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xzaddyzanakinx · 2 months

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Not That Kind of Guy

Part Three: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship, menstruation, sexual content, pervy behavior, male masturbation, murder, serious illness, needles [eventual warning for smut; be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin loves you SO much that he’s disgusting about it. He’s extra delusional. Anakin doesn’t love drama HE IS the drama. He's still a massive Perv [diary entries from Ani] MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: June 27th

I came to the diner tonight, I love to see you wait tables. You’re so kind and sweet, even to the assholes and shitheads that don’t deserve to breathe your air. Your beautiful smile, those pretty eyes and how you bat those long lashes, that bell-like giggle you pull for those nasty old men’s jokes.

I know it’s not real, but it’s fun to watch you pretend baby. And just as fun to listen to your annoyed retelling of your night when you get home. Gods I could just listen to you talk for hours. Watching your face change as you speak, the acute movements of your eyebrows and lips that tell me how you really feel.

You’re just like me, more than you know.

I ordered some coffee, sat at the bar one of those red spin-y stools, and listened to your sweet lilt tell lie after lie to your customers.

You’re a busy, busy girl aren’t you princess?

Sorry for the messy writing, it was difficult not to laugh as I wrote these little white lies of yours.

1. Saving up money for a car: true, but doesn’t get you good tips

2. This is your second job and life on your own is just real hard: I’m amazed that this one works as well as it does, really pulling on those old lady heartstrings huh?

3. ‘Sorry guys, I’m just- having a hard day. You understand right?’ *sniffle* the only thing those guys understand is the masculine urge to stop a girl from crying and if shoving a few extra bills under their dirty plate makes your day ‘better’, they’re gonna do it.

I don’t know how you continue to use that one on those poor fools, it’s always the same few guys too. They really think you’re something special huh?

You are of course, very special. But they don’t know you like I do. They don’t know that you’re full of shit. I know for a fact you had a really good day. I was there.

You cheeky little minx.

4. Your mom is out of work and you’re helping her out: your mom is out of work, but you’re definitely not helping her out. She wouldn’t take your money if you offered it. (You wouldn’t offer it over your dead body.)

Can’t blame you for this little lie though, your mom really is a piece of shit. Exploit that bitch all you want, she deserves it. I’ve seen those nasty posts she made about your friend. All that because he’s gay?

Oh no! It’s contagious! It’s the vaccines! Gluten!

Come on lady, it’s 2023.

5. you’re getting married! I fucking wish. But, not yet princess, you won’t need to worry about anything when it’s time for that. Thats what I’m here for, I’ll make sure you get everything you want.

6. ‘It’s on the house honey.’ I was so jealous hearing this one for the first time. You’re just absolutely rotten aren’t you? Refills are free.

You’re perfect for me and you don’t even know it.

Diary Entry: June 28th

Angelic. Cherubic. God-kin.

A biblical beauty if I’ve ever seen one.

The way your hair creates a halo around your face. Tendrils gracing the soft contours of your cheeks, the twitch of your nose when you shift just alittle too much and a strand tickles it. The subtle pull or purse of your lips that tells me you’re deep in the land of dreaming.

Sleep is one of the most basic human needs. It’s not meant to be as glorified as you make it, but somehow you do.

It’s intimate. They way your breathing slows and your body melts into the soft hands of sleep. It’s an event that I’ve been graciously given the opportunity to witness.

It was so, so, so worth waiting for.

SleepyTime Tea, a cute name and of course perfect for my purposes. You drank a cup almost every night. It’d been on my mind for a while and I figured… it couldn’t hurt to open it up and help you get an even better sleep.

Now that I’ve had the privilege of seeing an angel at rest… well I don’t think I could ever witness anything more breathtaking.

Except for maybe your sweet little pussy.

I checked and double checked the measurements on those sleeping pills I promise. I would never ever hurt you sweetheart. I was so anxious, trying to make sure I got the mixture perfect.

It worked like a dream. Didn’t it?

Damn right it did. Worked well enough that I was able to tuck your hair behind your ear and kiss your forehead before I left.

I also did you a little favor or two as well while I was there. It wasn’t a completely selfish visit.

I replaced an old beat up scrunchie, it was past time for you to retire it in my opinion. Now it’s serving a better purpose: squeezing the base of my cock while I fuck my fist to the sounds of your desperate moans, both of us needy for a never quite satisfying finish. If only I had the courage to open that door.

You need a man sweetheart. You need me. Those toys of yours just don’t hit the spot for you do they? Hurts my heart that it takes you so long… and I know it’s not on purpose. I can tell the difference.

Nothin’ can mimic that sinful feel of flesh on flesh.

I took out your bathroom trash, I know you hate doing that. And maybe I accidentally knocked your toothbrush off the sink.

Sue me.

But I promptly rectified the issue, I just so happened to notice you were out of brush-head refills a few days ago and came prepared. You’re welcome baby.

I also purchased the same brand of brush that you have.

Reduce, reuse, recycle.

Date:

June 29th

You woke up, rolling out of bed at 9:30. An absolutely ridiculous time to be awake on what was meant to be a lazy stay at home day. But alas, you are a good friend, and good friends go through with their plans.

Even if you made those plans a month ago and completely forgot them.

Your cat laced it’s way through your legs while you stood on unsteady feet. You’ve really gotta stop with the caffeine, it’s definitely not normal for someone as young as you to wake up with the shakes. But you’re a creature of habit and an absurd amount of sugar and caffeine were included in those habits.

Staying true to those habits you made your way to the bathroom across the hall, absentmindedly grasping at air for a few seconds before realizing your toothbrush wasn’t where you always left it. With a frustrated groan you looked around and saw that someone… or rather something had knocked it into the floor.

“Boogie!” You turned around and made your way to the living room, interrupting her morning routine by scooping her up and forcing her to face the music.

“How dare you.” You whispered, trying to pull out a stern voice. “I don’t have any new tooth brush heads. What am I supposed to do you little shit?”

You bent down, picked it up and popped the replaceable head off, tossing it into the… empty trash can? When did you take out the trash?

Whatever. Focus. “You better hope I have a spare regular one.” You shot a nasty glare at your cat who sat unbothered on the bathroom counter.

You searched through the cabinet below the sink and through all the drawers and found none. Not even that travel one from last year’s vacation. Finally you opened up the medicine cabinet-mirror combo and was pleasantly surprised but also annoyed, to see that you did actually have a replacement.

“Well shit.” You scoffed, “I should’ve just checked there first.”

Next on the list was a giant tumbler of coffee and a hit of your vape for breakfast. Delicious.

You searched in the catch-all drawer in your kitchen for a hair band, not finding any of the small black ones you settled for a stray scrunchie that lived in this drawer specifically for circumstances like this.

Grabbing the light blue silk scrunchie you went to slide it on your wrist and gather your hair but stopped mid movement. No sharpie mark. You could’ve sworn last time you wore this it had a sharpie mark on it from being trapped in the drawer with a cap-less marker. Weird, but not weird enough to care about.

With your caffeine withdrawal taken care of and your morning duties finished, you slipped on some tennis shoes, grabbed your small backpack and walked to the gym two blocks away. Your wonderful and lovely, much more active friend had invited you to a yoga class to meet ‘someone who isn’t a lazy bastard’.

Which… doesn’t really make any sense considering your last boyfriend liked to lift weights but couldn’t bear to lift a finger to help you.

But you love Luke, and Luke loves to play matchmaker. So you’d suffer through this with a smile. It couldn’t hurt and it might be fun, if all else fails at least you got to hang out with your friend and giggle at him drooling over the ‘guy with this sexy scowl, big broad shoulders, oh my god he’s so soft but like in a buff way it’s insane.’.

“Lukey!” You jogged up to him where he was waiting for you outside the gym.

“You’re late.” He stated sternly despite the little smile curving his lip.

“No I’m not. It’s 10:20.” You scoffed.

“Yes and class starts at 10:30.” He retorted.

“I’m not sure if you know this, but 20 comes before 30.” You said feigning concern as you touched his forearm while walking inside.

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes, “I mean you’re late to meet this guy I was telling you about!”

He shoved you gently past the various equipment and to a smaller room with mirrors along one wall. He very conspicuously pointed toward a younger guy with… a mullet?

“You’re joking.” You gasped. “Luke I swear to god you’ve gotta be kidding.” You squeaked smacking his arm.

“What?!” He squealed, pulling his arms up to his chest and curling in on himself. “Stop I didn’t invite you to kickboxing! Ow!”

“A dude with a mullet?” You glared at him.

“Wait till he turns around, the mullet will be forgiven I swear.” He said, holding up his hands in an offering of peace.

That peace treaty was immediately ripped to shreds when Luke loudly dropped his metal water bottle on the hard floors, a smile that could beat the devil’s smirk on his face.

The guy whipped his head around, eyebrows raised in concern, soft greenish tinted blue eyes taking a moment to glance over you.

“Everything alright?” He asked, a soft accent lacing his voice as he walked over to you.

Is it strange to say that a man with a mullet is… graceful? Yes, it is.

“Oh yeah, everything is fine.” You answered quickly, not missing the snicker that Luke made when he kicked the water bottle over to you.

You bent down and picked it up, holding it with a grip that would surely snap your officially ex-best friends neck in half.

“Here let me take this for you.” The blonde haired stranger said, reaching out for your backpack and for some reason you let him take it.

He just… exuded a calming energy. No wonder he likes yoga, he’s probably the most zen person you’ve ever met. Everything about him was soft and comforting. His voice, his beard, even his knuckles as they ghosted across your arm when he grabbed your bag.

“Th-thanks?“ You said in a statement that sounded more like a confused inquiry.

You followed him and Luke inside, the blood draining from your formerly flushed cheeks when he unrolled your yoga mat in the front row. What kind of cosmic curse has Luke unleashed? You shot him a look to burn through brick but he just seemed giddy as if you weren’t planning on disposing him in the sewer after this.

“I’m Ben, your instructor. Luke told me you’d be coming today, he mentioned you’ve never taken a class like this before?” He looked over at you, an understanding smile on his face.

THE INSTRUCTOR?

“R-right yeah. No, I’ve never taken a yoga class before.” You shook your head and introduced yourself in return, holding out your hand for a hand shake and being utterly shocked at Ben’s reaction.

“I’m a hugger, hope that’s alright darling.” He laughed softly, enveloping you in a warm embrace that could smelt iron. It certainly made you malleable, maybe even alittle bit melty.

The kicker though? A kiss to the side of your mouth.

You blinked at the audacity, did he just-? But as he pulled back you realized it wasn’t a creepy thing… it was a friendly thing. He just greets everyone that way because he’s a genuinely kind person. You knew that to be true because he turned and did the same to Luke, ending his with a firm pat to his shoulder.

A little green monster clawed it’s way through your stomach at the sight, but you drowned it quickly with the use of your knowledge as a sane person. You don’t know this guy. Luke brought you here because of this guy, he’s not after him, he’s after Beefy McBeef in the corner. You don’t know him, you’re purely getting jealous going off the fact that he is pretty and the realization that you’re not special.

You spent the rest of your time thinking peaceful thoughts to chase away the images of Luke’s tiny pea brain being squished betwixt your fingers for this horrible idea of his, while failing many attempts to mimic the variety of poses and stances Ben showed the class.

Even Beefy McBeef was doing better than you, and you could definitely see why Luke had his sights set on him. Masculine, but not in an intimidating way. He’s right, he’s soft but buff.

After class ended Luke insisted on dragging you over to Ben to say goodbye.

“Thanks, I enjoyed the class.” You said awkwardly, forcing a polite smile.

“Oh I’m so glad, I was hoping you would.” Ben said, a bright smile on his face, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“I’d love for you to come back next week.” He said sincerely, reaching out to give your arm a gentle squeeze that made your mouth dry.

“I’m not super sure that yoga is my thing, but I’ll definitely think about it.” You smiled, surely he’s just being nice. Like he was earlier.

“Well if yoga isn’t your thing, I’m sure we can find something that is, hmm?” He chuckled, ripping a scrap of paper from his class schedule and scribbling his number down.

“O-oh.” You blushed. That was the smoothest pickup line you’d ever heard… you couldn’t even be mad about it. “Thank you, I’ll… text you later?” You said unsure about your own words.

“No rush darling,” he gave you a warm smile that matched the softness of his hand that took yours and pressed his lips to your knuckles.

When he pulled back he’d somehow snuck the slip of paper into the palm of your hand, he left you there buffering. You turned slowly to look at Luke who was standing there with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Your turn.” You said sternly, nodding toward Mr. McBeef.

“No.” Luke said with an air of finality, scooping up his bag and spinning on his heel toward a few of his class friends.

Luke so kindly helped you make a fool of yourself. It’s only fair that you return the favor. You marched over to Beefy with a sweet smile.

“Hey!” You said, introducing yourself to him.

“Hey little lady.” He chuckled, taking your hand for a handshake, his palm dwarfing yours. “Names Han.”

“Han. Suits you.” You added with a small smile.

“So, Han. You know Luke?” You said, nodding in his direction.

“Y-yeah I do,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervousness you didn’t expect. “Why?”

“Luke is- he’s alittle shy.” You said in a hushed tone. “He’s been talking about you an awful lot.”

“Me?” Han questioned, a downturned grin creeping up his lips as his eyes darted between you and your friend who’d migrated across the gym.

“Yeah, you.” You laughed, “he’s got a massive crush.” You gave him an accomplished grin.

“H-he does?” He gulped, starting to get red in the cheeks. “He’s hardly ever spoken to me.”

“Like I said, he’s shy.” You reminded him gently. “You should go talk to him.”

“Yeah… I will.” He smiled, standing up and placing a kind hand on your shoulder.

“Go get ‘em Beefy McBeef.” You said in a tone so normal that he almost didn’t notice.

“What did you call me?” He laughed.

“Beefy McBeef.” You shrugged, unable to hide your devious smile. “that’s what Luke calls you.”

“No he doesn’t.” Han laughed, big and hearty, Luke turning his head with a jealous scowl until he realized he was laughing with you and it morphed into a mask of pure panic.

“Oh yes he does.” You said firmly. “Can you do me a favor?” You asked.

“Sure babe.” He laughed, still recovering.

“Introduce yourself to him as Beefy McBeef.” You said with pleading eyes.

“Seriously?” He laughed, almost a giggle if you could consider a guy like him a giggler. “What’d he do to you?”

“Just trust me when I say he deserves it.” You said sincerely.

“Can do.” He shook his head with a snort and made his way over to Luke.

“Hey, Luke.” He said, a slight tease in his tone. “Just wanted to introduce myself.” He stuck out his hand and watched with amusement as Luke struggled to comprehend what was happening.

Good. You thought. He deserves alittle embarrassment after the way he forced you into conversation with Ben.

“Beefy McBeef.” Han said, struggling to contain his laughter as he shook Luke’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

You watched from behind a nearby pillar as Luke turned fire truck red. He frantically searched for you until he spotted you with a massive grin and waggling fingers.

“I’ll kill you.” He threatened but there was no real malice in his voice.

“Sure you will Lukey.” You said with a laugh, running over to the wall where you’d propped up your bag and tossed it over your shoulder. Blowing Luke a kiss as you walked out of the gym.

After returning home you showered and sat down on the couch, resigning yourself to rotting on the couch. You’d done your good deed for the day, two actually:

1. attending a social event

2. helping Lukey talk to Han

You’d also done your one terrible deed for next few months. It’s never intentional that you do something bad, except this time it was. But was it really all that terrible if it got Luke what he wanted? Nope.

Add that to the good deeds list then.

3. embarrassing Lukey while helping him talk to Han

All’s fair in love and war.

Speaking of potential love and possible war, you rummaged through your bag to fish out that phone number, you even dumped out all the contents and searched your clothes as well.

It was no where to be found and you were actually kind of bummed about it. You can’t go ask for his number after all that, that’s just… embarrassing.

Shit.

Diary Entry: June 29th

Sweetheart.

If I knew you didn’t love Lukey, I’d have been scraping him off the sidewalk right about now. That little twerp was trying to set you up with someone else.

I know it’s not his fault. He’s being a good friend, he just wants you to be happy. He doesn’t know about me and that’s okay, it’s all okay.

But god, could he have picked a worse guy? I mean… really?

*Ooh look at me and my beautiful luscious locks.* GAG.

I could tell he was making you uncomfortable so I got rid of that little paper as quickly as possible. I would’ve hated for you to have the reminder of that fucking creep. The way he kissed your hand? What the hell was that?

So, I slipped it out of your bag and stayed around to listen to your sinister revenge plot.

I’ll say it again baby, you’re more like me than you know.

Ps. Beefy McBeef? Please.

Diary Entry: July 1st

I’m not an unreasonable guy baby. Really I’m not, but you’re on your phone so much. It just really bugs me you know? We don’t spend quality time together like we should.

I want you to dance around and sing. I want you to lay in the living room floor and color. I to watch you suck ass at MarioKart and laugh when you get frustrated and scrunch your nose.

I want to watch you read so I can read aloud to you, with my e-book copy. I want to watch The Witcher with you, I love that show. Shits cool as fuck, sword fights are so awesome I’ll ignore the fact that you only watch it for Geralt.

He’s not real and I am. So fuck it, can’t hurt to fantasize. I’d be one hell of a hypocrite if I said you couldn’t.

Anyway, sorry I’m rambling.

Are you okay? You’re just… quieter. Is it something I’ve done?

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I think I’ve figured it out sweet girl, I did some online research and replayed some footage. You’ve not been taking your birth control like you should. Come on baby you gotta remember to take it on time alright? Skipping it and taking it out of routine will mess you all up and we can’t have that.

I’ll try my best to remind you.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You know me, I’m always worried.

Just… I’m gonna need to borrow your phone so that I can install some software for you. I’m just alittle concern that you’re hiding something from me princess. I just want to make sure you’re okay.

Diary Entry: July 2nd

That SleepyTime tea is a lifesaver.

God I just feel so relieved knowing that I can monitor you. I swear it’s not in a weird way, I just needed to make sure you were in a good headspace you know?

Your search history is so funny. I makes me happy to know you’re just as goofy as me. It also makes me happy that you’ve not searched anything concerning.

Your socials are clean. Your camera roll is full of cute pictures of you and your friends, as well as a few of your ex that I swiftly trashed for you. Maybe just a few naughty ones in the hidden album, don’t worry I didn’t stare. I’ll have plenty of time to do that in person.

Your texts are mostly dry. That’s a good thing though, that means you have more time for me. Even better? No dating apps. Good girl. Those are terribly dangerous, they should require a background check for users, you never know what kind of weirdo is on the other side of that screen.

I’m proud of you babydoll. You’re such a good girl, my good girl.

I’ll help you stay a good girl too. Your phone is mirrored to my laptop, so I’ll be able to see everything you see. No room for mix-ups or miscommunications between us this way.

Communication in relationships is so important.

Which is my reasoning behind the new phone software. You understand don’t you doll? I mean, I can only tell so much from your diary. You like to write and that’s amazing, it’s a great outlet and you should keep up with it. You’re the reason I started my own journal. You were so right when you said ‘it sorts my thoughts and soothes my heart’.

I never thought I’d be a journal guy. Look at me. Self care king.

Diary Entry: July 3rd

I have the most amazing news princess, after careful research and a very thorough deep dive into all of your neighbors, I’ve come up with the perfect solution to our distance issue.

Did you know that the old man across the hall from you is a widow? Poor guy, 10 years without his wife. They were married for 53 years. 53.

That’s the goal baby. That’s the kind of love I have for you.

If Alan Jared Nelson is anything like me, he’s miserable without Gloria Anne. Just like I’d be miserable without you.

He’s sick you know? He’s on a wait list for a liver, has been for 2 years. Isn’t that just the worst kind of hope? It’s cruel really.

Why give the man and his remaining family the hope of a ‘few’ more years, knowing damn well the guy is old enough that he might turn to dust they minute they cut into him. Why put him on the list at all? He’s 92. No one is giving him a liver.

The liver disease he’s diagnosed with is a doozy too, it’s aggressive, painful, and necrotic. He’s in constant pain. He’s got a port for morphine.

Do you know what kind of horrible pain a person has to be in to get a morphine port? Excruciating.

Alan has lived a long and beautiful life. Between the heartache of loosing his love and the debilitating disease he suffers from… it would be a mercy to lay him to rest don’t you think?

He’s a patriot through and through, he was in the army reserves. Now, that’s not my cup of tea but good for you Mr. Nelson.

America’s birthday is a good day for a guy like him to die isn’t it?

Date:

July 4th

Anakin counted the windows over and over, repeating the number in his head as he quietly trekked up the creaking rusted fire escape on Mr. Nelson’s side of the building. Not only was tonight a poetic release of this man’s long and happy existence, it was a very good cover.

Majority of the city was busy watching the fireworks at the celebration in the park, including you. Anakin had ensured you’d left before he even considered walking over to your building. He couldn’t bear the thought of committing a heinous, though arguably merciful, crime in the vicinity of such a pure form of radiance.

As expected the din of booming explosions and crackling sparks masked the noise of the quiet power drill Anakin used to remove bottom piece of the outer frame of the out-dated window. Internally cursing the fact that you lived in such an old building, there’s absolutely no way that these windows are up to code. It might make this task easier, but it made him a nervous wreck to think someone could break into your home in under a minute as long as they brought a drill and a magnet. The process was almost silent, you wouldn’t realize anything was amiss until it was too late.

Once the piece of frame was laid aside Anakin used the heavy duty magnet to coax the loose curved clasp that held the window shut, out of the hoop that it rested in. He sighed, thinking he should definitely complain to the super once he moved in. The ease of breaking and entering wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

Sure it was a wonderful thing for Anakin, there would be absolutely no trace of the break in. The man is old, there would be no autopsy, there are no outdoor cameras on this building or the one next to it. This unit is tucked into a well hidden alleyway and no one saw him walk this way. But his worries were based on thoughts of you and your well-being.

Anakin sprayed Wd-40 along the tracks of the metallic frame and waited a moment before wiping off the excess, hopefully ensuring a silent entry.

The moment of truth arrived, Anakin lifted the window just a hair to test it. Finding it whisper quiet despite its age as he opened it and stepped inside.

The interior of the home was just as you’d expect, family pictures, a fridge covered in cards and handwritten reminders. An obscene amount of carved wooden trinkets and the forever mysterious wooden fruit that seemed to adorn the tables of many an old folks homes. Apples and roosters strewn about the space in the form of paintings, lampshades and oddly detailed itchy blankets.

A gorgeous abalone jewelry dish held a silver pendant, trapped beneath was an intricate lace cover that seemed to be made specifically for the coffee table they rested on. Upon closer inspection Anakin determined that it was tailor made. Gloria Anne Nelson must’ve been a talented craftswomen, the quality of work was amazing.

Alan’s display of his wife’s work, her jewelry dish and her favorite engraved pendant… he’d made an altar for her and probably didn’t even realize it. He’d even placed a tall, thick white candle next to the abalone dish. It left Anakin with a lump in his throat, imagining the horrible loneliness this man must feel.

He stood up from his crouched position and took a breath, smoothing his shirt to iron out his emotions. There would be time for proper mourning and reflection later.

He walked toward the short hall that housed Alan’s bed room and bathroom, but stopped short when something on the wall caught his attention.

A calendar depicting a summertime scene of a lake and a small fishing boat was tacked to the wall above the dock for his home phone, a small note pad and pen resting beside it.

A small smile turning the corner of his lip, the sight bringing a fond memory of his grandmother keeping a set-up very similar to this. Must be a universal old person habit.

He stepped closer to read the writing in the small squares and came to the realization that this calendar was not up to date. This calendar was from 2013, ten years ago.

Anakin knew from his deep dive into the Nelson’s life that Gloria had passed on July 16th, but he didn’t realize that July 4th was the anniversary of Gloria and Alan’s first kiss.

She’d kept up with that anniversary for the entirety of 53 years. Poetic.

He took a look around the kitchenette and living room again. Really and truly looking this time, not just glazing over the bigger items, the things that caught his eye. This time he looked at the in between.

He wished he hadn’t. He wished he hadn’t cared enough to pay attention, it was something he’d never forget, an achievement he’d strive for for the rest of his life.

Alan’s home was a shrine.

A neatly kept time capsule full of warmth and fondness. It oozed from the very walls of the space. Gloria had never stepped foot in this space, but she dominated every inch of it. Her devoted husband had rebuilt his life in her image, even in death he worshipped her just as Anakin worshipped you.

A heavy weight settled in Anakin’s heart, this was the right choice. This confirmed it.

He quietly entered the bedroom, Alan’s C-PAP machine humming with a rhythmic flow of air, in, *scish*, *puftk*, out. It was soothing in a strange way, or maybe it was just a relief from the suffocating silence that compressed Anakin’s lungs when he was absorbing the space past the door.

He kneeled at the edge of the bed, pulling a small tube of lidocaine from his jacket hoodie pocket, along with a pair of gloves that he quickly donned. Wincing at the snap of the latex against his sweating palms, but the man continued his peaceful slumber, unaware that it would be his last.

He lifted the corner of the blanket and grimaced as he placed a small dollop of the cream via his index finger between Alan’s fourth and fifth toes. He didn’t even flinch.

Anakin kept the time on his watch and waited until the ointment did it’s job to numb the tender flesh. Fishing a small needle meant for insulin injections from a ziploc bag in pocket. Drawing a bit of air into barrel before carefully pricking the soft skin, holding his breath as his victim twitched.

When he stilled Anakin gently pushed the plunger and created a pocket of air in a vein that would soon end this poor souls life on earth. He withdrew the needle and stored it and the gloves in the ziploc bag, returning the blanket to its previous position.

He should’ve left then, but morbid curiosity had a tight hand around his wrist. Urging him to stay and wait out this event to its completion. So he tugged up his hood and stood motionless.

No one should be alone in their last moments. The least Anakin could do is provide silent support from the darkened corner. He counted the seconds on his watch until the man’s fingers twitched and his throat visibly tightened as a gurgled ball of air left his lungs. His eyes opened, wide and terrified as his body acted of its on volition.

Wrinkled hands weakly pawing at the C-PAP that was fitted over his head, Anakin watched his chest heave and collapse rapidly, the swell of his ribcage caving in on itself with each labored breath.

He’d heard of the ‘death rattle’ before but had never considered it to be anything other than a wives tale, until now. Alan’s choked coughs and gasping breaths reverberated in his chest and rolled up the stretch of his esophagus, coming out in a groan muffled by his lolled tongue.

He brought his fist to his chest in weak thumps, while his other reached over the side of the bed in the general vicinity of the night stand. It’s incredible what the human brain is capable of during such critical moments of stress. Anakin watch with a fascination that went beyond curiosity, wondering how the hell this guy was aware enough to try to grab the phone laying there.

Alan let his head fall to the side and his fading eyes blurred, but didn’t miss Anakin’s figure. To him, he was just a silhouette of midnight black. For some reason Anakin noticed a bit of the fear leave Alan’s tired eyes, softening as though he was accepting his quickly approaching end.

He stopped struggling, stopped reaching for the phone and instead held out a shaking hand to Anakin as though he wanted him to take it.

What kind of monster would deny a dying man?

He stepped forward on silent feet until he clasped the man’s wrist and felt his weak grip on his. The leathery skin was clammy, sickly to the touch and it made Anakin’s stomach churn.

“Death?” A small creaking attempt at the word eeked out of Alan’s lips.

“Yes sir.” Anakin responded. Was it true? No. But was it a lie? Also no. He was and he wasn’t.

“A-about…” the old man heaved, spittle flying from his mouth. “About damn time.”

Anakin was usually quick on his feet with his quips but this man’s nonchalant attitude, his welcoming of his fate was unexpected.

“Sorry Mr. Nelson.” He chuckled. “I’m a very busy man.”

He laughed. A rare occasion if not the only occasion that someone’s dying breath was a laugh. Anakin’s brow pinched together, wetting his lips with his tongue before chewing the inside of his cheek as he watched the life drain from his eyes.

Once his hand went slack and limp Anakin gently laid it across his chest, checked for a pulse and found none. He patted the old man’s shoulder and turned to exit the room, he didn’t look back and he didn’t take another breath until he set foot on the fire escape and the window was shut. Making quick work of closing the clasp and reassembling the metal frame.

He took a shaky breath and checked his watch. Bewildered by the passing of time. He literally couldn’t comprehend it, pulling out his phone to confirm. The times were indeed matching.

Three minutes and 57 seconds.

He was only inside for three minutes and 57 seconds. He felt like hours of his life had flown by, he felt both aged and more alive than he’d ever been. The only thing he could compare this feeling to was… the feeling he got because of you.

He’d done a good thing.

Alan said so himself, the man was ready, beyond ready to embrace death. Anakin had done him a favor by taking his life returning his soul to his soulmate.

It gave him a warm feeling in his chest. He thought maybe he would feel sick, he almost did, until he didn’t. He decided not to question his contentment, instead pocketing it to tuck away in the recess of his mind that he stored his more unhealthy thoughts and experiences in.

He liked that about himself, his ability to compartmentalize at will. He liked to be neat and tidy, it was only natural that his mind mirror that. He knew that it was just his mind’s creation; his mind didn’t really look like a neat room of filing cabinets.

He had one for childhood memories, one for his favorite happy memories, one for his mother, one for his friends, one for his work life, one for his home life. But the two most important things housed in the confines of his skull were the golden pedestal holding the beautifully crafted, one of a kind ceramic vase he poured his love for you into; and The Pit.

He didn’t like The Pit. His inner self kindly transported the things that belonged there via a lockbox and unceremoniously tossed it over the edge at a safe distance. Even the figment of his imagination in this scenario was too afraid to peer over the edge of the chasm. He’d never heard anything hit the bottom, if he got too close he would fall, and fall, and fall, and fall, and fall for eternity.

Then what would you do? Suffer through a sad existence like poor Mr. Nelson?

No. He can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen. You’re to precious, too pure, too good to experience anything but radiant joy.

He breathed in relief as he found himself suddenly outside his front door, he’d traveled on autopilot.

He showered and tucked himself into bed, exhausted and drained emotionally. But not too much, not enough that he could neglect his duties. He checked the tracker on his phone, pleaded to see that you were abiding by your unspoken agreed upon curfew. Home before 2:00am. Always.

It was only 12:30. Good job princess.

He waited, following the little blue dot to the larger red one and switched over to the live camera feed and witnessed you chatting happily on your phone as you trotted up the stairs.

He thanked his past self from this morning and grabbed the laptop from his nightstand and patiently waited for the mirror image of your phone updated.

Luke. It was just Luke making sure you got home safe; maybe Luke wasn’t too bad after all. He wasn’t a threat to Anakin in anyway and he was concerned with your well-being. Not as much himself of course but enough that Anakin could throw a smidgen of respect his way, it’s nice to know he already has something in common with your best friend.

He did his routine night-time walk through of your device, seeing that you’d turned on your alarms for the next day already. He smiled fondly, his sleepy girl.

He turned up the sound on your bedroom camera, plugging up his phone and putting the laptop on the night stand. He placed his phone next to his head and listened to your breathing slow and relax.

He loved this. Sleeping with the sound of your soft snores and mumbled sleepy words. It was an intimacy that he craved to manifest into the flesh world.

Soon he would.

Someone please tell me that if you’ve waitressed/known a waitress who’s done shit like that?? If not I just told on myself for being a big fat liar.

Part Four

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky

@naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani

@ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil

@sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut

@luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @doblasftcisco

@sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker

@angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled

@graveyard-stray @styleslytherin @chiaraanatra

@jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz

@queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141

@nico-velvet @rorysbrainrot @hopesworlld

@1mawhOre @lonaah @t8Izw @guiltycherries

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed

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elliesflower · 1 year

Text

i hate u [abby anderson]

pairing; abby x afab!reader

word count; 3.8k how tf did that happen

cw; language, mentions of death, angst (like, so much angst), enemies to lovers, eventual smut

summary; abby has always had it out for you. the feeling was mutual.

until it wasn't.

an; hiiii, it's me, providing you with the abby content i'm devoid of. i love this buff lesbian woman so fucking much.

read pt 2 here!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR I'LL CRY (and as always read it on AO3 here <3)

there were much more productive ways you could be spending your time. you could be, i don’t know—literally doing anything else other than being forced to clean these goddamned bathrooms.

it’s not that you didn’t mind cleaning, no. in fact, under ideal circumstances, cleaning could actually be fun for you. there was just a big problem with who it forced you into a room with this time. with her stupid long french braid, and her absurdly large muscles—like seriously, what the fuck was she showing off for? we’re killing scars, not for training for the fucking rapture.

“you know, if you move the mop in a back-and-forth motion, it would actually clean the floors.”

to put it quite plainly, abby doesn’t like you. you said left, she had to say right; you say go, she had to say stop—the mutual loathing was just routine at this point, it came almost as natural as breathing. surely it didn’t help that the two of you were typically sent on assignments that involved being together for far too many hours at a time. rarely was it made only slightly better by the presence of someone else, another body to diffuse even an ounce of the tension that hung between the two of you like a rope.

you scoffed at her juvenile insolence, though you started mopping again nonetheless. “trust me, i don’t want to be here any longer than i have to. i have shit to do,” you jeered, making it a point to look down at the ground, watching the soapy water spread across the tile. not at the way her muscles—have you mentioned they’re absurdly large?—flexed as she wiped down the counter with bleach.

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t realize i was keeping you from something!” abby exclaimed, feigning ignorance. “by all means, you run off and do whatever it is you have to do, and i’ll just finish this little punishment all by myself.”

you had to bite back a bitter laugh, instead choosing to shake your head at the ground, your mopping becoming just a little bit more aggressive with each stroke. you chose to ignore it. you almost had her completely tuned out of your mind, until you didn’t.

“it’s not like i was the one who just let that scar go.” that stopped you dead in your tracks.

abby has said a lot of things to you. a lot of untrue things. a lot of hurtful things, even. and again, it was entirely possible you could have even ignored that. but then you looked up—and you saw her stupid, imprudent fucking smirk, and it was over. “you know what abby?” you started, throwing your mop. you didn’t even have the energy to smile at the way she flinched when the wooden handle hit the ground with a loud bang. she played it off quickly, though, raising an eyebrow and leaning back against the counter. you didn’t expect the sudden lump in your throat.

“fuck you.”

the words didn’t come out exactly like you’d hoped. maybe there was a slight hesitation, the faintest crack between the syllables, a single tear threatening to spill down your cheek—but you meant it, wholeheartedly.

fuck abigail anderson.

you couldn't bother to give her even a second thought as you turned on your heel, ignoring her calls of your name from behind you. perhaps a bit childish, but you slammed the door extra hard on your way out.

let that scar go? is she fucking for real?

you were so tired of having to prove your place here to her. isaac sent you both on the same assignments, he trusts you just as much as her to do his most important jobs, but it never seems to be good enough. whether it was jealousy or stubbornness, you could never be quite sure.

time and time again you’ve tried to make nice with abby; you had actually wanted to be friends with her—the jaunty girl who never seemed to let her past slow her down, taking every opportunity to crack a sarcastic joke and practically jumping in front of bullets for the people she loved—you’d tried to spark friendly conversation, volunteered to take some of her extra assignments, even offered her a book you’d overheard her mentioning she wanted to read that you just happened to have on your bookshelf, but it was all futile. she wanted nothing to do with you, like your presence alone was a personal inconvenience. so, naturally, you stopped trying—yet, the two of you almost always somehow ended up in the same room together, whether it was a drunken night in leah and nora’s room, or cleaning bathrooms as a stupid punishment.

but one, one little slip up and that’s all it took. you took your eyes off that scar for a split fucking second, and now she’ll never let you live it down. you were furious, angry tears clouding your vision as you stormed away, down the hallway and practically sprinting up the stairs to your room.

she can clean that bathroom all by herself, you thought as you fumbled to get your keys out of your pocket, dropping them on the ground in your haste. “fuck!” you exclaimed, bending down to pick them up, searching for the small silver key on the ring.

“there you are,” a sudden voice from behind startles you enough that you flinch, dropping your keys again. of fucking course.

“go away abby,” you practically snarl, wiping away the wetness on your cheeks with your palm before she could see. despite your weak protest, you could hear her heavy footsteps getting closer as you finally unlocked the door, pushing it open and slipping inside.

“oh, come on,” abby was right on your heels, pressing a hand against the door and preventing it from fully closing behind you. your eyes felt like they might roll into the back of your head.

“i’m sorry, what part of ‘go away’ was unclear to you?” you snapped, turning around to glower at her through the small crack in the doorway. her arm strength was incredible, she was barely leaning against the door as you pushed with an embarrassing amount of effort to try and close it on her. what you lacked in brawn, you pride yourself in making up for with brains—yet another reason it was already embarrassing enough that you fucked up, now she was practically rubbing it in your face.

abby’s eyes held a look you couldn’t quite understand. no way she was apologetic, but her face held a certain softness to it you’d never quite seen before. usually her face was all rigid lines and sharp angles, clenched jaw and guarded eyes, especially with you. it was rare for her to smile around you, now that you thought about it.

“can we talk?” abby asked, and her voice was almost…pitiable. her eyes were low and her pink lips parted slightly. it was unnerving. she never asked you for anything, let alone to talk. your eyes flickered across her face, trying to make sense of what she was really trying to say, beneath the surface.

but there was really nothing to say to that. no, you wanted to scream, no we can’t fucking talk, fuck you, and i never want to talk to you again. but you said nothing, instead shaking your head and turning away, letting the door swing open against the pressure of her hand.

“why do you hate me so much?” your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up, arms crossing defensively over your chest, though you were no longer facing her.

“why do i hate you?” she scoffed, and you heard the door closing softly.

“yes, why?” you spun around to face her now—she still stood near the door, that same indecipherable expression painted on her face. you avoided her eyes, but noted the way her nose twitched ever so slightly. “ever since i stepped foot in this stadium you’ve had it out for me, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t understand why,” oh fuck, the anger was coming back up, rising in your throat like bile, “is it because i don’t put up with your shit anymore?”

“no,” abby gritted out, taking a step toward you. “listen, i—”

“because i see right through your little act?” you cut her off and wow, she was fuming now, chest rising and falling heavily as she clenched her fists together. “stop it, i’m trying to—”

but you couldn’t stop, even if you didn’t mean it, “‘ooh poor me, my dad died and now i’m stronger because of it, and everybody loves me,’” the words stung in your mouth, and in your eyes, “‘i’m isaac’s top scar killer but i have a heart of gold,’” tears falling as you stomped toward her, “well good for fucking you abby. i’ve lost a lot of people too but you don’t see me acting like i’m better than everyone.”

you couldn’t help it, you were pushing her before you knew it, right in the chest with as much strength as you could muster, and she wasn’t expecting it because she stumbled backwards into your bookshelf, a picture frame falling and shattering on the ground before she caught her footing.

you looked her right in the eyes for the first time since she had entered your room, uninvited, and all you saw was flames, burning through her blue irises like wildfire. you stepped back, wide-eyed and disoriented, her figure nothing more than a blurry silhouette in front of you. her heavy breathing was all that you could hear, it consumed you, made you dizzy as you staggered backwards, that ineffable sadness reaching into your chest and squeezing around your heart, fuck, how does she do this to you?

“for fucks sake, would you just listen?” abby’s asked suddenly. her voice was rough around the edges, chipped away by your words—you couldn’t look at her, it was too much, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it. why did you say that to her? she was reaching toward you before you could say another word, you half expected her to hit you, to strangle you, to say fuck you and never speak to you again, but then her calloused fingers were gripping your forearm.

“abby,” your voice was pathetic, broken and whiny, god, you were completely out of control. you let your arm go limp, watching as her hand practically burned an impression into your skin as she pulled you into her chest. you were overwhelmed by her scent, that fucking pine soap she always hoarded and faintest hint of bleach that burned your nose, reminding you of what started this in the first place.

no, this couldn’t be real life, there was no way you were crying in front of abby, your biggest vulnerabilities tumbling from your lips like an avalanche, but her arms were there, wrapping around your shoulders like a blanket as her head fell into the crook of your neck. you couldn’t tell whose heart was beating faster, her pulse pounding against your ear as your arms hung limp by your side. your brain was absolutely spinning trying to figure out what to make of this, a few loose strands of her braid hair tickling the side of your cheek as you shifted your head.

“i’m sorry,” her strained voice bled down your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, her breath hot against your shoulder as she tightened her grip. instinctively, you wrapped your arms around her waist, giving in to her touch, her apology washing over you like a humid rain in the summer—you’d waited so long just to hear those two little words, but it felt wrong somehow. “i’m sorry,” she repeated, quieter now, though you were probably the one who should be saying that.

“abby,” you found yourself saying again, squeezing your eyes shut as you leaned into her, feeling the tightness of her back muscles flex as you flattened your hands against her back, oh god, what the fuck is happening right now? “i didn’t mean that,” you whispered, muffled slightly against her shirt. the words i’m sorry usually came easy to you, often apologizing for things that didn’t warrant one in the first place, but the words were harder to get out somehow in this moment, pressed against the fabric of her shirt.

her grip on you loosened, her arms sliding down your back and she was gone in an instant, turning away, clasping her fingers together and bringing them to the back of her neck.

“i don’t hate you,” but she couldn’t face you, dropping her arms to her hips as she looked at the ground. you watched the anxious tapping of her foot and it felt like you couldn’t breathe—isn't this what you wanted? to be friends, or at the very least, for her to not hate you? maybe then, but not now. “i’m intimidated.” she was quiet, turning to face you. the orange glow of the lamp cascaded over her face, painting her in the softest form you’d ever seen her in.

“intimidated?” you were taken aback, furrowing your brow. “by me?” you shook your head, incredulous at her sudden confession. what could she possibly be intimidated by? “abby, you’re-” you gestured at her, unsure of what to say. “-you could probably snap me in half if you wanted to, i-i don’t understand-”

“oh trust me, i know,” abby cut you off, scoffing, and fuck, she just couldn’t help herself could she? you were mortified she’d caught you in a moment of weakness, you were angry, you were so fucking confused. your pity quickly soured, tears dried up in an instant, the disdain seeping back into your skin like a parasite—no matter how many times the two of you got close to reconciling, it always went wrong somehow. it had felt different this time, but maybe you were wrong.

“abby, i swear to god i-”

“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” she softened again, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “old habits die hard, am i right?”

you squinted at her, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “does this really seem like the time to be making a fucking joke? because the door is right there,” you made a show of pointing at the door before turning to sit on the chair behind you, bending over to take off your boots. anything to avoid looking her in the eye.

“fuck, i’m sorry, i don’t know how to talk to you about this,” she was walking towards you now, and you didn’t bother to look up. she sat opposite you in the mismatched chair, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. you looked up at her through wet lashes as you pulled your boots off, tossing them haphazardly to the side. she looked just as confused as you felt, brows furrowed in frustration—nothing about this felt normal, or okay.

“what i’m trying to say is that i’m sorry,” she started, dropping her head to look at the ground.

“you said that already,” you noted dryly, scooting back in the chair and pulling your knees to your chest protectively. she laughed, but it didn’t sound bitter.

“i’m sorry, for everything,” abby looked at you now, and your breath hitched. “for how i’ve acted around you. for the way i’ve treated you, the things i’ve said. all of it,” her eyes were full of sorrow, and it made her look a way you’d never seen before—vulnerable, fragile, empty. “right after you moved onto the base, leah told me about what you’ve been through, losing your parents and your brother, being forced into that military school, and still fighting to get here all the way from boston. if i’m being honest, i was jealous that you could take it all in stride.”

you could do nothing but stare at her, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

“from the minute you got here, you were so calm and collected, ready to help anyone who needed it. you were constantly volunteering for extra assignments, helping out in the classrooms, doing all the work that no one else wanted to do with a smile on your face…i know we all have a past but i never could’ve guessed yours,” she let her head fall again, clasping her hands together and taking a deep breath, “and god, you’re so fucking smart, like there’s no way you learned all the shit you know about history at that dumb military school.”

your mouth fell open slightly, trying to process her words. first, an apology, and then a compliment? no smart-ass comments, no snarky look, no just kidding. you’d never even talked with her about your love of history that much, let alone your family.

“abby,” you started, pulling your knees tighter to your chest. your brain and your mouth were fighting over what to say, the years of dissention between the two of you threatening to surface—but she seemed genuine. bouncing her leg up and down, abby continued to avoid your gaze as she picked at her cuticles.

“when i first got here, i was a mess.” she cut you off. “i could barely eat or sleep, i hid in my room whenever i wasn’t out on an assignment, and i didn’t care about anyone or anything. it took me months to get past it all and then you came along, so open and easygoing, even after everything you’ve been through…i was embarrassed.”

“everybody handles grief differently,” you said quietly, putting your feet back on the ground. she looked up at you, and her cheeks were wet. you swallowed thickly. “i wasn’t always that happy behind closed doors.”

abby frowned slightly. she was quiet now, pensive as she held your gaze. your cheeks burned under the scrutiny, and you wanted to shrink into the chair. less than an hour ago you had all the intention in the world of never speaking to abby again, and now she was sat, taking up space in your room, and your mind, fuck, how was she always on your mind?

“that still doesn’t explain why you were so mean to me,” you broke the silence after taking another second to process her words, and tears were clouding your vision again.

“yeah, if i’m still being honest, i don’t really have an explanation for that either. or, not a good one, at least,” she at least had the decency to look sheepish, leaning back and scratching her neck lightly. “i guess because i was so intimidated by the way you handled yourself, i just defaulted to…jealous rage?” she sounded unsure, and you scoffed.

“wow,” you said. “you’re right, that is a terrible explanation,” you shook your head, leaning back to match her pose. she laughed again, looking up to the ceiling, and it sounded foreign.

“i’m not the best with words,” she smiled weakly, a blush creeping up her neck.

“trust me, i could tell by all your elementary insults.”

“hey, didn’t i just say i was sorry?”

you smiled back at her now, against your better judgment. the two of you had spent the past three years practically at each other’s throats, and a simple i’m sorry i was mean to you because i don’t know how to handle my emotions was supposed to fix it all?

“i meant it though,” abby said softly now, eyes boring into yours. “i’m sorry. for everything.”

you held her gaze a moment longer, but had to look away. you had to, before she could see that you were caving, that all you’ve ever wanted to hear was that—that you wanted to just talk to her without always being on guard, that you wanted to know her favorite music and what she really thought about all of manny’s sexcapades and if she ever took her hair down from that goddamn french braid and— “you don’t have to forgive me. not right now, anyways. i just hope that one day you can.”

and then she was standing up, your eyes followed up her torso as she stood, smoothing her shirt down before giving you another weak smile and heading for the door. oh god, fuck, fuck all of this, “abby, wait,” you were up and after her in a heartbeat, grabbing her forearm just as she had yours earlier, forcing her to turn around. she looked surprisedly, first at your face, then down at your grip on her forearm, which you quickly dropped when you felt your heart skipping a beat. her eyes were wild, tired and full of anguish.

before you could talk yourself out of it, you were practically throwing yourself at her, arms wrapping around her torso as you pressed your cheek into her chest. she stumbled only briefly, before you felt her arms envelope your shoulders once more. this time, it didn’t feel wrong.

it felt like coming home.

“i really shouldn’t have said that thing about your dad,” you said, but it was muffled in her shirt.

you felt her laugh rumble in her chest before she squeezed you tighter, her head lowering into your neck so that you felt her lips on your shoulder as she spoke. “yeah, that was pretty fucked up.”

you smiled into her, and god, this was all fucked up. the world was fucked up, and out of it was born you and abby—two fucked up people making fucked up choices that lead to some pretty fucked up consequences.

she pulled back from you, but kept her hands on your shoulders. you took a fistful of her shirt, looking down to avoid her eyes. your stomach was flipping, the heat radiating from her body overwhelming you and making you feel dizzy. “can you forgive me?”

and yeah, that was maybe your fucked up, roundabout way of telling abby, i do forgive you, but she seemed to understand. when you dared to look back up, she dropped a hand, and the other came to softly caress your cheek. she looked at you tenderly, the rough pad of her thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed.

“of course i can.”

and then there was only the sound of your heart thrumming in your ears, her quickened breath as she looked at you in a way you’d never seen before. you gripped her shirt tighter, lips parting slightly as you felt the weight of her hand against your cheek. you leaned into it, eyes slipping closed for a moment.

“abby,” you whispered, your free hand coming up to hold hers in place against your cheek.

“shh,” she shushed you softly, and you could sense her getting closer. you didn’t dare open your eyes, heat pooling in your stomach as you felt her breath fanning across your face.

“don’t speak.”

her lips pressed against yours so softly that for a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby x reader #abby x you #abby anderson smut #the last of us part 2 #i love abby anderson w my whole heart #also thank u to mia for reading most of this and reassuring tf out of me

1K notes · View notes

kscheibles · 8 months

Text

e la vita ch. 1

content warnings: f! reader, drug mentions, drinking, emetophobia, bisexuality (homophobes and biphobes begone I will block u so fast)

word count: 3.8k

I didn’t want to be in Italy this summer.

That makes me sound ungrateful or something, but it’s the truth. Three months ago, I had planned to stay in Brooklyn with Claire all summer long. Hosting dinner parties, eating greasy breakfast sandwiches, dancing to old $1 records in our cramped apartment, picnicking in Prospect Park, and being totally, delusionally in love.

That was before things went south, she stopped trying and left me with more rent than I could possibly pay in the city. When Christina had first mentioned that a group of her friends was headed to Italy for the summer, I’d dismissed the possibility of going with them. Not only did I dread cohabitating with her wealthy, influencer friends who seemed to deal only in clout, I thought I’d be otherwise engaged. Weeks later, I’d gone back to her groveling, asking if I could sleep on the pull-out couch in Nina’s family villa for the summer. Luckily, the sofa was still available.

Now I sit at a wrought iron table – lease broken and all of my belongings sold to wealthy Manhattanites – in the warm yellow light of the Lombard sunset. Around me are chatty, outgoing girls, each more beautiful than the last. They gab about clubs and brands and boys. In the sea of Botox and iPhones, I cling to Christina like a life buoy. I push my tortellini around my plate to make it look like I have an interest in food, but I really don’t. I’m jet-lagged and uncomfortable. And even if that wasn’t the case, I’ve barely eaten since the breakup, relying on oat lattes and dirty water dogs to keep me alive.

“Try the pasta,” Christina jabs, “trust me, you’ll have a lot more fun this summer if you lean in.” I break the shell open with my fork revealing succulent ricotta curds and bright green spinach. The filing swims in a sauce of brown butter and fragrant tarragon but doesn’t affect me as it should. Nothing does anymore. The group’s conversation interrupts my train of thought.

“They’ve come every summer since the nineties, same as us,” says Nina, smirking at the girl to her left. “Hottest little accents you’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Who is she talking about?” I whisper to Christina.

“The boys in the other house,” she says, “the one you see on your way up here.” Nina’s family’s home is at a higher altitude than the rest of the city, necessitating a laborious hike to the bottom to actually do anything while in town. I’m sure that they’d been sold on the privacy of the location, but its impracticality left me wanting. The only other villa nearby sat at the base of the lush green hills before the road disappeared into winding dirt.

Another girl chimes in, “I saw them last year at a dinner in the city. They’re cute, too,” she coos.

“I kissed George the summer I turned fifteen,” brags Nina and the whole table breaks into oohs and aahs. I usually have a shut-up-unless-spoken-to policy at group dinners, but I know Christitna is right. If I don’t lean in then the credit card debt I’d amassed to buy my plane ticket and the back problems I'm sure to contract from sleeping on a pull-out couch for a whole summer will have been for naught. Think of it as an acting exercise, I tell myself, a performance of the girl who is totally not hung up on her ex and excited for a fun summer with her friends.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “who are these guys?”

“They’re in a band,” says Nina.

“Like a real one?” I ask. Years of living in New York have taught me that all bands are not, in fact, real ones. Nina laughs.

“You’re funny,” she muses, “yes, a real one. They’re like famous. We’ll go over eventually, they throw the best parties you can find around here. Get real drugs, too. Not just liters upon liters of Aperol, not that I mind that either.”

With my question sufficiently answered, I return quietly to my pasta, cutting each shell into impossibly smaller pieces until it’s rabbit food that will glide down my throat and do the hard job of nourishing me without any work on my part.

–

After dinner, I tuck into the pull-out couch in the villa’s spacious living room. The lack of A/C and the balmy summer air make it impossible to enjoy the luxurious wool blankets Nina’s family no doubt splurged on. I allow myself to eavesdrop on the elated sounds coming from upstairs: women confiding in each other, commiserating about their troubles, and shrieking excitedly at each other's successes.

I first try to doze off at 10:15, hoping that an early night will be exactly what I need and I’ll wake up refreshed and on Italian time. After an hour of staring at the popcorn ceilings and trying to suppress my crippling fear of missing out, I’ve tired my mind out enough to begin slipping toward sleep. I have fewer and fewer thoughts until I’m jolted by a hip-hop bassline. It resonates through the trundle bed and rebounds off my ribs, cozying itself into my heart. As I begin to come to, I recognize the chords of a house track that used to play at the girl bar Claire and I frequented in Green Point. The melody is warm and familiar and undeniably annoying. How loud must the music be for it to affect me so acutely even as I’m a few kilometers away from them?

I decide I’m pissed – and yes I decided. I’m freshly single, broke, jet-lagged, and fucking pissed at those entitled rich assholes. I slide my sandals on and head out down the hill in my sleep clothes.

I step outside onto the winding dirt road that leads the way to the boys’ home. The night is dark, lit by stars much brighter than I’m used to seeing in Brooklyn. I tilt my head back to look at them, trying to identify the big dipper. After a few seconds, I’m dizzy. I shake myself and trudge ahead, almost lulled into submission by the constant chirping of cicadas and the sweet fragrance of orange blossom that wafts off the bushes.

With each step I take towards the boys’ villa (what were their names again? Nina said one was called George), the music, electronic and fast-paced, becomes louder.

When I first knock on the faded wood door, I’m quite sure no one has heard me. I stand outside for a few minutes, contemplating whether I should knock again or cut my losses and return up the hill. I decide I may as well disrupt their party as some kind of karmic retribution for keeping me awake even as I’m exhausted from a transatlantic flight. I raise my fist and rap harshly at the door. A moment later, it flies open, revealing a curly-haired boy. Well, not boy, I decide as I inspect his features – lines decorate his forehead, and gray peeks out at me from within a ringlet that hangs over his eyes. He gives me a once over and can immediately tell I’m not here for the party.

“Can I help you?” he asks, annoyed. His accent lilts and falls over the words. All of a sudden, I feel insecure in my braless and plaid pajama-clad state. He’s beautiful – and exasperated by me. I double down on my own annoyance.

“Would you mind turning the music down?” I ask, still cordial, “I’m staying at the house up the way and I can’t get to sleep.”

The guy in front of me purses his lips and considers me for a moment. I feel itchy and uncomfortable. He’s looking at me like he can see through my clothes, to my soft hips and painted toes and peaked nipples.

“Let me show you around, gorgeous,” he smiles, “then maybe you won’t mind so much.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me into the party. A warmth covers me as I cross the threshold into the villa. The inside of the home smells like college: cheap weed, sweet sticky mixers, and sweat. My sandals stick slightly to the floor, reminding me that I really shouldn’t be here right now. Like the alcohol that’s been spilled on the ground is some great cosmic interference to convince me to go home and get the rest I ought to.

Suddenly, a big hand falls on the shoulder of the boy who’s pulling me by my limbs.

“Matty!” says the man. I can make out enough to see that he’s tall and devastatingly handsome.

“George!” the boy – Matty, I remind myself – drops my hand and fully embraces the bigger guy. “Was just showing…” he nods at me to introduce myself.

“Y/n.”

“Around,” Matty finishes. George gives me a once over.

“Did she just roll out of bed? Or get released from prison?”

“Y/n came to ask us to keep the noise down,” Matty declares with fake sincerity, “Not a partier, are ya love?”

“Under the right circumstances, I can be,” I retort. Matty and George’s eyebrows raise in amusement, faces breaking out in smiles. That sounded much more cunning in my head. Now I feel like a toy they’re playing with, winding me up to see what noises I make. It feels infantilizing. I’m uncomfortable, crawling in my skin; pride battered and desperate to go home as soon as it doesn’t look like I’m running away from a fight of my own picking. “I’d better be going actually,” I assert.

Matty puckers his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’ll show you out, princess.” It’s a sweet nickname but it tastes bitter out of his mouth. He seems to twist everything good and make it unbearable. I resent him for it. I trudge in front of Matty towards the door with steadfast focus. As I cross the threshold, I turn to meet his gaze.

“Thanks for nothing,” I say calmly. Matty breaks into a devilishly smug grin. His eyebrows tilt a little and his lips reveal a few crooked teeth at the bottom of his mouth.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he says. I scoff and turn on my heels, leaving Matty in the dust.

–

The scent of freshly chopped garlic fills the kitchen as I stand in an assembly line of young women with cutting boards and chefs knives, each diligently chopping an ingredient for the bruschetta.

In front of me is a bunch of basil, perfectly fresh and green. I gently remove the leaves from the stem and create a pile in the middle of my board. It reminds me of when I would be tasked with raking the leaves as a kid. Too distracted by my childish whims, I would create more work for myself by piling the leaves on top of each other and taking a grandiose dive into them before scooping them up into a trash bag and discarding them. Each leaf was like a piece of confetti, a celebration of the season and of youth. Now I do these things to prove to myself that I’m young and that I can still conjure up that imaginative, playful nature if I try hard enough.

As I rock my knife back and forth over the soft leaves, Christina asks me where I was the night before.

“I came out around eleven to invite you upstairs, but I couldn’t find you,” she says.

Embarrassed, I train my eyes to the task at hand. This is not the group to look like a tattle-tale in front of. Actually, there’s very few groups in which that would fly. My penchant for playing God and divvying out karmic consequences to everyone whose path I cross is a part of my nature I’m not particularly fond of. I’m not keen to share it, especially around people who are still making up their minds about me. Despite my steadfast beliefs and borderline-outlandish behaviors, I maintain a fervent desire to be liked. It’s pathetic.

“I stepped out for some air,” I murmur.

“Really?” she nudges, “Because I didn’t see you on the porch.”

I turn my basil bunch 90 degrees in a flourish, beginning to chop it lengthwise.

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep because of the music,” I spit.

“And…” Christina has always been too good at getting me to reveal my true feelings. She goads me torturously until it’s easier to say what I’m thinking than to conceal it.

“And I went to ask them to turn the music down,” I finish, “There, are you happy?”

“Very,” she smiles.

I pick up the chopped basil, letting the pieces float through my fingers and deciding I need to chop them smaller, still. I whack at the pile haphazardly, ruining the lovely squares I meticulously crafted earlier.

“They didn’t turn it down, if you were wondering,” I pant, “Pricks.” Christina chuckles to herself.

“No one ever does.”

–

The music of the club is omnipresent as I enter hand in hand with Christina. On my feet are heels too high to be comfortable, but the perfect lift to accentuate my calves. As soon as I cross the threshold, I drag Christina to the bartender, ordering two negronis. We idle by the bar for a moment and I take in my surroundings, savoring the bitter aftertaste of my drink and the waltz of the lights that flicker and cover the dancefloor with reverie. I listen to the synths and flourishes of the melody that envelop my senses. I hadn’t expected to like the music, but the DJ is spinning disco and it just feels right: the cold Italian aperitif, the funky basslines, and the tranquil nighttime air. I almost wish I’d left my phone at home. Nights like these aren’t compatible with phones anyway. The atmosphere feels like a relic of a bygone era, full of free love and intoxication.

Nina and a friend of hers find Christina and me at the bar and run up to us with inebriated bravado. “You guys made it!” she squeals. Little does she know we were pre-gaming at the villa in anticipation of this exact moment. I couldn’t handle Nina while sober tonight, that much I was absolutely sure of. It also didn’t help that I was alone – for the first time in several years – in a romantic foreign country without the girl whom I still loved. As unhealthy as it was, alcohol made that reality hurt a bit less. Nina grabs my hands and leads Christina and me away from the bar.

“I need to introduce you to the DJs!” Nina exclaims. I glance at Christina to communicate that no, I’m not particularly enthused at the prospect of meeting some Eurotrash guy whose head is shaved and whose torso is covered in Gucci logos. She returns the glance, silently begging me to behave. I relent.

Nina leads us around the side of the floor to some kind of dark stairwell. Rationally, I should be scared of being kidnapped but my drunken stupor inspires more carelessness than I would usually indulge in. I watch the sway of Christina’s hips and follow her like a lost puppy. Finally, we reach the top and the DJ deck is revealed. It’s shadowy and hazy. To the left is a corner booth with a straight couple making out in a way that really ought to be illegal in public. Past the lookout, laser lights flicker and sweep across the dancefloor, catching on the artificial fog and filling the air with psychedelic color. My eyes fall on the backs of two figures at the DJ booth, smoke rising above their heads. I can make out that one has headphones on and is faffing with the turntable while the other has their hands in the air and the small, flickering glow of a lit cigarette dancing around their figure. I’m dragged towards them by Nina who throws an arm around each of their necks in greeting. As soon as the one with the cig turns around, I catch his eyes.

It’s Matty. Selfish, arrogant Matty. I nod my head and flatten my mouth in a kind of recognition. The room is spinning from the alcohol and my skin is buzzing with discomfort. The bass of the music resonates in my ribs, teaching my heart how to beat. My mouth tastes salty and my knees feel weak.

I’m running to the corner where I can see a bin. Tears prick at my eyes and my hair sticks to my sweaty forehead as I swiftly empty the contents of my stomach into the small trash can. I kneel on the rough carpet and brace myself on either side of the bin with my hands. Between heaves, I lift my head to shake my hair off the back of my neck. The cool air feels grounding, but I’m soon back with my head in the can. I feel a hand on the back of my head, wrangling my frizzy hair off of my shoulders. I gasp, looking back for the sisterly comfort of Christina’s bottomless, cerulean eyes. Instead, I find a pair of brown, honey-flecked irises: Matty’s. I’m reeling too severely to be upset or confused; I’m just grateful when he uses his free hand to sweep my damp bangs out of my face and nods at me.

“Go on,” he encourages, “better out than in.”

I bury my head in the bucket again.

“Atta girl,” Matty coos in my ear. I can almost notice his hand rubbing circles on my back. Even when I’m quite sure I’m finished, I keep my head down for a moment savoring the last few seconds that I don’t have to look Matty in the eyes. Curse him for helping me. I wouldn’t know how to interact with him under normal circumstances, much less when he’s been nice to me – and watched me unceremoniously blow chunks into a bin.

“You feel better?” he asks. I lift my head tentatively, still scared another wave of nausea will hit me.

“I think so, yeah,” I mumble. Matty searches my eyes for any warning sign that I’m still sick.

“Have you got a hair tie?” I instinctually fish in my jeans pocket for one, handing it to him. Slowly, he corrals my locks into a ponytail and secures it, fingers grazing the tops of my ears and making me shiver. I sit back against the wall with my legs splayed out in front of me, knees visibly carpet burnt from my previous position. Matty flops down beside me. He reaches out to touch the red, irritated skin.

“You don’t need a doctor or something, do you?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I hiss when he applies a little pressure to my knee and shake his hands off me, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“When have I not been nice?”

“You wouldn’t turn the music down the other night,” I state. He smiles at me, eyes scrunching up until his pupils are totally obscured.

“No one ever turns the music down,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus,” he adds, “I thought you were a buzzkill. Now I can see that’s not the case, sweetheart.”

“I can usually handle my drink better than this,” I protest, “And I’m also usually not a buzzkill.”

“I guess I don’t know anything about you, then,” he acquiesces, thinking for a moment, “Do you want to start over?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” I nod, smiling tipsily.

“So what’s caused you to be sick tonight?” Matty asks, leaning his head back against the wall. His hair is curled up in perfect ringlets and his skin glows golden even in the dim club light. He looks at me carefully, like his stare could hurt me. It could, I suppose.

“Alcohol?” I say it like that should be obvious. His face wrinkles up again in a laugh I can vaguely identify as something that’s my fault. He looks pretty. I realize I want to make him do it again and again forever. I want to see the crinkles that grow at the sides of his eyes and the curl of his upper lip that reveals his boyishly crooked teeth.

“I figured as much. Anything in particular that drove you to drink?” I frown for a second, trying to remember.

“My ex,” I say quietly.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, “that’s the problem. She didn’t do anything.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago?” My god, it’s already been two months.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “that’s still fresh.” I shrug.

“It’s alright I guess. You just feel a little betrayed when someone stops trying. I thought that was the whole point of…” I trail off, gesticulating aimlessly with my hands, “love or whatever. To keep trying.”

“I get it,” he utters.

“People stop trying with rockstars, too?” I tease. He smiles.

“How did you know that I’m a musician?”

“Well, first of all, I said rockstar–”

“Which I chose to ignore because it was sarcastic.” I roll my eyes.

“And second of all, the girls I’m staying with told me,” I finish. He nods in understanding.

“Well yeah,” he sighs pensively, “people stop trying with everybody. Even rockstars. If I’ve learnt anything in my life, it’s that giving up usually has more to do with them than it does with you.”

“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less,” I argue.

“Nothing does. You just have to let it hurt for a while.”

We’re both quiet for a second. I catch a couple of bars of an Earth, Wind, and Fire song and hum along, content with the silence. I let my head fall onto Matty’s shoulder and he immediately turns his head to look at me.

“Oh fuck, sorry. Is this okay?” I ask, hand flying to my mouth “I know I just puked.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “I just didn’t think you would want to.”

“I want to,” I kiss his shoulder through the cotton of his white button-up shirt. He watches me the whole time as though he can’t quite compute what’s happening. Then he snaps back to his regular confident state.

“Let me know if you ever want to deal with your girlf– ex without drinking your feelings away…” he trails off, mouth meeting the crown of my head, “I’d love to show you around here sometime.”

“Okay,” I mumble, the alcohol, tiredness, and emotions beginning to get the better of me and coax me toward sleep.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Matty grabs my hand from my lap and wraps it in his two larger ones, caressing my thumb and humming into my ear.

–

a/n: the next bit is written, but I am still writing the end. smut soon! x

#matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfiction #matty Healy

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spidey-x-male-reader · 10 months

Note

Pls do spot with a non-binary spider reader who not only thinks he and his abilities are cool, but teaches him how to properly use them. Pls I have so much brains of for this man I'LL TAKE EVEN THE TINIEST CRUMB JUST PLS🙏🙏

Pairing: The Spot x nonbinary!reader

Warnings: ///

A/N: God I was really trying my best with this one. I hope it's alright!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

MASTERLIST

Being part of the spider society probably isn’t your dream job (mostly because you don’t get paid for some reason?) but it was fun most of the time.

You hang out with people who understand you better than most people around you do, you have fun missions and get to kick ass. What’s better than that?

Of course there’s the occasional multiversal threat but you are great at dealing with that. And you would never get compromised because of anything…never…definitely…

“Oh my god he’s so cool” you mumble to yourself while swinging after the spot.

You were alone for the while, Jess having stayed back to do some damage control, but Miguel has clearly tasked you to catch the Spot and make sure he didn’t do anything dangerous. But currently you are way too focused on how cool the guy looks to think about catching him.

“Hey! Can I ask a question?” you ask while swinging next to him.

“Wha– I guess?” He seems more confused than anything. As much as you can judge from…his non-existent facial features.

“Do your powers have some kind of limit of distance or could you like…go to Italy right now if you wanted?”

“I–” he stops moving and stays standing on a rooftop. “That’s a good question actually.”

You stop standing next to him, carefully touching his shoulder. It feels pretty normal. You imagined something else.

“...aren’t you going to arrest me or something?”

“I’ll think about it when my boss starts paying me.” you shrug. “My name is (y/n) by the way.” you hold your hand out to him. Ah yes. Telling your secret identity to the guy you’re supposed to be hunting. Miguel would give you the most disapproving glare if he saw you right now.

“The spot.” he shakes your hand. “But…I guess Jonathan if we go by first names” this was probably the weirdest interaction you had all week…or the second weirdest.

“So…tell me more about your powers. How do they work?”

“What? So you can make fun of them?”

“Fun? Are you kidding? This is like…the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. And I saw a guy that turned into a giant rhino. And that’s pretty cool. But those powers are like…” you look up to (were you guess) his face is. “...absolutely incredible. They’re beautiful.”

“Well that’s the first time someone says that…usually they tend to make fun of it or just…the way I look.”

“What’s wrong about the way you look?” you frown, looking at him. “Sure…it’s a bit weird to not have a face to look at but I think we can work with that.”

He doesn’t say something for a few seconds, just studying you silently. “Thank you” he eventually says.

You want to say something when your communicator blinks as you hear Jessica’s voice out of it. “(y/n)? Have you caught the spot?”

You look up at him for a moment. “...no. I lost him. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Meet me at the meet up point. We’re going to have to think about a new strategy.”

“Of course. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll check the territory once more.” you say before hanging up. “I do not like lying to Jess.”

“Why…did you lie?”

“I didn’t see the reason for turning you in.” you smile at him. “And…you know. Maybe I can help you if you need some more help with your powers. I mean I’m not an expert at portals and stuff but I’m good…positive affirmation.” you grin at him before stepping to the edge of the building.

“How am I…going to find you for that?” he asks, taking a step towards you again.

You turn back to him again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be the one finding you.” you grin and let yourself fall off the building backwards.

That looked cool, right?

You are hoping it looked cool.

And you’re trying to do your best to not think about the fact that you wanted to impress the new villain.

….that was okay….right?

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aonungslvr · 7 months

Note

Kiri x sibling reader who struggles with being an outsider and feels alone?

an extra finger to hold

pairing ; sister! kiri te suli kìreysì’ite x gn!sibling! reader

taggings ; 🪽🍄🐚🫧

notes ; my first request! tysm for this, and i’m so sorry it’s short! this was written in some of my classes and i don’t have much free time lately! i am expecting a break from the workload soon though so i’ll be more consistent then!

summary ; kiri has noticed her younger sibling distancing themself from everything and finally steps up.

1.4k words

you were the third sully child, older then lo’ak and tuk yet younger then neteyam and kiri. of course, this made you the middle child. on top of that, you had inherited your fathers extra finger, eyebrows, and low set queue.

your brother, lo’ak, and sister, kiri, had also received these traits. however, they had gained their mothers higher queue. neteyam and tuk also had your fathers queue. this left you with the most human traits among your siblings.

being the olo’keytans child did not save you from the relentless teasing from other navi children. pureblood navi children. when you were younger the bullying was more commonly said to your face in harsh remarks.

“look! they have an extra finger!”

“that’s so weird…they’re a demon!”

the words were said with laughter, but that didn’t help you. now that you’ve grown slightly older, nearing fifteen, the navi teens hid their torment. words were spoken between shushed whispers and behind hands.

“have you seen them up close? they have hair above their eyes…”

“they kinda look like a prolemuris, right?”

whenever you’d look their way they would avert their eyes and carrying on with whatever they were doing, as if nothing had happened.

you stopped attending your healing lessons after the navi girls there had been snickering at you, much to kiris dismay.

once the warriors and hunters in training caught wind of your strange features, they too made fun of them behind your back. eventually you left training as well, which your father did not agree with but was unable to ever find you and force your bow into your hand.

you spent most of your days strolling through pandoras endless forest. the great mother was the only one who had seized to make fun of you. eywa had chosen your father. he was a blessing. that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

you weren’t only left out of your clan but your family too. neteyam was the eldest, he is the most responsible and mature. kiri has such a wonderful connection to eywa. lo’ak is the trouble maker. tuktirey is the baby of the family. so what were you? the most human like navi on pandora? that’s the life you were given if you were to return to home, so you remained in the forest. alone.

despite being alone for most of the day, you still had to go home when night fell. everyone was always so occupied, nobody had the time for you.

your father is olo’keytan, he is planning attacks on the humans. your mother is tsakarem, she must care for tuk. your brothers are going at each others heads, lo’ak wreaking havoc and neteyam fixing it. kiri…what does kiri do?

you were stuck in the loop of your normal life. wake up, maybe eat breakfast, then leave home before anyone had time to ask questions.

you were currently avoiding bow training with your father and brothers, so you cruised through pandoras forest. the flora and fauna never upset you, no matter how many times you had seen it.

you’ve always been jealous of kiris connection to the moon you lived on. she was a blessing from eywa. your father and sister had been blessed, why weren’t you?

not a day goes by where you don’t think about what it would be to be normal. to shave your eyebrows and cut off your pinkies. of course you’d thought about it before, you had messily cut the hair above your eyes when you were younger, and binded your pinky and ring finger together.

other times, you would go out in the clan with your face covered, not revealing your hands and get treated normal for once. you had gotten genuine greetings that day. the sarcastic “i see you”s weren’t the same, you had only received those because you had been with your family, the leaders. when you’re alone you go ignored.

you had tried your best to stay away from where the warriors would be training but there were some stragglers every here and there. you moved on quickly so they couldn’t see who you were. you stopped in your tracks while passing some teenager na’vi behind a tree as you heard your name being spoken.

“(y/n)? well thank eywa they aren’t here today either. i don’t know why their allowed to train. probably giving our secrets to the humans.”

the second boy laughed and added onto what his friend had said, “bro! their probably some sort of spy! do we even know if they’re actually half navi? what if they’re some dreamwalker the humans sent to watch over us..”

“right! that’s what i’ve been saying! let’s be honest, if they weren’t the olo’keytans child, they’d be exciled.”

the boys laughed with each other and you made your exit before you could be seen. it wasn’t the first time you had been made fun of but something about this was different. you weren’t sad. you didn’t feel the need to break out into tears. you had expected all of this, how could you truly be upset?

you entered back into the forest with a solid expression. no tears, no frowns, just there. and as you sat on the grass, for once you didn’t wish to be normal. you didn’t wish to be respected. you wished to be gone.

“i am fine sa’nu. i am just going to head to bed, i’m tired and not hungry.”

your father chuckled at this, “tired from what? not training?”

“your grandmother tells me you have been skipping out on healing, what are you doing with this time (y/n)?” your mother added on.

your siblings weren’t focused on the conversation, they were talking amongst themselves. except kiri. kiri was listening.

“it is no big deal, i am staying busy throughout the day. now if you don’t mind, i’m going to sleep.”

if you were being honest, you wanted them to stop you. you wanted them to be worried and make you stay with them.

just before your mother was about to protest, tuk had ran to her crying.

“sa’nu lo’ak hit me!! look right here! look he hit me!”

your parents attention left you. jake scolded his sons and neytiri comforted her daughter. what about you? you raced off into your separate room, tears threatening to spill. this is how it always is. you finally have the slightest bit of attention and then your siblings rips it away. nobody is ever-

“(y/n)?”

it was kiri. she had entered your room just as you stormed off as tears fell. you quickly wiped away what you could without looking like you were just crying.

“kiri what are you doing here? tuk is crying you should go help her.”

“my sibling is crying. i’m staying with you.” she pushed herself onto your hammock where you laid.

“i’m not crying, truly.”

“i may not be the smartest but i am certainly not foolish. especially when it comes to my families well-being.”

you sniffled and looked away from her. how were you supposed to face her? everyone in your family had so many things going on, things they needed to handle, but here you are. crying over nothing.

kiri gripped your face and faced it back towards herself, “what troubles you?”

you paused for a moment and just stared into her eyes. you didn’t want to tell anyone, you weren’t going to. something about staring into your sisters eyes awakened something. she cared. you have someone who cares.

you broke out into gentle sobs as you told her everything, “kiri my life is awful. it’s horrible. everyone sees me as a demon, i am just like the humans. i’m not even true na’vi. i don’t belong here. i have too many fingers and toes, hair where it doesn’t belong, my queue is too low, nothing i do is right. there is no place for me in this family, i have no purpose here.”

your sister didn’t flinch. she held your face and moved on to hugging you as you continued. you fell into your big sisters embrace and continued crying and ranting. she brushed your braids out of your face and kissed your forehead. as you cried and held onto her it became clearer in your mind, you had kiri.

you had wondered what kiri’s role was in your family. an olo’keytan, a tsakarem, a responsible brother, a trouble maker brother, a baby daughter. that left you and kiri. you had believed you and kiri were both left out, sepreate from the family. but it wasn’t you, and kiri. it was you and kiri. you didn’t have an all loving clan, and you didn’t have the perfect family, but you had your sister. and right here, right now, she was all you needed.

#kiri sully #kiri #kiri te suli kìreysì'ite #kiri x reader #platonic kiri x reader #platonic #x reader #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fanfiction #platonic fanfiction #sibling reader #co writes !!

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jujumin-translates · 2 months

Text

Sakuya Sakuma | [SSR] MANKAI Feature | Today’s Star: The Cheshire Cat - Part 2

Sakuya: Waah… they’re so cute!

Tsuzuru: Some of these cats are really tiny.

Sakuya: Sorry for making you come with me.

Tsuzuru: Don’t worry about it, I came because I like being with you.

Sakuya: Thank you so much…!

*Flashback*

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sakuya: Of course, I’ll help with anything I can!

Tsuzuru: Okay, right off the bat I guess, but… can you tell me what comes to your mind when you think about the Cheshire Cat?

Sakuya: Umm… right.

Sakuya: It’s kinda hard, but… I guess to sum it up in one word, freedom.

Sakuya: He’s just like a cat in that sense, he does as he pleases…

Tsuzuru: Alright, then… while we’re at it, how about you let me follow you around closely on a day that you spend freely in your own way?

Sakuya: Huh!? Follow me around closely?

Sakuya: And spend my time freely… I know what those words mean, but what should I do?

Tsuzuru: Okay, maybe saying freely overcomplicates it, basically, you should just do whatever you want to do, Sakuya.

Tsuzuru: Like, go to someplace you want to go to or get something that you want to eat… and wherever that is, I’ll go along with you.

Sakuya: I see…

Sakuya: Okay, got it! I want to--.

*Flashback end*

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Tsuzuru: Never thought you’d start off with a cat café, though.

Sakuya: Of course, I wanted to come here myself, but…

Sakuya: I thought it might be a good reference for my role as the Cheshire Cat.

Tsuzuru: That is true.

Tsuzuru: But anyway, even though it’s been a while since I’ve been to a cat café, it’s still just as healing as ever seeing the cats.

Sakuya: Hehe, it really is.

Cat A: Nya~.

Tsuzuru: Oh, that cat is looking at us.

Sakuya: C’mere.

Cat A: …Nya.

Sakuya: There you go. Come get pets…

Cat A: Purr.

Tsuzuru: Wow, that one’s so friendly. She looks so comfortable, and she’s purring too.

Tsuzuru: I’ll… try to interact with the cats over here, too. C’mere.

Cat B: …Mrw.

Tsuzuru: Err… I’ll take that as a no. Maybe this little guy over here will let me pet him.

Cat C: Nya!

Tsuzuru: H-He ran away…!

Cat D: …

Tsuzuru: Oh, c’mere, buddy.

Cat D: Sniff-sniff…

Cat D: Mrow.

Tsuzuru: Hey! You seemed like you were a little interested in me.

Tsuzuru: Bet they were all super friendly before I showed up…

Sakuya: I-I’m sure they’ll warm up to you eventually!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sakuya: Haaah, that was so fun…!

Sakuya: Going around the bookstore and seeing a performance by a theater company I’ve been interested in for a while after we went to the cat café…

Sakuya: It was all so interesting and really fulfilling!

Tsuzuru: Haha, it’s great, isn’t it?

Sakuya: And of course, our final stop to eat couldn’t be anywhere but here at Hanamura’s!

Shop Worker: Thank you for waiting. Here is your food.

Tsuzuru: Thank you.

Tsuzuru: Ooh, it looks as good as ever. Let’s dig in.

Sakuya: Yeah, let’s!

Tsuzuru: But like you were just saying, we sure did a lot today~.

Tsuzuru: Still can’t believe none of the cats ended up warming up to me. But I guess their I-do-what-I-want attitude is just one of the charms of cats.

Sakuya: Umm… was all of that okay?

Tsuzuru: Huh?

Sakuya: Rather than feeling like I was acting freely, I kinda just felt like I was ordering you around, Tsuzuru-kun.

Tsuzuru: Really? It didn’t feel like that at all to me.

Tsuzuru: I usually spend a fair amount hanging out with my younger brothers, so it was kinda just normal for me… at least, that’s how I felt.

Sakuya: Maybe for you that’s just an ordinary, everyday thing, but…

Sakuya: You came along with me to the places where I wanted to go, and now you’re having dinner with me.

Sakuya: So I’m really really happy and I had a lot of fun!

Tsuzuru: …

Sakuya: Tsuzuru-kun? Is something wrong?

Tsuzuru: No… I was just thinking something like that could be used for the script.

Sakuya: Really!?

Tsuzuru: Yeah. Thanks for giving me an idea, and thanks for letting me follow you around so closely.

Sakuya: I’m happy to hear that! I can’t wait to see the script.

Sakuya: Mhmmhm… Hanamura’s napolitan is truly the best.

Tsuzuru: Ah, here, you’ve got ketchup on your lip.

Sakuya: Wah, my bad…!

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

#a3!#a3! translation #sakuya sakuma #tsuzuru minagi #// there are so many things about this driving me absolutely up the walls insane rn that i can’t even choose one to talk about

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wolfvmin · 2 years

Text

glimpse of us.

pairing: husband!yoongi x female reader genre: ANGST, divorce, arranged marriage (but not really), age gap kinda (5 years), unrequited love, pining (reader) wc: 4,028 type: short song fic (main - glimpse of us by joji ; also - tolerate it by taylor swift, song request - lee sora ft. suga) warnings: unedited literally just wrote this from 3am to 5am i'm sorry i'm lazy, uhm angst, red flag yoongi, they’re both kinda stupid, written in lower caps summary: he's the perfect husband and it's a perfect marriage. but why can't you shake the feeling that something's wrong?

PART 2

“i’ll be home late tonight. don’t wait up.” your husband pecked your cheek after he put his dishes in the sink and washed his hands. as he leaned in, the masculine fragrance of invictus by paco rabanne hits your nose. it’s his favorite perfume and eventually, it became your favorite on him too.

you’ve come to associate yoongi with the fresh citrus fragrance. the first time you met him, he passed by you in the lobby of a five-star hotel. it was hard not to be caught with his appearance when you turned your head to see where the pleasant smell was coming from. he was wearing a white shirt and black suit, an outfit just enough to not be out of place in a fancy restaurant. unlike the well groomed men you know, his hair was longer but not so much to be unkept. in other words, he was effortlessly beautiful. you don’t say it was love at first sight but it was definitely something close to that. he caught your eye. so imagine your shock when it turned out he was the only son of the min family you were having a meeting with your parents with.

“oh. okay.” you replied with a smile. he gives you a smile back and head outs the door.

when the door shuts close, you stood up from your dining table and look out the window. you sigh and watch as he gets in his mercedes benz and drives away.

it was fun at first. unlike what you were expecting when your parents suggested you marry at the age of twenty four, you didn’t expect to actually like the guy they were going to suggest. you had just been working for a year after getting your masters degree at a young age. you had so much to do with your life and getting tied down at that age didn’t appeal to you. yet when the day arrived, you left the hotel’s restaurant with a massive crush on yoongi. you liked him so much that you agreed to having dates with him after having met him and his family.

your family was significantly wealthier than the mins. although yoongi willingly consented to dating you, you knew that his parents had influence with his decisions. you didn’t mind. it was just how it goes with people like you. the six of you in that room knew what the meeting was about. it was no secret. you thought that it might work out. you know a lot of marriages that worked out after a set up. but you also know a lot of marriage that didn’t work out, no matter what the reason is of their marriage. and like an idiot, you chose to ignore that. how could you not? when you were blinded at that idea of having the man you liked.

before yoongi, you were a woman who didn’t stop after getting what you want. annoyingly persistent is what your best friend jungkook calls you. it was how you got your masters at such a young age. you proved your worth in the family’s company at the first six months you have been working there. you shut down the doubt and sexist remarks of men of all ages and the jealous eyes and whispers of women that went your way. you used to be untouchable. but you were also a woman who knew when to give up a lost fight.

you sigh and turned around to do the dishes. your appetite was lost to even finish your meal.

when you finished doing the dishes, your housemaid came just in time. “hey, maria.” you greet her as she comes in the kitchen. “good morning, ma’am. didn’t i tell you to leave the dishes in the morning?” you chuckle as you wipe your hand dry with a towel. “it’s okay. i have time. i won’t come in to work today.”

maria was the almost the same age as your mother. she’s only younger by a few years. she had been working for you and yoongi the moment you moved here in the penthouse your parents have gifted to you. you’re not the type to get a big house but you do plan to get one someday in the future. it’s just that you prefer to buy that property on your own. yoongi agreed to someday live in a house permanently. it seemed that he liked the idea. he didn’t want to live in a place he didn’t contribute to anyway. but out of respect to your parents, he agreed to stay in the penthouse for a while. despite living in a space not as big as your parents’ mansion, with the two of you working, there are parts of the place neither you or yoongi can maintain. that was how maria was hired. and that was how maria became not only your housemaid, but also the person who knows how your relationship with yoongi truly is.

“oh, are you not feeling well?” she asked and you shake your head. “no, i just have some things to take care of. i’ll be in my room, maria. you don’t have to clean there today.” you answer and she gives you a nod, dropping her bag on the counter. “go and rest now, missy.” she scolds you teasingly and you laugh before walking out of the kitchen.

the second you enter the room you and yoongi share, his perfume’s smell hits you again. you sigh.

god, you will miss that smell.

you enter the walk-in-closet connected to the room. just beneath your rack of hanged coats and dresses, you find your box container. with a grunt, you pull the heavy thing out of its place and unto the floor. you sat beside it with crossed legs.

you open it and found the photo album containing yours and yoongi’s memories. when you met, you were twenty four and yoongi was twenty nine. on your fifth date, you asked yoongi if you could make a photo album like a scrapbook. phone and digital cameras were all over, but you said it’d be fun to have a photo album you can hold and look back to rather than just scrolling through facebook and instragram posts. yoongi agreed but it was all you who took the pictures. sure, he held the camera when you tell him his height could hold a better angle. but it was always you who initiates taking pictures.

one might say it’s a petty reason to be upset about. they’re only pictures. some people just really aren’t one to take pictures. that’s what you used to say before too.

you didn’t want to marry because of your crush on him. you loved him as you get to know him. somehow and someway, you convince yourself he was falling in love too. he laughed at your jokes. he took care of you when you were sick. he fetched you when you were going home from work late. he took you out on dates. he asked you to marry him.

the picture was there in the album. he was kneeling down in a dark grey suit, black hair parted in the middle and smiling widely. you were standing in your beige dress, in tears of happiness. you said yes to yoongi at the age of twenty five.

it wasn’t hard to love yoongi. he was a kind and gentle person. he never got mad. he never let the argument pass a night. he touches you like he loves you. everybody loves him and everybody knows that he might not say it through words often, he loves them too. you know yoongi loves you too. he shows that everyday.

you flip through your memories, not realizing the tears falling down your face until it hits one of the pages. you quickly wipe it from the page, afraid to soil the paper. you have to protect it. you plan to keep it with you for a long time after when all is done and over.

yoongi would be home late, just as you expected at a monday. he was the ceo of his father’s company. he’s doing a great job but it takes too much of him that you barely get to see him. but still, he makes time for you even when you don’t ask for it.

when you finish going through the pictures, you set it down on your side and look over the manila envelope inside the box that used to be under the photo album. you’ve just hidden it there a week ago. yoongi doesn’t look through your things, anyway. you think it’s out of respect but in all honesty, he may not just care about it.

so far, you’ve been saying that yoongi has treated you like how a wife should be treated. you have a husband who loves you. so what made you prepare those papers in that envelope?

yoongi does love you. but you’re in love with him. he’s not. it’s different: to love and to be in love.

and you came to know why yoongi shall never be in love with you.

you’re not her.

yoongi was a man who got out of a seven year relationship two years ago when you met him. no one knows the true reason why they broke up. it was supposed to be a love like no other. unfortunately, maybe relationships that started at a young age do rarely work out. some say he cheated. some say she cheated. some say they couldn’t conceive. some say they left each other over careers. it was all over the place, those baseless rumors. still, he was the only woman he was–no, is in love with. you thought you could change that. you tried. you really tried.

it’s hard to replace a woman he loved all his life, you knew that. you didn’t try to replace her in his life. you just wanted to be someone new to him. you thought that was what you were to him.

“of course, i’ve moved on.” he says, reddened cheeks from the amount of alcohol he had taken. he was talking to his best friend, seokjin. you had just come home late from work and they didn’t notice you yet. you were hiding by the door’s hallway. it wasn’t visible to either of them in the living room. “are you sure?” you hear seokjin ask, making your heart sink in your chest. you instantly know what–or rather, who they were talking about. “i love y/n, jin.” he answers, words pressing tightly. he says every word with conviction but somehow you weren’t convinced. it seemed that seokjin wasn’t convinced as well because his next words say so. “where did that love come from, then?” your grip on your bag tightens and you press your back to the wall. you need an outlet for whatever comes next out of his mouth. “what do you mean?” yoongi asks him, voice dragging the words lazily from his mouth. “you mean well, yoongi. it just seems to me you don’t realize you’re using the love you had for yuna and putting it on y/n instead.” you feel the tears well up in your eyes, your vision blurring as you look down on the floor. seokjin explains further. “because you still don’t know where to put the love all you had for her when she left.” in his silence, your heart breaks altogether. yoongi and yuna were lovers from college and best friends since high school. you stalked seokjin’s facebook page to know that. yoongi didn’t have active social media accounts. he deactivated them all when he started his career and just made new ones for formality. the ones he had were mostly left to rot in his phone. you don’t even want to ask him about her. you did once and he answered shortly then changed the topic.

in the college pictures, you noticed yoongi had a digital camera he always brings. it had a strap that hangs around his neck for most of the time. you realize he used to love taking pictures. but that changed when they broke up.

he was also a shooting guard for the basketball team in school. both in high school and college. yuna was there for every game in the pictures. you didn’t even know your husband liked basketball, much less a player.

his hair color used to change so much. your favorite had to be the mint one. it looked so good on him and it was so different from the long black haired yoongi you knew. it complemented his gummy smile in the pictures. his youthful and bright gummy smile you rarely get to see.

it was something you know you have to accept. you weren’t dumb. you knew what you were getting yourself into when you married yoongi. you don’t get to date the person he was before he lost everything. you only hope that he loves you back in his own way.

and that’s what you did. you gave him all of you. but you don’t understand how it is that she had put him in so much misery but still be the one in his heart.

were you just a placeholder until she comes back and takes all the love he had let you borrow?

you don’t think you could stay and wait until the day comes.

you’ve heard of the news. she was coming back from the states six years after her divorce with yoongi. in the two years you’ve been married, you know him well enough to know that he has been of edge lately. he was coming home later than before and drinking with his friends more.

still, he took you out on dates and made love to you occasionally. despite his efforts, you both knew that there has been a shift that none of you can explain if it’s caused by you or him. mostly, you think it’s yours.

“are you in love me?” you asked yoongi one night, naked under the sheets. “why are you asking me that all of a sudden?” yoongi asks with a lazy chuckle, tired and sleepy from the activities. you bite your lip and lean to him closer, placing a loose fist on his bare chest. “nothing.” he sighs and places a hand over yours. “i love you.” and you try to believe him. but why is it you can’t shake the feeling of not being convinced? slowly, you started to let the marriage take a toll on you. you keep hearing that you and yoongi were perfect. everyone was asking when you plan on bearing a child. yet, all you could think about was if yoongi truly loved you. and just like that, you started losing yourself. even if everyone was telling you how perfect you were, the ones who truly loved the both of you are the only ones seeing the truth.

“what do you mean you’ll let me handle the deal with the sponsors?” jungkook barged into your office like he always does, using the best friend privilege. “that means you’re now the team leader in this project, kook.” you answer him, eyes not straying away from the laptop. you were busy scrolling on a vacation booking site. you hear the aggressive tapping of foot on the floor, and you could definitely see the crossed arms of your best friend in front of you without even looking up. “yoongi’s having time off work again. how fucking great. where are you to going now? the bahamas? amsterdam? malta? bora bora?” “woah, woah. what’s with the attitude?” you finally take a look at your best friend’s angry face. “and i haven’t decided yet.” the doe-eyed man raises a brow and sits on the chair in front of your desk with a huff. “it’s just weird to me. you being married.” “i’ve been married for a year, kook.” you answer him nonchalantly. on the website, a deal catches your eye. “oh! this one’s good.” “i’m just— you’re just— no. nevermind.” jungkook shakes his head and loses his crossed arms, now sitting on the chair like a slumped sack. you take off your attention from your laptop and look at your best friend, slapping his muscular arm. “just fucking tell me!” you groan. he sits up straight this time, looking at you dead in the eye. the shift in the atmosphere makes you a bit uncomfortable. “why are you so serious all of a sudden?” you ask, chuckling nervously. “i knew that when u your priorities were going to change. but you’re literally throwing out your own efforts out of the window the moment you know you can spend time with him. does he do the same y/n?” “of course he does, jungkook!” you raise your voice, letting your emotions control you. you snap back out of it when you see the furrowed brows of your friend. he runs his hand over his hair, messing it up, a mannerism he does when he’s frustrated. “no. you ask him to. you suggest and he goes out of his way to please you.” jungkook’s voice remained modulated unlike yours. he pressed on every word for you to truly understand what he was talking about. “i’m not saying this is a bad marriage, y/n. i just need you to assess if you’re doing things right before you lose yourself." that was the first time you realize that yoongi tolerates you. the rose color glasses you’ve put on really made you believe that he was a good husband. yes, he’s a good husband in the books. he always made time when you ask him to. when he senses you’re down, he’s the one who plans trips and takes you out on dates.

it took a scolding from your best friend to realize that he does not do it because he loves you. the easiest comparison to your marriage would be a business deal. your marriage is a business deal he doesn’t want to lose. and he loved the business. he loved being your husband. it was hard to say he does not love you when you came with the deal.

“why are you late? what’s this?” you peck his lips when he comes in the door, taking the paper bag from his hand. you take a peek inside and found your favorite new york cheesecake inside, making the corners of your lips turn upward in a cheeky grin. “this store is one hour away from your office!” you gasp and he leans by the wall with crossed arms, looking so beautifully unreal. his long black hair was coolly unkept. the way a few strands of hair falls over his forehead complements his face. he was the effortlessly cool min yoongi. and he was your husband. “and we are about to leave for hawaii tomorrow. i should get my wife something to celebrate being alone with my wife.” you set down the paper bag on the floor and clasped your hands on his cold cheeks. he came to know you absolutely love holding cold cheeks but hate yours being touched by what you say dirty hands, afraid it would ruin your skin care. “i love you.” he leans in and wraps his hands around your waist. “i love you too.” and he presses his lips unto yours.

is it an illusion? were you seeing things that weren’t there? why is everyone around you noticing that there was something wrong with the marriage? from seokjin’s doubt of yoongi’s love and jungkook’s concern about you, why can’t you see it? and the most important of it all, if you don’t see it, then what’s stopping you from being truly happy with yoongi?

yoongi is a perfect husband. you are the perfect wife. it should be a happy marriage. but it’s not. you’re not happy because you don’t think yoongi would ever be happy.

“can we be honest tonight?” you were both staying in the room of the resort. you downed too much wine to think straight and it was bound to come out of your deepest thoughts anyway. yoongi only stares at you with an equally drunk state. you grip on the soft robe of the resort you had on. the same one yoongi wears. “why do we never fight?” you ask him anyway. it was true. you don’t think there had been an argument that lasted an hour. he was the one who always gives way. he never gets angry. he talks to you about it calmly. “why don’t you get angry at me?” “i’m not sure why you’re asking me this.” he says with puffed cheeks, now looking at his glass of wine. “what happened with yuna?” you ask this time. yoongi doesn’t look at you and continues to stare at the blood red drink as if he’s willing it to disappear with his mind. “yoongi, what happened with yuna?” you repeat the question, shifting to lean closer to him. he still doesn’t answer so you sigh. you feel the warm trickling on your nose and the tears that rise to your eyes. you stop them with closed eyes. “forget it. i’m going to sleep.” you say and set your glass down on the side table of the bed. you faced the other way when you lie down. the alcohol has been in your system enough to make you feel a bit dizzy, but your consciousness is rarely affected by it. you try your best try to fall asleep in the first few minutes but it was hard when you can feel your heart breaking over the silence of the room. eventually, you feel a shift on the bed beside you. “she found someone else.” he says it so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. “and we don’t fight because i’m afraid that if i don’t do things right, you will leave me too.” you don’t think he realizes you were still awake. not when you hear the sniffs of cries coming from him. “you’re so much like her, y/n. i don’t ever want to lose you.” and that was when you decided to do it.

you took the manila envelope inside the box and took out the four papers inside. you placed them on top of the drawers of wrist watches and jewelry in the middle of the room. with tears in your eyes, you grab the pen from your pocket.

and you sign the papers.

your phone dings two times after you’ve dropped the pen beside it. one text from your secretary and the other from your husband.

mrs. min, your apartment in myeongdong has been set up. i’ve checked it myself and it’s clear to stay in now. i arrived safely. love you. you carried the box out of your room and into your living room coffee table. maria was already waiting on the couch. it seemed that you took too long in reminiscing that she was already done doing the chores.

“oh, y/n.” her voice is full of pity that you can’t help but break down in front of her. you sob like a child that was robbed of a candy she liked. maria wraps her arms around you and pats your back.

when you’ve calmed yourself down and maria showed herself out of the penthouse in respect of your alone time, you place the manila envelope on the table. above it, a folded paper of a written letter to yoongi.

you glance back at the empty apartment, seeing the happy memories you and your husband share. it used to be so bright and shiny. now it just seems like it’s rusting. so you turn off the lights and head out.

as you were driving out of the neighborhood, you passed by a children’s park. like fate was laughing at you, you see a family of three playing. they can’t be much older than you or yoongi.

maybe one day, when he sees a family like this, he could see a glimpse of what you two could have been instead.

#yoongi imagine #yoongi drabble #bts drabble #bts imagine #bts angst #yoongi angst #yoongi divorce #yoongi marriage #yoongi fanfic #yoongi #suga #suga imagine #suga angst #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi one shot #bts one shot

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bellaramseysgf · 2 years

Text

Little Princess (S.B)

Warning(s); Attachment issues,public daddy kink,soft pure fluff,Remus kinda being mean,little bit of angst,mentions of age regression,brief mention of abandonment,protective Siri <3

Pairing(s); Sirius Black x crybaby! Girlfriend! Reader.

Summary; Remus makes fun of how clingy you are with Sirius not realizing why that is.

A/n; doing gods work.

You were laid in the common room Sirius’ large figure taking up the love seat while you laid on top of him. Your fingers braided up his hair weaving the strands together while he laid reading a book. His hand ran up and down your back in smooth comforting strokes helping you come down from your stressful day.

The common room was suddenly filled with yelling and you peaked over to couch to see James and remus arguing. “They’re going at it again, daddy” you said and he shrugs “they need to just fuck and get over all this bullshit” you giggled. “So sex solves problems?” “Yes it solves many problems. Not for us though, I like talking with you too much” you smiled and dropped your head back to his chest.

Eventually the two boys walked around the couch and plopped into separate arm chairs. “Pads, Moons’ is being mean.” James pouted. “Mean? What do you mean mean! You can’t-” Sirius shoots him a look and he finally stops. “Just fuck it out for Merlin’s sake. Fucking loud as shit” he grumbled. You smiled nipping at his jaw making him smile in return.

He patted your back “alright, I gotta piss, love get up” you whined in response and he looked down at you. “I’m just going upstairs baby,I’ll be right back. I promise” you shook your head and clung to him tighter “you can’t come with me this time honey, cmon up we go” you whine when he sits up lifting you off him. “Noooo! Daddy!” You wrap your arms around his hips and cling tightly.

“Princess, I’ll be right back, I promise. Cross my heart pretty girl.” Your lip wobbled but you let him go getting head pats in return. You sit back on your legs you butt resting on your feet as you fiddled with your fingers anxiously. “He was just going to the bathroom are you that needy?” Remus asked and you looked up at him. “Well, I just I miss him when he’s not next to me” “phew you’d get on my nerves hanging all over me like that.” Remus added.

“I think it’s sweet!” James defended but you start to chew on your lip. “I…I don’t annoy him” you mumble warm tears pricking your eyes. “You have to? The Man can’t even pee without you whining about it! It’s ridiculous” “Moony I think….” James interjected. “What? He won’t say it. She need to hear it. You’re constantly clinging to him it annoys him.” “Remus!” James yelled and you hiccuped, tears running down your cheeks.

“Sorry…” you whimpered and got up running towards the common room entrance. “Princess where are you-” you ignored him leaving and he snapped his head to his friends “what the fuck did you say to her?” He snapped out. “What? It’s just the truth and she’s being a baby” Sirius glared at Remus. “You don’t understand what the girls been through. You’re inconsiderate asshole” Sirius huffed out. “Just because you’re pissed at your boyfriend doesn’t mean you can yell at my girlfriend! Fuck you! I outta punch you for that.” Sirius grabbed your blanket and left to look for you.

He found you sat right outside the common room crying just as hard as he thought. “Come here princess” he lifted you up, hiding your face in your neck as your body racked with more hiccups and sobs. “It’s alright, I’m sorry baby. Daddy left you with that meanie I’m sorry.” He draped your fuzzy blanket over you tucking it around you. Sirius held you close and peppered kisses on your face and head until he could get you calm enough to speak.

“You okay princess?” You nodded using your sleeve to rub away left over snot from your nose. “Do I annoy you? Being so clingy?” Sirius shook his head immediately “no! Not at all! I love it. I love getting to have my baby next to me all the time” you sniffled “Remmy said it annoyed you” sirius patted your back gently.

“Well, it did at first. I’m not used to this kind of affection and it took getting used to. Now that I know why you love being attached to me I love for you to be.” He kissed your forehead. “You don’t annoy me baby. I love being here, next to you, breathing in sync,kissing you whenever I want, pinching your cute little bum when you walk away” you smiled and took a deep,shaky breath. “Easy poppet, easy.” He rubbed your back and you laid into his chest.

“Wanna go back inside?” You shook your head “don’t wanna be around Remmy he’s a jerk face.” Sirius laughed at your version of a insult. “Princess, that’s not very nice to say about your friend” you let out a small ‘hmph’ and he pecked your cheek. “Cmon, I’m sure he will want to apologize” “….you won’t leave?” Sirius shook his head.

With a arm wrapped around your back making sure to hold your blanket to you he carried you back into the common room. Sirius eyed remus who cleared his throat “y/n, love I’m sorry I was mean to you” you didn’t say anything, not even bothering to lift your head from Sirius’ chest. “I was mad with Prongs and I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. I’m sorry” you sniffled and shrugged.

“What can I do to make you forgive me?” “Will you buy me a sucker at hogs this weekend?” Remus smiled “of course I will.” “All’s forgiven” Remus chuckled at your childish antics. You rubbed at your eyes sighing as Sirius went back to his book, you went back to braiding his hair.

#fem reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black #sirius black x female reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x reader #sirius x you #marauders era

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via-l0ve · 11 months

Note

hi! i absolutely LOVED ur sleepover hcs for the outsiders and was wondering if you could do something like that for the sturniolo triplets? like just filming a video with them or a sleepover! you totally don’t have to but it would be very appreciated!!<33

Sleepover Headcannons for the Sturniolo Triplets! <3

a/n: omg first of all thank you so so so so so much! got me giggling and blushing like a middle schooler lol. second of all i literally love this idea and right when you suggested it my mind went thinking up so many things so i hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: swearing, chaos lol

They def pick you up and you immediately have a karaoke party in the car

As you’re singing Nick def takes sneaky videos of you with snapchat filters and posts them all to his story

you guys stop at mcdonald’s or something and chris harasses the poor worker taking your order in the intercom

“what would you like today?”

“i’d like a whopper.”

“…”

“nah i’m js kidding i’ll have a huge biggie big mac.”

matt slaps him 🤷‍♀️

if you use ketchup i think you’d accidentally open the packet and it would squirt on matt’s jacket

him:

i think nick would want to go to target and almost get kicked out

Nick drags you, Matt, and Chris to the clothes section and you all pick out outfits for eachother

In nicks mind it was supposed to be cute and you were supposed to pick out good fits for eachother

didn’t happen 🥰

the triplets waltzed out of the store lookin like

they wanted you to look just as bad though don’t get too excited

i’m sorry

anyways they make you film a video like that

you do something like “they’re a ten but they..” and you accidentally choke on your mcdonald’s sprite because of nicholas

matt takes you all on a late night drive and you blast music

“WHATCHU KNOW BOUT ME, WHATCHU WHATCHU KNOW BOUT ME”

“SLAYYY Y/N!!”

but the playlist is on shuffle so a sad song plays and everyone gets into it

you and Chris act out a breakup scene in a movie

matt and Nick are the observing audience

“i broke up with you because i can’t trust myself anymore!”

“what the fuck does that shit even mean?”

“stop swearing chris you’re ruining it.”

“nick you aren’t supposed to talk you’re the audience.”

“goddamn it.”

eventually you all go back to their house and probably get peer pressured into playing fortnite or something

“MATT!! HEAL ME!!”

“NO! YOU PUT KETCHUP ON ME!”

“OH SO I DESERVE TO DIE???”

i fully believe that charades is such a fun game so i think you all play it

on chris’s turn you all just look at him like 👁️👄👁️ bc wtf is this kid doing.

“how the fuck was that a hawk?”

“it was a dramatic retelling of a hawk killing a mouse.”

“what part did you play them because all i saw was a fucking sin.”

i think you all watch a sad chick-flick to fall asleep and you’re all crying at the ending :((

anyways

you form a cuddle pile to sleep

i’m not accepting any other answer 🫶🏻🤷‍♀️

#thank you sm for this request #love u mwah #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo

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ittybittyhogan · 9 months

Text

Stargazing part 1

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Routledge reader

Warnings: None

Word count: 770

Description: JJ and Y/N have always had feelings for each other but they each thought the other could never see them as anything other than a bestfriend.

A/N: I'm so sorry that it took me so long to post this! When I started writing this it was just supposed to be a short flashback but it got so long that I made it into its own part. I might change the name at some point when I've finished more of the later parts. I'm working on the next part I hope to post it soon. Enjoy!

This part takes place 1 year before the rest of the story.

-Midsummers-

Sarah and Kie had invited you to Midsummer because they knew it wouldn’t be very fun with just the two of them. You were all excited to spend the evening together, but you were especially excited that JJ would see you all dolled up. You and Sarah and Kie went dress shopping together, and you picked out a simple floor length light blue dress.

(this is your dress)

At the party everyone was having fun. You were with the girls on the dance floor when you heard someone calling your name.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You recognized JJ’s voice and looked around to find him.

“Hey JJ. What’s up?”

“Come with me.” He whispered in your ear.

JJ reached down and grabbed your hand and led you away from the dance floor and around the side of the building, where it was much quieter.

“Sooooo… what’s going on?” You asked him, bewildered.

“I need to tell you something…” He trailed off. You could tell that he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the right words.

“JJ you’re my best friend, you can tell me anything.”

“ I like you, Y/N. I have since we met in third grade. I thought you would never see me the same way so I tried to get rid of my feelings for you but I can’t. I hate it when you’re not around, I can’t live without you.”

You were too stunned to speak, but JJ thought the silence meant you didn’t feel the same way, so he sighed and turned to walk away, but you caught his wrist and pulled him back. His eyes met yours and you immediately got lost in the deep blue sea of his eyes.

“JJ, I like you too.” You said quietly while still lost in his eyes.

Rather than answer, JJ pulled you in and kissed you. It was a soft and passionate kiss. You had both waited so long for this moment, and it was perfect. It was everything you had dreamed of. JJ wrapped his arms around your waist and you put your arms around his neck. Eventually you both had to pull away to catch your breath, and you both got lost in each other’s eyes again. JJ spoke first:

“How much trouble do you think I’ll be in with John B when he finds out about this?”

“A lot,” you replied. “He’ll probably kill you.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t tell him quite yet.”

“Good idea,” you said while giggling at the thought of your brother finding out that you had kissed his best friend. JJ was laughing at this too, and once you had both stopped laughing so hard, he cupped your face in his hands and said;

“Y/N, will you go on a date with me?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” you said, while your eyes flicked down to his lips. He smiled and you closed the distance between you and kissed him again.

“We should go back to the party before our friends start looking for us,” JJ said quietly when you broke apart.

“Yeah, they’re probably wondering where we are,” you agreed.

You shared one last short kiss before JJ gently took your hand and led you back to the party. When you spotted your friends you both let go of each other’s hand so no one would get suspicious, although the rest of the pogues wouldn’t think too much of it because you and JJ had always been very close and you two were always giving each other hugs or cuddling with each other during movie nights.

“Where were you guys?” Sarah asked when you had rejoined your friends. “We were about to start looking for you.”

“Sorry,” you said, “we were just talking about going surfing tomorrow and i guess we lost track of time.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow when she noticed your smudged lipstick and how flustered you were, but she didn’t say anything about it.

“Where’s John B?” You asked, trying to change the subject.

“He’s over by the drinks,” replied Kiara.

“I’ll go tell him we’re all over here,” said JJ.

“I’ll come too,” Pope said and followed JJ.

“Here,” Sarah said and handed you her lipstick and a mirror. “Your lipstick’s smudged,” she explained, “I don’t think you want John B seeing that and getting suspicious.”

“Thank you, Sarah. And please don’t tell John B.”

“Of course,” Sarah and Kie replied together.

When John B came over with JJ and Pope he didn’t make any comment about you and JJ disappearing. You had gotten away with it. For now.

A/N: ahhhhhh I can't believe I finished this! I would love to hear what you guys think. If you have any suggestions for the next part please stop by my inbox.

#jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #obx #obx fic #outer banks #john b routledge #pope heyward #kiara carrera #sarah cameron

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crazychaoticizzy · 1 year

Text

Cultural Differences Part 1

You and Armin get assigned to complete a year long project for your Cultural Arts class together. You never thought it would turn into this . . .

WARNINGS: fem!reader, Mexican!reader, fluff, angst, slow burn, eventual smut, college!au, modern!au, Armin is German in this, and they were roommates, trauma revelations sprinkled throughout, slight hints of racism

DISCLAIMER: the reader in this fic is written to be Mexican, however she does not have predominantly Hispanic features described (I think). Y/n can be perceived as anyone since I don’t specify, however just know that she is written to be Latina. This story is also very personal to me, as Y/n is based very heavily off of myself

Masterlist

AOT Masterlist

Word Count: 3.9k

“Theoretically, if you talked to your roommates about it, could I move in with you?” you asked.

Mikasa’s eyebrows furrowed, and she quickly finished her bite of sandwich before saying, “Yeah, I think they’d be fine with it, and it’d be fun for me. Why, though? Is everything okay with your house mates?”

You continued staring down at the Tupperware container holding your food, moving around a piece of chicken with your fork. “Yeah, we’re fine. It’s just a lot. Hitch brings by a new guy every night and tries to be as loud as possible to make Marlowe jealous. They’re also the biggest group of slobs I’ve ever seen, it’s disgusting.”

Mikasa hummed, bringing her water bottle to her lips and taking a sip. “Right, I forgot they were your roommates.” She set the bottle down, tapping the pads of her fingers against it.

“It also happened again.”

The tapping stopped. “Again?”

You nodded. “Floch misplaced almost five hundred dollars.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Fucking Floch,” she muttered. “And you were . . .?”

She trailed off when you nodded again. “The first one.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Where did it end up being?”

“In his goddamn phone case. Why would you put five hundred dollar bills in your fucking phone case?”

“Because it’s Floch. He’s an idiot.” Mikasa shrugged her leather jacket off, folding it up and placing it in her lap. “I’ll definitely ask Eren and Armin if you can move in. I’m sure they’ll agree, so start getting some stuff together. I’ll talk to them about it later and get back to you, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. It’s fine if they say no, by the way, I’ll figure something out.” You put the fork you were holding down, closing the Tupperware container and pushing it to the side.

Mikasa was silent for a moment before grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry this has to happen to you.”

“Not your fault,” you muttered. Another few seconds of silence passed between the two of you before you said, “I kind of want to cut my hair.”

“Really? I’ve been wanting to do that too, but I don’t know. I’ve been thinking maybe a pixie cut.” Mikasa played with the ends of her hair, running her fingers over them as if to measure how much to cut off.

“That’d look cute. You’d be super pretty with that. What about me, how short should I go? Maybe here?” You held your hand up to just above your shoulder. “Or shorter?”

“Well, you’ve always looked good with shoulder length hair. Maybe a bit shorter this time, though.”

You nodded in thought. “Wanna go get haircuts right now?”

“Absolutely.”

The two of you exchanged a smile, and for just a moment while you cleaned up the table you were sitting at, everything seemed to be just fine.

—

You never talked much to the boy that sat next to you in your Cultural Arts class—a class you had chosen to take purely on a whim. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever exchanged a word with the blond that sat beside you. But when you entered class the next day and took your seat beside him, he couldn’t help but double take.

“You cut your hair,” he observed.

It caught you off guard. You didn’t really talk to anyone in the class, seeing as no one you knew took it and you were too nervous to start a conversation with someone, so it shocked you that someone actually spoke to you.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. You didn’t mean to, but it was force of habit—always talk quietly when meeting new people. You looked up at him, seeing that his eyes were traveling over your profile to admire your haircut.

“You look nice,” he said simply.

Your eyes widened slightly at the sudden compliment.

You thanked him, giving him a small smile before you redirected your attention to the mechanical pencil in your hands, spinning around the eraser.

“I’m Armin.” He continued talking to you. You weren’t complaining, but it suddenly felt like every beat your heart made was amplified. It was distracting.

You looked back up at him and smiled again. “Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

You noticed how pretty he was—how his ocean blue eyes caught the light and the way his golden hair fell over his forehead. His glasses were cute, squareish with a dark tortoiseshell design, sitting halfway down his nose.

His lips curled into a smile, and he nodded. “Likewise.”

He looked familiar. His name sounded familiar, too, but you couldn’t quite place where you might know him from.

Since your professor had yet to enter the class, you decided to attempt a conversation with him. “So how do you like this class so far?”

You’re not sure if you imagined it, but you could have sworn his eyes brightened just a little bit hearing you continue to speak with him.

“I like it so far. I looked over the syllabus the other day and it seems like the class will be going on a couple trips later in the year,” he said. He was facing you in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Really?” He nodded. “Wow, I guess that’s what happens when you attend a really fancy private school,” you reasoned. “Fancy school trips for elective classes.”

“Yeah, I think the trips are more for the people wanting a career to do with culture, though,” Armin said. “What’s your major? You look familiar, maybe I have you in another class.”

“I doubt it,” you said, “but visual arts. Film, cinematography, video, set design, things like that.”

“What are you wanting to get into?”

“I want to be a set designer or producer. I think costume designing would be nice, too, but I know I want to help with movies. It’s always seemed fun,” you said. “It’s not really what Paradis is known for, but the program here is really good. I’ll get some experience in the field before graduating.”

“No, it’s cool. I have a friend wanting to get into the same thing, maybe you know him? His name is Jean Kirstein.”

You thought for a moment, attempting to put a face to the name. “Maybe? I’m not sure, I don’t really talk to anyone to be honest.”

Armin hummed. “That’s fine. I’ll ask him later and see if he knows you, if that’s alright with you.”

You nodded. “Yeah, perfectly fine.”

A smile painted itself onto Armin’s features, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was about to say something else, but was interrupted by Professor Smith walking through the door.

He apologized for being late, and continued to begin the class by announcing the year long project mentioned on the syllabus.

“You will be working with your table partners,” he said. “The goal is to get to know them and understand their customs. You are meant to learn about their traditions and heritage, as well as their own personal culture and upbringing. I don’t want something that obviously came from Wikipedia, every family does things a little differently. I expect to see that in these projects. At the end of the year you will each be turning in both a written essay and a Google Slides presentation about your partner and what you learned. There will be a rubric on my desk for you to pick up at the end of class.”

Professor Smith gave his students a couple more minutes to silently converse among themselves, most likely so everyone could begin basic introductions with their partners.

You turned to Armin, finding that he already had his head turned and was looking at you.

“It looks like we’re partners,” he said. You nodded as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, creating a new message box for you to input your number and send something. He handed it to you. “So we can stay in touch better,” he explained.

You took his phone, the dark blue case a nice, matte feeling under your fingertips. You quickly typed in your number and sent a quick hi , feeling your phone buzz in your pocket soon afterwards. You handed his phone back, pulling yours out and changing the contact of his number.

The two of you traded small conversation while you waited for your professor to continue the class. When he started talking again, you tried your best to pay attention to what he was saying (something about Egyptian pyramids, you think), but your mind and gaze kept wandering to the boy sitting next to you.

Little did you know that Armin was in the exact same boat.

—

When Mikasa met up with you for lunch, she started off with saying that her roommates were fine, if not ecstatic, with you moving in. Mikasa hadn’t explained your situation, only saying that you had annoying roommates, and they both accepted almost immediately.

You were practically elated to hear the news. Despite never meeting either of her roommates, Mikasa spoke the world of them to you. You could only assume she did the same with you, speaking to no end about some little thing you did with her roommates.

After lunch she helped you gather your things from your dorm. The two of you were able to fit almost everything into two large suitcases, a smaller one and a backpack. Mikasa helped you carry them to the elevator in the building, and pulled her phone out to text her roommates as you descended.

She talked to you about your room on the way there, mentioning that it was used as a storage room but the three of them had gotten it cleaned out quickly when they came to the agreement that someone else would be staying with them. She also talked about how there was an extra room, something they had discovered behind a wall after they had purchased the house, that they used as a studio for their interests.

“You can set your instruments up in there, if you want,” she said. “They should be fine since Eren doesn’t really go in there.”

Eren, as Mikasa has told you on numerous occasions, was the one constantly up to something. He was stubborn, and only stuck to his ideas with no hope of changing his mind after he made a decision.

You couldn’t remember her second roommate’s name for the life of you, but you knew that he was nice, more reasonable than Eren.

Mikasa soon pulled up in front of a small two story house in a decent looking neighborhood. She parked, grabbing her phone to call someone.

“Get out here and help us,” she said when the receiver had answered. “Y/n’s here, by the way, so don’t be a jackass to her.”

She hung up immediately after saying that. Right as you opened the car door and stepped out, you saw someone with brown hair jogging out the front door to meet you and Mikasa at the car.

He stopped next to Mikasa at the trunk, and helped her pull out your suitcases and place them on the driveway.

You joined them after looking over the house again. It was nice, a blueish-gray exterior with white trim. Nothing seemed like it was about to rot away or fall down, so that was a plus in your book.

“He’s in the shower, he’ll be out in a minute.” That was the only part of their conversation you heard before the brown-haired boy turned to you and gave you a small smile.

Mikasa ended up introducing the two of you, seeing as you didn’t want to initiate conversation and the guy in front of you gave her a side glance. “You should be able to do this yourself. Anyways, Y/n, this is Eren. Eren, meet Y/n.”

Eren gave a curt nod. “Nice to meet you. Uhm, do you have any allergies? I have dinner going in the kitchen and want to make sure you’re not allergic to anything.”

You shook your head. “No, not allergic to anything.”

You spoke quietly again, and you internally scolded yourself for doing so. But then you took his appearance into account and immediately stopped yourself. He was tall, easily one of the tallest people you’ve ever met. He also seemed to carry a lot of muscle under his white long sleeve, and his brown hair was pulled back into a bun to reveal the small tattoo of something you couldn’t figure out behind his ear. His green eyes were piercing, and you couldn’t help but feel he was staring into your soul, learning all your secrets, when he looked at you.

His presence intimidated you, and you silently thanked Mikasa when she told him to start taking things into the house. Eren jokingly rolled his eyes, grabbing one of your suitcases by the handle and wheeling it inside.

“Sorry, he can be a bit”—Mikasa made a motion with her hands, hoping the action conveyed what she was trying to say—“but I promise he’s better once you get to know him. For the most part, at least. Don’t worry, though, he knows you’re one of my best friends and wouldn’t dare pull what he pulls with other girls on you.”

She grabbed the larger suitcase and handed you the smaller one, closing the trunk and locking her car. She gently beckoned you to follow her into the house with a smile, and you followed her.

It was surprisingly put together inside. At least, for a house full of college students. There wasn’t any dirty clothing or dishes lying around, and everything seemed to have a place. It was a bit crowded, but that was likely because of the boxes sitting in the corners.

Mikasa led you to a staircase, where the two of you struggled momentarily to wheel your luggage up before realizing you could pick it up and carry it.

You walked down the hallway to the last door on the right. Mikasa opened it to reveal the sparse room, only being occupied by a bed without sheets.

“This is your room.” Mikasa stood in the center of the room and held her hands out as if what she was showing you was a grand presentation. “It’s a little dirty, but it’s mostly just dust. Eren should almost be done with dinner, so we’ll start putting everything away afterwards, yeah?”

You nodded, reaching behind you to bring in your other two suitcases. You set them in the corner, along with the backpack you had brought with you.

You could hear the shower going; it sounded like it was on the other side of the wall. Mikasa noticed you looking at one of the doors to your right and said, “Oh, that’s just Armin. He’s showering right now. There’s three bathrooms, one downstairs and two up here. The bathrooms up here are shared with the rooms on either side of them, so you’ll be sharing one with him, if that’s alright.”

The name she had said went unheard as you nodded, opening the other door to reveal a small closet with a dresser already inside.

You followed Mikasa out of your room when you closed the closet door for a quick tour of the house.

All the bedrooms were upstairs, you didn’t pay much attention to who they belonged to, but you could tell which one was Mikasa’s—the one across from you, decorated with a Twilight poster and some bookshelves, different knickknacks and book collections on each one. One of her walls was painted black, and had different pieces of paper taped and tacked to it. You spotted a picture of the two of you on her desk, and smiled at the memory associated with it.

She didn’t show you the inside of the other two rooms, saying that her roommates could decide if they wanted you to see them or not.

Downstairs, the dining room and living room were combined, two couches sitting crammed together to make space for the unusually large dining table—rectangular with six seats at it. Half of the table was occupied with unopened mail and other papers, possibly forgotten projects from earlier years, and the other was was completely clean.

It was a rather open house plan. You were able to see into the kitchen from the living room, and saw Eren moving a pot around and grabbing bowls from a cupboard. You followed Mikasa again, and opened the door in the kitchen she stopped in front of to see what was inside.

“This is the pantry. The washer and dryer are also in there, along with, like, other cleaning supplies and things we don’t really use. And then the other bathroom is in the living room,” Mikasa explained.

“Mika,” Eren started, sprinkling some kind of seasoning over the food he had made, “dinner’s almost ready. Go tell Armin.”

Mikasa gave him a thumbs up, telling you something you didn’t quite hear before going upstairs as Eren pulled out a spoon and started scooping dinner into bowls.

You had heard the name, and were trying to figure out where else you knew it from. Obviously Mikasa had mentioned this Armin multiple times in the past, but you swear you knew it from somewhere else . . .

Eren put the big plastic spoon he had been using back into the pot. He lifted a bowl and offered it to you. “It’s fideo. Mikasa said you liked it, so I figured I’d find a recipe and make it for dinner.”

He had pronounced it wrong, but knowing that he had tried to do something to welcome you left a feeling in you that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You took the bowl, bowing your head slightly to thank him and set it at the table.

You turned back towards him. “Do you need help with anything?”

Eren shrugged. “Not really. I mean, if you want to grab drinks you can, but we usually just grab our own.”

You needed something to do—you would feel awkward if you were the only one at the table—so you walked into the pantry and looked around for a moment. You saw a few packs of soda on the floor—all packages of store brand root beer—and bent down to pick up four cans from the only open box.

You walked out and set them down at the table, seeing that Eren had already set the rest of the bowls in their places and was sitting down.

You sat as well, soon being joined by Mikasa. “He’ll be down in a minute. He’s doing his hair.”

You saw Eren jokingly roll his eyes and mumble something that made Mikasa laugh from next to you. You let out a quiet, nervous breath of air in a sad attempt to laugh at whatever joke they shared.

Soon after the three of you started eating, you were joined by a fourth person that sat across from you. You glanced up when you noticed him, noting the familiar blond hair and glasses.

“Armin.” You’re not sure why you’re surprised, you really should have put together that the blond boy in your Cultural Arts class was the same blond boy Mikasa spoke about. Despite that, you didn’t put together until that moment that they were the same person.

Armin glanced up from his phone, which he immediately turned off and put the the side face down. He took the sight of you in with intent, looking over your gestures as if he was trying to commit them to memory.

His blond hair was still damp, sitting on his head flatter than it had been earlier. His skin seemed to be glowing, and the white T-shirt he was wearing hugged his torso and arms in all the right places.

“Y/n.” He said your name in the same tone you had said his, with genuine surprise and wonder. It might have been your imagination, but you think you saw him sit just a little straighter. “So you’re our new roommate?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I guess this’ll make our project super easy.” You smiled at him, and he immediately returned it with his own, one so bright it would have lit up the world if everything went out.

“Oh, so you two already know each other?” Mikasa asked. She wasn’t oblivious to the way Armin straightened his posture after seeing you, the way your eyes unknowingly lit up after realizing he was your third roommate.

She suddenly felt an abrupt protectiveness over you. Mikasa has only ever seen you seem so interested in someone from the very start once, and that didn’t end well. Despite knowing that Armin was a nice guy, that if you two theoretically entered a relationship he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose (even if he ever did hurt you Mikasa knows he would apologize as soon as possible with the most personal apology you would ever see), the thought still made her uneasy.

She trusted your judgment, of course, and in that hypothetical situation where you and him were dating she trusted that Armin would be the best boyfriend you could have, but she knew your past. She knew your habits and little quirks. She knew how you acted and was worried that if anything grew between the two of you, you would just run from your feelings.

She just didn’t want you to get hurt again.

“Yeah,” you said. “We have the same Cultural Arts class. We’re partners for our project.”

“What’s the project?” Eren asked. He was usually unknowing to emotions the people around him felt, but any idiot could see the spark between you and his best friend. He didn’t know you as well as he knew Armin, but you shared the tell-tale signs of interest through the way you were sitting.

He, for one, was rather excited for what might conspire between you and Armin. Since his best friend’s previous girlfriend broke off the relationship, Armin hadn’t searched for anything romantic, saying things like, No one likes me anyways, why would I look for someone that’ll half-ass our relationship?

“Just to learn about each other, really,” Armin said. “We’re supposed to learn about our partners customs and traditions.”

Mikasa hummed, half-way through chewing a spoonful of soup. When she swallowed, she motioned to you and said, “You should tell him about your Quinceañera.”

“What’s a Quinceañera?” Eren asked.

“It’s kind of like a sweet sixteen,” you said. “Kind of. More like a wedding, really, at least that’s what a lot of people describe it as. It’s just a birthday party Hispanic girls celebrate when they turn fifteen to commemorate becoming a woman.”

“There’s so much symbolism behind everything,” Mikasa said, knowing you wouldn’t elaborate further unless asked the right questions. She knew for a fact that Armin and Eren didn’t know the right questions, so she ended it by telling Armin, “Her sister’s having one later this year, so be sure to ask her about it after she comes back from the trip.”

Armin nodded toward Mikasa, silently thanking her for the continuation of conversation. “Definitely. You have a sister?” he asked you.

You nodded. “Rosalina,” you said. “She gathered her court of honor earlier this year and asked her boyfriend to be her main chambelan.”

Armin had not a clue what any of the words you were saying meant, but he knew that he would love learning about the traditions you celebrated.

He was suddenly more excited for this project than he had been.

Ngl this is me writing for the fun of it. This is basically a shameless self insert so…

If you want to join the tag list for this story just leave a comment or DM me!

next part >>

Tag List: @kellzyy @slishyrats

#izzy’s imagines ❀#attack on titan x reader #armin attack on titan #armin aot #armin x reader #armin x y/n #snk armin #armin arlert x reader #armin fluff #armin arlert #armin x you #armin x mexican reader #aot fandom #aot #attack on titan #attack on titan x you #aot fanfiction #aot x reader

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11x13kyle · 7 months

Note

what was the style mca wedding like?

it will come as no surprise to hear that kyle is the biggest fucking groomzilla anal FREAK about his wedding. this isn’t mcau exclusive it’s a universal constant. he’s panicking the entire time building up to the wedding, has a 15 pound binder full of wedding-related information, refuses to relinquish control over a single aspect of it like not even to stan, is just so stressful to talk to because every conversation comes back to that damn wedding

here’s some info you already know from other posts but still worth mentioning here:

cartman is banned from the wedding and there’s literally a specific bouncer in place specifically to kick him out but he refuses to let this stop him. he isn’t able to successfully break into the wedding before the i dos but he very much succeeds in getting into the reception, stealing butters away from kenny (his date), and hooking up with him in the bathroom. kenny responds to this by getting so drunk and hooking up with wendy in the same bathroom.

kenny was also explicitly prohibited from fucking at the wedding so this makes kyle utterly furious

kenny wanted to throw both stan and kyle’s bachelor parties but randy was really insistent on throwing stan’s so kenny was like fine i’ll just throw kyle the best party EVER

unfortunately for him the planning process was hell because kyle is a giant stick in the mud and kept giving him all this restrictions and saying what he isn’t allowed to have which leads to this massive argument because kenny is like i’m sorry where are we supposed to host this shit a MONASTERY???

eventually kyle agrees that kenny can bring drugs but NO strippers

at kyle’s supposedly “low key” party he ends up tripping absolute balls on acid and getting super wasted to the point of blacking out for a couple of hours and coming to on a random ass beach really far from the bar they were at with just kenny

“alright kenny where the FUCK are we???”

meanwhile stan is having a miserable time at his bachelor party just getting whiny drunk in the corner and missing kyle the whole time and not enjoying himself at ALL

randy insisted on strippers and only hired women for his gay son’s bachelor party because at the end of the day it’s for him, not stan

stan while getting a lap dance from a beautiful woman: i miss my fiancé :((

he tries to call kyle but it keeps going to voicemail and he thinks it’s because kyle is having too much fun to notice but it’s really just because kyle is in the middle of NOWHERE with ZERO service

at the wedding itself, they’re mostly successful in keeping the whole thing private and as just a family and friends affair, but one of stan’s fans does manage to find the location and secures a couple of super blurry pictures of the wedding from a distance

she responds to all the questions with either “I DONT KNOWWW” or just total lies

the wedding itself is actually a lovely ceremony honestly. kyle knows what the hell he’s doing. stan sobs the ENTIRE time.

#asks #microceleb au

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ashes-writing · 1 year

Text

stranger things ● summer of 86 pt 2 ● e.munson

warning

eddie is oblivious to being flirted with, flirty reader / PDA / eventual filth. this is very much an attempt at 'idiots in love'. mentions of alcohol / w**d, other vices, a little angst here and there, seasons 1 through 4 obviously did not happen, barb is gay and we're here for it + internalized fear and guilt, maybe some self esteem issues and anger pent up because it wasn't fun to be 'different' in the 80's in a small town ( barb +robin because they're gay and that was frowned upon back then, + eddie bc the 'freak' thing and small towns will cling to whatever they see you as with their dying breath, trust me on it ), mentions of depression / gifted kid burnout ( reader / you ), mentions of previous bad relationships (reader/you) ...

reader/you are the oldest byers + female. reader/you also have a very specific backstory / personality / female parts. I've kept everything else vague as I can, babes. This is self-indulgent and I am not sorry at all.

word count

roughly 3k. for the context necessary, see ( part 1 ). welcome to part 2, babes.

(( are we sick of me being back on my bullshit yet? lmaooo ))

summary

– it’s the summer of 86 in Hawkins, Indiana. And all Eddie Munson has to show for himself so far is his diploma and his job as a record store clerk / manager. you’re back in town for the first time since 83, fresh off a break up and you’ve just made the life-altering decision to drop out of college. all your plans are abandoned and it’s driving you crazy. Enter Eddie Munson, a guy who lives by no plan other than whatever will make him happy in the moment.

A summer romance? Or more than that? Who knows.

(( my summaries are traaaash. look, it’s a record store employee!rocker Eddie thing, alright? Alright. Also, i decided we needed hints of mechanic!eddie and biker!eddie cos he's getting a motorcycle, babes. ))

taglist + shoutouts

-- to be added to my taglist please ( click here ) or let me know if it's not letting you add / you want me to do it. if you joined for steve/gareth other characters and do not want to be tagged, let me know.

@eddiemunsonspantschain i had to tag you in this bc i know you love him and i love you. feel free to ignore babes!

@tbmunson bestie.. babeeee.. babesss... i really hope you like this because you're my inspiration and you're amazing and also, you didn't talk me out of it, so.. oopsie?

@allelitesmut your tags and comments always leave me feeling 🥰🥺 and i cannot even begin to thank you enough. seriously. they make my day. i'm so glad you enjoy this!

@caravelofthesun

@chaoticcancer

@dylanwritesgood

@just-a-blue-nerd

@slyisbehindyou