#unsympathetic anxiety

[yourchemicallyimbalancedromance]

Discoveries

Prompt: “We can work this out, okay? Just come back here, it’s not safe there. You know that too.” (Credit to @me-writes-prompts for this prompt!!)

Ship: romantic Prinxiety

CW/TW: slight self harm, panic attacks, swearing, unsympathetic Virgil, unsympathetic Janus

Summary: Finally deciding to leave the “Dark Sides” Virgil leaves Janus after a heated argument, leaving him begging for him to come back.

__________________________________________

Virgils glare burned a hole into Janus’ irises, face hot and wet with incessant tears, voice hoarse and unbearably scratchy from the yelling that echoed off of the walls of Janus and his room.

Janus looked back, expression tender and begging, sincere. He stepped closer to him. “Virgil, please. I know we have our differences but I think if we just talked it out we could—“

Virgil’s shoulders were up to his neck, his entire body felt like it was burning from the unforgiving rage boiling inside of him. “Save the shit Deceit, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Janus’ expression changed in the blink of an eye, going from pleading to stone cold anger. “Yknow what? Maybe Thomas was right about not wanting you around, after all, Paranoia isn’t very healthy…” he said, seething pain and irritation dripping off his tongue.

Virgil wrapped his arms around himself tightly, knowing from past experience that the grip would leave bruises, but the pain grounded him enough to help him leave his expression the same, not letting Janus have the satisfaction of knowing he got to him.

“You’re nothing but a manipulative sack of shit. I can’t believe I trusted you.” Virgil growled. The statement was only half true; Of course Janus had his moments—all of them did, inevitably, although some more than others.—but he and Remus were the first to accept him with open arms, although recent events said otherwise.

Janus scoffed at the statement, not saying anything else in response.

Virgil let go of himself, summoning a bag and shoving whatever that was nearest to him into it; A blanket, headphones, his phone, his poetry collection that consisted of Sylvia Plath, Edgar Allen Poe, and Emily Dickinson.

Janus watched silently as Virgil sunk out, not bothering to give him a second glance.

———————————————————————

Virgil walked through the border between the light and dark mind palace, feeling his emotions shift from completely enraged with no ending in sight to mildly irritated. His body relaxed, the released tension leaving him fatigued. His jaw unclenched and his nails found their way out of his palms.

He sighed before twisting the knob and letting himself into a world of new possibilities. He stepped one foot into the common area and all noise was stripped from the room. He found Logan on the couch, Patton asleep next to him. He heard Roman singing Hamilton from his bedroom. Logan was the first to notice his presence.

“Anxiety? It’s odd seeing you here, is there an issue?” Logan looked at him the way he looked at every other side, an impassive expression all over his face.

Virgil sat on the floor facing the couch where Logan was sitting, flipping through a “History Of NASA” magazine.

He shook his head. “I might need to stay here a while..I don’t know.” He said faintly, taking his headphones and phone out of his bag, not wanting to make eye contact.

“For what reason in particular?” Logan responded, bookmarking the page he was on and setting it down next to him.

“Deceit. He..” his voice trailed off as he stared at his phone, searching through multiple different playlists for a certain song to match his mood.

“He what?” Logan prompted, confusion in his voice.

Virgil looked up, “We got into an argument, an extremely heated one, that’s it. I don’t want to be there anymore. Can we please drop this?”

Logan nodded “Yes, Of course. I suppose I should let the others know you’re here then?” He asked.

Virgil blinked in surprise at the compliance with dropping the subject before slowly nodding a “yes”.

Logan disappeared for a minute into the hallway, leaving Virgil to his music, letting the words sink in and calm his nerves.

He reappeared once again, Virgil taking out his headphones, noticing Roman had stopped singing.

“I have let him know. I am sure that Patton is fine with you being here, so no need to worry.” Logan said.

Virgil nodded, getting up and sitting on the couch next to Logan.

———————————————————————

Hours passed before Roman finally left his room, coming into the common area where Patton and Virgil were watching Lion King.

“Hiya, Kiddo! Wanna join us?, we’re binge watching Disney movies” Patton said giddily, the TV illuminating his a multitude of different colors.

Roman looked to the TV, watching as Scar let go of Mufasa, and nodded. “That sounds delightful Pat, sure.” He seemed a little hesitant before sitting down beside Patton.

“Logan’s working on some big project in his room so if you’re wondering where he is that’s where” Patton clarified, hoping to ease his confusion a bit; luckily, it worked, and Roman settled into the sofa. “He also doesn’t like Disney movies” he added, giggling a bit.

Virgil stayed silent, staring at the TV; trying to make it seem as if he was focused on the movie when in reality his mind was elsewhere. Guilt coursed through his bloodstream, leaving him feeling hollow. His phone buzzed and he picked it up, the screen practically blinding him due to the darkness of the room.

It was a message from Janus. He hadn’t even been gone a day and Janus was already begging for him to come back.

“We can work this out, okay? Just come back here, it’s not safe there. You know that too.” He had written.

Virgil tried ignoring him, acting as if he’d never seen the message, god how he tried, but within seconds he found the lack of response too anxiety inducing to ignore.

He stood up, walking into the nearest room absentmindedly, and closing the door, calling Janus.

He listened to the phone ring and ring and ring until it went to voicemail. He texted Janus back, fingers flying over the screen.

“It’s a lot safer here, actually. You were wrong Janus, you have to let it go. I’m not coming back, and I don’t want to work anything out, give it up already.”

The message was a lot nicer than intended, but he sent it anyway.

Janus left him on read.

He was about to leave the room before he was struck with the sight in front of him. Silky red curtains, star decals everywhere, Disney characters plastered on the door— shit. He was in Romans room.

He would’ve laughed at the decor of the room had he not been so tense.

A knock at the door made him jump, and he opened it quickly, coming face to face with Roman.

“Do you wanna explain why you’re in my room?” He said, confusion and Irritation apparent with every word.

Suddenly, the room was spinning and nausea hit him like a truck. Too many things were happening at once. The control once ever so present in his life was slowly crumbling like sand in his hands.

Roman caught him before he fell, holding up all of his weight with ease. “Woah, hey.” he said, taken off guard. Virgil didn’t respond, couldn’t respond.

“Breathe, take deep breaths, can you do that?” Roman said

Virgil took a breath and exhaled a shuddery one, leaning against Roman, the knowledge that Princey was seeing him like this only made it worse.

“Good, that’s good. Can you do a couple more for me?” Roman cooed

Virgil repeated the cycle a few times before the room became less and less blurry and the nausea subsided slightly.

Roman led him to his bed, both of them sitting down next to eachother.

“What is going on? You just…showed up here suddenly” Roman looked away from the side next to him, his eyes fixated on the floor. He was hesitant to speak; apart from his usual cockiness, truth be told he was really afraid to say the wrong thing.

“Ja— Deceit…I left the others.”

“You..oh okay..” he said softly

“So does this mean…”

“That I’m one of you?” Virgil finished the sentence for him.

Roman nodded, looking up at him.

“I doubt you guys would want me to be.” Virgil mumbled, messing with the loose seams of his jacket.

“Hey, no. You do a great deal for us and Thomas. You mean a lot, Anxiety.” Roman responded sweetly.

“Virgil.” Virgil corrected.

“Virgil..?” Roman parroted, eyes widening a bit.

“My name, it’s Virgil.” He repeated.

While he was still weary about trusting the Others, he didn’t see the pain in telling atleast one of them his name; if he made fun of it, then so be it.

“I think that’s wonderful.” Roman said, slowly taking the other sides hand in his.

Virgil’s face heat up with surprise and happiness and he immediately hid it with his hoodie sleeve “thanks, I guess” came the muffled reply.

“You’re one of us, I’ve deemed you so, right here, right now, and if anyone has a problem with it they can talk to me” Roman said confidently, taking Virgil’s hand away from his face and kissing it.

Virgil couldn’t stop smiling and Roman loved it.

“You have a beautiful smile, Virge” Roman said, hoping to egg on the side infront of him.

Virgil practically fell apart, pulling Roman close and kissing him, smiling into it.

Roman returned the passion, holding Virgil gently as their teeth accidentally knocked together from the uncontrollable smiles.

Roman pulled them apart, forehead pressed against Virgils.

“You can stay here for as long as you need, alright?” Roman whispered.

“I could stay here forever.” Virgil responded.

‘and I will’ he thought to himself.

[xx-psych0-rabbit-xx]

sorry i lied im complaining about the renfield movie again.its incredibly funny them giving him a wife and child was probably a half assed attempt at making him seem so normal so hes more sympathetic to viewers, but then they rewrote the implied assault turning '31 renfield psychotic in favor of dracula just straight up offering him free powers, making renfields choice to take those and leave his family to die and never think about them again turn him less sympathetic than the book and '31 renfields could ever be

[mecharose]

i want to go back to everyone thinking im anxiety baby if people get the impression you're confident and self assured you suffer more than jesus christ himself

[webism]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

[panspaming]

Yesterday I started work miserable but tried to liven up and work hard and by the end of the day I was feeling better!! But then I ended up going to bed early because I was so shot and now today I feel like almost hungover despite not drinking anything?? Is this burnout. Like am I doing the right thing??

I flip between being outwardly cheerful and outwardly angry atm (how my anxiety and depression manifests yippee) acording to how my stress levels are on the day and idk. I think not pretending to be cheerful is conserving energy but it can sometimes help to force myself to be happy because. Well then I'm not as miserable.

I don't know what to do??? I feel like I'm having a mental health crisis but I have good enough coping skills that I stay afloat but I'm just so worried eventually I'll hit a wall and have a massive breakdown

[apollo-zero-one]

By the power of testosterone injections and marijuana microdosing I managed to have a whole ethics debate with my older coworker and not cry the whole time. My voice only shook once even. I think it was a tie which is better than usual (I tend to lose debates bcos I get too emotional)

[pucksandpower]

Ours to Protect

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: life with your boys may be chaotic but, through all the ups and downs, you wouldn’t change it for the world

Warnings: depictions of injury, vague descriptions of pregnancy, and Jos Verstappen being Jos Verstappen

You take a deep breath as you step out of the car, the roar of the crowd already audible even from the secure paddock parking area.

Your stomach flutters with nerves and excitement as you smooth down your outfit and head towards the paddock entrance. This is your first race of the season and the reporters and fans are always rabid at the start of a new year.

As you enter the paddock you glance around, looking for Charles or Max but neither are immediately visible in the organized chaos. You clutch your paddock pass, suddenly feeling self-conscious walking through alone.

The other drivers’ wives and girlfriends are already gathered in small groups, greeting each other with cheek kisses as they exchange pleasantries. A few give you sidelong glances as you walk by, no doubt wondering why you’re alone when the rest of them arrived together with their partners.

You keep your head high, ignoring the looks. Your relationship with Charles and Max has been going strong and so far you’ve kept it private, with only close friends and family aware that the three of you are together. The public and the media still think of you as just a friend and you aren’t sure how they would react if they knew the truth. The three of you have discussed going public but agreed it’s better to wait, wanting to enjoy your time together out of the spotlight for now.

Still, you wish Charles or Max were with you as a buffer from prying eyes. You check your phone but there are no new messages. They must both still be busy with their pre-race preparations. Taking a deep breath, you make your way towards the Red Bull garage first, figuring you’ll find Max there.

As you approach, you spot a small crowd of reporters loitering near the garage entrance. They perk up as they see you coming, immediately descending upon you with microphones and cameras.

“Y/N! Over here!” One calls out. “Are you here to see Max?”

You stop short, feeling cornered as they form a semi-circle around you. “Um, yes, I’m just heading to the garage to say hi,” you say carefully.

“And what about Charles?” Another reporter asks, eyebrow raised suggestively. “Will you be visiting him in the Ferrari garage as well?”

You freeze, panic rising. Do they know about your relationship? You haven’t been seen together in public yet. “I-I’m friends with both Charles and Max,” you stammer.

“Just friends?” A third reporter chimes in skeptically. “Our sources say you’ve been getting very cozy with the two drivers lately. Care to comment on the rumors that you’re stringing them both along?”

You take a step back, heart pounding as their questions come rapid-fire.

“Are you cheating on one with the other?”

“How long do you think you can keep this charade going before they realize?”

“Doesn’t it bother you, playing with their feelings like this?”

Their accusations hit you like blows, your anxiety spiking as you find yourself backed up against a wall, cameras flashing in your face. This is your worst fear come to life. You look around desperately for an escape but find only unsympathetic faces staring back at you, judging you.

“I … I have to go,” you gasp out, ducking your head and pushing your way blindly through the crush of bodies. You can hear them calling out more questions but you block it out, focused only on getting away. You’re shaking and feel sick, tears pricking at your eyes.

Is this what it will be like if you ever go public? This is exactly why you wanted to keep it quiet.

Suddenly you collide with a solid chest. Strong hands grasp your shoulders and you look up with a start to see Max gazing down at you, concern creasing his brow.

“Whoa, schatje, what happened?” He asks. He glances over your shoulder at the reporters who have reluctantly backed off but are still hovering nearby. Max’s jaw tightens as he seems to grasp the situation.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you say shakily, embarrassed by your reaction.

Max studies your face, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” he says gently, keeping an arm wrapped securely around you as he guides you away from prying eyes.

Once you’re safely inside the Red Bull motorhome, Max steers you over to a quiet corner and helps you sit. Crouching down in front of you, he brushes a strand of hair back from your face. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You take a shuddering breath, willing yourself to calm down. “The reporters ambushed me outside. They started accusing me of stringing you and Charles along. I just panicked and had to get out of there.”

Max’s face darkens. “Those goddamn vultures. What the hell gives them the right ...” He cuts off his tirade with a sigh, taking your hands in his. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that alone. I should have been there with you.”

You give him a shaky smile. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Max kisses your forehead. “Let me go talk to Charlie so he knows what happened. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod gratefully. After Max leaves you take deep breaths, willing your racing heart to settle. You knew the secrecy couldn’t last forever but you weren’t prepared for the cruelty of those reporters. The idea of having to face that regularly if you go public makes you feel ill.

You’re lost in thought when another familiar voice says your name. Looking up you see Charles hurrying over, the same concerned look on his face that Max wore earlier. You stand and Charles immediately folds you into a tight hug.

“Are you alright, ma belle?” He murmurs. “Max told me what happened.”

You cling to him, taking comfort in his embrace. “I’m okay now. Just a bit shaken up.”

Charles’ jaw is tight as he pulls back to look at you. “I’m so sorry I was not there. I should have been with you.” His hand comes up to cup your cheek tenderly.

You cover his hand with your own. “You couldn’t have known. I’m the one who decided to come alone like an idiot.”

Charles starts to argue but you cut him off. “Let’s not play the blame game, okay? I just want to put it behind me.”

Charles presses his lips together but nods. “Of course. As long as you are alright.” He kisses your forehead sweetly. “I will not leave your side for the rest of the day, I promise.”

You give him a small but genuine smile. “Thank you.”

Just then Max returns. “How is she doing?” He asks Charles quietly.

“A bit better I think. Still shaken though.”

Max nods, his eyes stormy. “I warned the press to back the hell off but I doubt they’ll listen.”

Your heart sinks. The last thing you want is them continuing to hound you every race. You bite your lip. “Maybe … maybe we should just tell them the truth.”

Max and Charles exchange a surprised look. “Are you sure?” Charles asks cautiously. “We do not have to do anything until you are ready.”

You take a breath. “I’m not really. But I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder constantly either, you know? And I hate feeling like we have to hide.” You look between them. “I mean, only if you both are comfortable with it too. But maybe it’s time.”

Max considers you thoughtfully. “I’m ready when you are. I’m tired of sneaking around too. If this is what you want, I’m with you.” He glances at Charles who nods.

“Oui, I agree. I do not enjoy the secrecy either. I am ready to tell the world you are both mine.” Charles smiles and pulls you close again.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Well it’s definitely not going to be easy, but with you two by my side, I’m ready.” You take each of their hands, feeling emboldened.

Charles grins and kisses your cheek. “Then let’s do this.”

The three of you head out of the garage hand in hand. You hold your head high as you approach the still lingering reporters, flanked on either side by your boys. Their steady presence gives you courage.

The reporters perk up excitedly seeing the three of you together, shouting questions, but you ignore them. At an unspoken signal you all stop and turn to face the cameras head on.

Charles leans in and kisses you sweetly, then Max does the same, before kissing each other with you sandwiched firmly between them. You smile against their lips, the action speaking louder than any words. Then, without giving the reporters time to process what just happened, you continue walking down the paddock, leaving behind an audience with their jaws on the floor.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as their shocked reactions fade behind you. Let them talk. You have everything you need right here. Wrapping your arms around your boys, you head off to face the rest of the day, and your future, together.

No more hiding. The world knows now. And you’ve never felt more free.

***

The morning sun filters in through the curtains, stirring you awake. You stretch leisurely, reaching across both sides of the large bed only to find it empty. The faint clinking of dishes filters in from outside the room — your boys must be up already making breakfast.

Smiling sleepily, you drag yourself out of bed and shuffle towards the kitchen, eager for coffee. As you enter, you find Charles at the stove scrambling eggs while Max sets the table.

Charles glances up with a grin. “Bonjour, ma belle. Sleep well?”

You hum affirmatively, accepting the mug of coffee Max hands you with a quick peck on the lips. “What time is it?”

“Just after 9,” Max says. “We were going to let you sleep in but breakfast is ready.”

You sip your coffee, leaning back against the counter. “That’s okay. I wanted to go to the farmer’s market this morning anyway. Care to join me after we eat?”

“I wish I could, but I have a training session in an hour,” Charles says regretfully.

Max shakes his head too. “And I have a sponsor meeting.”

You pout playfully. “Fine, abandon me to go shopping alone.”

Charles chuckles. “We would never. But duty calls today unfortunately.” He plates the eggs with some toast and you all sit down to eat.

After breakfast, you quickly get ready while Max and Charles clean up. Emerging from the bedroom, you grab your purse and find them waiting to walk you out.

“Have fun at the market,” Max says, kissing your cheek. “Get some of those apricot tarts I like.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Only if you’re good.”

Charles hugs you tightly. “Be safe out there. Call if you need anything, yes?”

“I’ll be fine!” You assure him with a laugh. With a final wave, you head out the door and down to the lobby.

Stepping outside, you pause in confusion. A large crowd is gathered in front of your building. Fans, you realize. But how did they find your address?

Your heart sinks. Ever since going public, you’ve dealt with heightened interest and gossip. But this feels like a violation of privacy. Biting your lip uncertainly, you start trying to weave through the crowd towards the market down the block.

Immediately people press in excitedly around you. “It’s her!” You hear someone shout. Camera phones are suddenly in your face as people call out questions.

“How does being with the two of them work?”

“Be honest, do you prefer Max or Charles?”

You keep your head down, trying not to engage. Their invasive questions make your skin crawl. “Excuse me, please let me through,” you say as politely as you can.

But the crowd only seems to grow more aggressive, everyone shoving to get close and fire off more intrusive questions about your relationship. You feel hands grabbing at you and start to panic.

“Please, I need to get by,” you say, shrinking away from the grasping hands. But the crowd surges and someone shoves you hard from behind.

You cry out as you fall forward, directly into the path of an exuberant fan. Blinding pain explodes in your temple as her flailing elbow catches you across the face.

You hit the ground hard, vision graying out. Dazed, you try to curl into a protective ball as feet trample around you, completely oblivious.

“Stop, please!” You sob, blood dripping from your throbbing temple. But the crowd is a living entity now, crushing in on you. This is a nightmare.

Suddenly you hear a roar over the din. “GET BACK!”

The footsteps stutter to a halt as the authoritative voice bellows again. “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!”

Then Max is there, somehow muscling his way through the press of bodies to drop to his knees beside you. His face is thunderous as he quickly but gently gathers you into his arms.

“Fucking animals,” he spits, glaring venomously at the stunned crowd as you cling to him desperately. “I’ve got you, just hold on.”

Over Max’s shoulder you can see Charles forcibly holding the fans at bay, yelling expletives in a jumbled mess of three languages. The path clears as Max carries you swiftly back into your building.

Once inside the apartment, Max lays you gently on the couch, hands feather-light as he examines your injuries. His jaw clenches when he sees the gash bleeding heavily at your temple.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says tightly. “This needs stitches.”

You nod weakly, letting him press a towel to stanch the bleeding while Charles comes bursting in, swearing violently when he sees the blood.

“What the hell happened?” He demands, kneeling beside you. His touch is infinitely gentle though as he brushes hair from your face.

“Got mobbed by those goddamn stalkers outside,” Max growls. “One of them elbowed her in the head.”

Charles’ expression darkens dangerously. You’ve never seen him look so livid before.

“We’ll deal with them later,” Max says firmly. “Right now we need to get her to the emergency department.”

Charles nods, visibly reigning in his anger. “You’re right, of course.” He looks back at you, anger fading to concern. “Are you able to stand, chérie?”

You cry out as simply trying to sit up sends shooting pain through your head. Charles’ jaw ticks as he looks ready to rush back outside and fight the crowd himself, before he easily lifts you into his arms, Max holding the cloth to your cut as they carefully get you down to the garage.

The car ride passes in a haze of pain and you cling to Charles in the backseat while Max drives, exhaustion hitting you.

At the hospital, Max scoops you up, carrying you inside despite your mumbled protests that you can walk. He ignores you, striding right up to the intake desk.

“She needs help now,” he snaps. The no-nonsense tone of his voice has nurses springing into action immediately.

Before you know it, you’ve been whisked off for scans and then into an exam room. A kind faced doctor stitches up your wound carefully while Max and Charles hover protectively on either side.

“Any other injuries?” The doctor asks gently.

You shake your head. “Just some bruises I think.”

She pats your leg. “I’d still like to do a full workup, including a pregnancy test, before we proceed with any other treatment or medication.”

Your eyes widen. With everything going on, your period being late hadn’t even registered. But now that she mentions it ...

Charles and Max go still beside you. “Pregnancy test?” Charles asks tightly.

The doctor smiles reassuringly. “Standard procedure. I’m sure it’s just a precaution.”

Charles grabs your hand, tension radiating off him while you wait on the results. Max paces like a caged animal until the doctor returns. Her kind eyes immediately give it away.

The tests come back quickly and the doctor steps back in to review the results. “No signs of fracture or serious head injury, that’s good news. We’ll get you a prescription for the laceration and ...” she trails off, looking at the chart with a slight frown.

You feel Max and Charles tense on either side of you. “What is it?” Max asks sharply. “Something wrong?”

The doctor looks up. “No, nothing wrong. Just unexpected. The bloodwork indicates that you’re pregnant, about 8 weeks along.”

“Mon dieu,” Charles breathes, stunned. Max ceases his pacing, mouth agape. They both turn to you with myriad emotions swirling in their eyes.

“A baby?” Max says hoarsely. “We’re having a baby?”

You place a hand over your still flat stomach, head spinning. “I guess we are.”

Charles lets out an incredulous laugh and surges forward to capture your mouth in a fierce kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are blazing.

“They could have hurt our child,” he says darkly. You can see the protectiveness rising in him, mixed with anger at those who endangered his baby.

Max’s expression mirrors Charles’ stormy one. “Those goddamn animals,” he spits. “If anything had happened ...” His hands fist at his sides.

You reach for them both. “But nothing did,” you remind them gently. “We’re both okay.”

They take deep breaths, focusing back on you. Charles rests his forehead against yours while Max kneels to press a kiss to your belly.

“We won’t let anyone hurt you again,” Max vows fiercely. “Either of you.”

Charles nods, jaw set. “We will keep you both safe, I swear it.”

Their protectiveness makes you feel warm and cherished. You know with your boys watching over you, nothing can touch you or your child.

“I know you will,” you say softly. Drawing their faces down, you kiss them each lovingly.

A fierce joy lights their eyes now as the shock fades. You’re having a baby, the three of you. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together as a family.

Charles presses one more kiss to your lips, tender and full of promise. “I love you so much, all three of you,” he whispers.

Max squeezes your hand, eyes blazing. “I love you too. More than I ever thought possible.”

“And we,” your hand drifts to your still-flat stomach, “love you. My brilliant boys.”

***

The paddock buzzes with excitement on race morning, but for once it has nothing to do with fast cars or famous drivers. All eyes turn your way as you make your way through, one hand resting on your growing bump.

At five months along, your pregnancy is impossible to hide anymore. You’d managed to keep it quiet for a while, but last week an overly zoomed paparazzi shot of you in a fitted dress had let the secret out. Now it seems everyone has an opinion on your relationship dynamic and who the father might be.

You keep your head high, ignoring the whispers. Charles and Max wanted to shield you completely, but you refused to be stuck at home or made to feel ashamed. Besides, their steady presence on either side of you is comfort enough.

Charles presses a supportive hand to your lower back. “How are you feeling, chérie?”

You give him a reassuring smile. “We’re good.” Over your head, his eyes meet Max’s, a silent conversation passing between them. Their protectiveness has ramped up tenfold since finding out you’re pregnant.

Nearing the Red Bull garage, Max steers you towards the bathroom. “I’ll meet you inside in a minute, okay? I just need to check in with my engineers first.”

You nod, squeezing his hand before separating. As you exit the bathroom shortly after, a commotion down the paddock draws your eye. Even from a distance, the man’s imposing figure is recognizable. Your heart drops into your stomach.

Jos Verstappen.

He’s gesturing angrily at a retreating figure, who you realize with dread is Max. You’ve never actually met Max’s father, but from what you’ve heard, the man is bad news. Max has only mentioned him in the past tersely, a shadow passing over his face. Whatever he suffered as a child at Jos’ hands seems to have left deep scars.

As you watch, Jos suddenly wheels around and stalks towards the Red Bull garage, no doubt having caught sight of Max going in. Swearing under your breath, you hurry after him. There’s no way this confrontation ends well.

Inside the garage, the mechanics fall silent at Jos’ dramatic entrance. He pays them no mind, making a beeline for Max, who has gone rigid. You slip in behind Jos, catching Charles’ eye where he stands with the Ferrari crew down the pitlane. His brow furrows in concern but you give a small shake of your head — let Max handle this first.

“Max.” Jos’ tone could freeze over hell. “Care to explain what the hell is going on?”

Max’s face shutters. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“The hell you don’t!” Jos snaps. “I had to find out from the goddamn gossip rags that not only are you whoring around with multiple people, but one of them is pregnant? Have you no shame?”

Max flinches, looking stricken. Your hands curl into helpless fists at your sides.

“Watch yourself,” Charles suddenly growls, appearing behind you.

Jos whirls on him with a nasty sneer. “Stay out of this, playboy. This is between me and my son.” He turns back to Max. “Well? Explain yourself.”

Max seems to steel himself, straightening his spine. “There’s nothing to explain. What we have is no one’s business but our own.” His eyes flick to you and Charles briefly and soften before hardening again on his father.

“Bullshit!” Jos snaps. “Have you lost your mind? Carrying on with that girl while she whores around with this one too?” He jabs a finger at Charles then points at your belly. “And you’re telling me you’re fine possibly raising another man’s bastard as your own?”

Max’s expression darkens and he steps forward menacingly. “Watch. Your. Mouth.”

Charles moves closer too, vibrating with anger, but you grab his arm, shaking your head again. Let Max stand up to his father himself.

“We don’t care about who the biological father is,” Max continues fiercely. “That’s our child, no matter what. We’re a family.”

Jos scoffs. “A family? You’re delusional. What happens when those two get bored and leave you behind? This little fantasy you’re living is going to destroy your career.”

“You’re wrong,” Max says sharply. “I love them, and they love me. I’ve never been happier than with them.” His eyes soften again as he looks at you and Charles once more. “I don’t need or want anything else.”

Jos’ lip curls derisively. “Pathetic. I didn’t raise you to be so weak. This ends now, before you ruin your life even more. You will get rid of her and end things with the boy too.”

Charles growls, shaking off your restraining hand to storm forward. But Max beats him to it, getting right in Jos’ face.

“No,” he says, so firmly it brokers no argument. “You don’t control my life anymore. I won’t let you tear apart my family. Now get the hell out of my garage before I have you removed.”

For a moment Jos just gapes, clearly not expecting Max to stand up to him. His face purples with rage but before he can respond, security is there grabbing him by the arms.

“I think it’s time for you to go, sir,” one says firmly, already hauling Jos away.

He struggles in vain, spluttering furiously. But Max has already dismissed him, turning away. Only once Jos is gone does Max seem to deflate, shoulders slumping.

In an instant, you and Charles are both there, wrapping him in your arms. He clutches you both desperately, face buried in your hair.

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” you murmur, smoothing a hand over his back.

Charles presses a kiss to his temple. “You were very brave, mon amour. I’m proud of you for standing up to him.”

Max huffs out a shaky laugh. “Didn’t feel very brave. But I meant what I said — I’m not letting anyone take either of you away from me.”

He pulls back to meet your eyes earnestly. “You are my family now. The only thing that matters to me.” His hand comes to rest gently on your belly. “All three of you.”

Emotion clogs your throat and you see Charles blink back tears. You both lean in simultaneously to kiss Max’s cheeks.

“We love you so much,” you whisper fiercely. “And we’ll always be a family, no matter what.”

Charles nods. “You are stuck with us now. We are yours, just as you are ours.”

The last of the tension bleeds from Max’s frame and he gifts you both with a brilliant, beautiful smile. Leaning his forehead against yours, his eyes shine with happy tears.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he says softly. “I have everything I’ll ever need right here.”

You smile through your own tears, heart overflowing. Together, wrapped in the safety of each other’s love, you know everything will be okay.

[diejager]

BEGGING I WAS LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOT THE MONSTER AU 141 😭😭😭😭😭

pretty pretty please 🙏🙏

Only Human pt.2

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x reader

Cw: canon-typical violence, hate, xenophobia, mention of racism, blood and violence, injury, fighting, protective 141, trauma?, anxiety, tell me if I missed any. wc: 6.3k

Only Human Masterlist

Previous

You still wonder, to this day, why you were needed on the Task Force. It worked like a well-oiled machine when put to the task, nearly unstoppable in the face of enemies. Although you were prideful to call it your home, you felt lacking compared to them, all much stronger, fiercer, and nimbler than you in every aspect, separated by miles of distance. One thing, however, that you could wield with an iron fist was your human nature and people’s fear of newly implemented hybrids. The public expression from governments about welcoming them into their ranks and their society without staying hidden under the pretence of being sick or behind a veil of secrecy. 

You, after seeing how many Joint Task Forces and other Teams treated the 141, decided to deal with the introductions, the medium, the pacifier, between every team. Humans tended to react differently to another human than to a hybrid, they were nicer, less brutal and honest (a kind that held little spite). Laswell seemed more agreeable to your idea when you first came up to her with it, having seen the hate sent to hybrids she worked with. She encouraged you to be the first to interact or stand beside Price when he greeted human soldiers. Price, unlike Laswell, was reluctant at first. His instinct of protection and possession of his hoard made him less open to such ideas, especially if it brought you some, if any, backlash from other humans (humans are cruel, they shun what they don’t understand, they fear it and push to control it, if not, they destroy it. The need to control every aspect of their life made humans ruthlessly unremorseful and unsympathetic to other causes.).

As a tight-knit TF, some decisions are taken in votes, by hearing what the others thought of the idea or plan and his one was harsh. Ghost was hard-pressed on keeping you between them, the little, fleshy human of their Task Force (the youngest) and to let them deal with xenophobic glares while keeping you protected. Alejandro was similarly worried, but he knew the outcome of letting you speak first or accompany Price. He was torn. The others, Soap, Gaz and Rudy, seemed onboard, with the kind of why the fuck not? kind of look on their faces. Soap especially, he’d be able to stick close to you without having to hover over you like a protective guard dog. 

Seeing the votes in your favour, he let it pass, and no sooner had they needed to meet a second team - human soldiers - for the next deployment. You stood beside Price when he strutted down the walkway, shoulders broad and back straight, an image of a strong and fearless leader with his draconic tail flailing lowly. He, as intended, greeted them first, rank and name before he presented you, his little human helper with humans. They’d taken better to speaking to you, being spoken by one of their own rather than a hybrid. He saluted you more amicably and more sincerely:

“Pleasure meeting you, Hunter.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

Although it wasn't without its setbacks, the operation went well, you had been able to come out mostly unscathed, leaving a few enemies on the brink of death for Ghost to savour. He was most thankful, a part of his body dissolving into the finest mist as they washed over the living bodies sprawled on the ground. You watched on, mesmerised by the uncanny way Ghost’s body absorbed the bodies of others, flooding the area with his shadow while you stayed unbothered, in the same condition as he first started. His darkness reached your neck, covering you in a soft cover of warmth as he ground the bodies to ash and dust. His skin was cold, but his powers were darkly hot, burning with the embers of hell, of a dead soul coming back for revenge and evilness.

Beyond the fact that your idea worked, you liked feeling useful to them, having a semblance of usefulness in a team of extremely competent beings. You felt with first greetings from then on, smiling and saluting to the leading figures of the groups you’d work alongside. It lessened the weight on Price to appease and pacify the new additions, he’d be able to fare better with the operators now that they had a different welcome, a different kind of greeting. It played into the minds of wary men that a human was the one to greet them, that one of theirs was leading the hybrids for them. You played the perfect example of a soldier for any xenophobic bastard. 

Ghost, while still feared, received fewer glares than he usually would, occasional ones from daring or bold soldiers holding a lower rank than him, but he appreciated your attempts at making them more comfortable. He’s used to the negative reactions, had been since his childhood, but you seemed to make him feel like he deserved better, like he shouldn’t be glared, spat and scoffed at.

Soap, Rudy and Alejandro looked like human men in peak condition, if only for Soap and Alejandro’s glowing eyes and heightened strength and agility. Rudy was somewhat human, he looked and acted like one, down to the DNA, but with the title of cadejos vessel came powers. Perhaps not as strongly affecting as the rest of the hybrids, but he had subtle changes in his molecular making. 

Gaz had stares coming left and right, daggers sent his way for having wings and talons he couldn’t will them to disappear, to recess under his skin and wear the appearance of a human man. He felt the heaviest blow by both not being able to cover his gifts and the colour of his skin. Although you wanted to proclaim that your new age came with more open-minded people, you knew that it simply couldn’t fix hundreds of years of standards in a few decades. People would still judge others by the tone and colour of your skin, they’d still hate the different and the strange; just like they hated hybrids. So you kept to his side most often after your introductions, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting him embrace you with a protective wing and a grateful smile.

You mostly worked hand in hand with human-filled teams and spear-headed human-led operations. So you were shocked, frozen to your core, when you saw a tiger haetae hybrid beside a tall, veiled operator walking down the cargo ramp. The hybrid, a tiger variant from the black-striped, orange tail that flickered slowly in a warning to any approaching beings. Dark glasses and a mask covered his face, his jacket and vest riding to the edge of his jaw, covering any skin from showing, though his lower back was left uncovered for the comfort of his swaying tail. He was neither short nor tall, he was tall enough to be slightly over the average height, but his teammate dwarfed him.

Perhaps his enormous height was an aspect of his monster half, or maybe he had the perfect genes to hold such a frame. He too, like his haetae operator, hid his face under a veil with maroon tears painted under his eyes. Like Ghost, he was covered head to toe in equipment and clothes, a jacket, a vest, gloves and black paint around his eyes. Whoever this was had both height and mass, burly arms and broad shoulders eclipsed by a slim waist and equally, disastrously thick thighs. On their left arm were flags, one from South Korea and the other from Austria.

They were the only ones to walk out, the only ones to approach you. Then your TF only had two new faces to work with rather than a whole team. You were tempted to say it would be easier, you waited until they stopped for Price - Price only - to greet them since they wouldn’t need a human to negate any aggressiveness between human and hybrid - or so you thought. They moved in synchrony, Price stepping forward to cover you with his body, his back facing you as he crossed his arms. Ghost and Alejandro had moved next to the captain, covering your sides. Alejandro had crossed his arm in a similarly menacing way, and Ghost stood still, body rigid but ready to strike at a moment’s notice; both were glaring ahead. Soap and Rudy took their places behind the colonel and the lieutenant, arms glued on their sides, weapons within reach with menacing stares towards the Korean and the Austrian. Gaz’s wings grazed you, soft feathers wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his chest, acting as a protective cocoon for you. 

“What-?”

They moved so quickly and efficiently that they seemed to suddenly appear in place, back straight and protective. Protective of you. Hybrids, from what you’d heard from couples and families, were possessive of their own, caring and extremely wary of other hybrids they hadn’t formed a bond with. Your TF was your pack, they were all tethered to each other through the familial bond they formed over the years. Then you came in, small and weak with your human self into a den of lions, thrown to be subjugated to their loving mercy and sinfully strong personalities. 

The team of six hybrids encased you, barring the KorTac specialists from seeing you. Monsters and hybrids could sense one another - from what you heard - and they reacted instinctively. You saw their bodies tense as the two approached your team, muscles strained under the compacting anxiety and possessiveness. You could neither see over their shoulders nor feel what was happening, they stopped farther from you than you’d expected and you couldn’t see their feet. 

The only sign you had was your captain’s gravelly voice welcoming them, his tail swaying like a cat’s tail, a slow, cautious motion. It - knowingly or unknowingly, seeing as Price acted on a mix of instincts and worry - wrapped around your ankle, clinging tightly to your boot-clad leg while a rumble rattled his chest. Steam rolled from his lips, billowing over the top of his hat in a show of power and warning. You hoped they wouldn’t take this negatively. They worked hard to curb the harmful rumours of 141 being beasts in human skin, acting like blood-thirsty and ravaging monsters that cared for nothing but themselves. 

Although you couldn’t see them, the Austrian could, his towering height assured that he could see over almost any human, monster and hybrid alike. He was curious about the way they protected one of theirs as if you were weak. He cocked his head, green eyes gleaming red as he stared silently at the small mop of hair between them. What made you so important? What made you such a protected soldier? He couldn’t sense you like he could the others, their scent and magic masking yours in a violent torrent. 

Unlike him, his friend couldn’t be bothered with the show of protection, he’d enrolled for the money and wouldn’t be deterred by much. He was a tiger haetae, honourable to a certain extent and proud. He might be shorter than the hybrids around him, but he was as vicious and talented as the next. He, however, was slightly curious, but he wasn’t paid enough to inquire or worry about the doings of 141’s pack.

It went as well as anyone would expect for the 141 with the added help of two military, hybrid operators from an elite PMC. As the combat medic of the TF, you followed them from behind and moved to the middle when you entered the building. You’d usually be at the back, being a medic, but you were a combat medic, having seen and participated in complete ops dealing with infiltrations and hostage rescue. You were an integral part of every mission. Now that they had a medic on hand, the wounds the men suffered could be treated in place rather than wait for the long ride home with the possibility of letting infection take root in the gash and watching it fester during hours in the carrier. 

They had a habit of getting shot and slashed, a tad bit reckless in their ways but still effective. The stress of risking infection or the impossibility of reaching a medic after a mission was lessened, Price would still be able to live a few more centuries before his hair turned grey with nerves and his face wrinkled with frowns. You were a treasure beyond the fact that you were extremely helpful and insightful on your own. Your hands were steady and your demeanour calm and collected (albeit fidgety when put under too much pressure and fiery when someone looked at them differently.), you were a beauty, someone they needed to nurse and protect. 

“I warned you about standing so close to the explosion!” They watched you berate Soap, cheeks puffed and lips pulled in an adorable pout. You went on a list of things he could’ve done better and safer than the decision he made, hands pulling the bandage around his arm, your bag set beside you. 

“How was I supposed ta know?” The werewolf grumbled, giving you his best version of his “puppy dog eyes'' while he slouched back, trying to sit as comfortably as possible on the hard seats of the aircraft carrier. 

“You’re a demolition expert, you’re supposed to know, Soap.” You hissed, tightening the wrap and smoothing it over so that it would hold. Your hand dipped into your bag, pulling out a few alcohol wipes for his face. With a jerky motion of your hands, you broke the seal and started patting his bleeding cuts from shrapnel and grazes from bullets. He winces with every dab, fidgeting in his seat while you disinfected his wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood before deeming it clean enough to move to the next one. “You also have a habit of setting things on fire.”

Although you mumbled it so quietly, the others heard you clearly, laughter rumbling out of the others while they watched Soap being scolded by the youngest. You never feared reprimanding them for an idiotic act that would result in having you tending to them, it was something they appreciated, the familiarity and comfort you had with them. They weren’t monsters, hybrids or anything with you, they were your family. 

Seeing you so at ease with them had König and Horangi curious, most would cower or segregate themselves from other hybrids. You especially, seeing as you were the only human with them, they thought it’d be normal to see you shrink onto yourself and ignore the world around you while you waited to return home. Yet here you were, berating a werewolf for cuts and bruises that would heal in the following days, his metabolism prevented infection and permanent scarring unless it was too deep or deadly. They’d simply add to his rugged handsomeness.

König wondered if you’d show him the same amount of compassion and ease when you tended to his wounds - if he ended up having any at all. Would your hands be soft like his mother’s when cradling his arm? Would you whisper soft nothings to him while you cleaned his gashes with antiseptics? Would you also scold him for being reckless? He doubted that. Granted, he was extremely reckless and lost himself to the adrenaline pumping through his system when he entered the field, but he always came out unscathed. As a percht hybrid, his extreme enhancements made him practically numb to pain and sensations, with the small exceptions of a few primarily driven emotions or natural reactions to certain stimuli.

Perhaps, if your efforts were thwarted by his immense height, you’d hold and tend to him as softly as you did with the others, running your fingers through his hair and cradling him against your chest. He thirsted for something mundane, something so human-like that he would be reminded that he wasn’t completely a monster. He missed the softness in people’s gazes or the carefree way they spoke to and with him. He missed being reminded that he - too - was a living being with their rights. You could be the start of a regular life - as regular as a mercenary could have.

Even Horangi, who had vehemently stated to König that he could care less about the small, weak human in the operation, gave you the merit of being strong-willed and confident enough to stand beside them. He, the ever prideful and strong hybrid he was, deemed you competent for a human. Your usefulness started with your quick reactions and impeccable skills in your field and stopped when you couldn’t save someone, which had yet to happen. He was intrigued by the workings of your TF, how they managed to score a single human and an amicable one at that, strong and fierce, yet gentle and compassionate. If he’d grown up with someone like you, would he have turned out the way he did? 

He simply watched from his corner beside König, through tinted glasses his eyes followed your movement, memorising everything you did for your brothers. They felt like imposters in your small, seven-men group, seemingly standing awkwardly in their little corner. 141 had shown a bit of aggression towards them in warning words and deadly glares when they assumed you didn’t see them, hissing out threats to ensure your safety among them. Not only were they confused by the dynamic, but they weren’t told anything besides “Back off” and growls. 

After patting Gaz’s knee, giving him an oscar winning smile with gleaming eyes that were received with enthusiasm, you packed your things in your bag and moved to the next patient. You skipped Price, Ghost and Rudy, crouching in front of Alejandro. Rummaging through your bag and handing him a clean wipe for his dust-covered face, the soot clinging to his cheeks. He expected you to sit by your locked rifle after checking them, but you continued walking. You were heading towards them.

He knew König left the ground unscathed, clean of anything but dirt and blood, which meant he was the one you were heading towards. Hand on your pouch and a steady step backed up by a determined expression, you stopped before him. He tilted his head, a silent question. You blinked dumbly, holding out your hand to him, your small fingers backing him to give you something.

“Can I see your hand?”

His hand? He hadn’t thought much of it as he rested it on yours, palm upwards and gloveless. He saw it then, the small cut that bled red, small enough to be neglectable, but long enough to still be bleeding. He hadn’t felt anything from it before or after boarding the aircraft, he must’ve still been riding the adrenaline rush from the fight. He wondered how you knew he hurt himself.

Your fingers curled around his palm, holding it firmly as you lightly dabbed the inflamed skin with a sterilised tissue, being careful of the flared sides of his torn flesh. Under the blood and dirt, his skin was pale and swollen, the area having demanded his body to react to the potential bacteria that would worm its way into his system. You threw the bloody tissue aside and got an antiseptic wipe, being careful to not irritate his wound. Your care was gentle and patient. To a being like him, a hybrid and KorTac op, gentle and patient were foreign words to him. None were gentle to hybrids and none were patient with mercenaries. 

Even as you wrapped the gauze and bandage around his hand, you gave him all your attention, sweetly cradling his hand between yours and nursing his gash with utmost care. It felt alien, the soothingly soft care of a medic. Other medics would’ve stared at him with disgust or hate if he walked near the infirmary, or they were rough and uncaring towards his needs. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, the sudden realisation of his silence in the face of a benevolent angel and the rush of embarrassment that flushed his neck hotly. He stared dumbly at his hand when you left, placed on his thigh with the white bandage staring right at him. The warmth of your hand had sunk into his skin, the feather-light tenderness of your fingers painted in his memory and your smile and determined expression stuck to him. 

Even as he let his mind wander and body thirst for another taste of your gentleness, he could feel the burning stares of the other men. König with his curious and envious gaze, wanting to feel the snippet you offered Horangi, wanting your hands and stare at his giant figure. The 141 with their protective and warning glare, resenting him for taking a few minutes of your attention from them. You’d moved on your own, making your decision to help him with his small wounds as you did with them, he hadn’t forced you or compelled you to treat him.

Perhaps there was more than money and experience that was worth in this joint operation. 

When the success of their first mission reached the prying ears of the General, he’d given them a few more joint ops - paid by the United States pockets, of course. Horangi and König were given temporary rooms in the barracks, in the same corner as the other hybrids and you, but far enough to show that they were excluded from them. Fortunately, they wouldn’t share the room, tigers were protective of one’s territory, and a percht hybrid - as rare as it may be - was documented to be hyper-possessive of their things, especially so for someone like König. 

Horangi didn’t ignore you anymore, wanting to start a conversation when he passed you or staring at you from the other side of the room until you waved at him, letting him know he could approach you. He worked relentlessly to close the gap he had made between you, wanting to attach himself to the one good thing he had. Yet he had to be cautious, any indication of him being a threat to you would make your team act out in unison, pushing him back and covering you like they did the second he descended the ramp. 

Ghost would hover over you, his body moving the darkness around him to seem more menacing. Ghost always glared at him when you turned your back to the Brit, his brown eyes swirling with the promise of death and devastation. Ghost wasn’t a physical hybrid, as Horangi had learned, but he had no qualms about keeping a hand on your hip or over your shoulder, acting as an imposing being that showcased his claim on you so publicly. It filled the Korean with envy and anger, he wanted to touch you as easily as the wraith did, he wanted a claim on you like the Lieutenant did, and he wanted to hold you close. 

If not Ghost, it’d be Rudy or Gaz crowding you. If you were in the rec room, Gaz would usually be there with you. His arm thrown over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while his wings curled around you two, dark brown feathers ruffled to look menacing but comfortable to your touch. With the way he sat, slouching and legs spread across the sofa, he took all the available seats on the cheap, brown couch. When Gaz caught sight of him, he’d purposefully moved to take up more space, showing just how much one of the nicest of the 141 ostracised him. Although when someone from his TF, he’d move aside, giving space to the man to join them. 

If you were walking around the base, Rudy - or Rudolfo as Horangi was forced to call him - would be by your side. Rudy had an arm wrapped around yours, seemingly like a military couple out on a casual walk, or he had his hand on your back, acting as the protective lover. Rudolfo’s smile was always wide and adoring when Horangi saw him walk you, exchanging words and making you laugh. It stung Horangi in an inexplicable way as if someone was knowingly sentencing him to death without any proof of his accountability. Rudy, the second nicest guy, also made glaring passes his way, pulling you closer to his side, directing you away and staring coldly at Horangi.

It rubbed him wrong, all the silent glares and insults at him to push him farther from you, but he was Horangi the Tiger haetae. He made his calculations, he was as smart and as resourceful as he was patient. Give it a few more missions together and they would loosen enough to let him swoop you off your feet. You were his source of comfort, of love and gentleness, he had to protect it. 

Unlike Horangi, König actively sought you out on the base, following the trail of your scent and the soft noises of your voice and heartbeat. He was like a dog on your trail, nose sniffing every bit of air for you and ears strained for any noise you’d make. His senses were stretched thin to find a moment with you. He was as animalistic as a hybrid could get, leaning towards his monster to help him with his ops and trials. 

You piqued König’s curiosity, making him wander the halls like a lumbering monster in a dark veil and glaring, red eyes. He saw how you treated big and dangerous monsters like the dragon hybrid you had as a captain, a respectable man, as soft as you treated the rowdy and rough werewolf and gracefully dangerous nagual. König wanted to feel your softness on him, your small hand grasping the tight muscles of his shoulders and back, kneading the tension away with grounding massages and stretches. You were their doctor, you cared enough to join them in the field, so you’d naturally be willing to mass the pain out of his body, no? 

He wanted moments alone, where he could speak his mind without fear of being interrupted or pushed away for his imposing stature and aura. He wanted to place a hand on your waist, to feel the plush roundness of your stomach and the firm contour of muscle on your thighs. He wanted his voice to carry easily in the void of silence, where his voice could be heard by you from a small whisper. He wanted your eyes to focus on him, solely, as if he was your world. 

He found it rather irritatingly difficult to find such moments. When he followed your scent through the halls and down to the medic's office, he’d find Captain Price crowding the room with his powerful musk of Ashe and fire - of metal and iron. Although Price was much shorter and lesser ranked than König was, he held the power of age and wisdom, an unfathomable strength that lay solely in draconic beings. This eternal power that none could rival apart from Eldritch beings, most cower, whimper and hide from dragons. He wore his power and wisdom on his sleeves, a warning for everyone, him and his KorTac operators included. König might’ve been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool, fighting headfirst with dragon seamed chaos and devastation. So, as any hybrid did, he backed away, an old dragon was dangerous, but a crippled one made it even more perilous.

When König tried to find you in the rec room, you were held in the tight embrace of a possessive wolf. Soap had you straddling his lap, facing him as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. He purred and kissed your skin, making you squirm and giggle, but then Soap’s eyes gazed upwards and grew cold and unruly at König’s appearance. A proud - dare he say, cruel - smirk curled the corners of his lips. That was when he realised what the sergeant was doing. Soap, in the open, was scenting you, rubbing his musk over your neck, where - if you were another sifting hybrid like him and Alejandro - would’ve been your scent gland. It was a blatant show of possession. He nipped at your throat, drinking in your yelp and hiss, your back arching and moving to push him from biting too much. It filled him with rage.

If you weren’t with either dragon or werewolf, you were with Alejandro, the Hispanic scenting you as much as Soap did, but he did it with more finesse and subtlety. He would draw your hair back, the gland on his wrist grazing your neck and ears, imprinting you with him. Alejandro would hold your hand, fingers neatly intertwined with yours, his face laying on your shoulder as he spooned you in his lap. He purred and whispered sweet promises that had you nodding and smiling like a child on Christmas. He oosed of pheromones, filling the area with his scent and in turn, covering you completely in him. König watched with envy as Alejandro read to you, cradled between his thighs and falling asleep, his, Soap and everyone else’s musk laying a possession over you. 

König’s a determined person when he put his mind to it, willing his beaten and bloodied self back to camp, or his sleep-deprived and insomniac-ridden mind to concentrate on the enemy. He was a battering ram, he pushed forward forcefully, however hard he had to, all to reach the end goal. This time, it wouldn’t be the head of his target, or the capture of an asset, this time, it would be you.

They both wondered, with how close your TF was, what was the dynamic. Was it a pack that shared the same lover? Was it a pack that had formed such a close connection to a human that you were deemed an integral part of the pack? Or were you the child they watched over and protected?

The next few missions 141 and the two from KorTac went on were as successful as the first, the cooperation of two ruthless mercenaries and a hybrid, specialist group made these tasks easy, near child’s play for them. Along with the aspect of having a medic on hand, it let them run wild, play along the edge and act more recklessly than they normally would. Having Horangi and König for so long, made them become a standard in the base, seeing them walk among the shorter and weaker humans. That also meant they had seen their fair share of xenophobic soldiers with balls bigger than a dragon’s and an ego the size of an Eldritch creature. 

Every hybrid and monster was used to their hateful glares and sneering venom-dripping words. Ignoring them had become easier after the first year of enrolment. Horangi and König were, however, not used to someone defending them with their most honest heart of gold with earth-shattering words. 

The first time they’d seen you defend your team was right after a mission, haunches, lumbering bodies descending the carrier’s ramp with their bags slung over their shoulders and addled with fatigue after a week of deployment. Young, power-hungry sergeants who’d let their ranks get to their heads had slid before them, head held high and shoulders held wide. Every single one of them knew that the moment the sergeant’s mouth opened, nothing good would come out of it. Perhaps degrading insults or back-handed sneers.

When the first sentence slipped from the man’s tongue, you pushed your way between them, barrelling into the man who’d insulted them. A deep frown was etched into your lips, brows creased so darkly into you that it cast a dark shroud of anger over your face. If König hadn’t known that you were a human, he would’ve thought that you were a being of darkness. 

“You dim-witted bastards-!” Was the first word you let out, your usually soft-spoken self with gentle hands spewed acid at them, threatening to burn their skin. 

Dim-witted, indeed. Old, conservative assholes who thought they were better than the rest with their pro-human propaganda and xenophobic acts against hybrids. Horangi had expected you to continue your scolding, wringing the sergeant dry with your words, not your hands. You used your hands, fingers curled inward, thumb over the curves of your bones and decked the man. It shocked them both, you were smaller, shorter, human and seemed weaker than the men, yet here you were, sending him toppling on the floor, his friend gaping and pouncing on you. Only to be met with your foot to his crotch. 

“You bet your ass you won’t get any medical attention after this,” you hissed.

Although your words sounded improbable since you weren’t the only medic on base, you had built a connection through the system, every medic knew you and heeded your words. If one didn’t want a man healed, you and the rest wouldn’t help him. If you wanted a man to suffer, the rest would watch on with you. Medics were themselves, a tight-knit couple that helped one another. So your words were more than a threat, it was a promise. 

“Until I see your sorry asses on your deathbed or grovelling, none of us will lift a finger for you. Bleed and beg all you want, but you aren’t getting help.”

You acted with an iron hand, sending the rest to the ground, moaning and groaning, cradling whatever part of their body you’d hit. They wondered why Ghost hadn’t moved, and neither did Gaz or Rudy, the most protective ones. When König glanced down at Ghost, he saw pride in his eyes, dark curled on sadistic pleasure swirling in his brown eyes. When Horangi gazed at Gaz and Rudy, he saw simple amusement, their mouths threatening to curl in a smirk.

All of them had known you’d act this way, erratic and violent rather than calmly scold them and stomp over their ego. You were strong-headed and blunt to them, making them bow to you, like lesser men to a lady, a queen, a goddess. 

Horangi had experienced his own protection from you. After the men had loosened enough to trust him and König, he could walk beside you and hold a simple banter, albeit awkward at the start. You were much more violent this time, reaching for the downed man while hissing and screeching after you sent him to the floor with well-aimed kicks. You were like a gremlin, small and lively. He understood your anger, they’d called him racist things, calling out his Asian roots and hybrid characteristics. 

Horangi had to hold you from going off on him following your promise of neglecting his medical needs. It worked, though. The first group had searched to plead, to apologise and beg for medical attention. You’d sent them away with a small note lifting the ban for medical help. You were as ruthless with people as they were to enemies. 

Any other encounters with hot-headed men and women that glanced at them weirdly were met with a varying amount of anger and disgust from you. Horangi understood why 141 held you so carefully, so tightly in their hold. Why they worshipped you like a priest would do with his goddess. It was a sense of camaraderie that had evolved into love, affection dripping from their pores. 

König received a bit more attention for his size, the threatening nature of his ouster coupled with his brute figure, made him a subject of fear and rejection. That hadn’t stopped you from wanting to approach him, had it? Going as far as calling him cute when he stuttered while broaching the subject of him liking certain things. For a burly man with the height of a giant, he was nice to sit next to, his quiet but anxious stature when he wasn’t deployed made it easy to talk to. He might sometimes let his instincts drive him, but they were all well-meaning, wanting nothing but goodness for you. 

His turn came in quick succession, he was shunned and ridiculed left and right. It never helped that he would shy from others, preferring his little corner that made the room look stranger and claustrophobic (not that he let them walk all over him, he growled and glared, standing tall with the promise of lashing out or eating them. Even when humans feared König, they still attempted to rile his anger.). But with you, he wasn’t by his lonesome, he had someone to rattle on about the things he liked to do, or the things he wanted to do. His shoulders were relaxed and mind calm, free to speak his mind about the goriest and the sweetest dreams he had, his speech unperturbed by his anxiety. 

Unlike the others, König stood before you as an impenetrable wall of muscle and fat when you raised your hand at an insignificant pig. Why would he let someone so disgusting touch you (even though it was to hit and kick the man, he would do it for you instead)? He guarded you as if they were insulting you rather than him - though it was the reverse - and glared down at anyone with dreadfully scary eyes. Like the devil that had risen, he sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs. Although he was the one that had gotten rid of them, he was always so proud of you, holding you close to him and gushing about your brave and inspiring actions. 

He saw how the men in 141 looked at you, he wanted to be a part of it, to be able to freely nuzzle your face and hold you like Soap would, to cradle you in his arms and carry you around the base. König wanted a piece of your heart, to be able to show the world he held it in his hands, caring for it between his big, calloused fingers and soft affection. He might be dangerous, he might be deadly, he might be reckless, but if you let him, you would be his world like you were to the others (Horangi would agree, they spoke about it on their own.).

Next

[thowawayuntilfurthernotice]

I think what makes Anxiety such a phenomenal character is the fact that despite being the film's antagonist, she's not evil. She does truly care for Riley and is genuinely trying to help Riley become the best version of herself.

What I like about this sequence in particular is that Anxiety and Joy both end up realizing that they were in the wrong, but neither of them ends up coming off as unsympathetic.

Now sure, some folks will probably write the sequel off as a rehash of the first film, but it really isn't.

Joy's issue isn't that she doesn't get along with the other emotions, it's that she's trying to mold Riley into becoming her idealized version of a what a "perfect Riley" should be. She discards all of Riley's bad memories without realizing that good and bad memories are what make a person who they are.

The same is true for Anxiety, her plans for Riley backfire because she ends up pushing Riley way too hard, to the point that she accidentally causes her to have an Anxiety attack.

Just goes to show you that you can make a character an antagonist without having them be the villain of the story.

[tanadrin]

i'm not totally unsympathetic to climate doomerism--it is genuinely a huge problem that is very anxiety inducing--but i think there is more cause for optimism now than there was ten or even five years ago.

[yourchemicallyimbalancedromance]

Burned Bridges

Summary: Virgil runs into a wasted Janus at a party that his best friend, Roman, is throwing on Halloween night. A locked door forces them to confront their heavy past.

Ships: past analogical, present prinxiety

CW/TW: Alcohol, smoking, homophobia and bullying, Human!Virgil, Human!Remus (mentioned), Human!Roman, Human!Remy (mentioned), Human!Janus, Human!Logan (mentioned), unsympathetic Virgil, unsympathetic Janus, sympathetic Roman

It was October 31st and instead of binge watching horror movies by himself in the dark of his room, Virgil found himself standing in the corner of his childhood bestfriends house, early 2000’s pop music blasting in the background. He hadn’t dressed up and hundreds of people were bobbing up and down in a sea of red plastic cups, costumes, and glow stick bracelets, screaming the lyrics that came out of the speakers Roman had bought. He’d forced Virgil to go with him to buy them after begging him to come to the party because, in his words, “you never get out of the house, it’ll be fun! Especially if you meet a cute guy”

Virgil laughed after he said this, only responded with “yeah, whatever you say, Roman.”

Tequila suffocated anything that represented a pleasant smell out of the room. He was holding a drink himself, taking sips of it occasionally; not because it tasted good—at all—but because he had a hunch he wouldn’t want to remember the events of tonight.

His throat burned. He knew he wasn’t supposed to sip Tequila, normally he chugged it, but he liked the distraction of the pain and the warmth that filled him after every taste.

He desperately looked around for a familiar face. Last he saw Roman was when the party had started four hours earlier. It was now 2 AM and he had done nothing but drink, take shots with Remus and a few of his friends, be forced to dance by Remy, and stand in the corner waiting for it all to be over.

He chugged the rest of his drink and stood there for a moment, sinking in the environment around him, ultimately deciding to hide in the bathroom until the party was over. He took a few shaky steps into the crowd of people, shoving past drunks and the occasional stoner. He never really understood why Roman hung out with these kind of people, he honestly doubted that he knew most of the people in his house anyway.

He found his way to the bathroom and shoved it open, quickly closing and locking it, sitting on the cold tile floor.

In his rush, he hadn’t noticed Janus, wearing a Harry Potter costume, who was also sitting on the floor.

“Fuck, Sorry I didn’t know you were—“

Janus cuts him off “Vrrrrrrgggllll” he laughs, the name on his tongue slurring together.

“Look I didn’t know you were in here, I’ll just leave.” He states bluntly, getting up to open the door, wishing he still had his drink, he really didn’t want to remember this. He tried to force down his unresolved anger but it came out sharp in his voice.

“Vir-gil,” Janus hiccups “can I tell youuuu a secret?”

Virgil tries to unlock the door but it’s jammed, no matter how hard he pulls or twists the knob, it won’t budge. He sinks back down to the floor, annoyed. “Whatever Janus, sure” he says

“I think you’re still angry at me” he blurts out, giggling a bit, eyes drooping.

“Yeah, I am. You fucked me over, really bad. Who wouldn’t be.” he spits. He had his knees to his chest, his back to the door, trying to stay as far away from Janus as he could.

Janus struggled to stand up, grabbing onto the shower curtain and slipping, falling back down, pulling the curtain and rod down with him. Janus just giggled. “Oops.” was all he said.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Fucking hell, Janus. Can you stop being a nuisance for two minutes?” He screams.

Janus looks at him for a moment before registering what he said, mumbling a “sorry”

With anyone else, Virgil would’ve felt sorry for yelling, but Janus was the exception. He deserved it, worse than that even.

“You ruined the one good thing I had and you expect me to feel fucking sorry for you?” He snaps.

“I-“ Janus hiccups “I didn’t mean to” the light and carelessness in his eyes from earlier, gone. Now replaced with only a hint of it behind dull pupils.

“Yeah?, well you did. You think ganging up on me and Logan didn’t fucking ruin our relationship? You think the constant harassment inside and outside of Uni wasn’t fucking enough for me to have atleast a little bit of anger towards you?” he was practically screeching but he didn’t care, the music would cover it anyway.

Janus was staring at him, almost emotionless apart from the look in his eyes, which were starting to water.

Virgil got up to try the door again when Roman suddenly opened it, looking from Virgil to Janus and then Virgil again. He gave him a “what the actual hell is going on????” look and Virgil just shook his head, shoved past Roman and into the crowd.

Roman stared at Janus for a minute, taking notice of the curtain and curtain rod astray on the floor. He didn’t say anything, just closed the door and ran after Virgil.

———————————————————————

After a few minutes of searching inside, he found Virgil in his front yard, sitting on the stairs, smoking a cigarette.

He sat down next to him and a thick silence hung between them. Virgil blew out smoke into the cold air before clearing his throat. “He was acting like we were best friends again, can you believe it?” He laughed in exasperation.

Roman could believe it, Janus had always been an asshole in College and even before that, that was kinda his thing, which was why he was surprised when Virgil had suddenly decided to become friends with him one day.

“He’s so funny dude, like literally one of the best people I’ve ever met” he had said

Roman had just smiled and laughed in return, knowing how awful he was to his other friends.

Roman didn’t say anything this time either, just shook his head.

“I hate him so much, Ro. He’s awful. He ruined everything. Logan hasn’t spoken to me in almost a year because of the shit he pulled before we graduated.”

Roman sighed, “I know, Virg…but he’s not necessarily known for being a good person, I thought you knew that” he says softly.

Virgil took a drag of his cigarette and breathed out, “obviously not.” He said a little annoyed.

Immediately he regretted it. “Sorry” he said, tapping his cigarette and letting the ashes fall.

Roman gave him a reassuring smile, “it’s okay”

Virgil put his cigarette on the concrete step they were sat on, getting rid of its light and throwing the butt into the grass. He put his head in his hands. “Life’s rough, man. I don’t even miss him anymore I’m just upset because he made me really, really happy. Sometimes…I feel like it’s my fault? for introducing him to Janus.”

“It’s not your fault at all. It’s his. Honestly? I don’t even know why he’s here. I didn’t invite him, someone else probably did.“ Roman says the last part sheepishly, a little ashamed that he let Janus in his house with his best friend that he hurt irreversibly.

Virgil turns to Roman, staring at him longingly in the eyes. They were beautiful. Hazel with green specks around the edges. Maybe it was the tequila, or his exhaustion, or his desperation to feel loved by someone, but he slowly moved a hand to Romans face.

“Can I?” He whispered

Roman looked at him for a moment, weighing his options. He did like Virgil, but what if he was doing this in a drunken haze? What if he was just using him to get over Logan? He didn’t believe he was truly over their relationship just yet.

Despite these fears, Roman shook his head and their lips locked. He let himself melt into it, let himself enjoy the moment. He tasted of alcohol, honey lavender tea, and Marlboro Reds.

After a moment, Virgil pulled away; A look of blissful happiness on his face.

Roman was still holding onto the moment, staring through Virgil.

He looked at him, worried. “oh god I’m so sorry did you not want—“

Roman interrupted him, “No! no I did..I really, really did.” He smiled, genuinely.

Virgil returned it, “That’s good.”

Roman paused for a second “so…does this mean we’re dating?..” he asked “cause you’re drunk and I just don’t want-“

Virgil took Romans hands in his. “I’m just a little tipsy, Honey, but I know what I want, and what I want is this.” he says gently.

“Okay.” Roman responds, hopeful.

“I’m gonna head home, alright? Text me, I’ll respond as soon as I can” Virgil says

“I will, love” he says. The nickname feels odd leaving his lips, especially being used on someone who’s been his friend for 22 years, but he says it anyway.

Virgil gets in his car and pauses.

Romans phone dings after a minute or two and he takes it out of his pocket, reading the message before watching Virgil’s car leave his driveway.

Virgil<3: “I promise I want this, and I want you. Some tequila and a little heartbreak doesn’t change that. 💜”

Roman smiles, puts his phone back in his pocket, and goes back inside.

[hobvitr]

hi love, how are you? could you do an earth 42 miles morales x reader in enemies to lovers style? i really want to read this <3 thank you

miles morales 42 x reader

fem!reader

genre/warnings: enemies to lovers (kinda), angst, hurt, mentions of being assaulted, fluff, comfort, kissing, miles 42 may be out of character idk, unrevised writing

note: heyy darling!! thank you for this request! i tried my best to make it make sense and i hope it does! just finished it almost passing out from sleep :p recommended song: don't - bryson tiller

sinopses: your neighbor isn't the most friendly to you and you are intrigued by it, until he help you with a bad situation

you were making your way up the stairs of your apartment, humming the song that echoed throughout your earphones. too distracted looking the at the steps, you bump into someone going the opposite direction.

"oh, sorry-" you quickly apologize looking up to see who was it, and to your surprise, it was your neighbor, miles morales. he just stared at you, not bothering to answer or apologize too, and continued to made his way down stairs.

'damn, what a prick...' you thought to yourself, furrowing your eyebrows as you reached your door, carefully unlocking it with your keys. as you entered your cozy home, you throw your shoes at the entrance and made your way to the kitchen.

you started to rewind a little bit your encounters with morales while you gathered ingredients to cook some dinner, noticing that he never directed One word towards you, you didn't even know what his voice sounded like, just muffled when he was chatting briefly with his uncle and it happened that you heard. some neighbors are a pain in the ass but you didn't understand why he was so avoidant around you. although he was pretty unsympathetic he looked like a good person, because his mother, rio, was an angel.

as you were looking throughout the shelves for salt, you realized you needed to go to the grocery store to get some. you sighed with exhaustion, putting your shoes again and picking just your wallet to go down the street. it was already dark now, your classes ended a bit later than expected so you weren't used to go out alone at this time of the night.

as you walked down the street, you didn't realize you were being followed by some tall and pretty much bigger guy than you. anxiety started to burn into your veins as you picked up your pace, but his pace got quicker too. taking a deep breath you just kept going, not so far to the store, but you felt a strong hand hold your arm, making you flinch.

"where do you think you're going, lady?" the buff guy asked, his hold getting tighter around your arm and you started to tear up with fear. "where do you think she's going?" a low voice comes near you, catching your attention. morales?

"fuck off. now, kid." the guy said, reaching to the inside of his coat, but miles was faster, throwing a punch on his face, making the buff guy look like a little bitch now curled on the ground. your eyes widened as you looked at him, then at morales.

"s-sorry" you stutter at miles, not sure what to say. "shouldn't be apologizing" he replies. "y'kay?" he asks, making eye contact with you, scolding you towards the grocery store, not wanting the man to be near you.

"i think so... yeah.." you breathe out, still shaky from the shock it all was. he accompanies you in the store while you get your salt and some candy, and you almost forgot to thank him for probably saving your life. "thank you... so much, actually."

he nod with a slight smile you almost didn't see. your mind race with the thought of asking him why he didn't like you but still punch some guy for your safety. "i'm sorry for asking, but is there a reason why you never talk to me? did i do something wrong? 'cause i really don't know and i would like to improve if i'm being a pain in the ass" your voice filled with a kind of despair.

he stayed silent for a moment, making you feel embarrassed, but he finally answered. "you're fine, i just don't tend to talk to anyone" he didn't seem convincing, but you got along with it anyway.

there wasn't much mystery, really. he had difficult to get to know new people, you just didn't knew about that. you assumed he was popular between the neighborhood and school, but it was a wrong assumption and you still didn't know about it.

"oh, okay" you replied, slightly relieved you were clear. "well, I'm y/n l/n" you extended your arm for a handshake. "I'm no more anyone" you said smiling to him as he shake your hand. "I'm miles morales" he replied with a small grin.

you kept your optimism now that he helped and talked to you. everyday after that day you said the most sympathetic 'hey' at him, and day after day he was opening his shell to you, replying and catching up to know how you and your family are.

you started to feel weird, getting excited to see and talk to him when you two could. nothing wrong to be happy to see a friend, right? right, but wrong assumption. he wasn't just your friend, he was your crush too. when he appeared with braids you could swear you were passing out at the sight. that was the confirmation to your questions about why you felt weird about miles.

your phone vibrate, indicating a new message. you read 'miles 🐈' on the screen, making you pick up to see what was it.

'can u come to the rooftop?'

'sure'

you replied, putting on a coat that he lent to you and a pair of snickers. you made your way through upstairs and made to the rooftop. you saw him sitting on the edge of the roof.

"what's up, morales?" you got closer to him at his right side, supporting your elbows where he was sitting. you were a bit afraid of doing the same as him.

"hey" he replied, looking at you. for whatever reason you were nervous about meeting him, and you did it almost daily. "why'd you called me here?" you asked nonchalantly, faking tranquility.

"i just wanted to see you" his words came out like honey, your heart melting as you heard it, but you can't show your weakness as you don't know how he feels about you. "that's cute" you tease him, a grin escaping from your lips and he bumps you with his elbow. "shut up" you know he was smiling as he said.

"i was thinkin' earlier... that I'm not being honest with you" he started, making you cut eye contact with him. you knew something was up and now you are sure everything was being dumped in trash at real time. you stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt his vent.

"i don't tell you everything, i even lie to you" his tone was low, but you could still hear him, and that was the problem. you didn't want to hear anything more and go home to process everything and cry your eyes out locked in your room. "i don't think we can be friends anymore" he stated, your heart swell completely, tears threatening to fall but you were strong to hold back. "i want to make you happy, i want to love you property" he confessed.

your mind was racing now, trying to understand what he meant exactly, you didn't want to be delusional and state you liked him back, what if he was talking about something else.

"i know you're overthinking right now, there's no need" he chuckled briefly, looking at your poor confused expression. "i like you. more than as a friend" he said clearly, not one misinterpretation was possible to happen now.

you finally looked back at him, teary eyed while you chuckled at your situation and the theatre he made just to confess to you. "fuck, you don't confess to someone like this, miles, you almost killed me" your hand was covering your face, letting some tears roll down your cheeks. "i like you too" you confessed, voice mumbled, as you were still shy to admit it.

he was smiling beautifully, both of you with shining eyes. miles got back to the floor, now standing at your side. "sorry about almost killing you" one of his hands traveled to your cheek, his thumb caressing slightly your soft skin. "can i redeem myself?" he ask with a grin and you reply with one as well. "don't get me waiting" he almost cutted you mid sentence crashing his lips onto yours.

even with the excitement of both of you, the kiss maintained a slow and soft pace, making you smile at the moment. miles placed his other hand at your waist, backing up for air. "we have to catch up all that time we didn't kissed each other" he say, getting a chuckle out of you. "we'll manage it" you winked placing your arms around his neck.

[ts-crit]

All the sanders sides fans who were around at like the HEIGHT of the fandom I’m talking like sweating while waiting for part 2 of Accepting Anxiety to drop I need you help me out

I need every single fandom controversy that you can think of documented here on this post or sent to me in my asks or dms I’m trying to reminisce the old sanders sides drama to my friends 💀

I know for a fact I don’t have all of it but I distinctly remember:

- The unsympathetic!Patton drama

- That one long post with all bunch of the popular fanders about how “if you think we’re a perfect fandom then you are very misguided”

- I feel like there was SOME kinning drama that was swept under the rug

But yeah please add or shoot me an ask or something just like any like wild posts/blogs/whatever you remember

[ceilidho]

with tarzan’s dad!price… is he maybe a little scared you’ll run off alone and get yourself hurt? does he maybe keep the baby tucked only in his arms, only lets you hold her when you let him hold you? he doesn’t like seeing you so sad without her, sweetheart, but he can’t risk you doing something silly just cause you aren’t used to having a man yet. keeps the both of you real close until he knows you won’t do something stupid like try to take his family from him :(

ok full body shivered at this

it's not that he doesn't trust you because he knows you carried the baby for months and took care of her and look at her. she's perfect. big dark eyes, little tiny nose, perfect fingers and toes - you did such a good job, but it's a different world in the jungle :( he can survive worlds like this, he's spent his whole life learning and training to be thrust into the elements and survive at a moment's notice.

so he really only trusts himself to hold her. there are snakes and jaguars and caimans and so many other things that could catch you off guard. it's just better if he holds her.

and he's not unsympathetic to the fact that he's a strange man towering over you. he knows you're scared, and you have a right to be. if it were anyone else but him, he'd want you to be scared and trying to run away, but it's him. you're safe. and until you realize that, it's better if he does the thinking and planning, and you just stay close to him with the baby.

he'll keep you safe even if he has to sleep with you at night, folded around you with a big arm braced across your chest, holding you tight. the baby in your arms or in a makeshift bassinet that he checks up on several times throughout the night to make sure nothing's gotten in your shelter.

(the sporadic sleep and anxiety are starting to wear on him, but it's fine. it's fine. he has his two girls. it's fine. he has his baby. his baby. he can remember when she was just born, the first time she took a breath. his baby. he remembers when you first got pregnant. he thinks. sometimes it hurts to remember that far back. you always give him a strange look when he brings it up, so he doesn't bring it up anymore. you probably just don't like being reminded of life before the crash. his wife and baby.)

[darkpetal16]

Oh so gracious Petal, won’t you please feed us some Swap W.D. head canons? 🙏

Open wide, here comes the HCs!

He’s callous and generally unsympathetic. His past experience has left him cynical, pessimistic, and deeply mistrustful. Humans and monsters can and will lie / cheat / manipulate and go to any dirty lengths for their desires. He refuses to accept what they say or do at face value.

The only thing he trusts is their SOUL. The body can lie, but a SOUL? It only knows honesty.

And he knows every way to make it talk.

He enjoys studying biology, anatomy, SOULs, and chemistry. While he might peruse other subjects, those four are his main love. When he is in his lab conducting experiments or pondering a new thesis, he is truly in his element.

Loves his brothers to an arguably unhealthy extent. Their trauma left a deep scar on him and he developed an unhealthy codependent relationship with them. The three can’t be separated for long, so you can expect a package deal for the first few years you’re together.

This dependency also leads to bouts of anxiety and paranoia for their wellbeing. This will extend to you very shortly.

And this will, inevitably, lead to him spying on you as he does his brothers. GPS / trackers / creating obedient dolls using stitched up SOULS to guard you he’s just kidding don’t be mad unless maybe you’re open to the idea— / Asking Undyne to hack into nearby security camera / etc

He won’t forbid or restrict your movement. He just craves the instant reassurance that you’re okay. This will be a bigger issue early on in the relationship, and while he adjusts to being on the surface with so many humans. It’ll ease over time.

Speaking of humans. . . It will take him time to get used to being around them. All of his previous encounters with them ended in violence or death. He’s not sure he could ever trust another besides you, but he’ll. . . Try. In time.

The only form of human content he’ll readily consume is their entertainment and food.

Enjoys watching dramas. The more ridiculous or outlandish the premise / twists, the better. The few times he takes a day off—and not to go on a date with you—he’ll sit on the couch and marathon soap operas. He’ll get into it, too. Expect thrown popcorn and tissues to litter the living room while he watches (don’t worry he will clean up once done!).

Big fan of spicy foods. The spicier the better. If it’s turning his face blue and orange, he’s a happy camper.

Like Stretch collected honey, Thread collects spicy chocolates. He can be bribed for a new kind of spicy chocolate he hasn’t had before.

And if you make him spicy chocolate? He’ll swoon.

Dates with him are meticulously planned out. He’ll have reservations, schedules, and back ups made if anything falls through. This makes them grander, but it also means it takes a while before the next date is ready.

You can expect literal fireworks as part of your dinner show. He’ll get a boating license to take you out for private midnight swims. He’ll work for days to craft an indoor garden complete with a zen waterfall in your basement.

Does not like spontaneity. Especially if it involves going to public, unsecured areas.

Does not get jealous, per se, but does get anxious about your wellbeing. His discomfort with anyone close to you stems from fear they’ll hurt you, rather than him thinking you’ll cheat on him.

That being said, he does feel that it’s disrespectful to knowingly court someone in a relationship. He expects you to express that boundary and if you need help keeping it—like someone ignores your rejection—he will readily step in.

He knows he’s a lot to deal with at first, but please be patient with him. If you stick with him through the rocky start, he’ll stand with you through anything.

PLAY HIS ROUTE IN IF - UNDERSWAP HERE

MASTERLIST

[halfhissandwich]

What your favorite Sanders Sides episode says about you because I’m binging the series rn and I wanna do this. All of this is a joke, I’m just being silly

My True Identity: Wow look at the fun little identity crisis series! Would be a shame if this goes downhill, right? Yeah, that’s what denial of the inevitable sounds like.

Way Too Adult: I’m willing to bet you’re a fan of the Unsympathetic Patton stuff. Just the vibe I get.

Taking on Anxiety!: I’m so sorry for the atrocities that have occurred in this fandom regarding Virgil. All you wanted was a sassy little emo boy and the fandom made him the embodiment of uwu, I’M SO SORRY-

A New Year of Lying to Myself… In Song!: You just like the song. I feel you, I like the song too.

The Dark Side of Disney!: We meet again, prinxiety shippers. :)

I’m in a Disney show!: Your favorite character is C!Thomas.

The Mind vs. The Heart: I won’t say you’re a logicality shipper… but if they got married, you definitely wouldn’t complain.

Dad’s Big Game Day Tips: … Daddy issues. I’m sorry, it needed to be said.

Alone on Valentines Day: I don’t have a joke here, but I’ll just say that my first thought was “aromantic”, so take that as you will.

Losing My Motivation: Oh my gosh. We get it. Logan is wonderful. That’s the 5th PowerPoint you’ve made today. Please just let me go home.

Q&A: You want an updated one. Me too, buddy, me too.

Am I Original: Going back and rewatching this video after POF makes you cry every single time.

My Negative Thinking: Hey analogical shippers, how are you doing? Still starving? … anyway let’s do some more logicality and prinxiety, shall we? :)

Growing Up: You’re everything that the people who’s favorite episode is “Losing My Motivation” are, but for Patton, and you don’t understand why the fandom thinks he’s kind of problematic.

Making Some Changes: *obnoxious chanting* LAMP LAMP LAMP LAMP LAMP LAMP LAMP LAMP LAM-

Becoming A Cartoon: … I won’t say anything. I won’t crush your dreams. I’ll just observe, smile, nod and just move on.

Accepting Anxiety: I don’t blame you, a lot of work was put into that episode. By the way you know you can ship prinxiety platonically, right? You can like it platonically without liking it romantically, I-I hope you know that-

Fitting In: You’re actively choosing to ignore drama online and I’m impressed with that, also you are aware that it’s messed up to bash Thomas for making a Harry Potter video 6 years ago, IT WAS SIX YEARS AGO AND HE LIKED HARRY POTTER, DON’T YOU DARE CANCEL THOMAS FOR THAT-

Moving On: Sorry, I’d write a joke for this one but I’m too busy crying-

12 Days Of Christmas: holy wow- no thoughts, head empty. You saw the colorful and festive little Christmas special and you actually said “:D” out loud.

Can Lying be Good: THEATER KIDS, ASSEMBLE!

Why do we get out of bed in the morning?: You probably said one thing in support of logince at one point in your entire life and you got chased with pitchforks by the prinxiety shippers and then Roman started bullying Logan, I am so sorry for this fandom’s sins :(

Crofters the musical: You’re basically Roman in this episode. “But look at him now! (Cue Logan chugging jam like a fucking madman) He’s just so COOL!”

Learning New Things About Ourselves: Your motto is “angst doesn’t exist if I can’t see it.”

Embarrassing Phases: I… completely forgot this episode existed. This is your favorite? I’m not judging your taste or anything, but what’s with your taste?

Selfishness v. Selflessness: Your favorite design? Janus. Your favorite personality? Janus. Your favorite ship? A Janus ship. Your favorite side? … Logan.

Dealing with Intrusive Thoughts: Remus’ abandonment issues aren’t canon. But if I say that too loud, then you people might stab me, so nevermind.

Are There Healthy Distractions: Apparently this episode’s plot of Thomas forgiving his previously homophobic friend is an analogy for Thomas forgiving Virgil for having been a dark side. That’s the connection! I missed it too! I thought it was a silly Frozen episode too! IT’S ABOUT VIRGIL!

Putting Others First: … guys, you can stop fighting the moceit vs roceit war, neither of them will ever be canon. ALSO HOLY WOW PATTON IS A FROG AND HE’S RIPPED FOR SOME REASON, WHAT THE FU-

Flirting With Social Anxiety: Your number one headcanon for the season 2 finale is a direct Frozen quote where Patton is like “Thomas you can’t marry a man you just met” and Roman is like “you can if it’s true love! >:0” (also hi again prinxiety shippers!)

Working Through Intrusive Thoughts: You have anger issues and you relate to Logan. Or you’re just happy to see the silly, goofy, demented Duke with fandom-inflicted abandonment issues!