#and to get lost down even more different rabbit holes
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
Saw your thing about the seelie/unseelie courts as we understand them today being a pretty recent idea, and that's got me really curious; do you have any sources on that I could check out?
With great pleasure! And with the disclaimer that this was from half an afternoon's casual searching, I'm just some guy with an interest in British folklore.
They're not even close to academic sources, but these two blog posts give a good run down, when taken with a pinch of salt here and there. 1 2 They also have enough sources mentioned to be a good jumping off point for doing your own research.
As purely descriptive words, "seelie" and "unseelie" have been around yonks. Folk songs are too fluid to be concrete evidence, but Alison Gross is a certified Old Folksong, and I've personally come across enough versions in enough collections of ballads to say that "seelie court" and "fairy court" are fully interchangeable in that context, which lines up with seelie wights/good neighbours as basically euphemistic ways to refer to fairies.
"Unseelie" as "unhallowed" or "hateful" and such goes back at least as far, but Scotland, Social and Domestic (printed 1869, should link to page 234 if I've done this right) is the earliest text I've found that explicitly refers to the seelie vs unseelie courts as we understand them today.
This is my own hypothesis, but reading a bit further up with the author's account of Thomas the Rymer, it seems very much like he fell into the old trap of trying to tie several different stories and superstitions into one coherent narrative. Tumblr's done the same with Greek mythology, so it wouldn't at all surprise me if the Victorian love for classification and neat answers did similar damage to Scottish folklore, caring more for a neat answer than the messy living changing nature of real folk tales.
#thank you for this excuse to ramble!!#and to get lost down even more different rabbit holes#i suppose it's the mixed blessing of these stories getting written down. the tale survives but the one in text becomes the 'correct' one#when that just isn't how these stories work in the wild so to speak#folklore#folk songs#ish#fairies#asks
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
youtube
#welp#i was supposed to head to bed early but i went down a rabbit hole and now i’m scrolling all the way back to 2017 and honestly#that was such a good fucking year#i was 23 and not even nearly close to knowing what the future would bring#future which is now the past#darn it i wish i had my old journals from that time with me#but no they’re rotting away in a storage unit in good ol’ County Cork#who would have thought though#who would have thought#anyways i swear i haven’t been drinking i’m just very heavily nostalgic tonight#2017 is a lifetime away#it’s just 7 years but it’s just as well—you know that thing about human cells#idk it might be a myth i just remember it from a grey’s anatomy intro#and i just fact checked it it’s sort of correct (it’s more an average than anything though) so ANYWAY#my point was#most of my cells are completely different from what they were back in 2017#which were themselves entirely different to what they were in 2010#i’m supposed to be an entirely different being and still i find myself listening to the exact same songs#huhhh—i’ve lost my point but you get it#i’ll find that grey’s anatomy quote again and you’ll see#you’ll get it#Youtube
0 notes
Text
DPXDC Prompt: Amnesia Danny learns a lot more about himself than he ever did before.
Danny ends up with amnesia after a recent ghost fight that landed him straight into the Kent's family farm.
He had no reason not to believe he must be an alien too- from Ma and Pa's reactions to his powers to his acceptance into hero circle.
That is until he met Jon's friend Damian- who recognized him immediately. Was he not from space? Despite his love of stars- if he wasn't from space then where did he come from?
When he slowly discovers more and more of his past nothing makes sense. What version of his past is true? Who was he? Why did so many people claim to know him?
He hoped he can figure it out soon before a war develops between fractions that lay claim to him.
(not demon twins but perhaps siblings ;3 or some secret third thing) Below just continuation of my thoughts I posted on discord ;3
Just makes me think the more Danny learns something else throws a wrench into! Like- Imagine he starts learning about the LOA and what Damian knows- then bam GIW are claiming Danny's hero persona- to be Phantom.
And everything keeps going down a rabbit hole.
Even ghosts or perhaps the ghost he was fighting that caused this confronts him to- or to the media at large. Revealing something else to him. Perhaps it was dan or a version of- or its Plasmius
Or a new ghost entirely with ties to that.
Or could add ghost king to really mess with stuff- and its Pariah wanting his crown back.
Just so many ways to make this into a shit show.
Danny's friends and sister getting involved too- happy to see Danny safe- but Danny just confused.
His brain hurts and he's at a lost at who he is.
Even worse if his dna did show him as part alien. So his world is flipped on its head even once he remembers himself- or the part of himself he knows the most.
I think it would be a fun idea to play with. Creating more and more mystery. And by the time Danny gets some idea- something else happens.
LOA is pissed, GIW are too- Ghost problem is ramping up - everyone wanting to take claim to Danny and Danny just wants to know who he is and how stop the fighting.
But imagine Danny getting acceptance from the league- and maybe they finally get answers who Danny's parents are- why does he have alien dna Danny actually going through puberty with his powers same time as his accident so he never knew and imagine Danny saves the world and becomes into himself. He still doesn't have all the answers but he has enough to know WHO he is- and he's not going to let others taint that image for him.
He's sure he'll find out more as time comes but for now- he's who he strives to be. it definitely be such a big ass story but it would be fun to play with different identities maybe a few red herrings if you want to be extra- but i think just even knowing all of danny's identities be interesting. how people have perceived him to what he actually has done and was. maybe before they use slade to make respawn they experimented with another hero dna or an alien dna in general that was unfortunate to cross their path- and the two grew up together- but found Damian's compassion towards the other as a hindrance. maybe booster gold or impulse know danny from the future due to time travel and/or how he was seen. or if anyone from bad time line before traveling back only remember Dan. ewe luckily Ma and Pa kent supporting Danny through this and protecting him- bats too
So he isn't all on his own but he's certainly confused.
Imagine they help him the most in accepting who he is.
#dp x dc#danny fenton#dpxdc#kent family#amnesia danny#danny sibling/clone/ third thing to Damian#lots of secrets being revealed#Danny just trying to survive#dcxdp#impyelam#prompt#dpxdc prompt#dc#dp crossover#dc crossover#Danny might not have all the answers but he doesnt need them to be himself#alien Danny fenton
298 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hello! After all this effort, behold:
DANGANRONPA DEMIX, THH EDITION!
Dr Demix 2
Finally got the talentswap designs I have for the THH characters one and done with! You can click through the read more section for some fun design insights. I'm intending on uploading a doc containing short lore bits about them eventually.
Kyoko Kirigiri - Ultimate Affluent Progeny
So Kyoko's design was both kinda simple, kinda not, wanted to give her a very fine and regal kinda attitude to her but not arrogant as that's very much Byakuya's thing. Her story is that she loves her dad more than the family business and her grandpa so she abandons detective work and just uses her brain to help her dad out.
Makoto Naegi - Ultimate Novelist
Makoto is a wonderful guy, just great all around. He loves writing children's books and happy stories. This is his main coping mechanism so he doesn't have to process any negative emotions he gets, the rest he can't process… well they go into a murderous psychopath alter.
Aoi Asahina - Ultimate Lucky Student
Shoujo protagonist Aoi. Cute, headstrong, affective, competitive, these are all the traits that make her fight for her friends and clash with Kyoko (and more often than not Byakuya) in the killing game, even when all hope seems lost… she pushes through, unafraid to let tears spill from her eyes for all those lost, but pushing all the same.
Byakuya Togami - Ultimate Detective
This one, I wanna go into more lore territory, cause I kinda memed around his last desc I gave him so here goes:
"A disgraced heir of the Togami household, Byakuya lost the competition that would've secured his riches. Disdainful and bitter, he sought out to get to the bottom of why he lost, uncovering a rabbit hole in the process. By the end, he proved his sibling a cheater, but it didn't matter because by the end as he found the sweet satisfaction of uncovering secrets and crushing liars and cheaters under the weight of their hubris far more satisfying than any inheritance."
Sayaka Maizono - Ultimate Spirit Medium
So Sayaka isn't a clairvoyant at all like Yasuhiro, in fact her entire skillset is completely different, first of all she is like an actual psychic, and I based her design off of the japanese Itako, quite loosely. Very interesting group, look it up, also she'll never use these powers in the killing game because I dunno how to even approach these rituals or what they look like or how to write them while remaining respectful, so she won't do it in a killing game for the express reason of her not having the right tools available and not wanting to disrespect her traditions.
Leon Kuwata - Ultimate Swimmer
I really wanna draw him again, all these characters again tbh, and I wanna show off the patterns on his wetsuit. It's a whole coral reef under there, that anemone and clownfish bit is only one part of a whole reef stretching his midline.
Sakura Ogami - Ultimate Programmer
Sakura has installed chips into her body to help optimize her body processes and also cause why not. As for the muscles, she's an Assembly programmer, the programs she's made can run on calculators she loves it.
Chihiro Fujisaki - Ultimate Martial Artist
Chihiro's design here with the two belts is an explicit nod to his preferred martial art - Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, so unlike Sakura in canon who'd be easy to imagine cracking someone's skull in half with a chop, Chihiro's approach is more crawling onto someone and bringing them down to the floor with grappling like an angry halfling monk. As for the belts themselves, on his head is his final junior belt, while around his waist is his current belt, he's not a black belt yet because he's still too young for it.
Celestia Ludenberg - Ultimate Baseball Star
Celestia actually isn't a legend in this AU, Taeko is. Celestia hates that and wants to start a baseball career going international, whatever the hell that means is up to her own definition, but she wants to be remembered forever as Celestia, not Taeko. Also extra sentence, but this is the SINGLE hardest design I've ever had to deal with here, I think in the future I'll be drawing all her little accessories and I have an alt costume for her I have in mind.
Hifumi Yamada - Ultimate Pop Star
So I changed Hifumi's story as I originally outlined in the OG post with him. He was friends with Aoi all his life, pretty much his only friend at all, and ever since he was little he had an obsession with writing songs, because he was obsessed with stuff like anime openings and was content to just keep the songs to himself. It wasn't till Aoi convinced him to share some of his songs that he started his journey to success, but bc he's not traditionally attractive, his first hits were literally just… his voice being played over other more attractive singers and it wasn't until very very recently that he even performed a song of his for the first time.
Toko Fukawa - Ultimate Fanfic Writer
So while Hifumi was clearly a Doujinshi but due to weird translation, ended up as fanfic creator, Touko is straight up a FF then Wattpad then AO3 girl, who would get obsessed with this really shitty, tripe manga that she didn't even like reading. It did however have super hot dudes in it, so she wrote good stories of those characters when she got frustrated with the actual authorial content - which was always.
Yasuhiro Hagakure - Ultimate Gambler
Quite LITERALLY the never stop gambling meme personified into a guy. He can lose 3 mil on slot machines but always comes out fine because it means if he keeps gambling he'll eventually run into his 1/3 and win giga millions, what he needs to pay off his debts. It isn't just with luck though either because his personality and lack of intelligence or understanding of most the rules of the games he plays means he'll never react the way he should when getting a good hand in poker or a bad draw in blackjack, so he wins those games almost always through just… stupidity.
Mukuro Ikusaba - Ultimate Biker
She's number 16 in her gang, and is easily the most loyal enforcer and taskman of the gang. She does anything she's told, to a grim and disciplined degree not typical for hooligan bike gangers, she doesn't really desire a seat as top dog of the gang though, after all she's got school to worry about, and her sister.
Mondo Owada - Ultimate Warlord
So his relationship and Kiyotaka's is gonna be interesting, because I don't want him to be exactly like Mukuro at all, who was just sort of an all-obsessed Yandere. It's more like he's always chafing under Taka, who is less than friendly with him in this AU, really the main way he even lets Taka boss him around is because he pays incredibly well and helps keep his gang members from devolving back into the unstructured, chaotic criminal life, the same that took his brother years ago.
Oh and yeah, he still looks like Guile, as he should.
Sparkling Justice - Ultimate Killer Killer
Yeah it's a reference to Killer Killer, sue me I love the manga. He has Hajirahara's ahoge, and I thought it'd be cute to also give him a mask just like the other Makoto from a Kodaka game series (Raincode.) Also, while Genocide jack stuffs all her scissors in her skirt, Makoto keeps a truth gun with "truth bullets" as his main weapon, the gun he stores inside the big book in the chibi of just Makoto, and the bullets kept on his person as the red buttons all over his body, which he pulls out when he needs to reload.
"Kiyotaka Ishimaru" - Ultimate Fashionista
Unlike Mukuro and Junko, Mondo absolutely cannot hide the fact that he acts nothing like Kiyotaka, though this is surprisingly fine to everyone else, because unlike Junko who plastered herself onto literally everything, Mondo always obfuscated himself from the public spotlight, at most showing only his suits while he hid his face behind something conveniently placed. Which played primarily to his vision of an ultimate fashionista, who was above everyone and catered to the rich and powerful.
Junko Enoshima - Ultimate Moral Compass
This was a fun one, I decided to let her have her red hair because I believe it to be the "natural" look of her hair, while attaching little clips of dyed hair to her buns as a replacement to keep her shape sorta and keep the strawberry blonde somwehere on her. Understand that while she is the "moral compass" she is still pretty deranged, and the only reason she focuses so much on keeping everyone on their best behavior is because it's endlessly entertaining to her to make her fellow moral committee members upset when she blatantly makes a mockery of the rules while still keeping kids on their best behavior to make a point.
Kiyotaka Ishimaru - Ultimate Fashionista and Tyrant, the Iron Hand of Despair
Taka's design I wanted to sort of focus on this sort of, holier-than-thou idea, where I wanted to make him look a lot fancier and upper-class than Junko does in his standard highschool fit compared to him. I wanted him to have an upper-crust sort of look
If you're reading this after reading this all, thanks! You're a wonderful person :) Signing off...
Mani
#danganronpa#fanart#talentswap#talentswap au#mani e.#danganronpa demix#mani e#kyoko kirigiri#makoto naegi#naegiri#aoi asahina#byakuya togami#togahina#sayaka maizono#leon kuwata#leosaya#sakura ogami#chihiro fujisaki#celestia ludenberg#hifumi yamada#celesfumi#celestia x hifumi#toko fukawa#yasuhiro hagakure#mukuro ikusaba#mondo owada#mukuro x mondo#ikuwada#sparkling justice#kiyotaka ishimaru
853 notes
·
View notes
Text
the fifteenth heir ; faerie prince au ; jeongin/reader ; part one
masterlist.
When you save the life of an injured wolf, you are not expecting him to turn into a prince and save you in return. Of course, as it turns out, fairy tales are not that simple. - A prequel to The Same But Different: The story of how Prince Jeongin overpowered his fourteen older brothers to take the throne of the summer court.
part one | chapters tba | ao3 link.
pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: set in the faerie prince universe, the prequel to the same but different. faerie/human romance. strangers to lovers. eventual sexual content.
content warnings: please heed the following trigger warnings and read at your own discretion. this story is predominately a romance but classified under horror as well. there will be gruesome scenes, images, and threatening scenarios. this chapter features murder, isolation, mentions of human cannibalism, neglect, suicidal thoughts, explicit violence, and dark fantasy elements.
chapter word count: 7000 words.
enjoy <3
-
Absolute silence surrounds the house. In daylight, pests are lured closer by the meaty red stench of blood. At nightfall, every lowly thing knows to keep away from the yawning maw of that front door. Even animals understand a chasm, this black hole that swallows life and belches bones back into the woods.
You wake behind the eyes of the monster, curled up in your cot by the attic window. Even the slightest noise wakes you, the smallest disturbed pebble a thunderous exclamation in the silence.
Your eyes adjust to the moonlight darkness. You scan the yard.
Leave, you think, pleading with everything and nothing. You beg whatever is out there to get away before it gets hurt.
It’s been a week since your father’s last hunt and his hunger is going to get the better of him – and you are a selfish little girl in a terrified woman’s body and you don’t want to hear another murder.
Silence is absolute until it is not. It always ends with a scream.
Your own shriek is strangled in the sleepy rasp of your voice, startled by a shape emerging from the thrush of the woods. Your racing heart patters as the shadow takes shape in the moonlight.
Oh, it’s a stag.
Two - no, three of them.
It’s better than a person. Your father won’t be hungry for an animal this late in the week.
It’s still unsettling. Your father occasionally allows you into the woods to hunt for animals. You are not allowed to venture far and nothing intelligent approaches the house, so you never find anything more than rabbits and squirrels. If there are more animals out there, it is deep, deep in the miles of trees, well past where the footpaths fade and the branches start to tangle into a wall of impenetrable brambles.
You have never seen a stag before.
The first stag crosses the yard. It steps tentatively, as you suppose deer are wont. But there is something about the angle of its head, the curious, scrutinizing tilt as it looks at the house – like it’s really considering it, the way people might. The way people do, with a breath of relief.
Thank god, they always say. A house.
Our car broke down on the highway.
We were hiking and got lost.
There’s something about these woods.
We don’t know how we got here.
You don’t know how they get here either. Despite the repeated claim, there is no highway anywhere close. You have looked. There’s nothing but the house.
The stags cross the yard one by one, flicking their heads, their antlers waving in the dark. For a moment, the shadows look like long, spindly fingers, stretching up and up as if taunting you with a friendly wave. Hello, they say, we’re out here and you’re in there. Can you see us too?
Then the porch lights wash yellow over the blue night. Your father steps onto the porch. He always answers the door, just like you are always in the attic.
The stags run, though it seems more jaunty than afraid, a bouncing trot back into the woods. Your father hollers after them, enraged his hunger was piqued only to find no satisfaction.
You lay back down and close your eyes. This screaming is preferable to the usual kind, but it is still screaming.
And it always ends with a scream.
-
You are sitting by the window, legs curled up and arms around your knees. You watch the yard, the flies zipping here and there in the daylight. You have been watching for hours, wondering if the stags will come back. They seem like an impossible dream in the light of day. Try as you might, you cannot picture them in the yard. They just don’t belong there. Nothing does. It makes that murky dream feel like a nightmare.
Your watching is interrupted by a creaking on the stairs. Your father is coming up to the attic.
You jump out of bed, dressed in your too-small shorts and too-big shirt, like always, and you fetch the key under your cot, like always, and you are waiting at the closed door when he arrives, like always.
Even though you can hear each other breathing, he still knocks at the door. A semblance of politeness. Knocking, like he is protecting your privacy. Knocking, like you can’t hear him hacking his way through human bodies, like you can’t hear the mess, like you don’t know where the meat goes.
He knocks, like always.
You slide the key under the door so he can unlock it. It’s a type of understanding, isn’t it? You can’t leave without his permission. He can’t reach you without yours.
The door opens.
He is holding a hunting knife. It should scare you. He has used it against you before, the one and only time you tried to run away. He let you out to hunt and you ran for that elusive highway. Ran, got lost, got scared, got found. He cut at your legs, not to sever or maim, but in a frantic, desperate kind of threat. That he would. That he would do a lot.
But there are things he won’t do. He won’t make you eat the remains of his human catches. He hands you the knife and says, “Go.”
“Do you want something too?” you ask like you don’t know the answer.
“No,” he says, with no further explanation for what he intends to hunt and eat.
You take the knife.
It’s a cool day. You think it must be autumn but the deeper you sink into the woods, the warmer it gets. The gentle breath of the autumnal breeze vanishes as you leave range of the house. The sun brightens while the shade thickens, the forest a starker and starker contrast of light and dark. You keep to the shade because it is sweltering in the sun with no breeze.
It feels strange to do something like that. Does a moment of comfort really matter? Your legs are scarred, the woods are hot, and the house is always waiting. Does a minute of shade really matter?
Resigned, you trudge through the woods in your bare feet, stepping into patches of hot sunlight. The knife dangles in your loose grip. You hardly feel the path under your feet.
A sound bleeds into the quiet nothing. You ignore it even though it could be a catch. That’s why you’re out here, isn’t it? To find food? A rabbit, a squirrel. There are no stags. You were dreaming. There is nothing. Nothing but the house, right?
Nothing but this, like always.
You stop. Your grip tightens around the knife. Every part of you throbs like it is begging to be pierced. Maybe it will wake you out of this nightmare. Maybe it will set you free. Maybe you just want the house to spit your bones into the woods. At least you’d never have to go back in.
You hear it again. It is not the skitter of an animal or a human scream or any sound you know.
Crying, you realize. It’s the whining wail of a hurt thing, more despondent than afraid. It pierces those vulnerable places faster than a knife. A new ache replaces it.
You follow the sound. It sadness is so persuasive that you begin to cry as well.
You stumble towards some trees, their branches low and tangled. You swing at them with the knife like it’s a machete. You need to get through. You don’t know why.
It must be an animal on the other side. It could be hurt or it could hurt you. It could be one of the stags. Somehow, you know it’s not, thinking of those taunting antlers. They couldn’t make a sound like this.
The branches cave with a shatter, all at once as if tired of fighting. You stumble into an alcove, a little shelter among the trees.
In the middle of it, curled up and crying, is a wolf.
A wolf?
Its fur is a solid midnight black, darker than the shadows around it. Its big body is irrefutably canine but the face is not wolf-like.
A fox, you think, though the proportions are all wrong. Foxes are not this big and overwhelming.
You don’t dwell on it because this fox-wolf is hurt. In the obsidian darkness of its coat, you almost miss the streaks of blood, the open cuts just barely visible.
You drop the knife. The fox-wolf watches it fall, its whine gone silent in your presence. Its black eyes are steady. It looks at the knife then at you. There is a horrible sadness in its gaze, a miserable resignation to the droop of its head.
You know this feeling well.
“Did he do this to you?” you ask, as if you expect an answer. It is not more unusual than speaking to yourself.
The fox-wolf whines, a sad, imploring beg. Its gaze goes to the knife.
“I’m not like him,” you say. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Even as you say it, you are not sure your father is responsible for this. It’s not his nature. For all his abominable offences, your father does not hunt for sport. He slaughters indiscriminately but it is always purposefully. Animals, early in the week, brought back skinned and ready for cooking. Humans, later, when he changes, when he starts sweating under some invisible heat source and nothing else satisfies him.
That is when you go to the attic and let the door lock behind you. You know he’s still your father when you can hear him breathing on the other side. When the hunger possesses him, he is a screaming, mindless thing, throwing himself at that fortified door, clawing it up like an animal before leaving to hunt easier prey.
He has managed to avoid that state for a while, no longer waiting for the arrival of a meal but seeking it out in advance. Preventative measures became necessary over time. The length of his satisfaction keeps shrinking. He used to last months, then one month. Now it is a week before he hunts again.
He is hunting tonight so the hunger has not yet taken over. He did not mindlessly attack this animal. If he deliberately targeted this fox-wolf, he would have brought it back as meat for you.
You approach the animal, tentative but not as wary as you should be. It has big teeth: visible, sharp incisors when it opens its mouth. It would keep away any sane person with a reasonable fear of suffering. But a bite is not different than a walk in the hot sun.
You kneel beside the animal. You touch it carefully, parting the bloody fur and exposing the wound beneath. It is not the work of a knife. It’s a gash near the neck, an attack as wild as it was intentional.
Blinking, you recall those antlers in the dark.
“Did the stags do this?” you ask gently.
The fox-wolf whines. It sound affirmative, even though that’s impossible.
The greatest impossibility is the sudden pang in your heart. You thought it had already turned to dust. A small, broken shard beats for this hurt creature.
“Poor foxy,” you say.
You kiss the crown of the fox-wolf’s head. It emits a whimper. It rests its head in your lap.
It has been so long since you kissed anything. You kissed your parents a long time ago. Long before they disappeared on a walk in the woods, when your father came back alone and unnaturally hungry no matter how much your then-teenage self cooked and cooked and cooked.
There was one final kiss you gave each of them, but you don’t remember it now. It would have been inconsequential at the time, taken for granted there would be many more.
You will remember this one. Giving affection to another living thing is as important as receiving it. You were affectionate, once, you think.
For a time, you sit in the alcove, tucked away from the world and the woods. You stroke the fox-wolf’s head from the crown to the neck, then back up. You drag your pinky down its snout and its eyes close like a person lulled to sleep.
The fox-wolf stirs first. It lifts its head and looks at the knife. When it looks at you with those glossy black eyes, you understand.
“No,” you say without hesitation. Terrible sadness cloys in your throat. “I know it hurts, but you’re not going to die. I won’t hurt you. Don’t ask me that.”
You don’t question its seeming understanding. You know it’s still impossible, but you cling to that connection. You imagine it sees your own scars and the obvious exhaustion of your weary body. You imagine it recognizes the droop of your head. You imagine a broken part of its animal heart beats for you too.
“You’re not going to die like this, okay?” Your voice is small and rough. A tear slides right off your cheek and onto the fox-wolf. Despite your efforts, the tears keep coming, plinking along the fox-wolf’s scars like raindrops. You brush the creature with careful fingers.
“You’ll be okay,” you say. “I promise.”
You use the knife to cut a strip of fabric from the bottom of your t-shirt.
“This is the only shirt that fits me, you know,” you say, talking to keep the animal calm while you wipe its wounds clean. “It was big when I got it. We were just coming to the house for the summer. I was thirteen. I didn’t even want to go but Mama said it would be good to get out of the city for a couple weeks. It’s been longer than that now, you see. A lot longer. I’m all grown up. And Mama’s gone. It’s just me and Daddy and the House. This isn’t a good place, but you know that. The forest did something to him and now he gets hungry. He's not my Daddy when that happens. He’s just hunger. And when he’s not hungry anymore, it’s like he wakes up, and then he’s a mess, like he sees all the blood for the first time. The worst part? I think it’s all because of me.”
You never say this out loud, not even to yourself in the quiet nothing. You say it now because it’s the reason you rip your last shirt and bandage the hurt animal.
You have to save something because of how much has died to save you.
“He doesn’t want me to run away, to get too far in the woods,” you say. “I think he’s scared that what got him and Mama will get me. And whatever it is, it’s worse than this. Whatever it is, it makes the house safe in comparison. He’d rather keep getting hungry and kill all those people than risk the forest getting me.”
You kiss the fox-wolf’s head when it whimpers.
“I want to save you, foxy,” you say. “Because he only stays alive to keep me alive. He hunts so he won’t hurt me. All the horror, all the bodies, all the death… it’s to keep me alive. Trapped, but alive. And it’s not any kind of life worth protecting, but that’s what a daddy does, I guess. I’m all he has left to protect. I don’t think he’ll die until I do. Maybe I should. Maybe I should let this all end.”
The fox-wolf whines again but not from pain, lifting its head to turn those solemn eyes onto yours.
“I know,” you whisper, scratching behind its ears. “I guess we never know why things happen the way they do. Maybe I was meant to be here so I could find you and help you. Let’s make a bargain.”
Steady black eyes gaze up at you.
“I saved your life,” you say. “And maybe that was the purpose of mine. So you have to use it. You can’t lay down and die in these woods. You have to be okay. Then you have to go back where you belong and you have to keep using the life I gave you. Okay?”
You curl around the fox-wolf. You hide your tears in its fur, uselessly because it can feel your shoulders shake.
“I think I’ll be okay for a little longer,” you say. “Until it gets me – the forest, or the hunger, or him. But I’ll be okay if I know you’re alive, all right? You’re the first real thing I’ve seen in years. I forgot the world could make such beautiful things. If I can think about you free somewhere outside of the woods, it will make me happy, foxy. Please be alive for me.”
The fox-wolf curls around you too, twining in a big coil of wolven bulk and fur.
“Thank you,” you say.
You lay there for another moment, until the sun has shifted in the sky and the shadows fall differently. The hot light touches the border of the alcove. By then, your tears have stopped.
You sit up and wipe your wet face. You take a breath and the fox-wolf watches.
“I have to go now,” you say. “Be careful, foxy.”
You kiss its head once more.
Then, because you never take a kiss or word for granted anymore, you say, “I love you.”
Because you do, because all the love you had for the world and your family is somewhere inside you still. It needs somewhere to go. It feels right, giving it to this sad creature that needs more life.
“Take care,” you say.
It does not whimper or whine. It watches with those steady eyes as you take the knife and leave the alcove in your too-small shorts and ripped-up shirt, the only thing left that’s yours as you leave your love and hope behind.
-
Your father usually hunts through the night. You don’t know where he goes and you don’t what the path is like. You just know that he doesn’t trust to send you down it even though you could get away once and for all. You suppose it’s not hard to believe the path would be laden with monsters. After all, he must be one of them.
The house is empty. You go inside with a bundle of berries cupped in the remains of your shirt. The front door swings behind you. It doesn’t lock because nothing approaches it willingly. If it does, it won’t last long.
You go to the attic. It’s the only locking door. It traps you, like always.
You put the berries on the bed and the knife under the bed beside the key. Your shirt is now a sticky, juice-spattered mess, cut at the belly, but it doesn’t really matter. You sit on the bed and eat your berries one by one, watching the yard.
You fall asleep at some point. You wake hours later in your cot, long after the sun has set and the gloaming is gone.
It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark. You peer through the attic window across the moonlit yard, looking for the disturbance that woke you. It might be your father. He is due back. Sometimes he kills his catch on the way but sometimes he waits until he’s at the house. The body ends up over the fire in what used to be a cozy sitting room.
You don’t go there. You don’t need to see when you can hear and smell.
You hear a clatter on the porch. He must have reached the house before your eyes adjusted. The automatic porch lights flip on, that wash of yellow over the dark yard.
It illuminates something on the border between the yard and the woods. It’s another stag, tall and broad with spindly antlers. You can just barely see the shadow of more stags behind it. It’s hard to count them, antlers blending into branches.
The first stag steps forward. Your head tilts as you watch, bemused by its awkward step. Is it hurt? It seems to crick and creak as it moves. You imagine a pop as it lumbers forward.
Then it rears up. It lifts its head.
No. No, it doesn’t.
Its neck is craning, its torso elongating. It lengthens and pops and rises until it looks halfway like a person in the yard, hunched with too-long arms dangling down the length of a tall body. It still has antlers.
You fall back in a panicked jump when the front door opens and closes. For a moment, it’s you that feels like an animal, skittering frantically on all fours. You climb onto the cot and peek out the window. More antlered half-human figures are in the yard, watching the house. The yellow porch light glints in the eyes of the closest one, human-shaped but flashing bright with a heated anger.
It looks at the door. Then it looks at you.
You drop down, not making a noise, too scared to even scream.
There are footsteps on the stairs. It’s welcome for once. You have a monstrous thing of your own. Your father has returned from his hunt. Maybe he killed and ate it on the way. He’s coming to see you and he will be clear-eyed and horrified but maybe, maybe, maybe you can find your father in that pain. He will comfort you and tell you monsters aren’t real, like he did when you were young, when your father was the most indomitable force in the world. He could keep out any monster.
You grab the key and dash for the door. You wait for the breathing, the gentle cadence. Yours come rapidly.
You slide the key under the door and it scrapes the ground, like always, then it’s inserted into the lock, like always. The mechanical unclick. Like always.
But it doesn’t open like always. You stare at the door, breathing louder than any scream. You push it open. Your eyes are raised to look at your father, but he’s not there.
Your gaze drops.
“Foxy?”
You don’t understand the sight. This is irrevocably the fox-wolf, the very same one, still bandaged in your t-shirt scraps, still with those steady black eyes. It’s sitting on its haunches, gazing up at you. The key is on the floor beside a small covered basket.
You take a tentative step to look around. The house is empty. Your father has not returned.
The fox-wolf, who somehow unlocked your door, accepts your unintentional invitation and trots into your room. You watch as it sniffs around then waits patiently beside the cot.
You pick up the key and the basket, at a loss to do anything else. You close the door and it locks behind you. You don’t know how you are going to hide a wolf from your father, but right now you don’t care. Its presence is an immediate and thorough balm. You rush to the cot and take a seat. A peek out the window shows the yard is now empty.
“You scared them away, foxy,” you say, rubbing its head. Its tail thumps happily, its eyes scrunching with pleasure. It has an almost-human smile. You kiss its head. “I think you’re a sweetie,” you say. “The woods are full of scary things. We sweeties have to stick together.”
You place the key under your bed and the basket on your pillow. The fox-wolf nudges it with its nose, whining eagerly. Its tail continues to hammer with excitement.
You smile. It’s probably an ugly smile, unpracticed and strange, but the smallest uptick of that unused muscle fills you with unparalleled delight. You didn’t even know you could still feel that way.
“Is this for me?” you ask.
The fox-wolf watches with that squinty-eyed grin. Your smile returns, still an awkward flicker on your long unsmiling face, but true.
You uncover the basket. You are truly shocked at what you find.
As much as the monsters scare you, they are not unusual. You are used to the woods and the horror. You are not used to smiling and you are not prepared for a basket full of baked goods.
When did you last see such a thing? It feels like a memory of a story, fantasies of someone else’s life. The basket is filled with rolls of pastries sprinkled with powdery sugar, leaking purple berry and yellow custard. Dark sugar sprinkles, a spicy scent – cinnamon, you think. You remember. Was it your favourite? Maybe it will be now.
You don’t know where to start or what to say or do. You look at the basket of sweet sugar wealth, overwhelmed. The scents are so sweet that it’s almost sickening, your near empty stomach roiling. Your smile quivers and breaks and then you are crying with hysterical abandon.
The fox-wolf whines with concern, its front paws up on the cot as it stretches to check on you. You wipe your eyes and try to speak, though it takes some time to sound coherent through the gasping.
“I’m sorry, foxy,” you say. You are even more distressed to find those black eyes glassy with sympathy. “I promise I’m happy,” you say. “I just don’t know how to be. I’m sorry. I promise I feel it inside.”
It continues to look at you with concern, its short ears wilting. You rub the top of its head affectionately and try to smile again. It feels toothy, like an aggressive snarl more than a smile, but it’s not afraid.
You look at the pastries again. You truly don’t know what to do next. As much as the fox-wolf seems to understand you, it can hardly communicate, so you can’t ask where it found so much luxury in the woods. It makes you think your father might be close, that the fox-wolf found this treasure abandoned by unlucky humans.
You feel guilty, but the pastries are so tempting. There is something especially wondrous about them. Maybe because it’s been so long. The longer you look, the more your mouth waters, and the more it looks like something from a dream.
You lift a pastry, feeling a combination of hunger and nausea. You haven’t eaten anything like this in years and you are scared your body will reject it. You still crave it. You didn’t even realize you wanted it all this time. You didn’t realize you were capable of wanting anything ever again.
You take a small bite. The pastry is delicate. It flakes and melts on your tongue, the sweet sugar leaving a powdery residue on your lips. You lick it off. It’s so sweet but so soft that you cry again.
“It’s perfect, foxy,” you say.
The fox-wolf still looks morose, one ear perked to gauge the slightest negative shift in your tone.
Your smiles are not reassuring, so you extend a gesture instead. You break a piece of the pastry and offer it.
“Please,” you say. “Share with me. It tastes even better that way.”
It tickles when the fox-wolf licks the pastry off your fingers. If a smile felt strange, laughter feels bizarre, an awkward guffaw, subsumed in the gasp of your tears.
You eat a few more bites, sharing with the fox-wolf. Then you cover the basket and put it under the bed. You pace yourself. You know you won’t keep down more than that. Your stomach is already rebelling under the onslaught of foreign sweetness.
There’s also a special pleasure in knowing it’s there. You don’t even want to finish the basket because then it will be gone forever.
You look at the fox-wolf. You know it will be gone soon too. It can’t stay here. It’s not safe. Even at his best, your father will see a beast fit for food. He won’t care about the intelligence in those dark eyes.
For now, the house is empty and the basket is full. You rub the fox-wolf’s head. Its tail thumps again. You smile a smile you thought you had lost.
“Come on, foxy,” you say. You make room on the cot.
The fox-wolf jumps. It turns in a small circle near the foot then settles. It rests its chin on your knees.
You stroke your pinky down its snout as it blinks with sleepy contentment.
For the first time in a long time – since a life that no longer feels like yours – you lay down to sleep with a smile on your face.
You usually sleep lightly, disturbed by the smallest noise as it breaks the silence, but the silence is not absolute tonight. The fox-wolf breathes and the gentle cadence of its slumbering breath is like a lullaby.
It’s the deepest sleep of your life. You hardly ever dream in your light dozes but it comes in vivid colour tonight. Swirls of monsters, antlers, and hunting knives. Also sugar, cinnamon, black fur and dark eyes squinting in an obvious smile. In your dream, those eyes change, the intelligent but animal gaze softening to something human. You dream of your attic room, a dream so vivid it almost feels real. You can feel the cot under you, the chill of the nearby window, the familiar moonlight.
But it isn’t real. It can’t be. The fox-wolf is gone. A young man sits on the end of the cot, gazing out the window into the woods. If this was real, you would petrified, but you feel that same peaceful calm, his company a comfort. Old hurts and present fears feel far away.
The young man looks at you. Moonlight and shadows dance across his features, but you think he is beautiful, with eyes so dark and focused, hair black and smooth. His cheekbones are sharp. His face is like a knife and yet –
And yet –
There is something unspeakably gentle about him. Not because he’s helpless, not because he’s dull, but in spite of all that danger and sharpness. He looks at you with an undoubtedly affectionate gaze, tilting his head as he holds your gaze.
You blink. You think you might be waking because you shiver, but you don’t want to wake. You want to stay right here with him. You have been wanting him before you knew you could. You want to look at those eyes forever. You want to feel this safe always.
He moves, swift and soft as a shadow. A blink and you would miss it. He tugs the blanket back over your shoulder. Your eyes stray along the length of his bare arm, across his bare chest. The scraps of your t-shirt bandage a scar that runs along the juncture between his neck and shoulder.
Then you look at his hand, so close to your face. Any other hand and this dream would be a nightmare. But this is a good dream. You sigh contently as his long fingers gently brush the crown of your head. His fingertips trace your temple, carefully down your jaw. No one has ever been so gentle with you, not in a long time.
You sigh again. He softly sweeps his pinky down the bridge of your nose. Your sleep deepens. You sink into a perfect peace, undisturbed for the rest of the night.
The morning is another matter entirely. You wake in sunlight, more groggy than ever. It’s not the familiar pale light of early morning but the golden heat of noon. You haven’t slept for so long in years.
You feel the usual ache of sleeping on a rickety cot, something designed for weeks of use, not a decade.
You sit up. The fox-wolf is gone. There’s nowhere in the attic for it to hide, the space under the cot too small. You crouch on the floor and check anyway. The key is there, the knife beside it. The basket is there too.
The fox-wolf disappearing is an impossibility among many, but you know it was all very real. You uncover the basket to find the pastries as fresh and appetizing as last night, not even a little stale from sitting out all night.
You look around the empty room, sitting with the basket cradled protectively in your lap.
You don’t know what to do. You haven’t felt that way in a long time. Everyday has been the same, passed through a disassociated state of bland observation and slow breathing. This single disruption has uprooted everything. You feel the basket in your lap and you know you can’t spend another day sitting at the window.
The choice is made for you. There is a clamoring in the yard so you look out the window, not sure what to expect.
It is the most mundane of all creatures. Your father is dashing back to the house in a clumsy sprint.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. There is something wrong about the way he’s moving. There’s a stumbling desperation to every wide leap. He looks more like a stag than the stags did.
Did he come home last night? His hunt should be over. The hunger should be satisfied.
The front door swings and slams. You can hear his frantic thunder up the stairs, so much thudding he must be racing on all fours. You curl away instinctively, pressed up against the window, as far away from the door as possible.
He throws himself against it with a scream. You squeeze your eyes shut.
He’s still hungry. Maybe his hunt turned up nothing or maybe it didn’t satisfy him. You don’t know what happens now. Maybe he will eventually beat the door down. Maybe he will drive himself to death in his hysterics. If he dies, you’ll be trapped, sealed in here with that basket as it slowly empties. Eventually it will taunt you, like the stags, waving, mocking you caged in your glass like an animal –
You are getting hysterical too, even with your hands clamped over your ears to block out your father’s wailing. It’s not even just the fear. He’s your father, sometimes, somewhere in there. He used to make you laugh and tell you stories, lift you on his shoulders and tell you about the world. He used to scare away the monsters.
“Daddy,” you try, voice breaking on a childish cry. “Stop it. Please. Daddy, it’s me.”
You can’t find the strength to yell. You doubt he can hear your wobbling voice over his own screaming. The door shakes so hard that you imagine all the walls crumbling under the force of each slam.
You drift in the fantasy of it, of this whole house crumbling around you. There’s nothing to do but stare, silent, and wait to die. It’s a better end than you expected, a last meal, a good sleep, a sweet dream to send you off.
You close your eyes.
Something changes in the air. You don’t hear it or see it, but you feel it, a rush of warmth that fills the house. Gentle as a hand drawing a blanket over your shoulder. The sun brightens and heats the window at your back.
You lower your hands. It’s then you hear a piercing bark, almost a scream but not quite. Almost human, but not quite.
It can only be one thing. You whip around and watch as the fox-wolf careens through the yard, fast as a bullet. By the time you are on your feet, it’s already in the house and racing up the stairs.
“Back!” your father screams, the only coherent word out of his mouth.
You can hear them fighting. A body thumps down the stairs but the weight of it sounds too heavy to be your feral, emaciated father. He must have pushed the fox-wolf.
More than anything, that propels you into action. You made a bargain with that fox. You gave it a life. You’re not going to sit here and let your father take another life at the expense of yours.
You put the basket on your pillow. A part of you wants to eat the whole thing while you have the chance, die with a full stomach and a face powdered with sugar, but there’s no time. You reach under the cot and you grab the knife and the key.
Will he even have the clarity to use the key? You’re not sure, but you slide it under the door. There is clearly some intelligent thought churning in his mind, because he picks it up. He fumbles the lock while the fox-wolf stampedes back up the stairs.
The door explodes open. Your father and the fox-wolf crash inside, tangled in a violent fury. Your father yells at it, prying at its jaw to release its brutal clamp on his forearm. He is not stronger. The fox-wolf might have ripped his arm right off it you hadn’t cried out.
The fox-wolf releases your father so it can look at you. Your father kicks it in its distraction, sending it hurtling to the door with a yelp.
“Don’t hurt it!” you cry. “It’s already injured!”
Your father does not reply. When he looks at you, your heart stops. There is nothing of your father in his eyes, something vicious and lost staring back at you.
No. Not at you. He doesn’t see you anymore. He sees a clear path to prey and he takes it.
He charges you, too fast for you to react in your terror. The knife clatters to the floor as he tackles you and slams you onto your back.
Your body fights, an instinctive propulsion from something buried deep inside you. Under all that disassociation, all that resignation, there is a part of you that wants to live. It claws its way to freedom. You push your father, your adrenaline spurred by his. You scream with the same abandon.
The weight and smell of him abruptly disappears. The fox-wolf has clamped its jaws around his ankle. It drags him clear across the room where your father is left to scrabble against the floorboards.
Then the fox-wolf pounces on you. You don’t know what’s happening until you’re lifted, grabbed by the arms and hoisted onto your feet.
Except –
Foxes can’t grab. Wolves can’t stand.
It happens so fast. You are on your back, the ceiling overhead, then you are on your feet and the only thing you see is a pair of dark eyes.
Dark human eyes. You blink at a face, a familiar face, the face of the young man from your dreams. If he was beautiful in moonlight, he is devastating in sunlight. His hair is so black that it sparkles blue in the light, his features so sharp in contrast. He is like a drop of starlight.
The beautiful man grips you with two humans hands. He stands upright in a human body. You can’t look away from his human face, all those sharp and delicate angles. He is so beautiful that he hardly seems real. You would have been less surprised to see another monster.
His grip tightens. It wakes long slumbering parts of you.
“Foxy?” you say in a pathetically small and fragile voice.
Your father is back on his feet and the – the man? –
The fox-wolf-man –
He dives at your father and lands in canine form, those sharp incisors snapping at his face.
The knife is within your father’s reach. You see it but the fox does not. When your father grabs it, you jump, catching his arm before the knife can do any damage.
The three of you are locked in a messy tangle. Your father is bleeding from wolf bites and the animal is snarling. Everything feels wet. You can’t tell finger from claw, limb from wound, spit from blood.
You kick and scratch and bite like an animal, seeing nothing but red in the terror of your frantic adrenaline.
That part of you so desperate for life is at the surface. You feel your whole body for the first time in a long time. You feel the shattering pain when your father hits your head with his own and you spill back. He holds you down while grappling with the knife.
The whole thing is over in seconds. Your mind is flooded with every gory image of a tooth in a slab of meat. You don’t reach for the knife. Your father is close, his neck within reach, and the animal of your body rears with terrified instinct.
Do you mean to kill him? Do you want to kill him?
It doesn’t matter. You kill him anyway.
The skin breaks shockingly easily as you tear into his throat with your teeth. Blood spills out of him, pounding jugular and a bath of red.
You sputter and choke on it. You use a last burst of adrenaline to shove him off you. You are not sure how fast he dies. You don’t look, spitting up blood and retching.
You wipe your mouth, smearing more of the relentless red mess. You are on your hands and knees. You lift your head and open your eyes.
The fox-wolf is a man again. He is on his hands and knees as well, his face only inches from yours. He is staring like you are the wondrous anomaly, his mouth open with his shock.
You look at each other for a long moment. Then he smiles. He has deep dimples, frighteningly sweet next to the sharp inhuman incisors still visible in his mouth. Like your own crooked snarl of a smile, it is not a pretty grin so much as it is big. And like your broken smile, you can see he means it truly affectionately.
You can’t speak with the blood on your mouth. You try but you sputter.
He reaches for you. He gathers a red wet smear on his fingers, gently wiping your lips. It wracks your whole body with a shiver, the shock of violent residue, the shock of being touched.
You finally take a clean breath. He looks at the blood on his fingers.
He flashes you that sharp, dimpled smile again.
“Wow,” he says with a wheezing laugh.
You can’t even think about asking what’s so funny. The last drop of adrenaline bleeds out of you. The floorboards rush to meet you as your arms and legs buckle.
Your body surrenders your mind to blackness.
#yang jeongin x reader#jeongin x reader#i.n. x reader#stray kids x reader#skx x reader#stray kids fanfiction#skz fanfiction#jeongin x you#yang jeongin x you#stray kids x you#skz x you#faerie au
201 notes
·
View notes
Text
le sserafim reaction to you doing a tiktok trend on them: le sserafim x fem! reader
authors note: i wrote this back when these trends were actually trending a few months ago. this wasn't requested but i got the idea while scrolling through tiktok and forgot to post it so here it is!
tw// VERY VERY light barely there suggestive remarks
sakura ✧˚ ༘ ⋆。♡˚
you and your members had just gotten finished with weeks of packed schedules with little rest. finally, you were finally fixing your sleeping schedule and feeling less like a zombie and more like a human being again. your members were decompressing in their own ways like yunjin who was lost in her own world strumming on her guitar in the room beside yours. chaewon and kazuha were watching some new drama in the living room and eunchae was asleep in her room. sakura busied herself with her new hobby, crocheting, while listening to a video with her headphones on. you watched your girlfriend make her new project- a small bag made of mesh-like stitches. her brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to count her stitches in her head so not to disturb you sitting silently across from her. she assumed you were reading a new book from your online library but you were actually just watching tiktoks. after seven chapters of your novel you'd lost interest and switched to something more entertaining. you'd stumbled onto a trend of girls asking their boyfriends to hand them an orange, then asking if they'd peel it for them to see the reaction. with nothing else to do you decided to give it a try:
"kkura?" you poked your girlfriend with your socked foot and she answered without looking up from her crocheting, "yes?" you put your phone in your lap and sighed, "i want a clementine, do you know if we have any?" sakura hummed and looked up, "there's some in the kitchen inside of the refrigerator in the bottom left drawer. i just got them for you yesterday on my way home." you smiled at the mention because you didn't ask her to buy them for you yesterday, she just did it because she thought you'd enjoy them. you clasped a clip back onto one of the twists that fell into your face before you asked sweetly, "can you please get it?" without hesitation sakura nodded and said while still focusing on the hook and yarn in her hand, "gimmie one second." when she finished her row she went to get your clementine and returned with two and a paper towel.
your girlfriend sat back down and began peeling the clementines for you without you having to ask. she even pulled the little stringy parts that you hated most off and threw them away with the peels. when she handed you back the peeled fruits you asked, "why did you peel them for me?" sakura answered easily, "you don't like how the peels gets stuck under your nails so i did it. enjoy." you leaned over and kissed her cheek, "thank you, kkura." she pressed a kiss to your temple, "of course my love."
chaewon ✧˚ ༘ ⋆。♡˚
despite being a part of gen z and being called one of the best gen z idols by fans, you were underqualified in one area: social media. you didn't even remember to check your texts let alone what was trending across different apps. the only reason you knew if something was on trend or not was because of fans or your friends teaching you. however, after being teased about it you promised yourself that you'd keep up a little more just for fun. plus, your bosses suggested it'd be good for fan service and engagement which was always a good thing. but, what wasn't a good thing was that little promise to keep up with trends resulted in you now being 'chronically online' according to yunjin. you scrolled through your for you page and watched yet another video of a woman asking her partner, "name a woman." after going down a rabbit hole of the same type of video you decided to try it out on your own girlfriend.
"baby." you shook chaewon lightly as she laid in your arms with her cheek pressed against your bare shoulder. she answered sleepily, "hmmm?" you grinned as you told her, "name a woman."
chaewon pulled away from you slightly and asked, "what do you mean?" you responded plainly, "name a woman." your girlfriend toyed with one of your box braids and asked once more in confusion, "any woman?" you clarified, "any woman." she then replied without a second thought, "han sohee." you let out a huff and tried again, "name a different woman." chaewon answered again with a different name, "bada lee." you could almost hear the smile in her voice that time and you whined, "you were supposed to say my name!" your girlfriend pulled away from you fully and told you, "you said 'name a woman' not 'name my woman'. there's a difference, you're mine."
yunjin ✧˚ ༘ ⋆。♡˚
you were no stranger to the song water by tyla or the dance challenge that went along with it. one evening while you were on a weverse live you'd played the song after seeing people comment the title. you sang along to it and mentioned with a smirk, "i want to perform this on a stage so bad guys. i learned the dance and everything but i don't know if i'd ever be able to show you. ever since you'd randomly danced to WAP during a live a year ago, you've been monitored more than your other members. but after fans demanded for days on end you were finally allowed to post your water challenge on tiktok.
"i dunno i think you need to do it again." yunjin sat in front of you with her back against the mirror in the dance practice room. your girlfriend was acting as your camerawoman for your tiktok challenge, and she had you redo the dance nearly 15 times now. you taught her the dance earlier and she was doing it a little too well yet she insisted only you be in the video. she eyed you up and down with her gaze lingering on your rolled up tank top and sweatpants that sat low on your hips. you sighed and did the dance again along to the music before asking her, "was that one better? lemme see-" you reached for her phone and she said, "oh i wasn't recording that." your eyes widened and you asked, "wha- why not?! were you recording any of them?" yunjin shook her head and you smacked her arm, "yunjin! you had one job!" your girlfriend defended herself, "what? you can't expect me to remember what i'm supposed to do if you're shaking all that in my face." she wrapped her arms around your waist and kissed your neck but you pulled away.
you told her, "you can have me later okay? now focus!" just as you were pulling away she looped her fingers around one of the strings of beads that sat on your hips. yunjin tied a hoodie around your torso and said, "much better. now i can focus." you rolled your eyes and told her, "you're no better than a man." she waved you off, "yeah okay. just do your little dance...i'm ready now i swear."
kazuha ✧˚ ༘ ⋆。♡˚
you knew that yunjin created a monster when she introduced your members to chipotle and not even a full day later kazuha was saying she missed it. every time she looked back through her camera roll for pictures to post she was sending her chipotle photo to the group chat saying she wanted it again. you found it hilarious because all it took was one bowl and she was already whining about how korea needed to get hip to the fast food chain.
one night after scrolling through your tiktok feed you saw a man recreate chipotle at home for his wife so you thought you'd try it for kazuha. you couldn't find all of the exact recipes but you came pretty close despite the fact that cilantro just doesn't really exist in korea. but knowing your girlfriend, she'd appreciate anything that you gave her so it was fine.
"zuha! baby come here i have something for you." you called kazuha to the kitchen where you had all of the food laid out in containers on the table. you handed her a bowl and said, "i made you chipotle." kazuha's eyes lit up and she nearly jumped over the table to tackle you into a hug. she clapped her hands together and you stood on the other side of the table to serve her your home version of chipotle. she was more than happy to post about it on weverse, showing the meal off to everyone especially knowing that her members weren't around to steal any off her plate.
#kpop fanfic#girl group imagines#girl group scenarios#kpop imagines#girl group fluff#kpop reactions#kpop scenarios#le sserafim scenarios#lesserafim imagines#le sserafim reactions#kpop girl group#yunjin imagines#kazuha imagines#sakura imagines#chaewon imagines#le sserafim x reader
526 notes
·
View notes
Note
Tips for writers with ADHD that get major writers block/burnout
Writers with ADHD and Writer's Block/Burnout
Tip #1 - Troubleshoot the Problem - I want to start here, in the most obvious place, because even for writers with ADHD, writer's block is often the result of a specific issue that can be surmounted once identified. My post 5 Reasons You Lost Interest in Your WIP, Plus Fixes! addresses some of the most common ones. It's worth checking to see if something on there resonates with you as a potential obstacle to progress.
Tip #2 - De-Stress Your Writing Time - Human brains are wired to respond in specific ways to perceived threats... fight, flight, or freeze. Quite often, what we call "writer's block" is actually your brain having a freeze response to writing because it's causing you stress and is therefore perceived as a threat.
So, anything you can do to de-stress your writing time can help. Troubleshooting the problem as in #1 is a good start. Set reasonable goals and deadlines... you can estimate your available writing time and calculate that with your estimated WPM to see if it's even possible for you to hit your word count goal. Go easy on yourself when you don't reach goals... celebrate even the smallest of wins, because negative thinking makes writing more stressful. Do what you can to set up an inviting writing space, light a candle (safely), play soft music, use ambient lighting, have your favorite beverage and snack at hand.
Tip #3 - "Gamify" Your Writing - Turning your writing goals into game achievements can make writing fun, which is another great way to de-stress it. You can usually find free game board templates online, or you can create your own. I like to set mine up like this:
You can set as many tasks as you want (within reason) for each goal, and your prizes can be anything from a handful of candy to buying something you really want, or doing something you really want to do. Whatever works for your budget that motivates you to get the tasks done.
Tip #4 - Do an Immersive Writing Sprint Session - YouTube is a wonderland of helpful videos for writers... not just easily digestible writing advice and research information, but also writing music, ambience rooms, and one of my favorites, immersive writing sessions. These are themed ambience rooms with ambient video, music, and sound effects, but they also have a writing sprint timer on the screen, so you are encouraged to write for however long (usually 10 to 20 minutes), then you get a five or ten-minute break before the next sprint starts. These can be a really great way to get into the zone if you're struggling otherwise.
Tip #5 - Eliminate Distractions - When you have ADHD, pretty much anything can be a distraction. If my desk is messy, I'll pause mid-sentence to clean it rather than write. If there's something on my desk I can fidget with or play with, I'll do that. If my phone is handy, I'll pick it up and start scrolling through social media. If I'm listening to music with words, I'll go look up the lyrics and fall down some weird tangentially related rabbit hole. If I'm hungry or thirsty, I'll get up fifty times to get a small snack or drink. So, I clean my desk ahead of time and remove anything I might be tempted to fiddle with. I only play instrumental music (usually an ambience room). I put my phone on silent or leave it in another room.
Literally anything I can do to head my usual distractions off at the pass. For me, it actually makes a big difference. Try keeping a running list of things that distract you while writing during a week of writing sessions. Then, go through the list and write solutions. This helps you build a pre-writing session distraction elimination routine.
I hope something here will work for you! I may do a part two to this soon, so keep an eye out!
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!
♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here
228 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bad Day
pt. two
part one
Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) warnings: reader embracing the dark side, graphic descriptions of violence Summary: Another set of tourists, but this one’s different. You actually have to meet this group. They’re particularly difficult, too, causing more damage than any of you expected. Can you survive the night, again?
You focused on the way the knife glinted as it spread mayonnaise over the bread. You watched it glide through the thick substance and brought it back down, flipping the blade and smoothing and spreading it-
Your fingers tightened around the handle and you winced as you slammed your eyes shut. You couldn’t be around blades, even ones as dull as this, without thinking of that night.
You’d fought, more than anyone else ever had, Bo told you. You’d also killed one of your friends in cold blood, no one had ever done that either.
He had been tied up and vulnerable and you hadn’t even given him a fair shot at surviving you.
You didn’t feel guilty about it, and that’s the part that haunts you. You didn’t try to justify your actions and cry yourself to sleep over the guilt you felt for being alive while your friends lay scattered throughout town. You slept deeply, peacefully, in the arms of the men who murdered them.
You’d wake up after having a dream about that night and you would feel exhilarated because it had been the first time you’d ever truly stood up for yourself. You reveled in the power you’d felt when you’d swung that ax into his neck.
You didn’t even remember their names.
How fucked up was that?
You basked in the memories of their demise but their faces were lost to you. One blur that bled together the more you tried to picture them.
You didn’t mourn them or feel pity, you felt no guilt, and that’s what fucked with you. Were you a bad person?
You had to be.
But you’d never been one before Ambrose.
You distracted yourself from the thoughts. You’d spiral and never get back up if you let yourself go down the rabbit hole. You tore off a piece of turkey and threw it at Jonesy, she pounced on it the second it hit the floor.
You finished the sandwiches, one going into a brown paper bag the other a plate that you wrapped with plastic. You left the kitchen, winding around boxes and junk that they called sentimental. You’d gotten into a nasty fight with Bo a few months ago about cleaning the house up a little, but he had refused.
You hadn’t realized how many beers he’d had that night and chosen the wrong moment to suggest change. Something he was staunchly against. He hadn’t hit you, never had, but he’d thrown a bottle near your head, the glass shattering and bouncing off the wall. Some of it had hit you, scraping up the back of your arms and legs. It wasn’t too bad, but you hadn’t felt that terrified of him since the night you came here.
You’d been petty, stolen his keys and camped out in one of the houses in town. You hadn’t been able to get any sleep, not with the wax family watching you, but it had gotten the message across. Lester had told you Bo thought you’d left and lost his fucking shit. Vincent, apparently, had been even worse.
By the time you got back the house was in worse shape then when you’d left.
Bo had told you he’d think about cleaning some of the stuff out. That had been three months ago.
You grabbed the flashlight off their father’s desk and used the hatch in the office, dropping down into Vincent’s lair. Vincent, when he’d discovered just how much you hated the darkness that led into his workspace, had started leaving a flashlight out for you.
When Bo got pissed at you he’d hide it. You’d have to crawl to him and beg for it back.
You’re pretty sure he didn’t care what it was that he stole, he just wanted to exercise some control over you. Remind you of your place in this town, under him.
The flashlight was a nice thought from Vincent, but it didn’t really help you much. You used it anyway, wanting him to know you appreciated how much he cared. Because you’re pretty sure he’s the only real reason you’re alive.
When Bo had caught you down here, standing over Owen’s dead body, he told you he didn’t know if he was going to keep you alive or not. You knew he meant it, he wasn’t teasing you or playing around, he genuinely did not know what to do with you. You were an outlier in a long list of repetitive victims.
Vincent swept in behind him, glanced down at the ax, the injuries all over your body, and hesitantly stepped towards you. They looked at each other, a silent conversation laying in their gazes.
Vincent took a slow step towards you and you recognized his actions for what they were. A test.
Earlier, you’d seen Vincent try to help his brother, ease his pain and wrap up his wounds. Bo had reacted cruelly, the only thing he seemed to be capable of.
You watched with a blank stare as Vincent kneeled down in front of you, brushing his fingers over the scraped skin of your knee.
You jumped slightly at the burn of flesh against your wound, but otherwise didn’t react. Slowly, he stood back up, grabbing your arm with a gentleness that wasn’t present in your first meeting. He led you back to his desk, flipping over the drawing of your face and pulling out bandages.
Some of them he had to toss to the side because they were covered in wax, others he used on you.
Bo watched it all with a frown on his face and crossed arms. “What the hell are you doin’?”
Vincent’s head shot up and his arms tightened around you. Again, you forced yourself not to react, not to flinch away from his hold and grimace as you heard his muffled breath next to your ear. Vincent didn’t say anything, didn’t move his hands to communicate, he blocked you in like a guard dog and after a moment you heard Bo cussing and storming out.
He mentioned something about getting the restg of your group, but nothing after that. You could only relax once you heard the basement hatch slam shut. “Thank you,” you whispered to Vincent. He grunted, but offered nothing else.
His fingers were quick, precise in the way they cleaned and wrapped your wounds. They were also surprisingly gentle for someone who had just slammed a blade through your friend's skull.
Vincent kept you squirreled away down there, sleeping on a cot in the corner of his large and stuffy studio. You weren’t sure how many days or weeks had passed with him idly sketching you and sculpting different wax animals for you, the lack of windows made it hard to tell, but you do know you were much better off here than in Bo’s dungeon.
You’d learned bits of sign language from him, you were bored and he seemed eager to teach you. To finally have someone who would speak his language too.
He was kind in his own way, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t eager to get the fuck out of there.
Bo had stormed down one day, saw you, and lost his goddamn shit. Apparently, he’d thought Vincent was only keeping you around for a bit of fun and then killing you. The fact that you were still alive, and being taken care of, nearly gave him an aneurysm.
Again, Vincent hadn’t let Bo hurt you. He’d protected you from his brother’s wrath and forced Bo to accept that you were staying.
Sometimes you wished you weren’t kind to him. That you had yelled, kicked, and clawed at him. Called him a freak and told him to go to hell and find his precious momma. You would be dead, sure, but you wouldn’t be here.
Thoughts like that had disappeared a long time ago, left with the summer heat. You knew it wasn’t Stockholm syndrome, you’d been a psych student before your world was flipped on its axis. You knew what the signs were, but this wasn’t loving them to save yourself.
This was accepting that there was no place for you in society anymore, not after what you’d done. Not after you’d actually helped Vincent sculpt his wax around Allison’s pretty face.
You’d enjoyed it, a sick satisfaction from seeing the bitch dead, your survival a victory over her.
When she’d been alive she had a top. This really cute white, lacy number and no matter how many times you asked, she would never let you borrow it. She had no qualms stealing your clothes and never giving them back, but god forbid you ever even looked at that top.
It hung in your closet now, yours to do with whatever you pleased. You smiled every time you thought about it.
“Vince?” You knocked on the doorway and clicked the flashlight off as the door creaked open. The warm glow of candlelight leaked out into the dark abyss. You slipped inside, shuddering at the rush of heat that hit you. It wasn’t always hot in here, only when he was preparing a new batch of wax.
You frowned, he only did that when there were visitors coming. Lester must’ve called ahead, told them he spotted someone on the road. You closed the door behind you walking towards his desk and dropping the plate on top. Your fingers skimmed over the sketches, catching on another one of you.
You picked it up and smiled, it was a sketch of you curled up on the couch with Jonesy, your face pressed into her fur as you slept. You remember waking up from that nap, frowning when you heard wood creaking behind you but not seeing anything.
What a weird little stalker. He knew he could ask to sketch you and you didn’t mind, but he always ran away like you were gonna be mad at him. You shook your head, placing it back down, and walked further into his studio.
You found him sitting at his table, curled over something you couldn’t make out. You could see his wrist flicking, the carving tool in his hand, and figured he was making another animal for you. You already had a whole shelf full of different animals, practically your own wax zoo.
“Hey,” you whispered, hands creeping slowly along his shoulders. He tensed slightly before he leaned into you. “Brought you lunch.” His movements paused to sign, Thank you.
You glanced down at his hair, curling around him like a dark curtain and frowned. “Vince, you got wax in your hair again.” He shrugged and continued working. You sighed, walking back towards his desk and rustling through drawers until you found the brush you’d left down here for him.
Sometimes you think he does this on purpose because he likes how you take care of him. You ran the brush through his hair a few times trying to make sure you’d gotten all the wax out. He let out a low groan, his head tilting back and thudding against your chest as you stood behind him.
You chuckled, scratching your fingers along his scalp and he let out a long sigh, melting into you. You’d have to force him into the shower later, to wash everything out of his hair. It was astounding how stubborn both brothers were about just showering.
You weren’t sure why they resisted so much, maybe it was something that happened between them and their parents. Either way, it was a fight to get them near the water and even then you had to bribe them with your body, luring them in like a siren just so you could wash the grime off.
You braided Vincent’s hair away from his face and he stilled, temporarily becoming your doll while you did what you wanted to him. He was always a bit easier than his brother. He was eager to please, even more eager for your praise. For you to tell him you were proud of him.
You leaned down, pressing a kiss against the waxed cheek of his mask. “Eat your lunch, please.” He nodded but the second you backed off he was back to carving into the block of wax before him. You sighed and glanced around his space, collecting the dishes of other half-eaten meals you’ve brought down.
The bell rang above you and you let out a sigh or relief as you stepped into Bo’s shop. A cool breeze rustled the fabric of your top. Seems like he got the air conditioning up and running again, even in winter you could still wear a tank top and shorts and be sweating. “Bo?”
“Back here!”
You walked towards the garage, brown bag clutched tightly in your hands and poked your head in. He was bent over, head under the hood of a car and oil smeared all over his coveralls. Your eyes traveled over the car he was working on, wincing when you realized it was yours.
You hadn’t used it since you’d gotten here. You’d seen Bo towing it in, along with Owen’s but you’d always avoided paying too much attention to it. You weren’t sure why he bothered working on it, maybe it was a taunt towards you or he was just bored. You never really knew with him.
“Brought lunch,” you offered, walking towards his work table and jumping on top, the bag going next to your thighs. He lifted himself up, looking towards you and smiling.
“Thanks, hun,” you hummed in response, sticking your neck out as he approached. He chuckled, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips.
He reached for the bag, pulling out his lunch and taking too big of a bite. “‘M gonna have to go up to the house,” he mumbled through a mouth full of sandwich. “Need to change before our visitors get here.”
You nodded, staying quiet as he stared at you. You’d gotten used to this look and even more used to what was about to happen after. He’d tell you to follow him and would help you off the desk, deceptively sweet as he tugged you down to the room below the garage.
Then he would tape you up, muttering to himself about not letting you leave. You’d submit easily, letting him do what he wanted. It was easier than trying to tell him you were staying.
But his gaze shifted back to the car and you frowned at the side of his face. He should’ve told you to move by now. Instead he leaned back against the desk, his hand skimming your own. He didn’t look at you while he spoke.
“Want you to work on your car.”
You blanched, eyes going wide as you stared at him. That wasn’t even close to what you were expecting. You had gotten so used to sitting under that grate, listening to the screams of his victims as he hunted them down. Now, he wanted you up here, wanted you to see it.
What was he doing?
“What?”
“Yeah,” he grinned, “fucked somethin’ up, want you to fix it.” He crumpled the bag into a ball, tossing it into the trash can and turned back towards you. You didn’t see anything on his face that would give away why he was keeping you up here on the surface and it set you on edge.
This had to be some sort of test. Maybe he was seeing if you would try and use the new victims to escape or warn them off. Or he wanted to see if you could pretend like you belonged, go along with his act and keep the victims feeling safe and compliant while he killed them off.
What the fuck?
You were used to how things worked in Ambrose. There was a system set in place, one you had learned to follow. This went against what you’d come to know and it was setting you on edge as you watched him walk off, heading up the hill and towards his house.
You stayed glued to the desk for a while, you weren’t sure how long, but it was enough time for Bo to have cleaned up. He popped his head inside the garage, suit on, and frowned. “What’re you doing? Move your ass.”
You jumped, leaping off the work table and rushing towards the car. He laughed at your panicked movements, staying a moment to admire your ass as you bent over the hood before you heard his boots on the gravel, heading towards the church.
You didn’t appreciate this switch up with him, how erratic his moods and behaviors were. He made it impossible to track and read him, to fully understand why he worked the way he did.
You were grateful that, at the very least, he had given you a distraction from trying to figure out what this test was and if you were in trouble or not.
You inspected the car, forcing yourself to remember everything he’s taught you while you’ve lingered in his shop.
“Oh, they're right here.”
You jumped, rolling out from underneath the car and glancing towards the doorway that connected the garage to the auto shop. Two unfamiliar voices echoed within Bo’s shop.
“Fan belts?”
“Yeah,” a guy and a girl. You poked your head over the top of the car and saw the guy was a lot taller than you and broader. Shit, you really hoped you didn’t run into him once they figured out what was going on up here. “But he doesn’t have the right size.”
“Just pick one, Wade, I don’t want to be in here much longer.”
“Alright, just hold on Carly.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands off and stepping towards them.
“You plannin’ on stealin’ that?”
They both jumped, whipping around towards where you leaned in the doorway arms crossed over your chest. “No,” the guy rushed to defend himself, his girlfriend shaking her head frantically. “We left some money on the counter, we just needed to get out of here, that’s all.”
“There you are,” you all turned towards Bo. His posture matched your own, leaned against the entrance to the shop, hands tucked in his pockets. God, he looked good. Now that you weren’t fighting for your life you could fully appreciate how handsome he looked all cleaned up. Bo glanced at you then back to the other two, “She botherin’ you?”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, glaring at him over their shoulders. He winked when they faced you and you figured he was putting on another show. Huffing out an irritated breath you rolled your eyes and turned back towards your car. You frowned at the oil streaked along your skin and clothes, you’d never be able to get the stains out.
“Oh,” Carly started, shaking her head and glancing back at you again. “No, of course not, we just didn’t know that there was anyone in the shop.”
“She’s new, don’t like lettin’ her around customers, too much attitude.” You could practically see his smirk from under the car. He was probably so proud of himself, being able to tease you without you snapping back for once.
“She’s fine, um, I left some money on the counter, but you don’t have any fifteens.” You watched as Bo’s feet moved towards the register, most likely pocketing the money. “Is that enough?”
Bo’s tone was easy going, the perfect southern gentleman as he helped a poor lost couple. “Close enough. You know, I’ve got the right size up at the house. Only a couple blocks from here…”
You forced yourself deaf, trying to block out the rest of their conversation. These people weren’t exactly assholes and they didn’t seem particularly deserving of what was about to happen. Your friends were bad people, you didn’t feel guilty about them, but there was something about this couple that had your stomach burning in anxiety.
Maybe this was why Bo had you outside, playing mechanic with him. He wanted you to see the harsh reality of what it was they did here. you couldn’t always cover your ears and pretend it wasn’t happening. Was this what the test was? See how committed you were to him and Vincent, to Ambrose.
You used the car as a cover, dropping the wrench beside you and covering your face as you tried to decide whether you were going to cry or throw up. It was fine, the idea of all this, when you were hidden under the grate. The straps were a reminder that it could be you up there being hunted again.
Being face to face with the victims was entirely different.
A hand slammed down on the roof of the car, the metal reverberating around you, “Hey!”
You screamed, jumping up and nearly hitting your head on the underbelly of the car. You rolled out, glaring at Bo while he stood smiling down at you. He kneeled down, laying a hand around your thigh and squeezing.
“You’re gonna stay here, keep an eye out for any more of their friends, and behave. Okay?”
You nodded and he dug his nails in, “Yes, Bo.”
“Good girl,” he stood up and walked towards the garage door. You watched him, afraid to take your eyes off his back. He turned back around, one last lingering look that had you feeling cold, “Don’t fuck up.” You flinched as the garage door slammed down behind him.
“Help! Help me, please!” You jumped up and ran to the front of the auto shop. Carly ran face first into you, her fingernails digging painfully into your skin as she looked behind her.
“Shit,” you grabbed her biceps and pulled her away. “What’s going on?”
She backed up, wiping her eyes and gulping as she tried to catch her breath. “That- that guy, Bo, I think he did something to my boyfriend.”
“Alright, calm down, it’s okay.” God, you were just as freaked out as her. What the fuck were you supposed to do? “Let me get the phone, we’ll call someone.”
She nodded, running to the door and locking it. She pressed her face against the glass and peered outside, keeping an eye out for him. You knew you didn’t have long before she started to get suspicious. The station had a working phone, but there was no way in hell you were actually about to call the cops on Bo.
You paced back and forth, running your hands through your hair as you looked around, trying to find a solution. Your eyes snagged on the wrench by the car. You whipped your head over your shoulder, Carly was still stuck to the window. You ran for it, grabbing it and turning back towards her.
You raised your hand up, wincing as she caught your eye in the reflection of the glass. “What’re-”
She crumpled to the ground with a thud, crimson pooling around her arms.
You saw in the reflection Bo approaching you from behind, back in his coveralls. “Atta girl!” You didn’t react when he slung his arms over your shoulders, squeezing you and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “Did good, baby.” He released you, huffing out a big sigh and walking over to the girl, “Alright, grab her ankles.” His tone was no longer adoring going right back to business.
You looked at him like he was crazy, ”Bo, what?”
You dropped the wrench to the ground and he frowned from where he was picking up her wrists. “You got a problem?”
”Yeah! What the fuck are you doing? Why am I doing this?” He dropped her arms unceremoniously and you winced at the crack they made against the cement. He stepped over her, stalking towards you and you stumbled back, heart beating faster in fear.
His hand snapped out, grabbing you before you could make it far. You whined as he dug his nails into your cheeks, puckering your lips and gripping your jaw hard enough for it to creak. “You’re doing this ‘cause I said to. Do we have a problem?”
He was so good at making you feel small. You wonder how Vincent’s put up with it all these years. “No, Bo,” your words were muffled by his grip, but he got the message. He released you, but you didn’t go far, his arm wrapping around waist and pulling you into his chest. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, his hand coming up to push some of your hair back. “It’s alright, darlin.’ We all make mistakes, right?” His tone was condescending, his smirk even more so, but you played along like he wanted you to. Nodding and accepting when he pressed a violent kiss to your mouth, your teeth clashing together and lip splitting from the force of it.
He backed away from you, chuckling loudly and going back to the unconscious girl on the floor. You grabbed her by the ankles like he’d told you to and helped him drag her down to the basement. He propped her head on your shoulder while he unlocked the door and you struggled under her dead weight.
“Why is she going down here, Bo?”
Your mind went to the Polaroids covering the walls, the things he’s had you do in that chair and you felt anger burning in your gut. Not worry or fear for her like you should feel, but white hot burning rage at him for trying to pull something like this.
He looked over his shoulder at your expression and grinned, “Nothin’ like that, baby. Little bitch put up a fight and wrecked my truck, I ain’t done with her yet.”
A good person would wince and whisper and apology to the unconscious girl, say they were sorry for the pain she was about to experience. Instead you felt sated, relieved, and completely fine with hauling her body up into the chair and taping her down.
You held her legs down as he taped them and she started to move around. Bo tossed you some superglue and you gripped her by the jaw, clamping her lips shut and pouring glue over the seam of her mouth. She whimpered and you ignored her, moving mechanically, distancing yourself from the fact that she was a real moving person. In her place was a wax statue, full of imperfections that you needed the glue to fix.
All three of you looked up through the grate at the sound of the boots stomping in the garage above you. Bo shared a look with you and nodded towards the door. You let the girl go, slipping out of the basement and closing the door behind you. You came up through the entrance behind the register, glancing outside to see a man in front of the garage.
You let out a breath of relief, closing the door to the shop as you stepped into the garage, he hadn’t got a chance to see the pool of blood. “Can I help you?”
He turned around, a particularly bitchy look on his face. “Looking for my sister, Carly, seen her?”
There was a loud yelp and you frowned. You walked towards the work table, reaching for the stereo and turning the volume to Bo’s music on. You covered the grate from his view as Deftones blasted through the small garage.
“Sorry, it’s my dog, she hates new people.”
He gave you an awkward smile and nodded. “Yeah, might’ve seen her. Pretty girl, blonde hair?”
He nodded his head, giving you an appraising look. You weren’t sure if he didn’t believe you or was checking you out. You really preferred that he didn’t believe you, you weren’t prepared to deal with Bo if he thought someone was moving in on you. ”My boss, Bo, took her and her boyfriend up to his house a few minutes ago. They were lookin’ for a fan belt.”
“His house?”
You shrugged, “He keeps extra shipments there. Wasn’t too long ago, you want me to take you?”
He sucked on his teeth, shaking his head and backing away. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”
You panicked, fists clenching as you watched him retreat. “It's really no problem.”
“I said I’m good,” he snapped.
You could see Bo creeping up behind him, the same wrench you used on the guy’s sister in his hand. If he turned around he would see Bo. Carly was easy to take out, she was small, trusting. This guy looked built and like he’d been in a few too many fights. “Wait!” You shouted, too scared to come up with a good distraction.
He glared at you and opened his mouth to say something just as Bo struck. The wrench came down on the guys head with a disturbing crack, but he didn’t fall like he should have. He stumbled forward and whirled around on Bo, his fist catching him in the jaw and tackling him to the ground.
You could clearly see blood pouring down the back of his head, but he remained unphased as he pounded into Bo. “Shit,” you cursed, darting to the side to pick up another weapon but you failed to notice how the man had stopped beating Bo. He must’ve seen you moving somehow because in a split second something was slamming into your side and the air was leaving you as you were slammed into the cement.
You groaned, feeling like your lungs had collapsed and curled up in an attempt to protect yourself as he directed his attacks towards you. “Nick!” A shrill voice screamed from the grate. “Nick!” He leapt off of you, heading back towards Bo and ripping the keys off his belt as he made a run for it.
Your vision was red, blood pouring down from a cut on your forehead. You took in a painful breath, your lungs wheezing, your ribs had apparently taken the majority of his punches. With your brain pounding against your eyes you rolled onto your knees and crawled towards Bo.
He wasn’t as badly injured as you had thought he would be, must’ve gotten in a few hits of his own. “Bo,” you grabbed his shoulders, gently shaking him. “Bo!” You tried again, shouting this time and slamming his head down on the cement.
He groaned and you let yourself fall back, head lolling on your shoulders as you tried to get your vision to stop swimming. “Shit, he got me.” Bo sat up, wiping the blood from under his nose, “Get home.” He ordered, tone not leaving any room for an argument. You nodded as he stormed off, but instead of going home like he told you to, you laid down on the cold cement and groaned.
Should lungs hurt?
You eventually managed your way to the house, once you’d got breath back, your injuries weren’t as bad as you’d thought they’d been. You stumbled into the doorway, glancing at a trail of blood leading into the office and trudging your way to the fridge. You grabbed a beer and threw yourself down on the couch.
It didn’t take long to hear footsteps creeping towards you. Your heart clenched when you saw how hesitant Vincent was to get near you. You loved Bo, but he could be a real fucking dick to his brother. You leaned your head against the cushion, rolling it to the right and smiling at Vincent.
It seemed to be enough for him to feel comfortable approaching you. He kneeled on the floor beside you and fussed over your scrapes. “I’m fine, really,” you reached up, taking his hand in yours and trying to give him a reassuring smile. “I think they got Bo pretty bad, though.”
He tugged his hands from yours, taking off his gloves and signing. How bad
”One of the guys, he’s pretty strong, busted his sister out from the basement after attacking me and Bo. Actually managed to knock Bo out for a minute.”
Stay here
“Wait-” you reached out, trying to grab the back of his sweater but he was already making a run for the front door. It slammed closed behind him, his truck starting up a minute later. You sighed and fell back against the couch, letting your eyes shut as you tried to relax.
You hadn’t realized just how relaxed you’d gotten until you heard the door slam. You jumped up, glancing out the living room window and realizing how dark it’d gotten. You moved off the couch, placing your beer on the coffee table and heading into the kitchen.
Bo was leaning on the counter, already a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was completely soaked in blood, his nose leaking and a bandage wrapped around his arm. “Holy shit, Bo, what happened?”
You ran forward, hands instinctively going to the arrow buried in his arm. “Back off!” He snapped. You frowned and stepped back from him, trying not to upset him any further. You heard the rumble of a truck on the driveway and you glanced through the window.
Two bodies lay in the bed of Vincent’s yellow truck, a blonde girl and some guy you hadn’t seen before. Vincent jumped out, Jonesy following behind him, and made his way towards the door. You opened it before he could, grabbing him by the cardigan and making sure he wasn’t hurt like Bo.
He took your hands in his and shook his head, gently moving you back. “What have I told you about leaving without me?” Bo shouted. “You wait for me!”
Vincent nodded, not bothering to respond to Bo. There was a moment of tense silence before Bo offered a half-hearted smile to Vincent, “We’re almost done, Vinnie, momma would be proud of ya.”
It was the closest to an apology Vincent would ever get, you all knew it. Bo can’t apologize, his parents had permantly fucked with his psyche, and it started with his dad doing a risky surgery to seperate his boys. Vincent’s face would permanently be ruined but you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Bo had gotten the fucked mental end of the separation.
“How many are left?” You asked, reluctantly releasing Vincent’s hands.
“The girl and her brother,” Bo paced, taking a swig of his whiskey. He hissed and clutched his hurt arm. “Alright, help me out with this.”
You had to hold yourself back from snapping at him. Oh, can I help now? Dick. You grabbed hold of what was left of the arrow and yanked as hard as you could, Bo clenched his teeth and let out a loud pained groan. You winced at the amount of blood that started coming out, Vincent moved you to the side, already having a bandage ready and tying it tight around Bo’s arm.
“Where do you think they headed?”
Bo grunted, speaking through clenched teeth, “House of Wax.”
You nodded and stepped back from him once it seemed like Vincent wouldn’t need your help. “I’ll go with you both.”
”No,” Bo shouted and Vincent shook his head wildly.
“Don’t be a dumbass, you need my help. They’ve already kicked your ass, I’ll stay out of sight, promise. I just want to be there in case they get the upper hand.” Bo looked unsure and Vincent was still shaking his head. You placed a comforting hand on both of their arms and begged, “Please. Let me help.”
Bo shook his head and your stomach dropped, worried he would say no. Finally he let out a long sigh, “Stick with Vincent.”
You nodded, feeling Vincent’s hand grab onto yours as he led you outside. Bo grunted and slowly followed after you both, his left arm stiff beside him.
You followed Vincent into the bowels of the House of Wax, he moved slowly, keeping one hand behind him to make sure you didn’t bolt. You weren’t planning on it, but they didn’t seem to completely trust you for some reason.
You heard footsteps ahead, quck and frantic, rushing through his workshop. Vincent pulled out his bone handle daggers and ran down the rest of the steps. You stayed on the stairwell, keeping your head peaked around the corner.
The brother was in there, rushing through the workshop and knocking shit over without a care in the world. He hadn’t noticed Vincent yet, too busy looking for something. You weren’t sure what he wanted, or what the plan was until you saw him grab a pile of sheets, getting ready to throw them in the fire that kept the wax warm.
Shit, he was going to set the whole damn place on fire.
Even if you did manage to kill these two, it wouldn’t matter, the police would come, they’d see the bodies. Bo and Vincent would be locked up and you…
Well, you didn’t really know what would happen to you.
You could always plead insanity, show the jury the scars from your bonds and they’d think you were just a victim forced to do the unimaginable.
You considered it for a moment, letting him get away with this, thought about the freedom that might await you. There was an empty feeling associated with that image, you’d miss Bo and Vince, miss the fucked up life you were living here.
There weren’t any worries here, just make sure the victims didn’t make it past the woods and you were fine. No taxes, or wondering how you’d afford to keep living in your overpriced apartment, no fucked politics. You were free to be whoever you wanted, do whatever you wanted.
You grabbed a lead pipe off the stairs and threw it at the wall. It provided enough of a distraction for him to drop the sheets, not yet making it to the fire, and for Vince to grab him. You watched long enough to see the knife go through his throat and then ran back up the stairs towards Bo.
You heard screaming before you made it through the door, Carly shouting something at him. What worried you was that you didn’t hear him respond. You turned the corner, feet sticking to the wax as you gripped onto the doorway for balance.
She was standing over him, baseball bat in her hands poised to bring it back down over his face. You could already see blood leaking down his face from where she’d hit him before. Without thinking you charged at her, wrapping your arms around her middle and taking her down to the floor.
She let out a surprised yelp but you didn’t let her get much else out before you were wailing on her. You don’t know what happened after you grabbed her. You only remember punching her the first time, remember your knuckles splitting and your blood mingling with hers as she wrestled with you.
All you could see was Bo laying on the floor, not moving, as this bitch stood over him with a bat. You were blinded by rage, a hot fury burning in your gut and keeping you moving as you pounded your fists into her. You felt satisfied by the sound of her bones crunching under you.
She screamed at you, words you couldn’t hear as your blood rushed through your ears, and threw her hand up into your chin. You groaned, jaw whipping to the side. She pounced on you, digging her fingers into your throat until you couldn’t breathe and flipping you both over.
You dragged your nails down her face, the skin digging under your nails like warm wax. You dragged your palms down until you could feel her throat, the movement it made as she took in a deep breath. You felt it bob up and down under your touch and you squeezed. She let out a strangled yelp and you could feel yourself slipping. You were becoming lost in a place of animalistic panic.
You were almost dead, the man you loved was most likely lying dead next to you as you fought for your own life. Your vision was cloudy until it went completely black and then you felt arms wrapping around your chest and pulling you back. You kicked and screamed, still in fighting for your life until you recognized the voice in your ear.
“Alright, it’s alright, it’s over.” You slumped back at the sound of Bo’s whispers. You ignored the feeling of his blood leaking into your shirt as he sat down with you, pulling you into his chest and squeezing until it hurt.
You didn’t mind the pain, though, embracing it because it meant you were both alive. Both of you were okay. You reached back, wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into him. Carly lay dead a few feet in front of you, her face mangled and you looked down to see her blood soaking into your clothes.
You had your own wounds from where she’d fought back, bleeding lacerations that you’d fix later. For now you sat with Bo, watching as Vincent stomped towards you both. In a minute you’d get up, help them clean up the house and the bodies. Then you’d all go home, you’d make dinner, pass out on the couch and wake up in one of their beds. Probably Bo, if his panicked grip was anything to go by.
Life would go on as it always had, except you’d never have to see that chair again. You’d never be looking up through a grate as blood pooled on the garage floor. You’d go with Bo when he went to the city for supplies, you’d be able to pick out clothes that weren’t plucked from the hands of the dead.
It wasn’t right.
You weren’t a good person.
You didn’t deserve salvation or heaven after all of this.
But you’d found it and you were perfectly happy.
end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#bo sinclair x reader#vincent sinclair x reader#slasher x reader#slashers x reader#slasher fandom#house of wax 2005#House of wax x reader#sinclair brothers x reader#bo sinclair x you#vincent sinclair x you#Slashers
601 notes
·
View notes
Text
you can start a family (who will always show you love)
| alessia russo x reader | fluff (and some minuscule angst) | 2.1k | disclaimer: mentions of a broken childhood and toxic parents | a/n: based on this ask. been a minute since i wrote anything proper so criticism/feedback is very much appreciated. be as harsh as you want :) sorry for how long this took and i hope this is alright! happy reading 🫶
~~~
“Penny for your thoughts?”
You hummed as you heard the words, a tired smile resting on your lips as you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in steadily, warmth seeping into your bones.
You’d been standing around the corner of the kitchen, a handful of metres away from the living room, after excusing for a moment, deciding that you just needed a minute to yourself.
You certainly didn’t expect the blonde to follow you.
Leaning your head back gently onto Alessia’s shoulder, you closed your eyes as you revelled in the touch.
“It’s…-”
Face scrunched as you thought deeply to find the words, you sighed before continuing, “It’s different...”
You paused for a second, choosing your next words wisely as you tried to find ones that could do justice to the voices in your head.
Nodding to yourself, you continued. “Yeah. Like a good different, but different y’know?”
Swallowing hard as you spoke the realisation into existence, you didn’t even realize how harshly you were gripping the blonde’s arm until she gently tugged your hand away.
Feeling Alessia’s hands intertwine with your own, thumb rubbing comforting circles over the back of your hand almost as if she knew the words weren’t easy to admit for you, you felt some of the tension dissipate from your shoulders.
The admission was not what the striker was expecting at all, but was more than happy to hear, a small smile crossing her face, heart swelling with pride at her own family.
“I’m not used to it being this easy.”
Your confession was quiet, nearly getting lost in the energetic chatter and excitement occurring a few metres away from the two of you, yet the taller girl heard it clear as day.
You weren’t close with your family- not much from the start and certainly not anymore.
Who would’ve thought that two toxic parents and a marriage that was never meant to last coupled with the news of you coming out would’ve resulted in you being promptly asked to leave a house that never quite felt like home.
It never really had come as a surprise to you, to be honest.
In fact, you’d already been prepared to be kicked out- having slowly begun the process of moving out months before it happened, getting ready for that exact day to come.
So when it finally did occur, you had bid your deuces quietly, mournfully packing away the naive hope of being part of a happy, loving family.
Grimacing to yourself as you tuned back into the moment and realized the rabbit hole you’d just gone down, you shook your head slightly, trying to derail your train of thought from progressing any further.
The action didn’t go unnoticed by the taller girl behind you, her hold tightening a tad bit.
You smiled wryly as you felt Alessia press a comforting kiss to your temple, lips lingering as she tried to convey just how much appreciated your presence.
The both of you were currently at Alessia’s childhood home, having been invited for a small family gathering celebrating the Lionesses’ and mainly Alessia’s World Cup run.
This was also your first time meeting your girlfriend’s family.
Between the nervousness coursing through your veins all throughout dinner and wanting to make the best first impression, yet being in constant awe of just how light everything felt, the evening left you drained, in a good way of course.
You weren’t used to dinners full of laughter and gentle teasing. Never mind that everything was home cooked and Alessia’s mum had made sure to check in with you regarding any allergies of any sort.
Too accustomed to take out quietly eaten in your own room as a child, whilst your background noise would be full of yelling and the occasional smash of a plate or a remote, it had been jarring to witness the Russo siblings rib at each other goodnaturedly, laughing even through the worst teasing as Mario and Carol had watched with smiles on their faces, taking sides as necessary to keep the teasing going.
Safe to say, it had been an overwhelming past few hours for you, and all in all, your social battery was dangerously on the brink of exhaustion after three hours.
Shuffling further back into Alessia’s hold, you let the emotions of the day wash over you, tension escaping you slowly as you took a deep breath in.
“You know they love you already right?”
The sentence was quiet, murmured against your crown and punctuated with a small kiss.
You know the words were meant to bring you comfort, to soothe your bubbling emotions, yet all you felt was the rock in your throat grow, eyes stinging with unshed tears despite being shut as your mind fully comprehended what Alessia had said.
Opening your mouth to respond, you flexed your jaw as you willed for words to come out.
Only a shuddering breath escaped you however, your hand quickly leaving Alessia’s as you hastily came to swipe away the few tears that had fallen before anyone could see them.
The blonde caught the action, not that you were trying to hide it, and before you knew it, you were being gently spun around, soft hands coming to tenderly wipe away at your cheeks as you scrunched your eyes at the sting of the sharp ceiling lights.
She was aware of what your childhood had been like, it being something you'd discussed somewhat early on in the relationship when the topic of having kids and a family came up.
She had known you'd been terrified of meeting her family, not at all used to having a parental figures that didn't speak in annoyance and guilt-tripping.
So when you'd hastily excused yourself as everyone settled down for a movie, the striker figured that maybe a moment to yourself may have not been what you needed.
And she was right.
Blue eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, you felt Alessia’s hands slowly slide down from your cheeks, the stark disappearance of their warmth causing your face to scrunch up in displeasure.
Just having Alessia around you brought you a small bit of comfort- comfort that you didn't weren't ready to lose just yet.
Opening your eyes, ready to protest at the removal of her touch, you were about to pout at Alessia when you picked up the soft padding of feet.
It was only then did you clock the sound of footsteps nearing you, your eyes widening in slight panic as your stomach turned in nervous anticipation, desperately trying to guess who it was.
You didn't want to get in trouble for disappearing from everyone.
You felt Alessia’s hand fall to your arm, rubbing it comfortingly, yet failing to bring you any sense of relief.
In your fear, you didn’t even realize you’d began holding your breath, breathing in shakily as Alessia teasingly asked you not to pass out.
“Less! Is-“
Alessia’s mother rounded the corner, a worried look on her face that quickly morphed into a relieved one as she saw the pair of you.
“Oh good. I was worried.”
Coming to a stop in front of you, the older woman let out a quiet sigh as a gentle smile crossed her face.
Shooting Alessia a questioning glance, Carol turned towards you, giving you a once over and nodding to herself before turning back to Alessia.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been troubling my future daughter-in-law Alessia Mia Teresa Russo.”
The stern look that followed brought a small smile to your face, the concern at your well being bringing a sense of comfort to your panicking state.
“Wha- No! Mum!”
The questioning left Alessia flabbergasted, jaw dropping in shock as she looked at you, then back at her mother, then you again, eyes narrowing this time.
“I’m nice to you and yet this is what I get in return…” the blonde mumbled playfully under her breath, promptly ducking out of the way as her mother swatted teasingly in her direction.
Turning back towards you, Carol shot you a wink before retracting her hand.
“Has she been bothering you? She can be a handful sometimes! Might need to throw her in a timeout for a little bit!”
“Mum!”
You could feel the smile in Alessia’s interjection, not needing to look over to see the fondness in her eyes as stepped towards you again.
“She’s fine. I wasn’t bothering her one bit.”
Studying you intently to make sure Alessia wasn’t lying, Carol tilted her head before nodding in agreement.
“In that case,” you felt an arm wrap around your shoulders as you got pulled away from your girlfriend, “The brownies just finished cooling! Alessia mentioned they’re your favourite.”
And with a pouty Alessia trailing dejectedly behind you, your grin came easy, the comforting hold bringing you a sense of peace you didn’t expect.
You were immensely thankful to the older woman for not bringing attention to your probably red eyes, wordlessly steering you away from the living room where the boys were, and instead straight to the kitchen and into a bar stool before whipping around to fix you some dessert.
Feeling the bar stool next to you screech as Alessia joined you, you shot her a small smile, nodding wordlessly to her questioning gaze.
Reaching out to lock your pinkies together, you mouthed an ‘I promise’, settling Alessia’s worries before she made a move to intertwine your hands, soft smiles crossing both your faces.
Getting abruptly pulled out of your little bubble as a plate was gently put in front of you, you couldn’t help the huge grin that crossed your face at the sight before you- two perfect edge pieces of a brownie topped with a hefty scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Pleasantly shocked at the fact that Alessia not only remembered that this was one of your favourite desserts, but mentioned it to her mother who made it without any fuss or guilt-tripping, your jaw dropped in awe for a split second, feeling your throat tighten in emotion briefly.
“Thank you.”
Your words were quiet, just barely audible even in the near-silence of the kitchen.
Even though Carol just smiled at you, beckoning for you to eat, you were sure she got the message, your two words more than just a quiet appreciation for her making you a plate.
The tender moment was interrupted quickly though, Alessia quickly clocking in to the fact that there was only one plate and only one spoon.
“Hey!”
Watching as Alessia yet again argued with her mother regarding you being the new favourite child of the household, you dug in, looking up with a content smile on your face as you watched Alessia grumble to herself as she got herself a brownie as well, faux-annoyance on her face as grabbed a spoon before making her way back to you.
And as Gio and Luca realized that the brownies had come out of the oven, you watched as they tumbled in, immediately grabbing forks and completely ignoring the tray sitting on the counter, beelining it for Alessia’s plate.
You laughed as the trio fought over Alessia’s dessert, amazed by the way the blonde immediately covered her plate with her hands, shielding it like a prized possession.
Mirth dancing in your eyes as the plate inevitably got snatched from beneath the striker’s protective hold and you easily held your plate out in consolation, a pout meeting your gaze as the blonde dejectedly took a bite whilst casting a dirty look to her brothers.
Pulling your stool closer to Alessia’s you wrapped an arm around her midsection, you leaned into the blonde as you both enjoyed your dessert, Gio and Luca entertaining you both as they decided to fight over another brownie.
Well amused, you turned towards Alessia with a proper smile adorning your face this time, leaning into the blonde and tucking your head into the crook of her neck as you closed your eyes and basked in the homey chaos.
Maybe this family thing didn't have to be so hard after all.
“I love you. Thank you.”
You whispered the words softly enough for only your girlfriend to hear them, placing a small kiss where your lips met her skin before cuddling further into her.
And with a quiet squeeze to your waist in return, accompanied by the three words repeated softly back to you, you knew the blonde understood exactly what you meant.
Thank you for giving me a family I didn’t know I’d ever be worthy to have- for making a house feel like home.
#if there's typos ima be sad#not proofread#alessia russo x reader#alessia russo imagine#alessia russo#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso one shot#woso x reader#woso community#woso#my writing#ycsaf#fluff#fic#fic reqs
510 notes
·
View notes
Text
B. Bradshaw | Masterlist
Top Gun - Maverick
Updated: 11/1/2024 [link check]
!!authors!! if u want something removed plz pm me 💕 ily
Hi!!! So? This is it! I've been continuously cringing at myself for even making the first search for this the other day but I did. I ended up falling down a rabbit hole full of incredible fics written by some incredible people so I hope you give it a look. No need to judge me, I'm already judging myself T-T.
peace!
PSA: if you want to be kept up to date with the happenings of this list you can sign up for my tag list here so you will be notified when i add fics or chapters and you can choose to keep up with bigger announcements as well
fluff-> 🤍 | smut -> 🍋 | angst -> 🌧️ | major tw -> ‼️
Series
☆ ALTITUDE | @tongue-like-a-razor
13 chapters | on hold | 🌧️🤍
Sydney is not a pilot. But she knows all their tricks. That's why, when she meets the smooth-talking Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, she's not falling for any of them. She's not falling for him, either.
☆ ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? | @perpetuallydaydreaming
12 chapters | complete | 🤍🌧️🍋
Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw and you have been friends since you can remember, just friends (unfortunately) but when you are called back to Top Gun everything changes...
☆ JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY | @feralforfrank
3 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍🍋
Rooster and you have never liked each other. One night at the Hard Deck is enough to change the dynamic between you.
☆ IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY | @bloatedandalone04
4 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍🍋
The one where you give Bradley your heart and he breaks it.
☆ FAKING IT | @tongue-like-a-razor
8 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍
Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.
☆ AT LEAST I LET THE LIGHT IN | @heartsofminds
1 chapter | on hold (?) | 🌧️‼️
Bradley is on a downward spiral and Natasha doesn't know how much more she can take - unofficial sequel to 'cause no one breaks my heart like you (linked here)
☆ DRUNK IN LOVE / DRUNK IN LOVE | @feralforfrank
2 chapters | complete | 🌧️🤍
Rooster brings a drunk!reader to his house. What happens when you wake up in bed with Rooster, your sworn rival?
☆ THIS LOVE CAME BACK TO ME | @beyondthesefourwalls
13 chapters | complete | 🌧️‼️‼️
You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could ever truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him in for a kiss, he thought maybe it was a perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply wanting it.
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE read the warnings carefully before reading this story!!
☆ REMEMBER YOU EVEN WHEN I DON'T | @beyondthesefourwalls
10 chapters | complete | 🤍🍋🌧️
A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting right beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement
☆ HOTTER THAN TEXAS | @tongue-like-a-razor
3 chapters | ongoing | 🤍
Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.
Oneshots
☆ BRAD BRAD | @peterparkersnose
wc: 1.9k | 🤍🌧️
teasing, intimidation, situationship coming to a close, ANGST, mentions of death and dealing with death, rooster is in denial of looove, fluff at the end
Rooster gets upset when a harmless joke crosses the line.
☆ "YOU TOLD ME NOT TO WORRY ABOUT THEM" | @katsu28
wc: 1.3k | request | 🌧️🤍
bradley "rooster" bradshaw x aviator!reader, callsign casper (like the ghost hehe), some swearing
Rooster gets upset when pilot hazing goes too far
☆ LOVE IN THE DARK | @bloatedandalone04
wc: 2.8k | 🌧️
swearing, angst, sad boy bradley, lowkey depressed reader, more angst bc im sick and unhappy about it, new theme
The one where the deployments become too much.
☆ WHEN I PICTURE MYSELF HAPPY, I SEE YOU | @feralforfrank
wc: idk loll | prompt | 🌧️🤍
angst with a happy ending, miscommunication trope (?), nondescriptive reader
Rooster and reader fight, but they make up in their own way.
☆ "THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT" | @katsu28
wc: 1.7k | request | 🌧️
bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, some swearing, angst
You miss Bradley so much while he's away, in trying to communicate this to him, lines get crossed and emotions rise.
☆ CRUMBLE | @daddy-bradley
wc: idk | 🌧️🤍
angst, cursing, mentions of parental insecurity, depression, anxiety, has a happy ending
You and Bradley are having your first fight after your baby is born. How will you both come to a solution and learn to cope through this together.
☆ 'CAUSE NO ONE BREAKS MY HEART LIKE YOU | @heartsofminds
wc: 19k | 🌧️‼️
heavy angst, miscommunication, heartbreak, right person wrong universe type shit, slow burn angst, disrespect towards women, drinking, bradley is a dick
Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though its hard to see)
☆ MIDNIGHT RAIN | @bloatedandalone04
wc: 3.6k | 🤍🍋🌧️‼️
fluff, smut, angst, oral (f receiving), mentions/descriptions of bad past relationships, mentions of abuse, past abuse, toxic ex, trauma?, bad coping habits, arguments, crying, swearing
The one where Bradley is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, but even he cant fully erase the bad memories of your last relationship.
☆ THINGS UNSEEN AND HEARD | @bloatedandalone04
wc: 4.1k | 🍋🌧️🤍
smut, angst, fluff, obvious bradley insecurities, self-deprecating thoughts, unprotected sex, swearing, alcohol consumption, maybe more
The one where you overhear Bradley talk about you to Jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.
☆ THE STACHE INCIDENT | @feralforfrank
wc: no clue | drabble | 🤍
tooth rotting fluff, its honestly tragic
the title says all you need to know
☆ WHO DID THIS TO YOU? | @feralforfrank
wc: i dunno | 🌧️🤍
accidental injury (reader got hit in the face), crying, nondescript reader
It’s a drabble, I cant say much…
☆ THE ZIPPER INCIDENT | @tongue-like-a-razor
wc: i honestly, truly, don’t know | request | 🌧️🤍
fluff, angst, swearing, a pinch of smut, you stand up your date, which is shitty of you, but it’s probably worth it
You’re running late and you need help zipping up your dress. After recovering from the initial shock of seeing you all dolled up, Rooster is more than happy to assist.
☆ SLEEPYHEAD | @roosterbruiser
wc: *shrugs* | blurb | 🤍
tooth-rotting fluff, sleepy bradley
just read it goddamnit 🥹
☆ PERMANENT STATE OF OBLIVION | @topgun-imagines
wc: 3.2k | request | 🌧️🤍
drinking, arguments, angsty feelings
Despite all the times you have tried to make your feelings for the mustached pilot obvious, he still hasn't caught on. You make things clear one night at the hard deck.
taglist sign up
ⓒ onehopelessromantic, November 2024
#top gun fandom#top gun fic recs#top gun angst#top gun maverick#top gun fanfiction#miles teller#miles teller angst#miles teller fic recs#miles teller fluff#bradley bradsaw x reader#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster x you#rooster x reader#rooster masterlist#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw fic recs#bradley bradshaw angst#tounge-like-a-razor#katsu28#heartsofminds#daddy-bradley#feralforfrank#bloatedandalone04#peterparkersnose#perpetuallydaydreaming#onehoplessromantic#topgun-imagines
285 notes
·
View notes
Text
outcasts
logan howlett x reader
you've always been on your own wavelength. always on another planet; in your own little world. you couldn't help it, what you could create in your head was far more interesting than whatever people around you could say or do.
your favorite hobby was to try and find poetry in everything you could see: a willow tree? Do you mean the reincarnation of zeus's nurse? the same one ophelia died under when she realized hamlet could never give her the love she needed?
seeing life this way was way more fun, and if being made fun of was the price to pay to keep your internal peace intact then it was worth it. kids weren't really kind or comprehensive toward your unique mindset. now that you were a grown-up; nothing really changed. you were still enjoying what life gave you with your own approach and people still made fun of you.
except for one person: logan.
which was quite paradoxical because he was known for his judgmental stares and mocking scoffs. he never grew any soft spot for anybody and then you came around, and he fell down the rabbit hole quicker than ever. he was completely mesmerized by you and threatened anybody who dared to even think about mocking your... behavior. at first, you didn't even notice him but you started enjoying his presence more and more. and you finally joined him in the love spiral he was a prisoner of.
logan was standing on the school's porch, cigar in his mouth, watching the students run inside as the rain came pouring down.
the storm was near.
but you didn't care; you stayed still.
"come inside," he called over his shoulder. "get outta the rain." logan called out.
you stayed silent, not even paying attention to him. you were looking at the sky.
"you're gettin' soaked." he grunted. everybody else could have heard a flicker of annoyance in his voice but you knew it was concern and care.
logan glared at you, the annoyance on his face growing. he knew you could be stubborn, which he loved about you, but he didn't want you to catch a cold.
"stop bein' so damn stubborn and get yer ass inside." he growled, his voice commanding but still gentle.
you finally turned around and acknowledged his presence. "I like the rain" you simply answered.
logan frowned, his brow furrowing. he didn't like the fact that you were willingly getting drenched in the downpour.
"you're gonna catch a cold." he grumbled, the gruffness in his voice masked his worry.
"I'll heal"
logan couldn't help but smile softly; he fell harder for you each day. "come with me" you added
the wolverine sighed, his annoyance faded slightly at your request. he can never say no to you, despite his gruff demeanor.
"fine. but we ain't gonna be out here long." he grumbled, stubbing out his cigar on the porch before walking over to you.
he walked down the steps and stopped beside you, his broad frame blocked part of the rain. his arms folded over his chest, and his yellow eyes surveyed the storm.
"I thought you'd be inside, dry and warm." he commented; knowing you liked to stay under the covers, safe from the harsh reality of a world against mutants.
"Isn't it soothing? standing under the rain. knowing you cannot escape it; feeling like it washes you clean?" you said, still in your own bubble.
"guess I hadn't thought of it like that." he admits gruffly. he listens to your words, actually pausing to consider what you say. his eyes roam over your face, studying your expression as you speak. his thoughts wander, remembering how he found your ability to detach from reality strangely comforting. It made you seem almost ethereal.
"you're different from anyone I've ever met before." he spoke up, his deep voice barely above a whisper, almost lost in the howling of the wind.
"you're different from anyone I've ever met before" you said back, looking at him lovingly. he smiled, a rare sight if anybody asked him but something quite common if they asked you. he was still struggling to get used to the softer side of himself that you seemed to bring out, even after all this time.
the storm was raging around you but seemed to fade into the background as he looked into your eyes.
his heart quickened, the gruff exterior faltering as he held your gaze.
"thank you for not making fun of me"
his expression softened even further, his rough exterior crumbling even more. He knew that you've been ridiculed for who you are, and he hated that.
"of course, I won't make fun of ya." he replied "I like you the way you are."
you wrap your hands around his middle; burying your face in his chest.
caught off guard by your unexpected embrace, it took logan a moment to reciprocate. hesitantly, he wraped his arms around you, holding you against him.
he could feel your head resting on his chest, his heart rate increased as he realized how intimate this moment was. the rain continued to fall around you, each drop adding to the surreal atmosphere of the moment. It created a strange sense of intimacy, the cool water running over your bodies while you held each other. he tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer to him.
"could you stay with me?" you pleaded
he hesitated for a moment, not because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't used to being asked to stay.
"Yeah." He said gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "I'll stay."
"no, I mean, forever." you raised your head, looking at him. "I don't think I can live without you anymore" you confessed.
logan's heart thunders in his chest, the unexpected declaration taking him completely by surprise. his eyes widened slightly, revealing the depth of his emotions.
"forever...?" he repeated, his voice soft and almost unsure. he never thought you would ask that, but hearing those words from you, it ignited something deep within him. he looked down at you, his hand moving to gently cup your cheek.
you slowly nodded. "now that I know what it's like to be loved by you and to love you in return I don't think I can manage not to"
your words hit logan like a ton of bricks. he's never heard anyone say something so raw and heartfelt, and it hit him right in the chest. he went speechless, his heart hammered in his chest. but then, his expression softened, and he pulled you even closer against him.
"I feel the same way, darlin'," he muttered. "can't imagine not havin' you in my life anymore."
and you just smiled, because in your world, words weren't required to translate a soul. and logan wanted more than anything to be part of it, so he stayed silent and held you tightly against him, his fingers gently tracing small patterns on your back. the storm continued to rage around the both of you, but it felt right: being in his arms felt right.
logan honestly had no idea if what you just said meant that you two were an official thing but he couldn't bring himself to care over such a foolish detail. as long as he could hold you as much as he wanted, he was a happy man.
#logan howlett x reader#deadpool and wolverine#hugh jackman#logan howlett fluff#xmen fanfiction#wolverine x reader#james howlett
216 notes
·
View notes
Text
A drop of you on my tongue
MDNI i will block on sight
Heeey I'm alive and writing again! So i'm here with an Aventurine x GN!reader fic! And it's well a lactation kink fic. Been having terrible writer's block but @yinyuedijun pulled me out of it very unexpectedly this morning. I'm in love with how they write Aven but it was anon they got that sent me down this rabbit hole. I've always liked lactation kink but i don't think i've written it on this blog before.
Cw: Reader is Afab but GN! using they/them pronouns. (since non-binary and transmasc people such as myself are indeed able to get pregnant) Reader is somewhere between the end of their first trimester and beginning of their second (it is indeed possible to start lactating that early.) Aventurine is implied to have been away for a bit but I don't elaborate on the reasons. Also i am a fuckin sap so i hope Aven isn't too ooc for you guys. During the fic he get's called Aven and Vasha at different moments. Please be kind since I just punched through a writers block with this.
Word count: 1600+
It’s not intentional on either of your parts if you’re being honest. There was just a need for eachother, a need for intimacy after time spent apart. It didn’t matter to him that you were pregnant with his child already, or perhaps it was even more reason for him to want to touch you. To reacquaint himself with your body after his absence.
Aventurine helps free you from your shirt, exposing parts of you both familiar and new to him causing you to glance away. There’s of course a new swell to both your chest and and stomach, stretch marks that hadn’t been there previously and an added softness beginning to settle in about you.
“Hey now,” his voice is almost achingly gentle just like the fingers he places on your jaw so he can turn your face toward him. “You’re not getting shy on me now are you?” and oh, the look in his eyes isn’t one you’re familiar with. There’s both softness and awe in his gaze and it makes you feel far more bare before him than any lack of clothing ever could.
“Would it be so strange if I was?”
He hums and leans in to kiss you while the hand that had been on your cheek skims down your neck and down to the tender swell of one your breasts. “Hmm perhaps not but I can show you that you don’t need to be.” And his lips are moving against yours, his free hand coming up to cup the back your neck so you don’t pull away. All it takes is a gentle squeeze to your breast and you gasp, opening your mouth and allowing him to slip his tongue in to greet your own. He’s pushing you back to lay against soft pillows when you whine into him, your back arching and that’s when he feels it. A warm and wet sensation rolling between his fingers and down the back of his hand.
He pulls back, surprised and holds up his hand to look at it. Twisting his wrist as the warm pearl of white rolls down. Heat rises in your cheeks and you begin to turn toward your bedside to reach for tissues. “Shit. I’m sorry, Aven, they just started doing that, i didn’t think-”
“Considering the places i’ve put my tongue on you before,” You glance toward him, catch his fascinated gaze as it follows the droplets curling down his wrist and watch as a flash of pink darts out and he licks up the back of his hand and to the space space between his fingers where your milk had first squeezed out, “do you really think this would bother me?” His eyes fall shut. It’s warm of course but also so much sweeter than he would have thought it would be. “Fuck.. And here I thought your cunt was sweet.”
It’s obscene. It shouldn’t turn you on and yet you feel heat curling low within you at the sight. You’re so lost in this thought that you don’t notice him until he’s right in front of you, his lips brushing your own and his tongue pressing the taste of you into your own mouth. He was right, it is sweet. “Will you let me have more?” The heated words are spoken directly into your mouth, while his hands make their way to your hips to give a reassuring squeeze.
You’ve always been terrible at denying Aventurine things. Taking any opportunity you can to give him whatever you can given everything he’s given you. Not just the material things but the less tangible. Smooth and syrupy words coaxing you to let him in, dropping the walls you’d kept up around your tender heart in a way you’d let so few in. Let him see your scar tissue in hopes that he’d show you his own. This is no different. Especially not when it’s proof of just another thing he’s given you. Something you were giving each other that neither of you had dared hope to have again.
Still speaking against each others lips. “...alright if it’s something you’re sure you want.”
You feel and then see him smirk as he pulls back, eyes sparkling with something mischievous. “Of course it is.” He gives your hips another squeeze and tugs at you. “Here, switch places with me.”
You tip your head quizzically but do as he asks so he can sit back against the plush pillows before encouraging you to sit on his lap.
“There you go.” He runs nose along your jaw before kissing down your neck. “Arch your back a little bit for me.” And you do, pressing your chest that little bit up toward him so he can more easily dip his head down. He cups one of your breasts and licks at the bead of milk that’s collected on your nipple before coaxing it into his mouth using his tongue. An appreciative groan rumbles up his chest, vibrating through your sensitive flesh. It’s different from the other times he’s played with your body. You’re so much more sensitive, almost too sensitive, a whimpered moan falling past your lips as you press your chest further against him. There's a sensation you’d almost describe as a pull as his skilled tongue gently works you, figuring out how to best draw milk from you. You feel it when he gets it, gets your sweet essence beginning to pool on his tongue for him to drink down.
You nearly miss it when he begins to rut against your thinly clothed cunt. His free arm wraps around the small of your back pulling you tight to him, the slight swell of your belly pressing against the toned planes of his own. You whine beginning to grind against him in turn. He moans something incoherent against your skin.
Your hands move seemingly of their own accord to gently run through his hair, smoothing it back from his face as you look down at him. His eyes are half lidded, dazed even. “That good, ‘vasha?” The affectionate and rarely used abbreviation of his true name dripping from your lips like warm honey.
“S’good” he mumbles against you followed by him bucking his hips and whining against your soft skin. A resounding yes if you ever heard one. You moan and it trails into a breathy laugh as the two of you continue to rut together. Evidence of your own pleasure soaking through the cloth of your sleepshorts and through the fabric of his own slacks. Pity that they’ll probably be ruined, not that either of you actually cared.
With a moan he pops off your nipple, “Think I can make you cum just like this?” he asks before adjusting his hold so he can move to your other breast, pulling the sensitive bud into his mouth before you can actually answer.
“Ha-ah- careful that one’s more sore-” and he is careful, gentle with you, but he doesn’t stop. He’s lost to you, seemingly eager to drown in everything you give him. A mix of pleasure from the eager grind of your bodies and the sweet taste of you filling his mouth.
Any soreness is forgotten as it blurs into pleasure once he pulls your hips down more firmly against him. Rutting his clothed cock into the thin and soaked fabric separating the two of you. It’s with a well timed push that catches against your clothed clit and particularly hard suck that your body goes taunt, your breast smothering Aventurine as your release truly soaks you both. Your world goes blank.
You’re so gone to the world that you don’t even register that Aventurine has also cum in his own pants. Shuddering with you before releasing your nipple and panting as he carefully rolls the two of you so you’re laying down while he hovers above you. It’s when his thumb rubs beneath your eye that you blink back into focus. He’s beautiful and disheveled. A bit of milk clings to the corner of his shiny and slightly swollen lips. And oh, you almost want to look away because his eyes are full of so much adoration and it’s all focused on you.
His lips move and your name reaches you, almost sounding as if he’s said it more than once now. “-are you alright?” The inquiry is accompanied by him brushing hair away from your temple while he sits beside you.
“Sorry- I i’m okay. More than okay.”
He smiles, relief making his shoulders sag just a bit. “Good, you had me worried for a moment there.” Amusement shines in his eyes. “Now as much as I’d like to just lay here with you, how about we clean ourselves up first.” He gestures toward the lower halves of your bodies with a grimace. Both of you were an absolute mess after all of that.
You whine not actually wanting to get up but knowing the growing awareness of your own discomfort would make it impossible to just roll back over. In the time it takes you to start getting up Aventurine is around to your side of the bed ready to help you up. “You know i’m not so far along that I need help getting out of bed.”
He hums in acknowledgement. “Yes but how about you just let me help, to make up for my time away.”
He doesn’t comment on the little eyeroll as you take his hands. “Fine fine… Let me guess you’re gonna help me shower too?”
“Now you’re getting it~” he practically chirps at you before pulling you up and beginning to walk you toward the attached bathroom. “And once we’re all cleaned up and cozy in bed maybe you’ll let me have another taste of you.” He noses at your hair.
“You’re terrible you know that right?”
“You’re figuring that out a little late, don’t you think?”
It’s a strange way to say ‘I love you.’ yet you both know that’s what fills those words as you both share a small smile
And there you have it. My writer's block broken by lactation kink. Special thanks to @yinyuedijun for inspiring this, i really hope you enjoy it. Also special thanks to @080325 and @fushigurro for proof reading for me
Divider credit it @threnodians
Tag list: @pastelle-rabbit @zorosdimples @strawberrystepmom @whispers-of-lilith
I'm actually not that sure who wants to be tagged in this one
#cw pregnancy#cw lactation#cw lactation kink#aventurine x reader#hsr x reader#aventurine x gn!reader#rossi writes
208 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hotel California | Track 2 - Electric Desires
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.
W/c: 7.2k
Chapter 2/12
Masterlist | General Masterlist
Note: Each chapter is hella long because I had time to sit and wait to release this one. Weekly updates might be the wave.
R and Nat will be moving quickly so if you like slow burn this isn't the story lol.
Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs
Natasha sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch in their cluttered studio: which was just Tony’s garage. The room buzzed with creative energy and the faint scent of old leather, a familiar combination that fueled the essence of Velvet Rebellion. She strummed her guitar absentmindedly, her fingers dancing over the fretboard, creating a gentle hum in the room. She was in her element in full force.
Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Tony were huddled around a battered coffee table, scraps of lyrics, and scribbled notes strewn about like confetti after a wild party. They were her bandmates, her comrades in music, and tonight they were deep into a songwriting session. Natasha enjoyed days like this the most. She often found the songwriting process frustrating but fulfilling, which is why they’re on hour four of this session with only the first verse written. It seems she’s not the only one with writer’s block.
"Natasha, we need something here," Steve’s voice cut through the room's creative haze. He furrowed his brow, fingers dancing over the keys of a vintage synthesizer. "A melody to tie this verse together."
Natasha tore her gaze away from her guitar and glanced over at Wanda. Her fingers stopped mid-strum. She blinked; her thoughts momentarily disrupted.
"Nat, you with us?" Tony chimed in, his eyes darting between Natasha and his laptop.
A flush of embarrassment washed over Natasha. She'd been lost in thought, her mind wandering where it shouldn't have. She’d been thinking about you again. She couldn’t get you out of her head. There was a hint of exhaustion on her features as she sat her guitar next to her. She’d spent the previous night going down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos involving you. It seemed you’d understated how good of a musician you were. Natasha discovered you had a small fanbase with plenty of videos dedicated to your brief yet impactful career. Even if your resume included a lot of backup singing, she could see why there was a push for you to strive for something more. You were talented in every sense of the word.
With a sheepish smile, she nodded. "Sorry, guys. Got a bit distracted there."
She fumbled to put her phone face down on the coffee table, hoping her bandmates hadn't noticed her constant glances at the silent screen. Natasha had been replaying every moment of your brief encounter at the party in her mind, questioning if she'd made a connection or if it was just another fleeting moment.
Steve’s fingers continued their dance on the synthesizer as he tried out different melodies, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. "No worries, Nat. Happens to the best of us."
But Natasha couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration with herself. She was the lead singer and lyricist and usually held everything together. Yet today, her mind was scattered, torn between music and an unexpected, lingering hope that her phone would light up with a message from someone she'd barely known.
Natasha's fingers deftly reached for her well-worn writing book, nestled among scattered lyrics and half-finished songs. Her eyes scanned the pages, searching for something that had evaded her for far too long. Her bandmates carried on their musical discussion, oblivious to her momentary distraction.
Finally, she found it—a scribbled idea that had haunted her thoughts for weeks but had remained unreachable, refusing to take a tangible form. Natasha's heart raced as she read the words, her handwriting staring back at her, challenging her to bring them to life.
"Guys, hold on a sec," she called out, her voice trembling with excitement. Her bandmates stopped their conversation, turning their attention to her. Natasha's fingers tapped the page she'd found. "I think I've got something."
Wanda leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What is it?"
Natasha cleared her throat and began to read the lyrics she'd unearthed, her voice carrying a hint of the sweet melody she envisioned:
"Underneath the city lights, I saw your face,
In the crowded room, you were my saving grace.
A glance, a smile, it all fell into place,
In that moment, I knew, love's tender embrace."
As Natasha recited the lyrics, Wanda's eyes widened, and she nodded appreciatively. "That's beautiful, Natasha."
Natasha couldn't help but blush at the compliment. She felt the lyrics were deeply personal, a reflection of the emotions she'd been grappling with. "Thanks, Wanda. But I think it's missing something."
Wanda leaned in closer, her fingers lightly grazing Natasha's arm as they huddled together over the writing book. "What do you have in mind?"
A spark of inspiration flickered in Natasha's eyes. "How about this? Instead of just a glance and a smile, it's about meeting someone and falling in love at first sight. The moment your heart skips a beat."
Wanda's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I like that. It adds depth to the story."
With renewed enthusiasm, Natasha began to sing the modified lyrics, her voice filled with emotion:
"In the heart of the city, I met your eyes,
In that instant, I felt my soul take flight.
Love at first sight, a sweet surprise,
Two worlds colliding, under starry skies."
The words flowed effortlessly, weaving a sweet melody that resonated with everyone in the room. Sitting behind his drum kit, Tony started tapping a rhythm, adding a pulsating beat to the song. Steve found his way back to the keyboard, his fingers searching for the chords that matched the melody.
The studio came alive with the energy of collaboration as they played off each other, improvising and experimenting. Wanda's voice dipped into low notes, adding a haunting harmony, while Tony began to find a mix to add to the music.
It wasn't the final product but the magic of creation—their music taking shape from a mere spark of inspiration. Natasha couldn't help but smile as they continued to refine the song.
Bucky sat down his guitar, a sly grin playing on his lips as the melody they'd created together hung in the air. He couldn't help but feel a shift in Natasha's usual songwriting style, one that intrigued him. "Nat, you're getting into writing love songs now?"
Natasha shot him a playful yet challenging look, her fingers still scribbling along the notebook pages. "Oh, please, Bucky. We had love songs on our first album."
Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Not like this. These lyrics, they're something else."
Natasha sighed, closing the tiny notebook again. She knew he was right, and she couldn't deny the shift in her lyrics and her emotions. "Alright, fine. Maybe I am writing a love song."
Bucky leaned forward, his gaze intense. "So, are you in love, Natasha?"
She met his gaze head-on. "No, Bucky. I'm not."
Bucky nodded in understanding, sensing the unspoken annoyance in her words. Natasha had always been guarded about matters of the heart, and they respected her boundaries. They returned to their instruments, each lost in their thoughts, letting the music speak the words that couldn't be said.
********************
The leotard store was an arrangement of colors, and Isabella, your spirited nine-year-old daughter, was bouncing between the racks, playing her own game of hide-and-seek with the endless collection of spandex. Her enthusiasm for picking out leotards rivaled her passion for gymnastics.
"Mama, check this one out! It's super sparkly!" Isabella shouted, triumphantly holding up a leotard adorned with sequins like a little treasure hunter.
You and Monica shared a knowing smile as you surveyed the options. "Great choice, Bella," you replied, trying to match her enthusiasm. "Let's add it to the pile."
Isabella nodded, seemingly satisfied, and skipped off in pursuit of her next leotard conquest.
As Monica and you continued your search, your mind drifted back to a conversation you’d had at Harley's party just a couple of weeks ago. There was a woman there, a stranger to you, who had engaged you in a conversation that had held your attention for longer than you’d expected.
"Hey, y/n" Monica began, her tone a mix of curiosity and amusement. She sifted through the clothes, trying to understand what she was looking for. Isabella had a very specific taste. "Are you going to finally tell me about the woman from the party? You two seemed to be hitting it off."
You glanced at Monica, feeling somewhat caught off guard. "Oh, that? It was just a casual conversation. I doubt it's anything worth dwelling on."
Monica raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your dismissal. "Just a casual conversation? You looked pretty into her. What's her name?"
You sighed, knowing Monica wouldn't let it go quickly. "Her name is Natasha Romanoff. She’s the lead singer of that band. Velvet Rebellion. We talked for a while. But honestly, I haven't reached out to her or anything." You shrugged.
Monica persisted, undeterred. "She’s cute. I’ve heard a couple of their songs in passing. Why haven’t you called her?"
You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers unconsciously fussing with a leotard on the rack. "Life's been hectic lately. I've barely had a moment to breathe, let alone call someone."
Isabella, who had overheard your conversation while meticulously assessing leotards with the discerning eye of a seasoned fashion critic, joined in. "Mom, you should call her."
You couldn't help but smile at Isabella's straightforward logic. "You focus on the leotards. You only need a few for now. You’re growing like a weed."
Monica and Isabella exchanged amused glances, both united in their disbelief. "The kid is right," Monica declared, her eyes dancing with mischief.
Isabella nodded in agreement, adding her hint of authority. "I’m just saying." She held up a pink leotard and you shook your head. The cut wasn’t appropriate in your opinion. She returned the leotard to the rack with a sigh and went to a new one.
Monica's curiosity was relentless, and she wasn't about to let the topic of the woman from Harley's party go. As you continued looking through the racks with Isabella's energy bounding around you, she probed further.
"Come on, y/n, what's the big deal about calling her?" Monica inquired, a mischievous glint in her eye.
You sighed, trying to choose your words carefully. "Mon, you know their band's reputation. The tabloids haven’t been so easy on them. Especially with them being new. Trust me I’ve checked.” You shook your head. “And besides, Natasha used to date Carol Danvers. We’re not friends, but we’re not exactly enemies either. I’m not in the business of going behind her back. It was a bad breakup if it’s anything like the tabloids say and I don't want to risk the same fate."
Monica raised an eyebrow, her expression one of bemused disbelief. “You're not even dating this Natasha person yet. It could be a fun fling or something. You don't have to jump into a full-blown relationship. Also, you hate Carol Danvers."
“I don’t hate her,” You refuted her claims. “I simply enjoy spending my time in spaces that don’t have her in them.” You couldn't deny Monica's point, but the cautious side of you still hesitated. "Also, I know it doesn’t have to be more than what it is. But I've been down that road before, and it wasn't pretty. Besides, I don't want to have this conversation in front of Isabella."
You leaned down to pass a few leotards to Isabella and whispered to her, "Sweetie, can you go find some shoes that match these leotards? That would be a big help."
Isabella nodded enthusiastically, her focus shifting from the leotards to her newfound mission. As she scampered off in search of the perfect shoes, you turned your attention back to Monica.
Monica gave you an understanding look, her voice lowered. "Alright, I get it, y/n, But don't let the past hold you back from something potentially great. You deserve happiness, too. Even if that means you fuck a few times and that’s it."
“Monica,” Your eyes widened, clearly scandalized by her bluntness.
“Am I lying?” Monica held up a hand. “When’s the last time you had some? You don’t know do you?”
“I do know. It hasn’t been that long.” You considered her words. You thought back to the very brief casual sex thing you had with a woman around last year. Or was it two years ago? “You’re right I don’t know.”
“See,” Monica leaned against a rack. “Ask her out to the party tonight. It’s a group thing. I get to vet her. You get to see her. We all win.”
“Fine, fine,” You shake your head.
“Call her now,” Monica nodded.
“Um, she’s probably busy.” You furrowed your brow. Another excuse from you.
“She’ll answer,” Monica said assuredly. “Do it or I’ll dm her myself.”
“Don’t you dare,” You held up a warning finger to Monica. Sometimes your best friend’s forwardness wasn’t welcome. Even if she meant well. She raised a brow at you before pointedly looking toward your purse. “Fine.” You grumbled as you took out your phone.
You walked to a quieter corner of the store, away from the bustle and the excited chatter of Isabella and Monica, who were now hunting for beam shoes. You scrolled through your contacts until you found Natasha's name. With a deep breath, you pressed the call button.
On the first ring, Natasha's voice came through, calm and confident. "Hello?"
You couldn't help but smile, though your attempt to sound equally composed might have come off as forced. "Hey, Natasha. How's everything going?"
“Oh, it’s you,” Natasha's tone change was evident. "Everything's good. I've been wondering when you'd call."
You felt a rush of relief hearing that she'd been waiting for your call. "I'm sorry it took me a while. Life's been crazy lately, and, well, you know how it is."
Natasha's tone shifted slightly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "I do know. But you don't need to be nervous. It's just a call."
You chuckled softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "You're right. I've just been out of practice with this whole...courting thing."
“Courting? Is that what we’re doing?” Natasha's voice lowered, the flirtatious edge unmistakable. "Well, maybe we can help you get back into practice."
You couldn't help but blush, even though she couldn't see it over the phone. "That sounds like a plan."
Just then, you heard Isabella's excited voice in the background, likely showing off a pair of beam shoes she'd found. Natasha must have heard it too.
"Sounds like you've got company," Natasha noted.
Just as you were about to respond to Natasha, Isabella's excited voice carried through the phone in the background. "Mama, look at these beam shoes! They're so cool!"
You grinned and chuckled softly. "That's my daughter, Isabella."
Natasha's voice held a hint of warmth. "She sounds like a lively girl."
“She is,” You nodded. You give Isabella a thumbs-up and a smile. "Listen, Natasha," you began, "there's something I wanted to mention. There's a party tonight at this great club called Heatwave. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, I’ve been there once or twice,” Natasha replied.
“Well, I don't usually go out much, but I'll be there. It would be great if you could join."
There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Natasha's voice returned, filled with a sense of anticipation. "Heatwave, huh? I'll stop by."
Your heart skipped a beat at her response. It seemed that, despite your initial hesitation, the possibility of something exciting and new was on the horizon, and you couldn't help but look forward to seeing Natasha at the party tonight.
“What time should I be there?” Natasha questioned.
“I like to put Bella to bed before going out,” You informed her. “My mother will be watching her, so I’d say around nine. Does that work for you?”
“That works for me,” Natasha agreed.
“Okay then, Natasha,” You smiled, wondering if she could hear it in your voice. “I’ll see you then.”
“Great, see you then.” Natasha mirrored your excitement. You hung up the phone and tucked it into your back pocket. You walked back over to Monica, trying to hide your excitement, but she noticed immediately.
She gave you a silent questioning look and you give her a thumbs up in return. This should be fun.
***********************
Back inside the recording studio, the band was wrapping up what turned out to be a successful recording session. They’d written one song so far and revised a few Natasha had in her back pocket for times like this. Which was the most progress they’d gotten in a year. Either way, it was a session that left them fulfilled. Natasha stood in front of the microphone, her voice still echoing in the room. She exchanged satisfied smiles with her bandmates before returning her wired headphones to their stand.
As they wrapped up their belongings Steve spoke up, "Alright, Natasha, we nailed it today. What's the plan for tonight?"
Natasha leaned back against the soundboard, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Oh, you know me, Steve. I'm a creature of habit."
Steve chuckled, "Yeah, we all are, aren't we? It's one big codependent family."
Natasha nodded, her red hair cascading around her shoulders. "True, but you guys like it that way."
Steve smirked, "And you do too."
Natasha sighed playfully, "Alright, you caught me. I have a thing."
The moment she mentioned 'a thing,' the rest of the group became intrigued. Tony, Bucky, and Wanda started bombarding her with questions, eager to know more. They were known for their tight-knit bond, often spending their evenings together.
Tony asked, grinning, "What kind of thing? Spill the beans, Red!"
Natasha tried to deny it, but under the pressure of their excited curiosity, she finally admitted, "Okay, okay! I'm going to Heatwave, a club downtown. I'm meeting up with a new friend."
Immediately, it was settled - if Natasha was going out, they were all going out. Tony's eyes gleamed with mischief, "Sounds like a party! Can we come too?"
Natasha hesitated for a moment, thinking about the guys' tendency to get a little rowdy. Then she relented, "Alright, fine. We can all go."
Steve high-fived Tony, and Bucky and Wanda exchanged excited glances. "This is gonna be awesome!" Steve exclaimed. Though he wasn’t much of a partier he loved exploring new places.
Natasha couldn't help but grin at their enthusiasm, "Yeah, let's hope it's good, then."
With the decision made, the band members packed up their instruments, ready for another night on the town.
*****************
As you stood before the bathroom mirror in your finest party outfit, face and hair all done up, the room around you painted a stark contrast. The soft notes of Beyonce’s “Yes” played in the background as you prepared for your night out. The bathroom was a chaotic scene, messy and disheveled, with makeup and hair curlers scattered haphazardly. Clothes lay strewn on the floor and over the edge of the bathtub. The countertop was cluttered with various cosmetic products, their caps discarded carelessly.
A hairbrush, half-buried under a pile of clothes, seemed to have given up on its role in maintaining order. The floor bore the evidence of spilled powders and makeup brushes discarded in haste.
Isabella, standing in the doorway, disapproved of this sight. Her usually tidy nature couldn't help but frown at the disarray. With her wide, disapproving eyes, she silently conveyed her thoughts to you. “Why must it be so messy in here?”
“Must? I knew I was creating a bougie child,” You laughed to yourself, applying the final remnants of your makeup.
“I’m not bougie. I just go to a good school,” Isabella quipped. She stood with her arms folded her expression showing her unhappiness with the looks of your room.
"I know I pay the high tuition bill remember?" You mutter. Sierra Canyon was a school worth every bit of the $35,000 tuition. Even if it did hurt you to sign that check every year. “Well, I’ll pay you twenty dollars to clean it up,” You offer.
“Forty and we have a deal,” She counters.
“Forty?” You asked incredulously.
“Inflation, Mama,” Isabella explains as if it’s obvious. “My favorite toys aren’t cheap anymore.”
“I see,” You mumble. “You drive a hard bargain, but you have a deal.” You turn back to the mirror.
You did a spin to get Isabella’s final say. You wore a black backless draped split dress that reached mid-thigh, perfectly complemented by your sleek, hair slicked into a bun with two small bangs framing your face. The finishing touches of makeup were precise, accentuating your features with a subtle, smoky eye and a deep red lip.
“You look really good,” Isabella nodded.
“Not too trampy?” You asked and she shook her head.
“Not,” Isabella said.
“You know that was kind of a test and you failed?” You sighed. “Your dad lets you watch reality TV at his place again?”
“Maybe,” Isabella pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key. She was not one to tell.
You couldn't help but smile. You bent down to Isabella's level and planted a series of gentle kisses all over her cheeks, as she mostly wiped them off with a giggle.
“Oh, Isabella Marie, my little artist," You chuckled, feigning scandalization. "You've ruined my masterpiece!"
Isabella just laughed, her eyes sparkling with admiration for you. She reached up to touch the necklace you were wearing, a subtle gesture of appreciation.
You took Isabella's hand and said, "Come on, it's time for bed."
“I really should try to convince you to let me stay up later,” Isabella commented as she allowed you to drag her out to the living room.
You made your way to her bedroom, where you tucked her in with great care.
“Did you brush your teeth?” You asked as you rearranged her pillows.
“Yep,” Isabella nodded. “And I washed my face.”
“Good girl,” You praised her.
As you smoothed the covers over Isabella and adjusted her stuffed animals, Isabella reminded you with a bright smile, "Mama, remember, I have Lenny’s skating birthday party tomorrow. You said we'd go together."
You leaned in and kissed Isabella's forehead, making sure to wipe her face free of your makeup, as your heart warmed by your daughter's excitement. "Of course. We’ll be there. Now sleep, I love you.”
“Read me a story?” She begged in anticipation of your answer.
“One story,” You warned her before walking over to her bookshelf. You grabbed Hair Love by Matthew Cherry, one of her favorites these days. You sat beside her, offering her your best voice as you began to read to her. Isabella leaned into your body. When you were done, her eyes drooped with drowsiness as she whispered a contented, "Goodnight, Mama.”
“Goodnight, my precious girl. Sweet dreams." You turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in a warm, cozy darkness. With one final kiss, you left Isabella to her dreams.
With your preparations complete, you rushed out of Isabella’s bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Time was of the essence. In your hurry, you grabbed your purse and a bottle of water from the fridge. With a sigh of relief, you twisted open the cap and took a long, refreshing sip.
As you did, your mother entered the kitchen, her gaze appraising your outfit with a discerning eye.
"You're going out looking like that?" Her mother's tone was a mix of concern and disapproval.
“What don’t you like my outfit?” You turned to face her with a determined look. Your mother sighed but said nothing. "Yes, Mom. I've already put Isabella to bed, and I'll be back by two at the latest."
Your mother's expression softened, but she couldn't hide her worry. "Y/n, you know I worry when you go out so late."
You smiled reassuringly. "I know, Mom, but I never go out anymore. It’s all mom's life and work. I just want to have some fun with friends tonight. I promise to be careful."
“That only makes me feel slightly better,” She shook her head.
"I'll leave my phone on in case of an emergency, okay?" You promised her.
Your mother nodded; her eyes filled with maternal concern. "Alright, but you better answer if I call."
You laughed softly and hugged your mother. "I promise. You can count on me."
With a final smile and a quick kiss on her cheek, you left the kitchen, hoping to catch your Uber before it was too late.
************
As Natasha and the rest of Velvet Rebellion arrived at Heatwave, the vibrant thump of bass and the lively chatter of the crowd spilled into the street. The atmosphere was electric, and it was clear that the club lived up to its reputation. There was a line wrapped around the entrance, everyone attempting to get to the same point.
Natasha was sure they would be able to get in unscathed. However, as they approached the entrance, it became evident that someone had tipped off the paparazzi about their plans. As soon as they exited the car, flashbulbs began to pop, and reporters shouted questions. Natasha and Wanda, not yet accustomed to such situations, swiftly made their way inside, their confidence unshaken.
The boys followed closely behind, with security personnel discreetly positioned around them. However, the security was mostly unnecessary. Velvet Rebellion wasn't a superstar band, and they had no intention of acting like one. They were here to enjoy the music and the vibes, just like any other patrons.
Once inside, the pulsating rhythm of the club enveloped them. Heatwave was a mix of hip-hop, reggae, rock, and everything in between. The diverse crowd danced and mingled, creating an intoxicating blend of cultures and energies. The dimly lit club was a sanctuary for adults, a place where the music was loud, and the energy was contagious.
Natasha and her bandmates moved deeper into the club, losing themselves in the music and the seamless fusion of genres. The vibes were indeed immaculate, and they were ready to savor every moment of the night, leaving their fame behind for a while and simply being themselves - music lovers enjoying a night out.
Wanda, swept up in the excitement of the club's atmosphere, leaned in closer to Natasha and shouted over the thumping bass, "Hey, Nat I'll find us a booth! Tony's going to grab drinks for everyone!"
Natasha nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before deciding to excuse herself to the bathroom. The path to the restroom was a maze of dancing bodies and neon lights. A few girls recognized her and attempted to approach her for autographs or selfies, but Natasha simply smiled and waved, preferring to do things in peace. She could feel the presence of her security guard, Mike, behind her as she stepped into the bathroom. He waited outside of course.
After freshening up in the bathroom, Natasha emerged and found herself back in the crowded club. As she navigated the sea of people, she accidentally bumped into someone. Before she could react, her security personnel stepped forward, ready to intervene. However, Natasha recognized the person she had bumped into and quickly raised a hand to stop her security detail.
“Mike, it’s okay,” Natasha nodded to him.
It was you. A hint of amusement danced in your eyes as you noted the security presence. You couldn't help but think of the time when you, too, needed security. Back when your father was at the height of his career. Now not so much.
Despite the loud music, you managed to engage in a conversation, leaning close to hear each other over the thumping bass.
Natasha, with a playful smile, observed you, her eyes raking over your bad in a way that sent chills up your spine. "You look stunning tonight. That dress suits you."
"Why, thank you, Natasha. You look great too.” You lightly touched her arm. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me too.” Natasha shouted over the music. "Life's been busy."
You nodded in understanding, "Tell me about it. It's been a whirlwind."
Natasha's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What's new with you? How have you been?"
You leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing against Natasha's ear as you shouted above the music. "Lots of work, but tonight, I'm here to let loose. What about you? Any new songs in the works?"
Natasha nodded with a grin. "Always working on something.”
“That’s good then,” You smile back. You blink at her through your thick lashes before your eyes scan the room. “I see you brought your friends.”
“I have,” Natasha stepped a bit closer, though it was subtle, and you didn’t notice. You liked feeling the warmth radiating from her. “They wouldn’t let me come alone.”
“Gotta love them,” You joked. “Care to dance?” You ask.
“Lead the way,” Natasha takes your hand as you drag her onto the dance floor. She pretends she’s not checking out your ass but when you look back you nearly catch her. Funny.
Just as you and Natasha hit the dance floor, the DJ transitioned into a surprising mix of "What Is Love" by Haddaway and "In Da Club" by 50 Cent. The blend of the '90s dance classic and the early 2000s hip-hop anthem was unexpectedly catchy, and the crowd roared in approval.
Natasha was a fantastic dancer, her movements fluid and precise. You were equally impressive, managing to keep up with Natasha's rhythm effortlessly. Your bodies moved in perfect sync as you joined the sea of people on the dance floor.
The atmosphere was lively, energetic, and incredibly fun. Laughter and cheers filled the air as the club-goers embraced the unexpected combination of music with enthusiasm. The dance floor seemed to vibrate with the collective joy of everyone present.
You couldn't help but enjoy having Natasha so close. Her skin against your fingertips felt like heaven. The way her hands rested gently against your back. It was intimate, warm, and sensual despite the tempo of the music.
As the music continued to pulse through the club and once you were all danced out, bodies slick with sweat, you led Natasha to a booth where her bandmates were already seated. Their faces lit up with excitement as they spotted Natasha. It’s then you noticed Monica was already sitting amongst the rockstars somehow having made it past security.
“There you are,” Monica smiled sweetly. “You two were on fire out there. I was just making friends with our new family.” She said despite the quizzical looks. You reciprocated her hug as you whispered low into her ear.
“I hate you so much,” You growled.
“I love you too,” Monica laughed.
"Natasha, this is Monica," you said, introducing your best friend to the redhead.
Monica extended a friendly hand and smiled, though there was a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Natasha."
Natasha returned the smile warmly, "Likewise, Monica."
As everyone settled into the booth, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Monica was cautious but kind, warming up to Natasha as they chatted about various topics. The club atmosphere had a way of breaking down barriers, and it wasn't long before they were all laughing and enjoying each other's company.
Somewhere along the way, the group decided to order a mix of different foods and drinks, sharing bites and sips as the night wore on. On the booth, Natasha sat next to you, the two of you sharing a closeness that was hard to ignore. During the lively conversations and the infectious rhythm of the music, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that someone in the crowd had their phone out, possibly recording you. The thought bothered her, but you kept her engaged and distracted, your charm and energy captivating.
There was a break in the peace Natasha felt as her sharp eyes caught sight of her ex-girlfriend, Carol Danvers, making her way towards the booth. Natasha knew that this could potentially lead to a problem, so she decided to intercept Carol before things escalated.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Natasha sighed. She was not expecting this to happen tonight of all nights. You watch the two of them walk away before turning your attention back to the group. It was none of your business. "Carol, hi, let me talk to you.” Natasha wanted to take action before the mess. The last thing she needed was a problem when there was none.
She gently guided Carol to a more private corner where the music was lower, allowing them to have a conversation without distractions. As they stood facing each other, Natasha's demeanor was polite but distant. She wasn't fond of talking to Carol but wanted to ensure she was okay.
“I see you’re having fun,” Carol rubbed her sweaty hands against her jeans. Her eyes looked a little bloodshot, the deep bags being covered by concealer and heavy makeup. In all honesty, Natasha could tell Carol was not in her correct frame of mind. Whether that was due to lack of sleep or something else wasn’t her responsibility. Carol's voice quivered with emotion as she spoke, "You look good."
“Thank you,” Natasha sighed and shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resolution. "Carol, it's not worth it. We've been through this."
“I know,” Carol nodded. “I just wanted to say hello.”
Natasha found Carol’s meek demeanor unsettling. It was so unlike her. Again, not her problem.
“Look, it was good to see you,” Natasha peaked back at the booth to see you were laughing with Monica about something. “Take care of yourself.” Natasha rubs a hand over Carol’s arm before walking away. She was not in the mood to be dealing with this right now. When she sits down again, it takes a moment for her to reacclimate with the group, her feelings of dread and the aftermath of the breakup all taking over again.
You noticed the change in her demeanor and decided to check in on her.
With genuine concern in your eyes, you asked softly, "Natasha, is everything okay?"
Natasha tried to feign a smile, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... old memories, you know?"
You nodded, understanding that sometimes the past had a way of sneaking up on you. You decided to lift the mood by embracing the party spirit. As fans approached you for pictures, only allowed with the say-so of security, you graciously obliged, even though you weren’t used to so much attention. Having a famous family meant everyone assumed you were someone to know too. The smiles on their faces and their gratitude brought a spark of joy to the night.
However, Natasha's mood didn't seem to improve. You could see the lingering discomfort on her face and sensed that Natasha might need a change of scenery. You leaned in closer to Natasha and asked, "You sure you're okay, Natasha? If you want, we can get out of here."
Natasha appreciated your concern and gave you a small, genuine smile. "Isn’t this your friend’s party?”
“Alicia? She’ll understand,” You grinned. “I’m a mom.” You shrug.
“How many times have you used that excuse?” Natasha questioned.
“Once or twice,” You laughed.
“I think that might be a good idea then." Natasha leaned over to whisper to Wanda that she was leaving. Wanda narrowed her eyes between the two of you but ultimately said nothing.
“Monica, I’m leaving with Natasha,” You informed your best friend. “I love you.” “Love you too,” Monica smiled briefly. “Call me tomorrow and tell me everything.” She said a bit lower.
“I will,” You roll your eyes.
As you made your way towards the exit, Natasha felt grateful for your understanding and support. As you neared the club's exit, you leaned in closer to Natasha and suggested, "Let's use the back exit. It's a quicker way out, and we can avoid the paparazzi."
Natasha nodded in agreement, appreciating your thoughtfulness. She followed you towards the inconspicuous back exit, with Mike, Natasha's security guard, close behind. The corridor was dimly lit, and the sounds of the club faded away with each step.
Walking side by side, you and Natasha found a comfortable silence between you. Natasha appreciated the quiet respite after the club's raucousness.
Then, without hesitation, you reached out and gently took Natasha's hand. It was a bold move, and Natasha's heart skipped a beat. The connection felt warm and reassuring,
Natasha looked at you, her eyes softening with gratitude. Your fingers entwined, as you continued down the dimly lit sidewalk together, taking comfort in the simple act of holding hands, a gesture of comfort and support.
“Downtown Los Angeles is not exactly the safest place to hang out at night,” You point out.
“Did you have anywhere in mind?” Natasha questions. “I’m not really ready to go home yet.’
“How about here?” You point to the restaurant just across the street. It was settled.
You and Natasha walked into the small Japanese food restaurant and were greeted by a soothing ambiance of sleek and modern dining. The interior featured clean lines, polished wooden tables, and elegant, dimmed lighting that created a cozy yet sophisticated atmosphere. The walls were adorned with tasteful Japanese-inspired artwork, adding to the restaurant's aesthetic appeal.
Despite the late hour, they were still open, and there weren't many people left in the restaurant. The subdued chatter of a few diners in hushed conversations added to the tranquil atmosphere.
The restaurant staff welcomed you and Natasha with warm smiles, happy to accommodate your late-night visit. You were ushered to a well-appointed table with comfortable seating, creating a sense of intimacy in the otherwise empty space.
Once seated, you took the lead in order, your familiarity with the menu evident. You chose the baked crab hand rolls, a delectable choice known for its rich flavors and delicate textures, and edamame with a sprinkle of salt for a simple and satisfying appetizer.
Natasha decided to indulge in a sushi sampler, intrigued by the restaurant's offerings. She also ordered drinks for you to share, wanting to continue the evening in a relaxed and enjoyable manner, free from the distractions of the outside world.
As you waited for the food to arrive, you turned your attention to Natasha, your expression carrying a hint of concern.
"Natasha, "You began hesitantly, "Can you tell me more about Carol? Should I be worried about her showing up like that?"
Natasha sighed, recognizing the need for honesty. She leaned in, speaking softly, "Carol is my ex-girlfriend. We used to be really close, and she was a good person, but lately, she's been caught up in the wrong crowd. I've been trying to keep my distance from all of that."
Caught up in the wrong crowd could mean a host of things in the industry. Drugs were usually the most common. Though you didn't press for her to elaborate.
You listened attentively, her concern deepening. "Do you think she's going to be a problem?"
Natasha could see your question for what it was. Was she going to be a problem in whatever potential the two of you could have?
Natasha shook her head, her gaze reassuring. "No, nothing like that. She's just... lost, for now. I don't want you to worry about it. I'm doing my best to stay out of any trouble, especially now."
You nodded, appreciating Natasha's honesty and the effort she was making to ensure your time together was free from complications. You reached out and gently squeezed Natasha's hand, silently conveying your support.
You leaned in closer and admitted, "I understand, Natasha. My ex and I co-parent Isabella, and it wasn't always easy either. But we've found our way." You shrugged.
Natasha appreciated the understanding and felt a connection with you as you shared your experiences.
Then, the conversation took a different turn, and Natasha's curiosity got the better of her. She leaned in with a playful glint in her eyes and said, "Alright, enough about my drama. I want to know more about you. You downplayed your singing career at the party. Backup?”
“You’ve done your research,” You chuckled at the playful teasing but then became more serious as you responded, "You're right. Singing has always been my love, my passion. But the demanding career and the lack of privacy that comes with it gets to you after a while. That's why I love being a publicist. It allows me to stay in the industry that I adore but from a different angle, more behind the scenes. It gives me room to breathe and a sense of control over my life."
Natasha nodded in understanding, appreciating your candor. She could see the sincerity in your eyes as you spoke about your career and the choices you had made. It was clear that you had found a balance that worked for you, and Natasha respected you for it.
When the food arrived, you immediately dug into your meal. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you asked Natasha, "Do you and your band have a publicist or a manager?"
Natasha smirked playfully, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Is it that obvious? I guess it's the many times Tony's been arrested.” Natasha began to list. “Or the time I punched paparazzi for trying to take a picture at an awkward angle.” She grimaced.
You couldn't help but laugh at Natasha's observation. "Well, those incidents might have given it away a bit."
Natasha's smile faded slightly as she confessed, "Honestly, I know we need someone to manage us, but I've never felt entirely comfortable with the idea. It's like giving up a piece of our freedom and creativity. We've managed so far, but I know it can't go on like this forever."
You nodded in understanding, recognizing the challenges that came with managing a successful music career independently. You asked, "Do you have anyone in mind for the role, someone you might trust enough to bring into the fold?"
Natasha thought for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "Possibly. It's a big decision, and I want to make sure it's the right fit for us, you know? We've been doing this our way for so long that it's hard to let go."
“Well, when you’re ready, I’m your gal,” You offered your services. “I also may have a few wild cards that would work perfectly.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Natasha sips from her cup.
As the night drew to a close, you found yourselves waiting on a quiet street corner for your Uber to arrive. The bustling energy of the club was a distant memory, replaced by the calm of the late-night city.
Natasha looked at you with a genuine smile and said, "I had a lot of fun tonight, y/n. Thank you."
You returned the smile, your heart warmed by Natasha's words. "I did too, Natasha. It was great getting to know you."
The streets were mostly empty, and the city was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. There was a moment of silence as you stood together, the unspoken tension of the night hanging in the air.
Then, as if guided by an invisible force, Natasha leaned in and softly pressed her lips against yours. It was a gentle, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine. Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't help but smile.
Breaking the kiss, you teased, "Well, that's a surprise ending for the night."
Natasha chuckled and replied, "I couldn't resist."
“Don’t worry, I liked it,” You grinned. You leaned forward, kissing Natasha again, lingering when your lips pressed before you pulled back.
The distant sound of the approaching Uber pulled you back to reality. Your ride had arrived. You exchanged one last lingering look, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had shared that evening.
With a soft goodbye, you climbed into the waiting car, and Natasha watched as it drove away into the night. As she walked away, Natasha couldn't help but smile, feeling grateful for the unexpected and unforgettable night she had just experienced.
---> next part
#natasha romanoff#black reader#natasha x reader#black widow x reader#natasha romanov#black widow x female reader#natasha x you#rockstar nat
168 notes
·
View notes
Text
There I was—a loner, sitting inside a crowded lounge, looking at the ring laying in the palm of my hand.
"It's just not going to work." I told myself over and over again, but I had nothing to lose.
I bought it weeks prior from a weird yet friendly stranger—a middle-aged dude looking quite sharp, but something about him was off. He contacted me after I went down the hypnosis rabbit hole. I read multiple articles and posts and watched so many different videos about how to hypnotize someone, willing or not. I even left a comment under one post, even though I was anxious. I was new to this—all of this—and I didn't want anyone to look at me differently.
I always dreamt of hypnotizing a handsome jock to make him my own, but this wasn't happening in real life, was it? That's exactly what I thought when that man reached out to me, offering me this ring. A beautiful silver ring with a blue stone—alluring yet nothing too special.
He told me that this would help me make my wish come true; the only thing he asked for was for me to share some of my future "acquaintances."
I shook my head in disbelief. I was so stupid to trust in this man and his sly smile. He was probably enjoying my hundred bugs while I was blinded by my fantasies.
I put the ring in my pocket and got up from my table. There was no point in staying here any longer; I wanted to go home.
But that's when I saw this handsome man sitting at a table, all alone. He was smoking a cigar and blew a ton of smoke into the air all around him while leaning back against the sofa. His eyes wandered through the room; he seemed to enjoy the attention he was getting from a few people around the lounge, including me.
He looked so good—a well-groomed beard, nice hair, a very hot body—everything I dreamt of. That man had that look on his face: he knew how good he looked, and he was bathing in attention—mine at least.
Something deep inside me wanted this man so badly. I immediately imagined him being mine and mine alone—how good it would feel to touch him, toy with him, and just own him. Good god, I felt myself getting lost inside this daydream.
At this point, I felt the ring inside my pocket. I pulled it out again, looking at it with desire and anxiety. Would this actually work? Or was I in for a beating?
"Fuck it." I breathed and let the silver slide onto my finger. Oddly enough, it fit quite well, but I wasn't feeling any different. I hoped it would feel different, special, or something else. This wasn't encouraging at all.
Shaking my head again, I made my way through the crowd toward that beautiful stranger. He didn't even look at me until I sat down right next to him, causing him to turn his head, giving me a curious but suspicious look.
"Can I help you?" That guy looked at me; I felt his gaze burning my skin, even though I wasn't looking at him yet. I knew he saw me for what I was: a loner, maybe a random creep, but I didn't care.
I placed a finger at the ring and moved it, causing the crystal to move along my finger.
"I hope so." I said, my voice breaking slightly when I turned my head to meet his gaze. Fuck, he was even better looking up close. His lips, eyes, and beard are perfection.
The guy narrowed his eyes at me, and I felt the tension rising between us.
A little taken aback, he regained his composure. "Oh fuck, he was going to clock me," I thought. But the guy online told me to do exactly that—make the ring spin a few times.
"I don't know who you are, but you better..." The guy suddenly stopped, his eyes now stuck at the slightly glowing ring.
I was prepared to just make a run for it when I noticed that he was focused on the ring. His expression softened slowly; the scowl vanished completely, replaced by an empty look in his eyes.
Oh, those beautiful eyes—they lost their shimmer, just barely, but I could tell something was happening deep inside that gorgeous head.
As I kept spinning the ring, he tilted his head, and his expression softened even more. He looked at me with uncertainty, like asking for help. Both of us didn't know what was happening.
"Who?" He said it, with his voice sounding a little deeper than before. I looked him in the eyes before he broke eye contact.
The guy placed a hand on his chest, looking into the distance. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, and his face turned blank.
I was shocked yet aroused. He had a similar expression to all those handsome studs online when they went under, and I felt the ring heating up against my skin. It didn't hurt, but it was kind of unpleasant.
He took several deep breaths until he closed his eyes, leaning back against the sofa again.
"Are you okay?" I said, unsure of what was exactly happening to him, because it couldn't be caused by the ring, could it?
Carefully, I placed a hand on these thick thighs, but he didn't react at first; instead, he slowly opened his eyes after a few seconds, looking at me with vacant eyes and his mouth hanging open.
He looked soft and submissive, and I had to control myself not to let out a moan right here and then.
This was the exact expression I was seeing online in all those videos and pictures, but was he just messing with me? He and the other guy must be toying with me. This can't be real.
I contemplated just leaving, but something deep inside me told me to stop. The guy kept looking at me, waiting for something—perhaps orders.
My eyes shifted across his face and upper body as he wasn't moving an inch. That's when I noticed the cigar in his other hand.
"Do you mind?" I motioned for the cigar, and without any hesitation, he gave it to me and watched me as I started smoking.
I felt the hot smoke fill my lungs, and I just tested my luck. I blew smoke right into the guy's face, but, unbothered, he kept looking at me.
This made me cry right away. Fuck, he was so hot. I started to stroke his thighs gently, and he started to growl contently, even closing his eyes for a second.
If this was a joke, I admired his commitment. But what if it was real?
I looked at the still-shimmering ring and then back to the stud. He was breathing deeply, and I loved seeing his chest heave with every breath he took. I licked my lips while stroking his thighs.
"What's your name?" I asked him as I moved a little closer before putting the cigar into the ashtray.
"M..Matt." His now-rough voice barely came out as he struggled to think. He really was a mindless toy, just responding to me.
"I want to go home, Matt. Do you want to come?" I asked him, my voice breaking once more. I expected him to deny my request, but to my surprise, he just nodded.
I blinked a few times; I couldn't believe my luck. Was that ring actually working?
"Let's go then." I motioned toward the door and started to get up from the sofa.
He was a bit unsteady on his feet and needed my help to regain his composure again, but then he followed me closely. A few people watched us, but I don't care what they might have thought. I was going home with that little, empty jock boy.
Everything happened so fast, and I found myself on the road, with that beautiful specimen sitting beside me, watching me closely.
I felt my cock tent hard inside my jeans; I was surely already leaking just looking at this man. At every stop, every red light, I turned my head to find him looking at me: his eyes slightly unfocused, that muscly man with an empty mind.
I was still in disbelief—that ring—was it really the source of all this? Maybe, but that was something to figure out later.
Just then, the guy started to growl again, and when I turned my head, I found him stroking his own dick through his jeans. So fucking hot.
I felt the ring heating up around my finger—was it reading my mind? Hearing soft growls and moans, I couldn't help it. Instinctively, I stroked myself as well, just like all the times watching videos online.
A warm glow engulfed my stomach as he kept stroking himself while looking at me. I knew I couldn't wait any longer.
I took a turn toward the first empty parking lot, stopped the car, and tried to steady my breath. The car was filled with Matt's deep voice, growling and breathing deeply.
I bit my lower lip, and watching that stud get more and more into it made me harder than ever before. Subconsciously, I reached out and placed a hand on his chest. Right away, he moaned deeply.
His chest felt so good; all the hours he spent hitting the gym paid off as all of his muscles tensed hard against the fabric of his thin shirt. Just touching him made me nearly lose it.
Matt leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a few moments before staring into the distance again. He struggled to keep the door open, like a sleepy, horny jock boy. At the same time, he kept touching himself firmer and firmer.
My body was shaking, my dick was pulsating inside my jeans, and my breathing got even quicker. I hold back a giggle while intensifying my strokes. I observed how firm his pecs were and how they imprinted through his clothes as his entire body bulged more and more.
"Fuck." I moaned, playing with his hard nipple, when he suddenly turned his head toward me, smiling derpily. He was enjoying this just as much as I was.
"Let me see." I held back another long moan before I pulled his shirt up, taking a long, good look at his bare chest. Oh, fuck, was he hot? He was hairy as well, just the way I liked it. I ran a hand along his entire chest, through his pecs, and down to his treasure trail, and Matt was grunting under his breath like a puppy.
As I stroked him again and again, he smiled at me, completely unbothered. His skin felt so good, soft yet firm, and all of him reacted to the most gentle touch. His breathing quickened slightly, and Matt swallowed hard a few times.
He just purred happily and smiled, while my hand ran over his entire chest over and over again. His body was telling me about his excitement. His muscles grew harder, veins got more visible due to the tesnion building up inside him, and most importantly, his dick was standing at attention.
With one final stroke, I let my hand run down right to his crotch, and when I felt him for the first time, he left the tip of my cock. I tried to hold it back, but I just couldn't. I grabbed myself, trying to stop, but it just felt too good. Matt was still smiling with that lovely empty expression, and I felt that ring heating up once more. It didn't bother me; I was too busy fondling my new toy.
I tried to focus, but I could see my own cock move inside my pants. Turning away, I looked at the guy again, who was now drooling while moaning contently. In response, I groaned loudly, and my back bent away from the seat—my body held in so much pressure, and feeling this guy's massive cock made it much worse.
"Fuck." I growled deeply, and that's when Matt reached out to me. At first, I thought he snapped out of it or the spell was broken, but instead, he grabbed my hard cock as well and started to fondle with it, making it much harder to not cum already.
The ring was now burning my skin again, but that pain was nothing compared to the pure pleasure running through my veins.
Together, we unbuttoned my jeans, exposing my wet boxers, but he didn't hesitate. He tugged at my underwear—so eager, yet his expression was emotional. Still, it felt so good to be touched by him—his warm hands, his gentle touch—so good.
With a little help, he pulled my boxers down—the tip of my dick was clinging on to the wet fabric, fuck.
I looked at him again, and he was looking at me. I placed a hand on his cheek and stroked him; his skin was so soft, his beard well taken care of, and his lips were a dream come true. My hand ran through his hair as he kept purring.
Firmly, I grabbed his neck and pulled him closer, smelling him for the very first time. His cologne was thick, yet the smell of sweat was coming through more and more.
My eyes rolled back quickly before I regained my composure. He kept looking at me while I pushed him down, but, like a well-trained boy, Matt opened his mouth, swallowing my hard cock whole.
I could have cried out right then, but it was just the beginning.
That guy knew his way around a man's cock, using his tongue while sucking me off. Rhythmically, he moved his mouth while I encouraged him to go even deeper.
I never had this before: a hot guy willingly—more or less—sucking my cock. It was a sight to behold. It made my entire body heat up quickly, as I was edging myself on already.
I didn't know if I pushed too hard when he gagged, but it was alright. He steadied himself against my thighs while I leaned back contently.
Watching this handsome fella made me feel so good that I ran a hand through his nicely done hair. He really made sure to groom himself. Everything sat perfectly; that's why I wanted him so much.
"Thats alright. Good boy." I said—I loved when they said that in the videos.
And he reacted even better than expected: he groaned happily and his body shuddered. Such a good boy.
That's when I reached my limits. I pushed him further down as I shot my first load, then another, and another. I wanted him to take it all, and as expected, he didn't fight back.
As I was running dry, I released him, and he slowly, swaying back and forth, resumed his position.
He licked his lips; his eyes were foggy and unfocused, but his body was so excited.
"Good boy." I stroked his chest a few times and patted him. He smiled and leaned back as well.
For a second, I just sat there, thinking. "I should take him home." I thought so, but at first, I wanted to have some fun.
I encompassed his firm upper body again before I unbuttoned his jeans as well. His dick was tenting visibly, and I wanted to see it.
I pulled his enormous wet cock out of his underwear. I assumed he had a big dick, but it was even better than expected.
I moved my hand up and down his shaft, and he purred again while looking at me.
Drooling heavily, he stained his clothes already, but it wouldn't stop.
"Let's get home, body." I stroked him again before I turned the key, and the engine roared to life.
On my way back home, I used every opportunity to fondle with his stick—he even leaked again, much to my amusement.
He watched me the whole time, smiling derpily and drooling. I knew he liked it.
From time to time, Matt let out several long groans, his body shifting slightly. I knew he wanted to cum so badly, but something was holding him back.
Back at home, still inside the car, I turned and found him looking at me pleadingly, and my breath quickened again. One of his hands was resting on his thighs, and the other was firmly stroking his meat.
"Fuck." I moaned looking at this man, craving my touch so much. So I wrapped my hand around his massive cock and moved it rhythmically.
Matt whimpered, and he let out a few moans of pleasure. He was so close already that he shot one massive load, spreading his cum all over his clothes.
At this time, his eyes rolled back, and an even wider smile spread across his lips.
That was when I came into my pants again—it just looked so hot. Matt was mine now; I owned him.
I looked at the ring, still shimmering, and took several deep breaths. Then I remembered what the guy online told me to share.
I got Matt dressed back up and wanted to take a picture. But I had a better idea.
I lifted my boy's shirt back up and snatched a picture. I never felt better in my entire life.
I wonder what the guy's going to say to Matt.
#tf story#male transformation#male hypnosis#male domination#hypno story#gay hypno#gay hypno story#gay mind control#male mind control#male hypno#male on male
402 notes
·
View notes
Text
Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader
Summary - You have landed yourself on Miguel’s bad side… or have you? Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333
five
Oh, you’re stupid. You’re so, so horribly stupid. Be it for the fact that you talked back to your boss, didn’t follow orders, the fact that you’ve been a liability twice now, oh no no- maybe the fact that you knowingly allowed yourself to get fired though you’re in debt and really— you willingly walked out. Maybe it’s all of that.
Or perhaps you wish it was all of that.
You tense as your finger hovers over the small triangle, afraid to press play on the glowing screen in your lap. It taunts you like the apple of Eden, dripping with droplets of temptation that render you curious. How much longer will you wait?
You press play without second thought, burying your face to hide away in your hands, only allowing your eyes to peek on behind your fingers.
“Good Evening John yes, breaking news this evening coming out of Nueva York. Infamous O’Hara Enterprises’ CEO Miguel O’Hara’s home was broken into late last night. Police say this occurred when Mr’ O’Hara was out on business, but he soon returned home to find his housemaid and six-year-old little girl shot dead in his home.”
The air thins.
Your body chills like it’s been cased in the waters of the arctic, bile rising at your throat as the blonde newscaster continues. A part of you, a very strong part is just begging you to toss your phone across the room and forget this ever happened, you can’t. You’re struck frozen when you see his face on screen.
Christ.
He looks disheveled, lost, broken. So different from the man who belittled and questioned you in his leather throne.
“Mr. O’Hara!! Sir!! Do you have any idea who’s responsible!?”
“Sir! Please just a word!!”
“Mr. O’Hara!! Mr O’Hara!!”
“Was it you!? Did you have your daughter killed!?!”
You gasp, eyes pooling with shameful tears and lip quivering as you watch on screen. The once composed man, towering over everyone in sight who crowds him, turns in fury.
That look.
You know that horrible look because he gave it to you.
He didn’t grab you, though. Maybe he should have…
Mr. O’Hara… he looks like a man destroyed. You understand now that gaze beyond his anger when you mentioned his daughter. His daughter you very much thought was alive and well. Stupid you for not finding more time to fall down the rabbit hole.
You watch on screen as he grabs the newscaster by his collar and tugs him up off his feet like he weighs only but a feather. Panic ensues around him, his lawyer who wears red, round glasses and holds a metal cane is begging him to place the dangling idiot down. His jaw is tense, spitting inaudible words at him through clenched teeth. He tosses him down to the rough concrete eventually though, swiftly passing by the shocked crowd without another word once he does.
“Yes John as you can see in that short video, O’Hara’s emotions were high this evening and he couldn’t keep control of his temper…”
They flash one final picture at the end. It’s him. He looks lively, human… happy. His little girl looks so small on his shoulders, grinning from cheek to cheek like she’s the luckiest thing in the world.
You have a strong feeling she was.
Two droplets of shame fall upon the luminous picture, your eyes staring into the dark brown orbs of a dead girl.
“M’ so sorry I didn’t know…” you whisper to her, running your thumb over the glow of her cheek.
How dare you mention her? Over a stupid, hideous Christmas tree that’s probably been torn to the ground by now. Over silly pink ribbons.
You don’t know how long you sit like that, head hung in shame with an ache biting at your neck. It seems like you just have a talent for ruining the lives of people who take a chance on you… it saddens you.
Your mind flashes to Katerina, the anger in her eyes when she found out. The twisted wire hanger in her hand…
“You deserve this! You stupid, ungrateful girl!”
Your back aches.
Though… by some higher grace, your darkest memories and moments are interrupted once the doorbell rings. It startles you. Not until it rings twice more. Oh, you immediately know who it is.
With a sniffle and harsh wipe at your flushed face with frayed cotton, you throw a sweater upon your shoulders and rush to the door, unlocking it with much relief.
You needed a distraction.
“Uhh te tr- tra? Tra hee? un… un empanada!”
Miles stands with a warm foam plate in hand and a big smile plastered upon his face. He’s proud of his attempt at Spanish. Christ, you’re grateful now more than ever that your neighbor is a kind and chatty teenager with a Hispanic mother. The plate smells delicious.
You smile warmly at him, even through your sadness, thanking him softly as you grab the plate and make your way to your countertop. He follows promptly, taking a seat on the stool and squinting once he gets a clearer look at your face.
“Have you been crying?” He asks, curiosity laced like ribbon in his voice.
“…no.” You whisper, opening the microwave to warm up the delectable treat in your hand. Your stomach grumbles impatiently but through your peripheral, Miles shoots his hand out in panic.
“Waitdontmicrowavethat!!”
You halt, knowing immediately why not. To be sure, you flip open the foam plate and are very much unsurprised to see a hundred-dollar bill taped to the top, adorned with a cursive note that reads: “for groceries.”
Rio…
You shake your head, pulling the emerald bill out from the place where it is snugly taped before you attempt to hand it to Miles.
“Nope!” He dodges your hand swiftly. You’ve done this with him before. However, you just can’t today.
With a defeated suck of your pretty teeth, you shake your head.
“Miles I can’t accept this, I’m fine!”
His hands are raised in protest, “well that’s too bad because mom said if I come back with that hundred-dollar bill, she’s gonna beat me with her chancla…”
Christ… you’d laugh if a certain CEO and his beautiful, deceased daughter wasn’t looming— poisoning the back of your mind.
“I— alright… thank you.” You breathe. You just don’t have it in you to protest today, and you are beyond grateful. Besides, you’ll most definitely be needing this soon, anyways.
Your response must confuse him because Miles furrows his brows, crossing his arms over his chest in overwhelming suspicion.
“No more fighting? Alright, what’s going on? I thought you were happy cause you got that new fancy job.”
You frown, turning your back and gathering your thoughts as you microwave the first thing you’ve eaten since sunrise. You stay dead silent as it heats, only allowing yourself to respond once you’ve stuffed your mouth full of a bite of warm, soft dough, meat and cheese. You nearly moan. God, Rio can cook. It’s times like this where you truly wish you had a mother like her, growing up.
Miles is waiting, you remember.
“I got fired.” No bullshitting, no avoiding. Straight to it no matter how big the pit in your stomach is. No way to sugarcoat that with pink ribbons and pearls.
His chocolate orbs go wide, “What!? It’s your first week!”
The realization makes you groan, soothing your pity with another big bite of warm comfort to drown away the reality you’re forced with, now. All by your own hand… or mouth, rather. How history repeats itself.
“Pissed the boss off…” you mumble before swallowing down the food. Another bite, and another. Miles waits anxiously for more context, and although you’re aching to forget all traces of your idiocy… you give it to him.
“I mentioned his daughter who is very much-”
“Gone…” he interjects, “Yeah, everybody knows that. It was some guys that had a vendetta against him or something. At least, that’s what kids on the block used to say back when we were in Nueva York...”
God, does everyone know but you?
You groan, stuffing your mouth full of one last bite before burying your aching head in your hands. You slowly, far too softly and repeatedly bang it against your palms.
Miles places a comforting hand on your shoulder,
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know! Besides, working for big shots like him is a waste of time anyways. You’ll get so rich you’ll leave this place and then who will my mom have to send half of her tip money to?”
You know he’s trying to cheer you up, but it only makes you groan again. You feel pathetic. Completely and utterly. Living off of credit cards now, credit cards and groceries from Rio. You never imagined your life to amount to this… At least you’ll have a day’s worth of pay. It’s certainly not small.
But god, it baffles you sometimes… how one stupid choice led you right here. One choice took everything from you. One choice, but all your fault.
The sound of “Sunflower” emits from Miles’ cell, and you glance at the screen to see a picture of a grinning blonde with a bob and a piercing.
Gwen.
The new neighborhood girl who skates out front sometimes, Miles has clearly taken a liking to her. You grin, and he gives you a look that stops you before you can poke any fun.
He immediately reaches to mute it, but you shake your head.
“Go. I’m fine, promise.” Oh, you’re very much lying but, you don’t let him know that. It’s clear there is uncertainty laced in his eyes as he nods and gives you a hug, leaving the bill on the counter before making his way outside.
You shut the door with a huff, resting your forehead against the cool kiss of December’s snowfall.
It feels like pins and needles have nestled all over your skin. Your anxiety plagues at your fingertips and heart and you truly wish you could just sink into your sheets and never rise again.
Every position available. You applied to every position available and were a lucky, lucky girl to land one at the highest paying company that sits in a castle above the clouds. But you were lucky then, too. Dancing. Just look how you strangled that…
You know that if you don’t move from the door, you’ll be glued to it… so you do.
Off to grab your phone to do the dreaded and delayed.
Call home.
Your finger shakes as you pick the devil’s box up from the countertop, throat constricting like a serpent has coiled around it. That would be a far better fate, you’re sure. Eyes swell with tears that you slap away with cold hands.
You did this to yourself.
Your body begs you to toss the phone, begs you not to call and to just sink into those cool sheets but… you have no choice.
You can’t bury yourself in more debt, you can’t depend on Rio, you can’t depend on anyone but you. God knows that your denial of the day looming was just stupidity. Your mother told you you’d come crawling back. Today must be that horrible day that sat upon the horizon. Taunting you.
Perhaps you thought too soon.
Because maybe, just maybe your guardian angel is giving you a break, today.
A call interrupts you. A call from Cindy Moon.
Your shaky hands accidentally prompt you to pick up, body heating in embarrassment. She’s definitely called to confirm the news, or to shame you for your disgusting words. That must be it…
With a breath of preparation, you place the phone against your dampened cheek,
“Uh- hello?” You sound mousy, pathetic.
“Oh, hey! I was just calling to see if you got the ornaments yet? No pressure or anything but I’m just here at a gift shop downtown and I found some really cute ones that might go with the bow theme.”
Oh… lovely. She doesn’t know.
You wince, pinching your skin hard enough so that your tears subside. A trick taught to you by Katerina. Well, less of a trick and more of a punishment.
“Cindy… I don’t think I’m gonna be working with you all anymore.” You force.
She pauses and god, your fluttering heart stops as you await any response. Yet you only hear the tapping of quick fingers against a screen on the other end. Time passes deathly slow as you wait for something, anything. You’d hang up, but this gifted agony is far better than the agony of calling home.
“Have you checked the schedule? I showed you how, right? You’re booked for all of next week. If you weren’t working with us, Mr’ O’Hara would’ve definitely voided your hours… actually, looks like he extended them!”
What?
No, no that can’t be right...
“There must be a mistake…”
She interrupts, “Nope! Trust me, you’d know if Mr. O’Hara was doneso with you. One time, a girl stole from him, and he screamed at her so loud that she had permanent ringing in her ears for the rest of her life.”
You’re silent. Confused, baffled, amazed? You don’t know. You don’t find the right words to respond with, so Cindy just continues,
“Did Mr. O’Hara say something? Look, he’s not a soft guy. He’s almost fired me at least a dozen times now. You’ll get used to it. Just keep your head high and do your job without complaints and you’ll last here. Promise.”
She’s so lively when she’s not in the office, so much more human. Less nervous. It all makes your head spin, strikes you silent.
You have fallen at an utter loss for words, so you simply offer a, “Thanks, Cindy. I will see you Monday.” Before hanging up the phone and facing it down, away from your sight.
God…
You are left with as many questions as there are ribbons on that stupid tree. Left with confusion, fear even. You are simply completely and utterly baffled.
Well, unless it’s a grave mistake on his part…
… it seems like you’re stuck with him after all.
🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @laysmt @migueloharastruelove | chap 5 song 🎧:
#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel smut#miguel 2099#miguel ohara#miguel spiderverse#miguel x reader#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#miguel o’hara across the spider verse#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara fic#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara fluff#spider man 2099#across the spiderverse#spider man#Spotify
134 notes
·
View notes
Note
So whilst I know you're not a therapist or psychologist, but you're a damn good writer with great advice; what can I do to tackle this? Could I know your own process? When you develop a plot and get to a part that needs something new - what do you actually do? How do you brainstorm effectively and... trust your decisions? I think my issue is a combo of autism (like going down a research rabbit hole just for shopping new things...) but also feeling distrustful because of past bad choices... 2/2
My Plotting Process
I think part one got eaten by the Tumblr goblins, because I couldn't find it anywhere. Unless I already answered part one and it isn't obviously related to this one, but I'll do my best here. :)
Just as there are people who can hop into the car with no map and no planning, and just drive across the country to some destination, there are writers who can sit down without an outline or plan, and write a story that somehow manages to hit all the requisite plot points. I'm not that person, in either case. I used Google Maps today to get to a place less than two miles from my house that I've been to twenty times, because I wasn't 100% sure exactly where it was or where I needed to turn for it. I'm the same way with writing. It doesn't matter how many novels I write, I still need the damn map. That's why I always outline and use various story structures as reference, according to feels right for the story I want to tell.
For people who are ND like you and me, and for other people prone to falling down rabbit holes, outlines have the added benefit of keeping you on track. If you're following a road map that tells you to stay on this road for two miles and turn left at the intersection, you're much less likely to turn down random roads and end up inadvertently exploring hidden neighborhoods and back country lanes. Outlines work the same way. If you know exactly what scene you're writing, what's going to happen in that scene and why, and what major plot point it fulfills or helps build toward, you're not going to get lost along the way.
So, when I get a story idea, the first thing I do is write out an exhaustive beginning to end summary with everything I know. Then, I look at Save the Cat! and start plotting out the story according to the plot points. Quite often, when I get to a plot hole, I can fill it out based on the previous or upcoming plot point. If not, I'll start looking at other story structures to see if that jogs something loose. Sometimes I'll realize that structure just works better for the story I'm trying to tell, and I'll replot the whole thing according to that structure. I might plot my story using three or four different structures or a combination of a few before I settle on one that works for the story. Once I have the structure hammered out, I start making a list of necessary scenes to encapsulate, build-up to, or ramp down from the various plot points. Once I have my scene list, I write out a beginning to end scene summary for each scene so I know what has to happen. I think about things like conflict of the scene, how it begins, what happens in the middle, and how it ends. I think about the character's goal in the scene, and how the scene builds upon the scene before it and leads up to the scene after it. And, with my scene list in hand, I'm usually good to start writing. If I hit things that don't quite work out or need more fleshing out, I might refer to other story structures, or I might even write out my scenes on scene cards and see if moving things around makes a difference. The important rule is I never let myself feel limited by the structure I'm using or have created. I know it's just there as a guide, and it's okay to stray from it if need be. I always follow my gut, and knowing when to trust my gut is just something I've learned over many, many years of writing. You'll get there, too, but you have to take calculated risks before you can build up that sort of trust with yourself.
I hope that answers your question well enough! ♥
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!
♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here
50 notes
·
View notes