 

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.” 

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings. 

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute. 

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself. 

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks. 

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am. 

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle. 

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can��t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips. 

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back. 

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger. 

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar. 

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction. 

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile. 

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle. 

His day is already off to a good start.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2025. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and/or translating any of my works are not allowed.

[limethefirst]

Hello! I have a request for movie shadow if your alright with it? Can we have one where maybe shadow saved the reader at gun when he escaped and after he visited the base he kept Maria's skates perhaps and then as he trusts the reader cleans them up and give them to them on the crab?🥹. Showing them how to use them and the two end up bonding even more over it, shadow in his head promising to protect them after and not let what happened to Maria happen to them. This just sounds so flipping cute I hope this request I'd okay. Thank youuuu🥰.

Skating Friends

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x reader (platonic)

warnings: none

summary: After Shadow saves you from GUN during his escape he takes you along with him to visit the old base, stumbling upon a pair of skates he hadn't seen in a long time

a/n: did yall miss me, sorry i have so many requests this is gonna take me some time...i also want to drop a new story sometime maybe a DC one if life permits me, anyway sorry the requests take forever here you go see you all next time, tysm for keeping my blog relevant <3

Shadow didn't know why he brought you with him, he isn't the type to get close to people, at least not anymore. Yet here he was, walking through the old base, the lab, his home. Well, before it became a ruble of dust and broken pipes that gathered dust.

When Shadow first met you, he was shocked. You were being held at GUN against your will, trapped just like he was, it was part of the reason he kept you so close now. It was like he saw himself in you. Just some scared thing that had no choice in your own life, a slave to responsibility and ever droning duty.

You kept a safe distance between you and the hedgehog, he was solitary and it was easy to tell. He was slow as he walked through the dark and dusty corridor, like he wasn't all there. His min was else where, no matter how much he'd wish it wasn't. It was better to stay quiet when he was like this anyway.

Suddenly he stopped, his gaze was unwavering as he looked towards a pile of rocks that leaned against the cold wall. Quickly he made his way over, he was looking at something in the mess but you couldn't tell what yet. Quietly you moved a bit closer to him, following his line of sight until it landed on a pair of skates.

They were dirty and old. Like they'd been left behind, you gave Shadow a small look before putting your attention back on the skate he'd picked up. His brows furrowed as he held it in his hands, his gloved hands slightly tensing as he looked at the skates. A small huff escaped his lips as he put the skate back down and continued walking.

You stood there for a bit longer, watching as he walked off. A curious expression gracing your face. You didn't know exactly what Shadow went through, you'd heard bits and pieces, but it was easy to tell these skates meant something to him. As he was distracted you grabbed the skates on the ground, and shoved them into the small bag you had slung across your shoulders and quickly made your way back over to him. Following him again through the base.

As the day passed Shadow met with Gerald, a man who you came to learn was someone Shadow seemed to share deep rooted trauma with, and apparently that man had a grandson who was considerably just as intelligent as him. Both men as well as Shadow all made a plan to infiltrate GUN HQ and steal the keycard to an old plan that Gerald had some up.

Shadow not wanting to leave you behind, gestured for you to follow. So now here you were, onboard a strange crab like plane with 3 older men who seemed to have some strange thing going on and the resident hedgehog who kept to himself.

While you waited you went over to a quieter part of the Crab that would leave you unnoticed by everyone. Slowly you took out the skates that were still in your bag; you let out a small hum as you examined them. They were very old and very dirty, it even looked like they had stains but that just made you determined. This was going to be a long trip anyway might as well find something to do.

So while you all flew to London, you'd decided to try and refurbish the old skates. Sitting down in the corner you began to try and brush some of the dirt and dust away, clearly that didn't do much. So you quickly got up and grabbed some paper towels near the kitchen area of the Crab, dampening them slightly so that you could clean up the skates. You felt your arm getting sore from all the scrubbing that you had to do just to get all the gunk off.

The skates looked slightly better, you could actually see the color now. Blue, they were blue. Whoever owned them before had taste. You looked at the wheels, also cleaning them and taking out anything that would disrupt the skating process.

Shadow, noticing the lack of your presence behind him, turned around and tried to find where you'd gone before his eyes landed on a familiar sight. He's eyes scanned the skates, he noticed you trying to clean them. Unable to look away he made his way over to you in quick strides. You looked up at him and smiled at the hedgehog, one skate in your hand and the other still dirty on the ground.

He let out a small huff at the sight, it was oddly endearing, but it also brought back slight pain. Without hesitation Shadow grabbed the skate off the ground and from your hand before walking off without explanation. You sat there, mouth agape as he just grabbed the skates away from you.

Quickly you stood up, following behind him, "What are you doing?" You asked, trying to get a look of what he was doing with the skates.

"Here," he grumbled as he handed them back to you. They were clean, and the wheels turned fine, he had fixed them, "Put them on." He stated, leaving you no room to decline. Sitting down you took off your shoes and slipped the skates on, they fit well considering their age.

Shadow grabbed your arm, and helped you to your feet. He looked at the skates before looking back at you, "Keep them safe," although he tried to keep a cool demeanor it was easy to tell his voice softened as he addressed you about the skates. Clearly they held a lot of sentimental value for him yet he trusted you enough to have them.

"I can't skate, Shadow.." You stumbled a bit as you stood up, trying to keep your balance. He took notice of this and kept a safe distance as a way of making sure if you fell he'd help.

He thought for a moment before speaking up again, "I can show you then" He walked back slightly before he started to glide around a bit. His shoes seemed to have some type of wheels on them. Your eyes widened at this sudden revelation, not realizing he had his own skates this whole time. A subtle smile found it's way onto your lips before you tried to skate towards him, flailing your arms slightly to keep your balance. Shadow sighed at the sight, realizing he had his work cut out for him but you guys had a good amount of time before you reached London, which meant he could teach you.

Stone turned around from enviously watching the Robotnik's to look over at you two, his ears perking up at the sound of laughter that seemed to escape you. Shadow wouldn't admit that he was enjoying this, but then again he didn't need to. There was a small underlying understanding between you two.

And that was just fine.

[oikarma]

don't look back in anger

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: she knows it's too late as she's walking on by. or: all the times you have talked to max verstappen since that night.

a/n: more angsty than the first part? a lot more written stuff 🤕 sorry if you don't like that kinda thing.

part one

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liked by f1 and 3,279,148 others

kellypiquet: To us, and to many more years together 🤍

tagged: maxverstappen

view 69,501 comments

user1: oh my god it's happening!!!

user2: about time he put a ring on her finger...they've already had a kid together

user3: eh eh, eh eh, i just want it to be you

user4: can we normalize not bringing up people's exes in the comment sections of their new partners? user5: @/user4 max and yn weren't even exes get your facts right user3: @/user4 what 😭 it's a cute song and they're getting married user6: my chronically online ass cannot comprehend how people like yn's songs but don't know about the lore behind them

yourinstagram: congrats, kelly! * liked by kellypiquet

user7: maybe max is the problem guys. user8: @/user7 like if his situationship and his fiance can get along so well.. user9: i would crash out if my ex best friend slash maybe soulmate commented on my fiance's post and said congrats to HER and not me user10: women supporting women 💪

user11: the ring is so pretttyyy

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ONE.

The sun has started to dip, gold strokes across the pearly white decor. Around you are guests and heightened murmurs. Of course they're excited: it's Max Verstappen's wedding. A world champion among the greats.

You're still standing there, left by a few guests who wanted to offer their thoughts on your music. Their words were kind and well-meaning, but all they did was remind you of how queer it was. That you were at Max and Kelly's wedding. Sweat beads pile on your forehead, threatening to ruin your makeup; the dress feels heavy, too heavy. It might suffocate you. You straighten your back and take a deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out.

"You came."

Max's voice is low and hesitant, but it easily breaks through your train of thought. His words are just placed out there, like he's not sure if he has a right to say them at all. They sit there in front of you, an ache, a question.

There's a knot in your stomach. This was a bad idea.

"Kelly invited me." Your voice is steady, yet it sounds distant. Like someone else is speaking your lines for you, making things alright. You don't want to be here anymore. Not like this. "What did you expect? That I wouldn't show up?"

Max's hand trembles. He wants to step closer, you think. But he can't. Not like this. Not now.

"I didn't know if...you'd want to see me," he stammers.

You stiffen at his words, remembering the clear boundaries between the two of you. The paparazzi aren't here: it's a private event, at his insistence. But there are others, others who are watching and listening Max Verstappen talk to the girl who wrote an album of songs about the love she could not return him.

A sharp breath escapes your lips. You don't want to deal with this. Not now, when you're both standing on the brink of something final.

"Max, this is Kelly's wedding." Your voice hardens. "Your wedding. She’s about to marry you. So whatever you think this is—whatever it was—it doesn’t matter anymore."

Max looks at you, his jaw tightening. An old habit, you remember, as he chews back the words he can't say aloud. A part of you wants to reach out to touch his face.

It's up to you, as it always has been. He wants to say something, to reach for the words that will make you understand, but he knows it’s too late for that. The realization dawns on his eyes. The past is too tangled, too complicated. And Kelly is waiting for him to be by her side.

"I never meant for things to end like this." His voice cracks slightly, and it’s clear that the weight of your history is crushing him. He takes another step forward, almost against his will. "I asked for too much. I'm sorry I hurt you."

The silence between you two feels thick, stretching longer than it should. Max’s eyes soften at your words, but you can see the hesitation in him, the part of him that wishes he could do more, be more for you. Enough.

And it hurts in a way that you don’t want to admit. Not here, not now.

You should walk away. This conversation isn’t for this moment. But you can’t move. Your feet are cemented to the ground, and Max is standing too close.

"I just... I miss you," he whispers, his voice breaking under the weight of the noose he's never fully escaped.

A shiver runs down your spine at how raw his voice is. Your chest tightens.

There it is. That thing you’d been trying to ignore. You miss him too. In ways that make no sense when you look at him, standing there, about to tie his life to someone else.

You wish things were different. You wish that you could let yourself feel what he’s offering. You’ve wondered, countless times, if you made the wrong choice. If you had let yourself fall, would it have been easier? Or would it have just destroyed you both in the end?

Max shifts his weight, his gaze never leaving yours, and you can see the uncertainty in his eyes, the hope flickering there like it might ignite. It almost makes you want to step forward.

Almost.

But you know better. You can't.

"I..." You swallow, your voice rough. The words scatch in your throat. "I can’t do this, Max. Not now."

His face falls.

You hate that you’re creating this distance, but you have to. It’s the only way to stop both of you from falling back into this mess you've never cleaned up. Writing your songs was supposed to help and it only worsened your what-ifs.

You force yourself to breathe again. "You're about to marry Kelly. You can’t look back at me now, Max."

A long silence hangs between you two. Max opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. You know the truth. Sure, you've asked yourself if your intuition was right. But you know. You’ve always known.

You can barely hear him when he lands the last blow. "I never stopped loving you."

It's too real. He's struggling and you can hear it in his voice. This was a bad idea. This is his wedding. You can feel your walls crumbling at his words, the things you’ve buried beneath the surface shaking loose, but you push it all back down. You have to.

"Don't," your voice cracks. You can't hear anything but your own words and your heartbeat. "Please don't."

The two of you stand there. Life keeps moving forward, people laughing, and you think the piano is going to start soon. It's going to mark Kelly's entrance. And Kelly's entrance it is, into Max's life. For good.

For good.

You have to walk away.

And you take that first step back, away from your first friend. The first thing in your life that fit like it was made for you; never to be broken apart.

It still doesn’t stop the ache in your chest, but it's the right thing.

Max breathes in behind you, such a staggered sound it could be a plea for help.

You move toward your seat, hoping he will not look upon this moment too badly. That one day, in the future, his anger will have left him and he will realize this was your last act of love: to help him, even when it means breaking his heart a little bit more.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by lando and 1,792,164 others

f1gossipofficial: Lewis Hamilton was spotted this weekend in Monaco hanging out with Y/N L/N. They collaborated on Y/N's debut album, even sharing a kiss in the music video for "toxic to the end." Is a romance brewing? And how does Max Verstappen feel about all this?

tagged: yourinstagram, lewishamilton

view all 61,382 comments

user1: oh...max..

user2: oml he's literally MARRIED he's OVER. HER. it was four years ago. why does no one understand?

user3: this feels so intrusive but whatever. why are you taking pictures of them grocery shopping together 😭 let them live their life

user4: i love how lando is casually liking this.

user5: @/lando WHAT DO YOU KNOW lando: 🤐

user6: i literally said this as soon as the mv dropped. Y/N girl you have the sexist man alive as your friend MAKE A MOVE

user7: they have such good chemistry though!! did you see the rimowa interview??? same vibe, they're so adorable user8: so much better than her and max...am i right?

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r/PopCultureChat · 1 day ago hemsworthss

Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet calling it quits.

You might call me insane. You might say nothing official is out, but I think this might be true. As of October 2025:

Kelly unpinned both the pregnancy and the marriage announcement on her account. This is odd: she's had both up there since she made the posts. It probably isn't a matter of her clearing her feed or anything, because her Vogue shoot is still pinned. I looked for the post on her account and it was GONE. I looked for the pregnancy post on Max's account and she was no longer listed as a collaborator. Max was never a collaborator on the marriage announcement.

She's been posting a lot with P and the young 'un, but Max isn't in any of them. In his Team Redline streams, Max is always alone. Neither of his kids has appeared. Judging from the locations on her posts, she and her kids are on vacation in Europe.

Kelly wasn't at the last two Grand Prixes. She posted a story of her watching one on the couch but that was it. Neither of her kids were there, either.

Max has been posting more recently and he's been spending time with friends over family. Lando has him in a few dumps: playing paddle, Max even holding a guitar. Who plays guitar? Y/N L/N but that's not the point. Max is learning new hobbies and spending alone time.

I think I'm right. And if DeuxMoi has anything to say about a famous athlete/model couple filing for divorce, I'm placing my bets on Max and Kelly. Thoughts?

dannyric03: I don't want to believe it. He's so happy with the kids. Fatherhood suits him well.

↳ AppleBiter12: But fatherhood and marriage are different things. I thought maybe they got married because they thought the child would bring them closer. And it didn't.

hamiltons8th: I don't know. It seems debatable. Maybe they're just taking a break. It has been a stressful season so far.

↳ FantasyFox719: Right. But Max loves his kids, of course he'd want to spend time with him. I can't think of why he wouldn't spend his time between races (as he normally does) with his family instead of colleagues. ↳ hamiltons8th: @/FantasyFox719 Well him and Lando are best mates, something like that. I do think it's odd he's not with his kids. Maybe Kelly suggested it.

PeacockJazz450: Unrelated but did you see the news about Y/N and Lewis?

↳ hemsworthss: I did, actually. I think they're a very cute couple (if they're dating) that complement each other's personalies and goals very well. Lewis is very career-focused and so is Y/N. Love both of them lots. Even if they're friends I'm sure it's a great relationship. ↳ PeacockJazz450: @/hemsworthss Lol. I agree. Maybe Max crashed out after seeing that and decided he needed a break too 😂 There was this one tweet going around that was like "Imagine winning in Abu Dhabi 21 but losing the love of your life to the man you beat." ↳ hemsworthss: @/PeacockJazz450 Oh that's diabolical. Celebrity drama is bad enough but so many of the drivers are bops and their dating life is mildly concerning. Very interesting though. ↳ PeacockJazz450: @/hemsworthss At least Y/N hasn't dated anyone that we know of. I hope it folds out well.

ApplestoApples: if it's true that's such a shame. they've only been married for a year or so.

↳ 5_vettel: Agreed. But celebrity relationships never seem very stable.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

kellypiquet has added to their stories

[ caption: family first 🧑‍🧒‍🧒 ]

replies:

user1: the one parent?? the two kids?? KELLY DID YOU SPLIT

user2: uh oh...

user3: max what did you do this time

user4: hope you're okay queen!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by ladygaga, lewishamilton and 3,184,932 others

yourinstagram: left the door open and this DIVA walked through 📢 "APT." is out now & you can watch it live at my burnout mini tour!!

🔗 tickets on sale at ynln.com/live

tagged: brunomars

user1: new album? y/n??

user2: BRUNO DELIVERED OH MY GOD

user3: first lewis now bruno how is she getting all these icons for collabs 😭 actually insane her team must be working overtime

brunomars: don't forget to drink dance shower and freak

user4: not him saying shower instead of smoke lolol bruno being a responsible man as always

user5: i hear the dating rumors

user6: max verstappen. did you see the kiss? i bet you saw the kiss

user7: watch him block you on insta user8: two more boys y/n has kissed now and none of them are called max verstappen!

user9: could not be more proud of you queen 🤍 from starting an acting career, to dropping an insane album, and to collaborating with huge artists. i'm sure you'll keep doing great things and no one can stop you. * liked by yourinstagram

user10: what does this mean for her and lewis ☹️

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── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

TWO.

The crowd is still screaming as you scramble down the stairs, face flushed and out of breath. Sweat clings to your skin and your chest rises and falls, the adrenaline still coursing through you. Everything feels infinite, all the love shown out there drowning out your doubts and your past.

"Hell of a show you put out there, rockstar."

Lewis Hamilton leans against the table with your glass of water on it. His arms are crossed, an easy grin on his lips. He's dressed like he belongs here—which, admittedly, he now does.

He already knew about the concert: you couldn't wait to tell him when Bruno. Mars. Called. You. It wasn't exactly good timing, him just finishing the Mexico City Grand Prix the day before, but he came anyway. And dressed impeccably, at that.

You let out a breathy laugh, grabbing the glass. "You're just saying that because you got backstage treatment."

Lewis chuckles. "You know I mean it. You were unreal. When's the album coming out?"

"Hold on, hold on. Don't rush me. Give me a podium celebration first, will you?"

He tilts his head and you can't quite breathe. He says you were unreal but he's unreal. It still shakes you, sometime, how such a wonderful and caring and completely perfect man picked you to be his...friend.

You keep it at that word for now, but appreciate how good he looks with shades pushed back into his braids.

"Depends. You up for a champagne shower?"

Nothing flusters you like Lewis's quick wit.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. "Not in this dress, I’m not."

Lewis chuckles, his gaze lingering on you for half a second longer than necessary. "Shame. Would’ve been a pretty memorable moment. We'll have to reschedule."

You're aware of how close he is. How the conversation feels lighter than it should. How his presence is grounding in a way you don’t often get anymore. Your thoughts are wandering again, eyes tracing the curve of his mouth and—

The air shifts.

It’s subtle, like a drop in temperature. Like something's pressing against your ribs. You feel the presence and you know exactly what it is.

(Or maybe it's the fact that your team has gone completely silent. No more hurried congratulations and squeals in the background.)

Max.

He’s standing just a few steps away, lacking his usual Red Bull gear. His hair is all messed up, as if he got off a plane and came straight here. His jaw is set, his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes flicking between you and Lewis. There’s something there—something simmering behind that calculated look of his.

Your grip tightens on the water bottle.

"Didn’t expect to see you here, Max." Your voice is even, but it takes effort.

He exhales sharply, shifting his weight. "You think I'd miss this?"

The words are simple, but the matter is not.

Lewis, ever observant, stays exactly where he is—relaxed but present. "Didn’t know you were a fan of good music, mate." His voice is smooth. Yet deliberate. You can't do this right now. Why does he have to show up whenever things in your life are getting good?

Max’s gaze flickers to Lewis, and for a second, something almost like amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth before disappearing just as quickly. "I've been listening for years."

It lands heavier than it should. Your pulse jumps and both of them are probably aware of it. Max isn't talking about the music.

Max’s eyes stay on you, searching. "You didn't think I'd come, did you?"

You exhale carefully. "I didn't...invite you."

Max’s jaw tightens. "Well. Here I am."

It's too much. The weight of his words, the way Lewis is next to you—grounding, solid, present—and Max is just there looking like he's trying to figure out how everything slipped through his fingers.

The air between the three of you stretches, taut and fragile. Max’s words still hang there—Well. Here I am.

You shift under Max’s stare, your grip tightening on the water bottle still in your hand. Your throat feels dry.

"What do you want me to say, Max? That I expected you to come? That I thought about it?"

Max exhales sharply. It pierces you like a knife. "I don’t know. Maybe." His voice is lower now, almost bitter. "You never wanted to talk about it."

His voice is rough when he speaks again. "Tell me you don’t think about it."

You are acutely aware of Lewis's presence, but Max is slowly taking over your thoughts.

You inhale sharply. It's all you can do. "Max—"

"Tell me you don’t wonder."

Your throat tightens.

You do. You have.

Some nights when the lights are off and the city finally shuts itself up, you let yourself think about it. About him and the moment he kissed you. The way his voice cracked when he said your name.

But you also remember the fear. The way you couldn't have let yourself fold—not then.

And now?

Now, Lewis is here. Steady and patient in ways Max never was. Lewis, who has never asked you for anything more than what you could give, who doesn’t need you to be anything other than what you already are. Lewis, who will let himself be just a friend. Lewis...

You glance at Lewis instinctively. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something softer in the way he looks at you. He understands.

This, Max notices.

His jaw clenches, the vein in his neck jumping. His hands curl into fists at his sides and then relax so fast you could've missed it. Is it for show, all of this? Does he want you to think he cares or not? He exhales, looking away for a brief second. Just enough to compose himself. When he looks back, something about him is more guarded.

"Right," Max says, much quieter. He nods, more to himself than to you. "I get it."

But the problem is that you don’t think he does.

Despite everything, despite Lewis, despite the way you had chosen to walk away.

You still...

Max lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Because it’s never the time, is it?"

Not this. You flinch, because he's right. You don't want to talk about it. How he kissed you, drunk but so eerily sober in the way all his thoughts came out at once. The weight of everything in between the two of you spilled over, something you weren't ready for. About how, even now, sometimes you catch yourself missing him before you remind yourself why you had to leave.

The fear is back.

Your whole life had began to shift, focusing on you. Y/N L/N, rising actress. People talked about you...and your friendship with Max. What it was. And if you had let yourself feel something for him—if you had let yourself fall—what would have been left of you?

"There was nothing to talk about," you say. It's hollow, like another word could crush it into smithereens.

Max's mouth purses into a thin line. "That’s bullshit. You know it."

You're too aware of the people in the room, again.The way Lewis is still there, watching but not interrupting, not yet. The way Max is standing too close, and yet not close enough.

You shake your head, only able to reiterate all the things you've already told him. "This isn't the time for this."

Lewis shifts beside you then, speaking for the first time in minutes. He's had enough. His voice is calm, smooth, but there’s something sharper beneath it. Water over rocks, threatening to split the waves any minute. "If you're looking for something from her, maybe you should ask yourself why you didn’t do it when it actually mattered."

Max turns to Lewis, his posture stiffening. There's a respect between the two, but spite typically taints it. Now? No malice—just frustration, just regret. Just something ugly and old between all of you.

You close your eyes for half a second, steadying yourself. When you open them, Max is looking at you again, waiting.

But he’s always been waiting, hasn't he?

And you?

You’ve always been running. From what? you wonder now. From something real?

Something has changed. Now you're not sure if you're tired of running or just afraid of what happens when you stop.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

kellypiquet and maxverstappen have added to their stories

replies:

user1: so it was true??

user2: praying for you kelly <3

user3: 5 bucks it has to do with y/n and whatever he did when he showed up at her concert

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

THREE.

The coffee shop is cozy, the kind of place you go when you want to be alone with your thoughts. You're sitting at a corner table, flipping through your phone. Doomscrolling, they call it.

It’s been a while since you last saw Max—months, maybe. His divorce from Kelly was all over the media, and yet, here you are, sitting in the same coffee shop as him. The silence is louder than any of the questions you had when the news first broke.

You didn’t expect to run into him today.

You'd also thought you were over all of it. Buried, deep down. But when his voice meets your ears, it's all coming back.

"You still like this place, huh?" Max sounds like he's been thinking about his question for a while.

Glancing up, surprise flickers across your face. "Max...didn't expect to see you here."

He stands there for a moment, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. You feel the awkward tension rising like steam from your mug.

“You’re hard to avoid these days,” Max says, his words coming out almost casually. "Guess we keep bumping into each other."

You raise an eyebrow, setting your phone down. “We never really bumped into each other before.”

Max’s lips tighten for a moment. Caught. “No. I guess we haven't."

Neither of you move. Then, Max steps forward, hesitating just slightly before sitting across from you.

“Nice seeing you. Didn't expect it to be here."

You nod slowly, unsure of how to respond. "Yeah...well, things change."

Vulnerably flickers in his eyes. You haven't seen that in a while. "They do," he agrees.

It's unfinished, this mess between you.

"I know things got complicated," Max continues. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I didn't mean to make it worse but I did."

You want to say something—anything. But the words are stuck. Everything: the kiss, the distance, all the memories you've shared. They're all under the surface, waiting for someone to make sense of it all.

Instead, you try to find your footing. "Max...what are we even doing here?"

Something like the Max you used to know. He's less guarded, less distant. "I don't know. But I don't want things to be like this. No forever."

You swallow hard. You want to respond, but there's too much going on in your head.

Max breaks the silence. Again. This time, he's more quiet. "So, what about him? Lewis?"

The way he says it makes you wonder. Jealousy? Not that, he's past that. But it's a question wrapped in old pain. He wants to know. He always has.

You lean back in your chair, letting out a soft sigh. "What about him?"

Max’s eyes are searching. "You're...close. Do you, I don't know, care about him?"

The answer isn't as simple as either of you would like it to be. There's a part of you that wants to spill out all the feelings. That you don't know. Still don't.

"He's good to me. I don't know what else you want me to say."

It's not the answer he wants to hear, but he nods anyway. "Yeah, I get it."

The past is complicated, and the present is no less so. There's a peace with Lewis. But Max...Max has a way of making everything feel unresolved.

You bite your lip, unsure if you should talk more. You want to say something that makes sense, that will give both of you the closure you need. The truth is, there's too much unsaid. Unresolved. It's sitting there, loose strings and all.

"Maybe we never had the chance to figure it out. It wasn't just about what we felt, Max. It was everything else too."

His expression tightens. Like the words aren't forming right. The old ache is there in his words, in his face. They never healed. "I was an idiot, wasn't I?" he mutters.

You shake your head, not wanting to dwell on that when he's already beat himself up for half a decade. "We were both...confused. We had different things to figure out."

You can't place the look in his eyes. "Maybe. But I was never just confused about you. I was scared of losing it all. Of losing what we could've had."

It hits you in the chest. Then, the words come out before you can stop them. "Max...we shouldn't leave it like this. I don't want to leave it. Again."

"So what does that mean?" His voice is hopeful, though he has his doubts.

It won't be the same. That's impossible.

"I don't know. We'll have to figure it out." You hesitate before taking out your phone. "Maybe we can...talk more. Not lose touch again."

A smile breaks across his face, though he tries to hide it. "That sounds good. I'd like that."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

did you like this? i wanna make a part three. it's like...closure but not completely, you know? there's still a lot for them to deal with and also lewis! beautiful beautiful lewis! messy max or lovely lewis ? 🤨

[fluentmoviequoter]

Anatomy of a Relationship

Requested Here!

Pairing: (established) Tim Bradford x fem!neurosurgeon!reader

Summary: When your friend comes over in the middle of the night to talk about guy problems, Tim finds out what your relationships really mean to you.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff, a Castle reference, Karah is loosely based on Regine from Living Single

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Rules/Info

“11.25 millimeters,” you read. “That’s not good.”

“What’s not good?” your best friend, Karah, whispers as she lays her hand on your shoulder.

“I just got an MRI with an 11.25-millimeter aneurysm attached to the basilar artery,” you answer. “What’s up?” you murmur, flipping the page.

“Nothing,” she sighs.

“That was convincing.”

“It’s not as important as a brain aneurysm.”

You set your clipboard on your desk and turn toward Karah, shaking your head as you smile at her. “Most things aren’t, but I’m sure I can manage it.”

Before Karah answers, your phone rings. You mouth an apology as you answer and say your name.

“Got it, on my way,” you assure before you end the call. As you gather your things, you tell Karah, “We will talk later. Promise.”

“Go save a life!”

“I have been looking everywhere for you!” you exclaim as you enter a supply closet.

Karah hums but doesn’t speak past the nail polish applicator held between her teeth.

“Pretty color,” you muse as you sit beside her on a gurney.

“Thanks,” she replies as she removes the applicator. “Want some?”

“Surgical board frowns upon painted nails,” you remind her.

“Hence, why I’m doing my toe-sies,” Karah singsongs. “What are you doing with Sergeant Bradford tonight?”

“As little as possible, I hope. What are you doing tonight? Another date with the mystery man?”

“Another date, yes. Mystery man, no.”

“What happened?”

“Have you ever watched a cartoon where the characters kiss and they just kinda…” Karah closes the nail polish and shoves her palms together in demonstration.

“Sure,” you answer, nodding. “The PG version with no emotion and no lips.”

“Yeah, that’s how he kissed.”

“Ugh.” You shiver for emphasis, and Karah nods emphatically.

“And his lips were chapped, too.”

“We can’t have anything in this life.”

Karah scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Right, because you have it so bad with a hot police officer.”

“A hot police officer who cancels dates weekly and has minimal emotional availability.”

“But you love him,” she reminds you.

“That I do. Look, I’ve got a consult call before I leave, but call me later, let me know how your date went, okay?”

“Will do. Enjoy your date, if it happens.”

You shove Karah gently as you slide off the gurney. Opening the door, you call, “Love you!” over your shoulder.

“Smooches!” she replies.

“Stop staring at me,” Tim demands as he locks your door.

“Answer the question!” you reply. “I can’t let you sleep here if you’re lying to me!”

“It’s fine.”

“Why? How do you know?”

Tim sighs and takes your face between his hands. “It’s fine,” he repeats.

You pout, pushing your lower lip out as you blink at him.

“My neighbor is watching Kojo, so it is fine if I stay tonight,” he assures you with a sigh.

Your brows furrow as you ask, “You asked your neighbor to watch Kojo? Presumptuous.”

“I… Never mind,” Tim murmurs, his hands still on your face.

“We should probably have some dessert,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Not like that, Tim, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Tim huffs a laugh, then kisses your forehead and drops his hands to your waist.

“Listen,” you request, not moving to get dessert. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not asking you to make any big decisions or anything, but if you want to bring Kojo in the future, you can.”

“Thank you.”

“Although, he’d probably never want to leave because I’m nicer than you.”

Tim tightens his grip on your waist slowly, waiting until you grunt to smooth his palms against your shirt. He leans toward you, and you murmur, “Dessert can wait.”

Your front door clicks closed around midnight, and you sit up in bed. Tim shifts beside you but doesn’t wake as he rolls away. Soft footsteps pad down your hall, and you relax, recognizing the gait. Karah steps into your room with her hair pulled back messily and her cheeks red from scrubbing her makeup off.

“C’mon,” you invite her, patting the mattress.

Karah pulls back the comforter and sits beside you with a heavy sigh. You move closer to Tim and lay your hand on his back.

“Is it me?” Karah asks.

“I hope so, considering you’re in my bed,” you reply softly. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me nothing.”

“So, I went on a date with the vet, right? And the next day, he ghosts me. Then mystery man seems to be the one until we kiss and then there’s nothing there, no spark, no more mystery.”

“Tonight?”

“He wanted to move way too fast. Was I wrong for not wanting to? I mean, what if he was the one – or, at the least, the best I can get – and I ruined it because I asked him to slow down?”

“He wasn’t the one,” you assure her, wrapping her in a hug. “If he couldn’t respect that and made you uncomfortable, then he 100%, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was not the one. You’ll know when someone is the one or has a chance of being him.”

Karah looks over your shoulder at Tim’s back and asks, “Are you sure?”

With a smile, you promise, “I’m sure. When the right man comes along, things aren’t always comfortable, but you’re willing to fight to get back to that comfort.”

“Unless there isn’t a right man,” Karah adds, falling back against your pillow. “I try, I get out and date, but maybe it is just me.”

“Maybe.”

Karah’s eyes widen, and you argue, “Exactly. There is no way it’s you. There are nearly 4 million people living in Los Angeles, so what if you can’t find the one perfect person for you quickly?”

“That’s only 2 million men, and half of those are married or not interested. The pool is way down and I’ve been swimming.”

“49 people in every 10,000 have a brain aneurysm each year. Just because it’s a low number doesn’t mean I’m going to quit my job. The 30,000 people who have an aneurysm rupture every year wouldn’t have a neurosurgeon if we all thought like that.”

“I see your point,” Karah grumbles. “But I still hate it.”

“I get it. But maybe a break would clear out some of the wrong men.”

“How do I find what you have?”

“The way I did it? Pure luck. Besides, most of the cops we get in the hospital aren’t like this one.”

“Maybe I should call Rick and see if he’s still single.”

“Rick who let his ex-wife crash at his house and walk around half-naked while you were dating? I’m going to veto that option.”

“He was rich.”

“And a terrible person.”

You scoot back to sit against the headboard as Karah tells you more about what she’s feeling, and as the night goes on, you do your best friend duty and don’t notice that your hand strays to Tim every few minutes.

“Okay,” you interrupt after hours of talking. “We need a pick-me-up.”

“What?” Karah asks.

“Let’s go.”

You lead Karah out of your bed and into the kitchen. After placing your kettle on the stove to heat water, you unlock your phone and scroll through your music library until you find the perfect playlist. The Bluetooth speaker tucked under your upper cabinet plays the opening notes of 2000s pop before Kesha sings, “Hot and dangerous. If you’re one of us then roll with us.”

Karah gasps in excitement, then leans forward to do the handshake you made up during your first year working together. The music plays too loud for the early hour as you dance around the kitchen together, but you don’t care because it’s cheering Karah up, which is the goal. Each word makes you feel better, more upbeat, and ready to do anything and everything.

As the playlist moves forward to a Britney Spears song, you freeze. Tim stops between the end of the hall and the kitchen and looks from you to Karah and then back to you.

“Is this why I was so squished last night?” he asks.

You nod meekly, and he waves his hand at you as he moves toward the kettle and the cabinet where you keep your tea and coffee.

“Breakfast?” he asks.

“Please!” Karah answers.

“Yes,” you say as you dance past him. “Thank you.”

You turn the music down at the end of the song and ask Karah if she feels better.

“Mostly,” she admits. “Now I just need a guy who makes me feel like Hips Don’t Lie does. Sorry, Tim.”

“I’m not even here,” he encourages her. “And if I was, I wouldn’t get involved.”

You shrug and gesture for Karah to continue.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you yet,” she murmurs.

“Well now you have to.”

“I agreed to go on another date with Ryan, the guy from last night.”

“What?!” you exclaim. “Why?”

“He waited. I mean he made me feel awful for asking but he agreed.”

Tim turns and passes Karah a mug of coffee before he sets your favorite drink beside your hand. “Dump him,” he encourages. “He didn’t mean it, he’ll keep pushing and dishonesty of that kind almost always leads to a misdemeanor, minimum.”

You look at Tim with your brows raised, then agree, “He’s right. A guy like that will try to pressure into not waiting. Don’t let him make you do something you’re uncomfortable with for any reason.”

Karah’s phone buzzes, and she groans as she reads the message. “Jill called in sick again, so I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at the hospital?”

“If you’re lucky,” you tell her as you hug her. “And cancel on Ryan, or ghost him, but don’t see him again.”

“I will. Thanks, Tim!” she calls as she opens the door.

When you turn back toward Tim, he lays his palms on the counter and glares at you, but you can tell he’s hiding a smile.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a smile. “She needed to hear it from someone who wasn’t me.”

“Karah has a key. What would you do if one of my friends climbed into bed with us?” Tim inquires.

“Which friend?” you counter. “Because Lucy has a key to get in here too.”

Tim rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the food on the stove. “Make sure Karah leaves him and let me know if you need some help getting the message through to him.”

“Such a softie,” you muse as you raise your mug.

“What was that?” Tim challenges.

“I said will do, sir.”

Tim hums, so you stand and walk behind him. With your arms wrapped around his waist, you say, “I love you.”

“Then you’ll tell me how many people have a key to your door before I replace the lock.”