#jarring thing to come across when i'm trying to figure it out

[hearts4hughes]

Hello!!! I'm so sorry to bother you but when you do get the time could you do a more detailed fanfic of the last request I sent, no rush at all I was just wondering!!

ೃ࿔:･ three things rafe did to get you back, and the one that worked

he doesn’t sleep in his house for three nights.

not since your perfume curdled in the walls, not since your toothbrush disappeared and your favorite hoodie ended up folded in the laundry room like it didn’t mean anything.

he takes the truck and sleeps on the beach instead. driver’s seat reclined, cigarette burns on the floor mat, your voice echoing through his phone from some video you filmed months ago—shaky footage of him making you laugh in the cereal aisle at 3 am. you called him stupid in that video, grinning like you didn’t mean it. he keeps replaying that part.

he’s angry. not at you—never really at you—but at himself, for letting it get that far. for saying the kinds of things you don’t come back from, the kind that sit heavy in your chest when you’re trying to fall asleep. he doesn’t even remember how the fight started, just that it ended with the door slamming so hard a picture fell off the wall. just that you didn’t look back.

and god, he’s been trying to get you back everyday since.

1. he left flowers every day.

not store-bought roses, not the kind you see in glossy instagram proposals, no, they were wildflowers, hand-picked, stems crooked, petals bruised, sometimes tied with ribbon, sometimes with a handwritten note.

every morning, they showed up on your doorstep like clockwork—lilies, bluebells, dandelions stuffed in mason jars or beer bottles. he never knocked, never rang the bell, just left them. he figured you’d know who they were from anyway.

you left them outside until they filled your porch. the day you brought them all in was the day he stopped leaving them. figured you got the message. figured you’d call him, maybe send him a heartfelt text.

but he never got one.

2. he sent videos…too many.

they were always old ones. the ones you filmed when you were still his. the ones that you two were happiest in.

you in the passenger seat singing off-key, wind in your hair. you chasing him down the beach, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. his favorite—shaky footage of you asleep on his chest, his hand brushing your back like it was instinct.

he sent one every night. he watched your read receipt every night. he did that until the texts turned green and couldn’t go through.

3. he crashed your friend’s party.

it wasn’t subtle. he showed up in a backwards hat with low intentions, smirking like he didn’t already know the second he crossed the threshold, the room would turn against him. it didn’t matter. not when he saw you across the kitchen in that sundress, smiling at someone who wasn’t him.

“you invited him?” your best friend hissed when she saw him.

“wasn’t invited,” he replied, unbothered. “just came to see her.”

he didn’t fight, didn’t yell, didn’t try to make a scene. he just tried to talk. his voice was low, eyes glassy, and lip red with bite marks. but you didn’t budge, didn’t flinch, didn’t let him twist this into something that could be forgiven on a front lawn at 1:00 am.

you only told him to leave, and this time—for once—he did.

4. he annotated your favorite books.

he showed up at your house. it was late. your porch light was off, blinds closed, similar to the rest of the neighborhood.

he knocked a few times, hoping you were still awake, praying there wasn’t another guy over. you finally opened the door and he was just…standing there. hoodie pulled over his head, eyes red, not from weed this time—just from not sleeping. not eating, not knowing how to live in a world where you don’t love him anymore.

he didn’t say anything at first. just held out a stack of your favorite books. they were dog-eared, spine-bent, underlined in black ink.

“i read them,” he said, voice hoarse. “all of them. so i’d know what you meant when you said things. so i’d understand you better next time. if there’s a next time.” your breath caught. he looked down, added, quieter, “i even liked the sad ones.”

you took the books and he took one step back like he was ready for you to shut the door, but you didn’t. you opened it wider, allowing him to step inside.

“rafe, i-”

“don’t, don’t say anything.” he whispered, tears pooling at his waterline. he let out a shaky breath, fingers curling at his sides like he was holding himself back. “not yet.”

you placed the books down onto your coffee table and he looked around. his shoes were still in your mudroom, his rings still in your bowl, and his bouquets on your counter.

when his gaze fell back to you, you were walking towards him with open arms. he melted into your embrace. it was like water during a restless night, like a warm blanket on a cool winter day, like home.

he nuzzled his face into your neck, lip quivering as he tried to compose himself. “never leave me again, baby. i was ruined without you.” he whispered, pressing kisses to your neck.

“that makes two of us,” you chuckled through broken sobs.

and it wasn’t forgiveness. not yet, but he hugged you like he’d just been told the world wasn’t ending after all.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife

[twstfanblog]

Heyyyyy so uhhhhh…

What if the mc back in their world was a slave? Not servant like jamil, just, straight up slave where their opinion didn’t matter :( n they r female, afab, pronounce she/they? Hopefully nothing bad happened but people who get slaves r bad people so :((( overblot boys pls 🙏🥺

I feel like they would all threaten crowley to absolutely NOT look for a way to send mc home n to stop making her do his things cause that reminds her of back home in a very bad way :(

N then they comfort n hold the mc cause they r safe n wont have to be treated like shit anymore :(

They will punch anyone who treats em like shit

Which practically everyone in school did when they arrived at NRC, and they just thought ‘this is normal’. :(

Overblot Boys React to Slave Reader

Overblot Boys x Reader

Riddle

Lowkey saw you as an ideal student. Polite, respectful, and mindful of the rules. So he wouldn't notice anything past a few odd ticks that he himself wouldn't fully question since his own upbringing was shitty.

It takes him and Ace having an argument, Riddle brings up that Ace can learn a thing or two from you on being a respectful student. And Ace fires back on you being a SLAVE. Of course, his overbearing ass would love that. And Riddle has to really think about what kinda person that makes him that he didn't even notice.

He talks to you, wanting personal confirmation on what Ace had blurted out. Once he gets the confirmation, his attitude gets much softer. You don't get as harsh treatment for rule-breaking, but he's still stern about them.

End game, he makes up a secondary set of rules for you only. Rules like 'We say something if we are uncomfortable' or 'We are allowed to say No'. He just gets much softer but remains true on rules being important. He just also stresses that you should have your own personal rules now.

Leona

Clocked immediately you came from a background of servitude, though he wasn't aware how severe it was.

He didn't plan on getting invovled but his little bleeding heart took Ruggie under his wing for a reason. It was one part pity and mostly annoyance seeing you getting bullied by his dorm everyday.

You basically get 'Leona's Servant' boot camp with Ruggie suddenly. He teaches you how Leona likes his laundry tended to and what snack flavors he prefers. It's a smooth transition from slave to servant until Ruggie tells you it's free game to steal from Leona.

Leona never brings it up, but he knows your old home was not a good environment. He also knows he can't just fling you into a healthier dynamic with those around you, so he'll do it slowly and sneakily. Ruggie is the perfect one to bridge the gap for him to start spoiling you.

Azul

Knew something was off but had no real frame of reference. He would make little theories and try to figure out why you act the way you do. He only started thinking you had come from a background of servitude when you follow orders so quickly.

Honestly doesn't know how to feel because he did do slavery in tricking the contracted students into working at the lounge against their will. He's not entirely sure how to save face with you after he's come across as a cruel and unfair slaver. Lowkey uses his overblot aftermath as an excuse for a fresh start with you.

He starts treating you kinder, making sure to address you properly and showing that he respects you. People from his dorm follow his lead, at least. The Tweels are part-time bodyguards, making your old bullies more hesitant to start anything because an eel might slip out of a crack or something.

Azul is a sneaky one too, slowly helping you raise your standard of how you should be treated by others. If you get him blabbing long enough, he'll slip into just stating how precious you are to him.

Jamil

I'm sorry, even with the English sanitation, Jamil’s situation can only come across as slavery to me. He's a very well cared for slave because Kalim adores him, but a slave none the less.

It's a little jarring to him to see someone who really could understand. But he's so used to keeping himself guarded he never reached out in a friendly sense. Treating you more like a new coworker; helpful but distant. It wasn't until you accidently broke something in Scarabia and nearly had a panic attack when Kalim looked at you does he realize how severe punishment was back in your world.

Gets much softer to you. It's sad because he does love and care about you, but he would not allow you to be with him long term. You've managed to come to a new world where your old masters can't reach you, you're free. Don't waste it following him back into a life of servitude.

Jamil would understand you the best so he'd be the one to really push and guide you to trying new experiences with your freedom. Wants you to be selfish and use your friends' kindness to make your life better. If he never gets his dream of being able to travel the world he wants you to be able to.

(Should the miracle happen and he and Kalim have the conversation finally, Jamil would go globe trotting with you. He legit has thoughts of just not going back and disappearing with you.)

Vil

I don't think he'd mean anything malicious by it. But he would end up treating you like a purse dog for a while.

Vil has a strong and cemented personality and sense of worth. Dealing with someone as passive as an abused slave, he would easily bulldoze over them and not really notice. Because he'd basically have you on the 'Betterment Plan' he has Epel.

He saw the potential and just kept going because you never said stop. Lots of beauty routines, he picks outfits for you for outings, basically has you as his shadow before either Rook or Epel bring up how he's running you ragged.

Vil never dealt with someone who's come from the situation you did. The very idea that 'No' wasn't a boundary you were ever allowed horrified him for a bit. But like the queen he is, he doesn't try to defend his misstep and goes right into correcting his behavior. The introduction of choices was the best start, but you slowly start saying no to events and choices and Vil couldn't be more delighted.

Idia

Lowkey, I'm not sure if he'd notice in any capacity until you told him point-blank. Idia is the one of the boys who sticks mostly to himself and he'd avoid you if he saw you constantly being hounded by other students.

But, if you managed to get close enough to him, he'd question why you always freeze up when your bullies call you? Why running isn't an option you take? And then you'd tell him about where you came from and how running never ended well for you or the other slaves...

He's not one I think would actively try to curb your behaviors but it would effect his own. Now when he sees you being bullied there's a high chance he'll use what power he has a housewarden to get them to leave. When he's sneaking around, he'll catch your eye and give the mental offer to come hide out in his room with him. He becomes a legit safe space for you to just breath since no one but Ortho really enters his room.

He's had to stop you multiple times from cleaning his room. Yes, it's a mess. No, you don't have to thank him by cleaning. Yes, he's aware you can also keep his stuff organized for him while you clean. You don't have to clean, you aren't his maid. (He is terrified he will ruin your friendship the second you find anything embarrassing under his piles of junk. Like a body pillow, or a 18+ comic, or a stray love note he wrote you-)

Malleus

Adorable you think the bonds of slavery from an unknown world matter to him. Malleus is...a prince, a crown prince at that. I don't think he has 'slaves' but with servants of royalty, I'm never really sure. But anyhow, this boy hasn't been told no enough in his life and it shows.

So when you try to back away from the friendship a bit under the fact of you being a slave and not...worthy of his princely company. He just decides you aren't a slave anymore. Just wills and speaks it into existence. There, it's fixed. You can continue being his beloved child of man, now come. He has a new gargoyle he wants to show you.

Fae to me have favorites, and they love to keep an eye on them. So god help some poor schmuck who tries to bully you into doing their work after Malleus has decided you don't do that anymore... You start saying No and leaving the situation with much more effectiveness because the other choice is Malleus making some poor student drop out for fear of their life.

Malleus canonically ignores the autonomy of others for his own gain. So it would be a really weird balance of him simply stating that you are your own being capable of choice and that your old-world status as a slave doesn't matter here. But with that new free status, you are also his best friend, who will come on night walks with him, talk with him, and make friendship bracelets.

[kiwriteswords]

I love the way the marriage of convenience fic turned out!! If you write more about that I will gladly read it! Thb I'm getting obsessive about it 😂

You set it up so well and I have so many questions about what could happen next and what is going through everyone's mind. 😁🥳

Like a Feather [Aaron Hotchner x Reader x Marriage Contract]

Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Thank you for requesting this!! I'm so glad you liked the first one! I'm loving this universe. Trying to navigate how I can make them all flow cohesively without feeling like you need to read them in order. Would love to see more requests for this universe! I feel like I could take it in so many directions! Tags/Warnings: female reader, marriage of convenience, contracted marriage, canon-typical themes, flirty!reader, bold!reader, girly-girl!reader, non-bau!reader, stressed!hotch, mentions of Jack Hotchner, mentions of Haley Hotchner, Traumatized!Hotch, can be read solo if you realize they're forced to live together and are technically married. Summary: For your own safety, you're forced to marry and live with Aaron Hotchner, but his apartment just won't do.

When you’re told, you need to marry a political figure’s daughter to protect her. It could go a million-and-two ways wrong. 

When Strauss and every single bureaucratic name stood before Hotch and assigned him of this--so-called, task--he thought of each way this could have gone utterly wrong. 

But living with a complete stranger wasn't as bad as it sounded. 

Jack took a liking to you quickly. Your past volunteering at children's hospitals and with struggling youth was more than just keeping up political appearances. There was a fun and nurturing side to you that Hotch was glad. 

Jack is always and has always been his first priority when this assignment was sprung upon him. How would this affect him? So seeing that it was only helping or aiding in his upbringing, even temporarily, Hotch would take it. 

What Hotch did notice is every day he would come home from the BAU, and things would look a wee bit different.

It started with the curtains. 

He had long panels that did the job of keeping light out, but one day, he came home, and you had added frills bordering his windows. The once stark and utilitarian drapes now fluttered with soft, feminine edges that seemed to dance lightly with the breeze. 

He didn't mention anything, but a week later, there were the throw pillows. What was the point in pillows that took up the entirety of the sofa that you would move just to sit on? They had buttons and cream-colored trim on them, sitting plump across the couch, asserting their presence in every available space.

He went along, noticing more and more touches of you throughout his apartment. 

Floral arrangements in vases on every surface added bursts of color where none had been before. A shrubby wreath with a giant bow now adorned the front door, greeting him with an almost jarring cheerfulness each day. 

The bathroom's once beige shower curtain was now replaced with a yellow gingham pattern that screamed sunshine, transforming a previously muted space into one that could rival a sunny day in a meadow.

Your bedroom became a reflection of the woman you were--bright and loud, but it began to seep outside of the rest of Hotch's apartment. 

Each new addition, each piece of you that filled up his space, was like a small declaration that this arrangement was becoming more real than either of you might have initially expected. The stark lines and muted tones of his world were slowly being overrun by a storm of femininity, each frill and floral arrangement a soft but undeniable takeover of the life he had meticulously organized. 

This was no longer just his and Jack’s sanctuary; it was a shared existence, vivid and continuously surprising, much like you.

One day, as Hotch came home from a grueling day at the BAU, he was mentally ready to unwind. 

He placed his briefcase by the door and headed straight for the cabinet to pour himself a finger or two of whiskey--a small ritual that marked the transition from his work life to whatever semblance of personal life he could muster under the current circumstances.

As he reached for a glass, he paused, sensing an unusual commotion at the entrance. Turning around, he saw two burly security guards maneuvering through his doorway, carefully balancing a Tiffany lamp between them. The sight of these stern men handling such a dainty, stained glass-colored item was incongruous enough to leave Hotch momentarily dumbstruck.

He had become familiar with the two men--your bodyguards that followed you even before this crisis at hand, but they often remained quiet. Taking shifts at the front door of the apartment. 

The part of Hotch that was riddled with trauma and overthought every move for his son was silently grateful for the added protection for his family as well, but seeing them like this? They didn’t seem like the type of men who could fend off a fly with the way they so awkwardly manhandled the delicate glass.

He watched, eyebrows raised, as you directed them with a flurry of indecisiveness. "There...no, there," you called out from across the room, pointing first to one corner and then another, clearly struggling to find the perfect spot for the new addition.

Hotch's curiosity overcame his initial reserve, and he approached, asking, "What's the lamp for when we already have"--he paused to make a quick inventory--"five perfectly good working light fixtures?"

You placed your hands on your hips, your expression mixing defiance and a hint of amusement. "This lamp is not just functional; it’s beautiful and decorative," you explained with a firm nod, as if that settled the matter.

Hotch glanced at the lamp, then around the room at the various changes you had implemented since moving in. "I've noticed all of the little touches," he acknowledged, his voice neutral but his mind reeling from the rapid feminization of his previously stark and only functional space

You gave him a faux pout, a playful challenge in your eyes. "Don’t you like it?"

"It’s not that I don’t like it," Hotch started, searching for the right words that wouldn’t offend. "It’s just very...” His voice trailed off, words like 'girly' and 'feminine' hanging on the tip of his tongue, but he opted for a safer, "different from what I’m used to."

He’d like to tell you that this wasn’t the set for some Better Homes & Gardens photoshoot, but he figured he’d keep that to himself. 

You quickly interjected, a hint of seriousness underlining your playful tone. "This place was a home to two men before I was forced to move here, and now I'm being forced to live here. A little warmth never killed anybody, you know." Your voice softened, reminding both of you of the odd circumstances that had thrown your lives together in this compact, evolving space.

Hotch took a moment, the tension in his shoulders easing as he considered your perspective. The lamp, with its colorful glass and intricate metalwork, suddenly didn’t seem like just an intrusion of your taste into his life, but more like a symbol of the blending that was slowly, inevitably happening between your worlds.

"Alright," he conceded with a small, conceding smile, "let’s find the perfect spot for it together." 

As you both moved to adjust the lamp, Hotch realized that these small concessions, these little adjustments to his environment, were not just about accommodating you, but about finding a way to coexist peacefully, respectfully, and maybe even harmoniously under the most unusual circumstances.

His apartment had purely served a place for he and Jack to rest their head at the end of the day. Most of the decor were things that he had leftover from his home with Haley--mostly things that weren’t painful to look at. Various photos, trinkets, and books. But that was about it. 

His idea of art was the sailboats Jack loved to paint or color. The walls were the same brown color from when he purchased this apartment years before. Everything about it was purely functional. Not frill or unnecessary bit about it.

He hated to think, in some ways, you might be forcing him to finally greet this part of him that he’d prefer to keep in a metaphorical storage box on a shelf somewhere. 

---

Hotch walked into the BAU the next day, his demeanor as serious as ever, but with an unusual addition--a feather lodged in his hair. He began to present the new case in the roundtable room, fully focused on the task at hand, unaware of the curious artifact adorning his head.

JJ, always observant, interrupted him mid-sentence. “Hotch, come here for a second,” she beckoned with a slight smile, motioning him closer. Confused but compliant, Hotch approached, and she delicately plucked the feather from his hair, holding it up for him and the rest of the team to see.

The team erupted in a mixture of laughter and bewildered expressions. “What is that?” Morgan asked, trying to stifle his chuckle.

Hotch let out a deep sigh, the kind that spoke volumes before words even formed. “It’s from the new throw pillows on my couch,” he explained, a trace of agitation seeping into his voice. “Feather-filled. I fell asleep there last night.”

Emily quickly chimed in, her tone half teasing, half serious. “Woah, woah, woah, you can't complain when this girl was ripped from her life--”

Morgan interrupted with a smirk, “--a very cushy life,” emphasizing the luxury she was used to, “to live with Mr. Functional here.”

Hotch opened his mouth to argue, his brow furrowing in frustration, but Spencer was quick to add his perspective, “I’ve seen Hotch’s apartment, and they’re right. It’s about as warm and welcoming as an interrogation room.”

The team’s laughter filled the room, but beneath the humor, there was a palpable sense of camaraderie and support. Hotch, realizing the futility of his frustration in the face of their united front, let out another sigh, this time softer, conceding the point.

“Alright, alright,” Hotch conceded, a small smile breaking through his usually stoic facade. “Maybe a few feathers aren’t the worst thing in the world.”

---

Returning from a local case that had wrapped up, Hotch walked back into his office without a thought, ready to sink into the routine of paperwork that awaited him. The room was dim, shrouded in the early evening gloom that only the setting sun breached through the slats of the blinds. As he moved to switch on the light, his hand paused mid-air when he noticed a figure reclining on his couch. It was you.

"What are you doing here?" His tone carried an edge, the surprise mixing with a flicker of irritation as he flicked on the light, flooding the room with stark brightness.

You sat up, blinking against the sudden light, your voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "I was bored at your apartment," you explained. "It’s lonely there, and this was the only place my bodyguards agreed I could go for a change of pace."

Hotch closed the door with a soft click and set his briefcase down with a heavier thud. The lines of his face were drawn tight, his mind racing through the security protocols and the weight of the responsibility he bore. "You know it's not just about boredom," he started, his voice firm as he leaned against his desk, facing you. "The threats against you are real and severe. We've already seen what they’re capable of. People have been injured, some killed. This isn’t a game."

Your expression softened, regret flickering across your features. "I know, Hotch. I do," you replied quietly. "It's just...hard, feeling so cut off from everything and everyone."

Hotch sighed, the initial resistance in his posture easing slightly, though his expression remained serious. "I understand that it’s difficult," he conceded, his tone softening. "But taking risks by moving around isn’t the solution. We need to ensure your safety, and sometimes that means making hard choices--choices that might not be the most comfortable."

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words, but a hint of rebellion lingered in your eyes. There was a pause, a charged moment where the gravity of the situation seemed to hang heavily between you. "I get it," you said finally, your tone a mix of acceptance and frustration. "I just wish there was a way to make this feel less like a prison."

Hotch straightened, his expression stern as he considered your words. He understood the isolation you felt; he’d seen it many times in witness protection situations, the toll it took on individuals. Yet, he couldn’t compromise on your safety. 

"We might find a balance," he suggested cautiously, his voice firm. "We can explore safe activities, perhaps more interaction with approved personnel, or even secure outings. I’ll discuss options with the team--see what arrangements we can make to keep you engaged but protected."

Your face brightened slightly, a spark of hope igniting in your eyes. "Thank you, Hotch," you said, a genuine smile briefly touching your lips for the first time since the conversation began.

"As for being here," Hotch continued, his tone still carrying an edge of authority, recognizing the need for rules even within this concession, "you’re welcome to stay in the office whenever necessary, as long as it’s coordinated. We’ll set some ground rules, make it work."

You nodded, relief apparent but quickly tempered by a sharp retort. "I’d appreciate that, really. And frankly, this place might be a fortress compared to your apartment," you quipped, challenging him with a playful yet piercing look. "Plus, your entertainment setup is tragic. Have you ever heard of When Harry Met Sally? It’s a classic, and you don’t even have it. What kind of living situation is this?"

Hotch raised an eyebrow, the challenge in your tone bringing a small, wry smile to his face. "I wasn’t aware that my DVD collection would be under review," he responded dryly. "I’ll make sure to update my library to meet your standards."

As Hotch watched you settle back onto the couch, the interaction had sparked a realization in him. This wasn't just about providing security; it was about accommodating a life--not just any life, but one thrust into his care under extraordinary circumstances.

He didn’t know it yet, but you were teaching him a whole new way to look at life. 

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

[hughiecampbelle]

Thunderbolts Preference: Being The Youngest Teammate

A/N: *Comes back to life after watching a new MCU movie pretending that everything is fine and I did not disappear and that I'm not the worst writer, but maybe second or third worst, when really I am deeply so very sorry for leaving, again* Enjoy my loves! Thunderbolts requests are open, I'm making a big post asap! 🖤

Bucky is used to being the oldest person in every room, but you age him another thirty, if not forty years. You're experienced, and methodical, and you do things like he would have, like he has, and it makes him queasy. When he sees just how young your face is, he regrets trying to blow up the limousine. None of them know who you are and they all definitely talk about you behind your back: who is this kid? Where did they come from? Should we let them go? As the mission continues, they're all hit with the reality that Valentina wanted to hire you for a reason. That you weren't just lucky in aim or thoughtful about how to kill, you were one of the most skilled they had ever seen. Bucky tries to take you under his wing a little. Not as fatherly as Alexei tries to be, but he does want you to know you've got someone in your corner with such a scrappy set of teammates. He confides in you about being the Winter Soldier and, in return, you share bite size pieces about your past. Your childhood spent learning to kill, to become an expert in the craft. All those years you spent along, in dangerous places, with some sort of faceless boss ordering you around. He knows you have a dark side, you all do, but you were so eager to step across the void. He doesn't want you to think that's an option when you really do have so much to live for.

Alexei immediately sees you as his child, or at least part of his responsibility. Because they only know bits and pieces of your past, Alexei assumes (rightfully so) that you missed out on normal young adult things like a first date and prom and graduating from a traditional school. Though those things can get to you, you put up a front that you'd rather be killing world leaders and cleaning up Valentina's messes. Still, he catches you doing things a younger version of yourself couldn't do, like watching cartoons on the weekends with a bowl of extremely sugary cereal or sleeping in until past noon when you know you all have somewhere to be, becoming a gremlin to wake up in the morning. Because he sees you as so small, he is jarred when reality hits that you can out drink almost all of them or that the shame room you had was you as a very young child being trained to kill. he asks if there are any normal memories of a family, siblings, of soccer games or stuffed animals, but you can't remember anything. He takes it up on himself to protect you, or at least thinking he can, when in reality you're the one saving his ass. because he lost so much with his daughters, he tries to do better by you, whether you like it or not.

Yelena and you actually become pretty close. You remind her of herself, of Tasha, and she can't help but gravitate towards you. Similar to Ava, she doesn't want to be seen as a paternal figure. You have enough of those with this team, you don't need someone else lecturing you about swearing when that's the least of your worries. You speak Russian together, along with Alexei, when you want to talk shit about the others in front of them, teaching Bob at the same time so he can be in on all the jokes. When you shut down, disappearing for hours on end, unreachable, she isn't met with worry or hostility. She knows, like a stray, you'll always come back, you just need your space. Yelena pays more attention to the little things than the others do, like when she surprises you with something sweet, a muffin or a scone and a coffee, you prefer fruits to something sweeter. Or, when you wander between 1am and 4am, she can find you re-watching old interviews and documentaries of your teammates. Part of it is gaining information, sizing them up, but mostly you just like knowing things about people. She'll sit beside you and watch, every so often watching you like she used to watch her sister.

Ava, unlike the rest of the team, doesn't see you as being so much younger than them. You're young, yes, and your baby face doesn't help, but she's not going to talk down to you or pretend you need a paternal figure when you've clearly been handling yourself well. Maybe behind closed doors or with the rest of the group, she'll be caught off guard when you make a reference to just how young you were or make a joke that doesn't sit well with her, she'd never do any of that to your face. You have just as much a right to be in this team as any of them. She adores how much you and John don't get along, which makes your bond stronger. Things aren't always sunshine and rainbows: not with any of them, but especially not you. You go days without sleeping after a night of nightmares and you lash out, trying to push everyone away because you're too damaged. Bob is the one you go to when you're feeling low, really low, but she hopes one day she'd have the honor of being confided in. You were all kids once. Some of you were relatively normal, but most of you were not. She's not going to act like because you're younger, you must want normalcy. None of you know what that's really like and she doesn't believe it's right to push that on you.

John does not like you. When you met, he thought you were some scrappy kid who snuck in and got yourself in a bad situation. That you had no idea the real danger you were in and that he had to save your ass from getting killed by Yelena, Ava, Bob, or Antonia. He tells you to get behind him and his shield and when you start a fight, he can't believe what he's hearing. Once you got to know one another, you liked him even less. He calls you Baby Assassin and questions how many kills you have given your age. You roll your eyes, eventually going into detail of some of your worst, and most famous, kills. It makes him sick thinking you were nine, ten, eleven years old doing those sorts of things. John likes to get in your face about things and you have no trouble bringing up that his wife left him, something the others might cringe at knowing how much it must hurt. You don't care. You will not be patronized by him. You're told to keep your distance and when you do unfortunately have to interact, you stick to commands without name calling. You still laugh at the fact that Bob made his shield into a taco, something that wasn't funny in the moment, but now can bring you to tears. John thinks, foolishly, because of your younger age, that you're inexperienced and impulsive, but you know that could not be further from the truth.

Bob doesn't see you as being so much younger, mostly because you're closer in age vs. 100+ year old Bucky. It does, secretly, make him feel sick that you were so eager to step into the void. That, like Yelena, you were forced to relive some of your worst and shameful memories. But, like always, you brush it off like it's nothing, like you don't really have feelings. Bob quickly becomes a confidant. You never knew anyone who felt the way you did, so low it scared you to be alone with yourself. You guys spend a lot of quiet time together. He's sure, though he'd never say, he knows the most about you, your history. You don't know why it comes out, why you say it, but he's never judged anything you've had to say. He doesn't mind when you sleep in past noon or lose important things like a gun or a grenade. He doesn't mind when you want the windows down in the car or the music you play that everyone else can't stand. He has a lot of patience with you because no one had the patience for him. It's the least he can do. You're methodical and always planning for the worst: what is everyone leaves you? What if they're all killed? Etc. If he can offer whatever comfort he will. You're not just a teammate, you're a friend.

[bbyobbyo]

Remembering all your boyfriend's drunk habits? That's the easy part. But taking care of him? Well, he makes that part easy too.

content: fluff, established relationship, drunk!(and then hungover!)chan, mentions of food, so much domesticity, they're literally so in love with each other it's disgusting

wc: 1.2k

note: still trying to figure out my writing style and doing some experimenting with povs and such 😭 this one was a horribly self indulgent one tho...food is my love language and when it was revealed that dino only eats ramen when hes hungover i couldnt help myself lol. i really just take any tidbit of info these men divulge and run with it into delululand huh. anyways please enjoy and as always comments and feedback are appreciated 🥺

You knew Chan liked to drink. It wasn't an actual problem, but it happened often enough that you had come to expect him to come back to your shared apartment after a night out stumbling and slurring his words.

Not that your boyfriend was the dark brooding serious type, but you find the change from his usually composed and witty self to someone who could erupt into a mess of giggles and burst into song and obnoxious yelling at any moment quite jarring. But you couldn't say you hated it either.

No, drunk Chan was different. Drunk Chan was straightforward, every single emotion flashing onto his face like a billboard. The Chan that normally would throw a quip back when teased would suddenly turn into a whiny child with a yapping problem.

Your sober Chan was careful, he was always fearful of letting you know if there was anything bothering him (much to your dismay). Even when he hits a breaking point, you would never catch it on his mannerisms. Instead he opted to deal with his emotions himself, or occasionally in the form of a passive aggressive text laced with smiley faces to whoever scorned him.

Where sober Chan could be quite shy with his affections toward you in public, drunk Chan would cling to your body like a koala to a tree, protesting anytime you wanted to brush him off for some air.

But you loved him, drunk or sober. You loved that he could let loose sometimes and truly let his inner self be free, knowing that he was in good company and that he would be accepted no matter what, inside and out. And you took it upon yourself to take care of him in all his states.

And that's how you ended up at 1am with a grown man leaning on your shoulder as you help him take his shoes off in the doorway of his own damn apartment.

"Buuuut baaabe...!" He whined into your ear as he manages to fling off the remaining shoe from his foot. "I wanna eat chicken nuggiessss."

Your smile spread uncontrollably across your face and you maneuver around him to take off his jacket next. "I would make you chicken nuggies, but it's 1am and you hate eating late at night."

There's silence for a moment as your intoxicated boyfriend seems to ponder your words. You take advantage of his stillness to slip the jacket off his sleeves and guide him to the bedroom.

You gently shush him with your finger, "If I'm always right, then you'll listen to me when I tell you to go get washed up right, big guy?" You take the opportunity to give him a small peck on his pouty lips as you throw a fresh pair of boxers onto his lap. He only smiles in response and begins his lazy waddle to the bathroom only to emerge minutes later, crawling into the sheets and enveloping your body with his own and knocking out.

"Oh no, you're right," he finally responds as he plops onto your bed, his lips pressed into a pout you can only describe as cute. "What would I do without you babe? You're always right, you know me better than I do sometimes and I really love that about you and ya'kno..."

-

To no one's surprise, you wake up before Chan. The intensity of the light that filters through your bedroom window tells you it's already quite late in the morning. But that's alright, you cleared your schedule for one thing and for one thing only.

You take a moment to soak in his soft features, bathing in the sunlight that leaks through the curtains. Everything from the curve of his eyelashes to his sharp jawline is perfect, just as the day you saw him. You don't get to see him like this often, as he's always been a busybody for as long as you knew him, but you think that this might be one of your favorite views in the world.

You scoot out of the bed as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb the soft rise and falls of your boyfriend's bare chest as he slumbers, but not before pressing a light kiss to his forehead. His nose scrunches up momentarily before settling again as you laugh, leaving for the kitchen satisfied that the love of your life was getting the rest he deserved. Your morning routine goes smoothly and soon enough you hear the sound of sheets shuffling, signaling the real start to your day.

You're by his side in a record amount of time, sitting on the edge of your shared bed while sliding a glass of water and a painkiller onto his nightstand. Amongst a tangle of sheets, your boyfriend lays still, eyes not quite open yet. "Good morning, handsome" you whisper softly, seeing how a smile immediately spreads across his face.

"My head is actually killing me. Sorry if I'm a zombie today, I just wanna eat some r-"

"Ramen?" you finish for him. There's nothing but love and adoration behind your eyes as you softly comb through his messy bedhead with your fingers. "I know baby, I already have some water boiling on the stove. Drink the water and take the painkillers, it'll be ready by the time you come out."

"God, have I told you I love you? Because I don't do it nearly enough." He groans out in his raspy morning voice. You just laugh and press a swift kiss to his forehead, doing good on your promise as you walk back out to the kitchen.

Before long, you hear the heavy footsteps of a sleepy man make its way into the room. They stop right as they approach you and you feel strong arms wrap around your waist as you add the finishing garnishes to the bowl of noodles you just made. "Smells so nice" Chan murmurs, face buried in the crook of your neck.

"What, me or the ramen?" you tease back, gently shaking him off of you as you place the bowl on the table. "Or... these?" You pull the handle of the air fryer sitting next to the stove to reveal several golden brown dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.

The scene before you is as mundane as can be: a Saturday morning spent with your extremely hungover boyfriend barely awake in nothing but his boxers slurping instant noodles on the kitchen counter.

Chan's eyes light up. "Oh my god, you remembered?!" A toothy smile permanently stuck on his face as you plated the nuggets to join his bowl of ramen. "Of course, how could I forget my boyfriend whining for nuggieesssss last night?" He fakes an offended scoff but relents as he finally digs in.

But to you it's anything but mundane, cherishing these little moments that seem few and far between as both of your schedules get busier and busier.

It's not the first time you've heard him say this exact sentence, and it probably won't be the last. But one thing you knew for certain as you stare into the most loving eyes you've ever seen is that you were always the lucky one.

"How did I get this lucky to have you in my life?" he suddenly remarks in between mouthfuls.

[nataliesmugshot]

Lilac Wine | Natalie Scatorccio x reader

pairing -> natalie scatorccio x reader, college au

summary -> Part two of Last Goodbye, based on the song Lilac Wine by Jeff Buckley. A week after Natalie leaves, you're drowning in her absence—wearing her clothes, replaying her voice, and numbing yourself with noise and late-night 7-Eleven trips. One night, you see her with someone else, and it shatters you.

warnings: angst, toxic relationship dynamics, hurt/no comfort, alcohol consumption/relapse, disordered eating habits. a/n: Part two to my last fic :3 I warned you that there would be no comfort and that I love angst so... i'm sorry for how tragic this is.

It’s been a week, and you pretend you haven’t been counting the days — the very minutes — since Natalie left you, broken and unraveling at the edges. You sleep on her side of the bed, in the cold imprint she left behind, like you’re saving space. The pillows still smell like her shampoo, and some nights, if you don’t move too much, you can almost pretend she’s still there — like your body hasn’t figured out she’s not coming back.

And of course it had to happen now — right when winter break started. When there’s nowhere to be, no lectures, no distractions. Just long, freezing days and even longer nights, filled with nothing but silence and the ghost of her. You’ve never felt this alone before, and it’s never been this loud.

The laundry’s still sitting in the machine.

Your meals have turned into 7-Eleven trips — small, meaningless tasks that don’t make anything easier, just quieter.

Lately, you’ve been playing music on every speaker, even though it all sounds like static. Still, it’s better than the quiet — better than sitting with Natalie’s absence and the thousand reminders of her scattered across the apartment like landmines.

You sleep in the clothes she left behind, curled up in the pieces she forgot to take. You leave the porch light on for her every night, like you’re still showing her the way home — like you're letting her know she can still come back.

Natalie isn’t faring much better. She spends her nights in strangers’ beds and between bar stools, chasing anything that feels like forgetting.

She calls you when it’s late enough and she’s had one too many — when the streets are empty, the sky a little too dim, and the loneliness creeps in like a tide she can’t outrun. She stands at a payphone with shaking hands, feeding in the quarters she’s been saving just for this —

Quarters that she didn’t spend on another drink because hearing your voice matters more.  

She never talks. She just listens.

Listens to you ask who it is and what they want, because your voice — even laced with confusion and sleep — is enough to get her through the night.

It helps her sleep just a little better.

It's 3 a.m.

Tonight, you drag yourself out just to feel the air. Just to grab something from 7-Eleven because it’s easier than trying to cook for one again. You're wearing her hoodie, you didn't bring a jacket with you—because the cold is just another thing to help distract you from how jarring her absence feels, how the walls of your apartment creak, and for a moment, you think you hear her voice somewhere in the mess. 

From the nights curled into yourself, the answering machine in your arms, rewinding the tape again, pressing play like you don’t already have every word memorized. 

The cold bites at you as you turn the corner, and you shove your hands deeper into the pockets of your hoodie — her hoodie. The sleeves still smell like her shampoo when the wind hits right. Your fingers wrap around your Walkman, and you turn the volume up — Jeff Buckley’s cover of Lilac Wine bleeding into your ears like you’re trying to drown in it. 

You’re halfway across the street when you see her.  Natalie. She’s outside the bar across from the convenience store, a beer tucked under her arm and some guy’s arm slung around her waist like he’s done it a hundred times. Like he’s supposed to. She’s wearing your old denim jacket — the one you thought you lost. The one she used to steal because it smelled like you. Now it’s draped over her like it doesn’t mean anything. And maybe it doesn’t. 

Not anymore. 

Her head tilts back in a laugh at something he says, but it hits you all wrong. It’s not real — you know that laugh. It’s the one she gave you when she didn’t know how to respond— when things got too sincere, too close.

The music sounds warped now, like it can’t handle the sight any more than you can — too loud.

Too real. 

It’s hard to breathe. 

You walk into the 7-Eleven and grab something — anything — and walk out. You don’t remember paying. Your legs feel numb. Your lungs aren’t working right. You make it to the stop sign before you have to sit down. You sink to the pavement like your body just can’t hold it in anymore, chest heaving. Your bag crumples under your grip. Your breath fogs up in the air. And suddenly it feels like your ribs are cracking open. The first sob hits so hard it doubles you over. 

Then another. 

And another.

Natalie sees you from across the street, and she freezes.

Freezes like she’s seen a ghost.

Like she spent so long trying to forget you, that, for a second, it worked.

But now you’re here — shoulders trembling, breath hitching, so visibly broken it’s hard to look at you.

And the regret crashes into her, sharp and sudden, like something clawing at her throat.

The guy she’s with — Garrett or something, it doesn’t matter — follows her gaze.

“You know her or somethin’?”

Her lips twitch downwards, a falter she tries to bury. She shakes her head. “No. Uh—no.”

He watches you for a second longer, the way you’re folded in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear.

“Maybe someone should check on her,” he says, thumb brushing over her waist.

It’s meant to be comforting, but it feels wrong.

It isn't you. 

“No,” she says, a little too quickly. “I don’t— I don’t know her.”

She glances back at you, just for a second.

Gary’s talking again—was that his name?—something about going back inside, but she doesn’t really hear him.

“Fuck, I’ll be right there,” she mutters, already stepping off the curb before she realizes it.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

Just that your shoulders are shaking like they used to when you had nightmares, and you’re wearing her hoodie, the one she left behind.

And that’s enough to pull her toward you.

Her footsteps echo softly against the pavement as she crosses the street, hesitant — like she’s approaching something fragile, like an injured animal.

You, curled in on yourself in her hoodie, barely breathing between sobs.

She slows as she nears, like getting too close might spook you. Like she’s not sure she has the right to be near you anymore.

Now she can hear you crying — and it guts her. It hurts in a way she didn’t expect, a dull twist in her chest that leaves her breathless.

She stands in front of you, awkward, unsure. Her hand twitches like she might reach for you — but she stops herself.

You don’t even notice she’s there.

Not until she speaks.

“Hey,” she says softly, like anything louder might break you. “You, uh… you okay?”

She winces at her own question. Clearly not, she thinks bitterly.

You flinch at her voice, not because you’re startled — but because it sounds like comfort and pain at the same time.

Because you didn’t expect her to care.

Because some part of you craved it.

“Yeah,” you snap, voice taut and trembling, “I’m just crying on the side of the road for fun.”

Your head stays down. Fingers picking at your shoelaces like it’s the only thing holding you together.

She lets out a small, bitter scoff. “You shouldn’t be out this late,” she murmurs. “Especially underdressed. You’re gonna catch a cold.”

That does it.

“Like you care,” you bite, wiping your face with the heel of your hand.

Her jaw tightens.

“Jesus, I was just trying to be decent,” she mutters, voice low and bitter. “Whatever. Forget it.”

She turns on her heel, already halfway down the sidewalk.

“Yeah, thanks for the concern, Natalie. Real heartfelt,” you snap, a little louder than you meant to.

She stops.

Just for a second. Not enough to be obvious or enough admit anything — but you catch it. The slight shift in her posture, the way her fists curl tighter at her sides. She doesn’t turn around when she speaks.

“You think this is easy for me?” she mutters, her voice low. “You act like you’re the only one hurting.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You looked real torn up with that guy’s arm around you.”

That hits — even if she doesn’t show it the way you want her to. Her shoulders square like she’s bracing for a fight, but she still doesn’t face you.

“Don’t,” she snaps, sharper now. “Don’t twist shit around just because you’re miserable.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” you fire back. “I just didn’t know it’d be this easy for you to move on.”

She whirls on you then, eyes cold, teeth clenched. “You don’t know shit about what I’m doing. So don’t stand there acting like a victim.”

Your chest tightens. “I never asked you to feel sorry for me, Natalie. I just—” You falter, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so hard it draws blood. “Forget it.”

She stares at you for a moment — a long, tense silence crackling between you like static.

“I shouldn’t have walked over here,” she mutters, already turning away—though not before her eyes flick to your bag. “And for fuck’s sake, eat something that isn’t cup noodles. That’s not a goddamn meal.” She hesitates. “You’re not invincible.”

You push yourself off the curb, wiping your hands on your sweatpants, like maybe that’ll erase how vulnerable this all feels.

The walk home feels bitter, like the cold has settled somewhere deeper than your skin. Music plays through your Walkman, but the words are muffled — distant — like they’re coming from underwater. All you can think about is how close she was. The way the streetlight caught her face. The familiarity of her smudged eyeliner — the same way she used to wear it when she’d beg to try it on you, laughing as she coaxed you into sitting still. You can’t stop replaying it: the way her eyes looked in that light, like maybe she still cared as much as she used to.

You make it into your apartment, keys clattering against the table — it feels too familiar, like muscle memory soaked in grief. You drop the plastic bag without looking at it. Your appetite’s been gone for days.

In the bedroom, you crawl into bed without turning on the light. The sheets are still unmade from the last time you tried to sleep. You reach for the answering machine on the nightstand and pull it close, curling around it like it’s the last piece of her you’re allowed to hold.

You press play.

Her voice crackles through the speaker — soft, tired, slurred around the edges. You close your eyes and listen anyway. 

“Hey, loser. I know you’re probably still in class or whatever, but, uh—just wanted to say I’m gonna get home late today. Work’s been a shitshow and Danny wants me to stay and close.” 

You hear the flick of her lighter, then the soft exhale of a drag.

“You know how he is. Ever since he got that promotion he’s been up my ass. I swear, if he breathes down my neck one more time I’m gonna lose it.”  

Her voice softens.

“Anyway. Don’t forget to eat, okay? And not just those shitty cup noodles—you need actual food. I know you skip meals when I’m not around. And don’t lie about it later—I’ll know.”

Static hums in the background.

“Alright. I’ll see you tonight.” 

Then quietly.

“I love you.” 

Click.

[hoonieyun]

collecting tears - jongseong

jar of tears that were shed for jongseong

park jongseong x reader "y/n"

genre: angst, breakup, the one that got away

warnings: profanity, mental illness/depression, overall 18+

summary: no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get jongseong out of your head. two years after your tear filled and emotional breakup, he's still on your mind but it seems he hasn't thought about you since that night.

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier olivia rodrigo - happier word count: 2007

text in italics are flashbacks

You saw him in everything. 

You saw him in the way your glasses reflected the light as it sat on your vanity.

You saw him in the way your guitar collected dust in the corner of your bedroom. 

And you saw him in your reflection as you stared at your tear stained face and dark circles under your eyes. 

The memory of Jongseong that you held onto hurt more than the idea of being without him, because being without him only led to the memories of when you were with him, something that no longer exists in your life.��

Jongseong. 

The events of your tear filled and emotional breakup replays in your mind often, Jongseong’s tired face and the broken picture frame scattered into thousands of pieces in your bedroom. You could hear the argument in your head like it was playing through a speaker that followed you wherever you went. The last words you ever spoke to him ringing in your ears as a constant reminder that your inability to process your emotions and failure to stabilize your mind was the reason you were so lonely, even two whole years after your breakup. 

It’s a gloomy afternoon in the middle of September. The weather foreshadows the inevitable dreary, dull, and dark outcome of what your life would be for years to come. You had been in bed all day, crippled by your anxiety and depression, making it difficult for you to make any rational decisions or clear judgement of what you should be doing. 

Your phone fills with unanswered calls and texts that would remain unanswered until you convinced yourself enough that you weren’t a burden to others. Something that you wouldn’t be able to shake off for almost half a year from today. A feeling that still lingers and creeps up onto you every now and then. 

“Honey?” a voice asks from beyond the darkness of your bedroom. You quickly wiped away your tears and did your best to make it seem like you weren’t crying the whole day. Pulling yourself up and dragging the blanket further up your body to cover yourself as if your boyfriend, Jongseong, was anyone you should be hiding away from. His tenderness and soft demeanor was the first thing that attracted you towards him, his good looks was just a plus. 

“Honey, are you still sleeping?” Jongseong asks as he slowly pushes the door of your bedroom open, a slight creak sounding from the hinges as light emerges from the other side of the door, Jongseong’s silhouette outlined by the light. “Hi… No, i’ve just been in bed. Doing some thinking…” you say, trying to avoid the fact that you were just crying and hoping that he doesn’t notice as he makes his way closer. 

Your bed dips as Jongseong takes a seat next to your figure, still hiding under the blanket. It goes without being said but Jongseong knew you all too well.

He knew when you were really happy over fake happy because true joy spreads across your face when your eyes widen and you blink a thousan times, like you were trying your best to contain your joy but ultimately failing. 

He knew when you were upset because you would sniffle your nose as a way to avoid awkward silence or having to voice out your feelings. 

And he knew when you were sad because you’d rather surround yourself in the comfort of the darkness instead of reaching out to the hand that could pull you away from the dark. Much like how you were right now. 

Jongseong would’ve never abandoned you. He vowed that he would always be by your side no matter what, had you let him. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” he asks, already knowing the answer but he’s made it a habit to encourage you to vocalize your feelings so that it would be easier for you to process them. You only hummed in response but you knew that you should’ve told him how you felt in that moment because it only manifested into something worse. 

He sighs at your response, he would be lying if he said that sometimes he wished it was easier, but what was love if it didn’t have some ups and downs. Jongseong just hoped that it was up more than it was down. You scoff at him. Your anxiety was already talking you closer to a ledge and you didn’t need this from him right now. You were convinced that he only came here to make you more upset and the voices validated that outrageous claim over the evidence that Jongseong only had love for you. 

“You don’t need to be here. You can leave.” your harsh words piercing into Jongseong’s heart, a feeling of guilt over hurt as he had hoped his presence alone would be enough to make you feel better but it only made you feel worse and he didn’t know why. 

“Why would I leave? I want to be here, let me take care of you.” Jongseong says, inching closer to you but you quickly recoil away from, widening the distance like your mattress was meters long. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me…” Jongseong urges but his pleas of wanting to be let in only read as judgement. Like he was judging you for the way you were instead of trying to understand you. Your mind forces a lie for you to believe over the truth, that Jongseong loved you and he wished you knew how much he did. 

He loved you more than anxiety loved to cling onto the smallest piece of doubt in your mind. 

He loved you more than you loved the darkness. 

And he loved you more than words could say but no amount of words could ever tell you that. 

“Just leave, I don’t need you here to think I’m someone to take care of and be seen as a burden!” you say, voice now a bit louder as frustration begins to build inside of you. “Honey, you’re not a burden and I’d never treat you like that.” Jongseong says as he settles his hand over your thigh, rubbing it softly over the blanket. 

“Why do you do that? Huh?!” you ask, scattering away from his touch and dragging yourself out of bed to stand in front of him. 

“You think you can just come in here and act like I’m some poor and unfortunate thing that needs to be fixed or that needs to be looked after. I know you see me as a burden Jongseong, you just don’t want to say it because you’d rather convince yourself that you love me instead of facing the truth. 

What did you even come here for? To make sure that I wasn’t doing well? So you could come and swoop in to save the day? You see me as nothing more than just a sick puppy to take care of. You’ve only stayed as long as you have because you pity me more than you love me.” the words just continue to spill out of you. the voices inside of your head had fully convinced you that everything you were saying was the truth and you were only just helping Jongseong face it. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He loved you more than anything and he couldn’t process the fact that you only saw him as someone that pitied you over someone that truly loves you. Because he did. He loved you… or was he starting to believe that what you were saying was in fact the truth. 

“How could you say that?” Jongseong says, voice low and discouraged. Great, now you had upset him and intead of focusing on yourself you now had to worry about your boyfriend’s feelings. 

“I- You know what. We’re done. Get out.” your voice was dull but it stabbed Jongseong’s heart like it was nothing. “What?” he says in disbelief and you don’t even give him time to process as you're grabbing his wrists and doing your best to drag him out of your apartment. His body was heavy as he tried to stop you but there was something, aside from you, pulling Jongseong out of your apartment and away from you. 

Was it wrong to say that maybe there was a small chance he had been waiting for you to push him away? That he had been secretly hoping you would finally get tired of him so that he no longer had to deal with you? Was that so wrong for him to want to be happy in the chance that it meant not being happy with you?

As he pondered these questions, the slam of your front door knocked him out of his thoughts, eyes glued onto the brown paint of the front door. Jongseong contimplated to knock on the door, beg for him to be let in, but he chooses not. Dropping his hand to his side with a sigh as he turns on his heel and walks away from your apartment. 

And ultimately walking away from you, forever. 

You, on the other hand, waited on the other side of the door, tears welling in your eyes the longer you waited for Jongseong to try and make his way back in. Hoping that you would hear his voice that you loved so much, ask for you to open the door so he could take care of you. 

Because maybe, even if you thought you didn’t need it, you did need to be taken care of. And Jongseong was the person who had done that for as long as you could remember. 

But the longer you waited the more sadness and regret filtered out the insecurity and doubt. Leaving you to stand in your home, alone, and never to see Jongseong again. 

You drag yourself back into your bedroom, flickering the light on and the first thing your eyes fall to is the framed photo of you and Jongseong. The photo was of the day he asked you to be his girlfriend. A photo of you sitting in the middle of a field for a picnic that he had planned. Flowers and your favorite food and snacks sitting next to the both of you on the picnic blanket. 

The anger you felt from the photo surged throughout your body and without even thinking you swipe the photo off your vanity, tears flowing from your eyes as it crashes to the floor into thousands of pieces. 

You would have hoped that two years after your breakup that you would’ve gotten better and gotten over him, but you fell back into the cycle of shrouding in darkness when a photo of Jongseong appears on your SNS. 

He’s smiling, hair done in the way you liked, in a suit that made him look like a prince, and an arm around the waist of a girl you didn’t know. Your eyes trailed over from his arms, to her waist, to her arm, and then to the ring on her finger. 

It felt like your heart shattered in that moment. Like you were offended and hurt that Jongseong would ever choose another girl over you as if you gave him a choice like you hadn’t made that choice for him. 

More tears well in your eyes as you glance over to Jongseong again. His smile was so beautiful and that was when you realized you had never seen him smile like that when he was with you. He seemed so happy and it hurt even more knowing that he was happy without you. 

But there was no one to blame but you. 

You forced him away and what a waste of a life for Jongseong to never choose happiness. 

You only ever wished that he would be happy. 

Just as long as he’s not happier without you. 

Maybe in another life. When you weren’t so convinced that everyone hated you and that you were deserving of Jongseong’s love. 

Maybe in another life. 

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

the credit for the lyrics used in this piece of writing go to their rightful owners

[nausicaamusiclover20]

heyyyy I hope you feel well❣️

Can I request fluff fic reader (f) x current kirk hammett? they’re watching some horror movies and reader is so scared that she covers her face in his arm

I'm feeling good, thank you for asking, I hope you feel good too❤ I hope you like it!

Safe in his arms

 The room was dim, the only light coming from the flickering glow of the TV. It was one of those perfect nights—quiet, cozy, and calm. Kirk and I were curled up together on the couch, a blanket wrapped around us, a bowl of popcorn between us. We’d chosen a horror movie—something dark and creepy that would get under your skin, but I figured I could handle it. I loved a good scare. It wasn’t until the opening scene that I realized how real this one was going to be.

The movie had a slow, sinister start. Shadows crept across the screen, and the music was that kind of eerie, spine-chilling soundtrack that seemed to seep into the air, making everything feel tense. My heartbeat began to quicken, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling as the figure in the dark, the nun, started to make her appearance.

I tried to focus on the movie, but my nerves were already getting the best of me. Every creak, every whisper on the screen made my breath catch in my throat. The sound was deafening. The atmosphere in the room felt thicker with each passing minute. The nun—her dark figure, that terrifying face—was creeping into my thoughts, making me tense up every time the music swelled.

I shifted, leaning closer to Kirk. His warmth was a welcome comfort, but the air in the room had changed. The fear was building, rising with every second of the film. I tried to shake it off, but my body was betraying me. The tension in the air was almost unbearable, and I felt my heart thumping harder, faster.

Kirk must've noticed, because his gaze flicked over to me. "You alright?" he asked, his voice soft, but with that teasing edge he always had.

I smiled, though it felt forced. "Yeah, I’m good," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. The last thing I wanted was for him to know how easily I was getting spooked. But the feeling in my chest, the unease that had started to creep up on me, wouldn’t go away. Every time that figure appeared in the dark, my pulse would spike, and I’d find myself looking away from the screen, unable to shake the feeling of dread building up inside me.

It wasn’t long before it happened. The figure—the nun—loomed in the shadows again, and this time, the camera lingered on her face for just a beat too long. The silence was suffocating. The tension was unbearable. I could feel myself tense up completely. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

Then the music exploded—sharp, jarring—and I felt my body jump, my hands instinctively shooting up to cover my face, eyes squeezed shut as if blocking it out could make it stop.

But it wasn’t enough. The fear flooded my chest, overwhelming me. And before I even realized what I was doing, I turned toward Kirk, burying my face into the crook of his arm, my hands gripping his sleeve tightly.

Kirk’s arm was around me instantly, pulling me closer, his warmth flooding through me like a shield. The sound of the film, the low, menacing growl of the music, still vibrated through the air, but I felt a little less afraid with him holding me. I buried my face deeper into his arm, seeking the comfort I needed to escape the overwhelming fear that gripped me.

"Hey, it’s okay," Kirk’s voice was low and reassuring, his fingers brushing through my hair as he held me tightly. "You’re safe here."

The words did something to calm me. I still felt the fear crawling beneath my skin, but with him so close, I could breathe a little easier. The movie was still terrifying, but it didn’t seem as powerful when I was wrapped up in his arms. I took a shaky breath, letting his steady heartbeat against my ear ground me.

"I’m sorry," I mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed by how easily the film had gotten to me. I hated the idea of being so afraid, especially with someone like Kirk who always seemed so calm and in control.

He shook his head, smiling softly. "Don’t apologize," he said gently. "It’s just a movie. I’m right here, okay?"

I nodded, but I didn’t pull away from him. I couldn’t. The film was still full of those dark, ominous moments. The shadows in the room seemed to feel darker now, the silence stretching on longer, as though something terrible was waiting to leap out at me from the dark. I felt that terrifying sense of unease creeping into my chest again.

The figure on screen reappeared. This time, the nun was closer, moving silently through the dark, her face twisted in a grotesque smile. The music swelled again, the sound of her footsteps echoing, loud and sharp in the stillness. I flinched again, and this time, I buried my face deeper into Kirk’s arm. I could feel him holding me tighter, his presence a grounding force in the storm of fear that threatened to overtake me.

"You’re not alone in this," he whispered, his lips brushing the top of my head. "I’ve got you."

His words wrapped around me like a blanket, and somehow, I felt like the world outside us didn’t matter as much. It was just me and Kirk. The terrifying image of the nun, the creeping fear that had been suffocating me, started to fade into the background. As long as I had him with me, nothing seemed as scary.

I pulled back a little to look up at him, my eyes wide with a mixture of gratitude and affection.

"You’re really doing a great job of keeping me safe," I said, half-laughing, my voice still a little shaky.

Kirk smirked, adjusting his arm around me. "Well, it’s my job," he said with a wink. "Keeping you safe from movies and bad vibes—easy."

I laughed softly, the tension finally easing. "I guess I’ve got a pretty good bodyguard."

He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "You bet you do."

For the rest of the movie, I stayed close to him, every time a scary moment came up, I buried my face in his arm again, but now there was a little less fear and a lot more laughter between us. His calm presence was enough to make the horror movie feel a little less terrifying, and every time I tensed up, Kirk was right there to calm me down, making me feel safe.

When the movie finally ended and the credits rolled, I let out a long breath. The tension that had been winding inside me slowly began to loosen, but I didn’t move right away. I stayed close to Kirk, my head resting on his shoulder, letting the safety of his embrace wash over me.

"That was... intense," I said, still a little breathless from the adrenaline.

Kirk smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "I think you were more scared than I was," he teased, but his voice was gentle, full of affection.

I laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. "Yeah... I guess so," I admitted. "But I’m really glad you were here with me."

He squeezed me a little tighter, his voice low and sincere. "I’ll always be here for you," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Nothing’s getting past me, babe”

"Awwww, thank you, Kirky," I murmured, giving him a soft, quick kiss on the cheek. His skin was warm beneath my lips, and I felt the corners of my mouth curl into a smile as I pulled away.

Kirk smiled back, his eyes softening as he rubbed the back of my neck. "Anything for you," he said, his voice low and sincere.

With him by my side, I knew I’d always be safe. The world could throw all the scares and shadows it wanted at me, but with Kirk, I was never alone in facing them.

[acotarxreader]

Shadow and Flame pt 3

Azriel X Reader

Warnings: Angst, smut, miscommunications, mentions of burn.

A/N: Right, I haven't written smut in a very long time and I am very rusty so apologies in advance there 😂 the end of this segment I hope it's clear that both situations happen concurrently and that that comes across yikes! I'm still blown away by people's kind words and welcoming nature. Thank you so much loves! Part 4 loading

Part 1 Part 2

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

You woke to the smell of cedar and mist replacing the smell of burned skin in your nose. You sighed gently, tempting your eyes to open. You reached to feel the softest silk beneath your hands. This sent fear through you. Where were you? You tried to will your body upright but insurmountable pain shattered through your bones. Your eyes peeled open, to stare up at a delicately painted ceiling, the stars of the night sky looking back at you. You reached for any flame you could find but none came to you, your own fire truly exhausted from the battle with your Father's. 

“Easy there YN” the female's voice stopped your movements, your eyes frantically searching for the source as she stepped out of the shadow.

“Hello, I'm Feyre, please be gentle with yourself you were ravaged” she said quietly and you hated it. Hated the pity. You knew of Feyre, you knew of her and your brother, what happened Under The Mountain and all the things that happened since but mostly you knew she was not an immediate threat unless threatened. 

“Where am I?” You rasped through your smokey throat. 

“Velaris, this is our home, Azriel brought you to us when you landed on the town house steps, we have healers round the clock for you, it won't be long until you're right again” you groaned, trying to move your body, pushing away the pain. 

“I need Lucien” you breathed

“Yes well….about him, he is kind of sort of not available at the moment”

“What?” You gently turned your head to get a look at the beautiful High Lady.

“Az won't allow him to darken the door. I'm sorry if this upsets you but we must let him work through it himself if we are ever to see them in the same room again” Feyre left out the part where Azriel had nearly torn the Prince of Foxes limb for limb, leaving him in his own state of disrepair.

“I have to go, I have to go back to Autumn, he'll come for me”

“Beron will not step another foot in this Court unless he fancies losing it. My mate is handling him as we speak” she spoke with such hatred in her voice for your Father. He had crossed into the territory unwelcomed, certainly ruffling the treaty but you were his to fetch. You knew he'd come back, treaty or not. You couldn't stay here and risk the vengeance. You couldn't stay here and risk them finding out your heritage. You pushed up slightly to sit and rest against the headboard, your skin screaming at you to stop. You glanced around the room lit by sunlight, no flame to be seen

“Feyre, I need fire”

“I think you've had enough of that” she laughed but stopped once she noticed your stony expression.

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Az has instructed us to keep you from fire until you are rested, he said you're a flight risk, he didn't care to elaborate” she gave a small smile. 

“Azriel is not my keeper. I have to get to flame, it will help me to recover” she weighed up her options as you pleaded with your copper eyes. She moved slowly to the fireplace to retrieve a matchbox and tealight, figuring a small light was of minimal risk. Your eyes followed her hands as she drew the match backwards, watching and waiting for the relief the crackle of fire would bring. The match drew against the red phosphorus as you held your breath. A shadow quenches the flame before it could grow.

“Feyre” her head snapped to Azriel as he stood in the doorway, tea tray in hand. She looked at the Shadowsinger as if she was a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

“I-she said she needs it to recover” he sighed at her before glancing straight to you, the words she said only resonating with him then, you were awake.

“YN, thank the Gods” he dashed to your side, putting the tray down. Feyre allowed a smirk to grow, dropping the matches at the end of the bed before seeing herself out of the room.

“Get me Lucien” his face twisted in anger at the sound of the name and that these were the first words you'd uttered to him in a week. 

“YN, please I know he is your love but-” your loud laugh cut him off, pressure releasing as your ribs shook.

“That is disgusting” you remarked with a smile to the confused Shadowsinger. You swallowed the laugh growing in you again, attempting to swing your legs to the side of the bed to have Azriels hand stop you in your tracks. 

“YN please you must rest”

“I must get out of here before Fa-Beron comes and burns this place to cinders”

“He wouldn't dare, what is it he wants with you?” You glanced down at your feet and back up to meet the hazel eyes. You must have looked like a nightmare, ash still in your hair, cracked skin screaming to be reconnected with itself and yet Azriel looked at you with pure kindness in his eyes. 

“He wants - I can't tell you what he wants but I should go to him before he comes to collect” you said smally. Azriel kneeled to the side of the bed to fall between your legs as they hung over the edge. His hands slid into yours as if they were always meant to be there. You watched the movement with such caution. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be seen. You weren't supposed to want to be seen. 

“I will not hesitate to kill him where he stands should he cross the threshold of the Night Court without permission again” his eyes searched yours with determination.

“I want to trust you” he lowered his head to your hands at your response. Azriel almost painfully slowly raised your hands to his mouth to place the gentlest of kisses on your cracked skin. This sent tingles through your body, the lovingness of the gesture warmed you, soothing your exhausted internal blaze. 

“Then trust me” His words broke your heart, but you felt you trusted him as much as you trusted your father would come for you.

“Give me a flame” your eyes landed on the box of matches at the end of the bed. His eyes followed yours with trepidation. If your father was to come then you were not going to have him find you broken in a bed. 

“YN-”

“-If I am to trust you then you are to trust me, give me a flame to aid my recovery” your eyes scanned him from side to side, hoping to portray the genuineness you felt. He released your hands, reaching for the match box again.

He dragged a match from its cage and looked into your eyes as he struck it off the red phosphorus, bursting into life. Its glow illuminated the space between you both. You reached a shaky hand towards the flame, it almost stretching out to you in joy of being reunited.

Azriel watched in awe, never had he seen the elements behave in such a way for any ordinary Fae. But you weren't ordinary, you were of pure Autumn Court blood, the flame a friend of yours. Your finger made contact with the heat, Azriel tried not to cringe at the sound of the sizzle. You breathed the energy before diving in. You were pulled from the bed and deep within its heat. Azriel leapt to his feet at the now empty bed in front of him. He cursed out loud, he trusted you and you left. He wanted to help you and you left. He cared for you and you left. The match fizzled out. 

“Told you” he jumped on the spot as you stood from behind him, skin beginning to knit together again faster than any healer could work. Your loose nightdress flowed over the scars now melting back into your skin as you smiled at the Shadowsinger. He exhaled in relief, closing the distance between you.

“Did you think I'd gone?” he caught hold of your hands as you gave a small laugh at his surprised face. 

“I thought you had evaded my touch once again Flame” you tried to hide your blush at his new pet name for you, failing miserably. You felt yourself almost fall into the shrinking space between you both, Azriels shadows dancing with your flames around your feet, finding home in one another. 

“Who are you Flame?” It was hardly above a whisper.

“I-”

“-Excuse me!” Madjas sharp voice split you both apart. 

“Madja I was just-”

“-Leaving Lady YN to bed rest, as we had agreed” she raised an eyebrow as Azriel almost shrunk into himself like a bold school child. You let a little laugh leave you at the sight, until Madja landed her gaze on you and you hung your head almost in shame. She pointed to the bed with a slender finger, you went to protest but her heated stare told you otherwise as you slipped back into the sheets. 

∆***************∆

You sank into the medicated bath. Normally being submerged in water had you feeling ill but the myriad of lit candles surrounding you gave you comfort. Madja had ordered you to soak your stitching skin and you now feared her almost as much as your father so you obliged. 

You hummed gently as your eyes rested in the swimming pool-like bath that was flush with the floor. You wondered where Lucien was, how angry he'd be with you, how enraged he'd be at the sight of you and Azriel earlier. You couldn't help but smile at the discomfort you'd bring your sibling. You reached for the salve Madja instructed you to apply, it's cream-like consistency foaming on the grooves of your skin.

“YN I brought you- Fuck sorry!” Azriel shielded his eyes quickly while dropping the books he held in his hand. You moved deeper in the water, suddenly shy at his presence. He moved to gather the books still blocking his eyes, kicking one into the bubbling water. 

“Shit!” 

“Azriel just open your eyes before you end up in here with me” you laughed retrieving the book, its ink blending into the water. Azriel thought for a moment to keep his eyes closed, the possibility of ending up in there with you making the hair on his neck stand up in excitement. He opened his eyes cautiously to find you staring up at him through your lashes.

“Thank you for lighting the candles for me earlier, a lovely surprise” 

“You're welcome, anything you need” he gathered the books, shivers running through him at the sight of your body beneath the bubbles.

“Actually Azriel….nevermind”

“No, what is it? Tell me” You shrunk in on yourself slightly, your boldness leaving you. He wanted to stay there with you as long as he could, in any capacity. 

“It's just….I need to put this salve on my back and…I can't reach and Madja has gone home for the evening and-”

“Sure” he replied quickly, cursing himself internally at your smirk. 

Azriel lowered himself on his knees behind you, his wings balancing him from teetering over the edge. You passed the jar back to him over your shoulder, trying to keep your anticipation to a minimum, fixing your glance at the navy tiling. 

He hovered his shaking hand above your shoulder as it glistened from the water. Azriel every so gently rubbed the salve into your skin, it foaming on contact. You rolled your head back slightly at the feeling of the soothing balm on your cracked skin causing a breath of relief to leave you. Azriels eyes fell over your shoulder for a moment to glance at your chest, he mentally scolded himself immediately for stealing the glance, pulling his hand back.

“Are you okay?” You noticed the missing sensation straight away, you rolled to lie on your stomach, forearms across the rim of the bath, you looked up at the Shadowsinger on his knees above you.

“I-I’m not sure I've ever felt so okay before in my life Flame” his eyes were so lovingly looking at you with such true sincerity you'd never felt from someone before. You pushed up from the bath to your feet, your whole torso dripping in bubbles gleaming. Azriel swallowed the lump in his throat, he was now eye level with you as you reached for his hand and pulled him closer to you. He couldn't help but trace your whole body with his eyes, drinking you in. Your hand slipped around the back of his neck, pulling him up from his knees and forward to meet your lips. 

Inferno. Azriels whole body felt warm and secure as you kissed him deeply, his hands going to your waist. You shuddered a little bit at his cold hands meeting your wet sides.

“Sorry sorry did I hurt you?” he pulled back suddenly to your surprise. 

“Azriel do you intend on hurting me?”

“No”

“Then no, you didn't hurt me, it's just because I'm all….wet that your dry hand just…startled me” Azriel took a moment to think before a devilish smirk grew across his face, he stood and began to strip down in front of you. Your mouth dried out at the sight of him, your skin felt electric as he sank into the water alongside you. His hand grazed the side of your cheek, pulling you forward to meet him gently. 

“I-was-so-scared-when-I-found-you-on-the-steps” Azriel breathed out between kisses. You passed one of your legs over his lap beneath the water to straddle him, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss. 

“Were you looking for me?” You smiled into the kiss, his hands wrapping around you to pull you flush into him. 

“I think my whole life Flame” your heart sang at these words, your breath taken from you as he attached himself to your neck. You moaned at the feeling of his teeth nipping you, trailing down your neck to your chest. Azriel hardened beneath you even more at the sound. You leaned up slightly, running a hand down his chiselled chest to beneath the surface of the water to his lengthy member. 

“Fuuuck” he breathed at the feeling and you grinned. You slowly lowered yourself back down onto him, moaning loudly in his ear, your nails dug into his shoulders at the sensation. You adjusted to him between your legs, the flames of the candles growing wilder around the bath. 

“Are you going to set me on fire Flame?” Azriel groaned out as you began to bounce slightly on his length. He reattached to your neck to muffle his groans, failing massively. The both of you moved in unison, tension building building building. Azriels fingers gripped into your sides with burning pressure, the flames around you growing taller and taller with your tighting core until the whole bath was surrounded by a ring of your fire. If Azriel was honest with himself, he was a bit afraid of the growing towers of fire but he felt so easily lost in your moans he forgot the fear as soon as it came. You moaned his name so loudly you were sure they heard you in Summer Court, toppling Azriel over his own edge, the flame on the candles becoming small and still again at the release. 

You stayed on his lap for a moment, until he stood with you still in his arms. He passed through the bathroom doors into your adjacent room with your flames dancing around to dry you both before he placed you on the bed. 

“Flame, I have to see to something with Rhys but I will be back before you know it” you ran your hand gently down his cheek as he leaned and whispered those words from above you. 

“I'll be here”

“Do you promise?”

“Do you trust me?” He kissed your cheek in answering your question before retrieving his clothes and redressing. You allowed your eyes to fall close as he slipped out the door. 

********* 

You rolled over to find the bed empty alongside you still an hour or so later. You lifted yourself from the bed, dressing in a robe that Feyre had laid out for you. You wandered down the hall in search of Azriel. 

“I don't care Rhys, she stays!” You heard Azriels sharp tone from the other side of a large oak door. You couldn't help but stop and listen. 

“Az, she is not from the Court, she belongs to Autumn-”

“She belongs to no one” Azriel seethed.

“Brother, she brings a threat to our door. Lucien has told us she must go to Autumn, to Beron, it is beyond our control-” your breath hitched in your throat, had Lucien let the cat out of the bag?

“It is very much in your control Cass” 

“Beron has made it clear that he will help us in our efforts should we return YN” 

“She is not a political pawn!”

“She belongs to Beron, she must go back! I am not going to war for some female that landed on our doorstep! He wants you dead Azriel, I will not have you sacrificed for her!” Rhysands hands banged against the solid wood of his desk. 

You took a step back from the door again. They were going to send you back. Your Father would have you mangled for the embarrassment of having to be sent against your will back to him. You looked at the candles lighting the stairwell adjacent and with a deep breath you knew it was time to go before they took you kicking and screaming. But you didn't want to, you couldn't leave like this, couldn't leave Azriel. The rock of having him hurt because of you and the hard place of returning to a vengeful father is where you found yourself wedged firmly between. You ran from the stairwell to your room, head scrambling.

“I could have said the same when you barraged in on Tamlin and Feyres wedding!’

“Az!” Cass reprimanded Azriel with his eyes for his comments. 

“That was different Az, Feyre is my mate!”

“And what if YN is mine!?” The two were instantly silent to this. Azriel felt such strong and complex feelings towards you, such a magnetic force, the flame to his smoke.  A chill ran down his spine. Something was happening. The three Illyrians took an instinctive fighting stance.

“Y/N” your father stood in a circle of flame in your room, eerily calm with an outstretched hand. 

“Come home now and all will be forgiven” Berons eyes told a different story. He was boiling in anger, anger you knew Azriel would take the brunt of if you didn't go now and yet you hesitated, looking around the safe space Azriel had made for you. You went to speak, to defy, to scream but you were too slow, too weak still, Berons flame engulfed you and pulled you from where you stood. 

 ****

Azriel materialised into your room, the other two warriors searching for the source of their unease elsewhere in River House. 

“Flame, you wouldn't believe the- YN?” He materialised in your room to find it empty. He ran to the bathroom to find you gone from there as well, all the flames in the room doused out.

*******************

What do we think friends?

Part 4

Tag list: @sunshineangel-reads @skylarkalchemist @tele86 @saltedcoffeescotch @impossibelle @quiettuba @thecraziestcrayon @fightmedraco

If you were forgotten please feel every right to give out to me

[jay-m3]

The lid!

Imagine them trying to open a jar for you only for them to fail.

Male reader insert! * Cursing and suggestive language This was also inspired by another post from someone but idk their username. Pls help me find them so I can tag!

Characters: Vox, Valentino, Adam, Alastor, Lucifer

Vox

He would roll his eyes when you ask him for help. At first, he would pretend he didn’t hear you. Secretly watching you fail at a simple task in life. How pathetic can one be? He takes the jar, looking at you, lecturing you about focusing more on training your arms instead of laying around all day-

What the fuck? He huffs, relaxing his grip before twisting once more, continuing to throw insults-

Like what the actual fucking hell! He turns his back to you, leaning forward for more strength. He grunts as his grip slips once more.

"Uh, Vox? It's fine I'll figure something out-" You reach out, hearing him start to glitch before the noise of glass breaking is heard. You look over to see that the top part of the glass is still sealed shut but the bottom half was shattered by his grip.

"Oh, come on!"

Valentino

He'll giggle watching you struggle in trying to open a jar with no success. Sliding back on his couch as he hears his lovely little boy toy grunting and sighing in frustration. It's like music to his ears. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine you in positions that will have you sounding like that.

"Val." The sound of his name wakes him up from his daze as a jar was held in his face. Chuckling, he takes the jar with his lower hands while his upper arms spread over the back of the couch. He looks at you in a haughty manner-

Eye twitching once he fails in opening the jar, he grabs it with his upper hands now. They had more strength since-

Gritting his teeth, he stands up and holds the jar close before using two hands in twisting-

"Fuck!" You cringe as he throws the bottle across the room.

Adam

He laughs and laughs and luaghs. Tears in his eyes as he watches you struggle on trying to open a damn jar. How hilarious! He should record this shit.

"Here, you try!" You shove the jar into his hands. Tired of him laughing.

"Let me show you a real man strength." He snorts out, putting out his arms out to show you how easy it will pop off-

Sniffling, he adjust his grip to a firmer one. Grunting when his hand slips off of the damn thing.

"Fucking shitty ass stupid jar!" He yells out in frustration as his multiple attempts fail him. Once you let out a chuckle, he lets go of the jar, letting it fall to the ground.

"It's fucking rigged."

Alastor

He lets out a chuckle, leaning against the counter with his hand supporting his head as he watches in fascination. Each tactic you try to pull off fail and the lid of the jar sits in victory.

"What a wonderful display of an ordeal you're going through my dear." His voice filters through in a cheerful tone as a laughing track blares out.

"Then you do it." He grabs the jar from you, pulling in the slightly big jar close to his body before trying to pop the lid off and failing. His smile widens with a grit as he places the jar down and tries again, eye twitching as the lid still remains in place.

The sound of the door opening caught your attention for a split second before turning back to Alastor-

Where did he go?

Lucifer

His eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as he looks at a jar inside a bowl of water. What is this?

"Uh, (M/n), what is this?" You tell him about how you couldn't open the jar so you looked up a method on how. The solution is to leave a jar in warm water for at least 10 minutes to soften the lid. So far, it needs 8 more minutes. He nods before a cheshire grin makes his way on his lips.

"Since I'm here, you don't have to wait much longer." He grabs the jar, from the water and twist the jar to pop it-

"Hehe, uh, slippery." He nervously chuckles, wiping it down before trying again. Seeing as it won't budge, he smiles at you with false joy.

"Give me a second, handsome." He quickly turns around, using his magic before it pops open.

"Ta-da! What can't the King of hell can't do?"

[six-eyed-samurai]

Hi! So i wanted to know if you could do tokyorevengers whit a reader who pretty much is someone you would go for if you got Daddy issues?

They act like such a father figure. They treat them like a small helpless child who needs to be taken care of. I just really need those daddy issues to hit HARD whit this one. If you can give it a kind of lana del rey vibe (whit likeing older men and men you probably shouldnt date and are lowkey a Red flag)

Maybe make the reader a bit of a Red Flag. Ofc you can pick how they can be a Red flag sometimes. Just really play into the whole daddy issues thing please. Ad as many characters as you want but pls ad izana and kazutora! I love ur work♡

A/N: HAPPY YOU LIKE MY WORK <3 i didn't really know how to write this so i went and read up some lana del rey songs to write this, and I kinda thought about Halsey's Blue music video for reference lmaoooo For reference the way I imagined reader here is kinda like Odasaku from BSD but a lot more messed up and depressed and unfortunately not as well dressed

🌸The rest of the world sees an ex-delinquent loser past his prime who barely has his life together, working minimum jobs, drifting around on his motorbike, with some very unsavory habits.

🌸Despite this he continues to persistently want to befriend you, following you around and yipping like some stray puppy. Your attempts to shake him off are absolutely futile - you can't chase him off at work, you're not gonna let a kid like him try and run after you on your bike across the roads and well, it can't hurt to have someone help run your errands.

🌸Reluctantly you start letting him hang around you. Cup noodles for every meal are more tolerable with someone else. He's so interested in your bike you grudgingly let him take your most prized possession for a ride. When he shows up with a pack of cigarettes just when you've finished yours you force down the smile before he can see it, opting to dryly ask which poor minion of his did he coerce into buying it again instead.

🌸You're a bad influence and you keep trying to remind him of it. He's already made a big hash of his life, yes, but he's still young and has time to turn it around, unlike you. He doesn't need to see you blackout drunk and throwing hands with someone violently. What is wrong with this kid, you wryly think all the time, insisting on helping you lug it home and clumsily trying to help you patch yourself up...or just hang around sullenly watching.

🌸Something you're constantly reminding them of is "I'm not your dad or something, kid, but -". It's immediately followed by you half-heartedly trying to get him to back off...although recently it's more of you doing your best to give the kind of advice normal adults should be giving kids like him, when he starts coming to you with his problems. "Can't your problems be something normal, like girl crushes or shit?"

🌸What on earth does he even see in you?

🌸Plenty.

🌸Having no stable, loving father figure in his life it was very, very confusing and unfamiliar for him to be treated like an actual child for once; he's in a gang, for heaven's sake, he beats up people and has done horrible things, he doesn't need you yapping about staying in school or not going out at night because it's "unsafe"! In the beginning it was jarring, if not irritating...until he grew to crave your offhanded praise and the times in your rundown apartment, the stale dinners and cigarette smoke. He'll put up with your nagging just for that, even if you keep saying he's playing cards wrong.

🌸 He's not helpless - far from it - but the first time he's ever seen you truly angry was when he showed up bruised from a fight. He's confused, why are you so upset? It's not even that bad and he beat up the guys who thought they could get the jump on him. You're silent for a moment, but the crushed cigarette is enough to indicate your inner turmoil, and you make him stay at his place for the night while you go out and...something. "Errands". Is this what it feels like to be really taken care of?

🌸You make everyone him uncomfortable though, and he doesn't know why. Don't they know how much you've done for him? So what if you're a significantly older walking red flag? He doesn't mention to you what happened to the fools who dared to call you a loser, because you'll get that disappointed look on your face and really, he craves your approval more than his next breath of air.

🌸One night he came over and flew into a panic when he found you weren't home. Neither were you at your workplace the next day. A neighbor takes pity on the agitated boy and informs him she didn't see you come home that day, but since your bike was still here you couldn't have gone far. His mental state deteriorated little by little with every hour you weren't there with a halfhearted scowl and "clear out" dangling from your lips along with a cigarette, and by the time you do get back he's convinced himself you had intended to abandon him, just like so many people had.

"Kid, are you crying?" You're so awkward it's almost funny, a grown man uncertainly putting a hand on a kid half his age's shoulder like it physically icked him to do so.

"No." It's more forceful than he meant. "Where did you go? I thought..."

Turns out you just got into a bit of trouble with the police. Nothing to worry about, all's cleared up now - except he looks like he needs a hug and an actual parent to wrap him in a blanket and say everything he should've been told. The best you can offer is a bike ride into the night.

🌸Can you understand why he can't be happy for you then, no matter how hard he tries, when you bring a good girl home and look at her with all the love and stars in your eyes, and she starts taking up your time, time you used to spend with him? His helmet becomes hers, takeout meals become home cooked lunches by her...yay, you've got your life together, moving to a better place and job, blah blah. He hates it even more that she's so nice to him, so caring of the hapless kid pathetically following them around.

🌸He does not want to be a happy family.

🌸It was just supposed to be the two of you.

Izana Kurokawa; Kazutora Hanemiya; Mikey Sano; Sanzu Haruchiyo

[honorarysimp]

Interlude: The Diner

series masterlist

Out of everywhere in town you’ve been since you arrived two weeks ago, this is the only place you’ve truly felt safe.

The diner was a blast from the past, a relic of a time long gone. The checkered linoleum floor worn and scuffed in places, and vinyl-covered booths gave the place a retro feel, while the crackled and faded wallpaper added a touch of nostalgia.

The smell of stale coffee and fried food hung in the air, adding a distinct atmosphere to the place.

The diner was dimly lit, the fluorescent tubes above the counter casting a harsh, almost clinical light over the small space. In one corner, an old radio played quiet music, the sound barely reaching a few booths in the room.

You are currently sat in a booth towards the back, visibly exhausted beyond measure as you nurse a cup of black coffee.

Coffee is suppose to be the answer to everything, but you’ve had to reconvey your initial claim the last week.

Your phone suddenly rings loudly in the quiet diner, the sharp sound causing you to flinch, jarring and breaking the ambiance like a hammer against glass. You glance down at the screen, expression darkening as you saw the word "Mayor" flash across the display.

With a heavy exhale, you let the call ring through to voicemail. The Mayor was the last person you want to deal with at the moment. You’re frustrated and exhausted, as this investigation seems to be leading nowhere.

Why answer her when you have nothing to report? She knows where to find you if she’s that desperate for results.

You reach into your coat pocket and retrieved your tape recorder. You lay it on the worn tabletop and looked at it for a moment with a slight grimace.

You hesitate before starting the recording, the weight of your lack of progress weighing heavily on you. With a weary sigh, you hit the record button and began speaking, voice low and tired.

"It's been two weeks since I arrived here, and so far, I've got nothing. No leads, no suspects, just a whole lot of dead ends."

You continue, your voice growing more frustrated as you detail your efforts thus far.

"I've tried everything," you admit, hand running through your hair in exasperation. "Witness interviews, forensic analysis, even digging through records going back decades. But every time I think I'm onto something, it just leads nowhere."

You lean back in the booth, shoulders slouched in exhaustion. "It's like this town is intentionally keeping secrets."

You pause for a moment, expression thoughtful.

"The people here," you begin, voice a bit softer. "They're just as much victims as anyone. I've started to get to know some of them, and they're just trying to live their lives. But then there's this..."

You trail off, expression conflicted. You knew you’ve always tried to be logical and professional when it comes to your job, ruled by rationality and evidence. But this case is pushing your boundaries, forcing you to question your own beliefs.

"Maybe... maybe there's no logical explanation," you admit, voice barely a whisper “the only thing that’s consistent is the fact one person goes missing a month, but even that doesn’t make sense because it stops and starts randomly- goddamn it.”

You hit the pause button on the tape recorder, frustrated. You sit back, the silence in the diner somehow making the weight of the case even heavier.

You sat for a moment, eyes unfocused as you mull over everything that has happened in the last two weeks. The disappearances, the dead ends, the strange events... everything about this case was slowly chipping away at your certainty, your usual rational mind struggling to find footing.

You start the tape recorder again, voice weary but determined.

"The attack in the woods," you began. "I've tried to make sense of it, but it just doesn't add up. The masked figure came out of nowhere, silently and unexpectedly. The knife cut me, but there was no blood, no trace of any kind at the scene. And even after searching, there were no footprints or tracks of any kind. Nothing."

You trail off, eyes fixed on the tabletop. "It's like the assault never even happened."

You again continued, tense with disbelief. "And then there's Wes," you say, shaking your head. "He just vanishes after walking into the lake. We've searched the lake more times than I can count, and we haven't found a body. Nothing. It's like he just vanished into thin air."

Your frustration and confusion becomes more and more evident the more you spoke, the mystery of the case growing more complex with each passing moment as you verbally try to debunk it aloud. "It makes no sense," you mutter, raking a hand through your hair once more, knee bouncing in a fidget underneath the table.

You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm your frustration. "The disappearances, the attack, the lack of any solid evidence... everything about this case just feels wrong. Like there's something bigger going on, something just out of my grasp.”

You look down at the tape recorder, brow furrowed. "But how do I solve something when I can't even see all the pieces? How do I find answers when everything I've tried leads to more questions?"

You sat slumped in the booth, gaze unfocused as you wrestle with your thoughts. "I need... I need..." you repeat in a low voice, frustration and desperation mingling in your tone.

I need a fucking cigarette.

You clench your fists, refocusing on trying to piece together the elusive clues in your mind. "I need something decisive, something concrete," you continue, eyes sweeping over the steam rising from your mug as if the answers were etched within the small bubbles resting on the liquid’s surface.

You let out a heavy sigh, the frustration etched on your face. You reach out and hit the pause button, shutting off the tape recorder.

You lean back in the booth once again, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. The weight of the case hung heavily on you, the lack of progress a crushing disappointment. Never has a case had you so in the weeds before, you should have something by now.

"I need to find something," you mutter to yourself, jaw clenched. "I can't keep spinning my fucking wheels like this."

You rest your elbows to the table for a moment, rubbing a hand over your face as if trying to scrub away the fatigue and temporary defeat. Everything about this case was getting under your skin, the lack of progress wearing on your already frayed nerves.

The Diner's bell jangled as someone entered, causing you to look up from your thoughts. Your gaze lands on Tara of all people, who had just walked in.

You register the first responder uniform she is wearing, coming to the conclusion that she must be working the night shift. Or just got off it, depending on what time it is, that of which you aren’t sure. Your eyes lingered on her for a moment, taking in her tired but determined expression.

Her head turns and you’re already meeting her gaze, a pause between you, and then you silently gesturing for her to join you. You see the hesitation on her face, the fatigue and worry that mirrored your own. But after a moment, she relents and walks over to the booth, sliding into the seat opposite you.

“Hey” you start softly, watching her take your coffee mug off the table and take a small whiff before taking a sip.

You don’t question it.

“Nothing yet on our end, you?”

You shake your head, “even if we did, I’m sure Sam would be the first one to let you know.”

Tara nods, and you both fall silent.

The one waitress that seems to be working tonight walks over, she gives you both a kind smile.

“You’re working late tonight, Cici” Tara says politely, which makes the woman laugh good naturely.

“I could say the same to you, coffee?”

“Please.”

She scribbles it down, glancing back up “and the usual?”

Another nod from Tara, which then has Cici’s gaze going to you expectantly.

“I’m still doing okay with just coffee-“

“The Detective will have what I’m having Cici, thank you” Tara cuts you off, making Cici glance between you knowingly as she jots the order down and heads off without another word.

You look to Tara and narrow your eyes, but she beats you to it before you can speak.

“I wish you’d stop making assumptions about me, you know.”

A pause, you reach across the table for your mug but she pulls it from your reach.

There’s a good chance Tara is talking about the last conversation you two had before you found Wes and Chad, but of course you’d hate to assume.

So you wait for her to continue, after a moment her expression softens slightly and she nudges your coffee mug back across the table to you.

“For what it’s worth, I’m rightfully in the same boat. Worrying certain people are only around for information, for wanting to know things rather than-“ she stops, clearing her throat.

That’s when you get it. The hot and cold.

“Look… I’ve never once been dishonest with you, I’ve got no reason to be” you start slowly, giving your still aching shoulder a little roll before reaching across the table to accept your mug back.

“But-“ you pause, as your fingers brush against hers, neither of you acknowledge it as you pull the coffee mug back to your side “unfortunately that’s the one thing I’m under contract not to tell you, which is who hired me. You already know why I’m here, and if there’s one thing I can promise you is that I’m not using you for any reason.”

She is clearly skeptical, you can tell by the way she looks at you. But you can also see that slight softness between her brow, like she wants to believe you.

You sip your coffee, sitting it to the side before placing your palms flat on the table top, “ask me anything you want, no pool games, no deals, no trades, no bullshit. And then I’ll do the same.”

That look returns, the one Tara gave you a week ago when you’d asked her out for drinks.

“You still are trying to pick my brain” Tara says with an amused tone, you offer a smile and shrug.

“I wanna know you, is that so hard to believe?” You say as you nudge your coffee mug back over to her, a silent offer.

Tara eyes you, then the mug, then you again. She’s fighting back a smile, something you’ve noticed she does a lot with you. In a way you consider it a win, because it means she’s starting to like you even when she doesn’t want to.

“Fine” she agrees, pushing the coffee mug back across the table to you before crossing her arms, “but you’re on thin ice hot shot.”

You grin, trying not to feel triumphant for finally managing to somewhat get through to her.

“First things first, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

The disapproving look Tara gives you makes you laugh harder than it should, which in return, makes her smile more than she should.

And for the first time in a while, a sense of normalcy envelops you both. It won’t last, but for now, it’s nice.

previous, next

[wholoveseggs]

Christmas Khaos

{Masterlist}

~Five days of Fluffmas~

You settle in with the Mikaelsons for a cozy Christmas movie night, but when movie choices spark a sibling feud, chaos ensues.

1k words - No warnings, no smut! just pure fluff.

You were cautiously carrying your mug of hot cocoa into the living room of the Mikaelson compound, observing Kol and Rebekah putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree as you sat down on the sofa next to Elijah. The plan for the evening involved watching one of those cheesy holiday movies while snuggling in blankets with hot cocoa or eggnog.

"So, what movie did you all decide on?" you asked curiously.

"Die Hard," Kol smirked as he finished placing the last ornament on the tree.

"We already watched that a few days ago," Klaus huffed as he walked into the room. "I want to watch the Grinch."

"Of course you do," Kol scoffed.

"Those movies are terrible. We should watch a better one, like Love Actually!" Rebekah argued.

You turned to Elijah, who had decided not to involve himself in the argument. As the rest of the siblings bickered, you asked him quietly, "What do you want to watch?"

He looked over at his arguing siblings, then back at you. "I will always vote for whatever you want to watch."

You blushed and smiled, "Awww. That's sweet, but I'd still like to know your opinion. Do you have a preference?"

He was silent for a moment, looking deep in thought. "The Nutcracker."

"Seriously?" Kol said, breaking out of the argument he was having.

"Absolutely, The Nutcracker it is then," you announced, earning a raised eyebrow from Kol.

"Are we seriously going to watch a ballet?" he exclaimed, feigning disbelief.

Rebekah rolled her eyes, "Oh, come on, Kol! It's a classic! Plus, it's way better than your Die Hard obsession."

Kol shot back, "Die Hard is a Christmas masterpiece, unlike your sugary romantic dramas."

"We are watching The Nutcracker," Elijah said firmly.

The siblings groaned, but they still settled into the living room. You got up to put the movie in the DVD player, then returned to the sofa, sitting between Kol and Elijah. You grabbed the remote, and when you went to press play, nothing happened. You tried again, same result.

Elijah let out a deep sigh and stood, kneeling in front of the TV to fix the issue. Kol turned to you, giving you a sweet smile.

"So, darling, have any plans for New Year's?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "I'm going to a party in the Quarter."

"A party," he hummed. "I suppose you will be needing a ride there."

You gave him a questioning look. "Yeah… I guess."

He leaned in close to you, whispering into your ear, "I will gladly take you. In fact, I could take you home as well."

He leaned back, giving you a devious smirk. You bit your lip, feeling a little flustered. Kol was so hot, and the two of you had hooked up a few times. He was always so sweet and charming afterward and was just a good time in general. However, sometimes he was a little too flirty and mischievous for your taste. He had a habit of getting you into trouble. As his hand came down to rest on your thigh, you realized how easy it was for him to talk you into doing something reckless and dangerous. You had already done a lot of reckless things with him.

"H-how's the TV looking?" you asked Elijah, trying not to sound flustered.

"I can't figure out the source of the problem," Elijah replied, looking behind the TV.

Kol's hand started slowly inching higher up your leg. Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed against the inseam of your pants. You looked up to see Kol's smirk widen. He was really enjoying messing with you, and you were tempted to let him.

"Well, if it's not getting fixed anytime soon, I'll go get another hot cocoa," Rebekah announced, walking past the couch.

Suddenly the room erupted into chaos, the beautiful Christmas tree came crashing down, ornaments shattering on impact and scattering across the floor like glittering confetti. The air was filled with the jarring sound of glass breaking and the collective gasp of astonishment from everyone present. Everyone looked at it in shock, then jumped as the TV began blasting Christmas music at an alarming volume.

"Oh, for the love of—" Klaus started, but his voice was drowned out by the blaring Christmas music.

Elijah, still on his knees in front of the TV, frantically tried to mute the sound.

"Klaus, what did you do now?" Rebekah exclaimed, narrowing her eyes accusingly.

Kol, seizing the opportunity, grinned mischievously, "I bet Klaus sabotaged the tree to avoid watching The Nutcracker. Crafty move, brother."

“How am I getting blamed for this? I was standing across the room!” Klaus yelled in defense.

Rebekah crossed her arms, unconvinced. "Convenient, Klaus. Very convenient."

Kol chimed in, "Maybe the tree was threatened by Klaus's Grinchy energy."

Amidst the chaos, Elijah rose from in front of the TV, his calming presence attempting to restore order. "Enough, all of you! Let's focus on cleaning up this mess and salvaging what's left of our evening."

As Rebekah and Klaus continued to argue, and Elijah attempted to restore order, Kol's lips brushed against your ear again, his tone suggestive, "Care to get out of here?"

"Absolutely," you said, getting up from the couch.

Kol grabbed your hand and led you upstairs to his room. The moment you both entered, he pulled you into a kiss. The door closed behind you, muffling the echoes of the Mikaelson drama downstairs. Kol's mischievous grin persisted as he gently pulled away, guiding you backward towards his bed.

"Care to share what exactly you did downstairs?" you asked, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Just a little Christmas magic, darling," he smiled, leaning in to kiss you again.

You were sure the Mikaelsons would figure out it was Kol and come looking for him, but you weren't too worried. You knew how much trouble Kol was going to get in. Maybe you'd let him get away with it for a little while.

Besides, it was the most wonderful time of the year.

Credit goes to Anon for this idea ♡♡

[senka-mesecine]

Since I'm a "feisty" reader enjoyer, could we maybe get a little something where Barnes has to LITERALLY pull reader back by the collar, grab her in his arms or just toss her aside (lol) to stop her from doing or reacting to something he considers stupid or dangerous. (Worried) yelling would also be a plus. 🙏🏻 Bless you, you're the best 💜👑

MINEFIELD.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

---

Thing is, it happens suddenly.

Then again, everything in the jungle had the tendency of being sudden.

No build up, no warning, no genuine foreshadowing of any imminent danger.

Even the most moderately raised voices subjectively feeling like a lion's roar.

Maybe why when Sergeant Barnes had the tendency of doing it, springing things open you or others, it was as jarring as it tended to be. You don't even have the time to register it properly; the physical act of you being grabbed and practically yanked, hauled to the side in one swift motion by a hand you didn't even realize was reaching for you from behind along with a collection of five meaty, stiff fingers hooking themselves around your forearm like a vice that sent you flying as if you were weightless --- only once you're on the ground, thrown like a sack back first into the red soil does it compute that he's done this to you. On purpose. Sergeant Barnes grabbed you and hurled you to the side, looming angrily with a scowl that would frighten the devil. Takes a good ten seconds or so for you to catch your composure due to the suddenness of the act only for you focus to fall on his index finger, pointing profusely.

-"You see that!?"-

He barks, motioning towards a common patch of grass not even two steps from you.

You shake yourself, still on your rear, the palms of your hands having dug themselves into the soil burning, undoubtedly scraped clean by your falling, causing you to be here feeling a bit like an idiot trying to figure out what you were supposed to be looking at; once you say nothing, your mouth having fallen agape, he repeats his words again, if at all possible, even angrier this time around. What the actual fu ---

-"You see that!?"-

He repeats gruffly and then it hits you; takes a second or two for you to truly spot the thin strand connecting one tree to another, running hidden through the blades of greenery. Tripwire. You were about to walk straight to it and across it, seconds from being decimated and you were blissfully unaware of it. A lump gets caught in your throat. You momentarily forget how to breathe. Jesus Christ, you could've been a sack of meat if he didn't intervene.

-"You're like a bull in a china shop; ten seconds away from gettin' your dumb ass blown up all around the perimeter!"-

He reprimands and your heart beats fast as the true gravitas of what could've happened kicks in and hits you over the head like a bag of bricks, causing you to lose your voice; when you decide to speak up the tone that comes forth comes out meek and cracked even though your intention was to sound at least a little bit sarcastic to save face --- simultaneously being genuinely grateful. Grateful and not dead. -"Thank you, sir. I didn't notice that."-

You manage, your hand on your chest; hyperventilating wildly.

-"Yeah, betcha' didn't!"-

He reproaches, all venom, like scolding an errant child.

-"Political hire. You and the Lieut both! Y'all could hold hands and swap notes on incompetence and how to get y'allselves and others killed out here!"-

Political hire!? What!? The fact that you were a woman!? C'mon, now.

It tended to be weirdly funny.

How he oscillated from thinking everyone should have the equal opportunity to come out here and get blown up, from giving everyone he didn't think deserved being here through merit the stink-eye, and all the way down to lecturing you for nearly blowing yourself up the exact way he claimed everyone should go and ahead and try.

Barnes spits on the ground right next to your feet, profusely embittered and something prickles on the surface of your scalp at the notion of being compared to Wolfe of all people; you weren't an order-giver and you were responsible for tending wounds, bandaging, injections, not being an authority figure, so it was hardly comparable. However morbid the idea, if you died, you could be replaced, but Wolfe should've been a father to his men and he fell short on every account and frequently. So, in regards of that at least, you have to protest, balancing yourself, attempting to stand up. The haul he gave you making you feel like you've been hit by a moving train or trampled over by an angry bull. Either or. Something emboldens you. Maybe it was the close run in with getting your legs blow off from under you that has you feeling uncharacteristically courageous. -"Don't you always have the tendency of saying that everybody's gotta die sometime, Sergeant?"- You groan, getting to your feet, the rest of the platoon way behind you on your long trek south. You're almost glad nobody saw this. But, Barnes saw. That was enough. It was too much even. You knew he'd silently hold this over your head forever. -"If I died it would've been because it was my time to die, sir, all due respect."- Deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine, you argue your point, dusting your fatigues off. So? Death's a part of reality, or at least so Barnes continuously drilled the point home. Was he going to pretend he was a lover of long living all of a sudden? You click your tongue, your knee burning with ache now that you were standing to your full height. -"Jesus."- You moan to yourself, rubbing the middle of your sore leg, trying to relieve your own pain. -"Threw me into the ground."- You mutter. Sometimes you felt no right to be shocked at the man's strength because he was just as strong as he looked, if not more. Especially when enraged. A testament to that cemented once more when his hand comes up like a claw, grabbing your jawline without warning, pushing you backwards and slamming into a nearby tree with such force that the branches overhead ruffle.

If your gut doesn't coil into a knot the first time when you nearly waltzed into an active minefield, it sure does now.

-"Don't you ever mouth off to me about death again."-

He growls at you with such an intensity his spittle's practically in your face.

His hand powerful enough to shake your whole body.

-"You hear!?"-

He demands furiously.

-"Feelin' suicidal!?"-

You're reprimanded and held up, just an inch above the ground and hoist by part of your gullet where your neck met your head; however scared your prime instincts tell you you should be, part of you knew it was bullshit. So, only Barnes was allowed to pontificate about death then. Nobody else, huh? Yeah. Figures. Perhaps it's pure spite that guides you at that point, but you find it in you to keep mouthin' off as he called it even as you were hoisted up above the soil by your neck like livestock about to be slaughtered. -"No. I'm just doing my job same as everyone else and I knew from the get-go my job would have consequences, sir."- You murmur, strained, voice coming forth tense from behind the wall of his grip. You were no fool. You understood how dangerous deployed here would be. No weren't clueless. You didn't need him or anyone lecturing you. -"One of those consequences being death, worst case scenario. I don't want any sort of special treatment."- You add, purely defiant and for once, you're surprised when he lets you go. You inhale, deeply, catching your breath, rubbing the tenderized flesh of your throat. His index finger is waved in front of your eyes again, his face so close you could feel him breathing sharply, in and out, in and out, nostrils flaring wildly. He shoves you again, further back into the tree bark. -"You do that again --- you don't watch where you're goin', you go leavin' where I can see'ya for a second, I could have'ya outta here so fast on failure to meet standards you won't know where's left and where's right."- He threatens, outright, and with Barnes, you knew very well it wasn't just a warning or mere empty words; he really meant it. He was going to write a report so scathing on this incident you'd be sent home like the worst nuisance and well, that --- that, you feel gave you leave to be the enraged party for once. What was his damage anyway!? Why was he so fixated on this in particular, goodness gracious!? -"You want to dishonorably discharge me for not spotting a trip wire thinner than a strand of human hair? Honestly now!? Might as well discharge the whole platoon then, because they've all have worse mishaps by the daily!"- You point with your whole hand, right down on the wire that was still there, and however fiery, you keep your voice deliberately subdued as much as possible, albeit hissed through gritted teeth.

Might as well dishonorably discharge his own Lieutenant for failing to operate a compass then. Or Junior for falling asleep on ambushes. Taylor for simply being new.

Discharge everyone but himself and conduct this war the way he wished.

Discharge Captain Harris himself, in an alternate reality where that would be doable.

Why not?

Man was getting in the way, after all, with all those pesky rules of warfare.

-"I'm gonna have you dishonorably discharged for anything anytime 'cos I don't want'yer ass here, period.''-

Barnes spits out, bluntly transparent and for once, you're rendered speechless --- shocked even --- sure, you knew he didn't quite like you too much but to loathe you enough to sabotage you for whatever reason by any means necessary? You almost don't notice the sounds of the platoon from over the hill becoming nearer, that's how profound your bafflement was, maybe more so once his arm comes up and momentarily, you flinch, thinking he'll end this by choking you the hell out, only for him to hover the open palm of his hand, tracing the outline of your face, somehow desperate and both infuriated, fingers never touching you yet still claw like, tracing the shape of your head --- so close you can practically sense the heat radiating from his skin, like his own rage was burning him up from the inside, coming off in waves through the pores in his skin. A phantom caress. Wha --- what was he doing? The wrath was still there, etched all over his face, displayed through the lightning in his eyes, but the gesture of lingering his hand next to your cheek is unfamiliar, not easy to place. Was he worried for you? Did he intend to grab you by the hair and yank it back? Was that it? Was the root of this outburst...concern? Sure, he was concerned for his men in a strange way that wasn't always easy to explain, you've observed that before, after all, it was the prime reason why his orders were specifically that you stay glued by his side during these treks through the jungle so something stupid and wholly preventable wouldn't go around happening to you, as what he referred to you as, technically useful and practically the weakest link, but still --- -"The menfolk in your family should get an ass whoopin' for lettin'ye go in the first place."- The what now? His words are all reproach of the most alien sort and you find yourself blinking rapidly, trying to assess what sort of backhanded comment of Barnes's this could be classified as and what would've been the best way to react and respond to it with some barb of your own. Nothing comes to mind. -"The menfolk in my ---"- You mouth, confused, trailing off. What in the mother of all archaisms...

-"I sure wouldn't."-

He adds curtly, all ice and outright resentment, measuring you up and down with the utmost scrutiny and before you can think of anything to say back to him, he stomps off, towards the platoon, leaving you cradling your neck, the tripwire next to your defunct; the grenade it was attached to promptly grabbed and removed. When did he manage to do that so quickly you wouldn't spot it? And? And. Did...did he just say what you were thinking he was saying? That if he was your...what? Your older brother, your father, your uncle, he wouldn't let you serve as a field nurse? That if he was your man, he wouldn't? Was that it? If he was your man? The thought nestles into your brain like something completely foreign and the realization sinks like an anchor, heavy and all iron.

Did he...care about you?

[th-compl-x]

Hi! I hope your day is going well! I have a few questions, and I read it was ok to ask them, but please don't feel pressured to do so. And I apologize if any of them are rude. Where I live, nobody ever talks about stuff like DID/OSDD, so I'm rather clueless, haha

First, how exactly does having other people? Voices? Beings? In your head work? I don't doubt that they are real, but are they just vibing? Or, like, do you physically see them around you? If you hear them, does it make your head hurt? If you see them, does it overstimulate your eyes? Do any of you ever get lonely even if there are so so many of you?

What about your wife/significant other? Do you all sync up like some massive group chat (that's mostly a joke but also genuine curiosity)? Do all of you love each other or only some? Is it like some kinda super massive poly? Or are most of yall just friends? With a few loving each other?

Oh! Oh! And I heard a word called "fronting." What's that mean? Do some get to move around in your(?) body? If they look in the mirror, do they see the host? See themselves? What does it mean to be yourself if there are so many of you all the time? Oh wait, is that an uncomfortable question?

What if you eat a food one of you doesn't like?

I know what DID is (in theory, anyways, as you can see, I don't know a whole lot), but I've never heard OSDD. What's that mean?

How did you figure out they really were real? Did it just kinda click one day, or did you have to go on this big self discovery kinda thing?

Do you celebrate all their birthdays?

How do new ones show up? Do they just kinda bang down your mental door and go "Hey I exist here now!" Or is it a slow process? I know you mentioned that changing room thing, but do they have.. auditions??

Have you ever looked at a fictional character and knew immediately they would show up one day?

This is getting rather long, so I'll cut it short here with one last question. Your bio said you're 30. Are you uncomfortable with younger people on your blog? I'm not talking little kids, just like 18-20 year olds. If you are, I'll bounce without question! Figured that was an important question to ask if I was already spamming you with my makeshift game of 20 questions, haha.

Anyway, thank you for your time, and I'm sorry for taking so much of it! Remember to drink water and have a wonderful day!

Woah!! Okay—

WE LOVE THIS!!

But we're definitely going to answer this in numbered sections below so that it can be more easily broken up and understood. 👍👍

Excellent Ask, though! Love the gumption! 🥰

So, let's begin...

Our day is going very well! 😊 We have some exciting recipes to try today and looking forward to them! And don't worry about coming across as rude. With a preface like yours, I can only imagine every question is genuine, and I'll answer them as such. 👍 How're you?

The way it works for every individual with OSDD/DID is going to vary from person to person, so my experience is certainly not the standard! ESPECIALLY since I/we have OSDD, specifically, which is already in a pre-determined "other" state. With that said, I do hear them make commentary, but it took many years to reach that point. I often chalked it up to "imagination", but learned later that it wasn't how anyone's imagination works. I would also say that i dont see them physically around me (and I doubt anyone with OSDD/DID would, but I might be wrong about that), but its more like... when they're fronting, and I look at myself through my mind's eye, they are in that place instead of me, and sometimes looking in the mirror can be seriously jarring, because the face looking back isn't the one in my head atm. I hope that makes sense. 😅

For me, there's no overstimulation involved, though i know that those with ADHD or Autism, etc., can be overstimulated by their Systems sometimes. (My wife is actually one of those people, though it only happens occasionally.) For me, everything they do is perfectly fine, I can just get worn out if my personal energy levels are lower than the person who is out n' about. It's like if you're driving a car on low battery and haven't noticed... and I'm the car, haha! 😂 At some point, it's going to putter out and need a rest on the side of the road.

Sometimes, my boys (alters) will get lonely, but it's mostly when they haven't seen/heard from their friends, family, or partners that happen to be on my wife's side of the System equation, or vice-versa. This will usually result in she and I communicating that feeling of longing or unrest, and then we'll make sure to "send the message along" and the respective other will either step forward right then and there, or within the next 2-3 business days, haha 😅 Either way: Yes. Even with so many, a lot of them aren't exactly "friends", it's more like a town with residents that can recognize each other, but don't chat. Like if you see the same person sometimes when you're buying groceries... That doesn't make them your friend, they're just a recognized face in the crowd.

The "group chat" question is hysterical because we actually DO HAVE a discord server for when our boys dont exactly want to "front", but they want to chat with one another. Sometimes there are a lot of people, sometimes it's just one-on-one, but the way it works OUTSIDE of the internet is more like... a room full of guests: Like a party. People who know each other really well will say hello and catch up, give hugs, etc., while people who don't know each other very well will either just idle by or introduce themselves (depending on their willingness to socialize). It really is like a mulling around collection of people and interactions are as natural as a get-together.

When it comes to the polyamory question, my wife & I are actually in an open relationship and we've never been against the idea of a polyamorous arrangement, but we're personally not too involved with one-another's Alters. We're happy with each other as individuals, so that's kind of that. 😅 But! Some of our boys are in poly relationships with one another and really thrive in that environment. We have groups of 6 or 7 who all consider each other lovers and have different dynamics within the poly that are very healthy and loving, and some people who are strictly monogamous with their chosen partner and have no interest in such things. It's all about the individual! But, for me? I see my partner's Alters more as my friends and family than potential partners. I already have my own soulmate. 🥰

PS: Some of us actually really hate each other or just don't care, but the ones who hate each other are pretty funny to be around! Like, "Grab the popcorn! Lyney & Neuvillette are arguing again!" Haha —Sethos

Ah! "Fronting" means to take control of the body, basically. It's like, whoever is driving the car around is the one "fronting". There's also co-fronting when 2 (or more) people are sort of "in charge" of what's going on, whether that means physically or mentally, or working together as a team! Which, btw, is what happens with us 95% of the time. I'm always around, monitoring, making sure people are comfy and acting cordially, but they're the ones fully in control. They make their own decisions, use their own voice and vocabulary, take their own actions (like Phainon making Gyros yesterday!), and so on so forth. I might always have an eye on things, but I give them my complete trust to do as they wish.

"To be myself" is to have my own sense of self: personality, sense of style, speech, mannerisms, even down to how I sit or stand. It's the exact same way how you are you, VS how your mother is your mother, and your friend is your friend. Everyone in this System is themselves, we just kind of motor around in the same silly body. In truth, I don't even mentally see this body as what I look like, and I don't think I ever have, but I was the one born inside of it, so I see it as "me", mostly. It's complicated 😅 But to remain on-topic, we know we are ourselves because we are all different people, just standing in the same room, building, what have you. Etc.

Also, as a side note, it's crazy how much a person can change the body's physical structure. Like, there are times I've looked at my wife and can tell someone else is out because her cheekbones literally look different. But, it's not her cheekbones that're different, it's the muscles being held on top of them. There are times when certain people are out for a long time that I start getting headaches because they hold their jaw differently or just smile/frown more. My wife has said my EYES change! Like they'll look darker sometimes or hold more intensity depending on who is forward, and it's actually an insane experience to see the shift in real time, but very VERY cool! 😆

In truth, when it comes to food, clothes, media, or any other preferences, we all talk about it. In another post, I talked about how BDSM has helped me immensely with my System, and my main point was that BDSM taught me how integral both consent and conversation are to ANY relationship scenario, sexual or otherwise, and it's no different with my System. For example, my wife hates seafood, but she has headmates who love it. So, what do they do? They compromise. They talk it out and figure out a middle ground that is acceptable to both parties. In my case, my boys tend to like wearing things I wouldn't usually be comfortable with, but I decided I'd be okay trying it out. Low and behold! I actually like seeing myself in a crop-top now because Aether loves them, and I actually CAN pull them off, which i never thought I could! Today, we're gonna have some spicy food because Sethos wants it, even though I'm not great at handling it, because we've agreed it's fine. Conversations and consent: That's how it works! 😊👍

OSDD = Other Specified Dissociative Disorder. It's basically a condition where a person experiences significant dissociative symptoms that do not meet the full criteria for other dissociative disorders, such as DID (like the lack of amnesia i was talking about previously). I can only hope that makes sense! 😩🙏

It was a big self-discovery thing AND it clicked, haha 😅 It's like... I knew all this stuff about DID, but I didn't experience the amnesia, so I kinda thought I was just bonkers and/or extremely creative, but then I stumbled upon OSDD, specifically, and it... just made sense. Then I spent the next 5yrs being a silly goose (in denial) and didn't take the time I needed to REALLY explore the concept, until I decided I needed to figure out wtf was going on and did so. That's basically what landed us here, today! A years-long journey of self-reflection and discovery. So... both. 🤔

[Turns around and looks at calendar right behind her that currently has 7 birthdays written down on it] ....nope! No! Don't know what you mean by celebrating everyone's birthday! Pfffft— That would be bananas! Hahahaha! [Cue Tighnari going onto Amazon to look for a reasonable gift for his silly husband, Cyno] We never do that. 👀

The process of someone joining is..... both. It depends on the person. Phainon just kind of APPEARED recently, during our completion of the Amphoreus storyline, meanwhile Desire Melodis was a process that took months to get through! And it was weird, too, almost like feeling there was someone one step behind me all the time, just... lingering(?) But now he's completely settled in and even has two lovers! He was just an oddball about it. 🙄😩

The "changing room" idea is actually INCREDIBLY NEW to even ourselves! And people aren't being entirely forthcoming about it, so I'm just... debating quietly by myself and gauging reactions to that theory. So, I apologize, but I can't really answer that. 😅 It's a question I myself haven't yet solved!

"Have you ever looked at a character and—" YES. IT'S SO FRUSTRATING 😂😂😂 I looked at Mydei & Phainon, then looked at my wife, and I just said, "They're gonna come home in more ways than one, huh?" And she was like, "Yep." And I just GROANED!! hahaha 😅 but, I genuinely feel like this moreso has to do with 15 years (if not longer) of experience with myself and my System rather than anything else. Sometimes I'm wrong! Sometimes they don't show up, and I'm like, "Huh. Okay then!" And shrug it off. 🤷‍♀️ Sometimes, I get those that're TRULY unexpected, and I'm surprised! But not unwelcoming. (Like with Zeus, the little fucker—) But, no matter what, I approach each newcomer with love and acceptance. It's what anyone deserves!

And nope! I wouldn't even mind if you were a kid because kids need mentors in life. I actually think it's ridiculous - this mentality that adults and children should never talk to one another - because kids can't get 100% the guidance they need from their parents alone. That's 2 people. They need variety and safety from multiple sources, ESPECIALLY if the parents aren't exactly good people... So yeah, I'm absolutely 💯 okay with you spamming me! I don't mind at all, and actually encourage it! After all—

"We love your curiosity." ❤️💕

Thank you so much for the Ask, and I hope you have a wonderful day. 🥰

[quietwingsinthesky]

20 Fanfic Author Questions

I was tagged by @quicksilver-castiel!

1. How many works on AO3?

Once I filter out my podfics, I'm at 1,383 works!

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

I am currently at 908,139 words, so million word mile mark coming soon! bit by bit.

3. Top 5 fics by Kudos

Extremely funny looking at this list because one of my top kudosed fics is actually an anonymous fic I have never revealed and probably never will lmao. But aside from that. You'll Figure It Out When You Get There - Five Nights at Freddy's - 1,445 Kudos and so the tower fell - Supernatural - 544 Baby Bird - Supernatural - 444 Reboot - Five Nights at Freddy's - 403 Home Woven From Broken Parts - Hollow Knight - 346

4. What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment, I am like. deeply caught by Assassin's Creed, and while I'd really like to write for other fandoms, I genuinely can't focus on anything else. The hyperfixation bug is fucking real and I do not know how long it'll last.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I... try.

6. Angstiest Ending?

I feel like because it's about a kid being murdered, A Dark and Stormy Night probably qualifies as the angstiest.

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

Off the top of my head, and I do have a poor memory about even the things I've written, it's probably Mother of All Monsters just because it is sappy and sweet and there's a very pregnant devil in it.

8. Do you get hate?

When I get noticed, at least someone is gonna get mad about it. Such is the way of these things.

9. Do you write smut?

lmao. yeah <3 let me put it this way. at least 36% of my posted works are smut.

10. Do you write crossovers?

On occasion, when the mood strikes. I'm not much of a crossover writer or reader, but sometimes, sometimes, something pops out as a possibility and won't leave me alone.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, no.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! It's a delightful thing to me! I'm so proud of it! There's translations in Russian, Chinese, and German.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I have not, not at this point. I'd quite like to!

14. All time favourite ship?

Forever and always Samifer <3 you couldn't tear me away from it if you tried.

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Do we mean posted or just on my harddrive because. there are horrors in there. just a graveyard of unfinished fic.

16. Writing strengths?

I like to think, and I do take pride in this, that I am very good at writing smut. In all that entails, from the physical description to the emotions involved in the act and such.

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Jesus christ i hate dialogue i hate dialogue i hatee dialogue i don't understand how people talk.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

I... am perhaps not the best person to ask? Monolingual ass. Sometimes it's quite jarring, sometimes it comes across very naturally. Sorry, terminal assassin's creed brain, but I can find it very jarring when reading AC fic specifically where the characters only use one or two words in another language, when the source material will have that, yes, but also entire sentences of dialogue translated. It's why I generally avoid doing it. If I can't actually speak Italian, I don't want to make a damn fool of myself.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Posted? Star Wars. Written down anywhere? Probably Guardians of Ga'Hoole. Just thought about it in my head constantly? you ever seen the animated kids classic bolt.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

christ there's over a thousand of them uhhhhhhhhhhh fuck it im deciding it's my jilco fic this week. everyone go read with enough love (you'll get your hands dirty). it's a damn good fic, and jinx was so fun to write the manerisms of, and all of my favorite fics i've ever written are ones that hold that delicate balance of being about an indefinably intimate relationship.

anyhow! i shall now tag @73chn1c0l0rr3v3l, @seanwinchester, @honestlydarkprincess, @holyfreaks, @19catsncounting, @samiferboy, @soulless-angel25, and @uss-genderprise. and whomever else sees this, please do! I really love reading these sorts of questionnaires from my mutuals aklsjdakjd