#because now I have to be the person to be the 'no' 'sorry' 'can't be done' person and that makes me feel so fucking shitty and gross

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi! I would love an imagine for the boys that includes the reader getting held captive and they rescue her, maybe a little Angst to Fluff?

Love your work btw ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Only a little angst? Friend, I may have gone and made this more angsty with just a sprinkle of fluff. I can't help myself sometimes. So, fair warning to y'all, that it is angst-ridden with a bit of fluff at the end of each. Sorry?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): angst, canon-typical violence, swearing, reunions, light fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John’s heart is thunderous, beating so loudly it’s like a bass drum in his ears.

To be successful, to execute this rescue with precision, he needs to remain calm, to be the leader he knows he is. It’s not a lack of confidence, but a growing dread that he might be too late. There is no room to show fear—to let everyone in on how important this is.

Because it is important.

You are important.

Not just to the team but to him. Maybe the team knows. Laswell likely does, but the boys might not. Sure, they have suspicions, but you and John have always been discreet, have always tried to keep the relationship between the two of you private.

Now, with the mission ahead, all those secrets and subversion might overflow. Become known to everyone.

John breathes in through his nostrils, and exhales through his mouth. Box breathing. It’s helping. But only a little.

“We’re ready, Captain,” says Gaz, crouching beside him, gaze scanning the land before them.

There’s open ground and then a building. Someone stands guard near the door, head on a swivel. Soap silently appears next to Kyle, taking a knee. Simon is somewhere in the dark, ready to snipe every enemy in sight before they enter the building.

Price nods, and then speaks into the walkie. “You’re clear, Ghost.”

“Copy.”

Seconds later, the man guarding the door jerks like he’s been electrified before crumpling silently to the ground. A few more moments and a body plummets from the top of the building, landing with a sickening crunch.

“No signs of life,” comes Simon’s voice over the comms.

Soap snorts. “Cheeky bastard.”

John wants to join in, but you’re consuming his every thought. It’s only been twenty-four hours since you were taken, yet it feels like an eternity.

“Let’s move,” murmurs John.

They advance in unison with Simon emerging from the dark to bring up the rear. Entering the building is easy, but they’ll have to go slowly and silently inside. Up close and personal is the way to go in a place like this. One wrong move might spook the rest.

Kyle and Soap take the front, breaking necks and slicing throats. It’s clean. Efficient.

John signals with his hand and everyone shifts down a different hall, heading toward the internal bunker. That is where they’re holding you, along with other hostages.

A few more quick deaths and then John is kicking in the door.

There are screams. Shouts. Rapid gunfire.

John is already searching, seeking your face.

“Targets are down, sir,” shouts Soap.

There are cages. Rows of them. He searches each one, looking at every face.

“Contact base and tell them we need civilian pickup,” says John.

“On it,” answers Kyle, already leaning his head to the side to speak into his radio.

John searches. And searches.

“John.” Your voice cracks but it’s soothing. Soft.

He murmurs your name, going down on one knee, reaching through the bars to grasp your hand.

“I’m here,” he murmurs.

“I knew you’d come,” you reply, smiling. “I knew.”

With his back turned to the rest of his team, John silently mouths three little words. “I love you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is on the mission, but he isn’t. Not really.

He’s watching it all on monitors at a safe distance. Others are taking the lead. Others are executing the mission. And Johnny must step aside because while he is physically capable, he’s too emotionally invested.

Too explosive. Too irate. Too volatile.

But this is about you. Of course he’s going to be angry.

Yet here he is pacing, gaze glued on the screens, listening to the chatter. Every muscle is primed for movement, ready for action, but Johnny cannot expel the energy. It’s building—shifting into anxiety.

“What’s taking so bloody long?” he growls.

Laswell glances over her shoulder at him. Though she appears calm, Johnny notices a small flicker of sympathy.

“They’re returning,” she replies. “Waiting on e-t-a.”

Johnny’s pacing worsens.

“You’re going to wear a path in the concrete,” says Laswell.

Johnny opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of helicopter blades reaches his ears. It’s not loud, just a hint of sound, but as it increases, his heartrate spikes.

Laswell doesn’t have to say anything. Johnny is already moving, rushing out to the landing pad, watching as the helicopter approaches and descends. The seconds pass in small eternities. Nikolai is in the pilot’s seat, and it is Captain Price who opens the sliding door just as the helicopter lands. Johnny is rushing forward, almost throwing himself inside in his search for you.

“Johnny.” It’s Simon, his large hand coming down on Johnny’s shoulder.

Johnny wants to tell him to move, to get the hell out of his way, but it is your voice that Johnny hears. As the helicopter blades slow, the air calms, and it is easier to understand—to recognize your familiar tone that Johnny has missed for all these days.

There’s a blanket around your shoulders and a sunken quality to your features that speaks to malnutrition. Other than that, you appear fine. Unharmed.

Johnny, no longer impeded by Simon’s hand, moves toward you, coming down on one knee. You immediately reach for him, and Johnny takes your hand. You’re cold, and it pains him. Placing both of your hands between his, he brings them to his lips, brushing kisses along the knuckles, attempting to warm them with his own heat.

You bend forward, and as Johnny glances up, you rest your forehead against his.

The fight is over. You’re here.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

There is a hunger in Simon.

Like the snake, he will consume his prey headfirst.

It is eerie how calm he is—how focused. A mission is a mission is a mission—until it isn’t. Until there is no target, no capture or kill, no sense of duty. This is all primal rage boiled down into a thick, viscus consistency. It is invisible, smeared over Simon’s eyes, drenches the world around him into a grey haze.

Simon could be the rapid dog let loose from a broken chain. Poisoned saliva. Bared teeth. Prone to biting.

The knife in his hand is bright and hot and burning. It itches for blood, for Simon to take these fuckers down a peg. He has it in him, but all Simon needs from his superior officer is the affirmative. And then, like the ghost he is, they won’t ever see him coming.

Come on, Price. Call it.

A part of him is missing—shredded. He did his best to protect you, to keep you secret from the world. Cruelty and deception move quickly though, and now your life is in danger.

Give the fucking word.

“Path is clear,” comes Captain Price’s voice over the radio.

It’s all the affirmation Simon needs. He is up and moving in seconds, a wraith in the dark, a silent shadow out for blood. His blade is his guide, sheering and cutting, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. There are no shouts, no cries of pain. Simon is clean, brutal, efficient.

But there is only one thing—one person on his mind. And that’s you.

A set of stairs. A hall. Rooms. More stairs.

Ascending. Ascending. Ascending.

The rest of the team isn’t far behind, but they stay back and leave Simon to it. They know this mission is for him. That he’s not only doing it for you but for himself.

It’s a wonder his knife doesn’t grow dull. It cuts true. Cuts clean. And it isn’t until the last enemy has fallen that some of the tension in Simon’s muscles melts away. He has consumed his prey, and there is only a singular door left to open.

There is the moment before he opens it, a space of breath that feels like eternity packed into single moment. The hinges creak, revealing a tiny room no larger than a walk-in closet. And there you are, on your side, ankle chained to the wall.

“Simon?”

You sound so broken. So…hollow.

As he sinks down onto one knee beside you, the unsteady confusion on your face gives way to hope. Simon’s arms reach out instinctively, wanting nothing more than to be around you. You throw yourself into him, and there is nothing sweeter in this moment.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

Your sobs of joy nearly break him, nearly fracture Simon into pieces. But the fact that you’re alive, that you appear unharmed—at least physically—is more than he expected.

“I’m here,” he repeats, even as your tears stain his balaclava. “I’m here.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It is impossible to measure the love you have for someone until they’re taken from you.

Kyle thought he understood. Yet for these last few weeks, he’s been a fractured creature. A small illusion. A flicker of a man.

But you’re not gone, just far away. Alive, he hopes.

Alive, is what he repeats. A mantra in his head. If he says it enough, it will be true.

Price, Soap, and Ghost are in front of him, moving like shadows through the building while Kyle brings up the rear. With them beside him, there is calmness in the chaos, a softening to his chaotic emotions. They are his support, the ground that he can stand on.

Price motions, and then Ghost kicks in a door.

There are shouts first. Then gunfire. Then silence.

Each of them enters, walking amongst the corpses.

Price digs around in the pockets of one of the men, and then tosses a set of keys over to Ghost. Kyle is already following, moving into position as Ghost unlocks a nearby door. He points the firing end of his gun inside, and then steps back.

He glances at Kyle, and nods.

Lowering his weapon, Kyle pushes the door wide, the light bleeding into the dark, revealing a shape he knows well.

Kyle’s surroundings melt away, leaving only you. He cradles your cheeks, thumbs rubbing away the dirt and blood and tears. You’re smiling, but there is red there, too.

“I knew you’d come for me.”

“Always,” he whispers, voice cracking in pain.

Captain Price appears at his shoulder, glancing down at the two of you on the floor, face grim. He speaks into his radio. “I need a med evac now.”

“You’re going to live,” reassures Kyle. “I promise.”

“Please don’t leave,” you murmur, fresh tears pooling in your eyes.

Kyle shakes his head. “Never. I’ll never leave again.”

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[the-ladyrae]

I recently met a girl on Bumble, and I'm mad as hell about it because she lives less than half a mile away from me.

(Which I'm aware is like the opposite of a problem. RIP literally every other lesbian dealing with long distance. It is a privilege for me to be able to take a leisurely stroll to my gf's place [and there's a grocery store at the half way point of the walk so I can stop in and buy her flowers and snacks] and be there in no more than 15 minutes)

Anyway, I'm mad about it because I also loudly decry the effects dating apps have on human courting rituals. The comodification of intimacy to the degree of when people think of meeting someone now a days we don't think of going out to a bar, or dancing, or complimenting an interesting stranger in public. In most cases, we've actually begun to shun these things! The evolution of this in my mind began with the statement of "Women don't want to be approached in public." And for the most part, that holds true. We don't want to be bothered at work, where we have to be nice to you or risk getting fired. Or when we're out doing errands, grocery shopping, laundrymatt, whatever she's just trying to get some stuff done, leave her alone. Or at the gym, where the mindset is not really aligned with that activity. Or at the bar, we came together we leave together and keep an eye out someone might try to put something in your drink.

OK, wait, but back-up, I thought it was acceptable to approach women in social situations?

Well, it was, but doesn't that sound scary? You don't know that person that just came up to you and asked for your number. What if they're a serial killer, unlikely but wouldn't you rather have the opportunity to look into that first? Check their references so to speak.

I mean sure that sounds like a good thing, but how is this safer? I'm essentially doing what my parents told me not to my entire childhood, and meeting up with strangers from the internet.

Sure sure, sure, but this is different! We're providing a safe space where everyone is up front about who they are and their intentions! You can find exactly what you're looking for with all our magical filters (some might cost you a bit, but don't think about that yet). And then here's the kicker you can talk to them before you meet up in our messaging function, take an appropriate amount of time to learn everything you can and decide if this person is trustworthy enough to meet in person. That sounds nice doesn't it?

I guess I do like the idea of having a designated space where I know it's acceptable to approach an individual! And I mean how hard can it be to navigate one app?

Oh sorry I forgot to mention this part. It's not just one app there are like half a dozen major players that everyone kinda cycles through so you'll have to have all of them to play the field and increase the odds of you finding your one. And also because of the nature of us now giving you a haystack of options when you're looking for a needle you'll have to weed out like a dozen people at a time reality TV harem dating show style, while they do the same to you.

That doesn't exactly sound like a better system... But it clearly is, because of this system I met someone, didn't I? Well yes, but she lives half a mile away in the same neighborhood. We shop at the same grocery store, go to the same bars, have similar interests in general, and are both reasonably visibly distinct from a crowd (she's got bright pink hair, I'm a 6'1" femme who can't dress casual to save her life)

And we've both lived in this area for months without even noticing each other even though we're exactly each other's type. I don't know if any of that really made sense, but I think the point is that the dating apps are only fixing barriers to connection that they created. They are only solving problems they created, and we're paying them for it.

tumblr please stop showing me dating apps ads. i'll meet girls the old way; never

[girl-lostconnection]

If Price can't climb, what's stopping fruitbat reader from just flying up somewhere he can't reach and ignoring him? (And also maybe try to take precious sweet seal baby Johnny with them wait what who said that I musta been possessed)

It’s like you heard that I’m out of ideas and dropped yourself in my lap, god bless you, Night.

Price can’t climb and he’s annoyed AS FUCK that he can’t, because it means that at least half of his team (Gaz and Reader) are able to just get high enough and he won’t be able to reach them.

He’s even more annoyed when they manage to snatch Soap with them (because I’m sorry, but Simon’s big ass is too heavy, he’s staying on the ground).

I’m not sure that Reader would be able to haul Johnny high up but Kyle very much can, harpy eagles are known to carry their prey that weighs a lottttt.

(Read on Wikipedia that they are incredibly strong hunters. What’s interesting females of their species are actually much stronger than males and capable of hauling prey weighing up to 20 pounds, while males usually limit with prey rough half of their own weight.)

So I think that if put up to mischief Kyle would most definitely participate and knowing Johnny? He will be very enthusiastic about getting on pack leader’s nerves for the sake of doing so.

I can imagine Price circling whatever place they got perched on and patiently waiting because one way or another — they will need to come down. And when they do, he will be there. And he will make sure to show that he’s very unimpressed with their games.

But also, my personal headcanon, I think part of him would actually enjoy this slow hunt because it’s not often he gets to play chase his mates (above his station, man thinks he’s too old to do that). So part of him is always thrilled because it means he gets to chase and he’s surprisingly fast as fuck.

He’s not only fast, but he’s also capable of catching both of them, because the man has insane grip strength and he’s capable of hauling one of them while running after the other without speeding down.

So Price is a menace in on its own. His pack loves it.

Simon is just drinking his cuppa and watching Captain get his proper enrichment as the pack is screaming and laughing and running for their lives.

Also who’s to say that captain won’t spent the evening after munching on their necks and shoulders and hands, just smothering them in himself. Because now that he’s happy and content after a good chase, there’s another type of hunger that needs sating.

But also who’s to say that Reader and Gaz with Johnny don’t anticipate that. What they don’t anticipate is Simon joining in and rumbling over their shoulder that “ i‘s not nice. don’t you have any fuckin’ manners? Lemme teach you some”.

(Bastard enjoys that he can just press one or two of them under himself and they can’t get out)

[pinkolve]

MDNI !!!

Your First Time With: Spencer Reid

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Summary: You finally tell your boyfriend your biggest secret after a hasty make-out session. Smut ensues...

Genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT, fluffy smut

CW: SMUTTTT, have I mentioned smut?, first person point of view, use of ‘me’ and ‘I’, spencer reid x fem!reader, semi-dramatic reader, (because I'm dramatic and can't help but channel that into my fics) virgin!reader, possible inaccurate depictions of sex, squirting, vocal spencer reid my beloved!!!

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Please have mercy on me, I am horrible at writing smut. That said, I hope you enjoy anyways!!!

His lips are very eager against my own. His tongue moving along with mine like a dance. I can hear the wet sound of our lips every time we pull away slightly. He pulled me into his lap, each of my legs on either side of him. I couldn’t bring myself to sit all my weight down on him even though we’d been kissing for nearly fifteen minutes. I move my hips forward as I feel myself get wetter just from his touch alone. As I roll forward I can feel his bulge rub against my core. I gasp before pulling away. I’m practically heaving, trying to catch my breath.

“I’m…Sorry.” My voice is filled with terror. “I’m gonna-” I hesitate. “I have to go.” I pull myself up off of him quickly, grabbing my bag from next to his couch.

“Y/N?” He questions, his voice worried. I start walking to the door without looking at him. Right as my hand reaches the doorknob his hand grabs my wrist, pulling me back slightly. I don’t turn to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just have to go.” I try to pull away but he drags me back, turning me around to face him. He puts his hands on both of my shoulders, trying to meet my eyes as I hide them behind my hair.

“Y/N, please. What’s wrong? Did I do something?” This makes me feel like an asshole.

“No, no! God, you’re fucking perfect! I’m just…I’m being stupid.” My bag falls from my shoulder with a loud thud. I bring my hands to cup my face and hide my embarrassment.

“Why do you think you’re stupid?” He sounds so confused.

“Because we’ve been going out for weeks now and I still haven’t told you that I-” I sigh. “I can’t even talk about it properly, I’m so stupid!” He pulls my hands away from my face and makes me look up at him. My face is red and my eyes are slightly wet from unshed tears.

“You’re what?” He asks, his voice serious.

“That…I’m a virgin.” I force a wave of tears back as I search his face for some kind of reaction. “I didn’t want to tell you because I already feel like I’m not good enough for you and…I thought this would ruin everything.” I look down again.

“Y/N.” His voice is rough and soft at the same time. “Look at me, please.” His hands cup my face as he looks at me. “That doesn’t matter to me. At all. I’m sorry if I somehow made it seem like it did.” He shook his head to himself. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin, I just want to be with you.” Tears fall from my eyes as I huff out a relieved sigh.

“I want to be with you too.” I breathe. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it for days.” My voice is only a whisper. He smiles softly before pushing his lips softly against mine. I reach my hand up to cup his on one of my cheeks. I wrap my arms around his neck slowly, deepening the kiss. He wraps his own around my waist, pulling me into him. I sigh as our tongues meet again. He pulls away to trail kisses down my jaw, then to my neck. I breath heavily the more he kisses me. He moves his kisses near the back of my neck behind my ear, nipping slightly. I let out a soft whimper at this. He pulls away, his breathing just as heavy as my own.

“Do you want to…Go to my bedroom?” He asks, his voice soft. I nod slowly, all words failing me. He grabs my hand gently and leads me to his room. He closes the door behind us and lightly pushes me against it, kissing my neck again. He makes his way down to my collar bone, trailing kisses across it as his hands roam up into my shirt.

“Spencer.” I whimper. He pulls away, looking at me and waiting for me to say something else. I point over to the bed. “Can we…?” He understands immediately and nods furiously.

“Yes, yes! Sorry.” He leads me over and we fall on the bed, his body caging me in against it. He continues to kiss my neck as his hands continue their way up my shirt. He pulls away and whispers against my lips. “May I?” He asks, tugging at the hem of my tank top.

“Yes.” I sigh. He helps me pull it over my head. I can see his eyes widen once he takes notice of the fact I’m not wearing a bra underneath. I bite my lip as he stares, worried for his response.

“God.” He practically groans. “You’re so perfect.” Before I have time to get flustered at his comment he leans in and takes one of my nipples in his mouth.

“Shit.” I gasp, surprised at the sudden action. He licks around it and I can hear soft slurps coming from his mouth as he sucks. I’m holding back my whimpers as much as possible. He softly scrapes his teeth along my breast and I moan out. “Spencer!” He pulls away to look at me.

“Too much?”

“Not enough.” I mutter, pulling him down to connect our lips. He moves his hand up my leg and grips my inner thigh from under my skirt. He slowly glides it up further until he’s almost exactly where I want him to be. I softly moan a little ‘mhm’ as we kiss, hoping he keeps moving up at my approval. He takes the hint and rubs his middle finger along my slit, feeling the dampness there. I gasp and pull away, surprised at the way it makes me feel. No matter how many times I’ve done the same thing to myself it never felt this good. Every part of me feels like it’s on fire. I feel like all of my limbs have electricity coursing through them.

“So wet already.” He groans, pulling his lips from mine. “This all for me?”

“Yes, Spence!” I gasp as his thumb finds my clit. My hand flies out to grip his shoulder.

“You alright, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Please, don’t stop!” I sigh, holding his arm like my life depends on it. Like if I let go, all of it would disappear like a dream. He pushes his thumb harshly into my clit through my underwear, rubbing slow circles. I tilt my head back against the pillow, biting my lips to hide my embarrassingly loud moans.

“Can I take these off?”

“Yes, god yes.” I huff, opening my eyes as I watch him pull my underwear down my legs, never looking away from my eyes. I hold my breath as I wait to see his reaction to my bare body. He stares for a few moments and I can see his breath hitch.

“Fuck.” He breathes. He looks back up and meets my gaze. I reach out and push my hands under his shirt.

“Your turn.” I mumble. He wastes no time in ripping his shirt from off his body. This time I stare, admiring his lean body. There’s some muscle adorning his torso from years of field work. I let my hand roam along his stomach. His breathing is heavy as he watches my hand go down to his belt. I tug on the buckle and look at him with puppy dog eyes. “Please.” He pulls the buckle from the hole in his belt and tears the whole thing out of the loops on his jeans. He unzips them and pulls them off with his boxers, throwing them down to the floor. I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from his hard length. Staring at the size of it, watching a small bead of precum leak from his head.

“Hey.” He whispers, pulling me from my trance. “You okay?”

“I will be if you hurry up and fuck me.” I sigh. He chuckles and smirks.

“Needy are we?”

“You have no idea.” I groan. He chuckles again before reaching over to his bedside table and pulling a condom from the drawer. He rips it open with his teeth and I can practically feel myself get impossibly wetter. I watch him roll it over himself before he looks back up at me.

“You sure?”

“Yes! Please, Spence!” He runs the tip of his cock through my folds, collecting all my arousal. He softly pushes himself in and I can’t help but whimper at the stretch. “Jesus, fuck.” He pushes in a little more before pausing and waiting for me to adjust properly. My pussy practically sucks him in as he pushes further before bottoming out. “Shit.” I whine. “So fucking deep.” My knuckles turn white as I grip the sheets.

“You alright?”

“Yes, move, please.” I beg. “Need it.” I look at him and his blown out pupils. He moves slowly, pulling and pushing his hips against my own. I whimper loudly, covering my mouth with my hand. He quickly reaches up and pulls it away.

“Wanna hear you.” He grunts. “Sound so pretty.” He gives a harder thrust, making me cry out. “There you go, pretty girl.” He growls. He lets his head fall into the crook of his neck, grunting and moaning softly in my ear.

“Feel s’good, Spence.” I babble, already a complete mess for him. His thrusts have sped up, driving into me deeper. He pulls my legs up and folds them into me, my skirt bunching up at my waist. “Fuck!” I scream, his cock pushing into me even deeper, hitting that special spot inside me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I can hear the squelching of my pussy around his cock.

“So fucking good.” He groans in my ear. “So fucking good to me.” He bites my neck to hold back a loud growl. I dig my hand into his hair, pulling it slightly. He reaches a hand down to rub my clit.

“Shit!” I yell. “Fuck! Gonna cum too fast!” I warn, trying to push his hand away.

“Cum for me sweetheart, I wanna feel it.” I moan at his words, feeling a familiar coil in my belly.

“Spence! Stop, feels weird!” I whine, feeling like I’m gonna pee everywhere. I knew what was going to happen, even though it’s never happened to me personally. I really didn’t want to mess up his sheets, but he really didn’t seem to care.

“Come on baby, give it to me.” He rubs my clit faster and the coil in my belly snaps. I scream as wetness spills from me, coating my thighs and his sheets. “That’s it.” He groans, his thrusts getting sloppy. “So fucking perfect, shit.” He thrusts a few more times before spilling inside the condom. I can feel his cock twitch inside me. I stroke his hair as he tries to catch his breath. I whimper a little before speaking.

“We need to do that again.” He laughs into my neck, kissing it softly.

“That can be arranged.” I smile.

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier³,

summary. after sam's confession, you can't deny your feelings anymore.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1086

notes. just shocked. heartbroken. going absolutely insane with this series!

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1, part 2 + dean's ending

The bunker feels different now.

You don’t know how, exactly. The walls are the same, the air is the same—heavy with lore books and coffee, gunpowder and old leather. But something about it feels off, like the foundation has shifted beneath you and you don’t know how to walk steady anymore.

Because Sam left.

And Dean? Dean barely looks at you.

The last thing you remember clearly is standing between them, Sam’s confession hanging in the air like an exposed nerve. The way Dean turned away, the way he asked you if you loved Sam, the way your throat closed up before you could answer—

And now here you are. Days have passed. Maybe a week. Maybe more. The time feels meaningless when all you can do is think.

Sam isn’t here. He didn’t take much—just a bag, his laptop, a few weapons—but he’s gone. He left without another word, and you don’t even know where he went. Maybe that should be your answer right there. Maybe if you truly loved him, you wouldn’t have let him walk away. Maybe if you truly loved him, you would’ve chased him.

But you didn’t.

And yet…

You don’t sleep. Not really. Not without thinking of Sam’s eyes, how they softened when he looked at you. Not without remembering the way he always listened—really listened—when you talked, the way he knew when you needed silence and when you needed a joke. Not without thinking about how easy it was to just be with him, to exist beside him without effort or expectation.

Dean loves you. You know that.

But Sam sees you.

And it’s that realization—the quiet, slow, earth-shattering realization—that makes you sick.

Because what kind of person are you, to love one brother while holding the hand of the other?

Dean is quiet when you find him in the kitchen.

He sits at the table, nursing a beer, his jaw tight as he stares at nothing. It’s been like this ever since Sam left—short conversations, no teasing, no warmth. Just silence.

You sit across from him, tucking your hands in your lap. The words sit heavy on your tongue, but you need to say them. You owe him that.

“I think I love Sam.”

Dean exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not a surprised sound. He’s known. Maybe he’s always known.

“I figured,” he says after a moment. His voice is rough, distant. “You gonna go after him?”

Your heart twists. “I don’t know where he is.”

Dean lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Bullshit. If you really wanted to find him, you would.”

And there it is. The truth, laid out bare. You’ve been waiting for someone to say it, and now that he has, it stings worse than you imagined.

“I never meant to—”

“To what?” Dean snaps, finally looking at you, green eyes burning. “Never meant to fall for him? Never meant to lead me on?” He scoffs. “That’s comforting.”

You flinch. You deserve that. “Dean, I didn’t want this to happen.”

“Then why did it?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice breaks. “I didn’t realize it, I didn’t—” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I love you, Dean. I do.”

Dean leans forward, forearms braced against the table. “But not like you love him.”

It’s not a question.

Tears burn behind your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Dean studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he pushes back his chair, standing up without a word.

“Dean—”

He holds up a hand, shaking his head. His throat bobs, but when he speaks, his voice is even. “Go find him.”

You don’t move.

“You want him?” Dean says, jaw tight. “Then go.”

And so you do.

It takes three days to track Sam down.

You follow a trail of credit card charges—cheap motel rooms, gas stations, diners. He’s been moving every couple of days, never staying in one place too long. It makes you sick, knowing he left because of you.

When you finally find him, it’s in a small, rundown motel on the edge of nowhere. His car is parked outside, the headlights catching in the rain-soaked pavement. Your hands shake as you knock on the door.

There’s a pause. Then, finally, the door creaks open.

Sam stands there, barefoot in jeans and a worn hoodie, hair messy, eyes tired. He blinks at you like he’s not sure you’re real.

“Hey,” you whisper.

His eyes widen and you can clearly see you were the last person he thought would be on the other side of the door. “What are you doing here?”

You take a shaky breath. “I think I love you.”

Silence. Then—

“You think?”

Your chest aches. “I know.”

Sam exhales sharply, looking away, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You can’t just—” He swallows. “You can’t just say that.”

“But it’s true.”

His jaw clenches. “And Dean?”

“I told him,” you say softly. “I ended it.”

Sam stares at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, he lets out a breathless, almost bitter laugh. “Shit.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until Sam reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek. His touch is hesitant, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You broke up with Dean.”

“I had to.”

Sam shakes his head, but his hand doesn’t leave your face. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and careful.

“You broke his heart,” he says quietly.

“I know.” A tear slips down your cheek. “I never meant to hurt him.”

Sam swallows hard. “But you chose me.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I did.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Sam exhales, something breaking in his expression, something raw and aching and real, and suddenly his hands are on you—gripping your face, pulling you in. His lips crush against yours, desperate and searching, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting forever.

He tastes like coffee and rain and something inherently Sam, something safe and familiar and right. His hands tremble against you, like he can’t believe you’re here, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

But you’re not going anywhere.

When you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, Sam breathes out your name like a prayer. His hands cup your jaw, his thumbs brushing over your skin.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmurs.

You smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Then don’t let go.”

Sam’s lips ghost over yours, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Never.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @lmg14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20

[svetamillss]

Hiii I'm really sorry.. I’ve never really requested much on tumblr,so I apologize if I’m doing anything wrong. I wanted to ask if is it possible to write some platonic headcanons for some characters like(Hyun-jo,Semi,no-eul,Saebyeok)with a younger sister reader?like how would they act if they had a younger sister?it doesn't matter if it's in the games or outside.(also if you can't do it its completely okay,and I'm sorry for my bad English<33)

Headcanons: you are their younger sister🤍

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Se Mi x Reader(f), Gang No Eul x Reader(f), Kang Sae Byeok x Reader(f)

Warnings: agnst, there is no love line here, it's not pairings!

A/N: Your order is very wonderful, thank you!! I hope I met your expectations!

🤍🤍🤍

Cho Hyun Ju

You and the girl were very close. You were the only one from her entourage who supported her when she admitted that she wanted to become a girl. You both left the family and started living together.

Unfortunately, you have collected a lot of debts because of Ju's operations and you didn't have enough money to live on at all. That's why you decided to agree to the offer to play games.

But the girl didn't know you were here and when she saw it, she was very angry with you. After all, you could have been in trouble (she just took care of you).

When you told her that you came here for her, she was so ashamed that she even cried and asked for forgiveness for you having such a worthless sister, you immediately began to calm her down and kiss her face (it was your way to calm each other down).

In the first game, you held on to your sister's back, also holding hands with her (so she understood that you were next to her).

You both voted for the cross, but it didn't help, and you continued to play. Hyun Ju didn't let you go for a minute, you slept together, you even went to the toilet together. When the guys wanted to meet you, she immediately started a serious conversation with them, making it clear that she would not allow it.

You both prayed to get out of here together and live happily again.

- It's because of me you're here, I'm a bad older sister that the younger one has to pull me out of the bottom. - Ju said when she stroked your hair before going to bed.

- You are the best and most beloved sister, I love you very much and we will get out of here and go to live in Thailand.

Se Mi

You and your sister have always been together. Consider that she raised you. You are very close, so you decided to go to the games to win more money.

Even though you realized that games are for survival, you continued to play, because you two were scared outside, and games are a chance for a normal existence.

Se Mi always protected you, helped you pass the games, because she was more courageous and strong.

The girl didn't let Thanos and Nam Gyu approach you, who wanted to get to know you better, but your sister made it clear that she was ready to kill for your safety.

After all, after the third game, you wanted to get home, so you voted for the cross, thinking that it would all be over soon.

- Don't worry, honey, tomorrow there will be a second vote and we will return home together. And now you have to hide well under the bed so that they don't find you. - she said when she led you away from everyone, to a safe place.

- And you? I don't want to hide without you! Don't leave!

- There is a place for one person, I found another safe place and will go there, but I will be next to you. Time will fly by and I'll be back soon. And now lie down and don't get out of hiding. - Finally, Se Mi kissed you on the forehead and helped you get under the bed, after which she left.

You prayed all nighttime that your sister would be fine. But, unfortunately, your prayers were in vain. When you finally managed to get out of the hiding, you immediately ran to look for your sister, but instead of your sweet and cheeky Se Mi, you saw only a body lying between the beds. Your sister had a cut throat.

All you could do was close her eyes, your face was wet with tears. Se Mi saved you, but she couldn't.

Gang No Eul

You and your older sister were able to get out of Hell. From The DPRK. But, unfortunately, she lose her husband and daughter.

You spent a lot of effort and money to find a little girl, but it was all in vain. Everyone said she was dead.

But the two of you didn't want to believe it and continued to fight. That's why you wanted to join the games to raise more money for the search. No Eul you didn't say that you decided on such a thing, because you knew that she would be against it, since the girl was strict with you, but so she showed her love and care for you.

You were scared at the games, so after the first game, you clicked on the cross, hoping to return home to your beloved sister with at least a small amount. But you didn't succeed. There were more people who wanted to continue and you had to continue.

You've always thought about No Eul. You cried at night, because you missed her very much and wanted her to hug you. You were afraid that you would die and never return to her again, and she would not even know where you disappeared.

But you didn't even suspect that your sister was very close to you. But on the other side of the game. She was one of the guards who shot the losing players. And when she saw you at the first game, she wanted to drop everything out of horror and run out to you, shout, and then save you from this horror.

But she couldn't. She was powerless. Therefore, she only had to hope that you were fine and alive. And she had a fear of being the one who would have to shoot you for losing the game.

Kang Sae Byeok

You, your older sister and younger brother were able to get out of the DPRK, but, unfortunately, since your brother was a minor, he was taken to an orphanage.

So you and Sae Byeok had to survive and earn money to take the boy from there.

You had enemies, a lot of debts, so the two of you decided to join the games to earn enough money and finally live a real life and family.

There were a lot of victims, but you stayed together. Your sister took great care of you, because you were much weaker than her. She didn't allow anyone to approach you, you were safe with her.

You both thought you'd get out of here soon. Together. But this game was too terrible and easily played on human trust.

When you were told to divide into teams of two people, you united with your sister without hesitation, thinking that you would manage.

But you didn't know that you had to play against each other.

Sae Byeok sat slooped almost the whole game, she blamed herself for everything, and you were thinking at that time, what to do. And you made a decision. You will save Sae Byeok, because she deserves to live more than you.

You decided to make the Marbles game for yourself. You offered to play in the following way: whoever throws the stone further, he will win. The girl agreed and threw quite far. And you didn't even try.

How many screams were there from your sister, you rarely saw her crying, but you understood that she was about to lose a loved one.

When you explained why you did it, she burst into tears even harder, and you just smiled, hugging her for the last time, and then gently pushed her to leave and not see you dying.

- Thank you for played with me! - those were your last words for her. The next moment there was a shot, and then the sound of a body falling to the ground. But Sae Byeok didn't turn around, knowing that you wouldn't want it. She left the room in tears.

But who knew that your victim would be in vain. After all, your sister was killed before the very last round, not keeping her promise to get out of here alive.

🤍🤍🤍

[lesbianalanwake]

Severance S2E4. bro what the fuck:

–Kier Eagan’s fake-ass made-up twin brother……….

–flipping from claustrophobia to agoraphobia on a dime in a frozen doppelganger fever dream. you want to see the fallout from reintegration? well fuck you, it's a slow process, and you have wait for it. you want to see the outside world? well here it is. in the most disorienting way and place possible. a mirror to S2E1 - not letting the audience get any solid footing or sense of direction, experiencing the same disorientation that the innies do. a rat-in-a-maze bottle episode where you don't see the outside world, except they ARE outside, and yet they're not. Lumon trying to absorb and rewrite the narrative - you're outside but on our terms.

–once again obsessed with the pacing. a growing uncomfortable tension, Lumon trying to drive a wedge between MDR (intentionally AND unintentionally…. Helena…..), something that could have stretched out for several more episodes or even a season, but Irving said “nah” and ripped the band-aid clean off to clear the way. like Mark abruptly accelerating via reintegration at the end of the previous episode. has a metatextual feeling to it…. if Lumon is trying to tug the narrative in a certain direction, then MDR, inside and out, is grabbing it and YANKING it in another.

–Helena having sex with Mark…. fucked up, in many ways rape by deception using Helly’s identity, taking advantage of not one but TWO people, but the second person is the same person as Helena with the same brain and body, but also NOT the same, but yes the same, but-..… Helena perpetuating what is expected of her by her family/company, the Board saying to give Mark “what he wants, including Helly R” because Helena is another kind of cog in the machine to be taken advantage of as the company sees fit. cycles upon cycles, cruelty begetting cruelty. ethical violations in the workplace the likes of which have never been seen.

(and the quiet part getting real loud now, with the implication that the waffle party ends with sex.)

but also. deeply funny that they listened to a campfire horror story/morality tale about how sexual urges are bad, made fun of it, and went “anyway……” comedy/tragedy two sides of the same coin etc.

–Helena isn't happy! everything she says is double-edged - playing a role (for Lumon, for MDR) and yet completely sincere (she hated reciting the nine principles - sorry dad!, she doesn't like who she is on the outside, she thinks the Kier mythology is ridiculous, etc - expressing herself only through performance). she questions and doubts but has buried it so deep that it only comes out in Helly R, except now it's starting to come out in Helena too. I wonder if Irving trying to kill Helena is going to do 90% of the work in radicalizing her, because she's playacting at love and friendship, and the cracks in the Eagan conditioning are starting to show (lying and obfuscating and yet! sincere in her own demented way), but her little overtures into affection are still deeply off and wrong and causing strife (even when she doesn't mean to) and perpetuating what she knows - smiling violence and power struggle is the language she grew up with, and Irving is speaking that language to tell her that her methods aren't working, that she can't keep pretending to have the life she wants, that it's going to take more than that. and the fact that Helena and Irving Bailiff are the same, sending their innies down to the severed floor with a purpose, while “Helly” and Irving B are being cagey about what they saw on the outside….. doppelgangers and foils.

–WOE! I wonder if Irving B connecting the dots through a dream is more of Irving Bailiff leaking through, since he would know who Helena Eagan is. just like his automatic military response to being stranded in the wilderness - survival-focused, on the defensive, much more physical and violent. reintegration but a second secret kind (taking sleep deprivation to new heights).

–the doppelganger animatronic (?) of Helly had a crooked neck, calling back to her attempt to hang herself, but it was a message directed at Helena…. and we didn't see Irving's doppelganger pointing the way on its own, just as part of the group…. much to think about.

–Miss Huang’s little “pretty cool, right?” made me sad….. so childlike for a second, like she should be. girl we're getting you out of there.

–the fact that Mark and Dylan and Irving have never seen fire, and barely seen the sky (and Helly still hasn't seen any of it). let alone all of the other weird shit going on…. the behind the scenes bit talked about Lumon wanting to scare the hell out of MDR, and yeah…. yeah.

–the fact that we don't see the immediate aftermath of Mark reintegrating but do see Mark S having Mark Scout hair here and there, and one crazy flash to his other self. something to be said about how Mark S exists because Mark doesn't give a shit about himself, and he's never really thought of his severed self as someone separate (and they're not, really, except they are, and aren't, and are, and aren't, and-). and Mark S doing something for himself, not for his outie, something that distinguishes him from Mark Scout, but it turns out to be awful in the end…… oof ouch. MUCH to think about.

–I think I’ll need to see the follow-up before I decide how I feel about this episode. it did a LOT, and it needs the fallout to contextualize it. leaning pretty hard on making the story fit the idea to have the corporate retreat, but I can forgive that because it was gorgeous to look at, and I'm obsessed with the idea of a disorienting switch to an agoraphobic vista that nevertheless remains a claustrophobic trap, and team-building retreat that leaves the team in shambles is really good.

–"I'm on the ice," Gemma, "Chikhai Bardo" as an episode title, etc.... they're building up to some real undead and rebirth shit, and I'm starting to think Kier Eagan's frozen fucking Disney head isn't a joke.....

[writingdevil]

CAN YOU WRITE CONTRARIAN X PARANOID PLEASE I NEED IT 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😋😋😋 THE OPPORTUNIST X BROKEN WAS SO GOOD BTW

(Thank you! I'm glad you liked the brokopp one, I really liked it as well-and of course I will! Enjoy!)

Contrarian was just out for a leisurely fly, when he saw a certain bird down below, and he couldn't help himself.

He let a little snicker out as he tucked his wings in, and he smiled as he felt his body fall from the sky. He's done this plenty of times, with only a few instances of broken bones!

He felt the wind rush through him, and he took a moment to gaze up at the clear sky, before swiftly snapping his wings out, twisting his body around so fast that the world became blurry for a few seconds.

His wings caught him at the last second, letting Contrarian glide along the ground, right behind his victim, who didn't even have time to jump as Contrarian yelled, "Heya Paranoid!"

Paranoid screamed in fear, jumping up and blindly flapping his wings as a defense mechanism-a pretty useless one, if you asked Contrarian, but that just made the reaction all the more funnier.

He cackled at the other, clutching his stomach and letting himself fall that last few feet on his ass, his entire body overcome with laughter at Paranoid, whose glare he could feel burning into his feathers.

"Contrarian!" Paranoid yelled in rage, and the bird in question forced himself to look up at the other, finding Paranoid hugging himself protectively, a violent shaking taking over his body.

Okay, now he felt a little bad. Contrarian sobered up just enough to stop the laughter from spilling out, sucking in a deep breath of fresh forest air as he got to his feet, feeling Paranoid's glare on him the entire time.

He held his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It was just a bit of fun-please don't claw my eyes out."

"We'll see," Paranoid gritted out, not looking relaxed in the slightest.

Contrarian made sure to not invade Paranoid's personal bubble as he asked, "But what are you doing out here? You never usually come out into the forest alone."

Slowly, Paranoid's body lost its tension as they spoke, but he still remained on edge, giving Contrarian an annoyed look as he answered, "Well, I thought I could come out here and relax for a little bit." His glare intensified. "Silly me."

Contrarian chuckled nervously, feeling more guilt crawl up his chest, but he waved that away as he took a step closer, pretending not to notice the way Paranoid flinched. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to join you on your walk."

Paranoid laughed in disbelief. "After the stunt you just pulled? No way."

"Come on!" Contrarian begged, "I feel bad! It was just a harmless joke, I won't do it again."

Paranoid sighed. "You say that all the time, and yet you keep finding new ways to get my heart pounding." Contrarian couldn't help the light giggle he let out. "Okay, that is true," he admitted, "but that's just because you're so fun to spook."

Paranoid rolled his eyes, then promptly spun around and continued his walk without another word. Contrarian didn't wait to be invited, quickly jogging up next to Paranoid, who merely gave him a sideways glance, before looking ahead again.

Contrarian rolled his eyes at his behaviour. "C'mon, Para, you need to lighten up." He heard Paranoid let a harsh laugh out. "Really? Well maybe that was why I decided to go for a walk, Contrarian, before you showed up."

Contrarian winced, but forced a playful smile on his face. "Well, either way, this is a big step for you-going out into the big, bad forest all on your own." Paranoid chuckled, but this time his laughter was light, and he didn't appear as annoyed anymore. Contrarian much preferred that look on him, instead of the frightened expression he was constantly wearing.

Paranoid smiled sheepishly. "Yes, well, I figured if you're out in these woods all the time, then it can't be that bad." Contrarian grinned excitedly as he went, "Oh yeah, these woods are great! Perfect place for some totally safe mayhem." He made an exaggerated wink at Paranoid who, instead of freaking out over the implications, actually giggled at Contrarian.

The sound seemed to surprise both of them, but Contrarian was more concerned with the way his heart was fluttering at it, at the fact that he was getting Paranoid to make that noise.

He liked being the reason Paranoid got to smile.

Paranoid looked less tense now as they walked, but he still hugged himself protectively, gazing up at the looming trees around them. "It's peaceful," Paranoid admitted, "but it still kinda feels like something's gonna go terribly wrong." He shrugged and turned his head towards Contrarian, but didn't meet his eyes. "Maybe it's just bad memories haunting me."

Contrarian's smile fell, and it sucked that Paranoid couldn't let himself truly enjoy this moment, not without his mind reminding them of what they went through. But that was why Contrarian liked going into the woods so much, because by doing whatever he wanted, it felt like pure defiance. It felt like he was putting a middle finger up to all the bullshit that happened to them, as a way to say, 'No. I won't let you ruin this for me.'

An idea suddenly popped into his head, because for some reason, he really wanted Paranoid to feel safe with the forest, not just for himself, but because Contrarian was starting to really enjoy spending time with him.

He flapped his wings, flying a few feet off the ground, making Paranoid look up at him in alarm, but Contrarian gave him a reassuring look and said, "Don't worry, I'm just going to get something for you."

"What is it?"

"It'll make you feel better!"

"What is it?!"

"I'll be back in a few minutes!"

Contrarian giggled as he flew off, hearing Paranoid's exasperated groan behind him. He didn't need to fly far, and he instantly spotted flashes of bright colours amongst all the green.

Flowers. That's what he was going to get Paranoid. If he could see that something as pretty and as harmless as flowers were here, then he wouldn't be as scared of the forest. It totally wasn't also because he wanted to give Paranoid a gift. No way.

He swiftly picked up the ones that looked like Paranoid would like the most, and he was immediately back in the sky, not wanting to leave the other bird alone for long.

It wasn't hard to find Paranoid again, but in his excitement at seeing the other bird, Contrarian completely forgot the mistake he made not even ten minutes ago.

He dipped and glided towards the back of Paranoid, waiting until he was a few feet away to cheerfully yell, "I'm back, Para!"

Paranoid shouted in fright and jumped in surprise, but that was normal for him, so Contrarian didn't think much of it, until he landed on the ground and turned to face him-only to find Paranoid in the middle of a panic attack.

Horror rotted his prior excitement, and he dropped the flowers, rushing over to gently grab Paranoid by the shoulders, whose heavy, uncontrollable breathing made Contrarian's heart break.

"Para! Para, it's okay!It was just me!" Paranoid was giving him a desperate, pleading look through his tears, hands clutching at his chest feathers, and Contrarian has never felt more useless and stupid than right now.

But then he heard Paranoid let out a choked sob, and he knew that he couldn't afford to spiral right now.

"It's okay," he whispered, carefully guiding them both to sit on the ground. "It's okay, I'm here, Para. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He wasn't well versed in helping Paranoid through his panic attacks, not the way Hero was, so he decided to copy what he remembered.

He softly took Paranoid's hand and placed it over his chest, palm right above Contrarian's heart. "Just focus on my heart, Para. Try to match it, okay?" Then he started to take slow, exaggerated deep breaths, helping him through it all the way.

It felt like Paranoid's torment would never end, but Contrarian didn't stop until he heard the moment his panic attack started to die down, and he saw the relief in Paranoid's eyes. He felt Paranoid curl his fingers into his chest, until he suddenly sagged forward, falling right into Contrarian's arms.

Contrarian froze in shock, unsure of what to do now, until he heard Paranoid sigh in relief, leaning in to further snuggle into Contrarian's warmth.

"P-Para,I'm so sorry-"

"It's okay."

He gulped. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he replied, sounding worn out and exhausted, "I still feel safe with you, so can you-can you just hold me for a bit?"

A part of Contrarian was worried about Paranoid feeling how fast his heart was beating, but after what he put the other through, it didn't matter.

So they just held each other until it felt unbearable to let go.

[pastelaspirations]

Oh... my... g o d. You. You get it. You understand. I have found another enlightened, likeminded individual somehow by complete accident, I'm about to lose it, I swear-

I am going to ramble now. I don't know how else to say this other than y e s. You are absolutely right.

I don't think you understand. What you said is like my exact headcanon. I'm not even joking

Canon Ink is soulless. S o. The angst potential for that is off the charts. Both internal and external, babyyy. M a y b e a lot of it is internal (which is how I like to write it a lot hehe ✧˖°.) He has no soul, so he can't love, right??? So he can have intense self-loathing because he doubts all his feelings and actions. He can't feel. All his feelings are artificial because he needs his vials to even "feel" them in the first place. So h o w can he tell people; his friends, his family, anyone, that he loves them in good conscience? He can't. So this might lead to him pushing people away and to drown in crippling self-doubt.

It can be external too. Perhaps people doubt him. How can a soulless being love? How can they even feel? Are their feelings even real if he can just pick and choose what he wants to feel at any moment? If he can just pop the lid off a vial and have that emotion, how can one argue that is anything other than frighteningly artificial?

But our boi. Error's like n a a a h. He knows. S u r e, Ink's vials help him feel, but they help him express what is already there. If Ink's vials really only worked by that simple "take this to feel this" logic, then wouldn't Ink feel the exact same to every situation and person?? If he took a happy vial to feel affection for his friends, wouldn't he theoretically feel the exact same to Nightmare or someone? The vials can't discriminate. How would they know who Ink was supposed to like or dislike?

That extends to Error himself. If the vials really worked on that simple black and white thinking, then Ink's pink vial would work by feeling romantic love and affection for anyone. If the pink vial simply equals the feeling of love and affection, it wouldn't matter who it was, Ink would feel those feelings for that person. But he doesn't. He can differentiate love between his family and his friends. And depending on the story, Error might be the only person he feels this sort of romantic love for when he uses his vials to help him feel.

So, case in point. To Error and many other people who care about Ink, Ink's vials do not give him the ability to feel. They allow him to feel what is already there.

Ink's got a whole lot of self-doubt of that being true though, partly because of his own self-esteem and maybe because other people trying to convince him that it's true. But Error doesn't believe it. He's got proof to the contrary. And he's going to reassure Ink as long as he needs to... as long as it takes for him to finally believe it <3

G o d. I'm sorry for rambling, it's just. That's literally my exact headcanon and I don't know how to stop infodumping about my headcanons-

I could have just... referred you to my ao3, I guess. That honestly might have been quicker. Like, this is such an ingrained headcanon of mine, that I write about it almost subconsciously at this point?? I don't know which ones even have it, I just know at least two touch upon it

Anyway, yes. I agree with literally everything you just said, it's incredible. I'm so sorry for literally. Sending a w a l l of text. Apparently I'm your guy to talk about this crap to as well, I guess-

Can you guys tell I have a favorite pair of sillies yet . . .

[invested-in-your-future]

The Portrayal of DID in Ave Mujica

(I have to preface this by saying that I am approaching this from a narrative writing standpoint and from my own personal delving into psychology overall. The subject topic is complex and the medical knowledge on it is ever-evolving, so if any of my notions are outdated, I am very, so very sorry.)

(I also understand that the topic of trauma and DID might be a triggering experience to some people, so caution is advised.)

(The discussion will also have open spoilers about the show and as such is tagged with spoiler tags.)

If there's one thing I would never expect when watching a music show, it is for it to turn into a deeply introspective psychological drama about flawed characters grappling with anxiety, mental wellness, toxicity and so on.

I did something like this a few times before and I can't help but want to explore and convey my thoughts on the character writing and handling of dissociative identity disorder within this show.

Now, Ave Mujica's predecessor, MYGO (to which Ave Mujica is a sequel), did play with the portrayal of neurodivergent-coded traits and still remains one of the best attempts at that overall, but a lot of that could be written off as subtextual.

So Ave Mujica portraying DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) in a textual way comes as a surprise.

What's even bigger surprise is the lengths the show goes to make the portrayal feel authentic and how up-to-date the overall knowledge within the writing is.

Now, for starters, some explanation is needed.

What is DID?

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) is a type of dissociative disorder that usually develops in early childhood due to traumatic experiences—most often emotional or physical abuse or neglect.

The conditions within the environment lead to a child failing to integrate into a unified identity due to compartmentalizing their trauma and various other facotrs. In layman's terms, "distancing themselves" from their own psychological trauma.

The key aspect to understand is dissociation, a concept that is crucial to DID but NOT limited to it. To quickly explain what dissociation is—to handle specific amounts of stress and trauma, the brain copes with the information via "disconnecting" one's sense of self from perception.

Dissociation is actually a very common reaction to trauma and can manifest in different ways without it being DID (hence dissociative disorders being a whole branch of stuff)—like, for example, dissociative amnesia, where a person might forget selective memories associated with a traumatic event.

Grief tends to sometimes lead to dissociation, especially during the early phases, too.

Another common example is depersonalization, which involves "perceiving yourself as an out-of-body observer," which usually involves an altered perception of time too, with time slowing down or speeding up or the concept of time losing meaning.

Both of those can manifest as part of DID, but can also exist separately—for example, derealization and depersonalization can be symptomatic of PTSD.

DID in itself as a concept is about a person at a young age failing to integrate into "one".

The way a child's growth goes is that the mind reintegrates and parses those their experiences and traumas shaping their identity. Experiencing dissociation doesn't instantly mean DID, because dissociation by itself is a common trauma-parsing mechanism, as I said before. A child can experience trauma, neglect, or abuse without it leading to DID.

In the case of DID, the child fails to integrate, the trauma/abuse/neglect instead leading to compartmentalized elements working together—a system.

It's important to note that trauma doesn't create alters, as it's been thought for a while. It's not something fake or "split" or "created"—the system is all the alters as equally "real"; it's just that alters themselves might have different traits of the identity.

While alters are identities, they aren't necessarily separate people—they are a system. Alters might differ from each other, and have separate memories, and skill sets, but every alter is part of that system. Alters don't appear out of thin air as separate entities and it's better to view a system as an entity comprised of equally real alters functioning together, with the "primary" one (the one that's out for the longest periods) being often called "the host".

Thus, alters can be subtle and almost indistinguishable from the host. And even if they have distinct personality traits, most alters would have an awareness to "fit in" by not standing out, instead internalizing them and trying to mimic the host personality (because it's "normal").

There isn't a secret evil spirit or a ninja assassin living in a person—portrayals like that (ex: the movie "Split") are extremely harmful because they perpetuate a toxic stereotype that just isn't true.

There's no "real personality and fake personalities" and so on. The current understanding of DID is a child at a young age, due to internal and external factors, failing to integrate into a singular identity.

Now depending on how young we talking, the person might have had a personality-before or might not have at the point DID develops, but the concept of "original/core" personalities is currently considered antiquated.

And just like alters aren't "created," they can't "die" either.

Now that this covered basic terminology and information, I can actually discuss about the show itself.

First, let's talk about Mutsumi and her character.

Mutsumi

From the very first appearance in MYGO, the characterization conveys the personality of someone who is stoic, internalizes her emotions, and has trouble communicating with others—her first spoken line in the show is ambiguous.

Mutsumi is a stoic, shy student who had been in a band together with her childhood friend, Sakiko, and three other people. The band imploded after her childhood friend suffered from circumstances she felt she couldn't share with others and disbanded it.

The character is often coerced or influenced by others to do things for them and plays more of the role of an observer.

It becomes quickly obvious that Mutsumi herself is extremely uncomfortable with this role—not only blaming herself for the band's breakup but also feeling awful about her friends' mental well-being afterward.

Meanwhile, Mutsumi's childhood is no better—as a child of a star actress and a famous comedian, Mutsumi didn't have what one could call "a normal childhood.". Her parents had surrounded her with wealth but at the same time had adopted a completely hands-off approach, which led to her feeling neglected and alone. For example, she doesn't even call her mother and father dad/mom/father/mother/etc., instead opting to refer to them by their first names like friends would do. The mother is also enamored with being an actress—for example, one of the things she would offer her daughter's friends visiting would be to watch movies she starred in.

The show makes sure the audience gets a sense of the scale of her home life—a luxurious house filled with servants where her mother is a star rather than a parent.

What's more, due to the circumstances of her parents she's constantly compared to her mother and father and their talents, with expectations placed to follow in their footsteps. This ends up with her feeling like she has nothing of her own in her life—whatever praise or expectation is placed upon her ties to The Star Actress and The Comedian instead of who Mutsumi is as a person.

As a result, she values the bonds she has formed with other people a lot. She cares deeply about her childhood friend (whose family circumstances are the actual reason for the band breakup), and she cares about the one other bandmate who had kept in touch with her (the person who is mainly keeping in touch due to selfish goals though).

So when her friend decides to create a new band, Mutsumi feels responsible to support her and help her.

Unfortunately for her, her friend is going through a lot emotionally, and the entirety of the new band consists of a lot of openly toxic individuals.

Thus she is placed into a situation where she has to juggle the neglect and distance she feels at home, the expectations her suffering friend is placing upon her, the expectations the world has for her due to her parents, and the pressure from being a member of an extremely popular band—a tough deal for someone who from the beginning had trouble expressing herself.

But hey, at least since the band has the whole pseudo-visual-kei thing going for it, she will be able to wear a mask.

Which is where her journey through Ave Mujica starts.

Ave Mujica and DID

The first notable thing we see happen is her struggling with an interview, reinforcing the idea that she has trouble expressing herself.

Ironically, this is another case where someone else ends up speaking over her.

The episode ends with the first notable trigger for her emotional state worsening, which is one of the bandmates going off-script and ruining the whole "secret identity" thing by unmasking them live on stage to an audience of hundreds if not thousands.

Considering her character set-up and her issues and insecurities, this is about the second most terrifying thing to Mutsumi in the entire world.

As the bandmates argue and blame each other over what had happened, the show then proceeds to take time to showcase how the pressure and the stress of what had happened affect her psychologically and emotionally.

This is a character who had been defined by the impostor syndrome caused by the neglect of her parents and comparisons society draws to them due to their fame—essentially getting doxxed live to an audience of hundreds if not more.

The show then dedicates its runtime to showcase how this character is slowly ground down by the building up pressure and anxiety, the dam breaking due to the traumatic experience—especially when she flubs an interview, causing even more tension and pressure.

"Don't speak out; play your role; don't make mistakes; be perfect or people will hate you."

The show makes sure to slowly build tension and highlight the growing anxiety and the increasing levels of dissociation the character experiences from the world around her as she goes through interviews and photoshoots—interactions that only worsen her mental state by anxiously comparing her to her parents or reminding her of the mistakes she made, as numbness overtakes her.

The anxiety, the stress, and the tension within all build to the point of insomnia as the character retreats to the one place she was implied to feel safe in throughout the show—the rehearsal room at home where she would spend time alone playing her guitar.

Because, again, as implied, her parents don't exactly pay any attention to her beyond showering her with wealth, and everyone else views her as an extension of her parents. So for her this is one spot that is truly hers.

And even that spot has now been taken because her mother had offered the whole band to use the rehearsal room. It's no longer just her space.

Depression, anxiety, and insomnia are but a few of the things that both influence and happen as a result of dissociative disorders

The show highlights the character's worsening physical state due to her deteriorating emotional state, to the point that the character has trouble walking down the hallway.

More importantly, the people around her—her band, her parents, her friend—they don't realize that. If anything, they put more pressure on her shoulders, they tell her to not stand out, to play the role to perfection, to not ruin the performance or further ruin the band's reputation.

The pressure and tension build to the point where the show depicts the first on-screen dissociative episode for the character.

Experiencing dissociation from gazing into a mirror is actually pretty common, as is the idea of recognizing your reflection as someone else. It's not limited to DID, however. There are common experiences where people suffering from anxiety might feel a sensation that they are looking at a stranger for example. Gender dysphoria might also elicit a feeling that the reflection is "wrong".

The show also showcases another common DID symptom: losing large chunks of time as the character finds themselves jumping from the changing room to the middle of the scene without knowing how she had gotten there.

The scene also involves the character witnessing(and more importantly, recognizing) multiple of herself. While the most common way for the host personality to perceive alters is auditory, visual perception is also possible, as are all other senses.

The series of visual hallucinations ends with a character making a mistake live on stage and experiencing a complete dissociation as she slumps onto a stage prop chair motionless like a doll with strings cut..

Essentially, this is a moment when no one is in control. The host personality has experienced complete dissociation, but neither the host personality nor any alters are "behind the wheel.".

Now, to this point, the idea is still subtextual (barely) in that the story shows but doesn't tell what is happening.

However, what comes after this grows more and more textual.

The dissociative episode and perceiving multiple of "you" leads to the character experiencing even more vivid hallucinations.

This time, however, the character directly acknowledges and converses with an alter within her mind-space.

Having a healthy and proper way of communication between host and alter(s) is actually crucial to functioning as a healthy system and living with DID.

Most of the conversation, however, happens within mind-space, as the character relives her past experiences and memories as if she were watching them as an observer, with the alter narrating her life's story.

The mindscape is often metaphorical so the alters don't necessarily always appear human, but they always would be "humanlike", because the brain perceives the alter as alive. The form alters might take within the mindscape is often dependent on the kind of trauma a person has suffered.

The story as narrated by the alter establishes the reason behind why the character values playing the guitar so much—because it's something truly hers, something she had learned on her own and something that is in no way "because of her parents".

But she feels like she's not good enough.

She can't be expressive, she has trouble communicating her emotions, and thus her playing skills, while technically perfect, lack that self-expression capability.

She can't make the guitar sing.

And thus due to impostor syndrome, she concludes that being "wrong" somehow is why the bands she gets involved with on her friend's behalf keep breaking up—why her best friend keeps suffering.

A person suffering from anxiety, trauma, and neglect, someone who has issues expressing themselves, would often wrestle with issues of self-hate and depression and Mutsumi is no different there.

Experiencing one's own memories from an outside perspective, as if watching a movie or seeing themselves from outside observing something is once again quite common in terms of DID.

As the toxicity within the band keeps growing and her friend keeps suffering, the character's anxiety and stress build further, the auditory and visual hallucinations intensifying.

Just a reminder that while this goes on and Mutsumi slips in and out of her mindscape, her best friend, her parents, and the whole band are completely unaware of any of this. In their minds, the dissociative episode she had experienced was "her acting out" or "acting" or just being "closed-off".

This is the first case where the alter has a direct and open back-and-forth conversation with the Mutsumi, rather than narrating her life like before.

Alters within a system often end up serving specific purposes—because they are more comfortable doing something the host alter isn't. Sometimes it's a single memory the host can't parse or a personality trait.

The alter in question showcases worry for the host's well-being—A Protector.

The alter represents worry over the character's own well-being and where the current stressful self-destructive path may lead.

(Important Note: I do feel the need to say that alters do not neatly fall into classifications and there's not some "class system" for Alters that is always true. There are many complex reasons for how alters within a system can be and there's a lot still unknown, as is true with the overall human mind. Since alters aren't created or "split", an alter merely providing a specific role doesn't mean they exist solely for that role, as it becomes clear with the case within the show too.)

The alter believes that if Mutsumi stays with the band, she will experience the full brunt of the band imploding and the alter also perceives Sakiko as someone who is not healthy for the character—toxic even.

Mutsumi however reaffirms that she wants to support her friend no matter what, to always be by her side.

Eventually, however, as the days go on, and the band keeps arguing, the character ends up tying together what is happening now with a traumatic event in her past—her best friend's previous band imploding in a similar fashion.

The character draws parallels between the two situations—between two traumatic experiences—which further worsens their wellbeing.

As a side note I do love Dutch-angles and how universal they are in conveying things going wrong somehow or being unsettling.

All of this leads to the final straw—a confrontation with her best friend, where the character ends up being accused of "not being good enough" and "not supporting her like a friend should".

Why can't she smile or talk or be more social?

Now I do feel the need to interject and say that while her friend is completely in the wrong here, things aren't that simple. Sakiko also has her own issues, depression, traumatic experiences, and absolutely horrible life—all of which she is unable to properly parse and thus turns towards alienating everyone who cares for her rather than showing how hurt she is.

This is the final straw, the moment where the anxiety and traumatic experiences build up to the point where the host just wants to escape.

A moment where subconsciously she'd want to turn to the someone for help.

This is also the first time this alter is properly given a name (one of Mutsumi's stage persona, Mortis).

The scene is eerie and haunting, but it has to be—sleeping is as close as the situation can get to ego-death.

(Because, like I mentioned before, parts of a system can't "die".)

Once the stage play starts, both the bandmates and the audience are treated to a performance that is unlike the character's usual self.

Mortis fulfills their role, shielding the host from a traumatic experience, taking it up to themselves to do something the host would suffer trying to do. In this case, it's to pretend everything is fine and play the role her best friend expects her in the band—to smile and to talk and to help keep it together.

From this point on, Mortis is in control.

She smiles, is social, and delivers efficient jokes to lighten up the mood—she pays attention to the wellbeing of other bandmates and is extremely expressive.

It needs to be noted that the bandmates and parents STILL have no clue. The other bandmembers barely knew her for a month so they don't really see anything wrong with the change in how the character behaves. If anything they see it as an improvement.

Mortis is doing everything they can to do what the host was too anxious to—to be a perfect actress, supportive and caring for the band, and nurturing an environment where the band stays together.

There are a few problems, however.

For starters, Mortis doesn't know how to play guitar, at all.

It's a skill and talent the host alter developed and as far as systems go not everyone would have access to the same memories, experiences, or skills and it's possible for alters to develop different skills than the host too.

And second of all, as the one who wants to protect Mutsumi, Mortis feels disdain towards the main source of Mutsumi's anxiety and depression—her childhood friend, Sakiko.

In Mortis's eyes, the dissociative episode the host suffered and the extreme amounts of anxiety and stress are all because of Sakiko.

This comes to a head in a scene where Sakiko, after spending a whole episode feeling uneasy because of how different Mutsumi is now, decides to have a one-on-one talk with her about what's going on.

It's in this scene that the show textually acknowledges DID.

What finally tips her off is that Mortis refers to her differently than Mutsumi would.

This scene also provides a direct affirmation of the fact that parts of a system don't "die"—they might however go dormant and "fall asleep".

As a side note, the scene does contain ominous framing, but it's mainly due to it mainly being from Sakiko's POV. The writing, however, makes it extremely clear Mortis isn't a villain as much as someone protective of Mutsumi and spiteful towards Sakiko due to her neglect of her best friend—and that Mortis isn't entirely wrong to blame Sakiko for this.

This is kind of surprising because that's pretty "new" information as far as the medical topic of DID goes. People used to think alters could die due to a faulty understanding of the idea stemming from the older now debunked theories as I mentioned before.

The reality, however, is, that alters aren't really something "different" nor "created/split"—a system has the same brain, and the same biological functions, which means the brain can't perceive itself as "dead".

DID develops at a young age due to neglect trauma or abuse. It doesn't suddenly happen because of some extremely tragic event as fiction often depicts it (the tragic events however can cause the host to dissociate and push specific trauma onto an existing alter).

The show, once again, acknowledges that too!

The scene basically spells out that Mutsumi's DID developed at a young age as a result of parental neglect and anxiety. Note that the show doesn't imply Mortis "having been created" ever.

Mortis basically spells out what Mutsumi wouldn't have been able to say—she speaks of the stress the band had caused Mutsumi and how Sakiko's neglect and toxicity ended up causing her to retreat into sleep.

(Once again have to add this: Alters can differ in terms of their thoughts, species, speech patterns, gender orientation, etc. Alters even can have different heart rates, eyesight, and how they respond to allergies.)

Mortis is resolute to protect Mutsumi and her band, but she's also a child—one that can be very blunt in the ways Mutsumi isn't and also naive in the way Mutsumi wouldn't be.

She can't help but detest Sakiko for her toxicity and the trauma it has caused.

She bluntly states that Mutsumi ceding control to Mortis is Sakiko's fault and if Sakiko keeps acting this way instead of actually parsing her problems, Mutsumi might never return.

Mortis isn't merely "a role protecting someone". She is childish and she is, in a way spiteful and she has an opinion about Sakiko that Mutsumi might not agree with.

There's a struggle there because the dissociation between the two alters is too big—there's a lack of communication as once Mutsumi gets to interact with Mortis again, the two are talking past each other.

Mortis is way too focused on what Sakiko had caused and on how it had hurt Mutsumi, while Mutsumi is still ever so focused on how much Sakiko herself is hurting and ignoring her own problems.

The show also doesn't shy away from the problematic treatment of mental wellness in the world and how often it gets sensationalized.

The first major example is the public's reaction to Mutsumi dissociating on the stage—the band is flooded with demands to REPEAT that "performance". In fact multiple show appearances and stuff set that as a condition for the band appearing at all. To the public there's not even an ounce of worry that this was something real—to it couldn't have been anything but acting. Which is actually a common toxic reaction towards systems in the real world. Even within the Ave Mujica tags there were people screaming how "Mutsumi must be just pretending to have it".

Even one of Mutsumi's teammates mistakes her dissociation and Mortis for masterclass acting talent and is STILL haunted and feeling inferior by it even after she KNOWS what actually happened.

The characters also use the outdated term "split personality" when conversing about Mutsumi and Mortis and a majority of the cast doesn't "get" what this is and are way out of their depths—Sakiko blames herself for "having broken" Mutsumi, Umiri and Uika just completely don't care, Nyamu feels insecure and the MYGO cast are also just as out of their depths even though they display far more empathy.

It's a sheer contrast to one character who has no direct connection to Mutsumi but is known for her blunt nature and ends up recognizing both Mutsumi and Mortis as individuals (even asking for the name of each alter when they exchange introductions) and befriending Mortis.

Likewise, when Mutsumi and Mortis end up arguing over their motives and goals and falling down the stairs, the first reactions the onlookers have is to...snap photos and film the situation because it's a famous person and maybe this is some performance too! A completely cold and cruel audience of observes that keeps snapping photos even as another characters desperately begs them not to film this.

And of course, it gets shared and goes viral on social media.

Overall so far the representation of DID and overall mental-wellness issues in Ave Mujica (and MYGO) have been the series highlight and I certainly hope the show continues to treat the subject matter with care and research needed as it further delves into the character.

Another highlight is the variety of issues and insecurities the other main characters are facing—from Sakiko's complex traumatic experiences and implied self-harm tendencies, to Uika's obsession, to Nyamu's insecurities to Umiri's complete emotional disconnect and lack of empathy.

Ave Mujica, if it lands, is shaping up to be one of the best shows in a while when it comes to character introspection and psychological themes.

[chimielie]

hold ‘em up (above my heart)

summary: Atsumu x Physical Therapist!F!Reader. the sun rises and sets over and over as your relationship progresses from friends to pro yearners to more.

wc: 4.3k

cw: friends with benefits subplot and all that entails; not explicit, just suggestive

a/n: hi i didn’t die :3

“Hands up,” you say, voice low so as not to disturb the peace of the morning.

Atsumu raises his arms, elbows bent, making a frame of his face. His blond hair is pale, almost white because his little kitchen window faces east and he wakes before it rises above the upper pane. You sidle past him, back to his front, ignoring the weight of his hand as it settles on your hip while you reach up for the granola you keep in the cabinet next to the fridge.

He likes traditional Japanese breakfasts, the savory and umami flavors of natto and rice and miso. You have a sweet tooth and a craving for crunchy food, like a wild animal that needs to grind down its molars. On the days he has work, he settles for an omelette (or scrambled eggs if he fucks it up). You eat the same thing every morning or you'll be sick.

Growing up, Atsumu was never a morning person, but he sleeps better on the nights you're next to him. He doesn't get angry when you slosh milk over the side of his bowl onto his dining table, doesn't snap when you ask him what his plans for the day are. Maybe this is what being an adult is, these steady waters and calm skies.

You don't speak much as you chew, staring into space and thinking the slow thoughts of the exhausted, and he busies himself scrolling through his group messages and social media accounts.

There's a request from a verified account, a retired athlete-turned-model. He knows her name, has seen her in ads, bumped into her at the last Olympics. He clicks on it.

Hey, handsome. I'll be in Osaka this upcoming weekend - let's get a drink!

"I'm gonna shower," you're patting your hair, looking irritated. It always sticks up in the morning, no matter how you sleep on it, a few particular strands defying gravity.

"You should go to work like that," he says, voice still rough even if his mind's woken up. His accent is thicker in the morning, you've told him, but he can't hear it.

"Hell no," you say. "You're the only one who gets to see this morning glory for now."

"I better be," his grin is roguish, running his hand through his own bird's nest. "C'mon, you gonna let me shower with you or what?"

"No, you'll use up all my nice shampoo again!" You fake running to the bathroom, keeping your pace slow enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and tackle you down, careful to fold himself so that you land on top of him, body between his legs, face cushioned on his chest.

He leaves his phone face up, forgotten on the table.

He's toweling off his hair, dressed in his practice uniform, while you're packing your bag for the day in the kitchen. His apartment is small, way smaller than some of the other guys' on the team, but he grew up crammed into a room with his mom and his brother. He'd toured one penthouse and decided he couldn't live with all that space strangling him.

He'd tried to get Samu to bunk with him like old times, but his brother had just said I'll sleep three meters from your dirty laundry in hell, and that was the end of the argument.

Besides, he has a lot of car bills to pay. He managed to fold another Mazda last month and you've been carpooling in your ancient Toyota while he waits to get license privileges again ever since.

"You got a text, by the way," you say casually, digging through your purse with your lips twisted to the side. "Aha!" You pull out a tube of lipstick triumphantly. "You should respond before you forget."

"Ah, was it Samu?" He asks, crossing back into the bedroom to put away his damp towel.

"Nah, the model," you call. "Sorry, I read your texts."

You're fighting the growing bitterness of the words, trying to sound jaunty and uncaring and casual. The admission of invading his privacy weighs heavily on your shoulders; you can't make yourself look up into his face when he comes into the kitchen.

"I don't care," he shrugs. "You can read whatever you want."

"You shouldn't say that," you try to laugh and wince instead. He just grunts and picks up the phone, swiping away from the conversation and leaving her on read. "I don't have the right, don't I? I shouldn't have—"

"I really don't care," he cuts across your strained attempt at an apology again.

"You should!" You sound like you're about to stamp your foot at him. He doesn't understand why you're so angry; he doesn't bite. "Aren't you gonna get mad? Shouldn't we be fighting?"

"I don't wanna fight," he rubs his large, calloused hand over your shoulder, your upper trapezius, to cup the back of your and pull you into a loose embrace. You stand, dumbfounded, chin pushed into his shoulder, hands at your sides. "Do you? We can if you want to."

"No," you whisper. "Sorry, I—sorry."

"'S okay," he says, digging his thumbs into the tight knots of muscle. "No big deal. Here, you dropped your thingy."

The thingy is the tube of lipstick, a deep berry color, rolling towards the edge of the table. He steps back and squeezes your cheeks in one hands, prompting you to part your lips slightly. He does it how he knows you do, a soft smear on the lower lip and two dabs made sharp by a swipe of his thumbnail on the outer creases, all blended together at the end for a subtle touch of color.

"You look like a frog about to burp," he says when he's done. You laugh so hard you cry.

On the car ride to work, you keep chewing on your lip. He frowns when he notices, all his work bitten off.

You wait for him to get out of the car first, a holdover from the days when you would wait five minutes so no one would notice that you were coming from the same place. In some ways, it's easier that he crashed his car; so convenient that you volunteered to be his chauffeur. He comes to your side, opens your door. You squint at him, jutting your chin out like you're bracing yourself for something.

"I wasn't gonna go out with her," he tells you, a secret between you, him, and the hard asphalt of the MSBY gym's employee parking lot. "Ain't nobody else seein' this in the mornings either. That's all."

He turns around and strides off, leaving you blinking in the morning light.

"Can you move it?" You say, your brows knit together. Hinata grimaces.

"I can bend it, like this—" he curls the injured finger inward. "But it won't stretch out, like this. Ah!"

You release his hand, where you'd applied pressure to the digit. "It's sprained. You're sitting out the rest of practice."

"Aw, but it really doesn't hurt that bad," he protests. You give him a look. "Okay, okay. Can I least do some running and stuff?"

"Do you want to come to practice tomorrow?" You say evenly. He gives you big brown puppydog eyes and you fold like wet paper. "I'll give you some stretches and exercises for your legs that you probably can't fuck up."

"Yay!" He cheers. "Thank you!" He uses an affectionate diminutive of your name with -chan tacked on the end. You laugh and wave him off, walking out of the main gym area toward your office, where you can print him the exercises.

You lean against your desk while the printer huffs temperamentally, taking a long sip of coffee. You should really stop going over to Atsumu's on weeknights, but you've been telling yourself that for well over a year, and it's a lot more convenient since all your clothes and your toothbrush live at his place.

You tell yourself a lot of things when it comes to your blond coworker.

The door to your office slams open and you make an involuntary, high-pitched noise in the back of your throat, focusing hard on keeping the cardboard cup in your hand from jumping with you.

"Sorry, sorry," Bokuto says, his hair drooping dramatically. "It's just really important—Tsumu's hurt!"

You take an inhale so quickly it hurts and burst your coffee cup all over your coat and work pants. Luckily, you take it mostly milk and sugar, so it doesn't burn you, but you don't even really notice it, just shedding the coat and rolling up your sleeves as you stride out the door without hesitation.

Behind you, Bokuto follows, making garbled promises you hear as through water to buy you a house to make up for startling you and ruining your outfit.

You try to take three deep breaths before you enter the gym, knowing you'll be much more helpful calm rather than battling the wall of panic that threatens to overtake you. Atsumu is blocked from your vision by a crowd of his teammates, fluttering around him like a herd of bumblebees.

Iwaizumi is already there, you see with an exhale of relief, ordering everyone around him to stay calm. You motion to the players around him to give him space, hoping your terror doesn't show untowardly on your face, hoping he can feel your singleminded prayer: please be okay.

"Eh?" He has a dopey expression on his face, dopier than usual, anyway. He says your name gleefully, but you're too busy scanning him for visible blood or bone to respond right away. "Nice shirt. Hey, why's your coat off? Were you taking off your clothes in there? Without me?"

"He collided with Sakusa," Iwaizumi tells you. Atsumu reaches for your hand and you stroke your fingertips lightly over the back of it, along the bones and tendons, each touch saying you'll be okay, it's going to be okay.

I'll make it okay.

"Sakusa's shoulder got banged up, you should probably put him on reserve for a couple days," Iwaizumi says. You glance over at the black-haired spiker, who gives you a thumbs-up though his expression is characteristically flat. "Atsumu, though... he fell pretty hard."

You can see that. There's a bruise blooming along the side of his face, like the sloppy trail of your lipstick after a night out. His ankle is swollen, too; the disorientation of the head injury must have impaired the grace of his landing.

You kneel and shift into clinical mode, receding into the comfortable space of your training. You feel along his leg, asking him over and over does it hurt, can you move this, does it hurt when I do this.

"Okay, doc?" His beautiful honey eyes are unfocused. You want to cry. You want to squeeze his hand tighter, but you don't want to hurt him more. "S all good. I'm fine."

You shake your head, grateful it's not worse. Afraid of what you have to say to him.

"That's right, you'll be fine. But the concussion paired with the ankle injury... I don't think it's a good idea for you to return to practice for a month at least."

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your hands away from him. He probably doesn't want to be touched. He might hate you for this.

What's the point of sleeping with the doc if I don't get special privileges, you imagine him saying, if you're gonna take my life away from me like this. A month of recovery doesn't sound like so much to other people, but you've been working around these volleyball freaks since high school. You know that it's everything to them.

"Okay," Atsumu simply says. You look at him. "You gonna drive me home?"

"If you don't mind," you say softly.

"Yeah, then it's okay," he says, and scoots around, hissing when he forgets and puts pressure on the injured ankle. He leans back, and you catch his head in your lap.

"I'm gonna break my leg," Barnes says from somewhere behind you. "I want the doc to hold me like that."

You hear a thwack and then Iwaizumi's voice: "Sakusa, stop concussing your teammates. L/N only has so much room in her car."

Atsumu recovers more quickly than you expect. You should have known, though; he's always had a strong ability to heal. He rarely gets sick and though he's brash and reckless and sometimes outright stupid, he's lucky. In almost all the inadvisable endeavors you've seen him pull, he almost never gets hurt.

You're not actually a doctor, not that the team believes that. You've been trying to explain that you're a sports medicine physical therapist for the three years you've been working for MSBY and not once has it deterred anyone from calling you doc.

Atsumu was signed six months after you started, and you had only been friends until a year after that. In all that time, you've been the consummate professional at work, never letting your touches linger, never stretching him too deeply, trying not to stare at him like he's just any other player. When he first propositioned you, you tried not to say yes too quickly, as businesslike as possible.

You went into sports medicine because of your sister. She had been a superstar from the moment she stepped foot on a tennis court; even at a young age you saw that she wielded the racket like it was an extension of herself. As the two of you grew in age, you also saw the ways she overextended herself: the swollen knobs of her knees, hidden under frozen packs of peas, the frequent doctor's visits for hyperextension, the tear tracks when she tore her ACL.

You had spent so much of your childhood waiting for her during practice, doing your homework in the bleachers, fielding questions about her play to the uninitiated relatives who came to support her matches that it felt like the most natural course of action to go into a career field that meant you could help her and others like her chase their dreams.

You had also almost exclusively dated athletes as a result. While you were attending university and chasing your certifications, you had been surrounded by two types of people: students and athletes. You had barely any time in your schedule, much less the ability to align it with a similarly crammed med student. Athletes, on the other hand, didn't have an obsession with comparing your knowledge, liked that you were too busy to monitor them all day long, and loved that you had to attend every one of their games because it was literally your job.

By the time you got the position in Osaka, you were beyond over the routine of dating the people in your care. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't mess around with the team and entered a yearlong celibate streak, which Atsumu blew up into a million pieces and never allowed to recover.

To his (and your) credit, the both of you became close friends before ever crossing the boundary of inappropriate conduct. Just because you were strictly business during work hours didn't mean that you, lonely and shy in a new city, were going to turn down your coworkers' offer to go out after practice. You'd gotten to know Meian well and considered Bokuto to be something of a little brother. Then they had traded a couple of players for Atsumu, and the moment he gripped your hand and slapped your shoulder instead of shaking it or bowing like a normal person, you knew that he was going to mean much more to you than any other of your team.

You had fallen quickly into a deep friendship, and his apartment was much closer to the team's favored bars than yours was, so it was just easier for you to go home and crash on his couch. And his couch was gross, because it belonged to a bachelor who had never heard of a steam cleaner, so one night you insisted on sharing the bed, and you had become good friends who cuddled weekly.

It happened like this:

You were the last two left in the booth that had once contained the extremely compressed bodies of several of the largest men in Japan, probably, but they had practice early the next morning and had trickled out, one by one. Atsumu had his head down on the table while you desperately tried to convince him to come home (already you were referring to his apartment as your home without thinking, though only a spare toothbrush and a coat were kept there at the time).

"Please," you said, "I'm so tired. I'm not even drunk anymore."

"I am," Atsumu said, turning his face toward you. "Very."

"I know," you groaned. "Let's go home."

"I can't," he said despondently.

"Why not?"

"Not with you," his words slurred together. "I gotta problem."

"What?" You suddenly felt very, very sick. Maybe you were more drunk than you'd thought.

"Mhm. I gotta apologize, I think."

Oh, you thought. This is it. He knows.

"I've been having," he hiccuped and turned his face into his arms again so that you couldn't hear the next thing he mumbled.

"I can't hear you like that," you say softly. "Please, Atsumu, you can tell me anything."

You've been seeing someone, and she wants me to stop sleeping over. She wants you to stop being friends with me. You need the apartment to yourself to have her over.

"No," he says, turning back to you again, his eyes glossy with drink, his lips pink and just the slightest bit open. "I have been having manly thoughts about you. Unmanly thoughts. Whatever."

"What do you mean?" You'd asked, heart beating fast.

"I wanna have sex with you," he said, and then slammed his forehead against the table until it left a red mark. "I'm sorry, women! It's wrong to dream about kissing your girl friends, I know!"

You ignored his nonsensical shouting and put your hand under his face so he wouldn't injure it.

"Then let's go home so we can have sex," you said. He whipped his head up so fast you worried for his spinal discs.

"You promise?"

You actually didn't have sex that night because he fell asleep as soon as you coerced him into the bed. The next morning, he'd been hungover and ashamed, stuttering and afraid to look you in the eye. You had given him a handful of painkiller pills and waited until he was washing it down with a glass of green juice before you said "I think about having sex with you, too," so that he spewed it all over the floor.

Maybe it was petty, but you needed vengeance for his forcing you to drag him bodily out of that bar the previous night.

After your first time, he said, awkwardly, something about not being able to commit to a relationship at the moment, something about difficulty expressing his feelings, about being too immature to settle. A script you were as familiar with as the back of your hands. You turned to him, swiping sweaty strands of hair out of your face, glowing with a smile as he stuttered his way through it, and said I know the game. We don't have to talk about it.

He insisted that it wasn't a game, that you deserved transparency and to be treated well, and you rolled over on top of him and kissed him until he forgot his own name.

During the month-long recovery period, you had resumed the friendship you had had in the early months of knowing each other, refusing adamantly to do anything strenuous or even unsportsmanly while you had to work much more closely together than ever before. You insist on sleeping at your own apartment for the first week, afraid of aggravating his injuries further, until he threatens to walk to you with his pillow and sleepover bag. You bring him food near-daily and call his brother when your schedule prevents you from doing so.

He's diligent about doing the exercises and stretches you assign him to bring him back to full functionality. Towards the end of his detention (you pinch him for using such a dramatic word), you start taking walks together, in the evenings on work days and the mornings on days off.

You keep expecting him to ask for space, to push you out of his daily routine, to realize that he's bored because he knows everything about you; there's nothing left to hide. Nothing except the one unspoken thing, the one you're sure he knows but you can't acknowledge.

New growth is beginning to sprout on the trees, grey wood dotted with little specks of bright green. Atsumu walks without a limp, now, his posture straight but relaxed, his hands shoved into his pockets.

His body is healed, but his heart aches. You're wearing casual clothes, big soft pants that billow around your legs and a black shirt with his name in yellow letters, and you look far away, worried. No matter how many times he smooths the pinch between your brows away with his thumb, no matter how many times he asks what's wrong, you refuse him a straight answer.

He wonders if he's pulled you too close, in this month dying of boredom, forbidden from running and setting and anything that could damage his brain. He still gets to see you in the morning, your back arching as you stretch and yawn, the crinkle of your nose when your feet touch the cold floor outside of bed, which is probably slowly draining all the function from his grey matter.

You're wearing gloves, your extremities sensitive to the cold. He takes your left hand, tugs it off. When he tangles your fingers together, you look up at him, questioningly, that knot between your brows back again.

"What, woman, now I can't hold your hand?"

You stop walking. He curses his big, fat mouth. He always chooses the wrong thing to say, always has.

Osamu used to ask him what he was supposed to say to girls. Atsumu, proud big brother that he wanted to be, would puff out his chest and give him paragraphs of advice, and Osamu almost never used it. There were so few opportunities for him to advise Samu, though; he was so self-sufficient, maybe more than Atsumu had ever been. He was more introverted, less brash and crass and rude. Sometimes, when Atsumu ceded his insistence on being the wiser one with six more minutes of life experience, he wished he could be more like his twin.

"Do you love me like that, Atsumu?" You ask, mouth pressed into an unhappy line, already pulling away from him like you were expecting him to say something completely insane. "Because I understood fucking, and being friends with benefits, but I don't know if I get going out for food and holding hands and—"

"Like?" He says, refusing to let your hand slip from his. "I love you. That's it."

"Oh," you say, and your mouth is twisted up like you're searching for something he can't see again, but the crease in your forehead is gone.

"You gonna go out with me?" He says, and it comes out way easier than he ever thought it would, and if choosing the rest of his life is as simple a decision as chasing volleyball and you has been, growing up sounds way better than he thought. "'Cause I wanna do it all with you."

Once Atsumu's allowed to drink again, it's time for the real volleyball season to start, and his diet becomes much stricter and your schedule much longer, but eventually the two of you find yourselves back at the same old bar with the rest of the team.

"You're a scrub with no hope of survival in the zombie apocalypse," sneers Atsumu. This is a common topic of conversation among them; each one vying to be the leader of your hypothetical ragged survivors' team.

"I could win a fight against you with one hand tied behind my back," snits Tomas, who usually is oblivious to Atsumu's provocations but gets a lot feistier when he's drunk, to the setter's delight.

"Please don't," says Bokuto, his hair deflating in fear of his friends fighting.

"Haven't you had enough dick measuring," says Sakusa, holding a mug in front of his face like it'll prevent him from seeing Atsumu's and thus pretending he's not there.

"Have you guys ever done that?" You perk up, looking around. "Isn't that supposed to be a locker room ritual?"

"In high school, maybe," snorts Barnes. "We're way too old for that now."

"Yeah, we're real mature," insists Bokuto, his hair bouncing back up into its familiar two-pronged shape. You’ve long wondered how it does that, but if working with MSBY has taught you anything, it’s that science can’t explain everything.

You nod, taking another sip of your beer.

“So how big is it?” Atsumu addresses Sakusa and you squeeze your eyes shut. You just got him to start attending team bonding nights.

“Small. Leave me alone.” You choke on your drink, spluttering as you make eye contact with Sakusa and the tiny, prideful smirk on his face.

The rest of the team dissolves into laughter.

"What about you?" Hinata, his cheeks rosy, says to Atsumu. Before you can think, your drunken mouth speaks for you.

"You can’t have it, I called dibs!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. You can’t even begin to think about the rest of your coworker’s reactions. You haven’t even disclosed your relationship yet! Atsumu guffaws.

“I don’t think anyone’s trying to take it from ya, doll.”

[theallianceofcelestials]

Ik you said you didn't watch EAPS but i can't help but think what SEA cast would think knowing EAPS Eclipse has like 4 ghost kids now😭

Andrew, Andy&Jake(EAPS Stitchwraith) and Charlie(in the Puppet body)

I dunno if you saw that memey thing where person was complaining about BPD and an older Korean gentleman reassured them and the end of it is like: mmm gramdaughter, that's KC. His child-in-denial has kids, so now he's a granddad. (also I legit tried searching that post up but can't find it, so sorry)

SEA Eclipse would be weirded out by the whole having kids idea. He doesn't like being near kids, makes him uncomfortable. He can do fun uncle but not dad. He'd respect Canon Eclipse stepping up with the dead children, but it couldn't be him.

Sun is slightly worried about the whole dead part and the whole has magic part, but he'd be encouraging. In his words, he already helped the world's second biggest moron raise multiple children, he can help a socially awkward dude out too! He'd throw himself entirely into being a grunkle, though he'd assure the kids he's not like Grunkle Stan nor like Grunkle Ford, cuz he won't endanger them.

Moon would also utilise the same strategy he did with KC's kids, meaning he mostly keeps his distance and helps when he can. He'd avoid Andrew, Andy, Jake and Charlie more though, because of the whole dead kid thing. He's greatly discomforted by that, and it brings up bad memories

Bloodmoon would try their best, but would be very unsure. They don't know what to do. Rusty could be convinced to go shopping with Charlie and Ballora, or do any other more stereotipical girly activities with them, but Bloody doesn't like it. Makes him feel uncomfortable. So while you may find Rusty with wobbly makeup on, Bloody is hiding somewhere.

Solar Flare would be very catious, because it doesn't want to hurt any of these children more. It's aware it's also not the friendliest looking, so it wouldn't mind if the children avoided him. He'd be happy to hang out with them if they wanted to though, and be more than willing to game

Lunar, while mildly concerned, would just try to tease Canon Eclipse over being a dad. Not neccessarily realising he's making stuff awkward. He'd be absolutely cool with any activity the kids wanted to do, especially down for gaming together.

So on a whole, the family respects the decision to take in these lost, sassy children, and would try helping out, and thus attempt a "more normal and healthier" bonding attempt as Eclipse calls it, instead of just telling Canon Eclipse he's family now, so congrats.

And I'll also expand on the grandpa thing with KC, he'd not cave to the puppy eyes that easily, but he'd be easy to convince to make the children treats, help them with stuff and play with them however they want to. He'd also offer to teach them about magic, because it's a useful skill to have

Canon Eclipse would probably not be happy the SCPs are bothering him with this too now. He's doing fine on his own, thanks

[jirishnesensei]

Mirio Togata x Reader | Isekai AU [18+]

Warming up to you ch4. Forgiven

⊱ Pairings - mirio 3rd year student x reader

⊱ About - Boku No Hero Academia was your favourite anime. You watched it every week when a new episode came out, but what if you were transported into the world? Having no clue how you got there and you're being accused of being a part of the League Of Villians. Suffice to say, it's not the best way to start the show.

⊱ Warnings/tags - 18+ (eventually), fluff(for the most part), angst, smut, fem reader, romance, pining, SLOW BURN, swearing, friends to lovers, death, jealousy, she falls first he falls harder, mirio is mean (with reason), first everything, sassy mirio, fangirl reader, unrequited love

⊱ status - ongoing

⊱ chapters - 4/x

⊱ word count - 2.7k

"You do understand how difficult that is to believe, right?"

"I know, I know. I wouldn't even believe me but it's the truth! It's a whole fandom like I can tell you every person's name that you bring through that door. Their quirks, their life-" You tried to explain, but the look on Sir Nighteyes face is telling you that if you don't give him something substantial right now you're going to be walking out of that said door. He sighed as he rested on his palm.

"Okay, tell me where the Shie Hassaikai hideout is." You swallow what felt like your heart.

"I-I know it's in a normal looking house that has a huge under ground base, that part I didn't really pay much attention to...but I know what happens when you go-" You stopped mid sentence, realizing that if this conversation goes any further, Sir Nighteye will know that he dies. Luckily for you, he didn't catch onto your unease.

"I don't think you're a part of the League Of Villians," He says, leaning back in his chair. This made your heart leap with relief. "but I don't believe that you can help us with the investigation." Then your heart sunk to your feet. You didn't know why the rejection effected you so much... maybe because you could tell them everything they needed to know once they got there, maybe even because you could save Sir Nighteye and prevent Mirio from ever losing his...losing his... What does he lose again?

"Wait, I remember something!" You stood up from your chair in revelation as a whole new slew of memories suddenly unlocked in your brain, keeping your balance on the table with one hand.

"Drugs! That's what Shie Hassaikai is focusing on right now." you started. Peaking Sir Nighteyes interest. "They're making a drug that destroys your quirk completely! Amajiki Tamaki gets hit by one when he goes out on patrol with Hero Fat Gum and Red riot!"

Sir Nighteye looks at you over his glasses suspicously. "That's a very big accusation to make."

You shook your head at his response. "It's not an accusation. It happens. Luckily the bullet that is used on him is only a proto-type so he only loses his power for a few hours. But that's what they are using Eri for!" You speak with more flare in your tone.

Sir Nighteye pauses for a second, probably concluding something in his head before he stood up from his chair. "They are going on patrol tomorrow. If this happens... then I might consider you an ally in this investigation."

You can't help but smile unaturally wide before the pro hero infront of you. You were very close to nearly jumping right onto the man, but decided against it. "Thank You."

Sir Nighteye then suddenly made a slight disgusted face when he sniffed.

"What is that smell?" His tone becomes pale. Your cheeks instantly burn pink at what he was implying and you started to back away from him with embarrassment.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry! I haven't showered ever since I got here, It's so disgusting of me!" You apologised profusely. You absolutely hate the idea of not showering. You felt just as dirty as you smelt. Sir Nighteye held his nose as he tried to shoo you off.

"You can wear Bubble girls spare clothes. Turn left when you reach the end of the corridor and you'll see a shower room."

"Eh? A shower room? You have a shower in this place!?" You echoed as Sir Nighteye pushed you out of his office and out into the hallway before slamming the door shut in your face.

Rude.

You followed his directions and walked down the corridor then turned left, just like Sir Nighteye instructed and much to your surprise, there really was a shower room there!

You took your time as you showered. Leisurely scrubbing off all the dirt you could possibly scrub with a floral scented soap while the water was stinging hot, releasing vast amounts of steam that was probably condensing on nearby surfaces.

You still couldn't fully grasp what was happening. Was this happening as the anime was playing in your world? Or is this place an entirely different world all together? With how huge the universe is... it could be plausible... but so could the idea of you just dying in your car and your deepest desires came true. Although you were positive that your deepest desire was to be reincarnated as a hippo.

Which puts you back to square one of having absolutley no clue as to how you ended up here.

You suppose so long as they don't dump you on the streets you were okay with whatever happens and with you knowing nearly exactly what happens when they get to the hideout? You could prevent near to no casualties. The idea made you very happy. When Sir Nighteye died, you were horribly sad for the next week. Now actually being given the chance to save him? Even if this was a dream, you'd take it any day over the dull life you had back at home.

You dried yourself off and went to the change rooms. A pair of casual clothes are folded neatly in the chair infront of you with some essentials such as lotion, deodorant etc.

You also took your time with changing and once you were done you left the shower room and walked back to Sir Nighteyes office. Refreshed and clean but before you could knock you heard people talking and could only make out a few words such as 'Quirk destroying' and 'Tamaki'.

You assumed it was Sir Nighteye warning Fat Gum of what you had told him. You were positive it was happening. Which made you even more excited with the idea of helping them with the investigation and you weren't worried about Tamaki since he wins his fight regardless of whether you told them about the drug or not.

You decided to leave Sir Nighteye to speak to Fat Gum and walked around the building instead. It was insanely huge. You had peeked at the elevator and saw the building goes up an entire 25 floors! You stopped at the end of one corridor and nearly squealed when you saw the same Soda machine that Mirio had taken a drink out of when he was waiting for Midoriya to finish his fight with Sir Nighteye. It was the little things that really blew your mind. After admiring the little monument you decided to go back to check if Sir Nighteye was done and luckily he was. You knocked on the door and was given the okay to walk in.

"Hey, I'm done." you cringe at yourself. You don't know why you said that, it was obvious you were done.

"I informed Fat Gum of the incident you claim will happen tomorrow on their patrol. You better hope for your sake that you're right." He warned. You stood firm in your spot and saluted.

"Don't worry, I know my anime."

For the rest of the day Sir Nighteye made you help him with his paperwork, which you thought was his assistants job, but you weren't in the best position to complain. After a while of boring small talk and serious paper cuts, it was nearing 3 in the afternoon.

You heard a knock on the door and Sir Nighteyes clinical 'come in' answers after. You wondered if you'll ever get the priviledge of seeing him differently. Even if it's just a smile. That sounds really nice. The door opens and your heart, without your consent, tightens at the sight of Mirio.

"You called for me Sir?" He asked, glancing your way for just a second before looking back at Sir Nighteye, who was still nose deep in his papers.

"I doubt she is with the league of villains," He explains first and foremost. To which you could visibly see Mirio stiffen towards.

"but I still don't trust her 100% so she will be staying with you till further notice since you are the only one that I trust with the matter." 

"You can count on me Sir!" Mirio voices his diligence to following out whatever order he is given by his mentor. You still remain seated for god knows what reason, perhaps it was how radiant he had looked while answering, until Sir Nighteye glares at you, making you yelp out of your seat.

"There's an envelope there with money in it. Use it wisely." Sir Nighteye instructed. Mirio thanked him and took the envelope on the counter beside the door before leaving with you right behind him.

As soon as you closed the door to Sir Nighteyes office you stood in place, waiting for Mirio to notice, which he does a few steps ahead then he raises a brow at you.

You told yourself you were going to cash in on that hug.

You outstretch your arms with a light smile on your face. Clearly indicating what you were asking for. Mirio's body went rigid for just a second and based off of how he's been acting since you've met him, you honestly expected some wratched pat on the back, but he sighed gently and walked over to you. At this proximity and not being overloaded with pain and confusion, you notice how big he is and for a second you think he might squeeze the life out of you, but instead, he presses his palm against the small of your back and pulls you softly against his chest, cheek resting on his collarbone.

"I'm sorry for misjudging you." He says softly over your hair and you can't control the strands on your arms that rise and your hands that curl into fists on your sides. Once again, you are dumbfounded by how real he felt. Sure, everything looked like an anime, but that didn't matter at all. You could feel his steady heartbeat against your temple and the warmth of his body settling against your own. The fabric against your skin and the random breath of air he would take in.

Your self-control felt dire and non-existent because of it so without thinking you raised yourself onto your tippy-toes and nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, gripping the soft polyester in your hands. He goes rigid and blushes instantly. But you didn't want to let go for the life of you. His back felt so strong underneath your palms and the scent of his freshly washed clothes consumed you, but you knew you had to let go or so help you, you might never get a hug again.

When you do, you look up at him with one of those wide anime grins, "You're forgiven."

Mirio rolled his eyes and you could tell he was trying to act nonchalant about your hug. He made his way to the stairs again. You following right behind with a bit of a skip to your step. Wishing that whatever landed you here, kept you here.

"Sir gave quite a bit of money so we should get your shopping done now." Mirio gestured towards the envelope as you walked to the mall. You were in awe at the sight of it. This was where the entire U.A class came to do their shopping before their camping trip! As eager as you were to dive in, the setting sun just behind the large building makes you look over at Mirio to ask, "Isn't it a bit too late to do shopping right now?"

He raises a questioning eyebrow at you. "You can go without clothes for another day if you'd like."

You shook your head no. Not even realizing that you still didn't have clothes yet. Or anything for that matter.

Once you were inside the busy mall, you did a full 360 in awe. Mirio looked at you like you were someone that had never seen the outside world before, which made a pang of guilt hit him suddenly. Your situation was kind of like Eri-chans. Except you were more understanding of it considering your age. He shook his head, not wanting to dwell on the thought. Sir still didn't trust you 100% so he couldn't let his guard down. Not yet anyways.

You took Mirio's wrist and began to drag him through the mall without his consent, or maybe some of his consent because you doubt you're the one physically dragging him anywhere. You search eagerly for the spot where the entire U.A class stood.

"What are you looking for?" He watches you funnily. You finally stood still, gaping at the large area before you. You turn around to look at him while pointing a finger at the spot that seemed very ordinary to him.

"Oh my god this is where Class 1A stood!! That's so cool!-" you left Mirio's side and sat down on the bench Midoriya and Shigaraki sat down on while swaying like a child in excitement. Mirio walked up to you with a hand on his hip. Definitely judging you from where he stood.

"Are you done now? I still have homework to complete."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Where's your sense of fun? The my hero fandom would be really disappointed in you."

His eye twitched and you're more fascinated by that than what he has to say. "Then it looks like you don't really know me as well as you think you do. My only concern is making sure you don't get into any trouble. Sir put you under my care because he doesn't trust you yet."

"I get that, I do. But you can whip my ass any day, any time and I don't think I'd even see it coming so what are you stressing for? He put you in charge because of that, right?" 

He's silent for a moment. You watch his chest rise and fall as he takes a breath and for a moment you expect him to apologize and break out in a wide grin, but once again you're thwarted by the way Mirio acts.

"He also put me in charge because he knows I won't get manipulated by your plans or false pretence." 

You blink in disbelief. "False prete-? And what plans! I can't even plan what to eat for dinner. I'm just a crazy fan that's somehow in their favourite anime."

Mirio stares at you blankly. Unphased and unbothered. "You've got the crazy part right." Your jaw drops. "And you haven't been right about anything so far. Now you're either lying or you've gotta be the worst best fan I've ever seen." 

You jutted your chin out and crossed your arms stubbornly. "I beg to differ. Put me infront of every Class 1A student and I can tell you something about them that I shouldn't even know." You dared and Mirio could tell you were being serious, sighing while pinching the bridge of his nose to probably gain some semblance of control. Honestly you weren't sure whether to be proud or offended that you could piss someone like Mirio off.

"That reminds me, Aizawa-sensei wants you to come to U.A tomorrow." he says after a bit.

You gasp, raising to your feet. "Really!?" Were you actually going to be given the chance to meet Class 1A!?

"Really. Now let's get going, it's gonna get dark soon." Mirio doesn't let you answer before he starts to walk away and you can't help the frown that forms on your lips. He still seemed pretty skeptic of you. You wonder if that will ever change. You suppose until then you're just gonna have to show him that you're not threat. 

"Mirio!" You catch up to him, gleaming again as you look around. "You need to point me to the nearest Keychain store. I'm buying me a souvenir!"

⊱ Next chapter coming soon!

⊱ I want to see prev chap!

Taglist - @the-faceless-bride @distinguishedoafbiscuitopera @lostsomewhereinthegarden @baileebrown

Dividers by - enchanthings-a and cafekitsune

[star-clip]

With All The Money in The World, You Could Never Buy This Girl

A/N: This is yandere!prince's introduction!! Had a HUGE case of writers block, and I kept scraping idea after idea, but I finally finished it!

Summary: Auctioning off item after item has been your life for a few years now. But you never expected to be at the receiving end of a bid. Much less from a prince.

CW: Yandere, buying people, mostly fluff kinda

Word count: 2.1k word (proofread)

"Going once!" Silence filled the room. "Going twice!" A pin drop could be heard from a mile away. "Sold to number 36!" You yell out enthusiastically with a grin on your face. Your eyes scan over the audience: a mixture of low and high ranking nobles from all over the world gathered together to participate in an annual auction where rare, controversial and borderline illegal items are sold to the highest bidder.

Whether its ancient artifacts or deadly weapons, they would be displayed and sold to the highest bidder. Because of the nature of the auction, not just anyone can attend. No. Only those who have been personally invited by the organisers can participate. After all, they can't risk word about their activities to spread to the public. You yourself have been the auctioneer for the last 3, going on 4 years. It's an odd job, but it pays well enough. Plus, it's interesting to see people of high class bid on such strange objects. It's fun seeing people you recognise from newspapers or have actually seen with your own very eyes before.

These auctions seem more like a way for people to flaunt their wealth rather than purchase items they desire. You're not convinced any of these people give more than a second glance at these items after receiving them. They're probably left in an empty closet to collect dust till the owner remembers their existence.

"Our 10th item of the night is..." You ramble on about the item. Its history, relevance, what makes it so unique, and so on. Its your job after all. Make it seem like its actually worth the price you're about to give it.

"The starting bid is 800,000!" Already, you see many paddles with numbers rising up. Each one increasing their bid at an insane pace. You can barely keep up with them as the bid gets to a number that would put you in a coma had you seen it at a market. "... Going once!" You've said those words more times than you can remember. You don't even see a point in it anymore. Nobody ever bids again anyway. "Going twi–"

"500 million"

The room goes silent, and you along with it. Well, that's a first. Usually, people never bid after you already said 'going once'. And 500 million? That's much higher than the amount the previous bidder gave. This person must really want this item–

"For the auctioneer"

You see mouths open and eyes widening. If they're gasping or whispering, you don't hear them, you're too focused on the bid you're sure you must have misheard. You look at the person who just spoke. Dark brown hair, tan skin, dark brown eyes. He looks oddly familiar.

That's when it hits you. He's a prince, and an extremely wealthy one at that. You've heard about his country before. He comes from a rich kingdom that puts other royalty to shame. No wonder he could name such a high price so nonchalantly. It's probably pocket change to him. Though, now that you think about it, you dont know much about him– wait, that's not important right now! You snap back to reality and make eye contact with the prince. He has a wide smile plastered on his face, dimples showing clear as day.

You decide to play off what he said as a joke, it probably was anyway. Nobody would actually pay that much money for you. "Sorry, sir" you chuckle "But I'm not for sale". You look away and instead try to focus on continuing the auction, but before you could even get another word out, he strikes again.

"800 million"

Your eyes widen. Did he just jump by like 300 million? You let out a nervous scoff and try to reason with him. "Sir, I already told you: I'm not for sale." His eyes squint, as if he's only now processing what you're saying. "Hmm..." His voice echoes as the rest of the guests wait to see his response, the item up for grabs long forgotten.

"2 billion?"

Okay, seriously, what is wrong with him? "Sir, once again, I am not for sale–" "They mean yes, of course!" You turn your head at the sound of a gruff voice interrupting you loudly. It's the organiser. Your boss. "They're all yours, your highness!" He bows slightly. His eyes dart towards you, and he gives you a firm stare, like he's threatening to do much worse than whatever the prince has planned.

You gulp, frozen in place as if you're in a trance. People turn and whisper next to each other, with each one growing louder and louder. But you're too shocked to care. You try to calm yourself by breathing in and out, but it's no use as the prince's voice echoes throughout the auction hall. "Wonderful!" His smile ever present on this young face.

He gets up from his chair and starts approaching you, seeming eager to claim his prize. He stands below you as you bring your gaze down to face him. He extends his hand forward to you, beckoning you of the stage. You hold your breath as if you're about to dive, and with shaky, hesitant hands, accept his help down the stage.

His hold is gentle, soft, like the warm summer breeze. It's not aggressive or crushing like you thought it would be. He calmly leads you outside the auction hall. The moon's glow illuminates the many jewels adorning him, rubies as red as blood. He never stops smiling. It feels mocking in a way. While you stress and worry about what's to come, he remains calm and collected. Of course he does. Whatever happens to you will be his doing after all. Even as he leads you to what you assume to be your doom, you can't help but notice how beautiful he is. A seemingly perfect complexion, and brown hair that shines golden...

...

Is that seriously what you're focusing on? This man just bought you, and you're calling him pretty? He's about to make you one of his servants or worse, you should look at him with disgust! And yet, you can't bring yourself to.

Deciding that looking forward instead is better for your mental health, you turn your head and notice a carriage in the distance. You assume it belongs to him. When you finally reach the carriage, you're surprised when he opens the door for you before you can even react. You turn to look at him with confusion, but he simply smiles with his teeth and gestures for you to get inside.

"Well, don't just stand there, go on." You hesitate a bit, turning your gaze back to the inside of the carriage, you enter and sit on the edge of the seat. He closes the door and enters from the other side. When he sits down, you try your best to keep as much distance as you can, but he does not seem to understand what you're doing and slides closer to you. You jump a bit when the carriage starts moving, earning a small chuckle from the prince.

"Are you alright?" His voice sounds so sincere. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he actually cared.

You should watch what you say. This man has much power, and you are completely at his mercy. Any action from here on out should be thought out and careful–

"Interesting thing to say to someone you just bought." Oh wow. That thought didn't last very long, did it? You bite your lip and shut your eyes. God, he's gonna kill you. Probably say something about your attitude first. Then he'll kill you. But instead, you earn yourself another melodic laugh, making you turn to face him once again. "You're funny. You know that?" Okay. Not the reaction you expected, but you'll take it! Silence falls over you both as the carriage continues its trek. It doesn't last long though before the prince breaks the silence.

"What's your name?" You turn and give him an incredulous look. Is he serious? He doesn't even know what your name is? He just fucking kidnapped you in a way, and he never bothered to learn your name first? As if reading your mind, he comes to his own defense. "Hey, don't look at me like that! I know who you are, of course I do...but the auction organisers are very secretive about their workers. I've only ever seen you at some of the auctions." He answers playfully, he really doesn't understand how messed up this situation is, huh?

"Y/N," he repeats. "It's a pretty name. Wanna know mine?" Not really, you wanna say. But you hold yourself back this time. Who knows how patient he'll be. "Sure," you say simply. "Zahir." "Okay." Silence befalls once again. But just like last time, Zahir is quick to strike up another conversation. "Do you have any hobbies?" Okay, this is officially making no sense. First, a prince buys you, and now he's asking about your interests? If he's just planning on making you his servant, he has no reason to be asking. Yet, you decide to humour him for a while.

"Y/N..."

"Yeah, sometimes I..."

It's been a long time since you've spoken so much about yourself to someone. Then you realise. you've spoken so much about yourself. You forgot that he's literal royalty. You've just been going on and on about what you like, what you dislike, your past, your family, how you got your job. You forgot you were even talking. You've most definitely bored or annoyed him by now.

You stop talking and actually take a moment to look back at him. You expect to be greeted with indifference or hate, but instead, you see him looking at you so intently. As if he's hanging onto every word you say. Then, you see him tilt his head as if confused. "Why did you stop?" He seems so baffled. "Well, uhh... I was talking about myself so much." You look down. "And I didn't wanna bore or bother you anymore." You feel a soft, smooth finger lift your chin up, Zahir gazes into your eyes. "I could never get tired of hearing you speak."

You feel a warmth creep up to your face. Why do you feel like this? He's basically your captor. You can't. You have to stay alert. The carriage comes to a halt, and you're quick to back away from the prince's touch. "It seems we've arrived." He tells you to wait a moment as he exits from the door on his right. After a few seconds, the door on your left opens, and opposite you is Zahir. He takes your hand to help you out of the carriage, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he tangles his arm with yours and walks down a path leading to an enormous palace. You can't hide the look of admiration you have over the intricate designs that cover the stone walls. But while you admire the palace, Zahir admires you. He looks at you with such fondness. He'd gladly sell this palace if it meant he got to see a smile on your face.

When you approach the Palace doors, two gaurds are quick to open them before you're even a foot before them. If you thought the outside was impressive, the inside is much more luxurious than you expected. Red and gold accents adorn the white walls all around. A grand staircase in the centre of it all. When Zahir steps inside, dozens of maids and butlers form lines to greet him with a bow. So you'll probably work alongside these people from now on.

"Everyone, listen closely!" You can see the intense looks on everyone's faces.

"I have returned with what I had travelled for. Now, begin the preparations! My and Y/N's wedding shall be a great one!"

You think you just got whiplash from how quickly you turned your head to face him. "What?!"

This can't be happening. It just can't. He leads you up the stairs, but you aren't even paying attention to where you're going. It's the same trance you felt when you first met him. Dear lord. Is this your life now?

"Did I not tell you on the way here?" He asks, but not in his usual playful manner. "You are to be my spouse!" He grabs your hands and presses a kiss on them when he notices the horrified look on your face. "Fret not; I will ensure your happiness for as long as we live." He brings up one hand to caress your cheek, and plants a kiss on your forehead. He turns on his heel to face the stairs. "Shall we?"

[lilithyvenus]

all is full of love - pick a picture

hi angels 💞 when you have every reason to be mad and grouchy, it can be hard to remember how love is all around you. inspired by björk's song of the same title and it's not up to you, this reading serves to remind you of where you can find love and let it in. romantic love isn't everything and if i'm being completely frank with you, if you are particularly into men, the healthy love you desire will not come from them. i'm tempted to backtrack but there's a reason why rnb women STILL sing about how no good they are, even 80+ years later. this isn't a generalization but i also refuse to feed you delusion – you've met them too. additionally, you're less likely to find a healthy love if you are unused to unconditional love, and more often than not, you foster it by pouring into everything but romance. it is normal to wish for the opposite, but normal doesn't always mean good for you.

be critical of what people gain from encouraging you to wait on romantic love with dream partners, instead of encouraging you to foster community with people who remind you you're lovable and loved without the incentive of romance.

tip jar paid readings

group one

your cards: nine of cups + the magician + five of cups

your channeled songs + media: lego house by ed sheeran + all the same by wavves + asking for it by hole

you find love and let it in by outright asking your higher power for those who aren't for you to fall away from your life. i'm seeing here that the people who love and care for you already exist, but it's difficult to be discerning when you have less than savoury people clouding your judgment. i get here that particularly people who find it easy to dismiss your beliefs and don't respect your space and time are culprits; if they can't respect the very basic things that make us human, why would they offer love too? the people who you feel uncomfortable expressing yourself in front of and quite literally disrupt your efforts, especially those that are to improve your life – they have to fucking GOOOO, now! you deserve to be at peace and if people are disrupting that, even after talking with them, then they're no good, whether or not it's intentional on their part. how you feel matters most because it's YOUR life. what are you telling yourself implicitly every time you choose to acknowledge someone's actions hurt you but it's okay because they're human too... over and over again? it'll be difficult to come to terms with knowing that real love cannot be questioned, but you have the safety net of knowing that by distancing yourself from people who aren't 100% for you, you're left with those who really are.

group two

your cards: five of cups + ten of cups + the star

your channeled songs + media: all is full of love by björk, lonely by jamila woods, someone who can by yuna

you find love and let it in by grieving the people you've lost and still choosing to believe in love. it can be especially difficult to trust again when you've been hurt countless times, especially when you knew you were being authentic. i'm sorry you've been disappointed but i promise, we are social beings and there are people out there who will click with you. try finding them online. look for spaces that are about healing cptsd and issues with codependency as well as fitting in. there's a mention of neurodivergence here, and again, there's definitely people who will get that and you. healing isn't magicking away your sorrow, but rather acknowledging how difficult it makes things and remembering that you aren't the only person or the first to experience lovelessness because of it. you will make mistakes in learning who to trust, but you can't go wrong if you're actively reminding yourself that it's not only normal to do so, but by treating yourself kindly despite it. seek out communities that value healing and growth, because you'll have that one thing in common with whoever you meet, and you will find it easier to relate – even without shared interests – because you have the assurance that your vulnerability is valued and you're safe.

group three

your cards: two of cups + ace of swords + six of cups

your channeled songs + media: believe in love by marina + lions, tigers and bears by jazmine sullivan + pay your way in pain by st vincent

you find love and let it in by being painfully and compassionately honest with yourself about the patterns you repeat in love from your childhood. without adding other people into the equation, is it possible you've learnt to give in order to receive a fraction of what you offer? love exists around you, and you ARE love, but you fail to see and honour that because you've internalized love being a performance. this is the most explicitly romantic reading, and it's clear you don't have difficulty finding suitors, it's keeping them that's a struggle. understand that you're not at fault for something that takes two people falling apart. especially not if it's you daring to be vulnerable that seemingly pushes people away. fuck constantly needing to improve yourself for love, you're deserving as you are because you're a work in progress. you can't learn to love yourself from nothing, we do need other people to show us how. that's the whole reason why people develop unhealthy attachment styles from improper care from parental figures in childhood. you let love in by being honest with yourself about this and choosing to be ruthless about people shying away from your hurt and only wanting fun. those are not people that have the capacity to love you, and you absolutely should not be burdening yourself with thinking you're too much for expecting integrity.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Smoke(PernilleHarderXMagdaErikssonXTeenReader)

AN: as requested a Hardersson one

Warning: Smoking cigarettes, Asthma mentioned and Google translate used

Summary:your moms find cigarettes in your room.

You had no idea what was waiting for you at Home. But you found out rather quickly. As soon as you walked into the Apartment.

"y/n Smilla Eriksson-Harder!kom till vardagsrummet nu!(come to the living room right now!)" Your Mama(Magda) said in a tone that let you know you were in trouble. Not that the full name use wasn't an idication for that already. You swallowed and walked into the livingroom.

"what's wrong?" You asked, biting down on your bottom lip.

"er der noget du vil fortælle os?(is there something you want to tell us?)" Your mom(Pernille) asked. You shook your head no.

"ikke rigtig!(not really!)" You answered, having no idea what was going on.

"er det sådan?(is that so?)" Your mom tried again. Holding up the Pack of cigarettes,she had found while putting away some laundry in your sock drawer.

"vill du förklara?(care to explain?)" Your mama asked, crossing her arms over her chest. You looked down and sighed softly.

"måste jag?(do I have to?)" You wanted to know. Not really ready to talk about this. Magda looked like she was about to lose it.

"ja! rökning är farligt!(yes! smoking is dangerous!)" She told you.

"din mor har ret! du har astma, kære!(your Mama is right! you have Asthma, love!)" Pernille replied. Trying to bring into some calm Energy cause you Mama was freaking out.

"de är inte mina!(those aren't mine!)" You explained. Sighing softly.

This did calm down your Mama a bit. She was only this angry cause she was stressed. You had a few health scares growing up and she was always worrying about you. Not that your Mom wasn't worried about you but Magda surprisingly sure was the stressed out parent and more emotional.

"hvem tilhører de?(who do they belong to?)" Pernille wanted to know.

"Jeg kan ikke fortælle dig det!(I can't tell you!)" You stated. Looking away. You couldn't tell them cause the cigarettes belonged to your twin brother Iver Jerik Eriksson-Harder. And you were the one that took them away from him cause you didn't want him to smoke them . Worried about his health. You two were 16 after all.

"älskling, jag tror dig.(sweetheart, i believe you.)" Magda answered. "men jag behöver fortfarande veta varför du hade cigaretterna i ditt rum och vem de tillhör." Your Mama spoke up again.

You looked at her and then your Mom.

"Jeg kan virkelig ikke sige noget. kun at jeg bare tog dem fra den person, de tilhører, fordi jeg ikke ville have dem til at ryge. (I really can't say anything. only that I just took them away from the person they belong to because I didn't want them to smoke.)" You wanted to say something else but another voice spoke up. Entering the room.

"de tilhører mig.(they belong to me.)" Your twin brother told your moms. Pernille and Magda looked at him.

"du er i problemer.(you are in trouble.)" Your mom let your twin know.

"jeg ved det. jeg er ked af det.(i know. i am sorry.)" Iver replied and sighed softly.

Your mama hugged you and you hugged back.

"jag är ledsen för att jag anklagar dig!(i am sorry for accusing you!)" She told you.

"det är bra!(It's fine)" You replied and smiled slightly. "nu till dig, du är jordad.(now to you, you are grounded.)" Your Mama said, turning to your twin brother.

"det är rättvist.(that's fair.)" He nodded his head.

Your brother was grounded for two weeks, so you tried to spent as much time at home as possible so he wouldn't be alone so much. But you had practice and games to Focus on. And your new girlfriend. So of ourse you wanted to spent time with her as well.