#Now I have to actually finish the damn thing

[ilyrafe]

𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader

warnings: brief sexual innuendo, rafe being a softie!!!!

word count: 2.6k (i *might* have gotten carried away i'm so sorry lol)

a/n: this is a sequel to late night and also based on this, so thanks @keziahcore ! your mind is literally everything!

it’s almost like a sixth sense.

rafe feels your absence from the bed, and immediately becomes agitated. he turns on the lamp next to his bed and looks for any sign that you’re still there, and finds your small handbag on the armchair, which makes him just slightly relieved. 

when he looks at the clock, he sees that it is almost two in the morning. the bathroom door is ajar and the lights are off, which means you’re not there. before he can leave his room looking for you, you return, holding a glass of water, wearing only his shirt to cover yourself up.

“where were you? why did you leave me here?”

he can’t control this agony, this anguish that always catches him off guard when he finds himself alone. he can’t help feeling like a time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. the smallest things you do seem to trigger him massively, and he hates that. he hates that he ends up being rude and harsh to you, because you’re always so understanding and sweet.

even he knows he doesn’t deserve you.

“i was thirsty and went downstairs to drink some water.” your tone is sweet and calm, which makes him feel like shit.

his face changes, as he seems to calm down. you didn’t leave him, you just went to get some water. you’re there, your stuff is there, you’re not going anywhere.

“next time, leave a glass here. i don’t like it when you do that.” he says in a much softer tone, but he’s still upset that his sleep got interrupted.

“do what? get hydrated?” you joke, trying to lighten up his mood.

he rolls his eyes and huffs. don’t make him tell the truth.

“go back to bed. i’m tired, alright? i had a long day.”

“actually, i was going to read a book. i’m not sleepy and i don’t want to lie down right now.”

is it so hard to understand that he wants you to be close to him so that he feels safe enough to get a decent night’s sleep?

“you can read on the bed.”

“you won’t mind the lamp on?”

“no, just get the damn book and come back to bed.”

you laugh and nod, picking up the book from his desk and following him to his bed. rafe gets to his spot and as you sit down, he places one hand on your bare thigh and falls back to sleep almost immediately.

while he dives deep into his necessary rest, you start reading. it’s that book, in cold blood by truman capote. you don’t know if rafe is a reader, he never really talks about books with you.

every once in a while, you look down at your thighs to see his hand, firmly holding you, to make sure you won’t leave. this small gesture makes you feel stupid. stupid to believe he might feel something other than lust for you. rafe makes you question your beliefs and that itself makes you feel overwhelmed.

sometimes you want to leave, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. and you have tried countless times. he’s good for you in the same intensity he’s bad. to say you’re scared to ask him what you are would be an understatement, but you just would like some clarification, because you don’t beg the people you’re casually fucking to stay the night almost every night and throw a tantrum when they leave to get some water.

deep down, you know you’re more scared to hear you’re just an easy fuck. at this point, this would tear you apart.

being with rafe is a challenge. it’s like running a marathon you know you will not get to the finish line, and yet, you keep running.

when it’s almost four in the morning, you close the book and turn the lamp off. finally, sleep comes to you, and you settle into his bed, still holding rafe’s hand, which never left your thigh. with the touch, rafe wakes up, and this time he is no longer agitated.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” you say, as you snuggle into the mattress.

“you- what time is it?” he asks, adorably confused and sleepy.

“it’s almost four.”

“and you’re going to sleep now?”

“yeah. go back to sleep, it’s early.” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, and he complies, pulling you close.

(...)

rafe’s alarm clock rings promptly at seven in the morning. he turns it off and goes back to his previous position: hugging you.

your hair smells like coconut and your skin is always soft. he never wants to not be touching you. it’s like your body was made to be next to his. for some reason, just your presence is enough to make him feel calm and at peace.

he places the softest kiss on your shoulder, enjoying the quietness that only early mornings can give him. the sweet sound of birds chirping outside makes him forget about everything else. rafe only has you in his mind (and in his arms).

you wake up and soon turn to face him. rafe has the most adorable sleepy face, and you might never stop melting over him. seeing him up close will never not be amazing. he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. he probably has the most beautiful shade of blue in his eyes.

“go back to sleep.” he whispers.

“‘m not sleepy anymore.” you mumble as you rub your eyes, which rafe finds captivating. “hi.”

“hi,” he smiles. “you only slept for three hours, sleep some more.” he insists, and you feel a tone of concern in his voice, but maybe it’s just your sleep giving you that impression.

“i’m okay, rafey.”

rafey. he hates that stupid nickname, but when it comes out of your mouth, he wants to legally change his name to it.

“you’re gonna be tired.”

“no, i’m not. i don’t normally sleep a lot.”

rafe frowns not because he’s confused - he obviously isn’t. he’s just not liking what you’re saying. he doesn’t like the idea of you struggling with whatever that may be. rafe knows damn well how bad it is to be sleep deprived, he doesn’t want you going through that.

“you have insomnia?”

“i guess i do,” you shrug. “i don’t really know. i just don’t sleep a lot. i wish i did, though. i get so jealous when i see you sleeping for hours on end.” you smile sweetly at him. “you’re so relaxed. must be nice…”

you let go of rafe after leaving a timid kiss on his lips, and stretch before getting up and going to his bathroom to start your morning routine.

after a quiet breakfast, rafe gives you a ride home, and he can’t hide his concern about what you said.

“i’ll see you around, yeah?” you tell him, with the sweetest smile you always have.

“of course. uh, about that sleep thing… if you need help with that… i’m here.”

“rafe, i think you might be a sex addict.” you joke, really not understanding what he meant. he isn’t talking about sex. the one time he isn’t talking about sex, you don’t get it.

“well, i’m just one call away.”

you chuckle and intend to kiss his cheek, but rafe is quick enough to turn his face and make you kiss his lips. you laugh at his antics.

silly rafe is your favorite. if only other people got to see this side of him.

he watches you leave his car and get inside your home. the strange feeling of loneliness comes back almost immediately, but it gets him thinking. it has to be some sort of irony that the person that quite literally helps him sleep isn’t sleeping.

(...)

only two days have passed and rafe already needs you to spend the night at his house again. he is so tired and exhausted. he takes out his phone and quickly types a message.

rafe: are u busy right now? can i pick u up?

you don’t tend to take long to respond to his texts, but this time, an hour goes by and nothing, so rafe starts to feel that unbearable anguish again, and starts to think that you left him and that you found someone better to spend you time with.

impulsively, rafe facetimes you, and you answer. from your face alone, he can see the tiredness in your eyes. or rather, in your dark circles. you’re in your bedroom, which makes him feel calmer.

“hi, rafey. sorry, i just got my phone.”

“what are you doing?”

“i’m studying for my exams.”

“i just wanted to know if i could pick you up.”

“i’dd love to,” you smile. “but it’s not a good idea, i need to study and i have a mountain of books to read until tomorrow if i want a good grade, which i do.”

“you’re tired, you should rest.” he advises, visibly worried.

“nothing a can of red bull can’t fix.” you say showing him the can.

“y/n, please go to sleep.”

something about his request makes you angry. maybe it’s the stress, or the fact that this time rafe is right.

“rafe, you’re not my boss. i need to hang up, i got shit to do.”

before he can protest, you hang up the call, and surprisingly, rafe doesn’t get angry. this is what it’s like when he’s sleep deprived.

as always, rafe wants to take control of the situation, so he puts on a hoodie, grabs his car keys and leaves his house to go to yours. it’s late at night, and rafe knows your parents are probably asleep.

the path is short, and soon he arrives in front of your house and the light is on in your bedroom, which tells him that you are still up. carefully, rafe gets out of his car and walks to the back of your residence, and climbs the wall, always making sure he doesn’t get caught by anyone. finally, rafe gets on the small balcony of your room and sees you surrounded by papers, books and notebooks. it’s a mess.

he knocks on the glass door, which startles you, but you soon calm down when you see it’s him. you almost run to open the door, but your face isn’t the happiest.

“what are you doing here, rafe?”

“nice to see you, too.” he ironizes as he steps inside your bedroom. “i have a proposition for you.”

“i’m so not in the mood, rafe…”

“listen to me.” he says. “i’ll… i’ll help you out with this stuff, as long as you let me help you sleep.”

“i don’t wanna have sex.”

“i’m not talking about sex.”

oh.

“you mean… sleep? like, really sleep?”

“yeah. i don’t like that you sleep so little. you’re becoming cranky.”

you chuckle at the last bit. you can’t stay mad at him, can you?

“that’s a nice offer, rafe, but what do you know about biology?”

“i’ll have you know i was a good student.” he pouts and you laugh. “even if i don’t know what you’re studying, i’ll help you out.”

it takes you a few seconds, but it’s decided. your body is about to give out, you really need to rest. you can’t absorb any more information. a good sleep might even help you learn whatever you need.

“okay.”

rafe smiles and it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

you begin to organize all your notes and books on your desk and rafe begins to undress down to his underwear, and gets comfortable on your bed. he realizes this is his first time sleeping on your bed, and he already likes the faint smell of rosemary that your bedroom exudes.

you have such a pretty bedroom. the walls are painted in the softest shade of blue, and you have books everywhere. no wonder you’re so smart, you read a lot.

the wooden furniture gives an earthy feel to your room, contrasting with the delicacy of the light blue walls. in the photos of the small mural on the wall, rafe realizes that he wanted to be there, present in the photos, and maybe, in a photo with you. you are always smiling and being hugged by someone, or hugging them. you are like that, you are magnetic.

you finish organizing your things and quickly change into a shirt of rafe’s that you hope he doesn’t recognize. it’s big and comfortable, and it makes you feel close to him when he’s far away.

the lamp next to your bed is on, so you turn off the main light in your room and go to your bed, meeting rafe, and he has the smallest smile on his lips. it’s ironic how having sex and being naked doesn’t feel as intimate as simply sleeping together does.

“are your parents home?” he asks.

“no, why?”

“so i could have come through the door, huh.”

“yeah.” you laugh.

a brief moment of silence sits between you two, as you’re staring at each other’s eyes. rafe is mesmerized and terrified at the same time. this - whatever this is - feels so nice and so foreign. he knows damn well he isn’t one to want to just sleep with someone, let alone climb up a wall to just sleep with someone.

rafe cameron is in love, and he is utterly terrified.

“what are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper.

your blinks are getting slower and slower. rafe begins to run his hand through your hair, combing them back, and touching the skin of your neck and shoulders ever so softly.

thinking about how much i want to be with you and how fucking scared i am.

“nothin’. close your eyes.”

you do, not because he told you to, but because you couldn’t keep them open any longer. 

why do you feel the safest with someone as dangerous as rafe cameron? someone who deals with the shadiest people around, that has anger issues and violent behavior.

that tried to drown his own sister.

why none of that matters when you’re in his arms? are you actually insane?

probably.

(...)

as soon as you wake up, you see your bed empty, and rafe’s clothes are no longer on the floor, where he had left them last night. it was to be expected, but you still feel disappointed. he was so sweet last night.

when you look at the clock, it’s already past nine in the morning, which means you’ve slept, surprisingly, eight hours straight. damn, you really were sleep deprived.

the sound of your stomach begging for food makes you get out of bed.

when you leave your bedroom, you hear the sound of the tv on and get scared. slowly, without making any noise, you go down the stairs, trying to find out if your house has been invaded, but it would be strange, as it is daytime. soon you see rafe walking around your house.

he didn’t leave?

it’s like you’re not even there. you get to watch rafe make himself comfortable in your kitchen, looking for stuff to put on the table. there are two delivery bags on the counter, which means he bought food, but the gesture warms your heart, which was merely shattered.

“the cutlery is in the second drawer next to the sink.” you say, startling him a bit.

“jesus. can you, i don’t know, announce you’re in the room? i almost dropped your coffee.”

you laugh.

“sorry, rafey. what are you doing, i thought you had left.”

“uh, i bought breakfast for y- us.” he says. you look inside the bags and you can tell he ordered possibly everything you have eaten from that place. “c’mon, i ordered that vegan shit you like, your coffee and even a pretzel.”

you follow him to the table and you both begin helping yourselves. this isn’t your first time having breakfast with him, but it does feel like it’s a first.

for the first time, you don’t want to leave him.

i love feedback! let me know your thoughts! <3

[minisugakoobies]

I Know | KSY

Pairing: Hoshi x GNReader (no agab)

Genre: fluff, established relationship, dancer!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: drunk hoshi, grumpy woozi, hoshi is absolutely whipped for reader, this is honestly just very soft and sweet!

Word Count: 816

Disclaimers: none, other than I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Even when he's passed-out drunk, Hoshi still manages to amaze you with his love.

Text Prompt: boyfriend texted me "my love I am intoxicated" and then five minutes later, his best friend sends me a photo of him, passed out, phone in hand, and zoomed in on one of my selfies - tweet from himbowithnofear

A/N: I'm back with another installment of my "texts from svt" series. At some point I'll make a masterlist, but for now, please enjoy this short lil' fic about my favorite affectionate drunk, Hoshi. Fun fact, I've actually had this one finished for a while, but couldn't resist posting Mingyu first!

Unbeta'd as usual. I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

“Please come get your man.”

Jihoon’s grumpy request is the first thing you hear when you answer your phone. 

“Hey, Jihoon, how are you?” you laugh, unsurprised by his opening plea. Ten minutes ago, you’d received the following message from your boyfriend:

LOML: my love, i am  intoxicatedd

And had been waiting to hear from Jihoon ever since. Though you were a little surprised that he was video calling you instead of just calling or texting.

“To be honest with you, I’m not great right now. And it’s all your boyfriend’s fault.” 

You can’t help but laugh loudly. Jihoon scowls. 

“Why are you upset with Soonyoung? I thought you guys were celebrating tonight.” 

“Because.” Jihoon flips the camera. There’s your man, all 178 cm of him, snoring his ass off in the corner booth. “He’s driving the other customers out of my bar.”

If you’re being honest, you’d been expecting this moment long before Jihoon called you. Soonyoung had gone out for drinks with several of his friends to celebrate one of them getting a new job, and you knew your lightweight boyfriend would feel compelled to try to keep up with those lushes as always. Not at their insistence, but out of his own desire. It was a point of pride for him. 

“Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” 

“Thank you. Please hurry.” Jihoon winces. “I know he calls himself a tiger, but he really snores like a damn bear.” 

You laugh again, about to disconnect, when Jihoon makes a sudden noise of delight. 

“Hold on,” he chuckles, and the screen zooms in on the phone still clutched in Soonyoung’s hand. “Do you see that?” 

It’s you looking back at you. From a photo, one that you recognize immediately as one of Soonyoung’s self-proclaimed favorites, from the weekend you’d spent at the beach last summer. It’s actually a wide shot of you standing in front of a gorgeous sunset, soft pink light dancing on your skin, and that knowledge makes you smile right now. Because it means that your drunk sap of a boyfriend zoomed in on your face, right before he passed out. Probably to dream about you. 

Soonyoung never did anything by halves. Not dancing. Not drinking. 

And definitely not loving you.  

“Come get your simp.” With a grin, Jihoon disconnects.

Tossing your phone into the front pocket of the oversized hoodie of Soonyoung’s that you’re wearing, you grab your keys and head for the door. 

It’s not a long drive to the bar. Inside, you make a beeline for the booth in the back, familiar with the space around you. It’s basically your second home, between being best friends with the owner, and dating (though he’d never admit it) his favorite patron. And, speak of the devil, there he is, the love of your life, head on the table, mouth open, rattling the glasses on the table with his powerful exhalations. 

Something else Soonyoung doesn’t do by halves - sleeping.

Jihoon nods at you from across the bar. All of Soonyoung’s other friends are nowhere to be found, likely having gone home once Jihoon reassured them you were on your way. 

Ignoring the common advice regarding sleeping tigers, you slide onto the bench and gently lay your hand on Soonyoung’s back to shake him awake. 

“Soonyoungieeeee, time to get up,” you trill sweetly into his ear, brushing his dark hair out of his face.

He cracks an eye open. “Baby?” he asks groggily. “Is it time to go to work?” 

“No, dingdong, it’s Saturday. And you’re at Jihoon’s, remember?” 

“Oh.” Soonyoung sits up, looks around. “Right. Oh!” His eyes get wide. “Baby! Those hyungs got me soooo drunk!” 

Laughing, you brush some chip crumbs off his cheek. “I know, ‘youngie.”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung’s eyes slip unfocused as he smiles. “Wait. You weren’t here and now you are.” He hiccups himself into a confused frown. “Why are you here?” 

“To take you home, dingdong.” Running your fingers through his hair again, you grin. 

Soonyoung looks at you and you swear you see his pupils turn into hearts. “You’re taking me home? With you? To your home?” 

You shake your head, gently tugging his beanie down over his ears. “How many shots did they make you take? Yes, you’re coming with me. To our apartment, where we both live.”

“We live together!” Soonyoung’s eyes disappear behind his cheeks as he grins. “You love me!” 

“Yes, I do,” you laugh, yanking on his arm to get him onto his feet. He wobbles slightly, so you duck under his arm, trying to steady him, but he interprets this in another way, cupping your face to pull you in for a slightly clumsy but rather passionate kiss. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers, nose bumping repeatedly into your cheek as you start to lead him towards the exit. 

“I know, ‘youngie,” you repeat with a soft smile. “I know.” 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[heewoonie]

𝓙𝓔𝓐𝓛𝓞𝓤𝓢 - Park Sunghoon

pairing : jealous!sunghoon x reader

warnings : smut, unprotected sex, choking, 📷, dacryphilia, creampie (lmk if i missed any)

this is my first fanfic + i'm not fluent in english so please don't be harsh on me!! 💙

Sunghoon was the type to be jealous over anything. Talking with some boy other than him was enough to put him over the edge and you knew it damn well. The way he looked at you and that random guy who casually asked for your number because he thought that you're single. How wrong he was... Well, you decided to give him that damn phone number simply because you wanted to tease your boyfriend a little bit. When sunghoon saw you passing your phone to him that's when he felt like he was going to kill you.

When you both arrived at home the first thing that he did was kissing you agrressively until you couldn't breathe.

"You think you're funny? Giving him your number in front of me? God, you're such a slut actually." Sunghoon said as he started marking your neck purposely leaving hickeys to show everyone who you belong to.

"No, it's not like that" You tried to explain but the boy didn't let you as he shoved his two fingers in your mouth making you gag.

"I saw what i saw, I'm not dumb Y/N"

As soon as those words left his mouth he carried you through the bedroom and pushed you on the bed

"If you wanted my attention so badly you could have just said that"

In the blink of an eye all your clothes were gone leaving you on expose for him.

"There's no need to be easy on you right?"

You didn't respond. It was so obvious, he was jealous as hell.

"So now you're quiet." He said as he pushed his whole length inside you and immediately started thrusting making you scream since you didn't have time to adjust to him.

Moans were coming out of your mouth like crazy. It hurted but something about Sunghoon and the whole situation that you were in made you almost beg for more

His thrust were rough and fast, Sunghoon basically wanted to fuck his anger out by using you

"Yeah, you like that huh? Being fucked by my cock? Is that what you wanted since the beginning?"

He grabbed your neck and started choking you. The sudden action made you cry from overstimulation. The lewd noises coming from pounding your hole were getting louder and louder.

Suddenly Sunghoon pulled out of you and grabbed your phone which was next to the bed. You looked at him confused. Why did he stop? Just a second ago he was fucking your brain out and now he stops?

"How about we show that guy who do you belong to huh?"

"What do you-" You couldn't finish the sentence as he started pounding into you once again making you a moaning mess. As you were getting closer to your orgasm you heard a familiar voice coming through the phone. Oh Fuck. It was that guy who asked for your number today.

"You know who that is?" He didn't stop fucking you as he was asking you that. Of course you knew!

"H-hang up!" You moaned feeling your walls clenching at his length.

He did listen to you tho thinking that hearing you both fuck would be enough to let him know to give up.

"I'm close baby" Sunghoon moaned as he cummed into your walls. Soon you got off too with no energy left.

It took you a while to actually understand what happened. You looked at Sunghoon but all you could find on his face was a grin.

"You know I'm jealous when i see you with other guys."

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter One

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 6.1K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | yeeeehaw, here we go. I have to just say, it was so damn fun writing this, and while I haven't gotten started on chapter two quite yet (hello, finishing undergrad, you thankless wench) I'm real excited to get started soon. As always, I'd love to hear what you think, thank you for reading.

............................................

He doesn’t understand this world of a town. Two months, maybe three, actually, and still not used to any of it. Not used to warm water and light switches that work. Not used to three whole meals, not used to whole anything. Tomatoes and peaches, sweet snap peas, the taste of summer. Not used to people living so closely and not trying to kill each other. He feels like a livewire strung taut, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the catch of it all. He’s starting to think there is no catch. And if there is no catch, he’s worried he’ll get too comfortable, too soft.

The people of Jackson live a different life. May as well be on a different planet. And as such, they treat him and the kid with a pitiful patience and a cautious distance. Careful, feral animals, still being housebroken, still learning not to eat with their hands and swear in the dining hall. Still learning not to flinch, or do much worse, when a friendly hand is placed on their shoulders. This strange world, strange life he’s walked into, and he’s pretty sure it’s not for him. But he wants it to be for Ellie, so he tries. 

In this world, help is expected, and given freely. White-knuckling isn’t requisite, there are things that can be done for a fever besides waiting it out, ways to relieve a little suffering. Time and space, a luxury, he thinks. And so when the kid came home with a bloom of welts on her palms and up her bare shins, unaware of how easily poison ivy can spread, there was, for once, something he could actually do about it. 

Tommy was the one who clued him in. The little shop that sits a few storefronts down from the Tipsy Bison which, in all honesty, he had never paid any mind to. He doesn’t get out much to begin with though, so that says very little. Unassuming, peeling blue paint and tall windows obscured by bursts and blooms of plants. A piece of smooth wood has been turned into a sign hanging above the door, letters seared into the grain. Apothecary.

He calls out, hesitant when he steps inside, unsure now if he came at the right time. No one in sight, the shop sits perfectly quiet, still, just the hum of a fan tucked into one of the windows, sending a faint shiver through the plants around it. He’s admittedly surprised by the sight, not that he had been expecting the clinical white of a pharmacy. Still, the shock of green all around him, warm clay pots on wooden benches, vines and leaves spilling over the edges like languid limbs in repose. Lush and strange, he steps further into the shop, foliage brushing against his shoulders, the cool, damp smell of earth. He calls out again, still silence.

There’s something that looks like an old checkout counter further back, a rusted-out cash register that now has thin vines growing along and in between the keyboard. The remnant stub of a receipt sits in its mouth, he thinks he can make out 2003, ink all but faded away. But the strangest of all things, as he’s studying the slumped machine. Someone else joins him. Or something else. 

“Well, look at you.” It doesn’t exactly startle him, more like a small kick in his chest at the intrusion. Like black ink, sleek and shine and slipping up onto the counter, all ease, perched and staring at him. He thinks a bit idly to himself that he hasn’t seen too many cats in the last two decades. And this cat looks well taken care of, maybe even a little prim, if a cat can look such a way, sitting on its haunches and looking at him, unblinking, unwavering, and a little unsettling. Little impulse, before he can think too hard about it, he holds his hand out, a scratch between the ears that’s rebuffed as soon as it’s accepted, little snit and swipe, the sharp pin prick sting of blood over his knuckles. He presses his other palm over the small throb, the cat long gone by the time he has half a mind to look for it. 

“Did she get you?” Now that does get a jolt out of him. Animals are easier. But people, well. He looks to his left, then to his right, deeper into the shop. He sees her hair before he really sees her. Piles of curls, gray starting to bleed through all that darkness. She’s standing in a doorway he hadn’t seen before, the cat rubbing its cheek against her shin. Somehow, he feels like he’s been told on, thick flood of something warming up the back of his neck.

“Just a scratch, think I deserved it though.” Somewhere around his age, he thinks, maybe a little younger. Her eyes do a lift and crinkle when she smiles, stepping closer to him. He sees the same years he recognizes in his own face, though she certainly wears it better, tempered smile, glasses getting pushed up into her hair, more mane now than anything else. What was he here for again?

“You’re Joel Miller.”

“I am, how did–”

“Tommy told me he was sending you my way. I didn’t know a person could come with a warning label.” Something southern in her voice, little twang, little twinge. Her words rasp just a bit, and it sounds like kindness, like a sharpness that could turn sour, though she keeps it sweet, tilt of her head, sweet. 

“I guess my reputation precedes me then.”

“It’s a small town.”

“I’m starting to catch onto that.” The cat has taken an insistent twine between his legs, chewing at his shoelaces, until she, still nameless to him, hooks her arm around its belly, easy as anything, and Stevie’s a little curious is all, sending the creature slinking off and away from them, disappearing between all the green. 

“I’m sorry, older I get the less I remember my manners. I’m Maggie.” Palm extended, and when he takes it, it’s like that thing he and Tommy used to do as kids, bored out of their minds and making a game of shuffling in their socks, fingertip shocks to the backs of each other’s necks, just a quick gasp of static, there and gone.

“Tommy said you could help me out with something for poison ivy?” Oh, she says, mostly pantomime when she takes her hand back and wipes it on the thigh of her jeans, is it for you? He’s surprised how easily that makes him laugh.

“No, it’s, well, it’s my kid, got it pretty bad.” 

“Your daughter is in luck then. I’m almost sure every kid in Jackson under the age of sixteen gets it at least once, and I treat every single one of them.” A slip, a stutter, because did she? Did he? He must have, right? Must have used that word, daughter, for her to say it. Even though he’s pretty sure he didn’t, pretty sure of his pause, but he can’t give it any more thought because she, Maggie, has already turned heel, a cursory look over her shoulder at him that tells him, yes, he should be following her further back into the shop. 

“So, witch hazel is going to be your daughter’s new best friend. Soak a little of this into a cloth or towel and dab it onto the rash a few times a day, you really can’t overdo it though.” He’s trying to keep up, really, nodding and mmhmming as she hands him a small bottle, already onto the next thing, her glasses now sliding down to the end of her nose as she looks through drawers and cabinets, plucking out things that look like old shoe polish tins, jars covered with cloth toppers. A mix of method and madness, a grace to her movements, though something skittish is threaded through. Bird of prey, he thinks, something of fierce and feather in all that motion.

A combination of workshop and kitchen makes up what he thinks is the backroom of the shop, large butcher block taking up most of the middle of the room, back door propped open with something that, frankly, looks like an urn. An impressive-looking range spans the back wall, and he thinks that, maybe, in the before, some kind of restaurant. But now, very different means to very different ends. 

“Alright, this’ll help most with the itching. It’s a bit potent, so just tell her to take a little bit, warm it up between her palms, and rub it over the worst spots.” Ultimately, he’s left with a bottle, a small tin, and a few sachets of oatmeal bath soak, only half sure he got all her directions, trying to balance listening to her, and letting his eyes wander over all the cabinets, dried plants and variously odd containers spilling out from everywhere. Head spinning, already spun out actually, and he can’t help but wonder how he’s just now meeting this woman, a strange sense that she’s important, though why, or to whom, he isn’t sure. 

“That should have Sarah all cleared up in about a week, but if it’s still persisting–” 

“I’m sorry–” Whatever he’s sorry about, it cracks and fails in his chest. Like he’s been winded, or maybe wounded, a sort of deep suckerpunch shock hearing that name come from a stranger’s mouth. He has to clear his throat before he speaks again, posing it like a question, you said Sarah? And there’s a peculiar thing that happens in the silence, the quick pass of her eyes over his face, pull of her brow like she’s the one that’s confused. But whatever it is, it’s gone just as quick, lines smoothing, a smile so small it can only be apologetic. That queasy twist in his gut has loosened, but there’s still something unsettled, that lingering static all over his skin. 

“I thought I heard that was your kid’s name, but judging by your reaction I  must be getting people mixed up again.” She says something else, something about taking care, a lot of folks around here pass through my hands, sometimes they blur together. He believes that well enough, still uncertain about the rest, though too skittish to do anything other than drop it. That name isn’t for anyone else, not even a bird of prey, so he keeps it folded up close and tight between his ribs and lets out a sigh to blow out all of his held breath, slumping civility.

“No, it’s alright, I’m not too good with names myself.”

“Well, there hasn’t been much need for that in this world, don’t you think?” 

“I guess not, though I’m getting the sense it’s a little different around here.” It seems like a nervous thing, a pulse point reassurance in the way she brushes a hand back through her hair, lets her palm curl at the nape of her neck for a moment, then hand to wrist. Never still, she’s done it a few times now just standing here talking to him, though her words come easy, if not a little sharp, a single, high note of a laugh.

“Oh yeah, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to work on that, unless you wanna hurt some poor bird’s feelings, you know.” Wave of her hand, you know, and the thought occurs to him, errant, that this is the most normal conversation he’s had with someone since deciding not to leave. And quickly after that, the thought that he doesn’t hate it, this, doesn’t hate normal, doesn’t want normal to stop. For once, he feels like he can do normal. For once, it feels easy.

“Any advice?”

“What, on assimilating?” That word rolls languid and loose off her tongue, making a joke out of it as she pronounces each syllable, that sour twang pitching up another key. He nods, try me.

“Give it time, the names that matter will shake out eventually. In the meantime, just avoid direct eye contact and the rumor mill will leave you alone, relatively speaking.” 

“That right?” Shrug, sigh, she tilts her head to the side, smile going slanted and shoulder hiked, it’s been working for me, kinda, sorta. His eyes trail the slope of her collar bone, bare now with how the sleeve of her shirt has slid a little askew. Sunspots, a silver knick of a scar, paper thin and fine.

“Ellie, that’s, um, well, my kid’s name.”

“Got it, and you’re Joel.”

“And you’re Maggie.”

“Look at you, already getting better at it.”

“Is that short for something?” 

“Unfortunately, my mother saddled me with Magdalene.”

“Don't hear that one often.”

“Nope, she was a little, well–”

“Eccentric?”

“I was going to say righteous, but that works too.” 

“Religious then?”

“In a way, yes, you could say that. You too? Joel sounds very bible-y.” 

“My folks were, I never really acquired a taste for it though.” 

“Hmm, amen.” Easy, easy, easy, until time does that thing it always does, starts to fissure beneath that delicate freeze. She glances at her watch, a polite sigh, and he notices the thin band on her finger, a foolish drop of disappointment souring his stomach, trying, and failing, to double check if it was her left, if it was her ring finger. Not that it matters though, not that it would, or could matter. Already on the move, something about a colicky baby I have to go check in on, leading him back out to the front of the shop, and he finally remembers the bottle and tins he’s holding, what he came here for in the first place. 

“I appreciate all this, really, just name your price and–”

“Oh, no, consider it a welcome gift. I hope Ellie starts feeling a little better.” And he wants to accept that, her kindness, and how easily she offers it. But there’s no muscle left in him for that, weak and wilted and wary of shoes dropping, catches, and being caught. Whatever remains in its place, she notices it, that nervous hesitation, that one step back, that shifted glance toward the exit, softening some of her sharpness. And it’s not pity, because he knows pity, seen a lot of pity in these few months he’s been here. No, not that, something simpler and saner. Seeing and being seen, the cool slip of relief from it. 

“I might have an idea for a trade if you’re up for it.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Tommy said you’re handsy–” She stops herself with a gasp that sounds like a hiccup, seemingly just as stunned as he is by the word, hair falling in her face with the shake of her head, little laugh, little brightness. Handy, oh my god, I meant handy. 

“I’m sorry, clearly I don’t get out much, lord.” All hands, talking with her hands, palm to her forehead, then back through her hair, quick flickers, he tries to track that ring through its orbit, a dizzying  effort. Hummingbird hands, a woman who is all wings.

“It’s alright, reckon you’re still better at this than I am.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ve been the picture of civility.”

“Will you tell Tommy that?” 

“I’m sure I can put in a good word.”  He’s lingering, or maybe she is, or maybe they both are. Not used to this, taking time for time’s sake. 

“I am though. Handy, I mean, if you need help fixing something?” She does, she tells him, stair railing that’s come so loose she’s worried she’s going to go right through it one of these days. And it’s been twenty years since he’s been in a world in which people worry about the upkeep of their stair railing, but it’s an easy fix, he tells her, he can do that, he tells her. Sunday? Sunday works fine. They shake on it, stepping out of the shop into the mid-day glare of sun, her with a deep canvas bag hanging off her shoulder. She squints at him, it was nice meeting you, and he says the same, and finds himself actually meaning it. But there’s still something strange slicking up and down his spine, he’s reminded of it watching her walk off in the other direction, though he’s not really watching her any more, but the people she passes by.

Small town, close town, everyone knowing everyone else, names pinned down under thumbs. Ellie had let out a loud what the fuck when a stranger greeted them, by name, the first time they went to the dining hall for dinner. He’s been feeling a similar way about all the greetings, all the good neighbors doing what good neighbors do. But Maggie gets none of that walking down the block. No smiles, no tipped chins, no knowing and being known. He swears he even sees a few swept away glances, a few steps back the closer she gets. If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it, a sort of easy sway to her gait, walking hips-first, there, and there, and then gone when she turns a corner. Strange, and stranger even, when he looks down and notices that the puddle of black ink is chewing on his shoelaces again. 

Little trouble, yellow eyes that round and narrow on him, he takes one step, and little trouble follows him, close on his heels. He imagines that they’re putting on an absurd show walking down the main drag of town, him stopping every few steps to turn around and see that yes, little trouble is still following him, though at an admittedly respectable distance, settling back on its haunches and staring him down every time he glances back over his shoulder. Little trouble follows him all the way to the front steps of his house, seeming to finally lose interest in favor of a bee humming lazy around a patch of weeds. The last thing he sees of little trouble is pink-padded paws batting at dandelions, curled-lip grin and white fang chewing on stems, beheading thick yellow manes. 

… 

She lives on the other side of town. Older builds, he thinks, been here longer, windows with glass that warbles a little in its age like melted sugar, and deep-set porches washed with dark blue shadows in the early morning light. Cottonwood trees sway and dip, old limbs that arc and curl over the cracked-up sidewalk, slumbering giants making the sounds of all the small life it hosts. It’s a side of Jackson he hasn’t seen until now and it reminds him of a younger, simpler time. 

The town follows an old rhythm, late starts on Sunday. There’s even a church somewhere, though he’s not particularly concerned with finding it anytime soon. It’s still early enough, however, that he’s one of the few people already up and out. She told him to come as early as he wanted, really, I’ll be up. And he sees for himself that she was being honest, because when he walks up to the house she told him to look for, he finds her waging a zealous war with a rose bush in her front yard, and it doesn’t seem like she’s winning. 

When he told his brother he had taken his advice, he was met with a surprising amount of interest, talking quietly over a shared drink and well, what did you think?

I didn’t realize you were waiting for my report.

She’s a little different is all, does things her own way.

Well, she got the kid fixed up. 

I had no doubt she would.

I’m helping her on Sunday with something, as a trade.

Oh?

Stair railing in her house is loose. Been a long time since I thought about stair railing.

Wait, you’re going to her house?

Yes.

Into her house?

I’d presume so. Is that a problem?

No, just surprising. 

Why’s that?

She keeps to herself, not exactly one to make friends, though I don’t blame her with the way– well, people can be cruel, I guess.

What’s that supposed to mean? 

There’s talk, stupid stuff really. For what it’s worth I like her just fine.

Talk, his brother said. People spinning stories out of fear, or maybe something weaker than that. He’s been gathering up some of that talk all week, enough of it to make his head spin. The only thing he’s sure is truth, Maggie was here before Jackson was even called Jackson, just a nameless group of people that somehow managed to survive, until it became something else entirely. The rest, however, weft and warp of fact and fiction. Plenty of good words, broken bones set back in place and flu seasons weathered, babies born and grown, though the praise seems to be given with a reluctant respect, skittishly, but, well. But, well, something strange about her, isn’t there? He’s heard plenty of strange too. Strange, the way she talks to the wind, and the way it seems to listen. Strange, that cat of hers, with lingering eyes that watch and watch and watch, a shadow showing up in all the close, quiet places. Strange, whatever it is she keeps on the stove in the back of her shop. He asked Ellie if she’s heard anything, and she, pleased with herself, offered up a fantastical report of flight and dancing naked under the full moon, a perfectly tall tale he could imagine the children of Jackson passing around a classroom. 

One thing he hasn’t heard anything about, the ring and whichever finger she wears it on. His right, her left, she’s still wearing it this morning, simple silver glinting and a pair of garden shears aloft in her hand. She smiles sheepish when she sees him, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be. 

“Those are pretty.” She doesn’t seem to realize he’s talking about the roses, big white blooms that she absently looks at over her shoulder, scoffing, her mouth screwed to the side. 

“They’re useless is what they are, taking up too much space and overcrowding the rest of my plants.” As he gets closer, stepping beyond the gate and into the front yard, he sees the errant chaos of her work, stray petals and entire threads of flowers lopped off around her feet. She’s a little breathless as she speaks, back of her hand to her forehead to wipe stray salt, and he wonders how long she’s been out here at this.

“Not a fan of roses then?” 

“To be honest with you, I don’t know where these are coming from. It seems like I cut them back and by the next morning they’ve taken over even more.” She gives a weak stab to the flowers that remain intact, a shake of her head as she abandons her work, and he shouldn’t, just here to fix her stair railing, he shouldn’t, but he already is, already saying the words before he can think about keeping his mouth shut, you’re bleeding.

“What?” He gestures, at least having half a mind not to touch, his hand hovering somewhere in the vicinity of her forearms. Long, thin welts where he’s sure the thorns got her, and maybe he’s a little startled by her breathing out oh, those fuckers, and this again, on the move again, and expecting him to follow her up the porchsteps and in through the screen door and just let it slam or it won’t close all the way. She’s already tramped further into the house and he finds himself utterly unsure of what comes next, shuffling a little in the hallway she left him in, head tilting with the sound of a faucet turning on somewhere, pipes groaning. 

Another truth he gets to see for himself, Maggie has lived here a long time, all the acquired detritus of life that only time can allow, that leaving washes away. Paintings dripping off the walls, a craned-neck glance into the rooms around him revealing worn-looking furniture, shelves of books and little nothing things, trinkets and half-melted candles. And more plants, more plants everywhere. 

“So, the stairs.” The stairs, in question, are an easy enough fix. How nice, he thinks, to know what is needed, and to know exactly where to go to get it, a few tools and materials only a ten minute walk away. She tells him to make himself at home, let yourself in, I’ll be in the back, I’d warn you about my guard dog but she’s not very good at her job. The guard dog in question is rubbing its whiskered cheek against the leg of her jeans, thrumming a purr so loud he thinks it’s at least partial performance, yellow eyes skewing up at him every now and again. 

The work itself makes up the morning. Methodical, monotonous work that allows his mind, and his eyes, to wander. Whatever that ring on her finger means, he’s nearly certain that nobody else lives here with her, except for the cat who spends the first few hours sitting on the bottom step, watching him. As for Maggie, he catches glimpses of her, in and out all morning between what looks like a sunroom and the backyard, never still, always something in her hands, always moving like she’s got an important destination to get to. She comes back inside just as he’s finishing his work, dressed down in a tank top now, all her hair pulled into a precarious knot at the nape of her neck. His eyes linger on bare collar bone, sun high in her cheeks, even though he tries not to. 

“I completely forgot to ask if your kid is feeling better.” He tells her that she is, tries for a joke about teenagers and all their drama that just feels weird in his mouth, though she still smiles at it. And he feels it again, just the same as when he met her, that tug, that want to linger, even though the work is done, and she’s thanking him for it, and even he, and all his dormant manners, knows that’s his cue to leave. 

“I was about to make some lunch if you wanted to stick around?” He shouldn’t.

“Yeah, okay, thank you.” And so he stays for lunch, and so there’s tomato sandwiches, thick and bursting, summer sweet and savor on her back porch, wiping dripping ripeness off on the thigh of his pants, a hum in his throat to be enjoying something like this. 

“How’s another week of domesticity suiting you?” Words that crackle with a half-grin, her cheek cupped in her palm, a picture of afternoon haze, sleep and sate, and he finds himself being lulled by the sight, little slump back in his chair.

“Don’t think it’s something I’ll get used to anytime soon.”

“That’s to be expected, I don’t think anyone ever fully gets used to it though. Not unless this is all they’ve known.”

“Where were you before you came here?” It’s a question that borders on prying, he apologizes and you don't have to almost as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but she waves the apology off, it’s a little complicated. And she tells him that this is where she lived in the before, right up until the after, and that she, like so many others, got funneled into a quarantine zone in the earliest years. 

“Were you ever in one?”

“Boston, for a while.”

“Then you know how maddening those places are.” Bird of prey, trapped in a cage. Bird of prey, who flew back home. Bird of prey, who found that a few other people had the same idea.

“It wasn’t called Jackson back then, wasn’t called anything, just people, you know.” Until it became something else, something bigger, and a little more serious, and if that bothers her, she doesn’t show it. And now he really is prying, asking after her accent that surely doesn’t come from the mountains. He’s not wrong, she tells him.

“I moved here when I was, oh, maybe nine? My parents, we lived in Mississippi before they passed, and when they did I was sent up north to live with my aunt.” It’s an old wound, whatever pain that remains from it has been transfigured into a sort of tired nostalgia around her eyes, the tempering of her smile. She’s quick to brush it away, a bright laugh and a shake of her head, I think I just told you all my secrets. He knows that isn’t true, though warmth still starts to unfurl in his chest. And when she asks him the same questions, he offers the same piecemeal parts of the whole truth. Offers Texas, and his brother, and a halfway truth about Ellie. Shards and fragments passed between each other’s hands, it surprises him how easily he has given his to her. 

“I guess we’re not strangers anymore then.” 

“No, I guess not.”

“I should– I feel the need to warn you.” Like she’s not sure how to put these words together right, brow pinched low and smile slanted nervous, you might not want to spend too much time around me.

“Why’s that?”

“People around here like to talk.”

“Right.”

“And they like talking about me.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And I don’t want– you seem like the kind of guy who just wants to keep his head down and get by.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“I’d like to be friendly, but I don’t want to take that from you.” The word friendly does something unpleasant in his chest. He does his best to ignore it.

“Why’d you invite me to stay?”

“Because I like talking to you and because I’m selfish. Because I wanted to.” And there’s something else, he thinks, something else unspoken behind her grin. Because he hasn’t made up his mind about her in the same way everyone else has, at least not yet. 

“I have heard things, about you, I mean.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“And I have questions.” She sits back in her chair, an edge of a challenge in her jutted chin, palms turned up and open, try me. But given the chance, he doesn’t know where to begin, which thread to pull first. What comes out, ultimately, isn’t even a question, but plain and blunt observation. This is a big house.

“It’s just me, and Stevie. I’ve offered up rooms to folks around here, haven’t gotten any bites so far.”

“But it wasn’t always, just you.” Absent-minded, she spins that silver band with her thumb, another wound revealed. 

“I was married until I wasn’t.”

“Before or after?” He doesn’t know where this is coming from, this plainly brash openness, though she doesn’t wince, doesn’t recoil from it, just as steady as he is.

“After, about a decade after. You think you’re in the clear and then, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for now. Ask me something else, why don’t you? Something more interesting.” Wave of her hand and a clipped laugh that’s more like a sniff, tender, don’t touch, don’t dig into that wound any deeper. 

“People say you’re strange.”

“Strange.” Dragging out the word, letting it crackle with a grin that’s all teeth, little laugh on the end, picture perfect amusement in how she tilts her head at him.

“That you can do strange things.” 

“That’s kind of a nothing word, isn’t it? Strange?”

“I thought you were gonna answer my questions.”

“Oh, I will. You’re gonna have to be a little more precise in your language though.” Back and forth, back and forth, why does he like this so much? Dragging his palm down his jaw to stop the spread of anticipation, heat-hazy in the mid-afternoon sun.

“That cat of yours, for starters.”

“Mmhmm?” Raise of her brows, voice high in her throat, and he has to huff, do I really have to say it?

“Are you referring to the rumor that my cat spies on people and reports back to me all their wicked, little secrets?” 

“Sure, yes.”

“That cat right there?” His eyes follow her pointed finger out into the tall grass of the backyard, where the cat in question seems to have contented itself with tangling its paws in a loose length of twine, belly-up, writhing around in all that green. Maggie snorts.

“Oh yeah, she’s a real mastermind, you better watch out, she’ll be visiting your bedroom window next.” 

“Then what about the rest of it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“I’m glad you’re finding this so amusing.”

“Mmhmm, I really am.”

“I feel foolish even saying it.”

“If there’s a word you’re skirting around, and I think there is, it’d be better if you just come out with it.”

“This really is a nothing word though.”

“Oh?”

“Made up, make-believe.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Frankly, I’m not sure of anything about you.” She hums, chin cupped in her hand and her elbow propped on the small table between them, her brow dipping in mock consideration of his words. He can see that she really is finding all of this entertaining, something in her eyes like a squinted challenge, ghost of a smile twitching in the corners of her mouth.

“How about I say the word I think you’re thinking of?” Spiraling words, circling each other, he nods, and she purses her lips, getting ready for some kind of lift off. 

“People have told you my cat is strange.”

“People have told you I’m strange.”

“People have told you I do strange things.” Yes, yes, yes, he nods with each statement, and her smile only seems to brighten.

“Joel, have people been telling you I’m a witch?” And that’s it, isn’t it? Foolish, and he doesn’t know why that word has seemed to stick in his mind. Maybe just because he’s heard it from enough mouths in the last few days that it almost makes it seem plausible. Maybe he’s lived in a world turned inside out on itself long enough that there is very little imagination that hasn’t been eaten away by reality. Maybe he’s just like the rest of them, looking for any way to explain someone who doesn’t do things the capital-w Way they are supposed to be done. Maybe he’s still thinking about Sarah, and where Maggie could have possibly plucked that name from. And maybe that word is just holding the place of something else, an uneasiness he feels around her, though not unpleasant, just other, and so very unlike any other. He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it, and this seems to amuse her most of all, sharp smile now softening, no longer playing at a game because they’ve both caught each other now, haven’t they? 

“That’s what people say.” 

“And you? What do you say?” 

“Does it matter?”

“If we’re going to be friends, yes, I’d like to know what you think.” Friends, they’re going to be friends. When did that happen? He thinks that may be the strangest thing of all. 

“I think I don’t know enough yet to tell you what I think.”

“How judicious of you.”

“I think you’re different though.”

“Well, I think you’re different too.”

“Why?”

“Most people wouldn’t have gone past the front porch, and here you are staying for lunch.”

“I don’t mean to impose or–”

“That’s not what I meant.” The words are kind, but they’re also a conclusion, enough, for now, enough. He watches her get up and collect both their plates before he can think to move, and then another kindness, touch, her palm on his shoulder as she passes behind him, there and gone. He’s a stranger to touch that isn’t economical, or clinical, or plainly violent, and he finds himself unsure what to do with that, though inexplicably wanting more of it. 

She thanks him again for the fix to the railing, and he thanks her for lunch. He lingers, and she lets him, helps with the dishes, checks the railing one more time. I’ll see you, she says, walking him out onto the front porch, and she does it again, touch again, somewhere at his elbow, as simple as anything. The roses are still raging in her front yard, a whole wave of them. 

Somewhere in the middle of his walk home, he realizes the cat is following him, second shadow slinking low to the ground, dipping her head when he turns around, pretending at predator. He keeps walking, pays little attention to her pursuit. He’ll get used to it eventually. He thinks he already is.

...........................

taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @thereaperisabitch @schnarfer @jessthebaker @tobethlehem

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Yandere Raiden x reader x Yandere Fujin? Or feed my delusional mind with just Yandere mk men x reader- with that harem “no she’s mine! Not yours!”

“Alright, men please listen up. Y/N can only choose one of us..which means you all will have to die.”

A/N: I love a delusional queen from infinity to infinityyyyyy. MHMM OFC!!! Anything for my delusional friends…I didn’t have Raiden in this one because I’m going to give you some good stuff in a separate post. I have Raiden and Fujin fighting for you in that. Plus a bonus;) this has been my favorite request so far.

Warnings: Johnny cage💀, Yandere/Toxic Themes, mentions of stalking, harassment, violence, a bit suggestive???

Requests: open 24/7

Masterlist

Let’s be real, the mk men are perpetually thirsty. Actually all the characters are to be honest. Did you hear the flirty dialogue?? Even the keeper is trying to get some of that action.

So really it’s no shocker that you, the new fighter, have all the attention from them.

Johnny is undoubtedly the first to strike. He may be an older man now but damn, you make him feel like he’s 20 again. He just cannot control making some kind of flirtatious comment when he sees you walk by.

“Woah, woah, woah, now sweetheart. I think you and I should have a nice long conversation. Get to know each other a little…or a lot…dealers choice.” ;)

Yeahh he doesn’t care that he has a kid and a mortgage. Cassie is grown now and Sonya doesn’t want him anymore…so free game, baby.

His eyes are hungry and he barely can hold himself back from pouncing on you—

Liu Kang and Kung Lao see this and apologize for his behavior towards you. They introduced themselves and of course did their absolute best to make you feel at home.

Don’t let this fool you though, those are some sinful monks. They are no better than Johnny and they want you real baaaad.

“So, Y/N. What is your skill set? Wait. Let me guess, you use beauty essence to trap your opponent in a daze before knocking them out?”

Liu Kang jabs Kung Lao in the stomach with his elbow, before speaking to you.

“I’m sorry for these two. You are very beautiful but please know we are just as excited to train with you as we would anyone else. Anytime you’d like to spar, please, don’t hesitate to find me.”

Ahh he’s so damn slick…he just wants a reason to pin you downnnn

“Hey! Liu Kang don’t you mean us? We all would like to train with you darling~. Some people like to fight over in the courtyard but if you’d like I have a very special place called, me casa.”

“I would also like to train with you…in the courtyard of course. I mean unless you prefer—“

“Thanks? Umm..I appreciate all of your….offers. I’m supposed to actually meet with Raiden, I’m just a little lost. Have you guys—-“

Before you could even finish your sentence all three of them bombarded you with offers and began fighting over each other, debating who actually knows how to find Lord Raiden the best.

“Uhh—“

That pretty much sets the tone for how everyone acts around you.

By a month or so into you being here, everyone knows about you. Especially the men. You’re all they talk about.

At first it was simply chatter about you being a new kombatant for earthrealm and of course mentions of your beauty.

But since learning more about and becoming closer with you, the little infatuations have turned into full blown obsessions.

No one can seem to get enough of you, even the grand masters have trouble focusing when you’re around. Hanzo and Kai Liang may disagree on many things but you are one of the few things they can get behind.

They are both trying to recruit you to their different clans so they can be fully entitled to you.

Scorpion wants extreme control over you, he wants to shape you into the perfect companion. He wants you to be just as poised as his wife once was. You already have her beauty so just let him perfect you.

Sub-Zero wants you to become his equal. What he failed to do with Frost, he will make up with you. How more beautiful you’d become if only your heart was frozen over.

Either one will not stop at nothing to have you. A trophy they could boast over. For a second you ended a centuries-long feud, both agreeing on your excellence…only for it to start all over again for who is more worthy to own you.

This isn’t isolated to just them, all the men are fighting for your attention. Arguing about who you actually belong to, bragging about how much attention they got from you, and comparing it to each other. Don’t get me started on that. Mk men are so needy for your attention. Whenever they can’t get it, they resort to other ways.

Johnny is such a filthy pervert. You don’t wanna give him the time of day? Fine, he’ll take matters into his own hands.

He’s your very own paparazzi, you should be grateful that he’s taking this many pictures of you. You’re the first and only.

It doesn’t matter that he’s doing it without your consent or knowledge…it also doesn’t matter that some of them are a little…provocative. He’ll jump into the flesh pits if that meant getting the perfect shot of you…let him have this.

He refuses to share these with the other guys, it’s just for him. Over his dead body will Kano or someone else see you like this.

Shang Tsung has also caught wind of you and you’re a pretty sight indeed. He doesn’t want you to fight in the tournament. A gorgeous soul like you should be locked away in his throne room. He always tries to bribe you with fortune and power. He can offer you so much more than these rodents. If you need an extra push in his direction, a little trickery may help with that….he has no shame using an incantation on you.

Liu Kang and Kung Lao are no better. They manipulate that fact you see them as good friends as a way to be in the limelight.

They stalk you just as much as the rest, sometimes separately but often times together. It always ends up in a fight between the two tho because one person starts shit talking…

“Idk Kang. A woman like that would never be into you. Kitana barely even looks your way…what makes you think Y/N will? Besides, she called me cute.”

“Yeah, I think she’ll think it’s real ‘cute’ how I destroy you in the tournament..”

Perverted as Cage. Kung Lao is extremely touchy while sparring. He loves to “teach” you things. He never shines away from a moment to flex all of his years of training under the shaolin and that he’s a self proclaimed expert.

For some reason when he’s fixing your form, his hand always winds up on your ass…hmm strange.

Liu Kang loves when you watch him workout or spar with others. When it’s finally your turn to be his opponent, he never holds back. All because he wants to be the one on top…always.

You cannot catch a break. Gifts and proposals are constantly sent to your door and no matter how much you try to decline, it just won’t stop coming. Sure being basically waited on, and desired by many is really nice. Every girls dream! But you have to admit just how it is scary having such dangerous men obsessed with you.

There hasn’t been a moment in the last few months where you’ve ever felt completely alone. The feeling that someone is always watching you has never left.

And, occasionally you would awkwardly overhear or walk in on a group of men fighting about you.

“With all due disrespect, I believe a babe like that would prefer a star like me. She’s all mine”

“Nonsense. Y/N belongs to the Shirai Ryu. Both her beauty and skill makes her a viable asset to the clan. You can fight me in hell over it, Cage.”

It doesn’t get any better when the tournament starts.

I think the men forgot they were fighting for their realms because it quickly turned into a fight for dominance.

A tournament that was once a noble cause, turned into a bloody showcase. Every man dedicating their wins to you, making sure to send a cheeky flex or smile your way.

Besides, what value did their realms hold if you weren’t there with them.

[peachkkuma]

📓. DIARY ENTRY 07 ︴MAY 15, 2024

dear loass diary…

I just fully realized that I’ve been doing this like five minutes ago, so I had to write it here to get my thoughts out, make sure I don’t forget my realization, and hopefully have an epiphany.

So, context first. I’m sick rn and I remembered a specific part of one of Neville’s lectures where he said something along the lines of how a sick man wanted to be healthy so all he did was focus on being healthy. (semi-unrelated note to future self: Notice how I put “ALL HE DID” as in, that was the only thing he did? That’s because that’s the only thing he needs to do!! it’s all about having genuine awareness of obtaining your desires, stop over complicating it and trying to make excuses when u know damn well that’s all there is to the law). After remembering that I was like, “yo why don’t I try that” because why would I want to be sick?? So anyways I was like trying (emphasis on the trying) to imagine myself as my healthiest self and only be aware of being healthy. After two minutes of that, I decided to call it quits and thought to myself “hope it works.” GIRL WHATTT?? That’s my problem right there, I’m pretending even in my own imagination. I think I have myself fooled, that I’ve deceived myself into thinking that I believe I have what I want in imagination when I DONT. Right after my so called imagining I literally had the thoughts of a person who was sick, was aware and focused on my illness, and just overall identified as someone who caught a cold. and then, that’s when the common sense hit me and I was like “wait, who do I think I’m fooling?” It’s like I thought just because these circumstances exist in the 3D doesn’t mean they can’t also be in my imagination. It fr is like i see the 3D and 4D as something separate when that’s not at all the case. Because those thoughts of me being sick? That was a state, the was who I was in imagination. Who I am in imagination. Life truly is imagination. And I rlly feel that now. So, future me, let me try to help u out by telling u how to actually get into ur desired state and maintain it:

1. Decide u have it

“I have xyz” BOOM ur done, it’s done, because creation is finished. There is nothing to create in the 3D or the 4D, it already exists exactly the way u want it to, waiting for you. So act like it.

2. State ≠ instant gratification

I’m gonna hold ur hand while I say this, states aren’t here to be a relief or a distraction. They’re not meant to temporarily ease any anxiety u have. So stop treating the sowf as a temporary escape from the 3D, it’s real. and if u keep up this bad habit, if u start seeing the sowf as just a way to shut up ur worries without actually knowing it’ll come to pass, then you’re on a dangerous road that leads to believing the 3D is the real reality. And yk that it’s not.

3. Actually maintaining a state

U r meant to see the world from the perspective of ur desired self, the u that has it all. Why do u think it’s called the law of assumption girly? U gotta assume u already got it. My thing is, I have too much going on in my real life and I think “I don’t have time to be in the sowf I have too much on my mind.” That’s a problem because one, ur allowed to be a part of the 3D. U don’t have to pretend it doesn’t exist. And two, I’m identifying with the 3D and it’s circumstances. News flash, the 3D doesn’t just disappear the moment u say an affirmation or visualize a scene, u still have responsibilities. The trick is knowing that’s not u. U don’t have to be thinking like ur desired self 100% of the time so don’t expect urself too. Deal with ur stuff, but know who u actually are, who YOU chose to be. To maintain ur state, do whatever helps u feel like ur the u want to be. Revise ur day before bed, think the thoughts ur desired self would think, but don’t force anything. Forcing urself just means u feel like u don’t have what u want, and so ur desperate to get it, if u feel like u don’t have it, don’t force a method. Instead remind urself that it’s already done, it’s been done.u already decided that u had it, nothing can erase that decision except for u.

4. Getting used to it

Everytime I think of ur desired self remember that THAT IS U!! Not someone u could be or will be soon, BUT YOU RN. If u don’t feel that way, it’s because u identify with the 3D and ur past assumptions of urself, and we already discussed how that’s a huuuuuuggggeeeee no. Don’t force urself into getting used to it because, again, force means wanting to get something out of the 3D. But that’s not the real reality, so why want something from there when u can have what u want rn? Remember that ur imagination, ur awareness, ur consciousness, whatever u wanna call it won’t lie to u. It’s the most accurate reflection of both u and ur life. What u experience in there is ur real reality, whether that be the one u want or not. So girl, get used to being who u want to be. It’ll feel so weird at first, uncomfortable rlly. Cuz ik myself, the only way I’ll get in the state is if I keep myself in check. (going on a mental diet is okay if ur not doing it for the 3D, future self.)I’ll probably just be asking myself 24/7 “would my desired self think/react/feel like that?” And honestly, that’ll probably be the only way I’ll learn. Once u start correcting urself, for the sake of wanting to be ur desired self, it’ll come naturally. Both the habit of being in the state and ur manifestations

The law wasn’t mean to be tricky, how could it be when it’s literally called the law of assumption? There rlly isn’t much to it except assuming u have what u want by helping urself believe u have what u want, so stop trying to think there’s more to it— that it’s not that simple or easy. Ur wasting ur time with everything else, the overthinking, the wondering about the when and how, the over complicating, and the wondering if u did it right. Just be.

kisses, peachkkuma

[imyooming]

I drew this after reading some smut where the ml looks like Chase and Howl combined.

Used this page as reference

[skitskatdacat63]

Yes these have all already been posted, but 2023 Vettonso comp post for me because I'm going to have an emotional breakdown

[novantinuum]

when the blind reactors you watch are starting to get into the Nitty Gritty of plot and you are going to have to be Very Careful in your meta ramble comments from now on so as to not accidentally sway their thinking or Give Anything Away

[tomfrogisblue]

I have finally finished O Segredo Na Floresta.

I have cried more than I thought possible.

And I fear I shall never be the same.

[pineappical]

I’m literally obsessed with how you draw Ted and Trent they’re sooooo ✨ can I ask how you learned to draw anatomy bc I’m in love with how you do it

THANK YOU!!! also ive never taken any classes/lessons for art so most of what i draw is just a whole bunch of "fuck it we ball" and VERY heavily referencing images ive collected by roaming pinterest (cringe) and whatever..

^like that for example

its mostly a trial and error and some drawings never even survive the hard sketch part but it honestly just boils down to drawing the same guy over and over and over for like. 50-70+ drawings now HELP?

[afniel]

Maaaaaaaaaaaan, come on.

(the post has ended up in the tags btw. I am not changing this and I need you to understand that it is just me talking to myself semi-publicly)

[coquelicoq]

my ex, who lives alone, is apparently about to buy a 5-bedroom, 4-bathroom, 2-garage house. what. i'm getting stressed out just hearing about it. tf you gonna do with all that space, bro? how you gonna clean all those bathrooms???

[48787]

New Transmission The fucking Scientific Instrument Class Pseudocons apparently developed what they're calling "Hetero Sapience" and are corrupting the brainmodules of the non-Pseudo 'cons around them by using annoying xenophilosophy words. Soundwave tells me they're 'Greek' and 'Latin' words, apparently. Cool, I guess? Anyway, if you see any SI Class 'cons causing... issues, just try your hardest to turn your brainmodule off before you start getting infected with their weird lingo, alongside all the other issues pertaining to letting the SI Pseudocons transmit data into your brainmodule in their own weird ways. Thundercracker, on a bet with Starscream, tried to get into an argument with one of them and his head literally exploded when it started talking about Alpha Trion's "Mythological Origins" in its weird dialect. He's mostly fine, CR Pods are working at 'peak' efficiency, but the facial reconstruction is apparently impossible due to some kind of corruption. I thought it was just some weird prank but there weren't even any scorch marks or anything. Just exploded. So yeah, just avoid optical contact and auditory contact to the best of your ability and you should be fine. Otherwise, try to force-shutdown your brainmodule if you can. Shockwave is working on a cure right now, mostly because I know he had something to do with this in the first place so he's going to be the one to fix it. He probably wanted a greater justification to do that weird data-transfer idea he mentioned previously. But it also explains the weird Thunderwing hypotheticals he's been asking me lately... Can I go one fucking cycle without someone trying to "Perfect Thunderwing's Work" or whatever other idiotic drivel that I keep finding our limited energon reserves siphoned into?? It's not even a Shockwave thing, it's like every damn Cybertronian these days thinks they have the "Missing piece of the puzzle" or whatever. In fact, Shockwave might be doing this as a weird threat against the other R&D 'cons to cement himself as the one and only Decepticon "Allowed" to have resources wasted on projects like that. Ugh, now that I think about it, that's probably a correct assumption and he's probably gonna expect me to thank him for it later. Ugh, and he's probably literally right. Ugh. At least his repairs both to himself and to his lab seem to be mostly complete so further research into the SI project should hopefully come along a little faster. Both Shockwave and Soundwave think the SIs could potentially be used as some kind of specialty weapon, but we'll have to see how they work on sparkless lifeforms, like biological lifeforms or xenomechanical lifeforms. The SIs don't seem to corrupt each other, but Shockwave keeps reaffirming that they're not "Sparkless Lifeforms" because they "were never lifeforms to begin with"... but I think he's trying to hide something. Usually Soundwave is the one to pick up on that kind of technological obfuscation, but he actually agreed with Shockwave and offered to send Ratbat to try to work out exactly what each "sapient" SI is now capable of on a personal level. We could have just had regular Cybertronians aboard to fill the role SIs fill. I would've preferred K Class to fill any role an SI could fill in all honesty!! But no, constructing cold wasn't enough, we just had to try to learn how to "Construct Frozen" and the "Absolute Zeroes" just had to be put on my ship. Whatever. I've probably said too much already. This was supposed to be a warning for my ship crew, but it's looking like it'll end up being transcribed on the golden disk as well so when this new Scientific Instruments of Destruction project backfires in some absurdly bombastic way there will at least be something remaining that says I was right. End of Transmission

New Transmission Okay so I was right, but so was Shockwave and Soundwave. Or, well, they were right just enough to make sure the backfire is postponed for at least another handful of cycles. Ratbat is still in CR from the investigation, but the cure Shockwave developed seems to be effective and Thundercracker is out and aiding the repair effort. Shockwave is now in contact with one of the SIs digitally and the other few are... integrating due to the personal efforts of Soundwave. I suppose now would be pertinent to mention not all the SIs developed the "Hetero Sapience" condition, many of them are safe for interaction. Soundwave is also currently monitoring their presence, Ravage is tasked with the regular SIs and Laserbeak is tasked with the "Sapient" SIs. Shockwave probably knows exactly what caused this event but he is preoccupied with the one he no doubt is either indoctrinating or ruthlessly interrogating. Report to Soundwave if you see any suspicious behavior, he has been working very hard to ensure the SIs have their purpose clearly defined (And closely monitored). And, Starscream, stop trying to convince the SIs that you are the leader of this ship. Not only have the majority of your efforts been wasted on subsentient automata, the only one you have actually found who possesses the ability to truly listen to you immediately came to the bridge to complain about you. They were the first sapient SI I communicated with directly and it was because they felt the need to complain about you. I almost feel embarrassed for you. Come back to the bridge so you can apologize to it or so I can teach it how to laugh at you. It's practicing right now actually! This moment of chaos should hopefully be largely under control now, the actual "population" of Scientific Instrument Class Pseudocons was actually quite fewer than initially expected due to an indexing error incorrectly labeling certain shells as SI class. At the very least, we have some more specialty warriors because of it all. End of Transmission EOF

[shastafirecracker]

THROWS MUG ON THE GROUND FLIPS THE TABLE AND THROWS THE TABLE AND COMPUTER OUT THE WINDOW

IT’S FINISHED MOTHERFUCKERRRRRR

[orcelito]

i miss akechi goro so much. maybe even enough to finally finish that ladue chapter 3