#i just have to sit by myself and pretend that it isn’t hurting me

[bubblegumbeyotch]

.

[froggiewrites]

HAII, I rlly love your writing style and the way you portray the characters! I was wondering if u could do an Ace x shy (ish) reader except the reader is an extrovert but completely loses all social skills when it comes to Ace and practically avoids him lol (cuz he’s so fineeee oml like how can u talk normally to a fine man like him?) I’m sorry Ik it’s a bit specific but I’ve had this scenario in mind for a while and I was wondering if u could write abt it please ����😓

This was such a cute request, I had fun with this one 😊 I hope you enjoy it!

Tongue Tied

Pairing: Ace x Reader

SFW

Summary: You've decided you're done embarrassing yourself in front of your Commander, but your attempt to avoid him doesn't work out how you'd hoped. Warnings: Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Ace and Reader both being idiots Word Count: 1.7k

If you make a fool of yourself in front of him again, you might throw yourself off of the ship.

There’s only so many stumbles, so many stuttered words, so many awkward laughs that you can handle. Every time you speak to Ace, you somehow manage to embarrass yourself. You’re done with it. If you can’t get your act together, can’t impress and enchant him how you want to, then it’s better not to speak to him at all.

And so here you are, curled up in a corner of the kitchen, praying to any god that might listen that your Commander doesn’t come looking for a snack.

“You alright down there?” Thatch’s voice is kind, as it always is, but you can hear a bit of a laugh. You’re used to the good natured teasing of the crew, so it doesn’t get under your skin as much as it used to, but you can’t help but bristling a bit.

“I’m fine.”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m sure you are. I just wanted to check. I heard there was an incident earlier–”

“God, don’t remind me.” You had been in the middle of telling a story, complete with very enthusiastic hand gestures, only for Ace to sneak up on you and get clocked straight in the face by a particularly large sweeping motion. He was fine, obviously, as a Logia type, but you had barely managed to squeak out an embarrassed apology before you had sprinted off, nearly tripping down the stairs on your way out. “I’m never going to live that down.”

“It’s not like you hurt anybody. Everyone on the ship has at least one story way more embarrassing than this, I promise you. You remember how many times Ace got thrown overboard when he first got here, don’t you?”

“I don’t think losing a fight to Pops is as embarrassing as accidentally punching a commander in the face because I got too excited.”

“Well at least your thing is cute.”

“Cute? It made me look insane!”

“It made you look clumsy. There’s plenty of clumsy people on this ship, and we love them all the same.” You don’t want to give in, want to sit in the hurt and the shame until it eats you whole, but Thatch’s words are so kind and his words are so gentle you can’t help but let your hold on it slip a bit, your shoulders relaxing just a tad. “I promise you this is going to be nothing but a funny memory someday. Probably someday soon. I’m surprised you’re so shaken by this, honestly. Haven’t you had a lot of moments like this?”

“Where I made myself look like a dumbass in front of a crowd? Yeah, I have, thanks for reminding me.” There’s no bite to your words anymore, and you can see the small shimmer of victory in his eyes as he realizes he’s gotten to you.

“But those don’t bother you. Because it isn’t about the crowd, right?”

You sigh. You had a feeling Thatch knew about your little crush, considering how poorly you’ve been hiding it, but he hadn’t said anything before now. You had hoped that no one ever would, and you could keep pretending you weren’t horribly obvious about your feelings. “So you’re going to make me talk about it now?”

“I’m not going to make you do anything, kid. I’m just giving you the chance to. In a safe space. And I promise that not a single word of what you tell me will leave this room.”

You don’t want to. You may be horribly uncomfortable and embarrassed now, but this is a familiar discomfort. A safe sort of pain, dull and easy to deal with. If you talk about it, let your soft parts show, well, who knows what will come after that? Nothing is more terrifying than the unfamiliar, whether it’s joy or disappointment or something in between. At least you know how pining feels, how it sits so snugly in your chest.

But Thatch’s smile is so warm, and his eyes are a little bit pleading, and you’ve never been good at turning away an outstretched hand. “...I just don’t know what it is about him that makes me such a mess.”

“Does he make you nervous?”

“Yes, god, so much. I’m not used to someone making me feel so…small. And jittery. I never know what to say, and even when I do the words come out wrong. It makes me feel so stupid and silly, like I’m a dumb kid again while he’s so…everything. I hate it. I hate feeling so out of control and self conscious. I hate that even seeing him makes me completely lose it, and that everyone can tell. I hate how hard it is to avoid him, because even despite all of that I still want to be around him. It sucks. So goddamn bad.”

“It can be hard to feel like you’re not in control of your emotions, that’s true. But caring about someone isn’t a bad thing, really. Especially not caring about someone like Ace. He’s a good guy.” 

“He is a good guy.” It’s part of the reason he had stolen your heart so effortlessly. He was just…kind. He cared about other people, and other people cared about him. When he passed through somewhere, he always left it a little better than he found it, whether he actively tried or not. You can’t help the small, self deprecating laugh that bubbles out of you. “He’d be a hell of a lot easier to get over if he wasn’t. But maybe he’s worth the trouble.”

“Worth making a fool of yourself?”

You smile, a small and fragile little thing. “Yeah.”

It feels good to have gotten off of your chest for a moment, and you let a little of that weight fall off your shoulders.

And then you hear the creak of the floorboards outside, and you and Thatch look up to see Ace, his hat quickly pulled down to cover his face, just barely showing the very red tips of his ears.

“Oh my god.” You can barely squeak out the words, so mortified it almost makes you nauseous.

Thatch has the nerve to laugh. “Well, this isn’t the ideal way to do this, but hey. At least it’s out there. I told you they didn’t hate you, didn’t I?”

What?

Ace’s voice is about an octave higher than you remember it. “Yeah, you mentioned that. I–um–I’m so sorry, I was just coming down to talk to Thatch, and–I really didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” He lets his hat drop a little, his eyes peeking over the brim, allowing you to see his flushed cheeks, making his freckles stand out even more over the pink.

Thatch very casually walks past Ace, shoves him into the kitchen, and walks away, calling over his shoulder to, “Have fun with that!”

He blinks at you.

You blink back.

“I–uh.” You can’t bring yourself to acknowledge what’s happening, your brain frying under the stress of trying to process the situation. “I’m sorry I punched you earlier.”

He chokes out a strained laugh. “It’s alright. I didn’t even feel it.”

Another beat of silence.

You’ve never seen Ace looking so unsure, shifting on his feet, eyes darting everywhere but you. Normally staying in his presence this long would make you curl in on yourself, taking up as little space as possible, trying not to make an idiot of yourself and failing massively. But something about seeing him look so vulnerable compared to how you usually view him, so human, makes you speak up. “You thought I hated you?”

The red on his cheeks grows deeper. “I–you always run when I try to talk to you. I thought it was because I made you uncomfortable, and I was hoping talking to you more would fix it, but it just made it worse. So I just…make you nervous?”

“Yeah. You do.”

“Why?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “What do you mean why? I thought you just heard why.”

He chuckles nervously. “Right. I–um. I just can’t believe it.”

“Which part?”

He tenses further, but instead of running, he begins to approach, slowly lowering his hat and sitting on the floor across from you. “Any of it, I guess. That you like me. That you think I’m some cool, strong hero, or something.”

“Do you not think you’re cool?”

He hums, closing his eyes in thought. “Yes. But not really.”

“Care to elaborate?”

He sighs. “I know I’m strong, and capable, and I try my best to help people. But…I don’t know. I just don’t think of myself as someone worth getting nervous over.”

“You don’t see why someone might be nervous around an extremely talented and handsome man?”

He grins. “You think I’m handsome?”

“Shut up. You already knew that.”

“You didn’t actually say it earlier. You just said I was good.”

You roll your eyes. “It was implied!”

“Maybe I’m not good with subtext!”

You both laugh, and you find yourself leaning closer. “I think you know damn well that you’re handsome and cool and all of the other amazing things I implied earlier.”

Before you know it, your noses are brushing together, and you can see every fleck of color in his eyes. “Do I?”

His lips are softer than you expected, his touch gentler than you could have dreamed. You don’t even realize what you’ve done until you’re already pulling away, cheeks flushed and a goofy smile on your face.

Ace looks downright giddy. “I never thought I’d get the chance to do that. This is the first time you’ve actually talked to me in months.”

It suddenly strikes you that you’ve finally had a normal conversation with Ace.

And kissed him.

You flush red.

He sighs fondly. “I was wondering when that was going to happen.” He leans forward, taking your hand in his, and is kind enough not to mention how clammy they’ve suddenly gotten. “It might be a little rough doing this if you can’t talk to me. But that’s alright. I think maybe you’re worth the trouble.”

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

[sxcretricciardo]

you broke me first - L.N - pt. 2

part 1

•

It had been a month since the night of the concert—the night Lando showed up unannounced and left you reeling with his apology. You hadn’t spoken to him since, not because you didn’t want to, but because you were scared. Scared that letting him back in would undo all the progress you’d made.

But he hadn’t disappeared.

Lando found ways to show you he meant what he’d said. A bouquet of your favorite flowers arrived on your doorstep one morning, with a simple note attached:

“I’m sorry. I’m here when you’re ready. – Lando”

When you traveled to Paris for the next leg of your tour, a small care package arrived at your hotel: your favorite snacks, a candle that smelled like home, and a handwritten letter.

“I know I hurt you, and I’ll spend every day proving I’m not that man anymore. Take all the time you need.”

It was little things like this—unobtrusive, thoughtful gestures—that made you start to believe he might be serious.

One quiet evening after a show in Amsterdam, you found yourself staring at his name in your contacts. Your finger hovered over the call button for what felt like hours. Finally, with a deep breath, you pressed it.

He answered on the second ring.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Hi,” you said, your heart pounding so hard you thought he might hear it over the phone.

There was a pause on the other end—long enough to make you second-guess calling at all. Then, his voice came through, breathless and relieved.

“I didn’t think you’d call,” Lando said softly.

“I didn’t think I would either,” you admitted, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed. “But… you’ve been showing up in ways I didn’t expect. And it’s made me wonder.”

“Wonder?” he repeated cautiously.

You ran a hand through your hair, staring out the window at the glowing lights of Amsterdam. “If you really mean it. If this isn’t just… another mistake.”

“Y/N, I swear to you,” Lando said quickly, his tone desperate but steady. “This isn’t a game for me. Not anymore. I’m not that guy who stood in front of you and let you walk away. I know I screwed up, and I hate myself for it every single day.”

You swallowed hard, the ache in your chest familiar but different this time—less sharp, more bittersweet. “It’s not easy for me to believe you, Lando. I need you to know that.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I don’t expect you to just forgive me overnight. I just… I just want the chance to show you. To earn back the trust I threw away.”

His sincerity cracked something in you, and for the first time in months, you let your guard drop, just a little.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Maybe we can talk. Start with that.”

The relief in his voice was palpable. “I’d love that. Anytime, anywhere—just say the word.”

“Not anytime,” you teased softly. “I still have a tour to finish, you know.”

Lando chuckled lightly, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you. “Right. You’re busy being the rockstar I fell in love with.”

Your breath hitched at his words, but you let it slide, pretending they didn’t affect you the way they did. “Goodnight, Lando.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice.

When you hung up, you felt lighter—hopeful, even. It was small, but it was a start.

The first time you saw him again was two weeks later, during a rare break in your tour. You had agreed to meet at a small café in London, far from the prying eyes of the public. It felt strange, seeing him sitting there, his hair slightly messy under a cap, a nervous smile on his face when he spotted you.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing up as you approached.

“Hi,” you replied, shifting awkwardly as you slid into the chair across from him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It was as if you were both figuring out how to exist in each other’s presence again.

“You look good,” Lando finally said, his voice gentle. “Really good.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Tour life has kept me busy. I think I’ve forgotten what sleep feels like.”

He chuckled, but then his expression grew more serious. “I listened to your album, you know.”

Your smile faltered. “Oh.”

“It broke me,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “Hearing those songs… knowing I caused that much pain. I sat there for hours just… listening. And crying.”

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “It wasn’t easy to write, either,” you admitted. “But I had to get it out somehow. Music was the only thing that kept me from falling apart.”

“I’m glad you had that,” he said. “But I wish I’d been the person you could lean on instead of the one who hurt you.”

You looked down at your coffee, stirring it absently. “Why did you do it, Lando? Why did you let me walk away that night?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was scared,” he said honestly. “I thought if I let myself feel how much I loved you, I’d ruin it. I didn’t think I was good enough for you, Y/N. And instead of facing that, I pushed you away.”

You stared at him, your heart aching at the rawness in his voice. “And now?”

“Now?” He looked you straight in the eye, determination etched across his face. “I know what I want. I want you. I want us. I don’t care how long it takes or how hard I have to work—I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not that guy anymore.”

The sincerity in his words hit you like a wave, and for the first time, you let yourself believe he might really mean it.

“Okay,” you said softly. “One step at a time, Lando. That’s all I can promise.”

He nodded, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

Over the next few months, Lando kept his word. He didn’t push you or demand more than you were ready to give. Instead, he showed up—consistently, quietly, and with unwavering patience.

He sent you texts after every show:

“You were incredible tonight. I’m so proud of you.”

Sometimes, he’d surprise you by showing up in the audience, sitting quietly at the back, cheering you on without fanfare.

When you had a break in your schedule, he invited you to his place for casual dinners—no pressure, no expectations. Just the two of you catching up like old times, laughing over silly stories and reconnecting in ways that felt real and easy.

One night, as you sat on his couch watching a movie, you caught him looking at you.

“What?” you asked, smiling softly.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I just… I missed this. I missed you.”

You didn’t respond right away, but instead rested your head on his shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around you.

“I missed this too,” you whispered.

It wasn’t until the final night of your tour—another sold-out show in London—that you realized how far you’d come. Lando was there, as he always was now, standing off to the side of the stage, his eyes never leaving you.

When you sang You Broke Me First, your voice steady and strong, you glanced at him briefly. This time, there were no tears—just a quiet understanding between you.

After the show, he found you backstage, grinning like a little kid.

“You were unbelievable,” he said, pulling you into a hug.

“Thank you,” you replied, your arms wrapping around him tightly.

When you pulled back, he looked at you with a seriousness that made your heart race. “Y/N… I know I don’t deserve it, but I love you. I love you so much it scares me. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if you’ll let me.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with emotion. “You’ve already started proving it, Lando. And I think… I think I’m ready to try again.”

His face lit up with a smile so genuine it nearly took your breath away. “You mean it?”

“I mean it,” you said softly, cupping his face in your hands. “But no more mistakes. No more running.”

“Never again,” he promised, leaning in to kiss you—soft, slow, and full of everything you’d both been holding onto for so long.

And in that moment, you knew: this was your new beginning.

[luveline]

jade baby I was wondering if you could do a hurt/comfort with Steve, but the reader comforting steve while he deals with his hearing loss after all the times he got beat up and stuff? Maybe he’s frustrated and she makes him feel better:’)

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1k

Steve’s eardrum was weakened after multiple traumas to the side of his head, but it’s the strangulation of vines in the Creel house that finally gives him permanent hearing loss in his left ear. Matter of time, the doctor said. 

He pretends it doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t wear the hearing aid he’s fitted for, he doesn’t go for his follow up appointments. Steve acts like he got better just like everybody else did (sort of). He doesn’t care about taking his shirt off at the pool, ‘cos you all have scars from your time in the upside down, but he doesn’t talk about his ear. 

“Woah, that kid can make a wave,” he says, squinting against the sunshine, his legs still wet from swimming. 

In the pool, Dustin and his friends play an aggressive game of Marco Polo. Max sits on the side with her feet in the water shouting Polo’s that only serve to confuse him, Lucas beside her laughing and trying to curve his own shouting with his hand. Dustin throws his arm out at them and soaks their swim shorts in retribution. 

“He’d be winning if they stopped messing with him,” you say, sitting on the lounger next to him and passing him one of the drinks from your bag. It’s still cold. “When’s Robin getting here?” 

“Uh, she’s with Nance.” 

“Oh, gotcha. When is she coming?” you ask, a little louder. 

He must have missed a couple of words and assumed you asked where she was. He frowns, turning the can of original coke you’ve given him over in his hand. 

“Steve?” 

He looks up, turning himself to you more squarely. “Yeah?” 

“Do you know when Robin’s gonna be here?” 

He presses a finger to his ear. “You just asked me that, huh?” 

“It’s okay. I’m just wondering.” 

“Uh.” He ruffles his hair, face angled down to the floor. “I don’t know. Half an hour?” 

Steve isn’t easy, he’s not promiscuous (anymore) (and who cares if he is?) but he loves flirty attention, and he’s a friend in need. Also, you have a huge awful crush on him even if you won’t admit to it. 

You put your hand on his knee. “Half an hour for you to kiss me stupid, then.” 

He lifts his head. “You wish.” He smiles at you all smug as he covers your hand with his. “Half an hour? I could rock your world.” 

You both laugh and move your hands back to your sides. Your skin feels warm where he’d held it, you can’t help smiling, but it’s obvious it hasn’t really taken his mind off of the problem. Your ruse ran out of steam too quickly. 

Steve looks down at his chest. “I’m sorry. It must be annoying, repeating what you’re saying all the time.” 

“It’s not.” 

“Come on, I know it’s the worst.” 

“Steve, it doesn’t bother me. You need me to repeat what I said, or you need me to talk louder sometimes, so I’ll do it. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It does,” he says, “I should just wear the– the hearing aid,” —his voice goes low with embarrassment— “and stop inconveniencing everybody.” 

“You’re not an inconvenience, Steve.” You tilt your head gently toward your shoulder, palm up on the chair between you. “Steve, I think everybody would agree with me when I say that we don’t mind. It’s up to you. If Max doesn’t wanna use her cane, you don’t care, do you? You just let her use your arm. It’s the same thing. Or, it feels like the same thing for us when you don’t use your hearing aid.” 

He winces. 

You really don’t like the look of it, unsure if you’ve said the wrong thing. “Well, I could learn sign,” you say. 

“What?” 

“Sign language? We could learn how to sign, and then you don’t have to wear the hearing aid, n’ you don’t have to worry I’m repeating myself.” 

“You’d do that?” 

“Yeah,” you say, smiling in bemusement. “Of course I would. And it would help anyways in places like this.” You gesture to the tens of kids shouting and splashing in the pool. “There’s so much noise. I can barely hear myself sometimes. And imagine the shit we could talk at the movies–”

“Thank you,” Steve says, surprising you with his arms suddenly reaching out. He kisses your cheek as he pulls you in, and he rubs your back gently, his face pressed to your hair. You hug him back and his arms tighten around you. 

“You’re welcome,” you say. You haven’t even done anything. 

“Seriously,” he says, giving your back a good scrunch with his hand. 

It’s worth it for the scrunch alone, but you really mean it. Of course you’d learn to sign for him, you’ll do anything he needs you to do if it’ll make him more comfortable with coping with this new change. You smile into his naked shoulder, the smell of sunscreen under your nose, his hair tickling your ear. 

“Oh, god, are you guys serious?” Robin asks. “When’s the wedding?” 

“Should’ve started with the joke,” Steve says, putting his chin atop your head rather than pulling away. You turn just enough to see Robin from the corner of your eye. 

She raises her eyebrows. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, just swapping out best friends for the better model.” 

“I resent that, Steve, but I choose to forgive you because I’m in a good mood and Nancy made sandwiches.” 

“My mom made them,” Nancy says from behind Robin's shoulder, looking down at the brown paper bag she’s carrying. 

They turn away from you to call the kids in for lunch. “What did she…” Steve says. 

“Her mom made sandwiches. I’ll get you a PB and J before Mike claims them all,” you promise. 

He smiles a line, nodding at you appreciatively. When you turn away, he brings a hand to his ear, and he doesn’t hate himself for something he can’t help. 

[theodorenmyth]

Y’know how you’re eating and you accidentally bite like your lower lip? Can it be reader who does it a lot but never tells anyone, and so it looks like someone had punched reader but really they had bit their lip and Theodore, their boyfriend is worried cause it does indeed look like someone punched them.

Hope this makes sense!

Hurtful Habits

Pairings : Theodore Nott x GN!reader

Summary : You have an unfortunate habit of accidentally biting your lower lip, often making it look like you've been in a fight. Your boyfriend, Theodore Nott, notices the bruising and becomes increasingly worried, suspecting someone might be hurting you. When he finally confronts you about it, you reveal the truth about your habit. Despite the embarrassment, Theodore's tender care and concern reassure you, deepening your bond. His constant attentiveness and willingness to protect you make you realize just how lucky you are to have someone who loves you so fiercely and unconditionally.

A/n : Thank you for the request! And the fact that I have this habit as well lmfao. Enjoy! (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Warnings) : nothing

Word count : 1k+

You sit at your usual spot in the Slytherin common room, the plush green couch by the fireplace, a book resting on your lap. The flames flicker, casting warm light and deep shadows that dance across the room. It’s peaceful here, a welcome contrast to the bustling corridors of Hogwarts. But your tranquility is interrupted as you accidentally bite your lower lip while absentmindedly chewing on a snack. Pain shoots through the tender flesh, and you wince, feeling a sting as blood wells up.

Sighing, you press a finger to the wound, hoping it doesn’t look too bad. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this; it seems to happen more often than you’d like to admit. You’ve never told anyone about this habit, and it’s left your lips perpetually bruised and swollen, looking far worse than the simple bites they are.

As the day goes on, you barely notice Theodore watching you from across the room. His eyes narrow slightly, worry creasing his brow. When you catch his gaze, he quickly looks away, pretending to be absorbed in his Potions essay. But the concern remains, simmering just below the surface.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Later that evening, Theodore approaches you, his expression soft but serious. “Hey, can we talk?” he asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, setting your book aside. “Of course, Theo. What’s up?”

He sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “It’s just… I’ve noticed your lip looks really bad lately. Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?” His hand reaches out, brushing lightly against your lips, his thumb hovering just above the bruised skin.

Your heart skips a beat at his touch, but you shake your head quickly. “No, no one hurt me. It’s nothing, really.”

Theodore’s frown deepens. “It doesn’t look like nothing, love. You can tell me if something’s wrong. You know I’ll protect you.”

A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his words, but you still hesitate. How do you explain such a silly habit without sounding ridiculous? Taking a deep breath, you decide honesty is the best course. “Theo, I… I bite my lip. Like, a lot. Usually by accident. It’s just a bad habit I’ve never been able to shake.”

He looks at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You bite your lip?” he repeats, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you say, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I know it sounds stupid, but it happens when I’m eating or sometimes when I’m thinking too hard. I just… bite it.”

Theodore’s smile grows, and he chuckles softly. “Well, that explains it then. I was ready to hex someone into oblivion for hurting you.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “But you should’ve told me. I’ve been worrying myself sick.”

“I’m sorry, Theo. I didn’t realize it looked so bad,” you admit, leaning into his embrace.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just promise me you’ll tell me if it ever happens again. I don’t want to see you hurt, even if it’s by your own doing.”

“I promise,” you say, smiling up at him. “Thank you for caring so much.”

“Always,” he replies, his eyes softening with affection. “Now, let’s see what we can do about that lip of yours.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The next few days pass in a blur of classes and homework, but Theodore’s concern never wavers. He’s constantly checking on you, making sure you’re alright and reminding you to be careful. It’s sweet, if not a bit overprotective, but you don’t mind. His attentiveness makes you feel cherished.

One afternoon, you’re sitting in the Great Hall with your friends, chatting about the latest gossip. Draco, Lorenzo and Blaise are deep in discussion about Quidditch tactics, while Pansy and Astoria debate the merits of different potion ingredients. Theodore sits beside you, his hand resting casually on your knee under the table.

You reach for a slice of toast, and as you bite into it, you wince slightly. Theodore’s gaze snaps to you immediately. “Did you bite your lip again?” he asks, his tone a mix of concern and amusement.

You nod sheepishly. “Yeah, just a little. It’s not too bad this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think I should carry a supply of healing salve with me at all times.”

Pansy raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. “What’s this about biting lips?” she asks, curiosity piqued.

You groan inwardly, knowing you’ll have to explain the whole thing. “I have a habit of accidentally biting my lip,” you say. “It happens more often than I’d like, and it makes it look like I’ve been in a fight or something.”

Draco smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Well, that’s certainly one way to get attention.”

“Shut it, Draco,” Theodore says, though his tone is light. He turns back to you, his eyes softening. “Do you want me to get you some salve from Madam Pomfrey?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine, really. It’ll heal on its own.”

Blaise chuckles. “You’re lucky to have Theo looking out for you. Most of us wouldn’t have the patience.”

“Hey!” Pansy protests, smacking Blaise on the arm. “I can be patient.”

“Sure you can,” Lorenzo says, grinning. “For about five minutes.”

Astoria laughs, and even Draco joins in, the tension easing as the conversation shifts back to lighter topics. But throughout it all, Theodore’s hand remains on your knee, a comforting presence that makes you feel safe and loved.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

That night, as you lie in bed, you think about how lucky you are to have Theodore. His care and concern might be overwhelming at times, but it’s a testament to how much he loves you. And you love him just as fiercely.

You resolve to be more careful in the future, not just for your own sake but for his peace of mind as well. And if you do slip up and bite your lip again, at least you know Theodore will be there, ready to soothe the pain with a gentle touch and a loving word.

As you drift off to sleep, you feel a deep sense of contentment. No matter what challenges come your way, you know you can face them together, hand in hand.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 5

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

He’s still there when you return to your desk. Just like the ring on your finger, Loki is immoveable. Your knuckle hurts from trying to yank it off.

You sit at your desk and try to ignore him as he stares from one of the acrylic chairs across from you. They’re rarely used, more so for the illusion of accommodation than anything. 

His gaze casts a blazing heat over you. Your focus is fractured by his unyielding observation. He hums, a taunting tune, as you type and pretend to be alright. You’re not. You’re far from it. 

That sinking doom is muddled in a sludge of disbelief. You just can’t accept this is real and yet hat pit in your chest assures you otherwise. How did he do this? Thor always says his brother is a trickster and you know well of Loki’s unsavoury past, as most New Yorkers would, and yet, this is nothing you could ever predict. 

“What is it you mortals call it?” He speaks at last, jarring you from your troubled trance. “A honeymoon? Would you like to go away, darling? I know this place on the other side of the moon. Your moon, that is... it’s not too derelict and the sky is rather romantic--” 

“Stop,” you splay your fingers over the keyboard. “I’m working.” 

“Mm, yes, you’ve some time to go...” he checks the watch on his wrist. “What are we at? Less than two hours. I must admit, I am counting the minutes.” 

You stand and take a deep breath, “I need a tea.” 

You twist on your heel and march away. You doubt caffeine is going to help your nerves. It’s more that the flavour is familiar enough to offer some shred of comfort.  

As you enter the breakroom, he’s already there. You hate that. How does he do that? You glance over your shoulder then turn back to the room. 

“What is it you prefer?” He peruses the selection of pods. “Mm, pumpkin spice?” He takes a pod and sniffs it, “smells less than appetizing.” 

“I can do it myself,” you approach him and reach for the box of oolong pods. He catches your hand and runs his thumb decisively over the large emerald. You wince as he keeps hold of you. 

“Darling, I am your husband. Allow me to show you the advantage of this union--” 

“I know why you did it. You get to stay. I never wanted you gone, I only delivered the message. You don’t have to do this. If you want to stay, I’ll lie but this is... it isn’t necessary.” You tug but cannot free yourself of his snare. 

“While that may suffice, I don’t have much faith in your skills of deception. I have considered all facets of this plan and we must prove this union to be genuine, thus we may as well commit--” 

“Loki,” you hiss and his brow arches. “Prince, whatever, this is strange. In your research did you not figure out that ‘mortals’ as you call us get to know each other first?” 

“Not always. Not for the majority of your history. There are some rather entertaining scenes along the way. Some I had the pleasure of witnessing myself,” he snickers. “An arranged marriage is not unheard of, even presently in some regions. I could not wait to charm you but I can more than make up for that.” 

“Charm me? You couldn’t even ask me? Talk to me?” 

“We are speaking now. We are working through our first marital hurdle. Together,” his grin assures you that he is being less than authentic. This is a game to him. “Allow me to prepare your tea, wife. You are hard at work.” 

You scrunch up your nose in frustration and he lets you go as you pull away, “why me??” 

His lashes flick up and down as his lips curve deeper, “when you say my name, I imagine you moaning it, and it doesn’t sound so bad.” 

You gurgle. Your stomach knots and tugs. Something inside you plucks. You step back and hug yourself, as if hiding from him. 

“Uh, I...” you look away and shake your head. “You’re right. I’m working so I would appreciate the tea. Thank you. Just milk, if you don’t mind. Please. Er.” You wobble around on your heels. The slither of his voice sticks in your ears and you smell smoke. What is happening? 

You go back to your desk and sit heavily. You stare at the screen as it hazes to a medley of colours. The font obscures in your distant vision and fold your hands on the edge of your desk. 

This is very strange. This is hard to swallow. It’s not what you had planned for today. Or really ever. Not just marrying Loki but anyone. You’re perfectly happy alone. You’ve built a small life for yourself. It’s not that bad. You like the routine and the simplicity and now he’s gone and messed it all up. 

“Darling,” he purrs as he appears with your tea, jarring you from your gloom.  

You sit back and bite down on your tongue. He sets the cup on your coaster, coming close enough that you roll back in your chair. As he stands straight, you rest your elbows on the armrests. 

“You don’t have to pretend to be nice now. You’ve already messed it all up.” 

He laughs again. You hate that. He thinks everything is so funny. This is your life. 

“Messed what up, exactly? I know a Midgardian’s life cycle, I’ve lived through many and so by my estimate, you are overdue for marriage--” 

“That isn’t-- oh my god,” you drag your hands down your face. You drop them into your lap and look at him. “When I told you, you were angry. You looked at me like you hated me. So, how do you think this is going to work?” 

“Hate is powerful but there are things that can overwhelm it,” he shrugs. “I do enjoy the way your legs look when you walk in those shoes and your skirt compliments you well. Now, I know you do not hate me, I can read others rather well. You are intimidated yes, but fear can also make one...how should I put this, sexually aroused?” 

“Oh god. Please,” you wheel back to your desk and shield one side of your face with your hand. “That’s not—Like I said, we can pretend.” 

“This marriage is very much real, darling,” he intones. 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, it is--” 

“Lokiiiiii,” you growl and pop your head up to snarl at him. 

He smirks and tilts his head, “ooh, say it again.” 

“Stop, please.” 

He chortles and his eyes flare. You don’t like the way they glint, “darling, your dear husband brewed you a tea, please, do not let it grow cold.” 

You sigh and look down at the cup. You raise it and blow the steam away. You sip. It’s rather nice, richer than you would expect. In fact, it’s so good you can’t stop drinking. You’ve had that oolong a dozen times over and you’ve told Tony to get a different brand as it is far from your favourite, but today, it is like honey. 

You wipe your lips at the dribble left behind and set down the cup. Loki resumes his seat by the wall, “hmm, just over an hour to go, darling.” 

[riordanness]

fictional — [p.jackson]

pairing: percy jackson x reader

wordcount: 2.1K

warnings: none

‘i put myself in another world, where i can be any other girl, cause i don’t really wanna face it. cause if it isn’t real you can pretend all you want…’

I sigh as the lyrics of ‘Fictional’ by Khloe Rose filter through my headphones. My head leans against the cool glass window of the bus, bumping my forehead every time the driver goes over a pothole.

Hey, call me crazy, but this is probably the most relatable song in existence. At least to me. Falling in love with boys from books and movies was basically my job at this point.

I had one, though, that meant more than all my other ‘fictional boyfriends’.

Percy Jackson.

I’d grown up with this character, laughed with him, cried with him, held fast and braved the storm with him. I’d adopted his personality, tried to be like his girlfriend, acted as if we were best friends, talked to him, dreamt about him, read and written fanfiction about him, anything you can think of. I am obsessed, and no, I’m not ashamed of that fact.

I’m five years running with this crush now, and it’s not going anytime soon. I let out another sigh as I realise, yet again, that this is impossible. He’s fictional, as much as it hurts to admit. He isn’t real, and I can’t live my whole life pretending to date and marry a fictional character. Life just doesn’t work like that. Sadly.

The bus pulls up at school, and I climb off, slipping my headphones into my pocket. I’ll probably get them back out during a boring lecture in one of my classes, but for now I’ll just keep the daydreaming at a minimum.

“Hey, girl.” Andie sidles up to me, nudging me with her shoulder. “What’s kicking?”

“Nothing,” I deadpan. “Unless you’re a goat, like Grover Underwood.”

Andie laughs, my sarcastic comment going right over her head. I love her to death, seriously, but the girl hasn’t got an ounce of sarcasm in her. She’s the most literal and honest person ever, but she’s also super sweet and sincere. So, sarcasm isn’t even a word she knows.

“I’m not a goat, silly,” she giggles. “But guess what?!”

“Yeah?” I am actually kind of interested. Andie usually has all the gossip (somehow), so her news tends to be pretty good.

“There’s a new guy in our class today,” she squeals. “Apparently he just moved here from New York.”

“New York is where Percy Jackson lives,” I say automatically. “I wanna visit there someday so bad.”

Andie rolls her pretty eyes. She likes Percy Jackson. I made her read the books, and she did, but just so that she knows what I’m talking about most of the time. “You and your fictional boys, I swear. This is a real boy, y/n! You need to get your head out of a book for once if you ever wanna meet somebody.”

I shrug. “Real boys suck though.”

And even Andie can’t argue with that.

I’m doodling in my notebook, half listening to Mr Mintar explain something about geometry. I’m not terrible at maths, so I figure I’ll just catch up if I need to. My brain doesn’t want to pay attention today.

I perk up, though, when I hear something new.

“Students,” Mrs May, our principal, announces. “We have a new student joining us today. Please be kind to Mr Jackson and show him around. Remember, you were once a new student yourself.”

Jackson? Like Percy Jackson? How cool is that, I thought to myself. I yank my headphones out of my ears and glance up.

A boy is talking quietly with Mr Mintar; who is probably explaining what we’re learning and where he’ll sit. We have assigned seats in basically every class, because a few boys in our grade are idiots, so I sit alone in every class. Apparently, other students are very likely to copy my work if they’re sitting with me, so the teachers decided to make me sit alone all the time. It’s kind of okay, though. Means I can do whatever I want with no one to tell on me for listening to music.

I watch as Mr Mintar talks with his hands, waving them a lot. The boy has his back to me. He has messy black hair, and he’s wearing jeans, converse and a blue hoodie.

Mr Mintar gestures at me, and I sit up straight. The boy glances quickly, nods at Mr Mintar, and I realise what’s happening. He’s being assigned to sit with me, which probably means I'll also be assigned his personal ‘welcome-to-our-school’ guide. Which means I’ll be forced to be this guy’s friend for the next few weeks. Yay.

The boy turns to face me, and I swear my heart literally skipped a beat. Now, this wasn’t like those dumb fanfics where a girl’s celebrity crush just so happens to turn up at her school for some stupid reason, and they fall in love blah blah blah.

This was an honest-to-goodness ‘what the hell is happening’ moment. The boy now walking towards me looks exactly how I’ve always pictured Percy Jackson in my mind. The same crazily messy black hair, loose and slightly curled at the edges, twisting around his ears and falling in his eyes a little bit. He has the same smattering of freckles on his nose, the same tan skin, troublemaker grin, the same glint of determination in his eyes.

And gosh, I’d know those sea-green eyes anywhere.

The boy slides into the seat beside me. “Hi,” he says softly. “You’re y/n?”

I can’t do anything but nod, and I try to not stare at him too hard.

“You’re supposed to be my guide, or something, I think.” The boy sounds apologetic, like he knows how annoying being forced to be a school guide is. “And I’m supposed to sit with you in all my classes.”

I nod again, a little dazed. Even his voice is Percy Jackson-coded. A slight rasp, a little accented, ugh.

I find my voice. “That’s cool. I’d be happy to show you around and get you into the groove of things here at East High.”

The boy smiles, and he has little crinkles at the side of his pretty eyes, as if he smiles a whole lot.

“Awesome. I’m Percy by the way.”

I blink at him, absolutely sure he’s pulling my leg somehow. “What do you mean?” I ask.

Percy frowns. “Like… my name? The thing that people call me? It’s Percy. Percy Jackson.”

I just stare at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“Your name is Percy Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“Like the book character,” I add, surprising myself with the calm in my voice. Inside my head, though, I was screaming.

Percy’s brow furrows. “A book character? I dunno. Never heard of a book character called Percy, but there probably is. I don’t read that much. Dyslexia.”

I nod slowly. “Of course.”

Percy frowns again, then chuckles a little. “You’re weird. I like you.”

My tongue feels like someone’s deep fried it in the microwave. I try to swallow, and it’s nearly impossible. “So you’re not messing with me right now? You’re really called Percy Jackson, and you have dyslexia and probably ADHD, and sea-green eyes, and your hair isn’t dyed, and…”

Percy laughs again. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. What’s this about?”

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”

Percy raises his eyebrow. “Try me.”

It’s been a week since Percy’s arrival, and I’m still about 89% sure I’m dreaming. Not that I usually dream like this, but still.

I’ve spent basically all my school hours with Percy, as well as half my bus rides home, as his mum lives nearby to us.

The longer I know him, the more I’m sure that he’s real, that he’s actually here, and that he’s really, truly, Perseus Jackson, the not-so-fictional boy I’ve been in love with forever.

The weirdest thing, though, is the night after he arrived, I got home and all my Percy Jackson books and merch were gone. Mysteriously vanished. Even Andie doesn’t know what I’m talking about when I bring up PJO.

It’s like that movie, Yesterday, where everyone forgets about the Beatles. It’s like that, but with Percy Jackson. Oh, and obviously I have a real Percy to replace it; whereas Jack in that movie didn’t really have that.

Anyway, it’s crazy, it’s probably a hallucination, and it’s absolutely incredible. I’m spending every single day with my absolute favourite person in the universe, and he’s real.

The boy I’ve cried over, laughed over, loved for years… He’s here. He’s real. And he’s my friend.

“Marshmallows are not designed to be eaten alone,” I argue, pouting a french fry at Percy. “They aren’t even that nice anyway, but especially not when you eat them dry. All the powder, like, clogs up your throat and it’s disgusting. If you eat them on their own, you’re crazy.”

Percy laughs. “I hate them in my hot chocolates. They get all gooey and mushy, and… ugh.” He makes a face.

I roll my eyes. “You’re insane.”

Percy shrugs. “At least I don’t hate rice.”

“Hey!” I protest. “I have sensory issues! It’s not my fault the feeling of rice in my mouth makes me feel sick.”

“Hey, I know,” Percy says. “I was just kidding. I’m sorry.”

I relax. “It’s okay.”

I stare at him a moment, realising once again that this is really happening to me. That his pretty sea-green eyes are actually looking at me.

“What are you thinking about, love?”

“Huh?” I snap out of my trance, sitting up straighter. “What did you say?”

Percy smirks. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

To be honest, I barely remember. “Uh—nothing. Trying to think of what to do this afternoon after school.”

“You don’t have plans?” he asks.

I shake my head, and sip my chocolate milk. It tastes terrible.

“You’re going on a date with me, dummy,” Percy says, so casually I almost miss it. He leans his head back and throws a grape in the air, catching it in his mouth. It’s surprisingly attractive.

“Wait,” I say. “What?”

“You.” Percy points his finger at me, then himself. “Me.” He makes a swirling motion with his finger. “That new waterpark by the beach.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re asking me to go on a date with you?”

“You aren’t saying no.”

“No,” I reply, my voice soft, “I’m not.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s an epic waterpark.”

Percy grins down at me, his eyes looking extra pretty in the afternoon sunlight. “You wanna race to the gate?”

I pretend to think about it for a second, then begin sprinting as fast as I can. I hear Percy gasp in laughter, then start after me. He catches me easily, his legs much longer than mine, but as he does, he scoops me up into a hug.

“Hey!” I shriek. “Put me down!”

I can tell he isn’t taking me seriously though, because we’re both laughing too hard. Percy eventually drops me gently on the ground. I can’t help but suddenly miss the feeling of his bare chest against me. I blink, and instantly shake those thoughts away.

“Buy me an ice cream and I’ll let you win all our races from now on,” I tease.

Percy scoffs. “Darlin’, you couldn’t win if you had a jetpack on.”

I try to ignore the flutter in my chest and roll my eyes. “Could so, and I don’t need any old jetpack.” I flex my nonexistent muscles. “You see these? I’m perfectly fine on my own, thank you.”

“Oh, oh yeah of course. Sorry, your majesty.” Percy has a stupid grin on his face, and I have an urge to kiss him right then and there.

And so I do. I grab hold of his shoulders, pull myself up onto tiptoe, and press my mouth to his. “I love you, Seaweed Brain,” I whisper into his lips.

Percy wraps his arms around my waist, causing the flutter to return, more greatly this time. He deepens the kiss, his head tilting downwards to accommodate my shorter height. His lips taste of the jellybeans we were eating earlier together. He had insisted on eating only the blue ones, of course.

The world around me blurs, and fades, and I’m left with only him, only Percy Jackson. His fingers on my waist, his mouth on mine, my heart in his hands. I am completely and totally his, as I’ve been forever, but now? He’s completely and totally mine too. My not-so-fictional boy.

[aventurineswife]

Dear [Name],

The sound of your voice still haunts my thoughts—sharp, biting, and final. Two Augusts ago, that moment carved itself into me like the searing heat of Sigonia's sun. I told you the truth. A gamble, of course, like all things in my life, except this time I lost.

You didn’t like it, that truth. You left.

I remember standing by the gate of your home, the sharp scent of ozone from the desert storm overhead mingling with the iron tang of regret. Your car idled for a second too long. I thought—hoped—you might change your mind. But you drove off, taillights disappearing into the storm.

You in your Benz, and me, well… I stayed behind. Always behind.

Now, I fill my nights charming rooms full of people who adore my tricks and laugh at my lies. They think they know me—the dashing risk-taker, the lucky gambler. But luck had nothing to do with us. With you.

And what’s worse? I meant well, I really did. I just aimed low, didn’t I? Played my hand with all the finesse of a child at their first roulette table. I wanted to keep you, but my methods… I’ll make it known now: I failed.

Still, that’s just the way life goes, doesn’t it? Slam the door, spin the wheel, wait for fate to mock you. Trust me, I know—it’s always about me.

But I loved you.

And I’m sorry.

Two summers from now, I think we’ll be talking again, though not much. Just enough to pretend we’re “cool.” You’ll have your life, maybe someone who looks at you like I should have. I’ll be out on a boat somewhere, distracting myself with the sunset, the water, the drinks that never quite drown me.

I’ll wonder where you are—on a plane, I’d bet. Off to somewhere better, somewhere safe. Somewhere I could never take you.

And I’ll think, for just a moment, how surreal it all feels. Losing you.

Then I’ll remind myself that it’s okay, because that’s the way life goes. Push your luck until it breaks.

I wonder, do you remember the good parts of us? Because I do. And sometimes, they make the bad parts even harder to stomach. You were the best—and the worst. The way you could see through me, strip me bare with a single look, that sharp wit of yours like a scalpel. It terrified me.

As sick as it sounds, I loved you first for it.

But I was a dick, wasn’t I? It’s what I do, this age-old curse of mine. A gambler’s folly, thinking I could bluff my way through love the same way I do through life. You called me out, and I folded.

Now, when I laugh, it’s too loud. Too hollow. It’s the only way I know how to fill the silence you left behind.

Two years. That’s all it took for us to crash. And I stare at that wreckage every day, wondering what I could have done differently. But the truth? I don’t know if I’d have had the courage to be the man you deserved.

I try to make amends, sometimes. Not with you directly—I wouldn’t dare. I hurt you enough already. But with the world, in small ways. It’s a pathetic gesture, I know, but it’s all I have.

I’m wrong again.

Wrong for you, wrong for me.

And yet, when I joyride down the roads we once traveled together, I can’t help but lay on the horn, just to hear the echo. To prove, to myself more than anyone else, that the past still haunts me.

I love you.

And I’m sorry.

As I sit here now, pen in hand, this letter will likely never reach you. But maybe that’s for the best. You’ve moved on—I hope you have. You deserve peace.

Me? I’ll stay behind. Always behind. Watching the roulette wheel spin and wondering what might have been if only I’d played my cards right.

Because that’s the way life goes, isn’t it?

And in the quiet of my thoughts, in the shadows of my regrets, I’ll whisper the words you’ll never hear.

I love you, I’m sorry.

Yours Truly,

Kakavasha

[hnychn]

I AM HIM, AS HE IS ME

SUMMARY — If there is anything that is universally acknowledged to be wholly true and incontestable, it’s that Gojo Satoru loves his daughter more than anything in the world. But does she know that?

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i got into a huge argument with my father a while back and it’s been weighing on my conscience. this series is largely based on our relationship and it’s been so therapeutic to write everything out and indirectly give myself an ending i want. the series isn’t complete, if anything, it’s no where near done. i want to make sure everything is perfect before i even think about posting the first chapter. its been so long since i’ve felt this strong need to write and i forgot how much of a beautiful feeling it is. everywhere i look and everything i see gives me so much inspiration for this series. but for now, here’s a little sneak peak of my new child.

(i am him as he is me spotify playlist)

SERIES WARNINGS — heavy religious themes, female reader, satosugu, heavy angst, child abuse, childhood neglect, reader is a brat in the beginning, reader is assumed to be a person of color, gojo’s canon age doesn’t make sense, so everyone is aged up by a couple years, etc.

TOTAL WORD COUNT — tbd…

BEFORE YOU READ — the reader is mentioned to be a third year at jujutsu tech, and i completely understand the ages and time line don’t add up, but for the sake of creativity, let’s all just pretend it makes sense and ignore the age inconsistencies. <33 thank you!! <33

PREVIEW —

The rhythmic buzz of the cicadas and the sweltering humidity of the summer air marked the beginning of summer and the end of… everything. Satoru could feel the material of his pants begin to stick to his legs the longer he sat on the rotting wooden bench. The train tracks before him were rusted and old; they had weathered the storm of time and had the marks to prove it. These tracks were the end. The led you to the beginning. All Satoru had to do was wait.

—

“Maybe it was because I knew she would always come back to me. Maybe I was testing her love for me. Maybe I wanted to push her away before she pushed me away.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”

“There’s a lot of regret.”

Satoru could still feel the weight of that nostalgic love and regret in his stomach. It has buried itself so deep within him, he’s hardly sure anything would make it go away. The woman next to him looks different now; youthful, free. Satoru wants that. But does he deserve it?

I AM HIM, AS HE IS ME [MASTERLIST]

— CHAPTER ONE: “He Doesn’t Know I Learned it From Him.”

Gojo Satoru, in all aspects, is a God reborn. He holds the world and its universes in the palm of his flaming hand; unknowingly burning everything he holds dear.

— CHAPTER TWO: “I Was a Girl Gulping a Woman’s Grief.”

With an emotionally distant mother and a father plagued with a god complex, there weren’t many people you could look up to. maybe, you have to look down.

— CHAPTER THREE: “Do You Believe Me When I Tell You I’m Trying to be Better?”

With tensions at an all-time high, it’s hard to ignore what has gone neglected for so long. Dams are broken and feelings are hurt, but if there’s one thing everyone knows, it’s that Gojo Satoru loves his daughter more than anything. But does she know that?

— CHAPTER FOUR: “The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”

There is nothing more heroic than the sacrifices made by a mother. But what is born of those sacrifices made? Virtue? Honour? Strength? You knew the answer to that question all too well: Guilt.

— CHAPTER FIVE: “Desperation Sits Heavy on my Tongue.”

You and your father are more alike than either of you are led to believe. He doesn’t reach. You don’t beg. Where does the tension snap?

— CHAPTER SIX: “Through Heaven and Earth, I Alone am the Honoured One.”

Hymns were sung at his birth and prophecies were written for his future, in all aspects, Gojo Satoru was a god reborn. But who is a God to a little girl searching for her father?

[overstimulate-me]

i wake up wearing a paper hospital gown and strapped down to a medical bed with my feet in stirrups. i’m disoriented, so it isn’t until i try to thrash around and get free that i notice there’s an IV in my arm and a catheter between my legs. alerted by my movement, a nurse comes over to check on me.

“i’m glad you’re awake, how are you feeling?” he says.

“i’m fine, what am i doing here?”

“you don’t remember? that’s not good. i’m going to take care of you, then i’ll get the doctor for you. he’ll be able to answer more of your questions.”

the nurse takes the catheter out, and i feel a relief from a pain i hadn’t fully processed. as soon as it’s out, though, he pushes another one in—one that’s a size up.

“hey, what are you doing?” i ask indignantly.

he smiles regretfully at me. “i know it hurts, but i promise it’s for the best.” after finishing with the catheter, he swaps out the bag attached to the IV drip, and i feel myself start to get drowsy again.

the next time i wake up, the nurse is already beside me. “hey, welcome back,” he says with a light smile. i’m groggy and confused, so he keeps going. “it sounds like the doctor is really busy for now, but he’ll come see you when he gets the time.”

he heads between my legs, pushing them just a little further apart than they were before to get better access. he pulls out the catheter, but again replaces it with something larger. “this one is a plug,” he explains, “which we use because it has some additional functionality. but of course, that has its drawbacks, so let me know if you ever need to relieve yourself.”

he leaves the room, and i’m left just to sit there bored and think about the pain between my legs. slowly, the memories from the night before start to come back to me. i was out dancing with my friends, and i remember clocking a man who was staring at me the whole time. it wasn’t until much later, when i’d had a few drinks in me, that he approached me and handed me a cup.

that man, come to think of it, looked a lot like the nurse. and isn't it strange, that no one else has come in to check on me? even if the doctor is busy, hospitals usually have multiple nurses.

as i start to panic, i feel the plug in my urethra start to... oh my god it's expanding. that's the "additional functionality" he was talking about. the beeping from the heart rate monitor speeds up, and i try to get myself out of the bed, but the restraints are secure. the man pretending to be a nurse must hear the commotion, as he enters the room immediately afterwards.

"now now," he says with a sadistic smile, "there's no need for all that."

"what are you going to do with me?" i demand.

"well first, i'm going to give you a sedative." he starts to fitz with the IV bag again. "not enough to knock you out this time, i want you to feel everything that's happening. but i really do need this struggling to stop."

"you're sick," i spit.

his demeanor remains frustratingly calm. "i'm sure you think so. but remember this point, because it's only going to get worse."

i want to curse at him, but i also need to know: "what do you mean? what are you going to do?"

he leans in close and almost whispers his answer. "i'm going to fuck you in a hole you've never been fucked in before." my eyes go wide and i pull back as much as i can within the restraints, which isn't much. he pushes a button and grins as i feel the plug expand again. "i'm going to fuck your pee-hole."

i try to resume my thrashing, but my limbs are heavy—the sedative is starting to kick in. "you're a freak! what's wrong with you?"

"a lot of things. but since the guise is up, i suppose we don't need this anymore," he says, then cuts the hospital gown off me. "and now that i don't have to pretend, i get to play with you as much as i want until the big finale." he flicks the plug and i scream.

when i'm eventually able to form words again, it's a babble of "no no no no please don't!"

"please don't?" he asks with mock surprise. "you want me to hurry up and fuck your urethra now? but baby you're not stretched out enough, i'd rip you open. well, if that's what you want—"

"NO i don't want that!"

"so you want me to keep playing with you then?" he flicks the plug again, and i scream again. "that's not an answer."

"yes, i want you to keep playing with me! please don't fuck me there yet," i sob.

"okay baby, whatever you want."

[calaisreno]

Classified

It’s Schrödinger’s wedding. 

1952 Words / Prompt: Jealousy

We’re sitting among the boxes of invitations, the venue’s brochures, and several dozen napkins folded into Sydney Opera Houses. John looks exhausted, and now that Mary’s gone home, I’ve suggested a break. 

I pour John a glass of scotch and hand it to him, struggling for the right words to open this discussion. If I’m not careful, it could end badly.

Sinking into my chair, I simply say, “Don’t.” 

John swallows a mouthful of whisky. “Don’t what?”

He looks confused. Of course. I’m terrible at this. Sentiment, feelings, honesty.

“Don’t… marry her.”

John sighs. “Sherlock.”

“Please, John. Just don’t.”

Confusion has given way to stubbornness, and of all people, John Watson is the most stubborn person I’ve ever known. It’s hopeless, ridiculous that I even brought this up. But it has to be said.

That night at the Landmark, when John was trying to strangle me, I promised myself that I would stop lying to him. Stop shading the truth. Just be honest. Who deserves the truth more than John, who grieved for two years, thinking his best friend was dead?

Best friend. More than I ever expected to have from this stubborn, loyal, surprising man who has always followed me, even after I broke his heart. He deserves the truth. 

And I deserve nothing. But I can’t let the man I love be hurt again, even if it means… well, I hope this won’t be our last conversation.

“What is this about?” John’s face wears that dogged expression. 

“I love you,” I begin. “And I’ve hurt you too much to pretend this is fine.”

John’s eyes widen, then narrow. “You love me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“You called me your best friend. I don’t care what you make of it—“

“You don’t do feelings. Married to your work, grit on the lens—“

“You’re not the only one who’s grieved, John. Yes, I do have feelings. And I would be prepared to set them aside, to accept that I do not deserve your love, but I owe you the truth.”

“You love me.”

It’s bad enough that John seems to be stuck on you love me. That isn’t even the point right now. (Note to self: next time, lead with your wife-to-be is probably an assassin.) 

“Yes. Which is why I’m about to tell you the last thing you want to hear right now.”

“I’m about to get married, Sherlock! Why are you doing this now— you’ve never given me the tiniest clue that you even considered me a friend. I don’t have friends. Remember that? What is this— are you jealous? Is that what this is about?” 

I’m terrible at this. I’ve vowed to be honest, not to keep John in the dark all the time, and all John is taking from this is that I’m jealous. 

I try again. “You’re about to marry a woman you don’t know. A woman who is lying to you.”

Now John’s wearing his isn’t this ironic face. “Oh, well, I suppose I should be used to people who love me lying to me! You’ve given me plenty of practice, you know.”

“I realise my apology for that is inadequate. I understand that you will never return my feelings, and I will live with that. I’m not jealous. Marry whomever you want, John— just not her. She’s not who she claims to be. I’m telling you this because I believe you’re in danger.”

“All right, then.” Still angry, but also curious. “Tell me. Who is she?”

“I don’t know yet. I do know that she’s not Mary Morstan, who was stillborn in 1972 and buried in Chiswick Cemetery. The night I met her, I deduced that she’s hiding something, so I went to Mycroft. While I was gone, he was supposed to keep an eye on you because we believed Moriarty’s organisation might still take action against you. When I realised that she was not who she said she was, I gave him an earful for letting an unknown close to you.”

“And what did he say?”

“Nothing. He wouldn’t tell me anything about her. Classified. Which tells me most of what I needed to know. He knows exactly who she is, which suggests that she’s an agent of some sort, probably freelance. She may have done work for the British government, which would be how he knew her.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re an agent of the government, I believe. Don’t even try telling me you weren’t working for your brother these past two years. Maybe she doesn’t have clearance to tell me what kind of work she did.”

“But she hasn’t even mentioned it, has she? She told you she’s a nurse. And she’s using a name that’s not her own. You’re marrying her, John— the fact that she’s assumed a false identity—“

“—means that she’s in some sort of witness protection. That she doesn’t have clearance to tell anyone.“ Annoyed, but not in denial. Uncomfortable now that he’s thinking about it. 

“Mycroft would have said if that were the case. And he would have threatened me to keep my hands off. The fact that he’s said nothing means that she’s part of an active investigation. And most likely not currently working for the British government. If she were, he would have said.”

John is silent. 

“Ignorance is not bliss, John. You made that point quite forcefully the night I returned.”

“She’s active?” He looks dazed. 

“Mycroft wouldn’t say. But it’s not the kind of work anyone actually leaves behind.” 

“And you’re telling me this now? You couldn’t have said sooner? Christ, we’ve started planning the wedding!” Angry again.

“I wasn’t sure. I’m more certain now, though.”

John has reached his limit. “I… I’ve got to go. I can’t deal with this now. Just… I’m going.” He grabs his coat, stuffs his arms in the sleeves, and marches out the door.

… (Continues below cut)

I return from buying milk (I really must be losing my mind if I’m going to the shops, but tea requires milk and sugar and Mrs Hudson is still showing her displeasure at my inexplicable return by not running errands for me) and find Mycroft sitting in my chair. He knows, of course, which chair is mine and which is John’s, and is making a statement whose meaning I can guess. Power dynamics: my chair. 

Considering who’s paid the rent for the last two years, it actually is Mycroft’s chair. I make tea, hand a mug to Mycroft, and sit in John’s chair. 

“Well, brother.” He gives me an appraising look. 

I’m used to the evaluation; it happens every time I see my brother, that once-over to determine if (a) I’ve relapsed, (b) I’ve done something else Mycroft will regret, or c) I’m about to lie about something not covered under (a) or (b). The best way to side-track this is to get on his nerves.

“This is about John, isn’t it?” I blow on my tea. “Otherwise you would have called.”

“He came to see me yesterday, directly from seeing you. Asking what I knew about Mary Morstan. Now, where did he get the idea that she’d been lying to him, if not from you?”

“You didn’t swear me to silence.”

Mycroft sips his tea, but says nothing. He’s very good at keeping his own counsel. 

“I asked him not to marry her,” I say. “I don’t have any real proof, other than what I told him, but reasoned that it would be better not to leave it until the last moment. I’m wondering, though, why you were willing to let it happen. You let her close to John, when it’s obvious she was planted in his surgery because of me.”

Mycroft smirks. “You don’t think it was Dr Watson’s charms that drew her to him?”

“Mary Morstan isn’t like the others. Who is she working for?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you can guess.”

“I’m not giving you an unfounded hypothesis, Sherlock. The matter is still classified.” He shifts in his seat, watching me, then relents a bit. “You’re not wrong about her. But we cannot afford to tip her off yet. The marriage will be invalid, of course.”

(Note to self: Kill Mycroft.)

“This should never have happened. John is not a chess piece, a thing to be sacrificed for your game. Now, go away. I don’t want to talk to you until you can give me some answers.”

Without a word, Mycroft stands, tucks his umbrella under his arm, glares at me, and leaves. 

…

It’s night, and I’m walking. No particular destination, just around the park until I’m too tired to walk further. 

When I finally open the door of 221B, John is sitting on the stairs. 

He looks up at me, but doesn’t speak. And for once, I can’t read his look. Either he’s said something to Mary, or he hasn’t. She’s lied to him, or she’s told him the truth. He’s forgiven her or he’s broken it off. 

It’s Schrödinger’s wedding. 

I hang my coat by the door. He still hasn’t spoken, but budges over to make room for me.

“You said you love me.”

“Yes.”

“You promised not to lie.”

“I’m not lying. I do love you.”

“I mean, about Mary.”

“I spoke with Mycroft. She’s part of an active investigation, as I guessed. He wouldn’t give me details.”

“Jesus. And you love me.” 

I feel his eyes on me, but say nothing. Either he accepts it, or he doesn’t.

“You told me you were married to your work. That’s a pretty clear signal you weren’t interested. Why did you say that?”

“Because I was a coward. And soon you were dating women, which was also a clear signal, and there wasn’t any point in bringing it up again.”

“When you say love, what do you mean?”

“I want you to be happy. If that’s with someone other than me, fine. But someone who’s lying to you cannot make you happy.”

He leans closer, his shoulder against mine. “And what would make you happy? If you could have anything you want?”

“A locked room triple homicide, no murder weapon.”

He gives a low chuckle. “Idiot. I mean, what do you want from me?”

“Whatever you’ll give me. I’m prepared to be your friend for life, if that’s what you want.”

“Nothing more? Just friends? Not romantic?”

No lies, not now. “Yes, I want more. I want you to live here, to sleep in my bed, yes— with all that entails. To never leave me. But I will take what I can—”

“Yes. All of it.”

It’s my turn to be silent. 

He rubs his eyes. Sleepless night. “I told her I couldn’t marry her. You’d best let Mycroft know if he’s trying to suss her out. She’s already packing her bags.”

“Did she tell you what she is?”

“I didn’t ask. I just told her I was in love with you.”

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. No, I feel like what I imagine when I think of kissing John. Breathless, heart-pounding. 

“Are you in love with me?”

“I thought you knew.” He smiles, takes my hand in his own. “Yes, I am.”

My voice shakes. “And what did she say?”

“She already knew.” His smile broadening, John leans in. 

The kiss is better than any I could imagine. 

He doesn’t let go when it ends. “So, if I’d decided to marry her anyway…” He grins. “What was your plan for that?”

The truth. I promised. “I was going to kidnap you.”

He gives me a smouldering look. “You could still do that.”

(Note to self: I’m going to have to get used to John Watson’s love language.)

...

Read/comment on AO3

[klausysworld]

Hi, your writing about how a yandere reader kidnapped Klaus is quiet interesting and this gave me an idea: how about a scenario where a yandere reader kidnapped a yandere Klaus? Like where reader faked Klaus to believe she was innocent and sweet but in fact she was just obsessive and possessive as he was, so she kidnapped him to protect him from being hurt by his enemies? Thanks a lot.

(Readers gonna be a witch cuz I doubt a human could kidnap him by themselves)

Power Play

He started it.

He was the one who started following me, not the other way around. He wanted to know more about me, know where I live and how involved I was with the ‘save Elena gang’. He wanted to stand outside my house and watch me like he didn’t know I left my curtains open on purpose.

It was all him.

It isn’t my fault that his obsession brought on mine.

He was just so possessive and jealous and damaged and desperate for love, I couldn’t just ignore him.

I wanted him so I took him. Just more gradually than maybe I would like.

I had to entice him first. Once I realised he had chosen me, I needed to find out why.

I didn’t really get in the way of his plans and kept relatively quiet whenever the others were planning anything and to Klaus that mean that I was innocent in the situation and didn’t like to hurt people. Partly true but it was more that I couldn’t be bothered.

But I was happy to play the innocent victim if that’s what he wanted.

All I had to do was have him find me crying over a boy and he was all over me, telling me I was too good for a common fool and that ‘a little witch like me’ should be with someone much more powerful to keep me safe.

The feel of his arms around me was perfect and I knew I would need it more. I could hear his breath hitch as I hugged him back tightly, his hand ran through my hair making us both sigh before inevitably having to pull away.

He kissed my forehead and I kissed his cheek before we both parted, each of us with a smile on our faces for very similar reasons.

That night when he stood outside my house I decided to give him more of a show, leaving the curtains open after my shower and sitting by my window as I rubbed cream onto my bare legs.

It was so easy to wind him up, showing him any amount of my skin had him immediately as close as he was allowed without it being suspicious.

Walking around in my mini skirt and tight cropped top always had him approaching me, his arm fining its way around my waist as he pulled me to him

“You look gorgeous today sweetheart” he would compliment while staring any others who looked my way down.

“Oh, thank you, I liked the colours” i mumbled while smiling up at him making his lips upturn and him to nod

“So do I”

Though I knew his attention was truly more focused on my legs and cleavage, not that I minded.

Occasionally he would request a spell or two from me but I pretended I wasn’t very good at all. Which earned me lessons from him

“A pretty little witch like you should know how to defend herself, how about we start with something simple hm?” He placed a candle in-front of me and although I could easily light a thousand of them alight, I made a struggle out off it and made myself appear frustrated and upset so he would bring comfort and words of encouragement.

Once I had it lit he was over the moon, spinning me in his arms and kissing the corner of my mouth before bringing a beginners spell book over and allowing me to choose one to try next.

I knew if I got too good or confident then he would feel threatened, he didn’t like powerful things, he liked people to be weaker and sweeter than him.

So I was just that. Even took to baking to make appear as though I had some basic human hobbies, I would bring him biscuits and cakes when we had my lessons and each time he tried a new one he threw a fuss over it.

When he started gifting me little flowy dresses I knew he thought me to be an angel. Diamond necklaces and pearl earrings always being presented to me wrapped in pink ribbons. White was his favourite colour on me

“The colour of innocence and purity my love, it’s perfect for your beauty”

“There must be something I can buy you?” I offered with a smile but he shook his head

“Your baked treats are all I need” he murmured

“Surely you desire something else? Anything?” I questioned and he shifted in his seat, clearly thinking something a little more than a normal gift. “How about my blood?” I tilted my head and his eyes widened

“Love-“

“No I insist, you can drink from me, I don’t mind” I gave him my wrist and watched the hesitation on his face. “Please? It’s my thank you to you…for being so generous and caring for me” I whispered and his eyes softened

“Alright…you tell me if you feel dizzy or if it hurts okay?” He checked and I nodded.

The second his teeth were in me I knew he was hooked, the moan that left him said enough as the veins danced beneath his eyes and he swallowed my blood down like an addict.

It drove his obsession through the roof and he found himself needing it more and more. As soon as I was offering he was latched onto my arm just like I had expected.

It was all too easy to have him feel like he saved me. Just had to put myself in a couple risky positions for him to swoop in and suddenly he never wanted to leave my side.

Only downside was it was hard to have any time when he wasn’t watching me to plan my attack on him.

So I had to move slow, unbearably slow. But eventually I had it set up. Turns out the Lockwoods have more than one underground cellars and they’re hidden all around.

I chose one furthest out in the woods and told him I had planned something special for us. Of course he probably expected a date of sorts, most likely didn’t think I would be kidnapping him.

I felt a little bad when I stabbed him in the back with a high concentration of wolfsbane and vervain but at the same time it was for the best. The group were planning to kill him and for once their planned actually sounded promising and I didn’t like that. It was more risky to let them go through with it than for me hide him. Besides it’s only temporary…

Lets say he wasn’t too pleased to wake up in chains, apparently it wasn’t one of his kinks,yet.

But really I think he was more upset that I wasn’t the sweet little flower that he thought I was.

His first question was who enchanted the chains but he knew. He just didn’t want it to be true.

“Sweetheart I don’t understand…if you had all this…power why hide it from me? Why do this now?” He gestured to the cage he trapped in.

“The Salvatores have another plan. But this one was a little too promising and I couldn’t risk them getting you.” I told him with a weak smile, still keeping my distance so he couldn’t get too mad

“So you have me here…so they don’t kill me?” He trailed a little confused and I nodded

“Yes and because…I love you and you aren’t very good at keeping yourself safe” I mumbled and he blinked right back at me. I could feel my face getting a little hotter and I glanced to the exit

“Y/n…I love you too, let me out and we can talk about this a little more…well humanly” he muttered with a small and somewhat nervous chuckle.

I sighed as I looked him over, I knew he was trying his best to keep his anger in check and I was beginning to feel a little bad but I was in the right. And it’s not like he wasn’t going to do the same thing to me, I watched him too difference was that he didn’t know it.

“I will…soon just after everything has cooled down okay? Everything’s gonna be just fine. You don’t have to worry, you can drink from me or blood bags, you have a mattress and pillow, blankets. What else do you need? I got the fairy lights so it’s not dark. Books, I even got you some canvases and artsy stuff. This place is temporary, just relax for a moment and I’m gonna be back really soon okay?” I had gotten closer to him as I spoke and my hand cupped his face gently.

“You’re leaving? Love, you can’t leave me down here!?” He grabbed my wrist firmly but not painfully however he was still incredibly weak so I easily got out of his grip.

“I have to make sure everyone believes you’ve left” I whispered while leaning forward and kissing his cheek. “I can’t have anyone looking for you”

“Y/n, don’t leave me” he murmured, his forehead pressed to mine making me sigh softly

“It’s not for long klaus, I promise”

“If you love me…you wont do this to me” he mumbled and I hummed

“You act as though you don’t have a room ready in your basement ready for me”

He pulled his head back and frowned at me “how on earth do you know that?”

“Do you think I don’t see you outside my window?” I whispered and his eye’s darkened

“You watch me too?”

“Mhm except I actually go inside, I don’t just wait in the garden”

He stared at me for a moment before a small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips “you truly are something else aren’t you sweetheart?” He muttered, the backs of his fingers brushed over my cheek. “What is it you want me to do love?”

“Just stay here until it’s safe…maybe we’ll go somewhere else after, somewhere real far away so it’s just us”

“Okay…how about we start looking, after you go secure your plan?” He kissed my neck softly and smiled down at me

“We can take Elena, for your hybrids if you really want” I whispered hoping if he was just lying to trap me back, I could sway his decisions.

“Nonsense, my hybrids don’t like me anyway, I’d rather just have you my love”

I just hoped it was true, not that it mattered, if he didn’t then I’d just have to get better security measures.

[jennaispunk]

Save Me

Summary: A professional rejection leads Dieter down a dark path. Can he find his way back?

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, worry, drug use, mentions of abusive childhood (Dieter), mention of Dieter being a bit of an asshole (but he loves reader), two people in love who are just trying to figure it out. Internal dialogue is in italics. No physical description of reader is given. The photos in the moodboard are for aesthetic only.

A/N: This is for @bitchesuntitled sober Dieter challenge. I’m so proud of you, bb!! 💜💜 This story was inspired by Save Me by Jelly Roll. If you haven’t heard it, go listen right now. It’s an amazing song that really captures the reality of addiction.

Somebody save me, me from myself

I’ve spent so long living in hell….

Dieter groans loudly and shields his eyes. Why is it so bright in here? Where the fuck am I? He didn’t even know what day it was or how long he’d been there. His throat feels like it’s been sandblasted. There’s no clear memory of how he ended up here. He falls off the couch and stumbles to the bathroom, his head still spinning. Swiping his hand down his face, he looks at his reflection. He doesn’t even recognize the person staring back at him. This must be what rock bottom feels like. He supposed this was bound to happen; he’d always been one for self-sabotage. He had the girl of his dreams, more money than he knew what to do with but somehow, he’d managed to fuck it all up. He’d been able to brush off rejection before, but this one felt personal. That role was going to make his career. His father’s words kept ringing in his head, taunting him. An actor? You can pretend all ya want…you’ll always be a loser, kid. Don’t come crawling back home when it doesn’t work out. He chuckled darkly. That lousy old man never believed in him, but he sure had his hand out when the first big check came in.

He thought he had it all under control. He’d managed to keep his drug use to a minimum for months. He’d been so determined to change, and you’d been such a big help with that. You were the supportive presence he needed, always there to talk him down off the ledge.

He whispers your name to his reflection. The acrid tang of bile hits the back of his throat. You must be worried sick. He’s surprised you weren’t blowing up his phone. Dead. Ah fuck, this is bad. He said some awful things to you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you’d packed your shit and gotten as far away as you could. He deserves all that and more for what he’s done.

Three days…That’s how long it’s been since Dieter slammed the door as he walked out. The rattle still echoes in your head as you sit on the overstuffed couch in your shared penthouse apartment. You’d never seen him so angry. He wasn’t the type to yell or get overly upset about anything. You knew it was the drugs and depression talking, but that didn’t make his words hurt any less. You knew his demons; he’d shown you the parts of him he kept hidden from the rest of the world. He told you about his shitty childhood, how his father had been emotionally abusive to him and his mother, and how he struggled with depression. There had been times when he’d disappear for a day, but he always came back to you. He never left you overnight without a word.

You stare at your phone willing it to ring. God, please let him be okay. You can feel him slipping further away from you every minute he’s gone. All you need is to hear his voice, to know that he isn’t hurt or worse, but all you get is silence…and it’s deafening. You’ve called anyone that you think might know something. The answer is always the same: I haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’s fine. You know Dieter, don’t worry so much. The thing was, they didn’t really know Dieter at all. They knew the chaotic, free spirit who was always down for a good time. They didn’t know the parts of him he only let you see.

Looking back on it now, you should have seen it coming. This last rejection really hurt him. You knew how bad he wanted that part. It was going to be a game changer for him, his chance to prove to Hollywood that he was a serious actor and that was all torn to shreds when they went with another actor. At first, he been able to brush it off, but as the days wore on you could see how much it affected him.

It started with little things: sleeping in late, changes in his appetite. Then he started snapping at you. He’d yell at you for the littlest things. One time it was so bad that you hid in the bathroom and cried. It all culminated with his drug use getting out of control. He had been doing so well up until that point. He hadn’t touched any hard drugs in months, just the occasional smoke or edible, mostly when he was painting. When you came home three days ago to find cocaine sprinkled over the coffee table, you confronted him and that’s when everything went to hell. You argued, he screamed at you and then he left.

You were so worried about him that you’d barely eaten or slept. You drove around the streets of LA, stopping at some of his old hangouts hoping to find him. The only thing keeping you from calling the police is that you don’t want the press to somehow find out that he was missing. That would be a disaster for his career, and he would never forgive you for that.

Tears prick at your eyes as you check your phone for the millionth time. He hasn’t called or texted and no one has sent word that they’ve heard from him. Your chest feels tight, it’s harder to get air in your lungs. The longer he is gone, the more likely it is that something terrible has happened to him. You can’t take not knowing any longer and dial the number to the local police station, your shaking thumb hovering over the send button.

Your eyes snap up as the door to the apartment opens. Dieter walks in and you gasp softly.

“Dee!”

You rush to him and throw your arms around his neck. Tears leak from your eyes as you hold him close to you. He stands like a statue in your grip making no move to wrap his arms around you.

“I’m so glad you came home.” You whisper in his ear.

He’s shocked that you’re still here. His throat is dry, and he swallows hard. How does he even begin to apologize? Forgiveness isn’t something he deserves.

The sickly sweet mixture of vomit and whiskey hits your nostrils, and you slowly pull away from him. Your jaw drops, as you notice just how awful he looks. Disheveled clothing and extra messy hair make the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more. A small cut adorns his forehead, the dried blood crusted to his skin.

“I’m sorry, babe.” he croaks through chapped lips. It’s weak, a piss poor apology for what he put you through, but that’s the best he can do right now.

Your heart felt like it was in a vice grip. Nothing would have prepared you for this. The stories that you heard of his past pale in comparison to reality. This is not the man you fell in love with. The man in front of you is broken and defeated. He’d never let himself get this down before, at least not since he’d met you. That was all in the past. What has he done to himself?

“It’s okay, baby.” You coo softly. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You take his hand and lead him to the bathroom. You simultaneously thank and curse every deity you can think of. The man you love has been reduced to a shell of himself and you’re not exactly sure how to help him. The last thing you want to do is make this worse, comforting him is your only goal now.

He’s completely silent as you turn on the shower. You strip him of his dirty clothes as the steam fills the room. The first thing you need to do is get him clean and get him some sleep. The serious conversation you need to have can wait until morning.

You undress yourself and guide him under the hot water. The water cascades over the two of you and you smile at him, hoping to assure him that everything is fine. You encourage him to tilt his head back to wet his hair. You scrub his hair, massaging his scalp with loving care. After rinsing the shampoo from his hair, you scrub his scruffy beard to remove the bits of dried vomit stuck there. Next, you wash his body with slow, gentle strokes. You can only hope this shower is comforting for him, he’s devoid of emotion right now. The soapy suds slide down his body and onto the shower floor as you feel him start to finally relax just a bit. If it were only that easy to wash away his hurt and his pain. You bite back your tears as you turn off the water. He doesn’t need to see you cry right now; he needs you to be strong for him.

His jaw twitches as you guide him from the shower. I’ve royally fucked up; how can she forgive me for this? He really went off the deep end this time and he knows it. His last act of love will be to make you save yourself; to give you an out so he doesn’t ruin your life too. He’s done enough damage.

“You should go…” he says softly. “I’m a lost cause. I’m just going to drag you down with me.”

Your brow furrows. Leaving was not an option for you. You were in this for the long haul, and you weren’t going to let him push you away. There was no way in hell you were walking out.

“I’m not going anywhere, babe. You’re stuck with me.”

Tears well in his eyes and he crushes you to his chest. He holds onto you like his life depends on it, a desperate act of a drowning man.

You silently wrap your arms around his waist, your own feeble attempt to anchor him, to let him know that he’s not alone. You’ll be there every step of the way, but you can’t save him; He has to be the one to save himself.

His shoulders bounce as he silently sobs. He murmurs apologies into your hair over and over again, tears streaming down his face. “I need help… please help me. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

You silently thank every God or spirit you can think of. He’s asking for help and you’re going to do everything in your power to get him whatever he needs.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” You whisper. “I’m going to help you, baby.”

You guide him to the bed and help him lay down, encouraging him to lay his head on your chest. Unshed tears prick your eyes as you try to find the right words to say to soothe him.

“Sleep now.” You murmur as you stroke his hair. “We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

The quiet hangs heavy between you; his occasional heavy breath punctuating the silence. His asking for help was only the first step of a long journey. Nothing was going to be fixed overnight; you couldn’t just snap your fingers and make all of this go away no matter how badly you wished you could.

He knew just how big of a mess he’d made of things. Storming out on you like that and going on a binge was a horrible mistake. It was going to take work to fix this, but he had to do it, for himself and for you.

“Please don’t give up on me.”

His whispered plea shatters your heart into a thousand pieces. You clear your throat to choke back your tears.

“I won’t ever give up on you, Dee.” you whisper as you wrap your arms around him even tighter.

“I love you too much to quit on you now. Don’t give up on yourself.”

He lets out a shaky breath. Too many people had given up on him in the past, written him off without giving him a chance, but not you. He’s so grateful that you want to stick around. He doesn’t know if he could do this without you.

“I love you, too.”

He had a long road ahead and it scared the shit out of him. Could he finally get sober after so many slip ups? Honestly, he didn’t know but he was going to try, whether that meant rehab or outpatient treatment, whatever it took. He was going to try like hell to be the man he wanted to be, for himself and for you.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: love letters

pairing: grayson x (first person) reader

synopsis: you and grayson used to but ended on really bad terms. you never thought you’d meet his eyes again, let alone have a conversation… and that conversation changes everything

warning:

a/n: it’s a bit rubbish… sorry… but thanks for reading :)

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @stqrsbythepocketful @lxvebelle @mrs-venus-beaufort @emelia07 @f4iry-bell

I slowly make my way up the grand staircase to the main hall. Fancy dinner parties had never been my scene but as required by my employer I begrudgingly accepted. In a dress I didn’t own, or even intend to own I walk to meet my host.

“So glad you could make it,” she smiles a bit too warmly for my liking.

“Thanks for inviting me,” I reply, with the sort of smile you use when you have to be polite, “where am I?”

“Just between those two ladies there,” she explains, gesturing over the the seat between one young black-haired woman dressed in silks and another older woman in a deep blue.

“Thanks,” I nod at her, giving on last polite smile before my jaw got too tired to do so.

I walk over to my seat and go to sit down when something catches my eye or rather someone. I freezes mid movement, my eyes not being able to detach from the sight in front of me. I’ve never felt such a mix of shock and horror and awe in the entirety of my short life. It can’t be… oh but it is. I’d recognise that blonde hair and tailored suit anywhere.

Grayson Hawthorne.

Never again did I think I’d lock eyes with that piercing grey and never did I think it would feel so cold. I sit down and promise myself this will be the last dinner party I ever attend. I never should have step foot out of the house. I never should have agreed to this. Too little, too late now. There’s an odd sort of comfort when he too looks just as stunned, his eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted. The lips I used to kiss.

He opens his mouth to talk but I immediately look downs, avoiding any more eye contact. Conversation between us tonight would not happen. I wouldn’t let it. Nobody has to know I know him, he doesn’t have to talk to me, we can just pretend we’re strangers.

Strangers… the word repeats in my brain around and around. isn’t that what we are now? People who don’t talk or interact or really know anything about each other. Not anymore.

***

I force my eyes not to look at him throughout the whole dinner. I don’t want to look at him, I don’t want to be lured in again because I know my rational brain will go out of the window when my heart takes over. That stupid organ has too much control.

I seek to leave as soon as I can. Immediately after the three courses are done and there’s a window of opportunity to get away I do. I didn’t want to risk bumping into a certain Hawthorne on the way out. I rush out of the doors and towards my ride home. I’m half way down the staircase when…

“Y/N.”

His voice sent a tingle town my spine still. I stop and stand. Just when I thought I could escape him. I let out a breath and turn him around, letting myself take him in properly this time. He was different than I’d remembered him… something felt off. I tilt my head to the side and take in the man before me, the man who left me, the man who broke me.

“Grayson,” I say. My voice is strong and harsh and hard. He will never know how he hurt me.

He stares. I stare. It’s like a stupid competition and yet neither of us seem to give in. I can’t read what he’s thinking or feeling in this moment, but then again I don’t want to know. I’m done with the pain and I can’t put myself through it again.

“What’s the matter with you?” Grayson asks, his tone somewhere between concern and curiosity and judgment.

“What’s the matter with me?” I scoff, my eyebrows flying to my forehead.

How dare he? How much pride do you have to have to ask a question like that? It’s a joke, some kind of stupid joke the world is playing on me. What did I do to deserve this? Why now, why tonight? Just when my life is running smoothly, things like this seem to come along.

“Why are you being so cold,” he says, his brows furrowed, as if I should be dancing around and shitting rainbows around him.

“I’m not,” I snap quickly.

“You’ve barely looked me in the eye,” he expresses, his voice too full of emotion, too unlike his usual tone.

And suddenly I’m furious, I’m blinded by a sudden surge of anger. He wants me to look him in the eye after all he’s put me through? What so he can shoot me a smile and rub salt deeper into the wound he made?

“And you expect me to?” I yell, letting my rage take hold, “After everything we went through?”

“Well I wasn’t afraid of looking into yours,” Grayson snaps back.

“Oh so now you’ve finally overcome your cowardice,” I say with a smile laced with passive aggression, shaking my head, “too little, too late.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so infuriated by my presence, if anything I should be,” he replies.

“You should be?” I scoff, “well of course you would think that, you were always so self-centred.”

“I gave up everything for you,” he yells, his eyes filled with fire.

Grayson Hawthorne has never yelled at me. Grayson Hawthorne doesn’t yell. But I don’t flinch or back down. I ignore this new version of Grayson and bury it under the version I’d forgotten.

“No you didn’t,” I scream, “you say you did but you didn’t. You loved me and loved me and then-“

I trail off, I forget what I’m going to say and fumble to find the next set of right words.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then you left,” I laugh bitterly, “and oh you left and never said anything again. So what gives you any right to show up here now.”

I don’t know what I’m saying, I’m angry and anger is all I can see.

“I didn’t just leave,” he spits, a venomous anger on this tongue, “I sent you letter every single day for a year and you didn’t answer a single one.”

“Letters?”

My heart nearly stops. I think it actually skips a beat. My brain stops functioning for a moment and everything is blank. If he sent me letters that means everything changes, that means everything is wrong. What I think of him, how I feel towards him, my whole perception of that relationship and what happened and what didn’t.

But he couldn’t have… he wouldn’t, he didn’t want to, he shouldn’t have wanted to. I refuse to believe it. Because then that means all of those sleepless nights of sobbing, all of those times I thought I meant nothing to him, every single day I looked in the mirror and hated everything about me was for nothing.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, “don’t do that, it’s too cruel.”

“No Grayson,” I say, trying to not let my voice waver, staring at him intently, “what letters are you talking about?”

He’s too in shock to reply. My eyes try to find his, darting around like a mad woman’s. I find myself gripping onto his arms and clinging to them. He finally meets my eyes. The grey that was once my world of precious rare metals, then dead like the wilted flowers I wept over and now… now they’re grey like the every changing storm cloud that can’t decide whether it should rain or not.

“What letters!?” I cry, my tone still thick with desperation.

a/n: tell me why this took me like three days to write?? my motivation was nowhere… but oh well. It’s a bit short and sweet, but I hope you guys enjoyed anyway :) requests are always welcome and let me know if you want to be on the tag list 🤍🤍

credit to @cafekitsune for the divided

TIG masterlist

[ravencoloredroses]

Left Alone

Nyx x Reader

Summary: While the Inner Circle goes for a night out at Rita’s, Nyx and Y/N stay back home. 

Warnings: none :) (let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 990

A/N: I hope you like my first ever post! I don’t really see a lot of Nyx x reader fics on here so I figured this would be a good first for me! It's kinda short because I'm just testing the waters lmao. Please let me know what you think! <3 

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

“How many times do you want me to say I’m sorry?” I cry out in between giggles as Nyx climbs on top of me.

“Hhm, probably at least three more.” Nyx laughs as he continues tickling me. “Maybe after that I’ll think about accepting your apology.” He tries his best to hide that beautiful smile.

I squeeze my eyes shut causing a few tears to drip down my cheeks. “Okay, okay! I promise it won’t happen again-” 

Nyx kisses away my tears. “You’re damn right it won’t, or else.”

“Or else what?” Nyx and I both whip our heads to the stairs to see his dad and the rest of the Inner Circle staring fondly at us. 

“Uh oh Rhys, looks like we walked in on something.” Cassian sends me a wink while Nyx sits us up on the couch. 

“Why aren’t you guys ready to leave yet?” Mor asks with hurt in her eyes. They are going out to Rita’s for the night and the plan was for us to join them, but-

“Because they’re not going,” Nesta says, strolling past everyone towards the front door. 

“I’m sorry Aunt Mor, but Y/N isn’t feeling well and I need to stay back with them” Nyx looks over at me pleading for me to back him up.

“*cough* *cough* Yeah, I don’t feel so good. Sorry guys.” 

“I don’t know what you guys are up to, but I know I don’t like it.” Rhys says with a smirk. He walks over and puts an arm around Feyre. “We’ll only be gone for a couple of hours. Please for the love of the mother, stay here and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do-” 

“Woah, don’t give them any ideas” Cassian cuts him off. “Just be sure to use protection. Oh and Y/N, I don’t know if Nyx showed you, but if you scratch right about here on his wing it-”

“OKAY, thank you for that Cas” Azriel butts in before Cassian can finish his demonstration. “But seriously, if you want me to leave a shadow here, I’ll be more than happy to”

“That’s okay uncle Az.” Nyx says as he scoops me up into his lap. “I think we’ll be okay.” After a nod from Rhys and one more wink from Cassian, they finally walk out the door.

“Do I still have to pretend to be sick?” I laugh, looking over at Nyx as soon as the door closes. He shakes his head and smiles at me for a few seconds before he's pushing me off to the side so he can get up. I watch him go up the stairs and disappear down the hallway into his bedroom. A minute later he reappears with a book in his hand.

“How about we read together? I was just about to start this one. Do you want me to read or do you?” He grabs my favorite pillow as he walks back over to the couch.

“Can you? All this talk of me being sick has me feeling sick.” 

Nyx throws his head back laughing. “Aw baby, let me take care of you.” He gestures for me to stand and then lays us down. I snuggle myself between his legs with my head on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady drum in my ears as he wraps his wings around me.Nyx clears his throat and flips to the first chapter. “Once upon a time, a very handsome and charming heir of the Night Court-”

“That is not how it starts!” I try to look up to see his face which I can tell is smiling ear to ear.

“How would you know? Have you read this one already?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I have. Twice! Now start over.” Nyx laughs and rubs a soothing hand up my back as he actually begins to read the story. His baritone voice is lulling me to sleep no matter how hard I try to stay awake. It’s not often Nyx and I get time completely to ourselves, so I try to savor every moment that we do. 

About an hour into the book, I’m just drifting off as Nyx leans down to drop the book on the floor. He shuffles down lower onto the couch and threads his fingers in my hair. “I love you so much, goodnight my love.” He places a kiss on my cheek and I snuggle more into his chest. 

----------

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire existence.” A loud whisper fills my ears.

“Shhhh Cas! Don’t wake them up” 

“But Az, look! Tell me that’s not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire existence. Rhys! Come look at your son and tell me that’s not-”

Nyx places his hand over my ear to muffle the sounds. “Uncle Cas. Please be quiet. I don’t want them to wake up.”

“It’s a little too late for that” I mumble as I peek my eyes open. Cassian is sitting on the couch across from us with his hands on his chin, staring with a now shocked face.

Feyre comes over and pulls Cassian to his feet. “We’re sorry dear. We’ll leave you two alone now.” With that the rest of the crew file up the stairs. Feyre looks back one more time, probably visualizing this scene as a painting. Rhys stops on the bottom stair and a look of fondness flashes in his eyes. 

“Dad-”

“Alright, goodnight you two.” 

Nyx continues playing with my hair and places a kiss into my hairline. “I’m sorry they woke you up honey.” I hum and kiss the back of his hand in response. Nyx chuckles. “If you want, I can tell you that story about the handsome and charming heir of th-”

“You know what? That’s okay baby, maybe some other time.” I feel Nyx’s chest shaking with laughter. 

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader : THAT’S NOT MAMA!

Your husband had just texted you from his at home studio that the official trailer for his movie, White Men Can’t Jump, was out.

You had suggested watching it together in the living room, kids included, to see their reaction to their dad doing something else other than music.

“Ugh dad I was playing.” Ez says grumpily.

“You’ll go back soon, let’s just watch this real quick.” The four of you are sitting across the television.

You’re biting your nails due to nerves. He did warn you about some specific scenes, but you told him you understood.

“Ohhh daddy, is this your movie?” Mia asks, the trailer already playing.

“Yeah bug, this is it.” Jack tells her proudly.

“What is a white girl in Whole Foods?” Ez asks.

You and Jack share a laugh but continue watching it, the kids asking little questions here and there.

“Boo-boo juice that’s funny and looks nasty daddy.”

“Yeah I don’t wanna drink that. Yuck.” Ezequiel pretends to barf.

Mia gasps, “Daddy, that’s not nice.”

“What?”

“You making fun of his ears.”

“It’s part of the movie bug.” You tell her.

“Did you say sorry after?”

Jack nods, “I did princess.”

Once the trailer was over, you see Ezequiel whispering something in Mia’s ear. They both turn to look at Jack.

“Can we watch it again?” Mia asks him.

Of course Jack plays it again for them.

“STOP PAUSE.” Ez yells.

“What?” You ask him, getting worried.

“See Mia, there.” Ezequiel stands up and points to the television.

Mia stands up and walks towards her brother and they have a mini conversation you can’t hear. Both their little arms are making movements in the air.

Once they are done, they both turn to look at Jack and glare at him.

“W-what did I do?” He’s confused, looking at you then back at the kids.

“THAT.” Ez points. “NOT MOMMA. YOU IN BIG TROUBLE.”

“You can’t kiss other girls daddy, that’s bad bad, like really bad.” Mia tells him, her eyes are getting watery.

“Do you not love mommy?”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to muffle your laugh from the kids.

“What? Of course I love mommy.”

“Then why kiss other girl huh?” Ez asks him, his hands on his waist.

“It’s just a movie, little man, it’s fake.”

“Fake? I see it there, kissing her and laughing. It’s no funny.”

“Ezequiel, some movies or most movies aren’t real. It’s acting, you’ll understand more when you’re a bit older. But I promise you, I love your mommy.” Jack tries to reassure the kids.

“You okay momma?” Your sons come up to you, holding your hands.

You smile at him. “Yes my baby boy, I’m totally fine.”

“Okay.” He then walks to Jack. “Cool movie.” They fist bump and Ezequiel walks out the living room and back to the playroom.

Mia is standing by the television.

“You okay bug?” Jack asks her.

“You and mommy okay? You not moving houses like Nino Urby and Nina?”

“Oh baby.” Jack carries her to his chest. “I promise you, mommy and I are more than okay. We love each other so much, we’re not going anywhere.”

“That hurt my feelings, but you sound funny in your movie daddy. You’re a star.” Mia tells him, while playing with his beard.

“Thank you princess.” He kisses her head and sets her down.

“No more being sad baby, like daddy told Ez, it’s all part of the movie. Your daddy isn’t going anywhere.” You reassure your daughter.

“Okay mommy.” She hugs you. “Going to make sure Cheesy isn’t doing a mess.” She runs off to the playroom.

Jack is staring at you with raised eyebrows. “What Jackman?”

“Our kids were ready to knock me out.”

You chuckle. “No they were not.”

“Babe, yes they were, I was scared for my life. I thought Ezequiel was about to punch me.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You laugh, going up to him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’m proud of you though.”

That makes him smile, he places his hands on your ass. “Yeah? Even with the kiss scene?”

“The kids gave you enough shit about it, I’ll save my comments to myself.” You play with his KY chain, your favorite chain on him.

“Oh so you did feel some type of way about it?” He squeezes both ass cheeks, smirking about it.

You roll your eyes and playful smack him on his chest. “You are loving this aren’t you?”

He nods, “It takes me back to when you first showed your jealous side.”

“We are not going there Jackman.” You glare at him, but then smile. “But I’ll get my revenge for it though, you just wait and see.”

“Wait what?”

“My next music video, let’s just say it’s not YouTube appropriate.”

“Y/N that’s not fair.”

“It’s okay baby, because it’s all fake right?” You smirk and get on your tippy toes to peck him. “But I am proud of you bubs, I can’t wait to watch it.”

“Maybe without the kids?” He suggests.

You laugh at that, “If you don’t want mini glares the entire time, then yes that’s best.”

You two share a kiss and you continue to tell him how proud you are of him. He gets shy whenever you praise him, so you enjoy it every single time.

“MOM, DAD, EZEQUIEL IS ANNOYING.”

“NO I’M NOT.”

“YES YOU ARE, STOP SAYING THAT.”

You and Jack share a look and smile.

“DON’T WORRY MAMI.. DON’T WORRY MAMI. DON’T WORRY MAMI.” Ezequiel yells out plenty of times, probably to annoy his sister even more.

“What are you saying?” You laugh, walking into the playroom.

“It’s from daddy’s movie, his friend was saying it.” Ez shrugs, referring to Sinqua Walls' line.

“He’s being annoying dad.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, and it’s mommy not mami.” Mia huffles in annoyance. “You don’t even make sense.”

“Uncle Sunni calls the girls mami, so I do know.”

“Okay, enough kids.”

“Oh can I get a flame gun for Christmas? Like in your movie?”

“NO.”

“Maybe next time we won’t show them any of our future projects.” You suggest.

Jack nods, “Sounds like a plan.”

•

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