#i'm tried of being sad and empty

[girlscience]

contemplating the idea that religion and spirituality and supernatural beliefs might simply not be for me and it is a bit sad

[vvanessaives]

i think the Thing that makes vhanya's tragedy so..tragic to me is her youth. but not in a 'omg dying young, she had so much to live :(' which is. well rip to her. but more like every single mistake she does is in a way..normal. like mistakes you do when you're a teen and are sooo dumb but make you learn and they shouldn't weight too much or more like. they shouldn't have you pay a too expensive price. while vhanya's mistakes aren't looked at with kindness, there's no Understanding. she walks around with her rage and tears like she's screaming "i'm still learning!! don't i deserve some kindness?" and instead of a "it's okay that you fucked up, we can fix this" it's mistakes that shape forever her future without any way to rewind and idk it gets me </3

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

Tw: sa, sucide, self harm

[strawbebyjam]

thinking about my pear tree

[emphistic]

Can I request reader being really sick and baby Yuji being really worried about her while Sukuna is trying to take care of her?

A/N: hope the ppl who voted for this in the poll are happy 😡😡 — i feel betrayed because yall didnt choose the other one

If someone who personally knew the three of you walked in right now, they would probably laugh at the current sight. Others would be surprised or confused. But little Yuuji was neither of those things. He was utterly adorably worried and concerned — for you. His little heart couldn't comprehend that you were only sick and would eventually recover. In other words, Yuuji is scared you'll die and never come back.

Then, who will tell him bedtime stories?

Then, who will kiss him goodnight and good morning?

Then, who will hold his hand while walking?

Then, who will coddle and pamper him?

Then, who will?

These were all questions Yuuji could not and would not like to answer.

But Sukuna — being way older than his brother — knew better, and he knew this was nothing too serious. But again, Yuuji couldn't comprehend that.

“Don't make me say it again, sweetheart. Now, open,” Sukuna held out the medicine for you to drink.

“Nuh uh,” you crossed your arms over your chest, backing up into the pillows behind you on the bed. You tried to stifle a cough, but you failed.

“I will pry open your mouth and shove this down your throat. Now, drink.”

You groaned, yet still obeyed. The fluid felt hot and cold simultaneously as you swallowed it.

Sukuna ruffled your hair, “See? Wasn't so bad, was it?” He retrieved the now empty cup from your hands and left the bedroom, probably walking to the kitchen to wash it, you assumed.

Yuuji turned to look at you with big glittery eyes. “I—I don't wan’ you to die. I don't wan’ you to go . . . like Grandpa.” Yuuji’s bottom lip trembled, he didn't want to cry — not in front of you, at least. He wanted to appear manly, brave, just like his brother.

You were quite taken aback at this, did he seriously think a cold could kill you? “Yuuji, come here,” you said, your tone soft.

Yuuji instantly crawled into bed — not without struggling a bit at first — and snuggled into your side, holding onto your hoodie with a white-knuckled grip.

“I will never ever leave you, Yuuji. So don't you worry your cute little head off about it, okay?” You booped him on the nose, emitting a squeal from the boy before he curled up impossibly closer to your body. You wiped away his tears.

“Y’know, I'm not going to die anytime soon. You can't get rid of me that easily.”

Yuuji fervently nodded, not fully believing you but still hopeful, nevertheless. “Yay!”

Yuuji was sad that you wouldn't be able to drive him to school that morning, but he knew you were tired. Plus, he overheard his older brother telling you that sleeping would be good for you, and the boy only wanted the best for you. So Yuuji accepted the fact, though still a little upset about it.

But when he came home from school, Yuuji ran straight to your side, where you were sitting on the couch.

“Y/N!” Yuuji jumped into your lap and gave you the biggest big bear hug a toddler could possibly give.

“Hi there, Yuuji,” you replied, before coughing. “Did you have fun at school?”

“Yeah! It was so fun.” You let him ramble and babble to you about his day, while running your fingers through his pink locks.

“That sounds like you had a really good day, Yuuji.”

“It would have been better if you were there with me, though,” Yuuji mumbled into your shirt.

You giggled at the boy, “Sorry about that, Yuuji.”

“‘tis okay!”

Yuuji snuggled into your sweater, enjoying the warmth from your body. He almost fell asleep from your massaging his scalp, but then he remembered something and gasped, jumping off of your lap.

You raised a brow, albeit not bothering to ask — your throat felt itchy. You unpaused the TV and continued watching your show. Halfway through, Sukuna decided to join you on the couch, pulling you into his side and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Feeling any better?”

“Sorta.” You coughed. “My throat kinda hurts, though.”

You rested your head on Sukuna's shoulder as the both of you watched the actors on the screen, occasionally making small talk here and there.

Minutes later, a screaming, hollering, laughing little Yuuji ran into the living room, making both your heads whip towards him.

“It is I! Dr. Yuuji Itadori! Don't worry, Y/N. I am here to help you not be . . . um, sick — anymore!” Yuuji climbed onto the couch and inserted himself in between you and Sukuna.

Yuuji was dressed in a white doctor’s coat, and had a stethoscope hanging around his neck. A toy thermometer was also in his hand.

Quickly discarding the thermometer, throwing it aside — onto a protesting Sukuna’s lap — Yuuji put the back of his palm against your forehead. And though he didn't understand what he was doing, he attempted to copy his brother, who he had seen frequently do that in order to check you for a fever.

Speaking of said brother, Sukuna got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen.

“Hmmmm!” Yuuji pulled a clipboard out of his pocket and messily scribbled down illegible words onto the sheet of paper. Then, he placed his clipboard down and grabbed ahold of his stethoscope, pressing it onto your heart and listening to it beat.

Out of the blue, a hand roughly pushed the doctor aside, and Yuuji fell off of the couch and onto the carpet. “Out of my way, pipsqueak. Y/N needs her medicine.”

“‘Kunaaaa,” Yuuji whined from the floor. “She was getting her check-up.”

You covered your mouth, muffling your giggles. “Yeah, babe. You interrupted Dr. Yuuji.”

Sukuna grimaced, scrunching up his face. “Doctor? Since when?”

“Since he was born, silly! Yuuji is a prodigy, isn't that right, sweetie?” You picked up the toddler and set him onto his lap, he immediately went to rub his face in your chest.

A muffled ‘yes’ came out from him, though he didn't even know what he was agreeing to.

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @lich1 @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius @call-memissbrightside

[kennarose1108]

Clingy (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

At the beginning of your relationship, Miguel was distant from you as you expected him to be. He didn't want to get close to you because he didn't want to feel the need to depend on you. He lost so much and he was afraid if he got close to you he'd lose you too. But as time went on he grew more attached to you. You were so kind and beautiful he just couldn't get enough of you.

But as he got more attached his fear of losing you grew and it got more clingy towards you, afraid if he let you go you'd somehow die on him. He didn't want to smother you of course and he kept his distance when he realized he was doing too much but you honestly didn't mind his clinginess. It always reminded you of how far you came with him and you felt loved.

Nights were the worst for Miguel though, he always clung to you when you both went to bed and if he woke up and you weren't in his arms he'd always check the bed and every time you were there. He'd reach his hand out to touch the fabric and your body was always there to meet with his hand. Then he'd pull you closer to him and he'd fall back asleep. He was afraid in the night someone would take you away from him, it was one of his worst fears.

Because of his anxieties, you tried not to get out of bed at night. If you needed to use the bathroom you'd try to be quiet to not wake him and freak him out. And you always succeeded. But tonight was different. You woke up and felt your throat was abnormally dry. You couldn't fall back asleep with your throat like this, it just wasn't possible. So you quietly got out of bed and headed to the kitchen.

As you were in the kitchen Miguel woke up. He felt you weren't in his arms anymore and he reached out to touch you… But you weren't there. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and continued to search for you, but still nothing. Then his eyes shot open and he noticed the empty spot next to him and the panic set in. He sat up and called for you, "Y/N?!" He yelled. His anxieties were telling him the worst, he was afraid someone kidnapped you or even killed you.

He hopped out of bed and pushed through the bedroom door, "Y/N?!?" He yelled again. You jumped as the impact of the door hitting the wall scared you. His body psychically untensed when he saw you in the kitchen with a glass of water in your hand. "Miguel? Honey, what's wrong?" You ask as you set the glass on the counter with a concerned look on your face. His body was visibly shaking and his breathing was hard. You walked over to Miguel and gently brushed your hand against his cheek. "I'm okay… I was just getting some water… I'm still here with you, don't worry." You say while resting your hand against his chest. You felt his heart beating fast and you frowned. "Go back to bed Miguel… I'll be there in a moment, okay?" You say with a reassuring smile. Miguel nodded and slowly walked back into the room.

You walked back to your glass and drank down the liquid. When you finished you placed the glass into the sink and walked back into the room. When you walked in Miguel was sitting up in bed and looking down at the bed in sadness. Your heart broke at the sight of him looking so defeated. You walked over to Miguel and ran your fingers through his hair.

He leaned into your touch and sighed. You crawled into his lap and straddled his hips. You pulled him into a hug and he wraps his arms tightly around your body. He rested his face into the crook of your neck and you rubbed your fingernails gently along his scalp and his back.

"I'm sorry…" Miguel mumbled. "You have nothing to be sorry for… It's okay to be afraid." You say while placing a kiss on his head. "Yeah but… I feel like I'm smothering you…" Miguel murmurs. "Miguel. Look at me." You say while pulling away and cupping his cheeks. He looked into your eyes and you noticed the tears in them, you frown even more. "You're not smothering me. I love being close to you and I understand why you're afraid. Nothing that you have done has ever bothered me." You say with a reassuring smile. Your words seemed to relax Miguel. He nodded and he blinked away the tears in his eyes. "Okay… Now, let's go back to sleep hm?" You say before placing a kiss on his nose.

As you were about to crawl to your side of the bed Miguel stopped you. One of the hands that were on your waist traveled up and cupped one of your cheeks. He then leaned in and kissed your lips and you returned the kiss with a smile. The kiss was gentle and full of love… Just full of love, nothing else. He pulled away and smiled at you. You smiled back before crawling to your side of the bed. You went under the covers and laid down, Miguel doing the same. He pulled you close to his body and held you tight and you returned the favor by wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. He sighed in relaxation and he felt comfortable and content with you.

"Te amo más que a nada mi amor…" Miguel whispered in your ear as you drifted off into sleep.

[bangchansgirlsblog]

Push and pull.

Warning:  Angst

Pairing: skz x 9th member

Summary: The constant pressure of being a girl in a group of boys is crazy but crazier when your looked at like a fragile baby.

!not proofread so forgive me for mistakes!

**

“Oppa just tell me what’s wrong pleaseee?” She begged, “I also care about you and you need to calm down. This is scaring me,”

"No I want to only talk to the boys, please Y/n?" He said and It stung. 

Han had been having a mental breakdown and had been crying for an hour straight. They had just arrived from practice when he decided to brush everyone off and leave to go to his room where Y/n had been begging him to come out of.

"Okay," She softly said and left the room. Was she not going enough for him? Did he not like her? The thoughts run through her head as she laid in bed trying not to cry. The pain of feeling neglected was slowly eating her alive.

She had been begging him to tell her what had happened but he refused. He didn't want to tell her what was going on but once the boys walked in back from their schedules, he wanted to speak to them straight away. Leaving Y/n sad and confused. 

She decided to to finish some work as she waited for the boys to finish talking to Han but even then her heart wasn't settled. She wasn't able to concentrate. The guilt was eating her up. It made her feel sick. So she decided to go make herself some tea and that's when she run into Felix in the kitchen making some brownies.

"Hey Felix," she softly smile and greeted him.

"Hey Y/nnie!" He beamed and waved at her then continued to mix the mixture in the bowl. "where you able to get more tape for your knee?"

"yeah i was, Eunwo (their manager) was able to get me some on our way back," she explained while she got a glass of water. "What are you doing?"

"Making brownies for Hannie, he isn't feeling the best," Y/n turned to look at his older brother.

"Can I please know why?" She took the chance to get it out of Felix because she knew Felix wasn't their strongest soldier when it came to keeping secrets from one another.

"No I'm sorry, Han said not to tell you," he looked back at the butter quickly trying to avoid the eye contact.

"But Lix-"

"No I'm not telling you, it's not my secret to tell," he cut her off and continued his work. He felt really bad for leaving her out but he knew himself he couldn't spill anything just yet.

"Okay, fine be a meanie,"  She softly sighed and got her cup of now iced coffee.

"No don't be like that, Han will tell you when his ready," he pouts walking over to her to her. hoping that someway he could fix the situation. 

Everyone knew that Y/n felt left out most of the times because she was the only girl and sometimes the boys had things they couldn’t tell her or share with her but other than that they told her everything and they tried to make her feel apart of the group. 

Since felix was the most sensitive and softest out of everyone he felt the need to protect her because felix did feel left out at a point when he couldn’t speak korean fluently and Y/ was the one who would stay up with him trying to help him study. In this case, Y/n was not feeling this 'brotherly' love. 

She shrugged his hands off and took a step back trying to get out of his reach. "I'm his bestfriend too, I'm part of this team too but I keep being treated like I'm an outsider," She let out a sigh and wiped the rolling tear. Trying to make sure Felix didn't see her cry.

"No don't cry please," he begged but she simply walked past him but ofcourse felix tried to follow but she stopped him and continued into her room where she locked the door and stayed there for the rest of the evening.

When it was time for dinner she went outside to grab the stuff she had ordered since leeknow wasn't cooking tonight and she sat on the empty dining table. Everyone was still sat in Han's room and there were a few empty cups on the table meaning they had all eaten already.

Felix had left her a plate of brownies for desert and a cup of milk so atleast she knew they still acknowledge her. As she sat there she got bored and saw it was 8pm.

So since she had nothing planed for the evening she decided to get up, put everything away and grab her training stuff to head to the jyp building. It was a short walk anyway and korea was a safe place to be wondeirng at night. The builidng looked quite empty but a few people were locking up and packingup to head home.

She scanned the hallways for an empty room and she finally did find one but was soon interrupted but Jae Beom and his crew. His smile was bright and he was so excited to see her.

"Y/nnie!"

"Oppa!" she squealed. Her sad aura was now replaced with happiness at the sight of her favorite older brothers. She quickly run over and age each of them hugs while saying hello.

"What are you doing here so late? Where are your brothers?" He asked dropping his practice bag and walking back over to her. He pulled her in a hug once again. Although they worked in the same company they barely saw each other due to schedules and stuff.

"Han wasn't feeling well so they are taking care of him and I decided to come practice," She explained. The boys were now all paying close attention to her.

"Ahhh I see! Can we join you?" Mark asks. His hands were in his pockets and they all didnt have makeup on so it meant that they were also here just for free practice.

"Yes sure, I need company anyway," She smiled and headed over to the laptop that was by the speakers. "What should we start with?"

"Can you teach us S-class? Its so hard and we've been trying to learn it," Jackson pouts and raffles her hair,

"Yeah the hand movement is impossible!" Jinyoung chirps in.

She giggled at this because they all reminded her so much of her little brothers back at home when S-class had just come out. "Sure, I can its not that hard," the groans in response made her laugh fill the room so she just played the song and they all run through it as she taught them step by step and by the time they were done, it was 1 in the morning. ONE IN THE MORNING? fuck.

She quickly took out her phone from her bag and looked at it to see thousands of missed calls and (as if in cue) that's when Hyunjin and I.N slammed the door open. they were both panicked and Hyunjins phone was ringing alot while I.N was frantic talking to someone of his phone.

"There you are!" Hyunjin exclaimed panting and huffing. "We've been calling, texting and even fucking tracking your phone, why wouldn’t you tell us your here? This is extremely dangerous Y/n! Oh my God!"

"Y/nnie! do you know how worried we were?! Chan hyung and Leeknow hyung are on some road screaming your name looking for you everywhere," I.N yells at her causing her to jump at the sudden loud voices.

"My phone was off, I was just practicing here-" she tried to explain but was interrupted immediately. 

"Okay, it doesn’t matter now, let's go home, we were worried sick, hang on...grab your stuff," he got out his phone and started talking to someone that sounded like Chan. With the way Hyunjin was cringing she knew she was dead meat. 

She quickly grabbed my Bags, her laptop and quickly said bye to everyone who were also as terrified as she was but they totally understood and told her to just be safe and to text them. She quickly made her way behind Hyunjin and I.N who were towering over her. Once hyunjin hang up the phone finally, he slowed down so he was walking by her side.

"Never do that again please,"

"But I was just with my friends,"

"You know we don't trust you in a room full men," he softly says ruffling his hands through her hair.

"Yeah I know, I know. I'm in shit, i've accepted it," she groaned but remembered the only reason she was in this mess, "Is Hannie okay now?"

"Yeah he is and he wants to talk to you," She look up at him confused. Her heart jumping. 

"What about?" she asked on a confused tone. Hyunjin glances over at I.N who gulps. They both look at eachother as if communicating.

"Felix said that you were upset-"

"I wasn't upset really," She quickly explained.

"Oh well now you can explain that to him anyway but right now those are your least of your worries cause Chan is going to kill you in cold blood," I.N takes of his jacket and hands it to her. she was freezing and she was wearing a tank top but luckily I.N had a hoodie and jacket on.

Ugh. She sighed softly when they arrived to the house. She stopped causing the boys to look at her confused. Her worries and sadness came washing over her. With the way she had fun at the studio with her other brothers she had totally forgotten the depression she was facing at home.

She took a deep breath (quite dramatically) earning a chuckle from both boys and she walked up the stairs into the house where Chan and Leeknow were Ofcourse sitting on the dining table with a coffee mug both. She couldn't even sneak past them which was her only hope in avoiding them. She quickly turned around but was met with Hyunjins chest. sigh.

"Stop, turn around and sit," Chan voice was loud meaning he was serious. she quickly followed his instructions and sat on the chair across both of them.

"What time is it?" He squints his eyes and looks at her.

"1:30 Oppa," she sighed and looked down at her fingers. 

"Why would you leave the house without letting us know? What if something had happened and we didn't know-"

"Your always scolding me and not treating me like an adult," she snapped at him. This made Hyunjin stop in his tracks and turned back and I.N  paused whatever he was doing to over at them. Never ever did she snap at the boys especially chan because she loved them and they were older than her so she was so respectful. This was a shock and the gasp that left leeknows lips was evidence.

"That's not true I always treat you like an adult," Chan defended himself. 

"You don't Oppa! You don't get it, just because I'm 19 doesn't mean I'm a kid, I'm only one year younger than I.N and he gets treated like an adult, everything I do you guys have to be there watching and whenever you guys have conversations I'm pushed to the side. Yes I get I'm a girl and I'm young but it doesn't mean I'm not part of the team, I'm allowed to walk out the house right now if I wanted to, if I wanted a babysitter I would have hired you a long time," 

"Y/n dont raise your voice at hyung like that. Its not right," Leeknows eyes were red. he was pissed off and it was clear. 

"Dont talk to me like that Y/n. If you have a problem you tell me, you dont yell. Look at me when im talking to you," She looked up at him. He looked tired, frustrated and mad. He had to first deal with Han...now this?

"fine sorry," she was done. she was done with this conversation, she was done with the boys, she was done with everything. She stood up and stormed out the room. Chan following right behind her 

"We're not done here young lady, You think i want this? you think i want to constantly be checking on you? you think i want to be. You keep acting childish thats why i have to keep tabs on you!" with every second he was getting louder and louder. 

"Chan dont, lets go calm down-" leeknow grabs his arm trying to keep him away.

"Y/n go to your room," Changbin interferes trying to break the two up. 

"See!" she exclaimed and walked into her room shutting it and locking it.

[evergone]

Hey!! Idk know if you are taking requests right now but can you write a Theo x Hufflepuff reader imagine where the reader is always telling him to make friends from other houses. He finally does make friends but with a beautiful Ravenclaw and starts spending more time with her. The reader starts feeling insecure and ignores Theo. He soon realises that she is ignoring him and talks to her.

Btw I love your writing and can you please tag me if you do write it?

Too Friendly

Theodore Nott x reader

Warnings: Swearing, allusions to sex but no sex.

Description: The reader wants Theo to make more friends but when he does, she becomes insecure about their bond.

Sorry this took so long to get out, I'm in the middle of my final exams of high school so I don't have much time. I enjoyed writing this one. Thanks for the request @orphicmortala

“It’s sad, Theo, you’ve got, like, no friends!” You said as you tried your best to remember how to tie your yellow tie.

“What do you call Malfoy, then?” Theo asked from the bed.

“An accomplice,” you replied with that unique snark that Theo loved about you, “You need friends from other houses— Friends that aren’t just me.” You added those final words hastily before he could open his mouth in protest.

Theo rolled his eyes and beckoned you over. His hands glided over the folds of your tie with expertise, undoing the mess of a knot you’d created in order to do it up properly and perfectly. When he was done, he looked up at you with his gorgeous, oceanic eyes and the corners of his mouth where both his beautiful lips connected turned upwards. You uttered your thanks quietly as you resisted the primal urge to just not go to class at all and instead spend the whole day with him. Your mind wandered off to imagine being stuck between Theo’s checkered emerald sheets, but you brought it back to reality.

Fending off your lustful desires as well as a nun would, you bid adieu to Theo and hurried out of his room and the Slytherin common room. On your way out, you dodged the teasingly crude jokes and names that Theo’s friends tossed towards you and told Pansy that she was no better than yourself (you’d seen the way she snuck out of that empty classroom after Draco a couple days earlier, her hair and clothes all dishevelled and her thighs rubbing together uncomfortably).

The whole day, Theo dwelled on your words. While you weren’t exactly dating or in a relationship, he always found himself bound to your every word and every whim. You seemed to dictate his life in a way that you certainly shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but listen to you. So, in Arithmancy, he didn’t sit next to Blaise as he usually did, instead electing to sit with Lisa Turpin, a Ravenclaw girl he’d seen you talk to a few times.

She looked at him in confusion, “Did you need something?”

He withheld the instinct to say some snide remark and instead replied, “I thought I’d make a new friend today.”

“On some random Tuesday… in our Sixth year?” Her face contorted to expose her obvious disgust.

“Merlin’s cock and balls, I’m trying to be nice, Turpin!” Theo frowned and picked up his bag to go sit elsewhere.

Turpin grabbed his wrist as he stood up and her lips made a thin line as she pulled him back down to the seat. Her brows knitted together like a homemade sweater and she breathed out a sigh of defeat.

“No, it’s okay, sorry,” she said, “Sit here if you’d like.”

Over the next week, Theo made some serious efforts to get to know Turpin despite his friends’ obvious, loud verbal opposition. After that first Arithmancy class, Blaise had practically torn him to shreds with his massive speech on house loyalty and the horrible impact that you were clearly having on him. Daphne had recited the same speech her mother had given to her on her first day of her first year at school about how interrelations with students from the lesser houses was a gateway drug to blood sympathy (she’d given him the same speech when he started his little thing with you). And Pansy, Merlin’s beard, Pansy was furious.

Pansy had constructed this whole idea in her mind that you hated that Theo was talking to Turpin. She called it “cheating” which Theo had adamantly disagreed with. He wasn’t having sex with Turpin, in fact, he had absolutely zero romantic interest in her. He barely even liked her. The only thing the two had in common was Arithmancy and every time they hung out they talked about it until there was no more Arithmancy to talk about. It was, quite frankly, boring. Turpin was boring.

“It’s emotional cheating,” said Pansy in a huff as she and the others started towards the Great Hall for Monday breakfast.

“Emotional cheating?” Theo asked skeptically.

“Yes, Nott, emotional cheating,” she nodded, “And it’s hurting Y/n’s feelings. That’s why she hasn’t spoken to you all week.”

His gaze snapped to focus on Pansy whose black eyes were ablaze with the feminine rage of a girl’s best friend, “How do you know she hasn’t spoken to me all week?”

Pansy smirked, her honey red lipstick bright against her pale skin, and shrugged. She knew you hadn’t spoken to him all week because you wouldn’t shut up about it. In Divination on Wednesday afternoon, you’d all but assaulted Pansy with questions about Theo’s newfound interest in Turpin. All of which Pansy had no helpful responses to.

“Is he flirting with her?” You asked.

“Maybe, I don’t know, it’s not like they sit with us,” said Pansy, struggling to focus on the crystal ball with all your chatter.

“Why not? Why don’t they sit with you? Are they trying to be private?” You pushed almost frantically.

“Uh, possibly? Honestly, I just think he knows we don’t like her,” she explained.

“Why don’t you like her? Is she a bitch?” You frowned and then quickly added in a judgmental tone, “Or are you just being blood supremacists?”

“Is she a mudblood?” Pansy stopped working to stare at you.

You smacked her hand and she hissed, “I don’t know her that well. Don’t say that.”

When Theo and his friends finally arrived at the Great Hall, he searched the tables for your face. While most people usually stuck to their house’s table, you were a social butterfly and loved to flutter from table-to-table to talk to all of your many friends. Sometimes he wondered how you weren’t a prefect despite your popularity and the respect the younger years gave you. His eyes found Turpin first and she beamed and waved him over, but he blatantly ignored her. Pansy and Daphne watched on with delight as the girl cringed with embarrassment and turned back to her meal with bright red ears.

A spot of h/c hair floated above a robe lined with yellow and he abandoned his friends to go to you. You were standing at the end of the Hufflepuff table (not an unusual place to find you, but your favourite table was always the Slytherin one), and you were utterly consumed by a tale you were sewing for your housemates Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“Y/n,” Theo spoke and his deep, smokey voice tore you straight out of your conversation, “Can we talk?”

Your eyebrows quivered and your blinking sped up as you took his appearance in for the first time all week. You hadn’t gone so long without speaking to him in at least three years (you got into an argument in your third year about the petrifications) and hearing his voice and seeing him so close was like throwing a former alcoholic into a sea of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to indulge in him. But Hannah and Justin were glaring at him like hawks, or guard dogs, whichever was more intimidating.

“Um,” you glanced back at your friends and Hannah shook her head slightly, she’d never much liked Theo, “Sure.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and whispered something barely audible to Justin. Something about a “love-fucked pushover.” You ignored her. Theo took you to a pair of seats far from any prying ears and held your hands in his.

“You know I don’t like Turpin, right?” He said quietly.

You scoffed, “Yeah, right. And that’s why you spent all week with her.”

“I spent all week with her because you told me to!” He laughed with salt that spread itself over your wounded heart.

“Did I just? Because I really don’t remember saying ‘Hey, Theo, you know how I like you so much? I actually want you to go talk to another girl,’” you said sarcastically.

He held back a grin as best he could but the amusement glistened in his eyes and on his rosy, mole-spotted cheeks. His hand came up to your brow and massaged the frown out from between your eyebrows as you fluttered your eyelashes at him in the way you knew made him melt inside.

“I wanted to make friends for you,” he told you with that soft, romantic tone he used in bed.

“Don’t,” you ordered, “You’re Theodore Nott, you aren’t supposed to be friendly.”

For the first time in a week, he got a good look at you. He hadn’t realised how much he missed the sight of your h/l h/c hair and the way it framed your stunning face so perfectly that you appeared to have stepped right out of a portrait. He hadn’t realised how much he missed how your eyes, an elegant e/c and perpetually glossy as if always on the verge of tears, examined every centimetre of his face. He hadn’t realised how much he missed doing your tie up for you until he saw it tied like a bow around your neck.

“I’m friendly to you,” he said as his hands pulled at the end of the tie and it fell apart over your chest.

“And that’s all you need, I think,” you whispered pleasantly and pressed a loving kiss to his lips as he looped the tie around itself twice and pushed the end through the gap, tying it perfectly.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi! I really enjoy your one piece writings, they have given me so much comfort when I don't feel okay 😭

Can I please get a Mihawk (I'm completely in love w this man aah) imagine where his wife is a sensitive person who gets sad when someone is rude to them but they feel insecure couse they think it's stupid

Thank youuuuuu ❤️🥺

First of all, I'm honoured that I can provide a source of comfort to you. I'm glad my work has made you feel better in your time of need.

Second of all: oh yessss bestie this hits the spot. It also reminds me of a wonderful scene in The Gentlemen (10/10, highly recommend) [it also hits close to home because I am a sensitive person]

The thing about strong people is that they make others want to be just as strong, which isn't always easy if even possible. You've always known you're a little 'softer' than most people but only after marrying Mihawk did you find the difference in temperament bothersome. Instead of considering your sensitivity a fact of nature, you've begun to find it a flaw, something that you should change about yourself.

You've never admitted it to yourself but the truth is plain and simple - you think it's embarrassing. That Mihawk will find your sensitivity embarrassing. Maybe if you had been up-front about it with your husband, you'd learn that he adores your soft heart. If he felt forthcoming enough, perhaps you'd even hear that you're the source of warmth and light in his life. Hence he calls you his 'sun'.

To say that Mihawk grew concerned when he heard your muffled sobs would be like not saying anything. A delicious euphemism at best. Anger and fear bubble inside his chest. There's a strange itch in his hands that eggs him to wreak havoc.

"Apple of my eye," his voice carries well through the rather empty room you're both staying at currently. "What is the meaning of this?"

Frantically wiping away your tears, you look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Mihawk is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the entrance if you so wish to run away from this situation.

"Oh, it's nothing. Really, I'm alright. No need to worry," you half-heartedly attempt to reassure him.

The swordsman loudly exhales through his nose. He's your husband, worrying about you is his duty. In slow steps, Mihawk walks over to the edge of the bed where you're sitting. Pride and titles as if forgotten, he drops on one knee in front of you. One of his hands gently squeezes your knee.

Unsure what's the best way to go about these circumstances, you timidly meet his intense gaze. The passion in his yellow eyes makes you think of a maelstrom captured in a jar - something devastating held back by a miracle. He's already seething, just doesn't yet know who exactly to direct his violence at.

"Indulge me," he prompts you to confide in him. There's a rare sense of pleading in his tone.

So indulge him you do - you tell Mihawk all about the unpleasant encounter with a local tearaway. Your husband tries his best to control his expression as you recount the unambiguously offensive words, unwanted touches and threats of real violence coming from someone who was probably looking for a cowardly scapegoat to vent his anger. As you continue your story, tears just keep rolling down your cheeks, fear and humiliation finally finding their way out of your heart.

"I know I'm being stupid," you mumble as you clumsily wipe your face, "he was just rude and it's not like he actually hurt me but-"

Mihawk's touch makes you cut your sentence short. His hand, its skin rough and calloused, gently cups the side of your face. Your hot, salty tears disperse as his thumb slowly rubs them away. Something about the tenderness of his touch, of hands that have killed and maimed, is enough to make you feel like you're about to break in his arms. Even if you do, you know that when dawn breaks you will be whole again, put back together with the unending love Mihawk holds for you.

"You've always been too good, my sun," he tells you in a low voice. He could have said 'too soft' or 'too sensitive' but then his remark would come off as deceitful as it would suggest his dislike towards your nature. Nothing of that sort - Mihawk genuinely thinks you're a better person than most people walking this plane. And he'd rather succumb to torture than let anyone make you feel bad about that.

The man leans in and places his warm lips against your forehead. Without much effort, he lays you down on the bed and you let him. Even if you wanted to fight back, you're way too tired to do so.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing your face, neck, arms and back as he's waiting for you to fall asleep. The anticipation doesn't require much patience - Mihawk's tender touches lull you to peaceful slumber rather swiftly. When he's sure that you're asleep, he kisses your forehead again before cautiously leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he can't turn back the time and make the offending man choke on his words but he can ensure that the tearway won't hurt you ever again. Someone resting in peace so you can rest peacefully is a good bargain.

Mihawk knows exactly who he's looking for. He made a note of a certain characteristic trait you had mentioned - an earring with a single, red-coloured feather. It doesn't seem like a piece of jewellery that would be common anywhere.

It doesn't take much to find the tearaway. He makes his presence well-known as he stumbles out of a tavern, his legs almost giving away with each step.

So he assaults random women minding their business and then gets blackout drunk. It's pathetic enough to consider his death merciful.

Staying true to his name, the swordsman stalks his prey before lunging. Appearing as another patron of the inn, Mihawk follows the stranger around the corner towards barns, stables and pigstys. Fitting place for the likes of him, Dracule thinks to himself.

The man with the curious earring staggers his way towards a drinking trough. He's fumbling with his pants, desperately trying to pull them down to relieve himself but his fingers are not dextrious enough.

Mihawk picks up the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall. In one, swift motion he gores the tool through the back of the man's knee. A guttural scream tears through the night as he falls to the ground.

The swordsman grabs a fistful of the tearaway's hair. He forces the kneeling man to look up into his seething, yellow eyes.

"Do I owe you money?" The man is slurring his words. He squints his eyes, trying to focus his hazy vision on Mihawk and, possibly, recognize his creditor. "It's money, isn't it? Shit, just give me two days, man. I'll give it back with interest."

"I don't care about money."

Instantaneously, panic appears in the tearaway's eyes. Did he just find himself in the same position he's put hundreds of people in to cure his own boredom and need for grandiosity?

"Then what it is?!" he shouts, fear settling in his viscera. Dracule's calmness put together with the sheer hatred emanating from him makes for a deeply unsettling impression.

"You hurt my wife," comes the answer. The fist clenching the man's hair tightens its hold further, threatening to tear off his scalp. "My wife," Mihawk growls.

But before the tearaway can ask for clarification, his head is forced into the drinking trough. Surprised and scared, oxygen is escaping him fast. Soon, his throat and chest begin to clench and throb painfully. Dark spots dance across his vision, foreboding blindness.

Then, Mihawk pulls his head just above the surface. The man desperately gasps for air.

"If you believe in a god," the swordsman begins in a low voice shaking with anger and adrenaline, "I suggest you start praying. Fast."

The tearaway's head is forced underwater again but this time, Mihawk keeps it there until the ruffian's body stops trembling and shaking. After that, Dracule waits for a while longer - just for good measure.

You're woken up by the creaking of doors as they slowly open. Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you look over your shoulder only to experience a sort of deja vu: Mihawk is standing in the doorway. Before you can ask about his strange behaviour, your husband makes his way to you in long, quick strides. He kneels on the floor beside the bed.

Mihawk takes your hand in his. He takes something out of his pocket and places it in your palm. You recognize the red feather earring immediately. And is that... a piece of skin still attached to it? Gently, your husband closes your fist and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

"The rat has paid for its sins," he whispers to you. Judging by the intense look in his eyes, you don't want to know the details of this story.

[norrisleclercf1]

Just The Beginning

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Words: 2.2K

Requested: Yes / No

Request: Hey! First of all i love your writing like every time you post I go WILD anyways.. I’ve been thinking a lot about kind of a prequel to the mini lando series in which Lando and reader have been trying for a baby but haven’t been successful and as they loose hope, reader gets sick so lando goes to the pharmacy to get reader some medicine and when reader wakes up he calls him like “maybe bring a pregnancy test too” and lando is like “omgomgomg it can’t be” and he gets like super excited and anxious and everyone at the pharmacy is like “first time?” Anyways, turns out reader is finally pregnant with Aiden?!! 😭😭😭

Rating: R because of difficult topics

Warnings: Difficultly getting pregnant, losing hope, feeling of failure and not good enough, relationship difficulties, ANGST, fluff, I'm sure there are more warnings, please read this carefully if you have trouble reading this topic

Synopsis: Lando and you have wanted to be parents for the longest time, but maybe it just wasn't meant to be

Mini Lando / New Addition / Mini Lando Masterlist

"Lando, don't get your hopes up." Hands placed over your mouth as you watch the timer on your phone. Lando nods, but you can't miss the excited smile he tries so hard to hide. 

"I won't. I promise." You refuse to look at the white and blue test on the counter before you two. Three years married, Carlos and Charles having children, and the two of you getting baby fever a year ago have two of you trying to have your own children. "Lando, stop." You snap, placing your hand on your husband's bouncing leg. 

"Sorry." He stops, rubbing sweaty hands on his jeans. He knew you didn't mean to snap, but the tension was intense after multiple negative tests and tears. The shrieking beeps of the timer have you jumping, head dropping as you can't look at the test. "Want me to look?" Lando's voice held no excitement. 

"Please." Standing, he grabs the test. How was he to tell you it was negative again? It was already a thought in your mind that you might have problems. "It's negative, isn't it?" Lando turns, your red eyes boring into his sad ones. "That's okay, though. We can try again." He places the test down, reaching for you. 

You stand, leaving the bathroom, heading to your office, and slamming the door. Lando flinches, hearing the soft echoes of your cries. He wanted nothing more than to hold you, yet for the past three months, you shoved him away every time that negative popped up. Sliding down the counter, he buries his head in his arms, his own tears slipping down his face. 

Wiping his face, he sniffles and stands, heading to your office. "Y/n, please open the door." He begs, just wanting to hold his wife. "Go away!" You scream something thumping on the door. "Okay." Lando whimpers out. "I'm going to.....I'm going for a driver. I'll be back." You let out a chest-rattling gasp hearing the soft thuds of him walking away. 

You don't know when you stopped crying. The feeling of being hollow was all you could make out. Lando was still not back; you wouldn't blame him if he never returned. He wanted to be a father so badly, and while you could give him everything, you couldn't give him this. Lando wanted to talk to you, but you couldn't voice those dark thoughts you kept having. 

How could you tell the love of your life you felt like a failure? The man who loved you more than driving that he should leave you and find someone else who could give him children. The terror that gripped you at the possibility of Lando doing that left you sick. The empty promises you two whispered to one another, the baby names, the pictures of the future that were slowly slipping away. 

The mechanical whirl of the garage door opening gets you moving. Heading back to the bathroom, you throw the test away just for it to join the rest of those false hopes and dreams. The garage door opens and closes with keys jingling as you clean your face. You plaster a look of calm. You mastered the look and act of you're fine. 

"Baby?" Lando's voice carries through the house, drawing you out of the bedroom. "I'm here." A loud sigh as he rounds the corner. Those doubts rile up hearing that sigh. Was he sighing because you're still here? Because he came home? Regretting marrying you? "Hi." His soft smile greets you. 

"Sorry about earlier. I need to start dinner." Lando watches as you sidestep him, heading straight for the kitchen. "Forget dinner. Let's go out, get some fresh air." Closing your eyes, you try hard to clamp down on the anxiety that creeps into your bones. "No, I want to stay home. I'm tired." Lando nods, swallowing hard as he walks away. He always walked away, never wanting to fight with you anymore. 

He was giving up. Lando would leave you soon, and you don't blame him. You failed. 

Dinner and the house were silent for the rest of the day. 

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

"She refuses to talk to me." Carlos hums, sipping his beer as the two watch Y/n play with little Santiago. "Have you tried therapy?" Lando bristles, as mentioned. "If she would talk to me, Carlos, I would mention it." He hisses, tearing the label off his beer. 

"Don't get snappy with me. You two are made for one another, and this is just a....rough patch." Carlos smiles, waving at his little boy, who Y/n bounces, talking to Carlos's wife. "This isn't a rough patch Carlos. She wants children, and I....I can't even give her them." Carlos's smile fades, turning to look at his dearest friend. 

"Have you two ever been to a fertility clinic? Tested? Anything?" Carlos knew what Lando was like. If anything went wrong, he put all the blame on him. It doesn't matter if it's an outside force. It was automatically his fault. "No, I'm terrified to mention it. What if she feels like, I'm placing all the blame on her?" Lando pulls his eyes away from you, and you look so damn happy. 

For the first time in 4 months since that day in the bathroom, you looked like a shell of yourself. Holding Santi, you look alive. "Lando, you two clearly haven't been talking. Talk to your wife, and I know it's terrifying. But, what if you never talk, and this breaks the both of you?" Lando shakes his head no. "No, no, that's not possible." Carlos sighs, patting him on his shoulder.  

"Did you have a good talk with Carlos?" Lando jumps, hearing your voice as he drives the two of you home. "What? Oh, yeah, it was fine." Lando shrugs, and you sigh. Carlos's wife had told you to start small and that it was best to start a conversation with your husband. "What'd you talk about?" Lando cringes at the question, not wanting to talk about it. 

"Nothing, just the upcoming season and all that." You nod your head, anger bubbling in your chest at him, avoiding the conversation. "Nothing? Did you talk about nothing for the entire day?" Your husband's eyes slide over to you, the anger evident in your voice. "No, we didn't talk about nothing the entire day. But you wouldn't know that as you refuse to talk to me." Lando snaps, and you blink, shocked at his raised tone. 

"Refuse to talk to you? I'm always talking to you, Lando! You're the one who refuses to even look at me!" Lando adjusts himself in his seat, trying to calm himself down. "Really? Really? Y/n, the last time we had a real fucking conversation was the morning you took that test. After that day, you refuse to let me touch you. I can't even approach the topic without you shutting down. My wife is gone and refuses to let me help, much less know the problem." Lando slams the car into park as you stare at him, shocked at this anger. 

"I'm furious with you, dammit!" Lando throws the door open, storming to the front door as you follow, watching him reach a specific door. "Don't you dare go in there!" You scream, trying to stop him, but he throws you off. "Don't!" He throws it open as you stare at the empty room, with only one object in the middle. 

"You can't even walk in here. This is our baby's room, and you keep that door closed. Why? What is it that you can't talk to me anymore? I'm your husband, and we've......do you not love me anymore? We haven't had sex in months; tell me that you blame me. I know you think it's my fault. Say it!" He screams at you pounding his chest as you stare at one another, crying. 

"Blame you? Blame you!" You laugh, stepping foot into the nursery Lando built and decorated himself for the first time. "You want to be a father so damn bad! Do you know what it's like to hold Santi or Anthoine when we're with our friends? To see that look in your eyes and then the one of disappointment when you look at me?" As you step deeper into the room, you wipe the tears from your eyes. "Every damn test, that look grows with more hatred, and I know you hate me. I'm the wife that is failing at giving you children, Lando. I'm the reason why!" You laugh. 

"I don't blame you, Lando." Spitting out the words, you stand inches from one another. "I'm scared I'll wake up one day, and you're gone. You left me because I'm a failure as a wife for not giving you children. I'm terrified that....that." Lando stops you, hugging you tightly as you collapse in his arms. "I don't think you're a failure. You are the strongest person I know, Y/n." Hearing those words, you gasp out loud as you cry loudly. 

"I love you, and we will have children. One day. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but we will have children one day." 

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

One Year Later

Therapy was going well for the two of you, and you could finally talk about everything. Lando how he felt he was to blame and not good enough. You, how you felt like a failure and that Lando would leave you. Everyone could see the change in your relationship, how you both looked lighter and happier. Your therapist suggested taking a break from trying to have children, and you did. 

The two of you talked of the pressure it put on both of you, that it was a weight on your chest. Lando agreed that waiting would be best, and if the two try again, talk to a specialist first. Traveling around the world and just enjoying yourselves as well was communicating was important now. The nursery door was kept shut, but you added small things here and there. 

Except right now, you've been bedridden with the flu. Everything smelled horrible, and the food tasted gross. You've been throwing up and just wanting Lando next to you the only time you've felt a semblance of being your healthy self. "I'm going to the pharmacy. Be back." Lando whispers as you wave him off. You can't do another day like this. 

Laying in bed, you can only think everything over for the past month. Month. Maybe it was your period, you've never really had to go through this often, but it did happen. Except..... 

Eye flying open, you scramble to grab your phone calling Lando. "What, is something wrong?" Lando's panicked voice fills your ear after the 2nd ring. "No, um...you remember last month when we got a little careless?" Lando chuckles, the memories very clear as he thinks about you and where he- "Wait? Do you think?" Lando's eyes widen as he tries so hard not to get excited. 

"I...I don't know. Pick one up. Please." Lando agrees as a soft ding of the pharmacy lets the workers know someone has walked in. "Hi, can I get some anti-nausea meds and a pregnancy test?" He can't help the giant smile that fills his face. The lovely older lady behind the counter smiles at him. "First time, sweetie?" He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Kinda? I mean....this is." She raises her hand, stopping his stutters. "I understand; I hope it all goes well." Lando slaps the money on the counter and rushes off with a wave. Running home, no need to announce he's back as you're there grabbing the test. 

And here you are again, sitting on the same tub ledge. Watching the seconds tick by, the same hope and feelings of doubt cover you both. Neither of you says anything, both jumping out of your skin at the shrieking timer. 

Reaching for the test, Lando snaps your hand down. Holding it. "Wait, just wait." He breathes, staring at you. "Whatever it says, it doesn't matter. It's not my fault nor yours. We're not failures, and we will have children one day. It doesn't matter how or when, but we will love them no matter what. And I'll love you until I die. Okay?" You nod, swallowing as you stand, grabbing the test. 

Your hands start to shake as tears begin to fall; Lando sighs. "Hey, it's okay. We should make that appointment, huh?" He laughs, trying to lighten the mood as you shake your head no. "It's positive." You whisper, his head snapping up, not believing your words. "What?" Standing up, you laugh, showing him the test. "It's positive." You repeat as he covers your shaking hand, trying to read the test. 

"It's positive? It's positive!" He laughs, scooping you up as he spins you around. The two of you laugh and cry. "We're going to be parents," Lando whispers, holding you close. "We're going to be parents." You repeat, neither of you believing this; Lando giggling. "Aiden." You pull back, confused why he'd say that name. "Aiden, if it's a boy, Odette if it's a girl." You smile, kissing your husband gently. 

"It's perfect." He nods, hand lying on your stomach. "I will love you for the rest of my life. You have no idea how loved you already are." 

[strawberryvanillafrosting]

success life story ♡

heyy i'm here to share about my success story, the beginning is only before i started manifesting and about when i just started, all my success are on the very end of the blog, so feel free to skip directly at it if you're not interest by all the rambling !

have a good read ☆

michiko is so pretty, i've literally been told so many times i looked liker <3

the old story that i don’t live in anymore

okay so before i didn’t hate my life, at all, but i just found very dull and so poor of entertaining like it was just too fucking regular and repetitive.also a bit depressing. i thought of myself of such an unlucky girl before and i was like affirming all the fucking time that i was unlucky and guess what? everything really used to go the way i didn’t want it to go every single damn time and i’d be like i knew it im so unlucky boo-hoo.

same for the money i would just go every single fucking day rambling to my friends how poor i was and how i wanted money so bad and the same story every single fucking for days, weeks, months.

i really wanted a new appartement and my own room cause i used to share same room as my sister and it really was getting on my nerves, i had no privacy and place for myself. the apartment was small, my mum always kept complaining about it and then she would argue about my dad about it but the reason why we couldn’t move out despite trying for several months was cause my dad had whole lotta debts and my mom had a really low paying and hard job she was exhausted and, it was quiet hard to see them being this unhappy and they still tried their hardest to make us happy so i really wanted to get back at them.

about social life i had very few friends and barely went out, i'd say probably one time a month. and i really wanted to get that life of the party, and those big ass friends group and also i was crazy desperate about having black friends cause i am black and literally the only black out here without none of black friends and i felt pretty left out like wtf am i the only black girl with no black friends cause all of them (that's so dumb tho.. ) were friends and gets invited to the most fun hangouts and i was embarrassingly jealous of that and also complained a lot about it…and kept asking tf was wrong with me.

STRONGLY on this one : i wanted a relationship so bad and i kept hating and being sad to those couple on tiktok’s. one time i actually cried cuz i wanted a boys’s love so bad like i was craving it so bad. i was in such despair state before..cringy ahh ☠️

i used to be rlly insecure about my looks too even tho at some moments i felt more confident, i kept comparing myself and waisting dozens of minutes enumerating my "flaws ". i knew about manifestation but not really about law of assumption , for me manifesting was really all about listening to subliminals, method and scripting. we all once knew that phase yeah? i used to manifest from time to time but then would just give up again,since i was not seeing results and so on. so useful wow.and then there’s the others things like mediocre grades, poor family health, just constant tiredness and fatigue feeling,

tw : mention of being depressed,sh,ed, : felt empty like life had absolutely no meaning, suicidal thoughts, tried to end by over-consumption of medication, self-harm and bulimia, constant complaining and NEGATIVE ONLY mindset.

but now, NOW i tell you ever single thing i’ve just listed changed completely like every single damn thing i’ve just listed is no more, it’s out of the date, dead, buried and no longer existing !

it clicked

then at some point at my life i was just like. yk what? fuck i just wanna change it all. then i really like really  got into it all over again and for good. no more 1 week i try then giving up cause i ain’t seeing no « results ».

i watched hours and hours of ppl talking about loa (i’m not saying you should do this at all it’s just that i was very under-informed and wanted to know everything about loa)on youtube, shoutout to rita kaminski and hyler who really put me into it and informed me. then i started reading neville’s pdf books, and tumblr blogs, kinda overconsuming but i liked getting myself informed.

and then that’s where everything started and that i got aware of all the power i actually hold. all the things i actually can do just cause of my mind. i wrote down all my wishes in present tense ,like every single aspect i wanted to change/have in my life. and i started fully living in the end like really got myself into and at first of course, wavering from time to time in the beginning. it was pretty easy for me since i was used to manifestation.but what i didn’t do before is persist no matter what and that’s what was really tricky for me in the beginning to persist no matter what and not just give up to bullshit 3D. but when i kept moving forward no matter the 3D and made it facts the only my 4D matters and everything has already happened, ALL and every single wish down to the last one flowed into my life. ONE by ONE every single hour of the day i would get my manifestations down to the last letter i wrote in my notes.every single thing

success storyy

in a matter of few weeks like really 3 week-ish like- 1 month max.

starting off LUCK i’m extremely lucky now every single time i play gambling activities i win. i’ve won insane amounts at scratch cards i think i’ve won in total more than 5’000$. JUST FROM SCRATCH CARDS.and before i started i NEVER EVER WON. now whenever i play there’s not one time that i’ll win absolutely nothing even just a small prize

won huge lottery prize (from 200 to 12k the biggest i’ve won yet)

winning a gambling games, either online or dice rolling luck,bets, bingos etc.. its literally insane every one keep telling that i literally has got god’s blessing (i’m the god guys🥰)

financially freedom, my parents upgraded jobs and i’ve got lots of incomes + the money my parents give me 

all the debts my dad had, he got rid of ALL of them and when i tell you mf had a lot of em☠️

move out in a new huge ass condo which is a duplex (like really like i wrote it it’s actually scary how powerful we are..) I’VE FINALLY GOT MY OWN ROOM and we’re getting my desired furnitures and decorating the house i’m so grateful

friends and popularity i think biggest shock for me is really this. like my social life has gone from very paisible to completely fully booked and passioning life. like seriously i’ve been to more parties, concerts, birthdays, and hangouts during the last 2 weeks holidays than in my entire life

got lot of new friends, healthy relationships and quality time passed on lots of fun activities and sm memories

black groups friend. WITH AN S.so thankful to myself to be this good a manifestation i litteraly got into a black friend group of girls and i’ve never felt more at my place and understood this much. and these girls know the black group boys (when i tell you that 2y ago they were the person that i wanted to be close with so bad..also they’re really hot and funny lol)so we hung out with them and i was literally so highlighted and became pretty much friends with all of them !! 

my man. HELLO I LITERALLY MANIFESTED MY DREAM RELATIONSHIP? when i met him i didn’t actually realize right on the spot that he was exactly how i wanted him to be and reading back to when i scripted out all the things i wanted at the beginning, everything matched. he’s literally physically and mentally the man of my dream LIKE REALLY. we’re no bf and gf YET cause it’s just a little soon but we see each others super often and we have the best relationship ever i swear it’s giving wattpad. the flirting is crazyyy.

dream bod.from head to toe my desired body. heavy on the lower body all for that azz and wide hips.ive got smooth and clear skin and smell good all the time!! litteraly flawless face + got my braces which suits so much and dimples

plenty of vacations (went to ibiza, usa and dubai )

lenient parents they use to be so strict before i swear its crazy they let me go so easily now, i can hangout without asking 3 days ,like they accept even if i've gotta go in the next hour or if wanna go on trip that's in another country. i can come back home so much later too

attractive & magnetic aura + being really charismatic (everyone i met keep telling me i’ve got this thing that really makes them want me, get closer to me)

good grades without doing much

perfect self-concept - as i kept living 24/7 in the state of wish fulfilled, my self concept only got better making me really know what i’m worth and never wavering/ going back to the old story

whole ass pc set up

all of my desired skincare/makeups/shoes/clothes

and so much more...

outro

i hope y'all liked my blog and that it motivated some of you to NEVER GIVE UP cause y'all are reallyy some powerful mfs and y'all already got all of yours desires !!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ honey kisses, shayama

[woso-dreamzzz]

Big Bed II

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The Big Bed at Bayern

Magda doesn't know when everything changes.

She can't quite put her finger on it. She knows something is different but she doesn't know what it is.

It's not until she's helping you read your bedtime story that she realises what it is. You've had an awful day at school. You've had another one of your wobbles and didn't settle until the receptionist called Magda and Pernille so you could hear their voices. You'd stuck the rest of the day out though and it had clearly drained you because you were sullen and sad and even a kick around in the garden couldn't cheer you up.

You're just going through the motions when it comes around to bedtime and you crawl into bed and let Magda help you read your bedtime story.

"I love you," She says softly, kissing you on the forehead.

"Love you," You echo as she shuts the door.

Magda's not really sure why she's still awake gone midnight. She's got training tomorrow early in the morning and a match in a few days. She needs to be well rested for both but she finds that she's still got her lamp on and is staring at the door.

"Magda," Pernille groans," Turn off the light. I'm tired."

"Just a minute," Magda says," Just a minute." She can't tear her gaze from the door no matter how hard she tries.

"Magda, please," Pernille says," We've got training tomorrow."

"Right, yeah. Training." Magda begrudgingly flicks off her light.

Pernille's asleep in a few minutes but Magda can't seem to get comfortable. At every creak in the house, she glances at the door automatically but nothing ever happens.

The alarm clock flashes two in the morning and Magda gets up.

Her feet take her automatically to your room. It's exactly how she left it which is what unnerves her.

You're curled up in the very centre of the bed with girl-swan and girl-moose tucked under your arm. You look more peaceful than earlier and Magda kneels down by you and brushes the hair out of your face.

You fidget a little bit, scrunching up your face before you settle again. You smack your lips together a few times before going still.

There's a part of Magda that feels empty. She doesn't know why this is unnerving her so much until she slips back into bed.

"What's wrong?" Pernille asks, rolling over," You've been restless."

The words come out of Magda's mouth before she even stops to think about them.

"Princesse hasn't come in tonight."

"What?" Pernille blinks the sleep from her eyes. "Magda, she's sleeping. Why would she come in?"

Magda's eyes sting with tears and she digs her nails into her palms to stop them from spilling. "She had a bad day at school. Whenever she has a bad day she comes to sleep with us."

"Magda," Pernille says," I thought you didn't like it when she sleeps with us. You said it was making her co-dependent."

A few tears slip down Magda's cheeks. "She's still little. Pernille, why doesn't she want to sleep with us?"

"She's growing up," Pernille reminds her," We both knew she was going to outgrow this eventually."

"But why now?" The tears are flowing now, wetting Magda's cheeks as she buries her face in Pernille's neck. "She's not grown up yet. She's still a baby."

"Magda," Pernille says softly, gently running her fingers through Magda's hair," She hasn't been a baby for a while now. She's growing up and sleeping with us is something she doesn't really need anymore."

"But it's out of nowhere," Magda replies," She's just stopped!"

"That's okay." Pernille gently scratches at the back of Magda's head. "She's being a big girl. Haven't you always called her a big girl?"

"She's too big," Magda complains," She needs to stay little forever and that includes sleeping with us!"

"She can't stay little forever," Pernille reminds her," She's going to keep growing, Magda. There's nothing we can do about it."

Magda's silent for several long excruciating moments before she moves out of the bed, grabbing her pillow and a blanket nearby.

"Magda, where are you going?"

"She was sad earlier. She had one of her bad days. She might not think she needs the big bed but she does. I don't want her to wake up and not get comfort because she suddenly thinks that she's too grown up for it."

"So you're camping out on her floor?"

"Yes."

Pernille shakes her head in disbelief and knows that this is something that Magda won't be swayed in. She sighs. "Don't disturb her when you go in and we still need to be up for training tomorrow."

Magda's out the door immediately.

You're just as she left you and Magda places down her pillow. Her back won't thank for in the morning for this but she doesn't care.

Just because you're not going to the big bed doesn't mean you can't still get the comfort you usually get from it.

[mingtinys]

" not so fast, patient zero "

pairing : wen junhui x gn!reader

a nauseating amount of fluff

warnings : jun is sick, but that's abt it

word count : 1.2 k

requested ? yes

a/n : i'm of the opinion that jun gets (at minimum) 93% cuter when he's sick.

"Alright, where is he?" You sigh, scanning the brightly lit dance room for any sign of your boyfriend, frowning when you come up empty-handed. Seungcheol peels himself from the floor, sweaty and winded.

"He's down the hall, I'll show you." the leader says before calling back to the rest of his members. "Once I'm back, we'll start again from the second verse, so rest up and be ready." All he gets in return is a chorus of groans.

You say your goodbyes and quickly follow Seungcheol down the hall, just a few doors down. "Sorry to call you all the way over here," he whispers, stopping just before he opens the door. "We tried to get him to let staff take him home, but he insisted we call you."

You shrug, "S'okay, I wasn't doing much anyways."

Seungcheol nods and carefully peers inside before letting out a snort. "I think he's still passed out."

Sure enough, there's Jun, tucked into a corner on the floor, despite the perfectly good couch available, with his knees pulled all the way up to his chest. He sits beneath a mound of jackets, presumably belonging to the other members, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. You can not fathom how he could possibly be comfortable with how his head lolls to the side. If he weren't obviously sick, skin pale, and heavy bags under his eyes, you'd take a picture for future blackmail.

"You gonna need help getting him to your car?"

"If you could."

Seungcehol nods, "Yeah, not a problem, it'll give the guys a bit more of a break."

You quietly tiptoe over to the bundle that is your boyfriend and crouch down. "Jun, baby," you call. He mumbles something incoherent, shifting beneath his cocoon.

"Jun, come on baby, it's time to go home," you coo, reaching out to cup his jaw, his skin clammy and feverish. He lets out a pitiful hum, barely regaining consciousness as he tries to blink himself awake.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah, I'm here, sorry it took me so long."

"S'fine," he mumbles, making you smile. It's hard to be mad about your day off being interrupted when sick Jun is this adorable, red nose, puffy eyes, and all.

"You ready to go home?" Seungcheol's deep voice resonates behind you. He's already stepping around the mess of winter jackets and vests, hovering over the two of you with his hands on his hips.

"Yes, please." You think he tries to nod but just ends up bumping his head against the wall behind him. His face scrunches up at the contact, though you will say, he looks a lot more awake now.

"Alright, up you go," Seungcheol grabs Jun's wrists, pulling him to stand, albeit wobbly, on his feet. The jackets crumple to a sad pile on the floor, getting trampled as Seungcheol leads Jun to the door, arm hooked under his armpit to keep him upright. You're not sure you've ever seen Jun this sick, not even when he got the stomach bug and spent three days hunched over your toilet. It makes you worry, and not even the sweet smile Jun musters up as he thanks you for coming reassures you.

All in all, it takes about five minutes to walk Jun down to your car, and another fifteen for you to drive. Which should have only been ten, but you had to slow down tremendously when Jun started mumbling about feeling nauseous. Now, your only challenge was getting him up two flights of stairs to your apartment without the aid of Seungcheol.

He tries, rather unceremoniously, to climb his way up the first flight. He's mostly successful, gripping the railing and hoisting himself up one by one even though his legs move as though they're made of lead. However, there are only a few more steps when his toe catches the lip of the next and he nearly face-plants onto the landing. You're lunging for him in a second, grabbing his shoulders and steadying him with cat-like reflexes.

"Sorry, dizzy," he mumbles, taking a moment to shut his eyes and regain his bearings.

"Wen Junhui, what am I going to do with you?" You mumble, guiding him to conquer the few remaining stairs so you can unlock your door. "You can go lay down in my room, I'll be there in a minute."

You wait until Jun trudges through your living room and out of view before you busy yourself in the kitchen. Brewing a special immunity-boosting tea Minghao once gifted you and grabbing a sleeve of salted crackers, then a bottle of cold and flu medicine.

When you return to your room, tea, medicine, and crackers in hand, you're met with a similar sight as to when you picked up your boyfriend from dance practice. Cuddled up with about three of your blankets and nested amongst your many pillows and stuffed animals.

"Make yourself at home there?" You tease.

Jun's face softens into something akin to a smile. "It's cold."

You answer by handing him the tea with the cold medicine, which he gladly takes after digging himself out from his burrow enough to sit up. He sips slowly, taking small nibbles of the crackers in between.

Jun, unlike most, is actually the picture-perfect patient when he's sick. Doesn't fuss or argue when you're shoving medicine down his throat, listens when you tell him to rest, rarely asks for much, and is adorably clingy. The worst thing he does is pout and occasionally complain through sniffles about his head hurting. Really, the only downside is that you usually end up bedridden a few days later. Because Jun has a bad habit of claiming, "I don't want to get you sick," while simultaneously clinging to you like a koala.

There's a slurping beside you, Jun's head tilted all the way back and the mug practically upside down. He hands it back to you with a large grin on his face, muttering out a thanks that's significantly less raspy than his voice has been. You make a mental note to thank Mingaho for the tea.

"Feeling any better?" You ask, taking a seat next to him and brushing his hair back to feel his temperature; still warm. "Do you need anything else? More blankets, water, soup, maybe?"

He shakes his head, looking up at you with that same dopey look he always weaponizes before trying to persuade you into joining his antics. "A kiss."

"Not so fast, patient zero." You turn your head when he leans in, only for him to pull back with a look of utter betrayal, because how dare you deny him kisses when he needs them most.

"Come on," he whines. "Just one? For me? Please? I promise I'll take care of you when you're sick."

"No, Junhui."

"But what if I die? Then what? Then you'll never be able to kiss me again, is that what you want?"

"Really?" You dead pan. "You're gonna make this as difficult as possible, aren't you?"

He just puckers his lips. You sigh, internally cursing yourself for being born with a spine that has the structural integrity of a Twizzler. You give him a quick peck, then a second when he inevitably chases after for another, which seems to please him greatly. And because you're but a victim to Jun's charm, you press an extra long kiss to the crown of his head, earning a pleased hum from the boy in question.

"Happy now?"

"Very, you take good care of me."

"Yeah, well, take notes. Cause I can already feel your germs infecting me."

[dragon-chica]

"I Want To See My Little Boy!" Batmom

I ALMOST did angsty on Damian's. I almost did. But I'm not.

It's a time honored tradition that if Batmom calls for one of her children, one will be received.

Dick Grayson

It first started with Dick.

The mansion had gotten much more lively since his arrival, but at the moment, it was far too quiet. Moreso than you're used to in the past few months, and even if you were peacefully reading, it feels far too quiet without the small boy's talking, or humming, or singing, or general noise just being in your company.

You set your book down, glancing around the otherwise empty room with a displeased hum.

"I want to see my little boy!" you said loudly, voice carrying out of the room. You felt foolish, it was random and you didn't know what you expected out of it, but before you thought too much, you could hear the patter of small feet running down the hallway.

"I want to see my little boy!" you call again, a grin now on your face hearing him almost at the door.

He slides in, sock covered feet skidding him a good eight feet past the door on wooden floor.

Dick's smile is one that could rival the brightest sunshine, eyes closed and crinkled with joy and his arms stretched up as if to say "ta-da!"

"Here he is!" he sees you sitting on one of the couches and somehow his grin still widens at seeing you. His pace quickly picks up again, fully launching himself off the floor and into your arms, laughter bubbling from him as you return his hug with glee.

"My little boy" you coo as he can't stop laughing yet, making himself perfectly at home on top of you and your book.

Jason Todd

P.S. Jason is a tiny little child and you are strong.

It had been years since you had called your little boy, it had been years since you had a little boy to call to. Even if Dick did humor you doing so well into his teens. (he got quite a kick out of doing so, and always threw his full weight onto you for a hug each time.)

When you got Jason it wasn't really something that had been on your mind, it was just something you did with Dick that you figured was over as he grew up.

Jason was sat on top of his covers looking through his homework. It wasn't a great day, nothing especially bad but after greeting Alfred when he got home he'd gone straight to his room, quietly closing his door and wishing the day would be over sooner than later.

What Jason didn't account for, and never would expect, was for you to have seen how downtrodden your little boy looked getting home and decided to bring a plate of Alfred's cookies up after him.

When you see his door partially open, and a sad little boy emptying his backpack you set the cookies on his dresser and just wish there was some way to cheer him up.

You knock on his door once to alert him, and as he looks up Jason finds you with a big smile on your face and arms open towards him.

"I want to see my little boy!" there's an infection energy in your tone and you surge forward, lifting him beneath his arms and tossing him lightly in the air with a flourish.

"I want to see my little boy!" you repeat, catching him in a hug and twirling you both around, Jason's laughter fills the air as he swings around in your warm hold.

"I'm here! I'm here!" the words are blurred with laughter and it takes you both a minute to calm down enough to eat your cookies, but not without squeezing him in another hug before you let him go.

Tim Drake

Being honest, it was unfair how you were around Tim at times.

You were miserable, very much depressed and hated that at times you couldn't hide it. Being too quiet and letting your mask slip at times, and you hated Tim seeing that.

Little Timothy, a sweet and bright boy who you adored and always tried his best to cheer you up when he noticed your sadness.

And he did, Tim helped you so very much and could make you smile on a terrible day.

Dick also tried to cheer you up. Often coming to the manor to spend time and keep you company.

It Occurs to him before it occurs to you, he remembers how much fun he would have whenever you called out "I want to see my little boy!" how he would come running from anywhere into your arms. He also remembers the first time he saw you go after Jason the same way, the small boy's giggles and a joyful squeal being scooped into a hug.

You're not doing much when Dick calls you. It's a quiet day and you're in the kitchen debating doing anything when his face shows up on your call screen.

"Hey ma! Tell me real quick, do you want to see your little boy?"

"Huh?" You're confused, Dick hasn't done that in years, and you're not quite sure if you could handle him tackling you anymore.

"C'mon, c'mon, tell me you want to see your little boy!" You can hear the pep in his voice and a confused commotion behind him, you think he might have switched on speaker when it suddenly gets louder.

"I want to see my little boy?" You phrase it as a question, but it doesn't take more than seconds for the large kitchen doors to swing open, Dick holding little Tim below his arm and swinging him upright in both hands offering him like the lion king as he runs around the kitchen, small boy yelling in protest.

"Here he is!" They finally stop in front of you, Tim looking rather distraught and ruffled, hoodie bunched struggling in Dick's grip, who has a large smile giving you your prize. You wouldn't be surprised if he'd just grabbed poor Tim off the ground and ran with him here. Actually, you'd bet that's what he did.

You snort, Tim looks like a very scraggled kitten in Dick's arms, being swung back and forth a little in front of you for a reaction. You smile, opening your arms to catch him and Dick eagerly drops the poor boy onto you for a hug.

"Here he is." your words are muffled against the collar of his jacket hugging him, and Dick decides to join in, this time lifting you both from off the floor in the hug and laughing at your surprised squawk and Tim's further complaint.

Damian Wayne

Damian HATES this. With a burning passion, spewing death threats and curses to fill his swear jar every time it happens.

And it happens far too often for his tastes.

It happens at least once every time Grayson stops by, it happens every time Jason decides to grace the manor with his presence, Roy Harper even once had the nerve to join in on their 'imbecilic fun' when feeling especially bold once.

His father, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, even betrayed him by doing it once because "he wanted to see you smile". A ridiculous reason, not justified, and may or may not have put his father toward the bottom of his list of 'lifelong enemies'.

But he can't fault his father's reason. You did smile. Rather brightly at that. And while he wont say being swung around indignantly and "looking like an angry, murderous little kitten" as his brothers have called it, is worth his suffering, he does receive a hug each time and grumbles quietly before returning it.

The first time it happened to Damian is certainly memorable for everyone at the manor.

You had never expect Damian to join in on your boys' "I want to see my little boy!" tradition. Though all your other sons found great fun in doing so, all in their own fashion and happy to answer you call for company and a hug, despite how much Damian as grown in your time with him, you did not think this would be a line he would cross.

And he didn't, willingly.

You also figured if anyone tried this with him, it would've been Dick. Not only had he tossed airborn Jason and Tim at you in the past, but he was one of the few people Damian tolerated to a moderate extent, liked, even.

So when Jason came running down the hall with a screaming, murderous Damian flailing in his grip while held at arms length yelling death threats and promises of pain, it grabbed everyone's attention.

"Ma say you want to see your little boy! Ma say it quick!" It's urgent as he tries to dodge a swift kick without dropping Damian, leaping over a couch toward you as you finally snap out of your shock and laugh breathlessly.

"I want to see my little boy!" You can hardly contain yourself at how ridiculous and wonderful it is as Dick narrowly swipes a lamp out of Damian's grip just in time.

"Here he is!" Jason quickly dumps him onto your waiting arms, you hurriedly wrap him in a hug before he can lunge at Jason with fury.

Once Damian realizes it's you who's holding him back, both arms wrapped around his chest and trying to hide your snickering in his jacket, entire body shaking in effort, he slumps. Looking even more like a disgruntled little kitten accepting his fate. He can't risk hurting you, to kill his idiotic 'brothers', but he certainly wont admit he doesn't mind your hug either.

Tim managed to get the whole thing on camera, his sniggering in the background the entire time. It's one of your favorite family videos.

This is not a rare occurrence. In fact, anyone with the guts to try it (a few friends who may or may not have been dared into doing so) have brought you your little boy against their own safety. Damian is just so small, and carry-able.

[alrtyhoney]

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS 

(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)

The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)

There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper. 

You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time. 

Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.

He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers. 

“Is your papa coming, bebita?” 

The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up. 

– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.

“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time. 

“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”

You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.

Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut. 

“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.” 

She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.” 

The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?

She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?” 

It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.

“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”

But you knew that wasn’t the case. 

While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school. 

It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why. 

This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.

“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.” 

It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.

“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."

Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else. 

“No reason.” 

It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame. 

Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?

You dared not to talk about it too.

Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.

But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out. 

You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.

Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.

Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes. 

The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.

“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.” 

The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies. 

“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.” 

“But I worked really hard for this.”

You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”

If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?

You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead. 

“Of course.” 

After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.

But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.

The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.

“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”

And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you. 

“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?” 

“Not hungry.” 

Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”

“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.

“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”

Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting. 

You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.

Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi. 

You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–” 

And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another. 

“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”

“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.

Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this? 

“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”

“And it was my birthday!” 

“Baby, what���s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.

“You just had to be late– on my birthday!” 

“I have work, baby, you know this.” 

“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.

And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”

Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”  

It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"

But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”

And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. 

You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?

“My birthday was two days ago.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots. 

“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet. 

He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.

“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”

You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that. 

The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.

You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.

“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.” 

And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?

[cherubfae]

Hello! I love your writing, it's so cute! Here's an Idea bouncing around in my head: Reader is a shy and easily flustered individual who's developed a crush on Alastor. However they try to keep their distance as they know he's Aro/Ace and doesn't want to overstep boundaries. They go to Lucifer a (somewhat) expert on romance and feelings of longing to vent, also developing a crush on Lucifer- (Reader is a hopeless romantic lol)

Anyway, hope you have a nice day and remember to drink water!

|| The Price of Love || Alastor x Reader x Lucifer

tags: gn!sinner!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, love triangle, miscommunication, blood/injuries, mild nudity mention, divorced!Luci, I had to make it a bit comical, I made this too angsty for my own liking now I'm sad 😭, protective bois

This is a one shot. I won't be writing a part two. Thank you! :)

A dreamy sigh echoes from your lips, swirling down the empty hallway. You're sitting on your bed with your knees pulled to your chest with a clawed hand over your heart. Sometimes you miss the thrum of your heartbeat against your fingers. With all of the people occupying Hell, you didn't expect to feel quite this lonely.

You stare down at the pocket watch in your hands. Such a tiny device cost quite a fortune, but it was a true antique having been manufactured in the 1920s. Your intention was to give it to Alastor. Yet, you never did.

Despite everything in your being wanting you to give him the simple gift, a token of your love and your friendship, you just couldn't. You were already internally setting yourself up for a failure that may not even come. You weren't sure Alastor would ever be into someone, let alone you. So, allowing these thoughts to fester you withdrew yourself from him. Forcing smiles when around him and the others, faking laughter; all of which Alastor could see right through. Every time he tried to seek you out, to confront you, you were already engaged with someone else or another task for the hotel.

You were actively allowing your depression to swallow you whole all the whole not realizing that if you had only asked, Alastor's feelings are the same as yours. He just didn't know how to approach you and Rosie thought it best to let you come to him; yet you never did. Even Alastor was finding it a bit hard to keep that smile on his face. Why won't you just approach him? He...He can't do it. Please.

A dreary day in Hell with violent lightning and thunderclouds and acidic rain brought you into the company of Lucifer Morningstar himself. He could smell your sadness from miles away and like clockwork, he instantly pulls you under his wings.

"Now then, sweetling, what brings you to see the Big Boss Man Himself?" Lucifer grins, crossing his leg over his knee nursing an apple martini with an apple slice hanging off the sugar-dusted edge. He serves you whatever drink you may like, alcoholic or non-alcoholic.

"I'm in love with Alastor and I don't know what to do! I'm scared to get too close to him because I'm not even sure he's into me like that and I don't want to get hurt!" You sob, the words come pooling out of your mouth like a waterfall and so do the tears.

Lucifer visibly bristles at the mention of his rival, almost choking on his drink. With a snap of his fingers, his martini glass vanishes with a poof! His full attention now on you. Gently, he takes your hand in his gloved one.

Softly, he begins. "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real. It's not the end of the world, not by a long shot. Everyone who we meet and who we love crosses our paths for a reason. To teach us something, either for a short chapter or they'll be lifelong companions. Even in the afterlife, there are still people worth risking the hurt for." Smiling wobbly, Lucifer embraces you close. "Take a few deep breaths. If this is truly how you feel, talk to him about it. We may be magic down here in Hell but not all of us are mind-readers, darlin'."

For the first time in a long while, you smile too. Embracing him again with a laugh.

Standing to leave, you turn to your friend. "May I see you again?"

Lucifer let out a tiny gasp, a slight pink hue coating his cheeks. "I'd like that a lot!" He jumps up. "I can show you how to paint rubber ducks!"

When you finally return from your outing, you're in a much more visibly happy mood. With eyebrows raised, Alastor watches from the shadows as you whistle a happy little tune and make your way up the stairs and veer to the left towards your bedroom. A familiar scent clings to your own, one that makes his lips curl back in a vicious snarl. Lucifer.

"Now darling, I think it's time that we have a talk--" Alastor materializes from the shadows, fully manifesting into your bedroom. You shriek in surprise.

Immediately, you snap. "Alastor, what the fuck! OUT."

Alastor, who has been turned away from you, spins to face you aghast that you'd speak to him in such a manner as you never have before, only to quickly cover his eyes. You were standing in the privacy of your bedroom, almost entirely naked except for those flimsy bottoms you called your underwear. Alastor swallows thickly at the sight of your bare skin, even when you wrap your blanket around your body. He feels lightheaded.

"My apologies, dearest. Ta-ta!" In a plume of smoke, Alastor fades out of the room. By the time he returns to his radio tower, he's gasping with his palm covering his face which was now nearly as red as his hair. He's ashamed he hadn't shown more decorum and instead witnessed you in such a state. Even when angry with him, you had never looked more alluring.

Lucifer swung by the hotel rather unexpectedly, surprising Charlie with a new plant for her bedroom and crushing Maggie into a huge hug! The place was really coming along, he had to admit. There was a more inviting atmosphere to the hotel now since it was rebuilt. It almost felt cozy.

"Dad, what brings you by?" Charlie smiles, carefully handing the plant over to Vaggie.

Lucifer smiles. "I'm here to pick up a friend for a little coffee date and I figured I'd say hi to my favorite daughter and my favorite soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" He coos, squishing Charlie's cheeks between his gloved hands.

On queue, you're walking down the stairs into the foyer. "Lucifer!" You beam, a large smile crossing your cheeks. His tummy flutters at the sight. The outfit you had on was darling, suiting you to a T.

A crackle of static explodes into the front lobby, the Radio Demon taking form between you and the Morningstars. Alastor's eyes immediately narrowing at the unwelcomed guest, at least in his mind.

Laughing nervously, Charlie wedges herself between her father and friend. The air rippled with electricity as the two stared the other down.

"Okay, you two, calm down. Let's not start anything, ok?" She glances at Vaggie for help who simply shrugs her shoulders; setting Charlie's new plant baby aside. Approaching slowly you stand by Lucifer's side. Placing a hand on the King's shoulder, Alastor nearly explodes with radio feedback. An eerie green glow consuming his form.

Static voice dripping with malice spits out, "You're going out with him." It wasn't a question.

Casting a look over your shoulder, you nod at Alastor. "We're going out for coffee."

The Radio Demon is practically seething with venomous rage--not at you, but at the puny little shortstack of a King who thinks he can meddle with those in his life. "You don't deserve their attention, Morningstar."

Lucifer balks. "You had your chance, pal! You snooze, you lose." Alastor's expression turns to one of confusion.

"What do you mean?" The radio filter is gone from his voice.

Snarling, Lucifer glowers at him. "They were in love with you! And now I'm here to pick up the pieces-- oh, fuck, you didn't tell him did you, sweetling?" His gaze is gentle as he regards you. You're begging for the ground to swallow you up.

Fighting back tears, you fidget on the spot. You're looking everywhere but at the two men who have held your heart captive. There was the love you held for Alastor, pure and genuine. How you got together like pieces of a puzzle. And then there was your love for Lucifer, intimate and loving. He was able to teach a part of you that you'd long forgotten. He helped you smile again.

Alastor shoves Lucifer out of the way, his clawed hands cupping your face. He wipes away those tiny tears with a gentleness no one in the hotel had seen. "Je t'aime tellement, mon cour."

Lucifer, now in his Full Demon form, shoves Alastor aside and grasps your arm. You let out a cry of pain, making the two males jump. With the appearance of his full form his claws had accidentally sunk too deep into your skin. Red leaked from the four deep gashes slashed across your skin, staining the sleeve of your lovely shirt. Your pretty eyes pooling with tears.

Like a true beast, Alastor explodes into his demonic form, arms outstretched to shield you behind him. Lucifer can only fixate on the blood dripping down your arm. Vaggie and Charlie are tugging you away while Husk prepares the First-Aid kit.

Lucifer is only able to stare at the tiny pool of blood you had left behind and the pain in his eyes. And then there was Alastor, ever the gentleman, always the one fighting for your honor, looking damn well ready to devour the entire fucking Earth for you.

And Lucifer felt he deserved whatever he had coming to him. His own words echo in his head: "Getting hurt is unfortunately part of the risk of being in love. It lets you know what you feel is or was real."

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024