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sunghoonalter-archived · 2 years

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How Heeseung and Sunghoon would react if they were stalking you and watched as you tried to off yourself:

Warnings: attempted suicide, stalking, I'm pretty sure this is angst with mild yandere

Yes your stalker tries to save you

This is my first request and I really hope it's good enough for the anon that requested it😅

Heeseung:

He walks on the other side of the road, constantly looking over to watch you. He's always done this, it was standard procedure to him. He keeps his hands in his pockets as he watches you with hawkeyes, a smile plastered on his face. That's until you turn around.

His face drops when he sees your dead expression, eyes lifeless. He moves a tad bit quicker to catch up to you. You look up towards the traffic light, head facing oncoming traffic and Heeseung’s mind goes into a frenzy.

'No no no,' his thoughts run frantically through his head as he watches your foot step into the road. You hug yourself as you move, keeping your eyes down so you don’t see cars speeding past you.

Once your feet are off the pavement, a few cars swerve and hoot, you cursing them for not driving straight at you.

Heeseung’s eyes stay focused on the oncoming traffic to find the right time to run across but then again, he promised himself that if it came to either him or you, he'd die for you in a heartbeat and ran across the road.

You suddenly feel arms that aren't yours wrapped around you, grabbing you out of the road on onto the pavement.

"Miss," he says with dripping concern. He couldn't say your name, this wasn't how he planned to finally talk to you.

"What were you thinking, you could've been killed!"

"I know," you laugh dryly before looking up at the stranger holding you. "I just want to die."

It was his sign. An angel like you shouldn't be suffering this way, to the point of trying to kill themselves. He continues to hold you until you finally crack, bursting into tears, unbothered to have found a miniscule of comfort in a stranger.

"Would you like something to drink or eat?" He asks as he looks at your crying face with a smile. "You must be tired or upset."

All you can do is nod, letting him wipe your tears away before giving him a hug. His arms move away in shock and surprise that you were doing what he'd been dreaming of, you holding him.

"Thank you," you say softly, somehow feeling like you weren't alone anymore.

Sunghoon:

He sits on one of the benches of the park you walk past on your way home. But you weren't there yet. He rolls up his sleeve to check the time on his watch. You're late, but never this late.

After a few more minutes, he sees you strolling across the park's trail next to the railing separating you from the river beneath you. His eyes light up as he gets up, just to walk past you since it's the closest he can get.

He walks just as slowly towards you but notices your eyes glued to your feet as you wrap your arms around yourself. The only other place you look is over the railing.

But he's paid too much attention to your facial expressions to know he's never seen this one. Your face was so blank, your eyes as lifeless as you wanted to be.

He eventually stops a few metres away from you when you stop to lean against the railing. His gut hurts from the feeling inside of him; he knows something bad is going to happen. He can't dash towards you, not now but he can't stand and do nothing.

It's until you climb up the railing, clutching onto the other side of it faster than he can blink, he runs towards you.

"Miss, what are you doing?!" He asks as he holds onto your wrists to prevent you from falling.

"Why do you care?" You scoff as you look back to see his face. "Nobody ever cared, who are you to care?"

"Please, you don't want to do this," he says with desperation, holding as tightly as he can without hurting you.

You laugh dryly, eyes focusing on the still waters below you. Your life begins to flash before your eyes as your foot slips, causing you to let go of the railing.

He grabs onto your hand to hold you up as you begin to cry. "Please help me," you sob as your grip on his hand tightens. "I want to live, I wanna live, just not like this, not like this!"

His other hand moves to grab your free hand, pulling you up and over the railing. You fall next to him, crying softly. "I don't wanna live like this anymore."

He sits next to you, knowing he was right. You did need protection, and he was going to give it to you. "Can I hug you?"

You nod as he moves closer for you to fall into his arms. "Thank you," you cuddle into him. Right when you believed no one cared, your precious stalker managed to prove you wrong.

And yes, Sunghoon and river meet again

#enhypen fic #enhypen yandere #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen heeseung #enhypen sunghoon

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maddieinwonder · 3 years

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A Lesson In Romance #3: The Cast

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, the team figures it out.

A/N: I'm guilty of writing too much Morgan and Garcia but I can't help it — they're so much fun! I think them plus Emily would have the most dramatic reactions to Spencer in a (potential) relationship, though I'm excited to write about the rest too.

(Also, the reference at the end is from Lord of the Rings, because I love Lord of the Rings.)

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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If you've learned anything from rom-coms, it's that every romantic lead needed a supporting cast. Whether they were siblings, parents, or childhood best friends, the main character needed somebody who would drop everything to talk to them — preferably showing up at their doorstep with face masks, nail polish, and a bottle of wine.

In your life right now, you suppose those people would be your teammates from the BAU.

Of course, this hypothetical scenario didn't require your potential love interest to be from work, but let's say for the purposes of the discussion that they were. Then you hoped, at least, that they would have an IQ of 150 or higher and a propensity for wearing mismatched socks.

But you were getting ahead of yourself. You were simply imagining the hypothetical scenario where your life was a rom-com. Hypothetically, you would need a love interest, and hypothetically, you kind of already had one.

“Hey,” Spencer waved you over from across the coffee shop. It wasn’t difficult to spot him when the place was nearly vacant. Everything was slow and quiet this early in the morning, and you weren’t going to make an exception.

“Morning,” you greeted softly as you sat down, relaxing into the smell of freshly roasted coffee and baked goods.

“I already ordered yours.” He smiled, tucking his book away in his messenger bag. “They had bagels this morning. Yours is cream cheese, but mine is strawberry jelly.” He looked overly pleased with himself, and you couldn’t help but crack a sleepy smile.

You eyed the spread in front of you, before lifting your gaze to meet his. “So your theory that you can predict my taste in desserts seems to be getting better.”

"Yes!" He shout-whispered, silently raising his fists in victory. “I knew I was right.”

You giggled at his overexcitement over something as small as getting your dessert order right. Although, he did once spend ten whole minutes explaining to you why dessert for breakfast was an underrated concept, so you couldn't say this was beyond your expectations for Dr. Spencer Reid.

You propped your head up with your arms, a smile plastered over your face. “Have I ever told you that you’re a weirdo, doctor?” You teased.

“Why, yes. Yes you have.” He replied with a smile, gesturing at you to try the bagel. His own was almost-gone, so they must be good.

And it was. Your eyes fluttered shut as the heavenly combination of carbs and cream woke up your taste buds. It was made even better with a sip of the perfect cup of coffee.

"Perfect," you sighed happily, digging into your breakfast further as Spencer quietly caught you up on the latest news in classical art.

Two weeks ago, you wouldn't have guessed that you would talk to Spencer alone, much less spend your mornings together with him. But as it turned out, a lot could change in a few days.

After the initial awkwardness between you had passed, you found that the two of you shared a lot more interests than interdimensional doctors and space opera. You both loved coffee, obviously, but you also had a mutual love for desserts, classical literature, and history.

It didn't take long for these interests to seep into the weekend, resulting in a suspiciously date-like afternoon with Spencer at his favourite museum. But you tried not to think too much into it. After all, the day had ended with a "see you at work", and not a "would you like to come in?"

Still, your dance between friendship and something more continued to grow wilder as days passed, until it reached a point where it inhabited your every waking thought. The only time it didn't, ironically, was when you were spending time with the person in question and every stray thought seemed to fall away.

Your mornings with him brought a necessary reprieve to the dark realities of this job, and some days you almost had to drag yourself out of your seat, knowing that you were straying from the calm of his company straight into the lion's mouth. But duty always called.

Your sudden hesitance to be apart from the resident genius hadn't gone unnoticed by the rest of your team either; ever since the two of you walked into office one morning with matching coffee cups and smiles on your faces.

At first you enjoyed Spencer's company too much to care, but you knew that it was going to bite you back one day. And today seemed to be that day.

You could tell, because the lift doors to the BAU opened to one very determined Penelope Garcia with her arms folded across her chest. "Spit it out, you two," she said sharply without any greeting.

You and Spencer looked at each other, confused, before looking back at Penelope. "Spit out what, Pen?" You asked, a frown starting to form between your eyes.

"You know what I mean!" She squeaked, dropping her stern facade for a brief moment. "Are the two of you dating? The entire team has been dying to know, and I mean, d-y-i-n-g because there's a huge pot of money with my name on it if you are."

"Ah— No— I mean, you think—" Spencer stammered, his face instantly turning beet red in embarrassment, while your face began to grow red for another reason entirely.

"I think what he means is 'no', and what I mean to say is— what do you mean the entire team?" You half-yelled the question, while Penelope raised her hands defensively.

"What I mean, sugar, is that the two of you went from avoiding each other completely, to coming into work together everyday — and I know you spent last weekend together too, because you couldn't stop talking about it the next day at work and everybody noticed." She stated, pushing up her glasses.

"Not to mention, Dr. Reid here started wearing brighter colours subconsciously." She continued with her observations. "I know this, because in the almost four years I've worked with this man, I've never seen him wear anything brighter than violet. Or white. Or beige. But those don't count." She shook her head, getting back to her point.

"You get what I mean— and you," she pointed her pen in your direction, causing you to jump slightly. "You finally stopped doubting yourself as a part of this team. I knew this when you started talking more often during briefings — which I have nothing against, B-T-W, I totally support any effort in self-care and personal growth — but you also stopped shifting in your seat which you used to do when you felt nervous."

Penelope took a deep breath, preparing for the climax. "So all I can assume, is either you've been attending one of the 52 self-help classes that happen every weekend in Virginia, or somebody has been helping you find some serious zen."

"And my money's on the latter because every time you think nobody's watching, you're making eyes at Reid. But you're wrong. Garcia is always watching." She concluded triumphantly, raising one finger to point at herself.

"You might make a good profiler yet, doll." Derek remarked, walking up to the group with a smirk firmly affixed to his face.

"Expert at all things romance, and Cupid of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, Penelope Garcia at your service." She smiled, graciously curtseying to your other teammate.

"I know you're smart like that, babygirl," he grinned, draping his arm around her shoulder, "but you also don't know pretty boy as well as I do, because they aren't in a relationship."

He turned to you questioningly. "Are you?"

"No." You replied, glancing hesitantly at Spencer for his response, but his face simply looked blank with shock.

"See? Now it's time to collect my payout." Derek grinned at the tech analyst, making the motion of raining dollar bills.

Penelope tailed behind him grumpily as he walked into the BAU office, surely to share the "good news" with everybody else.

You hesitated to follow, imagining what teasing and looks would follow regardless of the outcome. Then you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, Spencer gestured back at the empty lift with his head and you smiled, realising what he meant.

"That is the best hypothesis you've had all morning," you said. The two of you shared a laugh as you got back into the lift.

Even behind glass doors, you could hear a muffled "What?!" that you guessed came from Emily. "There's absolutely no way those two aren't together already. Have you seen them?"

There was a brief pause, then a loud groan.

"I know, that's what I told him!" Penelope's high-pitched voice was clear. "You know I'm going to be right about them eventually—"

The lift doors finally closed, blocking out the rest of their conversation. You looked up at Spencer, your gaze meeting his clear hazel eyes. He looked at his watch briefly before saying the next words.

"We've got time. Are you up for second breakfast?" He asked, referencing a movie from a conversation two weeks ago. He remembered. Of course he remembered.

You cleared your throat before replying the next line. "What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper?"

He laughed, and you felt a familiar peace return to you.

Whatever your teammates were yelling about, the two of you could deal with it later. Together.

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Tag list:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot

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histoireettralala · 3 years

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Fouché and Napoleon

" Between these two men, there is no friendly atmosphere. Just as Fouché isn't for Napoleon an agreeable servant, Napoleon isn't for Fouché an agreeable master: not once does he trustingly and quietly accept a police report. He probes, hawk-eyed, every line to spot the smallest inaccuracy, the least little mistake; then he rants and raves, scolding his minister like a schoolboy, letting himself be completely carried away by the extreme of his Corsican temper. The ushers, those who look by the keyholes, his coworkers on the Council of Ministers, unanimously notice how much, precisely by contrast, Fouché's composure, in his resistance, irritated the emperor. But, even without their testimony (because one must only read the Memories of this time with intense scrutiny), one would be informed, because we can hear even in the letters the harsh and tough command voice: "I find that the police don't monitor the press with the necessary vigor", Napoleon writes, lecturing the old seasoned master; or he cracks the whip: "One could believe that nobody can read at the Ministry of the Police; nothing is ever foreseen." Or again: "I invite you to confine yourself to the framework of your duties, and to keep away from the matters of foreign policy." Napoleon, we know it by a hundred recounts, reprimands him in front of witnesses, in front of the aides-de-camp and of the State Council, bluntly, and when anger frothes over his lips, he doesn't even hesitate to mention Lyon, his terrorist period, and to call him a regicide and a traitor. But Fouché, icy observer who, since ten years, knows the whole range of these fits of anger, and knows that sometimes this is only an unintentional burst brought by hot blood, and also that sometimes Napoleon is just acting, doesn't allow himself to be intimidated by those storms, whether they are genuine or theatrical, unlike, for example, the Austrian minister Cobenzl, who trembled in fright when the emperor threw at his feet a vase of precious porcelain; he doesn't let himself be sidetracked by the emperor's apparent anger or his actual wrath. With his colorless face, which looks like a plaster cast, without any eye movement, without any nerve betraying an emotion, he calmly stands under this downpour of words; just, maybe, when he leaves the room, a wry or wicked smile ripples across his thin lips. He doesn't even shiver when the emperor shouts at him: "You are a traitor, Duke of Otrante, I should have you beheaded"; but he answers, without changing the tone of his voice, and as though it was a mundane matter: " I do not share this view". A hundred times he hears dismissals, threats of proscription and destitution, and he still leaves the room calmly, knowing perfectly that tomorrow the emperor will call him back. And every time he is right. For in spite of his distrust, his anger, and his covert hatred, for ten years, until the last hour, Napoleon absolutely cannot dispense with him.

This power of Fouché over Napoleon, which was an enigma for all his contemporaries, doesn't owe anything to magic or to hypnotism. It is a power acquired with science and secured by work, ability, and systematic surveillance. Fouché knows a lot,- he even knows too much. Not only through the emperor's confidences, but also against the master's will; he knows all the imperial secrets, and he keeps in check the emperor, - as, besides, the whole empire,- by his perfect and almost eerie informations [...] When Napoleon, at eleven in the evening, shrouded in a strange coat and almost completely disguised, gets out of the Tuileries by a secret door to go to a mistress, Fouché knows on the next morning where the carriage went, how long the emperor stayed in the house, when he came back; he can even, someday, shame the sovereign of the world by telling him that this woman he chose is cheating on him, Napoleon, with a poorly chosen comedy actor. A copy of every important writing out of the emperor's office is given to Fouché by a bribed secretary, and more than one servant, of high or little rank, gets a monthly stipend on the Police Minister's secret funds to bring him back exactly everything which is said in the Palace: by day or by night, at the table and in bed, Napoleon is monitored by his overzealous minister. Impossible to hide a secret from him: thus the emperor is forced, willy-nilly, to confide in him. And this knowledge of everything and everyone provides Fouché with this unique power over men which Balzac so admired.

With the same care he puts to oversee every affair, idea or thought of the emperor, Fouché endeavours to conceal his own from him. Fouché never entrusts to the emperor or to anybody his actual goal, his works; he only imparts from his gigantic intelligence exactly what he wants to. The rest stays sealed in the drawer of the Police minister; Fouché doesn't allow anybody to have a look at this ultimate citadel; he even puts his passion, all his passion, his only passion, into the magnificent luxury to remain inscrutable and to form an element nobody can take into account with absolute accuracy. In vain does Napoleon attach to Fouché some spies; he mocks them or even uses them to send back, through them, to their duped sender, completely false and ridiculous reports. With the years, this game of espionage and counter-espionage between the two fellows will become always more insidious and hateful, and they almost openly lack sincerity toward one another. No, really, there is no clear and limpid atmosphere between these two men, among whom one wants too much to be the master, and the other doesn't want to be enough the servant. The more powerful Napoleon becomes, the more Fouché inconveniences him. The stronger Fouché becomes, the more he hates Napoleon."

Stefan Zweig- Fouché

Note- If you have this book in English, you probably have a better translation. This is mine, and I'm really not a professional. I hope you enjoyed it! Tell me your thoughts in your tags and reblogs :^)

#napoleonic #stefan zweig #fouché #napoléon bonaparte #joseph fouché #to be fair everything napoléon says about fouché being a former terrorist and a regicide is absolutely true and they both know it #i just love how unfazed fouché is #oh how it must have galled napoleon to see him so cool and calm #and to know fouché knew everything about him and there was no way to escape him #and fouché enjoys this power so much #in a cool and amused way #their dynamic is fascinating

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reddie-fangirl24 · 2 years

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Heyo, can I get a Reddie request?

With the prompt,

1. "Your eyes shine like the stars."

Do what you want with it, but I see it being said by like a super tender Richie, with dazed eyes and a lovestruck grin.

No rush, thanks!!

“How is he doing?” Mike asked Richie.

Richie hardly moved from his spot by the window all evening. As the Losers popped open a champagne bottle, Eddie remained out on the balcony. It was cold out. A fresh blanket of snow sat on the ground. Eddie just stared at the lit-up city lights and all the Christmas parties going on.

“He’s sad,” Richie answered, his heart in his stomach. Eddie was so sad that he didn’t even want to have the meal Beverly prepared. Of all days that woman chose to break up with him.

“Maybe you should go talk to him,” Mike suggested.

“I don’t know. He says he wanted to be alone.”

“Which means that he wants company.”

Richie looked at Mike who gave him a knowing look. Nodding in affirmation, Richie stepped out the window onto the balcony. The chilly night air immediately hit him. Noticing him, Eddie softly brushed the tears from his eyes. Zipping his small jacket up a little further, he blew on his ungloved hands to warm them up.

“Watching for Santa?” he asked him, grinning.

His joke did work. Seeing Eddie smile was enough to make him happy. His cheeks were quite red. From the chill in the air most likely. He also had snow in his hair.

“Eds, you should come inside,” Richie suggested. “You’re missing out on all the fun. I’m going to have an eggnog chugging contest with Bill!”

Eddie kept staring dismally into the night sky. Right across from their apartment building a party was going on. A couple kissed under the mistletoe. Seeing that made Richie inch a little closer to the man, their hands only centimeters apart.

“I’m not in a celebrating mood,” he mumbled, hoping that Richie wouldn’t hear. “Which sucks.”

“Really? How so?” Richie asked him.

“Well, I’m not with Myra and her family, that’s one bonus. God, I never liked the parties!” Eddie shook his head. “It’s when my anxiety was at its peak and I’d have to excuse myself to the bathroom. I’d be there most of the night. And nobody noticed.”

“Aw, Eds,” Richie touched his arm out of comfort. “We’re not making you nervous, are we?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I’m happy to be spending Christmas with you guys.” That couple across the way caught his attention again. A sad look withered in his eyes. “I just wish...” Eddie shook his head. “Nothing.”

“I know, what you are thinking,” Richie said to him. “What bitch breaks up with someone on Christmas Eve?”

“Rich, don’t make a big deal out of it. Please?” Eddie asked of him, but his voice was cracking. Tears appeared in the corner of his eyes. The last time Richie saw Eddie this upset was the first time he saw his scar. A month after having his body encompassed in white plasters, they were taken away, revealing the thick, red scar signature right across his chest.

Moving closer to his friend, Richie gathered him in a one-arm hug, hoping that it would at least warm him up. He peaked over his shoulder to see the Losers enjoying their festivities. That was good at least.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. He’d give anything to kiss Eddie on the forehead right now.

Silent, the man leaned into his warm embrace, his head close to filling the space between his neck.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” Eddie asked him. Even though his cheeks were already red from the cold, he noticed a tint of embarrassment in his eyes.

Feeling his stomach flip, Richie gave his shoulders a small massage. Eddie always liked that. That’s what he did to calm him down after Eddie had a panic attack when seeing the scar for the first time.

“Of course you are! You got the face of a lady killer!” Richie told him, earnestly. And he meant it. He swore his heart swooned out of his chest the first time they met back up in the restaurant.

“Not the body,” Eddie responded, his lip quivering.

“Huh?”

Eddie shut his eyes, trying to keep the tears in, causing his body to shake, shivering from the cold. “Well, she saw the scar,” he explained. “And as soon as she said it she just walked out.”

Rage filled Richie’s insides. “That’s so stupid!”

“Maybe she has a point.” Eddie stared off at the happy couple who snuck another kiss under the mistletoe. Finally, he turned to face Richie to look him in the eyes, sadness pooling every inch of them.

“Am I never going to have a relationship?” his voice cracked. “I’m just ugly for the rest of my life?”

Gathering his best friend in a bone-crushing hug, Eddie wept against Richie’s shoulder. “Eds, your scar is badass!”

“No, it isn’t! I’m the only one who got injured remember? I barely made it out alive!” Eddie cried, his voice muffled in Richie’s shoulder.

Pulling the man so he could look at him, Richie held Eddie’s frozen hands in his. The way Richie looked at him with all the care in the world made Eddie feel a wave of love. “You listen to me, and you listen good, Eddie! You are beautiful. Anybody would be lucky to have you. Your scar... it’s a mark of bravery! You have to look at it that way!”

His lip trembling, Eddie looked away. Was that couple going to kiss under the mistletoe all night? Richie joined him, a little smile curving up to his face at the sight. If they looked out the window now they’d see that they had spectators watching them.

Turning back to look at Eddie, it was the most glorious sight ever. The way his eyes shined in the bright Christmas lights was beautiful. Everything about him is magnificent. “You’re eyes shine like the stars,” he remarked softly, putting a warm arm around his shoulder.

Eddie wrapped his arm around Richie’s back, pulling him closer, and leaning into his shoulder. This was easily the best Christmas both of them had had in a long time.

#Reddie #it chapter 2 #it movie #reddie fanfiction #reddie christmas

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plumeriaheart · 4 years

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You can keep the shirt [Mammon/Reader]

It’s Mammon loving hours, lads! Jk, it’s always Mammon loving hours on this blog. Thank you so much @mcfishayy-blog for commissioning me to write this, I had a lot of fun doing so! I hope you enjoy this fic ♡

I’m currently accepting writing commissions for Obey Me!, so if you like my writing, feel free to check them out!

FANDOM: Obey Me!

RATING: pure smut

PROMPT: “You’re not wearing anything underneath that, are you?”

WORD COUNT: 3k

Maybe it is a bold decision to leave your room in the middle of the night, but what else are you supposed to do? Sleep wouldn't find you either way, you might as well keep yourself entertained, you think. As you look around your room, trying to find something that piqued your interest, your gaze falls upon a piece of clothing – a black shirt, too big for your small frame. You don't remember when he left it here, but it couldn’t have been too long ago. Otherwise, you would’ve noticed it sooner.

As you walk over and pick up the shirt, an idea strikes you. Maybe you could bring the shirt back to Mammon, and for once stay the night at his room? You’re certain that Mammon would not kick you out of his room. He’d think of some silly excuse to allow a human like you to stay, sure, but you don’t think he’d make you leave again.

You gingerly strip out of your nightgown and replace it with his shirt. It’s a bit shorter than your nightgown was, ever so slightly slipping off of one shoulder. When you take a look at yourself in the mirror, blood rushes to your cheeks. His warmth may be missing from the shirt, but his scent still lingers and when you close your eyes, you can almost imagine his arms wrapped around you. Then you shake your head to snap out of it – you’re not the one supposed to get flustered by this!

Peeking out of the door crack to see whether the coast is clear, you take a deep breath and step out of your room. Mammon’s room isn’t far away, and you pray that Lucifer isn’t patrolling the hallway tonight. If he saw you like this, you would surely die of shame!

But luck is on your side tonight, and you get to Mammon’s room without being spotted. You knock on the door and wait. A couple of seconds pass and you almost begin to worry that Mammon is fast asleep, that he can't hear you knock and maybe your little plan has failed already… Then, the door opens. Before you stands Mammon, half-awake, ready to complain about being woken up.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Heat rises to your cheeks when you become aware of how silly your plan must’ve been after all. But his ears seem to perk up at the sound of your voice, eyes widening as if he just realised who was standing in front of him.

“What are ya’ doing here? Ain’t you supposed to sleep at a time like this?” Well, look who’s talking! You only shrug your shoulders, causing the shirt to slip further down your arm. It’s now that Mammon takes a closer look at you, and you can see his face redden within an instant.

“W-What are… What are ya’ wearing?!" He pulls you into his room and shuts the door behind him – locks it, even – to make sure nobody can get a glimpse of you. You can tell he's torn between staring at you and not letting you see his beet-red face.

“I couldn’t sleep, and, well… You left your shirt in my room, so I thought I’d return it,” you say as nonchalantly as you can, letting an innocent smile dance along your lips. Mammon lifts his head to look at you once more, blushing more as his eyes wander up your legs, your torso and finally meet yours. He’s mesmerised by you, rendered speechless by the sight in front of him.

To take things even further, you step closer to him, letting your fingertips trail along his collar. You can see the shiver running up his spine, hear him take in a sharp breath at how close you are.

"Wh… What game are ya' playin'?" The demon asks you breathlessly. His eyes never leave yours, and it seems that something within them gives him the courage to touch you. His hands come to rest on your hips, setting your skin aflame where he touches you. You’re about to open your mouth to answer his question when he abruptly pulls back, starting to stammer and avoid your gaze.

“Y-you're not… You're not wearing anything underneath… that, are you?" You can tell it's taking all of his self-control to keep his eyes averted. And he's torn – torn between wanting to see you in his clothes and wanting to see you stripped bare just for him.

“Nothing but your shirt, Mammon.” With a gulp, he looks up at you and when he sees your innocent smile, he curses. How can you act so devious and still look so pure while doing it? He’s completely at your mercy, and both of you know it. You beckon him to come closer, and he’s not going to be told twice. His fingers tangle in your hair as he makes you look up at him.

“You’re… awfully bold for some human, aren’t ya?” His voice is but a whisper, and his newly found confidence falters when you place your arms around his neck. Being this close, he can’t hide his reddened cheeks from you. You wouldn’t want him to, either.

“One of us had to make the first move eventually, don’t you think?” You smirk before you pull yourself up just enough to place your lips on his. For a single second, he freezes, but then he kisses you back. It feels so much better than all the times he imagined what your lips would feel like, the times he imagined dragging his tongue along your lower lip and savouring the sweet expression on your face. There are so many times he imagined what it would be like to kiss you, how you would feel in his arms and what kind of enticing sounds you'd make – but none of his dreams could come close to this. Your warmth burns his skin and he begins to trail kisses down your neck, sucking the soft skin until it darkens. He hears your sigh, taking it as encouragement to keep going and plasters further kisses down to your collarbone, making sure to mark you as his. As much as he wants to take a step back and admire his work on your skin, he lets his lips trail back to your mouth so that he can recapture your lips in another heated kiss.

His hands slip under your shirt, fingers tracing up your spine and pulling you closer. Your thigh brushes up against his crotch, and you’re surprised to find him hard already. He groans into the kiss, his body shivering at your touch. Now you’re the one placing kisses upon kisses down his neck, one of your hands tugging at his shirt.

“Take that off for me, will you?” You whisper against his skin, and it takes only one second of him stepping away, pulling his shirt over his head before he pulls you close against his body once more. Your lips find his again, hands roaming over his chest, fingertips caressing his firm muscles. Your touch makes him shiver, goosebumps appearing on his skin. It takes a little bit of strength, but you manage to lead him towards his bed without breaking the kiss – but then you give him a little push, and he falls on his bed. He looks at you with hunger as you climb on top of him, making sure to brush your butt against his crotch. An involuntary whimper falls from his lips, and it makes you melt. You decide to try his limits, slowly grinding against his clothed member and you see him biting down on his lip, trying to remain silent.

“Don't do that. I want to hear you, Mammon," you tell him, and he nods slowly. Soon enough, the room is filled with his heavy breathing and moans. The heat begins to pool at your core, the friction against your clit driving you wild. Your hips move on your own as you watch the way his chest rises and falls with ragged breaths. Mammon's hips buck up against you, causing a squeal to slip from your lips. You have to resist the urge to press your hand over your mouth to keep quiet; you want him to hear just how good he's making you feel.

As you keep riding him, you throw your head back and let the pleasure run through you. You don’t notice him reaching for you, letting his hand slip beneath your shirt and cup your breast, but you sigh contently at the sensation. His thumb toys with your nipple, sending multiple shivers down your spine, and you find yourself moaning his name as pleasure takes you over for the first time tonight. Your hips keep rocking against his as your body shakes from the high, pure electricity running through your nerves.

“Fuck, you… You look so good like that,” Mammon breathes beneath you, doing his best to memorise the way your lips parted as you reached your climax, the way you kept moaning his name – all of it is art to him, and he knows he would never tire of it.

Your grip on the bedsheets tightens as you climax, looking for any kind of support as ecstasy runs through your body. Your head feels hazy, overwhelmed by how much pleasure you’re feeling – maybe his presence is the reason for how intense your feelings have become? A few moments pass as you try to catch your breath, hips slowing to a halt eventually.

“Hah, sorry… I got carried away,” you mumble sheepishly, embarrassed at your loss of control, moving to get off his lap. He stops you as he sits up, one arm snaking around your waist. Adoration lingers in his gaze, the slightest hint of a smile visible on his lips. Your heart skips a beat at the way he looks at you.

“No wonder, you’re with THE Mammon, after all!” Seeing you come undone must’ve given him a new sense of confidence. Your thoughts are still running wild and you’re lost in his eyes, so you don’t notice how one of his hands travels between your thighs until he touches your slick pussy. You’re still sensitive from your orgasm, and a jolt of pleasure runs through you as he lets his fingers circle your clit. Your breath hitches in your throat and you can’t help but rest your forehead against the crook of his neck. The way you react to him and his touch makes his chest swell with pride, and he wants to see more of it; he wants to be the reason you feel good.

You gasp when he slips two fingers inside of you, giving you only a few moments to adjust to the new sensation before he begins pumping them into you at a fast pace. An involuntary cry falls from your lips, enough to make him stop dead in his tracks.

“You okay?” His voice is suddenly laced with worry, and you don’t have the words to respond. You take a couple of seconds to get used to this feeling before you raise your head. The worry in his voice is nothing compared to the one in his eyes; afraid that he might do something that could hurt you. It almost makes you want to cry at how much he cares.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m okay. Please… keep going,” you plead. Something about the way your voice sounds colours his cheeks red, but he’s too enchanted by your begging expression to notice. He begins to move his fingers slowly, taking them out almost entirely before pushing them back in. His thumb works your clit, putting pressure on it in the right moments to give you the most pleasure. It’s easy for him to read your reactions; after all, he’s been taking note of you ever since you arrived in the Devildom. When your eyes roll back in pleasure, he increases the speed ever so slightly. When you bite your lip, he coaxes out another moan by circling your clit faster.

You’ve lost yourself to his touch by now, and yet he can’t take his eyes off of your face. He takes note of your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the hair sticking to your temples. In all the millennia he has lived, he has never seen anything or anybody as beautiful as you in this moment. Perhaps you had some magic in you after all.

Your walls begin to tighten around his digits, causing him to pick up his speed. The heat begins to build inside of you once more, muscles tensing as you get closer to your climax. You let your fingers curl in his hair, pulling on it ever so slightly as he fingers you. Your moans begin to increase in volume before his lips find yours again, locking them in a kiss as you reach your second orgasm of the night.

It takes all of his self-control to eventually break the kiss so he can look at you again. A content smile graces your face, eyes hazy from the pleasure but filled with affection for… him?

He slowly pulls out his fingers, drenched in your juices, and lifts them to his face as if to admire how wet you are – how wet he made you! You blush furiously when he starts to lick his fingers clean, grinning at you, and yet you seem to be unable to take your eyes off of the sight in front of you. The obscene gesture embarrasses you, so you press your lips against his to stop him, tasting your salty essence on his lips.

Your hands wander down his chest towards his pants, and you waste no time in pulling them down enough for his cock to spring free. When you let your fingers wrap around the slick head, Mammon lets out a groan. You realise how sensitive he must be, watching you cum twice and not being able to do find any release. To remedy that, you shift and position yourself on his lap so that his cock is aligned right under your pussy.

“You sure you can go for another round?” He begins to question you, taking note of the way your thighs tremble. His genuine concern for you, especially in a situation such as this, makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah. I want this,” you tell him before you lower your hips. His length slips inside of you with no problem, but you allow yourself a couple of seconds to adjust to his size before you continue moving your hips. You savour the way he fills you up, the feeling of his cock stretching your walls to accommodate him.

He places his hands beneath your thighs, helping you ride him in case your strength gives out. The feeling of your tight walls around him could be enough to let his carnal desire take over, but he is way too aware of how sensitive you must be right now. It’s not normal for him to be this considerate, especially not in a situation like this. He’s the Avatar of Greed, for hell’s sake!

As if you can read his thoughts, you let out a breathy chuckle. “You don’t have to hold back for my sake, Mammon.” You’re surprised at how slow he’s fucking you right now, and by the look on his face you can tell something is bothering him. You cup one of his cheeks and kiss him, and this is when he finally cracks.

His lips crash into yours over and over again; sucking on the soft skin of your neck; biting your shoulder. It’s as if he’s trying to devour you, and you can feel the greed radiating from him, infecting you. He pulls you close to him as he lowers himself back on the bed, your chest pressed to his. You hold onto him, nails digging into his skin and surely leaving marks, and yet all you can think about is that you want him – all of him.

When he begins to thrust his cock into you, your moans grow louder and louder, and his lips can only muffle the sound of them so much. Soon, the room is filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin, heavy breathing and loud moaning; a symphony of lust that would render even Asmodeus jealous.

You wish you had more energy to grind your hips against his, helping him cum faster, but as soon as he notices your effort, he stops you. Guiding your ass up and down his cock, he brings one hand to your face and lets you suck on his fingers. The way you hungrily lick at them and take them into your mouth makes him moan, before he moves his fingers to your clit, teasing it as he fucks you faster. You’re aware of what he’s about to do, and yet you cry out when you feel him flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“I don’t… Think I can hold out much longer,” the demon groans, and you can tell by the way his thrusts start to become more sloppy that he’s close. His fingertips dig deeper into your skin, and you can tell that he’s going to leave bruises on your skin.

“Me neither,” you breathe, and it’s as if that alone is enough to push him over the edge. You feel the way his cock pulsates before his load fills you, heat burning inside of your core. A strangled moan escapes your lips as both of you cum, feeling the way his hips buck into you sporadically before he comes to a stop. You’re sure he can feel your heart racing in your chest as you try to regain your breath.

For a while, your ragged breathing is the only sound filling the room. You slowly begin to sit up, feeling his member twitch inside of you as you move. He lets out a quiet whimper as you raise your hips just enough for his cock to slip out, his seed dripping down your legs. His eyes roam your body, stopping at your legs as he watched the white spill out of you ever so slowly.

You let yourself fall onto the bed next to him, turning to the side so you can look at him properly. His hair is a total mess, his cheeks flushed and a couple of love bites decorate his neck. Reaching out to push his hair out of his face, you smile.

“Mammon?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can walk after that.”

A/N: I don’t think i’ve written smut on this scale before, so I hope it reads okay~ it was a lot of fun to explore Mammon in this setting, tbh!

#obey me!#obey me! mammon #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #mammon x reader #obey me smut #obey me fic

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ignitedbynatsu · 3 years

Text

A Little More Faith

A/N: None of you would be able to read my works if it wasn’t for Grammarly 🤐 Anywayyy @exhaustedpotat0 I hope you like it ❤ Thank you again for the request and the support it really means a lot to me. My blog is blowing up recently and I can’t express how much everyone’s support means to me.

Warnings: mention of injury, fighting with parents

Genre: Angst to fluff

⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍⚡🤍

"I don't like this" Laxus grumbled as he watched his daughter laughing over something Natsu had said.

"It's just a job" Mira-Jane reassured him as a feeling of pride washed over her while looking at the girl in question. She was finally going to go on her first mission.

"I already don't like the idea of her leaving for a mission" he repeated "but for that mission to be with Natsu of all people? I don't stand behind this"

"Is dad being grumpy again?" A chuckled vibrated from (Y/N)'s chest as she gave her mother a kiss on the cheek as a way to say goodbye.

"I don't condone this" Laxus voiced his thoughts as the girl kissed him on the cheek as well.

"Well, that sounds like a you problem" she shrugged before rushing off, knowing he'd scold her for talking back if she didn't get out there quick "Bye mom and dad, I'll be back soon! Love you!"

Team Natsu followed soon behind, Natsu and Gray laughing at the pissed of Laxus while Erza reassured the couple she'll scold her in their place.

The younger girl was beaming with excitement as she finally left for her first-ever job. Even though Laxus was still mostly against it, Mira-Jane somehow managed to persuade him to let her go on her first mission at the age of 14.

That same excitement soon vanished as her hamstrings were slashed, making her unable to walk and crumble in pain to the floor, a blood-curdling scream leaving her lips soon after.

"(Y/N)!" Natsu was quick to jump in front of the younger mage, Gray following not even a second later. They shared an understanding nod to push their differences aside and protect the girl at all costs. "Lucy! Get her out of here!"

Lucy obeyed, summing Loke to grab her whilst fighting the enemies with Taurus. "Loke! Bring her to Wendy and protect her"

The celestial being understood the graveness of the situation and decided to bite his tongue instead of making his usual flirty remark towards his owner. "Let's go little one" he carefully picked her up while his eyes darted around, desperate to catch a glimpse of the dragon slayer. The moment he saw a hint of blue hair, he didn't hesitate for a second and ran over to her, all while carrying (Y/N) in his arms that was still crying out in pain.

"Wendy!" Loke called out to the said mage. With only a mere glance she understood what was going on. She finished off the opponent she was fighting with and ran towards the wounded girl.

She exclaimed the cut, a troubled expression clearly evident upon her features "there's not much I can do right here. I can stop the bleeding and relieve some pain, but her hamstrings are torn. I need my equipment at the guild to see how grave the injury is"

A new determination filled everyone as Wendy's words rang in their ears. They needed to handle this quickly. Every second could be one too many. In record time, they managed to fend off the last enemies.

Natsu took over from Loke, as Lucy had little to no energy left to keep the celestial being in this world. They got the first train home, not even sparing the price-money a single thought. The younger girl was their top priority right now. No money in the world could top that.

Laxus's eyes fell on the lifeless girl in Natsu's arms as soon as they set foot back into the guild. Freed and Bickslow quickly got up to stand in front of him as they saw the change in his demeanour. Their friend was completely engulfed in rage that was directed towards one man in particular and that was the man that was holding his gravely injured daughter. "Natsu" electricity was crackling over his body as he got closer and closer to the said mage.

"Laxus!" Mira-Jane narrowed her eyes at him as she stepped between the two dragon slayers "this is not the time. Wendy, please, heal her"

Wendy motioned Natsu, to follow her to the medical room, leaving the enraged Laxus and a worried Mira-Jane

There was a heavy, uncomfortable silence placed across the guild. Nobody dared to make a sound, afraid to tick the couple off as they waited in anticipation for Wendy to finish the surgery.

Laxus mind was swarmed with worst-case scenarios as his eyes were fixated on the door of the medical room. He was experiencing so much stress and frustration that he felt like punching a wall, no, he wanted to punch Natsu, but Mira-Jane was right. This was not the time, not right now.

Mira-Jane was busying herself downstairs with the dishes. Even though she had complete faith in Wendy, she also knew that if she were to be left alone with her thoughts for even a minute, she wouldn't be able to break free from them.

Minutes felt like hours and hours felt like years. But after nearly two hours, Wendy came out with a content smile plastered upon her face "she'll be fine. She just needs to wake up from her anaesthesia, but after that, she'll be back to normal."

It was like everyone could breathe again once those words filled their ears. She was okay. (Y/N) would be just fine.

After a couple more hours, the anaesthesia had completely worn off and (Y/N) was sitting up straight while Mira-Jane and Laxus stood on either side of her bed.

"I'm so glad you're okay" the eldest Strauss sibling mumbled as she kissed her daughter's head, a couple of tears fell from her eyes in relief.

"That's it. No more jobs for you" (Y/N) eyes shot up as she heard the stern words from her father "What? No! You can't do that"

"I can and I will. Don't you realize that you might have never been able to walk again?" He argued, but his daughter wasn't having it, both sharing the same short temper "It was just a scratch stop making a big deal out of it"

"I'm not having it. You're not allowed on jobs anymore and that's final" Laxus crossed his arms in front of him to show that he was done with the conversation.

(Y/N)'s eyes were swimming with rage at her father's stubbornness "stop treating me like a child!" "Then stop acting like one!"

"It's because you push me in that role!" She was certain that everyone downstairs in the guild could hear her, but she didn't care. If anything, she wanted them to hear how unreasonable her father was "I am the daughter of two of the strongest mages in Fairy Tail. You've been training me from the moment I could walk. Why can't you trust me?"

"Because you're clearly not ready for it" the blonde scoffed. He knew this discussion was long overdue, but that didn't mean he was going to back down easily. Not when his daughter was nearly disabled for life.

"It was an accident! Mom, please say something" she desperately pleaded for her mother to side with her and talk some sense into her father but when she didn't budge, the younger girl scoffed "you're both being hypocrites. How many times have you been laying on death's doorstep when you were around my age? I want you to leave. Now."

It was like the temperature changed along with the cold words that left her mouth. The toxic words left a bitter taste in everyone's mouth.

Laxus wanted to say something but stopped himself when Mira-Jane placed a hand on his bicep and shook her head softly no. She knew that their daughter was right. They were being a hypocrite, but how could they not when they saw their little girl in so much pain only a couple of hours ago?

"She's right you know" Erza confronted the parents once they softly closed the door behind them "It's definitely not fun, but it's part of the job. She's 14, you can't shield her away from the world forever. Sure, this wouldn't have happened if we all had been a little more on edge, but it happened. Mistakes are bound to be made, but we learn from them, and so will she"

"But she's our little girl" Mira-Jane sighed as her eyes lingered on the door where Wendy had just walked through again to check up on their daughter.

"I know, and I can't start to imagine how you two must've felt when you saw her like that, but she's also part of Fairy Tail. If you didn't trust her skills, you wouldn't have let her join" Erza pointed out. Both parents were quite as they took in every word the mage in front of them said "you both need to put a little more faith in her. If you don't, she'll start doing stuff behind your back, and you will drift apart."

The last words struck a nerve with Laxus. He knew how painful it was to lose his family. He vowed to never let that happen, to never make the mistake his father did. And yet he unconsciously was pushing her further away from him.

The white-haired mage took notice of the realization that dawned upon her husband "I think we need to apologize"

Laxus blindly followed his wife as they re-entered the room their daughter was laying in "I thought I told you to get out"

"Actually, we're here to apologize" Mira-Jane's signature kind smile was placed upon her lips.

Laxus sighed deeply as the eyes of the two women he loved most were staring at him in anticipation "we- no, I am really sorry for smothering you. I wanted to keep you close in an attempt to not go down the same path my father did, but by doing, so I realize I'm also pushing you further away from me, from us. I am really sorry. I never meant for that to happen"

"You're not pushing me away, nor do you need to compare yourself to that man. You're the best father I could've ever wished for and yeah sure you can be suffocating sometimes, but I know it's because you care about me" (Y/N) eyes softened at the revelation of her father's insecurities.

"You're allowed to go on missions from now on. Just promise us you'll be more careful next time" Mira-Jane pleaded to which their daughter placed a hand over her heart "I promise, now come here"

The three shared a hug, mending the cracks that had slowly started to form as if they were never there.

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ellewords · 3 years

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Atsumu at parties is a sight to behold, but it’s in a sad way? He is the life of the party and can keep it going for hours, but anyone with a trained eye can see that it’s all artificial. Sometimes, while he’s egging everyone on to dance or take shots or something else kind of wild, you can see him crack just a tiny bit. Whenever it starts to become a little more obvious, he turns it up a notch and tries to pull off stupid shit that will make him the talk of the town for being such a good host/party-goer so that people are too distracted to notice that he’s slipping. But as exhausting and fake-feeling as it is for him to keep up his facade of being on top of the world on for such a long time, he doesn’t let up until he is able to leave or the very last person does. Then, he almost becomes a shell of himself—grumpier than normal, quieter, slower to respond.

If the party isn’t at his place, he always drives separately from the people he goes with because he knows he’ll spend hours after either driving around in a state of half-awareness or he’ll find a desolate area where he can just blast a playlist full of songs that help him feel emotions again. By the next day, he’s back to his normal self, and it’s like anyone that noticed was imagining it when it happened. If the party is at his place, though, he’s even worse. On top of all of the other things, he slowly becomes more (passive) aggressive as his patience wears thin, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. Because of how badly it weighs on him, Osamu and some of his close friends have made a system of keeping people away from him at all costs as he starts cleaning up the mess because the last time they didn’t, the student population (whether in hs or college) had a lot to say about him the next day and none of it was very nice. He nearly had a panic attack when he realized what had happened, and it took almost a whole week to smooth it over, but Astumu stressed about it for weeks after, making him more insecure and tense until he was finally convinced that everything was back to normal.

I don’t think he starts to actually enjoy parties and be himself at them until well after he’s out of school.

— from elle ! anon i—- the way this kind of broke my heart... i blame it on my soft spot for atsumu :<< ngl i stared at a wall for a good five minutes after reading this because despite how painful it is, i can also just imagine it. which ig makes it hurt more?? aaah idk but thank you so much for sending this in, i felt so much in the best possible way ;-; my little scenario feat. yn based on your hc will be under the cut (as usual) and i hope you are having a wonderful day <3

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

you were a somewhat constant in miya atsumu’s life, having gone to the same high school as him and now managing the team he’s playing for professionally. you like to think that you’d been with him through all the highs, no matter how big or small, — through every single test that he passed, every single match that he had won, every joke he made that landed, whenever he calls you in the middle of the night just to say that he had cooked without burning down his entire apartment. but all of that just meant that you had been with him through the lows too — when a play doesn’t go as he had planned, when his sets just weren’t getting hit by his spikers, when he had accidentally broken the vase you had gotten him as a housewarming gift, when he’s at a party that his teammate had thrown.

he’s dancing on a table, drunk off the attention, people cheering him on as he moved to the beat of whatever pop song bokuto had chosen to play. but you knew better than to play into the act he was putting up. you saw the falter in his smile, the way his knees quivered, the brief moments wherein the mask falls.

you shake your head. he hasn’t changed at all, has he? you’d think after graduating high school, after a couple of years of playing volleyball professionally that he’d finally let the walls he had built up to crumble just a little.

“what’re ya doin’ ‘ere all alone?” atsumu was now by your side, nudging his shoulder with yours.

you sighed, it seems like he had chosen you to be the object of his attention for the next few minutes, “having fun.”

“standin’ in a corner? not even a drink in hand?” atsumu questioned, smirk plastered on his face.

“what?” you asked, trying to keep your tone calm and even, “doesn’t seem like you are having fun either.”

miya atsumu had long decided that he hated you. well, he didn’t hate you. he hated the way that you could read him. it shouldn’t have been a surprise, you’d known him for years now.

there’s a flash of emotion in his eyes, so quick that you couldn’t even recognize what it was. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means what it means, atsumu.” with a shrug of your shoulders, you turn to leave.

—

the party was winding down and atsumu was getting antsier by the minute. his stunts had been getting more and more out of control, the last one being an attempt at a backflip over the sofa. you had never been more thankful for meian’s presence until that very moment. it was then that everybody had decided to call it a night, it was half past two in the morning anyways.

atsumu spots you by the kitchen counter, attempting to help bokuto clean up the mess the party had left in his home. his steps are slower, more tentative than anything else. he’s always known you saw right through him, atsumu now wonders what made you actually speak up on it. why now of all times? in his head, you had come to a silent agreement.

“mind if i help ya with that?”

“go ahead.” you spoke, handing him a spare trash bag. for a while, the two of you work in silence, navigating around each other to pick up the various read solo cups, alcohol bottles, and bags of snacks that littered the floor and counter. it’s quiet, with most of the guests gone and bokuto cleaning up the backyard with hinata and sakusa.

“what did ya mean?” the silence is broken by atsumu, tone devoid of any kind of emotion. he sounded hollow, voice low and quiet. “earlier. i still don’t understand.”

you bit your lip, not exactly sure how to proceed. it had been something that you always wanted to confront him on. now, when the opportunity presented itself, your throat had gone dry — every single word getting stuck in the back of it.

and he’s just waiting for you to respond, matching your gaze with his own. atsumu thinks he’s being intimidating, but in reality, there’s a subtle kind of desperation to them. he holds his breath, hoping you don’t notice the quiver in his bottom lip.

but you do, just like you noticed the way his fingertips trembled. “i'm just saying, ‘tsumu, it wouldn’t hurt to be yourself. nobody’s gonna fault you for doing so.”

atsumu takes a step back, mouth parting at your words. truthfully, he didn’t know what to expect. this was the way he had been for years, he can’t go changing now, can he? atsumu’s unsure if he even knows how to. but here you were in front of him, probably just as tired as he was, finally calling him out instead of doing damage control — apologizing to people on his behalf, like you did when he had gone too far during high school. the facade had faded almost entirely.

“slowly but surely, atsumu.” you smiled, a genuine one. a smile unlike the one he forced himself to keep for the past couple of hours. “do it for yourself, you’ll breathe easier that way.”

and he just wants to ask you more, have you tell him exactly what it is he needs to do. but hinata was calling you, he was your ride home after all. but atsumu wanted more from your conversation, almost offering to be the one to drive you back to your apartment. unfortunately, you were already stepping around him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder before exiting the door with hinata.

and just like that a crack started to appear on his walls, not large enough to make them fall, but it was a start. slowly, but surely.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

a question: what are the hq characters like at a party? | written on the margins masterlist

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon @cloudedsky_29 @sakusasimpbot

join my hq taglist here. <3

#it’s the pain for me tonight 😔#gosh anon i loved this #thank you truly #written on the margins 🔖#atsumu scenarios #atsumu x reader #atsumu headcanons #🎐 — anon! <3

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ajbwasntwriting · 3 years

Text

Daughter!Reader x Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 5. Secrets hurt

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Listen I don’t know why I decided to give each chapter an artsy title I just did. Also as anyone following this may have noticed this story isn’t gonna be regularly updated but rather updated when I have something I’m proud enough to post though I am determined to finish this series, just school comes first. I hope you understand.

I’ll only post more chapters if previous chapters get a good reaction so if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

if you wish to be added to the tag list please dm me. All chapters can be found under the tag AJ’s Negan’s Daughter AU

The winter continued like that. He’d bring you food and you’d give him goods, even visiting multiple times a week. Sometimes he’d tell you about the stuff, holding up a jar of applesauce ‘from The Kingdom. The guy who runs it used to own a tiger’ or loaf of bread ‘the hilltop grows the grain, but Alexandria makes it.’ You would hum and nod along, knowing he was just trying to convince you to come back. Mainly because he’d ask if you wanted to come back with him and you would be ‘grateful but happy where you are’

You had asked him to start making lists so you knew what to find and you always tried your best to deliver. Cloths, blankets, kitchen utensils, baby bottles-

“Baby bottles?” you asked, pointing at the item on the list. He nodded.

“John and his wife are pregnant and we don’t have enough to go around.” He explained from the comfort of your couch, feet up on the table.

“But you have some?” you continued, not believing what you were hearing “You have...children? As in...babies?”

“Yea. I keep telling you we’re building a society.” he laughed at your bewilderment. “You’d fit in gr-” your mind ran as what you knew was coming ‘Here it comes again. No never works with these people. How do I get him to shut up?’

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” you cut him off, smiling. You turned to your kitchen unit, pulling out a large bot, a can of vegetable soup, and salted beef that Daryl had brought that day. “You’ve brought me so much it’ll probably go bad before I can eat it all.”

In that time he had stood up and walked over to the kitchen, now leaning on the counter. His sudden appearance made you hold your breath “When did ‘get out’ become ‘stay for dinner’?” he asked, seemingly amused.

“When you stopped understanding what ‘I don’t wanna be part of your group’ meant.” You retorted, cutting up the salted beef with a dedicated kitchen knife. “Are you staying or not?” you turned to him, stopping your cuts for the moment. He nodded with a shallow ‘yeah’, making you smile then go back to cutting. You poured the meat and soup into the pot, placing the lid on top. “Some snow on top to water it down and we’ll be sleeping with full stomachs tonight.”

You had him carry some bowls and a ladle up to the roof. Within an hour the fire outside was lit and the food was cooked atop four bricks you were lucky enough to be able to upgrade your cooking fire with, the old lamp now repurposed into a weapon. There was no conversation but you didn’t feel like you needed it. The wind was calm, letting Daryl look out over the city. “Do you know where the museum is?” He asked while you were stirring the soup.

“A couple of blocks down,” you called back. “Why?”

“Me and a few others are planning on raiding it in the summer” he answered, not turning back to you.

That’s when you realised something. You had heard about all these friends. Carol, Michone, Saddiq, Rosita, Eugene, Henry, Ezekiel, Lauren. He’d mentioned them in passing, saying how they made something he brought you or appreciated something you brought him. Yet he always came alone. It would’ve made more sense if Rick was doing these deliveries, you’d met him before the winter. Sure you stitched up his leg.

The two of you were sitting in front of the fire as it fizzled out when curiosity got the better of you. You swallowed the food in your mouth.

“Why are you always here alone?” you asked, he looked up at you from the other side of the fire. “It makes more sense to have people watching your back but for the past month or so you’ve been visiting me on your own. Why?”

“That’s how it is” he scoffed between mouthfuls.

“That’s how what is?” you snapped.

“You’re allowed to be all secretive but I’m meant to have my cards on the table.” he cut back. You thought it over a second, then went back to eating. You both finished up as the fire mellowed, taking your leave back inside. You carried the pot while he held the bowls. Back in your unit, you piled the dishes into the sink.

“I should get going,” he said, going to pick up his back.

“Y/N!” you nearly yelled. “My name is Y/N,” He looked back at you incredulously. A tense silence fell over you both “Before this,” you waved your hand to motion to the apartment “I was with a few people...including my father. We managed to secure a building, kept the walkers out but after some time new people arrived and a few of them got...Protective, I guess. Including my old man.” You crossed your arms and leant against the sink, the floor now far more interesting than the man in your apartment. “People died keeping me safe when they didn’t need to, all ‘cause my old man refused to let me help, but we were still bringing in new people but not everyone was helping, either cause they weren’t allowed to or didn’t want to. That caused anger to boil in the group and then...more people died.” Thinking back on the Sanctuary tears began to flow, but your voice didn’t shake and your body stayed firm. “I ran away and I’ve been hiding ever since ‘cause I know they’ll kill me if I’m found.” You finally looked back at Daryl who had been hanging on to your every word. You wiped away your tears. “You said I can’t be secretive, well there it is.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You don’t wanna go home” you cut him off. “You don’t like where you rest your head, that’s why you’ve been spending more and more time out here with me. I get it.” you pushed off the sink, leaning under it to pick up a jug of water to do the dishes with. “You can leave or you can stay the night. I don’t mind.”

You turned your back on him to focus on the dishes. He picked up his things and left without another word. ‘That’s it’ you thought as you scrubbed the pot, now getting more aggressive with it, ‘you fucked up Y/N.’

The following morning you woke up, opened your bedroom door, and saw a familiar red-neck on your couch. You couldn’t stop the smile that plastered your face, but you did grab some clothes from your closet then went back to your room to dress. This time when you left he was up. “‘Morning” he croaked as he stretched. “This couch was a lot comfier the first time.”

Your relationship continued like that for the next while. He’d visit you more regularly, stay for dinner, and usually, he’d stay for the night. You got tired of the complaints about the couch and cleared out the second bedroom. You liked having him visit and were willing to facilitate it. He’d even begun leaving a few things there. Functional stuff like arrows for his bow and fuel for his bike. You found him some clothes and extra blankets, and a bigger bag to carry stuff home.

You didn’t ask why he didn’t want to be with his people. After keeping everything a secret for so long it didn’t feel right, but you could guess. Between your family and your time in the army, you had developed a skill in reading people, a skill you noticed he also had. Maybe that’s why every second didn’t need to be filled with conversation. Though you wish it was so you could know more. He was kind, there was no question of that with everything he did for you without even knowing your name. Though when he came to your apartment he was tense, and he was never happy to leave. This made you think he was going somewhere he didn’t want to be, but he had to be. He always talked so highly of the settlements, trying to get you back there. He must be going someplace else.

The winter passed, your garden began to flourish again, and the walkers thawed. You thought after the winter Daryl would stop visiting but he still showed up. He didn’t come as often for a time, saying he wasn’t gonna make the trip unless he had enough to offer you. You frowned at this “Do come out” you ordered him. “You’ve got people relying on you. Children and everything and I’m able to find stuff in the city you need.”

“I don’t wanna leave you short. Our deal ya know-”

“Screw the deal, Daryl.” you huffed “You’re my friend and I wanna help you”

“Oh we’re friends?” he commented, with a cheeky smirk “Didn’t you try to kill Rick.”

‘So Tara told them’ you thought. “Yes,” you said “In a friendly way.” normally he wouldn’t find that funny, but these past few weeks escaping away to your hide-out had given him a chance to get close to you. “Come and visit me when you can, please? I got nobody else to steal my food.” That afternoon you both search for some last pieces for Daryl, having to go deeper and deeper into the city. You talked about his group’s plan to go to the museum and raid it for seeds and old machinery. You saw first-hand what a crack-shot he was with his crossbow, you whistled as another went down “Not bad bow-boy. How’d you get so good with that?”

“Before all this” you started, walking ahead to pull the arrow out of the dead one. “Me and my brother, Merle, used to move around a lot. We used to hunt sometimes for sport, sometimes for food, but he’d always make it a competition. Decided to learn a quieter weapon so I could beat that son of a bitch.” Another two walkers approached as he spoke. He shot a bolt through one of them while you took the other down with your knife. “After that, he never helped hunting again”

“Sounds like a sore loser” you commented, pulling the arrow out of the walker's head and handing it back to Daryl. He took it and reloaded the bow.

“You have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nah” you shook your head, keeping a lookout while he reloaded. “My old man said I was a miracle baby. Mom was always sick. They thought they’d never have any. I used to hate it but after hearing how Merle left you in a cell while he ran off with your girl, I’m glad.”

“Ahh, he wasn't all that bad,” he commented, walking alongside you.

“No one is as bad as they seem when you know them. At least that’s what my superior officer said”

That evening he couldn’t stay, but he left with a heavy bag and that made you happy. As the evening descended you went back to your unit. The following week would be quiet since Daryl had his big raid coming up. Though you didn’t realise how quiet until you were in the midst of it.

You had scavenged a few things. At this stage, the apartment building had been picked dry but you had a few children’s cloths and some old bandages from first-aid kits that had seen better days. As usual, you had piled everything in Daryl’s room. As usual, you were reading another book. As usual, it failed to entertain you since you’d read it about three times now. As usual, you fell asleep on the couch, not completely though because you heard the front door open.

You sat up sharply. “Dary-”

Thwack

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@softsebastian

#twd daryl #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd reader #twd x reader #twd reader insert #daughter reader #negan x daughter reader #AJ's Negan's Daughter AU

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ettawritesnstudies · 3 years

Text

A New Town

This is the wild result of Weswin and Alric taking over my brain for the night having me write 6 pages in under 2 hours. This scene will MAYBE be from Book 2 of the main Lacohe trilogy if I decide to keep it, but for now I wanted to share because I thought it was cool

1254 words. tw: depersonalization

While Weswin went to barter with the gatekeeper for entrance to the town, Alric wandered over to the notice board and gazed over the various flyers and posted warnings. He noticed one corner in particular – plastered with bounties for various criminals and highwaymen. He squinted at them in the red setting sunlight, searching for if any looked familiar, then glanced over his shoulder at his traveling companion. The red hair faded into an auburn and freckles disappeared as he approached. Alric blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. He ought to keep an eye on that one, to make sure he didn’t lose him the minute he wandered away. He was about to turn around to re-join Weswin when his partner shook hands with the guard and hurried over to the notice board, shoving their papers in his knapsack.

“We’re good to go in! He said that there’s a tavern in want of entertainment just a block off the main plaza. We can head there, and barter for lodging for the night.” He said, handing over the directions so that he could look them over.

“Sounds like a good a plan as any,” Alric mumbled, turning away from the board. Now, Weswin squinted at the posters over his shoulder.

“Are you wanted?” He asked.

Alric scoffed, “Not here, thank the gods.”

He’d be wanted by no-one but the mages, if they knew what he’d done.

“Where then?”

Alric started at that. He shot Weswin a scowl. “You shouldn’t ask about that so close to the guards,” he hissed, jerking his head back towards the gate.

“Aw, they don’t care. As long as you’re not their problem. Hell, if you ticked off the right people they might welcome you as a hero, fanfare and all.”

“And you’d know?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been run out of….” He paused and counted on his fingers. “Six towns now. And treated like a prince in two. Not looking to improve that record though. The last one was a long time ago. I’ve gotten better at being inconspicuous.”

As he stood near Alric, his hair turned back to the jet black that it had been when they were alone together in the woods. He shrugged and shifted his lute onto his other shoulder.

Alric narrowed his eyes at that. “You’re not going to cause any problems, are you?”

“Only if you do. Then I’d want in on the fun.”

Alric rolled his eyes and stalked in the direction of the gate. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

Weswin followed him with a spring in his step. “I’ll pay if you tell me that story.”

“Not a chance.”

Weswin shrugged and whistled for Eep, who currently looked like a mouse. It scampered over and scrambled onto his boot. He bent to pick it up and plopped it comfortably in his vest pocket. Then they made their way into the city together. As they entered the throng of people, he pressed his lips into a thin line but said nothing.

“What should I call you?” Alric whispered as they passed through the crowded entry courtyard.

“Wait,” he whispered.

Alric nodded and continued, following the directions. Weswin trailed a half-step behind so he could keep an eye on his friend and not get lost in the business. City markets were both his blessing and his curse. He loved sitting amongst the people, watching their endless faces and mannerisms, imagining stories for each of them. He loved the way the different ways they talked, smiled, gestured. He loved the mothers trying to buy groceries as their children tugged at their skirts. He loved the shopkeepers selling a thousand different wares. He loved the way they haggled and complimented and lied through their teeth to make a sale. He loved the way the soldiers stood at attention for hours under the sun and the brief moments someone cracked their momentary sternness. He loved the way the elderly gathered around the central cistern to gossip and lecture and catch up on the good old days. He loved the beggars, waiting for charity and helping each other when they could. He loved the big stages for the orators who wove arguments with silver tongues, for the performs flipping and tumbling with no regard for their necks, for the musicians that would lighten everyone’s lives with a little song. He was all of these people, and they all were him. His breath mingled with his brethren, his footsteps combined with theirs to make the ground almost rumble, his heartbeat in time with the heartbeat of the city itself.

It was all a part of him but he would never be a part of their daily lives. He would never be the friendly face at the cistern, He would never be the one whose house you came to when you needed a spare cup of flour. Communities don’t tolerate a perpetual stranger. Too many years of heartbreak taught him that. He’d come with a gust of wind and he’d go with the next storm. That was the way of things. It stretched him thin and left him with a hollowness in his chest, an ache in his bones, and exhaustion that a night in the tavern could never truly take away. On his own, he could almost forget. But in the market, his soul was split among a million different lives.

He stopped and took it all in, eyes shut, feeling his magic stretch in every direction. It hurt. He wanted to enjoy this trip. Eep quivered in his pocket. You feel it too, don’t you?

A gentle nudge on his shoulder shook him out of his reverie, and he opened his eyes to see Alric peering at him with a concerned expression.

“Wes-“

“I’m ok.” He shook his head but didn’t attempt to move.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

“mmhmm.” What had that looked like to an outsider? He hoped he hadn’t worried his friend too much. Or scared him, for that matter. Alric didn’t say anything else on the matter. Instead, he took his elbow and steered him in the direction of a less-crowded side street. Weswin came to his senses as they approached the door of the tavern. This was where he could function. He pulled the papers from his sack. They were made out to Israa Hendry – the name he’d come up with at the gate.

“How close do I look to before?” He asked Alric.

“Black hair, not red. Still long, but straight now. Your nose is smaller too. I think you’re about the same height.”

“Close enough.”

“By what metric?”

“By the ‘the guard didn’t write any of that information on the papers, just the time we came in.’ metric. No ID, that means I can bluff.”

“You’re going to… bluff your way into buying a room?”

“Sure. It’s not like the barkeep is going to check this.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier for me to make the transaction?”

“You playing?” Weswin asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the lute. Alric frowned, then shook his head.

“Fine.”

“Didn’t you say you are wanted somewhere? I don’t suppose you’ve got a fake persona to use while we’re in town?”

“um…”

“Didn’t think so.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Sure. Until then, let me do the acting. Besides, if anything goes wrong, nobody will notice me anyhow.”

Alric grumbled for a moment, then handed over the paper with a resigned look. Weswin beamed at him, and led the way into the tavern, showing no sign of the earlier lapse.

He hoped.

#my writing #the laoche chronicles #laoche excerpt #wip excerpt #am writing

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