#young reader

[gatitties]

Can I request yandere platonic toman with a young reader like 11-14 thats a member of a rival gang, like a division captain and after a battle with this gang, they meet reader and after that keeps trying to convince reader to leave the gang and join them instead

the rival gang can be called chaos knights

─ Yandere!Platonic!Toman x young!reader

─ Summary: A small fight between rival gangs unleashes a whole mess where you become the center of attention.

─ Warnings: typical yandere traits: unjustified obsession, stalking, intimidation…

─ Your leader never had any problems with you, despite being the youngest member of the gang, your charisma made him trust you enough to make you a division captain, and surprisingly, no one complained even though you were younger.

─ The gang thing was fun, you liked spending time with your friends, and fighting was one of your hobbies, although you're not a violent person per se, you enjoy the excitement and adrenaline rush a good fight provides.

─ Although you don't always win since your strength isn't fully developed yet, you're more like a slippery fox who manages to find the key to subdue your opponents somehow.

─ Inevitably, disagreements arise between other gangs, and your gang, Chaos Knights, had a confrontation with the Tokyo Manji Gang due to a dispute between some of its members.

─ For you, it was just another fight, nothing serious, no hard feelings, you enjoyed your own fight as if you were in a playground, because you don't usually take these confrontations personally, but rather as a pastime.

─ The first one to notice your presence and be perplexed was Mitsuya, he has a kind of sensor that detects when the younger ones are in trouble; his sisters simply gave him that sixth sense, and he couldn't help but stare at you throughout the entire fight.

─ Mickey also noticed you while he was busy with your leader, as did Draken, they both shared a confused look upon seeing someone so young jumping around as if it were all a game.

─ The others; Baji, Hakkai, Chifuyu, Takemichi, Kazutora, Pah, and Peh, simply saw your figure appear and disappear occasionally in their peripheral vision, but at first, you didn't catch their attention.

─ You made the biggest impression on the Kawata brothers, because they were the ones you fought with most (if you can even call it a fight), because it looked more like a game of tag.

─ They were completely confused by your presence there, as everyone in your gang seemed to ignore that you were too small to be there; someone could hit you too hard, you could get hurt.

─ The brothers, at least, didn't hit you, they simply caught you and immobilized you with relative ease, what surprised them even more was that you spoke to them as if this were normal, as if watching teenagers beat each other until they bled was your daily routine.

─ They let it go, maybe you were related to one of these idiots and they'd left you unattended, which was also worrying.

─ When you met Mickey for the second time, in a much more relaxed setting, and you were the one who approached them to talk about how much fun you'd had during the gang fight, that's when the real concern began.

─ Noticing how careless you were, how you didn't seem to care about starting fights without knowing if you could finish them, you were too young, too inexperienced, too malleable and easily influenced.

─ Mitsuya and Hakkai shared the thought that your leader had somehow persuaded you to be part of that whole gang mess, a place where you shouldn't be, a place where you didn't belong.

─ It was something that subtly, slowly, seeped in, for some strange reason, you started running into the members of Tokyo Manji more often, it was all mere coincidence, but it made them all frown, becoming more aware of your presence and awakening a sinister sense of overprotectiveness.

— Baji and Chifuyu would occasionally run into you and your gang at a convenience store near their houses, it was definitely too late for you to be awake, let alone listening to the obscenities your so-called friends were saying.

— Pah and Peh would always bump into you when they were riding their motorcycles, wondering why you had one too and how they let you drive when you could barely reach the ground, you could have an accident, but your 'friends' didn't seem to care.

— You nearly scared Takemichi to death the first few times you met him because, even though you're small, you have a tough look (and because he's a coward and has seen you take down guys bigger than you), he's slightly worried about your well-being when he sometimes sees you with bandages on your face.

─ Kazutora is a little amazed by your personality, you seem so full of energy, so cocky, and yet so calm, you're like a perfect balance of controlled chaos, he likes that, even though he only knows you by sight, you greet him with a big smile, it makes him feel less alone.”

─ Mickey and Draken made a point of getting close to you, even when they weren't yet on good terms with your own leader, you seemed calm and approachable enough that they didn't alarm you or cause any more trouble.

─ It was a gradual thing, spontaneous encounters turned into regular get-togethers until, despite being from rival gangs, they became part of your life as your own friends.

─ That's when Mickey's strange obsession began, trying to get you to change your mind and leave your gang so you'd join his.

— Everyone seemed strangely attached to you, as if you were lifelong friends, as if they knew things about you that even you didn't know.

— They gradually began to monopolize your time, always demanding to spend time with you, creating a certain distance between you and your group of 'friends'.

— Mickey and Draken were always at the gates of your school, silently lurking, eyeing the people around you suspiciously, patiently waiting to drag you somewhere, but only with them.

— Hakkai and Mitsuya often persuade you with small things, promising to do activities they know you like (because they've been following you) so you'll spend time with them.

— Pah and Peh stick to you like bodyguards; if you start a fight, you're not the one finishing it, they do it for you and scold you for causing trouble.

— Baji and Chifuyu drag you along (without giving you a choice) to do everyday activities or take care of stray cats, they always seem to do it when you're with your other friends, and they always manage to pull you away from them.

— Takemichi is the worried older brother who always jumps in to protect you if he sees a commotion about to break out (even if you started it), he manages to get you away from danger with a little manipulation and by making you feel guilty.

— Kazutora is like your shadow, he doesn't always need to be physically by your side, but he follows you around like a ghost, he knows all your routines and your entire social circle, he's the one who tells Mickey if he sees something he doesn't like.

— He's also a bit clingy, no doubt, he's one of those who enjoys hugging you the most, just like the Kawata brothers, they often fight over who gets to sit next to you when there's only one spot.

— Their presence is becoming everywhere, though not always by your side, you always see a glimmer of them in the distance; they're always watching, protecting you from afar.

— They feel responsible now that you're part of their group (something you don't know yet), you're young; you don't need to worry about fighting, you don't need to get into trouble or get hurt, they'll take care of that, they'll be responsible for your health, unlike your old gang.

— They shamelessly threaten your leader, they have no problem repeating their gang fight just for you, and you feel a little offended because the bet was on you, whoever wins gets to keep you; if your gang loses, you'll be part of the Tokyo Manji.

— You decide to ignore them all, annoyed with both your friends and Mickey's group, you don't give a damn who wins that pointless fight, you'll decide who you stay with.

— The beating was brutal, Chaos Knights completely crumbled before Mickey, who struck mercilessly with the sole aim of having you by his side, his irrational thoughts drove you away from the gang world for a while, shutting you away.

— Your former friends distanced themselves from you, began to ignore you, seeming too nervous even just to look at you.

— You started to feel excluded, indirectly, everyone was distancing from you, and then, when you were most vulnerable, they returned, Mickey took advantage of it, apologizing for his behavior and for starting that fight over you.

— The others also groveled, apologizing and looking at you with such pity that you couldn't help but forgive them.

— You didn't officially become part of their gang, but they treated you as one, they controlled you, manipulated you and those around you so that you belonged only to them.

— The fights are over, the dangerous activities you were involved in, bad habits, now you have a whole gang that doesn't want to let you go, whether you like it or not, they won't let you go, they consider you vulnerable and they are the best candidates to protect you.

[luccacaca]

Co-parenting with Kakashi

Pairing: Kakashi x f!reader

Warnings: Fluff, teen parenting, implied canon typical violence

Summary: When Narutos parents give their life to protect the village, the child is handed off to you, an overwhelmed and uprepared teenager. Unwilling to let you parent him alone, your best friend Kakashi steps up to help out.

pt. 2: Sleepless nights

Naruto was not Kakashis' responsibility. Not at all. They had no relations, and the only thing that connected them in any kind of way in the first place was that Naruto was the son of the man who once was Kakashis' teacher.

However, when Minato asked Lord third to take care of Naruto and Hiruzen Sarutobis understanding of taking care of Naruto was passing him down to a young girl that was faintly related by clan name only, Kakashi didn't need his Sharingan to see that this wasn't a life that you could lead on your own. Even if the third Hokage sends you money every week, it is barely enough to cover the cost of Narutos meals alone.

To take care of him, you had to quit being a kunoichi. You couldn't go to work, the boy was too troublesome and there were too many people in the village who had it out for him.

On top of all that, came the fact that you were really just an overwhelmed 16 year old girl that harboured a little too much trauma from life as a shinobi in the anbu and that you had barely the maturity to take care of yourself properly first.

Kakashi couldn't watch that without doing something.

So then, somehow, you'd started co-parenting with your best friend.

He still worked in the anbu, which meant he was earning a lot of money, and he used it to support you and Naruto. He came by every day, helped you out when you needed someone to take care of the boy, he spent time with him and he took him to his place when you just needed the world to be quiet for a bit.

Many nights did he stay with the two of you, falling asleep in your apartment and putting Naruto to bed. To Naruto, it was clear, Kakashi was his father and you were his mother. You never let Kakashi leave without a thank you. No matter how often he told you there was no need to thank him, you still do because you know that without Kakashi, you would've been struggling through every single day.

Before he knew it, Kakashis home was barely his own anymore as the place of his comfort had begun to shift to your apartment.

It was a snowy winters day, the streets lit dimly, the streetlight reflecting on the thick piles of snow that had gathered on every surface.

Kakashi had rushed through his mission report. He was tired, drenched in sweat and blood, and dirtied down to his very flesh. He pulled out his spare key, opening the door to your place swiftly.

It was already night, and you sat on the living room couch with the toddler in your lap. Naruto was fast asleep in your arms, and you looked like you were just dozing off, the book in your hand already sprawled out on the pillow next to you. But your eyes snapped open at the quiet sound of Kakashi opening the door and the floor board creaking under the weight of his shoes.

It was always that one floorboard that announced everyones arrivals.

You looked up at Kakashis battered and worn form, gently setting Naruto down on the couch before you slowly got up, stepping closer to him. He did not have to say anything for you to know what he needed.

The silence remained undisturbed as you helped him shed his anbu vest and get out of his shoes. You pulled his long gloves off his hands, making sure the armour wouldn't clatter loudly. You unstrapped the pack from his leg, and when all he was left in were his sweatpants and his tight shirt that resulted in his mask, you pulled him into a hug.

After a long moment, you finally whispered, "Take a shower, I'll bring you some of your clothes." He nodded, and you watched him disappear behind the door of the bathroom. You busied yourself with picking out clothes from the section of your closet that he had begun to claim as his own, depositing more and more of his clothes there with every visit. When you had all, you put them in front of the door.

Then you returned back to Narutos' side. Watching him sleep peacefully. You heard the door open before it shut again, noting that he had taken his clothes. Shortly after that, he emerged from the bathroom.

His hair hung down in wet, messy strands that had been half-heartedly rubbed dry by a towel, and his skin was still damp. He wore a black shirt and black sweatpants. The mask was gone, revealing the beauty mark just beneath his lip.

You had always found that he looked so much more gentle when he wasn't wearing his mask. "No mask today again?" Your voice was but a whisper in the quiet of the room. He tilted his head a little. "It feels comfortable to be free of it for once in a while." You knew it was an indication that he felt comfortable with you like he felt with no other. He hadn't even let his closest friends back then, Rin and Obito, see his face uncovered. Only you have ever seen it.

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Thank you for reading!

[millermouth]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

tp!daryl x young reader, young Daryl Dixon, pre apocalypse, fluff

warnings: none except Daryl is kind of an ass at first

The night air hung thick and humid, clinging to the inside of Daryl’s truck. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance, their rhythm competing with the faint rattle of the truck’s idling engine. He leaned his chin on his hand, fingers scratching idly at his scruff as he stared at the empty stretch of road ahead.

“Goodnight,” the girl said, her voice pitched just a little too sweet, teetering on the edge of something expectant. Hopeful.

Her name was… Tessa? No, Tanya. Maybe. Wait, Tina? Hell, he couldn’t remember anymore. Not that it mattered.

“Night,” he muttered, the word coming out low, almost like an afterthought.

Still waiting. Still expectant.

Daryl’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver from the road. He let the silence stretch between them, filling the cab like the humid summer air, heavy and suffocating. Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Why wasn’t she leaving?

She adjusted her purse on her lap, the clink of the metal clasp annoyingly loud in the quiet cab. He didn’t look at her, didn’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her eyes. Maybe if he stayed still long enough, she’d take the hint.

“You sure you don’t wanna come in?” she asked, her voice soft, but with an edge of insistence that grated against his nerves.

His eyes flicked to her, just briefly, before settling back on the road. “Nah,” he said, voice flat, as though the single syllable could put an end to the conversation.

She stayed there, unmoving, her nails tapping against her purse now, a nervous little rhythm that set his teeth on edge.

“Alright,” she said finally, though her tone carried more disappointment than acceptance. She shifted, one hand reaching for the door handle, but she didn’t open it. Instead, she paused, turning back to him. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Daryl huffed, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ain’t got much to say.”

That clearly wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her face fell, the sweetness in her expression fading into something colder.

“Well, thanks for the ride, I guess,” she said, her words clipped now. She shoved the door open, stepping out onto the gravel driveway with a sharp click of her heels.

“Yeah,” he grunted, already reaching to shift the truck into gear. He didn't let her get another word in, already backing out of her driveway onto the road, eager to get away.

The road stretched ahead of him, endless and empty, the faint glow of the late night store's neon signs flashing by him through town. He turned the radio on, letting the static fill the cab before switching it off again. He was on edge.

It was late—closer to midnight than not—and he wasn’t sure where he was headed. He just knew he couldn’t go back to the trailer yet, not with Merle’s drunken yelling waiting for him. He needed space, air, something to quiet the restless energy clawing at his chest.

Before he realized it, his truck was pulling onto your street.

---

The sound of tires crunching over gravel pulled your attention from the book in your lap. You glanced up from the porch steps, squinting as headlights washed over you, the faint rumble of an old truck engine breaking the quiet of the night.

You didn’t have to see who it was to know.

The truck rolled to a stop, the engine idling as the driver’s side door creaked open. Daryl climbed out, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he looked at you.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough.

You shrugged, closing the book and setting it aside. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Figured you might wanna get outta here for a bit.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head at him. “What, and ride around in that death trap of yours?”

He snorted, shaking his head as he turned back toward the truck. “C’mon. Ain’t gonna ask twice.”

You didn’t hesitate, grabbing your jacket from the porch and jogging down the steps. The cab smelled faintly of gasoline and old leather as you slid into the passenger seat, the bench warm from where someone might've been sitting earlier.

“Where we goin’?” you asked, buckling your seatbelt as he shifted into gear.

“Dunno. wanna stop at Sevs?” he muttered, his eyes on the road as the truck rattled to life.

--

The neon lights of the 7-Eleven cast a hazy glow over the parking lot, the hum of the buzzing sign filling the quiet as the two of you pushed open the glass door.

You bee-lined for the slurpees, the bright red syrup swirling into a cup as you filled it to the brim. Daryl followed behind, snagging a pack of jerky and a bag of chips before nodding toward the counter.

“Let’s go,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door.

The truck cab was quiet as you climbed back inside, the faint crinkle of the jerky bag filling the space as Daryl tore it open. You leaned back against the seat, sipping your slurpee as the engine purred beneath you.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an edge to it—like something unsaid was lingering in the air. You drove for awhile like that, listening to music, aimlessly turning down different roads in the quiet night. The truck rolled to a stop at a red light, its glow casting the cab in deep crimson. The roads were empty, no one else around this late. The hum of the engine filled the silence, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“How was your date?” you asked finally, your voice casual as you stared out the windshield. The question had been boggling your mind since you got in the truck with him earlier.

Daryl froze for half a second, his fingers tightening around the jerky bag before he scoffed. “Pfft...Borin’.”

A flicker of something you couldn’t name stirred in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral, snuffing the feeling out and taking another sip of your slurpee.

“Did you talk to her, or did you just grunt the whole time?” you teased, turning to glance at him.

His eyes rolled, the movement slow and deliberate, the red light casting his dark blue irises in shadow. “’Course I talked to ‘er.”

“Hi and bye don’t count,” you said, a small laugh escaping despite yourself.

His lips twitched again, the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “I talked to ‘er, alright?” he repeated, the words low, rough, almost playful.

You leaned back against the seat, the slurpee cup cool against your hands as you studied him. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the traffic light ahead like it held some kind of answer.

“Guess she wasn’t your type,” you said softly, the words barely above a murmur.

Daryl’s hand stilled, his fingers curling against the wheel as he finally turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable at first, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something that made your heart stutter.

“Nah,” he said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “She wasn’t.”

The air between you shifted, thickened, and you suddenly became hyper-aware of how close you were in the cramped cab. The light remained red, casting its glow over his face, highlighting the faint scruff along his jaw and the way his lips pressed together like he was holding something back.

Your pulse quickened as his eyes lingered on yours, the weight of his gaze making it hard to breathe. “What?” you asked, your voice softer, unsure.

---

The moment your eyes flicked toward him, framed by the crimson glow of the light, Daryl felt like his chest might cave in. He’d been fighting it for too long—the way you got under his skin, the way every word you said felt like it meant something, even when it shouldn’t.

But now, sitting in the truck, roads empty around him, it was like the world had narrowed to just you. The way you were looking at him, quiet, expectant—he couldn’t take it. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t desperate, but it hit him all at once. If he didn’t do something now, he might never get the chance.

His throat felt tight, his hands itching where they gripped the wheel. He wasn’t sure what was going through his head—if it was bold or just plain stupid—but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when you were this close.

His hand moved first, almost of its own accord, coming up to cup your cheek. Rough and calloused, his thumb brushed over your skin, and the softness of it nearly undid him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. You just… stayed. Watching him. Waiting for him.

Now or never.

His lips met yours, soft at first, just barely there, like he was trying to figure out if he was even allowed to do this. Every nerve in his body screamed to hold back, to keep it slow, but it was impossible—not when you leaned into him, not when your lips parted against his like you’d been waiting just as long as he had.

This was what he wanted.

The thought hit him hard, rattling around his head like a loose screw. It wasn’t just the kiss—not the heat of your lips against his or the way your hand found his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt like you couldn’t let go. It was all of it. You. The way you fit here beside him, the way you always knew what to say, even when it pissed him off. The way you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t some broken-down mess of a kid.

His grip tightened as the kiss deepened, his other hand finding your jaw, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. He’d waited too long for this, longer than he wanted to admit, and now that it was happening, he didn’t know how to stop.

He pulled back for a breath, his eyes scanning you. He couldn’t look away, not now, not ever. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his voice came out low, rough, as he whispered, “Ain’t no one like ya.”

The words weren’t planned, but they felt right, felt true in a way that made his chest ache. His thumb traced the corner of your lips, lingering, memorizing. He was certain now.

Before he could say anything else, you surged forward, your hands threading into his hair and pulling him closer. The heat of you pressed against him, the way your lips moved against his—like you’d been holding back too, like this was something you needed as much as he did.

He groaned softly, the sound low and guttural, and it only made you pull him closer. His hands moved to your waist, gripping firmly, grounding himself in the feel of you. It was frantic now, messy, but he couldn’t care less. You were here, in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

The kiss deepened again, hungrier now, more desperate. His hand slipped under the edge of your jacket, his fingers pressing into the small of your back like he was trying to pull you even closer. He couldn’t get enough—didn’t know if he ever would.

And then the horn blared.

The sharp, jarring sound ripped him out of the moment, and he jerked back, panting, his mind struggling to catch up. The light had turned green, and the car behind him was blaring their horn like their life depended on it.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he turned back to the wheel. He slammed his hand against it, leaning out the window to yell, “I’m goin’, alright?!” His middle finger shot up for good measure, and he hit the gas, the truck lurching forward.

His chest still heaved as he gripped the wheel tightly, the tension in the cab almost unbearable. You laughed softly, the sound breathless and light, and it made his ears burn. He glanced at you, his lips quirking just slightly, though his grip on the wheel remained firm.

The road stretched out ahead, but something between you had changed. He could feel it in the air, in the way his heart refused to settle, in the way he could still taste you on his lips.

[mike-the-nike]

Simon Riley X young!demihuman!reader

Platonic, any pronouns, no TW, fluff

My first fanfic that I’ve ever posted… Pls be nice 👉👈

Credit to @rex-maniac for the idea!

It was… Interesting at first. 

Living as a civilian was certainly an adjustment, and being off-base was throwing Simon for a loop. For one, life lacked structure. No assigned locations or set times to eat and wake, and there were a lot of things Simon now had to focus on that he never had to before.

One of those things being his mental health.

Price was the first to suggest a service dog, as he had fallen in love with his own- a chocolate lab named Fox- and was quick to try and get others to hop on the bandwagon. 

“Come on, Simon, at least take a look at ‘em! I wasn’t a dog person before I saw Foxie’s face either. Just give it a shot.”

Gaz was next to agree with Price, and Soap followed suit. 

“Come on, Ghost, she’s a great dog! Calm, obedient… Adorable. We’ll find you one just like her!”

Gaz prompted one night after dinner in the rec room.

“Too much effort.”

Simon grunted back, only halfway listening.

“It’ll shed. And besides, I’d need to feed and water it every day, take it around on walks… Not worth the trouble.”

Gaz said something more, but Simon had stopped listening. He had decided that wasn’t worth the effort either.

Simon’s keys jingle as he pulls them out of the keyhole, locking the door to his flat behind him as he enters. It’s too empty, with his combined lack of furnishing and company. Soap had offered to help Simon liven up the space, but he had refused, insisting that he could buy his own furniture. Now, however, he was regretting that choice.

However much Simon hated to admit it, he was a lonely man without his circle of trusted friends around him, and making any more wasn’t in the cards for him. He even visited the service dog adoption center once, on his own, to see if he’d be willing to adopt one. They were all either too loud or too quiet or shed too much or looked weird, and Simon wasn’t about to settle for anything less than perfect if he was going to be spending his time and energy on something. 

Then he met you. 

A small Siamese demihuman. At first he thought you were one of those homeless raccoon demis because he had caught you sleeping in a dumpster behind a Walmart, but then you poked your head up over the lid and he saw your little black ears on your tan face. You couldn’t have been any more than thirteen, and from the way you looked Simon could tell you hadn’t always been on the streets. Simon grunts. He looks down at the groceries in his hands, back up at you, and then back down to the groceries. With a sigh, he pulls out a can of tuna and tosses it at you, letting it skitter across the asphalt and land with a loud clang against the wall of the metal dumpster.

“You sort that out, tab.”

He mutters to you before turning and taking the long way to his car, not wanting to risk crossing the path of a possibly feral cat.

Thus began a tradition. Every Wednesday Simon went and got groceries, and every Wednesday you’d be there, waiting. Some days he’d toss you food from his groceries, and sometimes he’s buy you your own bag of food in the hoped you’d finally leave him alone. You never did. 

Soon, he finds his thoughts wandering to you when he’s alone. Price will bring up Fox, and he’ll muse on if a siamese cat would make a good service animal. Of course, he’d never actually consider taking a stray in as a pet, especially not a demihuman, considering they were more likely to be stressed and violent.

But that all falls apart the day you appear at his doorstep. 

It took a little while, but you managed to follow his car home one rainy day, where Simon was more focused on getting back safe than securing his surroundings. It doesn’t help that Soap was in the car with him, listening to music and talking with Simon about his mother in Scotland. 

Soap opens the door after a tentative ring on the doorbell, and his reaction concerns Simon deeply enough to get him off the couch.

“Awwwww! Look a’ the wee thin! Si, there’s a kittlin at yer door, come look!”

The following sight Simon beholds is you, standing there clutching your tail and looking up at the two men with large, scared eyes. You’re dirty, hungry, and your fur is a little patchy, but Soap coos nonetheless.

“Tha’ the one ye been goin’ on about? The wee thing in the dumpster?” 

Soap asks with a smile.

“Uh… Yeah. That’s the one.”

Simon replies, a bit thrown off. He doesn’t have time to say anything else before Soap is scooping you up and bringing you inside.

The whole time Soap bathes you, you’re scratching and hissing in fear. He doesn’t mind, but Simon takes over anyway. You settle down a noticeable amount, and as the water and soap rinse out the grime and dirt that had made you so itchy for so long, you even start to feel calm. 

You’re falling asleep in Simon’s arms by the time he’s wrapping you up in a towel, and you feel him gently scratch your ears as you finally rest peacefully for the first time in years.

Should I make a part two?

[pixie-snake]

𝕯𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘:

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕴𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖜𝖔𝖔𝖉 💙🌹

🥃❄️🌹☆`~◇•♡•◇°•🌌🌟

TW: Reader is aged younger than General Ironwood. I imagine reader is aged mid 20s. While I hc Ironwood as 40s-mid 40s. Mentions of smoking/smoking mention/cigars, slight NSFW theme at the end. Reader is also very sunshine coded/energetic.

General Ironwood is a very busy man. While he will make time for you when you ask for it, with how swamped he often is with work, you have to be the one to make time. Which leads to...

General Ironwood having a special ring-in from his secretary, a jingle of some sort, whenever you stop by his office to visit him (unannounced). He was shocked the first time it happened. He'd only spent a handful of moments with you beforehand, and a brief mission where he'd been silently impressed (given your age and bit of fresh start to bigger, more outside of the kingdoms' missions), but past his (admittedly) initial attraction to you that he'd never act on given his status as General, Ironwood didn't think you'd be ringing into his office for any logical reason.

Hence… the jingle. He couldn't resist tying something to you, gaining a sort of fondness and humor out of it. The fortunate thing about being General was that your secretary, paid nicely and treated more than fairly, and loyal soldiers weren't likely to comment on such an… obvious change. After all, his personal life was none of their concern. Their minds all needed to be on the safety of Atlas and her people.

Ironwood finds your persistence admirable, but often tells himself it's misplaced, or misguided as the last thing he wants to do is assume your motivations. Particularly when all you talk about isn't just the latest briefings or missions, or goings on of the kingdom, or (to his surprise) matters of Mantle (after all, you became a Huntsman/Huntress for a reason). It left him to believe, as he did his best to ignore his growing attraction to you the more time you spent together, that your goal was merely innocent and true. Strictly platonic. Friendship. Nothing more.

He trains with you, as he believes every Hunstman/Huntress should be sharp in their form, and he trains hard. And, surprisingly, not in his heavy coat and suit. He'll neatly take off his coat and perhaps the first layer of his suit off, maybe on a lucky day you get the see the delicious curve of his muscled forearm and big, so big, hands, and shining silver arm as he rolls up his sleeves, all the while Ironwood paying no mind to any lingering glances you give to his chiseled form. It's just practice after all... isn't it?

Ironwood doubts himself a lot, in the time you two spend together. He's very gentle with you, polite, and a true gentleman about not keeping you from your duties or anything else that needs attending. This does mean, however, he's unlikely to make the first move.

When you inevitably do, though, Ironwood finds himself absolutely blushing pink! Not so befitting of the leader of an entire military, or a man of, ahem, his age, but he's flustered nonetheless.

You get under his skin in a way no one else has. Whether it's teasing him, sparring together, or simply debating things you disagree on (James loves a good challenge and longs to hear your POV, to see why he should change his stance, why should consider something, and perhaps you even change his mind), he often finds himself drawn back to moments with you, when he's alone his office and there's just a breath's lapse in all of his work, thinking of you just as much as you're probably thinking of him.

He worries about your safety constantly, feeling personally responsible in a way (the feelings he felt when he was near you, how unabashedly close you'd get, he couldn't think these things! Hence, responsbility). So, if you leave on a mission, he gently asks you check in with him to see how it's going. He also sees to it your weapon is up to date, especially before leaving Atlas.

After some time spent together, you seem to melt those carefully crafted ice walls down and get a peek into the man without the title or the weight of a city upon his broad shoulders...

"James. You can call me James," he tells you one day, out of the blue, and you can't be sure he's thought about it before telling you, but you're happy all the same. Just James, then.

"Jimmy." You call him it teasingly, getting more and more comfortable around him to more time you spend together. There's a tenseness in his shoulders when you say it, but also a tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wants to giggle, you just know it. Oh, well, gotta keep trying.

Ever the gentleman, James makes sure to take you out on the occasional fancy dinner, or have his cook prepare something in his home. Either way, it's by candlelight, cozy, and a red rose decorates the table every time. A request by him, perhaps?

Speaking of dates, he will absolutely adore anything you're in, complimenting the aesthetic and stylishness of it. And the way you wear it. He may have been out of the game for a while, having focused on working his way up the ranks and doing his best to provide and protect for his kingdom, but you'll feel it when those icy blue eyes are all over your body the whole night.

The second you gift James a present - whether that's for an anniversary, birthday, or holiday - he takes extra care to treasure it. He still had the blue crystal case he slipped his cigars into, often on his person as you found out spending time with you.

On that note, James is incredibly respectful about his one, perhaps unflattering, habit. He'll always ask you before lighting up a cigar. Only blowing the smoke in your face if you ask.

James is pretty big on asking you, too. For such a big, strong, typically attempting to be in control man, he certainly seemed like an oversized puppy when his blue eyes found yours and his mouth formed in an almost pout, when you were alone and had just James to yourself. He'd ask what was okay, not wanting to push too hard. Too much. Too fast. Even if deep down, things were different.

[katcoin]

ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʜɪʟʟꜱ

(TW: none)

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Long ago before the city thrived on steam and metal.

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Long before you or I came to be 

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A child born of the Harbinger, the ruler of all the Heavenly court entered these lands. 

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Though rare, the child was set aside and forgotten 

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Cruely, the Gods gave them the title of the lost and wanderers. 

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That child was Areti, the Deity of the lost, wanderers, and finally the youth. 

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But bestowing titles was a small thing to the Gods, so the heavenly court still neglected the child.

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So one day. Before the rise of the sun and set start of the setting of the moon. They ran. 

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 Over the hills, the child escaped. Vowing to never be a part of the heavenly court. 

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But there, my children, I would say the story ends, but each story has its side—its own flip of a coin. And that's where my tale starts.

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When the Gods woke from their slumber, they did not notice the absence of Areti and continued on with their heavenly duties. 

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But this soon will later bite them back.

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Years after the child ran to the hills away from the Heavens, chaos struck. 

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All beings young started to die off.

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First, the children were struck with sickness, 

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seedlings perished from the scorching sun

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Animals' young perished. 

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Then starvation came.

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Parents were unable to conceive children. So out of despair and hopelessness, they went to the Gods. 

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"What did we do to anger you so?!" The public pleaded bringing offerings to maybe coax the Gods out of their anger towards them. 

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"We? Foolish mortals, we have nothing to do with your famine!" Declared the Harbinger, confused about the humans' cries. 

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"Then who would hurt and curse our young?!" The humans pleaded. The Harbinger thought the gods could only tarnish the subjects that they had the title of... Areti..

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"ARETI!?" Called out the Harbinger, expecting the child to be summoned right next to him with their tale between their legs. But nothing, only a bright light from the summon but nothing came up. "ARETI?! COME TO ME AT ONCE!" He called out again, another white flash, still nothing. that means they aren't in the heavenly court. When was the last time he or the other Gods have seen Areti? 

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"Why must you call after the deity that you have banished?" Called out a young man. He was a storyteller, he stood up from his kneeling position like everyone else. "Have you not heard the tale of the child over the hills?" The storyteller asked. The Harbinger, hesitant but willing to know the whereabouts of the little diety beckoned the storyteller to speak. 

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"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY LEFT?!" An hour has passed since the humans away from the court to reassure them that he will take care of the task at hand. For the first time in forever, The Harbinger felt regret. 

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"My Love, what worries you so?" Anris placed her hand on her husband's shoulder. Anris, oh great Goddess of unity and peace. The way they met was interesting speaking of how they were polar opposites, but that is a story for another time friends. 

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"What happened to Areti?" Pleaded the Harbinger. But his wife didn't know either. He asked every God, Goddess, Diety he could find up in the heavenly court. Still nothing. 

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The harbinger declared a search for the little deity. The rest of the heavenly court followed. But nothing...

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Out of desperation, to find his child and to end the famine, he jumped down from the heavens, grabbed an anchor and pulled it down to the earths land. Now the Gods live among us in hope of searching for their child.

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But that Idea soon curroded with humans evolving and cities changing, humans once independent creatures thriving without the Gods help now live at the bottom. Each living in the slums of cities begging for basic necessities. While the Gods live in luxury only getting the best. But once a year on the day that Areti fled, the Gods hold a festival hoping for one day that the child would return. And this is where you were born into the world. 

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And that is where a new story begins...

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𝑀𝒶𝓎 𝐼 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒮𝒰𝒢𝒜𝑅 𝒞𝒰𝐵𝐸!

[atlasscrumpit]

Young reader x Miguel

Platonic

Warnings : Abuse, neglect

Miguel came home from 'work' and came in to see you watching TV.

"Did you get anything done that I asked?" He asked as you sat up and looked around.

"I'm sorry... I got distracted. I'm really sorry." You muttered as he groaned and rubbed his head in annoyance.

"Sweetheart, I was gone for eight hours. Did you really sit here for eight hours?" He asked as you rubbed your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't feel well today and I couldn't do it..." You replied, looking away from him.

"Hey! Eyes on me when I'm talking." He demanded, snapping his fingers as you instantly looked up.

"Some days are just hard! Some days it's hard to do what you ask!" You shouted at him as he glares at you.

"Gabriella nunca fue así." He muttered as your eyes widened.

You stood up and hit his chest.

"I'm not her! I never will be!" You screamed as he grabbed your upper arm and pulled you towards your room.

"Clean your fucking room! And you're not coming out until it's done!" He shouted throwing you inside and slamming the door.

"I hate you!" You screamed as you threw stuff at the locked door.

"Keep going and I'll fucking sell everything in that room and we'll see how you go sleeping on the floor!" He shouted back as you curled up and began to hysterically sob your eyes out.

Miguel couldn't handle listening to you, he made sure your door was locked before he head out again.

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Four hours passed and you'd cleaned up your room.

"Daddy? Can I come out? Please?" You called out, not hearing anyone response.

You felt tears in your eyes and climbed into bed.

You woke up hearing a noise around 3am, you rubbed your eyes and could hear Miguel mumbling to himself.

"Daddy? Can you let me out?" You asked tapping on the door.

Suddenly it opened and you could tell he had been drinking.

"I did what you asked..." You muttered as he smiled a little.

"Look at that. Good job, little one." He said as you crossed your arms and looked down.

"Can I have something to eat?" You asked as he yawned and opened the fridge.

He grabbed out leftover pizza and chucked a piece on the table like he was feeding a stray dog.

"There." He said before grabbing a piece for himself.

You sat at the table and began eating.

"I'm sorry, daddy..." You muttered as he looked down at you.

"Don't start with that shit." He said as you felt tears in your eyes.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have talked back to you and I should've listened." You said as he chuckled and shook his head.

"You say that everytime, baby. But you're still a disappointment, aren't you?" He said as you stood up and backed away, no longer feeling safe.

"I've had enough pizza... I'm going to go back to bed." You said before running into your room and closing the door.

You ran into your closet and hid inside while you cried.

After a while you eventually fell unconscious from complete exhaustion.

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Miguel woke up the next morning seeing half eaten pizza on the table and everything came rushing back to him.

"Oh, God. Fuck, what the fuck did I do?" He muttered as he cautiously entered your room and panicked when he didn't see you.

He quickly opened your closet to see you clutching a teddy and fast asleep.

He knelt down and began to cry.

"Y/N... Oh, sweetheart. What did I do?" He whispered as he brushed a piece of hair away from your face.

You woke up and looked at him in fear.

"I'm sorry, daddy. I'm sorry." You whispered with tears in your eyes.

"No, no, sweetheart. I'm the one who's sorry. Daddy was stupid and very mean last night and I shouldn't have been. What I said and did is completely unacceptable. I'm so sorry." He whispered as you jumped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck as he held you tightly.

"I don't like when you drink." You whispered as you began to cry into his shirt.

"I know, baby. I won't do it anymore, I'll get help, darling. I won't be so harsh on you anymore, I promise. I love you so much... I'll never hurt you again."