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ashherahh · 2 months ago

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how your future partner matches your freak +18

Note: Please take it if it resonates, leave it if it doesn't. Meditate before making your decision. It's completely okay if you don't resonate with this reading. The collective is huge and I'm sure you'll receive the messages you need in due time.

pile 1

Cards: Page of Wands Rx, Seven of Pentacles, Three of Swords Rx, Two of Wands. BOD: King of Swords Rx

Um, dunno how to put this but you two teach each other. Getting to that point of knowing each other intimately takes proper communication and lots of consistency. The two of you do not shy away from that. You just see it as a challenge to overcome, and you like challenges.

Carnal desires much?

The attraction is there, as I'm seeing your relationship eventually develops into one which leaves both of you quite satisfied. So, strongly picking up on the energy of someone who is so accustomed to reaching orgasm by themselves that when they have a partner they are a bit...selfish in bed.

Yeah... They haven't had sex in a hot minute so they struggle to last the first few times or they take a while to orgasm. It's quite common, actually.

Eventually, with practice comes improvement. Not everyone is a sex god immediately their first time, so you two are pretty patient with each other. Learning your likes and dislikes, you cultivate your intimacy (which should always be the case, but some couples just click).

You do click with your partner in every other aspect of your life, but sex is the one you both work on together. You're a bit awkward with it, but oh so eager. This energy is so cute, I dunno how else to describe it. There's a curious excitement to it.

Sex is also pretty frequent, like really frequent. A lot. You two have a lot of sex. I'm not seeing major power plays, you're pretty much are comfortable switching roles and you're definitely open to trying out as many positions and toys and roleplaying to see what works for you.

This is such a nasty group. I'm blushing. You both seek each other out. There's no demure, there's no mindful but there's a lot of dropping the draws on sight. There is little restraint.

pile 2

Cards: Two of Cups, The Moon, Queen of Swords Rx, Ten of Cups Rx. BOD: Knight of Swords

Someone is going to cry during sex. There will be tears. Composure for who? What is that? When you are intimate with them, it's like you lose your mind. You don't even know what you're saying, you just be saying stuff. Both of you actually. I'm seeing your partner making promises and you just doing the same thing.

Really, y'all? Really? You both whisper sweet nothings to each other.

Your partner likes to run their mouth during the act. They talk you through it. They know what their words do to you. You're the kind of couple who ends up using sex to voice things, like you leave it all out on the floor. Or should I say bed. Actually, you do it whenever you want. Exhibitionistic individuals.

Emotions run high in this pairing. Sex is an almost lethargic act for the two of you. It's like your chakras open up, and it's addictive. You really can't get enough of each other. Angry sex, all kinds of sex. You use it to process feelings, not intentionally, it really just happens with the two of you.

I'm seeing that you knew you connected well emotionally, but I'm not seeing that either of you were expecting to literally unravel when together. That's exactly what sex feels like with your future partner, like there are layers being stripped away and it's just you two feeling what you need to feel through the act.

You two go deep together.

pile 3

Cards: Queen of Wands, King of Swords, Three of Cups, The Lovers. BOD: The Magician

Power dynamics are a thing with you two. Both of you have strong personalities and are quite dominant in nature. So, it's all about seeing who's going to gain the upper hand.

There's a feeling of having met your perfect match. Previous partners just didn't seem to scratch that itch you two had. Sex was good but not mind blowing and not nearly what you were actually craving.

You both want someone who "earns" you in a way. Like, not everyone deserves you. Not everyone deserves to see either of you come undone. Not everyone is worthy of it. This future partner, they go the extra mile. They don't back down, they don't shy away. You don't scare them, your desires entice them. It's vice versa.

There's a mutual giving, a mutual respect and flow of energy. You recognize that they are someone who will be able to match you in everyway, they are someone who is able to satisfy you, and you them.

Libidos are highhhhhh.

You two worship each other. This pairing adores every inch of each other. If you are shy about any part of yourself, that goes out of the window. They make you feel like you are the most precious person on earth, and you are to them.

I'm seeing that sex is treated with a lot of respect and trust. You two really let yourself go with one another. There's no holding back, no masks in place, no feeling like you're too much.

It feels like heaven with them.

#tarot #tarot readings #tarot community #tarotblr #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a card #tarot pac #tarot love reading #witchblr #witch community #intuitive messages #intuitive readings #ashherahh

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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it's hard to explain because inevitably you sound like an asshole, but some people are allowed to lose their temper, lose their mind - you're not, though.

when your friend never texts you first and misses your birthday and never makes an effort; you don't mind. you know she's struggling, and you want her to get the help that she deserves. you give her every excuse and every chance.

it shouldn't matter to you so much that people are always coming through for her. you want her to be happy, you love it for her. you love that her community rises up to the occasion. why does it bother you that when she snaps at someone, says horrible mean things - but two hours later, everyone is comforting her while she's crying. you know she's stressed. why do you kind of hate that she is welcomed back to her job, that her parents are endlessly wiring her money.

and you're - fuck, are you envious?

but when you don't text back, someone sits you down and says i know you're struggling, but you're being a bad friend. when you're too numb to show up for work, your boss just shakes his head. i'm sorry. i can't approve more time off. we have the company to protect. when you finally snap back at your family for making that shitty comment again, you're forced to apologize for being too sensitive.

god forbid you need something. people aren't used to you being the one asking. you're the giver like the book you hated; your pages all open and rumpled. you always have the answer, always have the solution. you are reliable, trustworthy. people like you don't struggle with things. you're supposed to be lifted by tragedy. you are given a maximum of 24 hours to grieve, and then you need to just behave at the party.

you can't read the giving tree without feeling like crying, and even that feels like it's too much emotion. like, nobody looks at you and assumes you're the tree; they'd name five other people before even considering you in the running. you're just there, never-asking.

your friend gets to say mean shit, that's just her personality. when you make a snide comment, you're just being petty. people laugh when your friend stands you up for another event; they say she's just like that. you were 5 minutes late to a meeting with friends and they were mad about it for the rest of the evening. your friend sets everything on fire; everyone applauds her through the ashes. you so much as light a candle: and suddenly now you're an arsonist.

you don't want your friend to suffer, though. the thing is that you just wish that the empathy and kindness your friend gets - you wish you had that option, that everyone offered you grace and money and a gentle reception.

the other day you were fighting down the bad urge; the void call, the end note. you tried-anyway. you went to the family event, tried laughing at the right moments. nodded and smiled and all of it. one of your siblings threw a fit, but she's allowed to, so everyone just rolled their eyes about it. you took 3 whole minutes to stand outside when you got overwhelmed. you literally set a timer about it.

in the morning you woke up to a text from your parents: you were a complete disgrace last night. idk what your attitude problem is, but you really need to fix it.

#writeblr #eldest daughter syndrome #tbh

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slayfics · 8 months ago

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Katsuki lends you a shirt.

Warnings: aged up | NSFW themes

1,000 words~

"You keeping up with me brat?" Katsuki asked, turning the page of his textbook.

You both were studying for the next coming exam in his dorm. Like always- Katsuki had almost all the material memorized, and you were struggling to grasp everything.

"Hold on- let me re-read that last question," You complained, reaching for your mug full of tea while scanning the page again. Multitasking resulted in the mug slipping from your fingers and the warm tea splashing out. Luckily the contents only dampened your uniform and not his bed. You'd never hear the end of it if it did.

"Damn it-" you exclaimed.

"Do you have to be so damn clumsy?" Katsuki ridiculed.

You rolled your eyes at his remarks. "At least none spilled on your bed," you spoke and dabbed at your soaked shirt with a napkin from your bag. Your dabs did little to soak up the large spill of tea. "Whatever it's fine- can you just explain this last question to me," You asked, throwing the napkin back in your bag and admitting defeat with your wet shirt.

"You're really helpless, hu?" he mocked and looked up from his book but immediately became halted by the sight of you. Katsuki's eyes snapped quickly back to his book, and he cleared his throat.

"Yeah yeah- make fun of me all you want can you just explain it already?!" You pressed.

"I'm fucking trying-" He grunted peering up at you again before looking back at his book. The spill from the tea had made your once-white uniformed shirt completely see-through. The sight was proving to be a distraction for him.

Missing the blush that tinted his cheeks and reddened his nose you taunted him, "Or do you actually not understand it either, hm?" You teased.

"Tch- hold on," Katsuki said, keeping his gaze from you as he got off the bed. He shuffled to his closet and threw a shirt at you. "Change into that- can't focus with you looking like you came back from damn wet t-shirt contest," he explained.

Slightly confused, you looked down and realized that with the spill set in your bra was completely visible through your shirt. You let out an amused laugh and unbuttoned your shirt to change into his.

"THE HELL?!" Katsuki exclaimed and quickly turned around.

"What?" you asked teasingly. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Change in the damn restroom," He barked.

"Oh relax- my hero costume is much more revealing than this," you replied.

Katsuki just let out an annoyed grunt.

"Didn't expect you to be so flustered by tits," You laughed. Even though he had turned around you caught his reflection in the mirror- his eyes slightly peered at you stretching to grab the shirt he threw at you.

You smirked at him in the mirror, and his eyes shot forward when you did- the small blush on his cheeks deepened at being caught.

"I don't mind you know- if I did, I would have gone to the restroom to change," You said.

"Just hurry up," he said roughly.

You eyed the back of him- his hands tightly bound into fists and the blush now evident on the tips of his ears. It was fun to see Katsuki so flustered. It was such a change from his usual attitude. As if finally, something had power over the stubborn boy. The feeling gave rise to devious thoughts that you couldn't say no to.

"Have you not seen boobs before?" You asked, tilting your head to the side.

"HAH?! Course I have!" He yelled.

"I mean in person- up close," you clarified.

Your question seemed to stun Katsuki- for the first time, he was speechless. He wanted to tell you to shut the hell up and change already so you could get back to studying but- his mind was racing with why you were asking him such a stupid question. Until you asked another-

"Do you want to?" You asked almost in a whisper.

What kind of question was that? Of course, he wanted to- but... he wasn't some damn perv like Mineta or Kaminari.

"Tch- you think I'm some fucking perv like those other extras. Just change so we can get back to studying," he finally answered.

"No- I offered that makes it ok- and that blush on your face says otherwise. You think I can't see that?" You teased.

Katsuki grunted and turned around to face you, "You're not going to fucking give this up, are you?" He said, pretending it was your stubbornness that was making him give in and not his own desires.

You smiled at his flustered expression, "I will- if you tell me honestly you don't want to." You said winking at him.

Katsuki gritted his teeth and his nose scrunched up.

"That's what I thought- you can't can you?" You giggled.

"You're so damn provocative," He complained but sat next to you on the bed.

"This has been bugging me all day anyway- been dying to get it off," you said unsnapping the back of your bra and exposing your breasts.

Katsuki's eyes widened at you- shocked that your offer was not just a tease. The blush on his face ignited once more and so did his scowl as his eyes gazed at your exposed skin. He looked equally frustrated and flustered as if he was angry at his own desires. Katsuki hated feeling vulnerable- and you knew just the ways to get the best of him.

"You can squeeze them if you want," You offered further.

Katsuki only peered at you for a moment to ensure your offer was legitimate consent before quickly squeezing one of your breasts in his hand. As he did, he turned his face away from you- hiding his lack of composure. You were soft, and warm, and all his boy hormones screamed at him to stuff his face in your chest. He was sure if he turned to look at the sight of your breast in his hand, he wouldn't be able to control himself, and he didn't want to give you that satisfaction of having power over him.

As rough as he was everywhere else in his life you were surprised at the gentleness he used to squeeze you.

Katsuki dropped his hand but remained looking away from you and he tried to regain himself.

You took mercy on him and threw his shirt over your head finally.

"This is a comfy shirt," you said, trying to change the subject and ease the embarrassment oozing off Katsuki.

"Keep it as long as you want," he grunted and cleared his throat making a grab for his textbook again. "Alright... what question did you need help with again brat?" he asked- attempting to move on and switch back to his usual rough demeanor.

Tags: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @zanarkandskylines

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pinkslaystation · 8 months ago

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Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k -> blurb - rose meets tulips

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

#call of duty #cod #john price #john price x reader #captain john price #john price angst #john price fluff #task force 141 #captain price

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luvrodite · 1 month ago

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ᯓ★ ONE. OCTOBER 1 | FUCK OR DIE

GOT ME CALLING OUT FOR HELP (S-O-S) [3.8k]

in retrospect, it was only a matter of time before you got hit. you should consider yourself lucky — there are worse fates than being fucked like your life depends on it (it’s gotham. of course it does) or: you get hit and jason deals with the fallout

content warnings. f!reader, dubious consent due to intoxication, chemical aphrodisiac, established relationship, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, begging, unprotected sex, creampie, prevention of pulling out.

ⓘ minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked!

<< kinktober masterlist | week 2 >>

It goes like this:

On a monday evening, Pamela fucking Isley decides to take her quarrel with Gotham's newest weapons company – God, could they fucking give it a break? B had only busted the last one a few weeks ago before they'd brought the city down on everyone – to new heights.

Jason's sitting in traffic with a bag of groceries slung around the handle of his bike when he gets the call. He's eager to beat you home, ready to make you dinner and heavily intent on wining and dining you after a long weekend of missing each other.

His fingers tap against his thighs impatiently, impatience sitting beneath his skin like an itch. Spikes of activity during the week had meant his plans for Friday night – dinner and a deserved night off – had been pushed to the backburner. He'd returned home in the early stillness of dawn, unable to get more than a couple of hours with you before your phone had rung, a friend's emergency pulling you out of bed with an apologetic grimace and a promise to reschedule your date night.

The headset in his ear notifies him of an incoming call, the syllables of your name dulled by the clinical, robotic voice of his phone's intelligence system. His mouth curves up into a smile beneath his helmet.

"Hi, baby," he answers immediately. "I'm on my way home, you need anything? I just left the store but I can go back–"

You cut him off in a tight voice. Later, he'll be ashamed that the first thing that comes to mind is, not another fucking postponement. Now, his brows furrow at your tone, stomach dipping uncertainly when it becomes clear that this is something more serious.

Your voice wobbles, high-pitched and tearful. At the same time, the dash on his bike begins to flash in rapid succession, the paging system he'd installed for the bats to communicate with him glaring back at him, blood red.

ORACLE: CHEMICAL LEAK DOWNTOWN. BATS + R.ROBIN EN ROUTE. ALL UNITS STANDBY.

His dread plummets and for a moment his throat closes over. You're speaking to him but he struggles to make it out through the ringing in his ears.

"Jason, I'm – I'm home but I don't – I don't know what to do."

He bites back a curse and tries to swallow the lump in his throat, grappling for words of comfort.

"It's okay," he soothes, straining to keep his voice level. "Listen, sweetheart, can you go lock the door for me? I'm – shit – I'll be home soon, alright? It'll be okay. We'll fix it."

He doesn't give himself time to linger on the call after you confirm you've locked it, barking out a command to dial Oracle that his system fails to pick up twice, only registering after he steadies himself.

She picks up on the third ring. It irritates him how unfazed she sounds when he explains the situation to her. He hears the click of her keyboard in the background, the hum of her monitors. Each passing second as she patches through to Nightwing is agony and the slow crawl of traffic does little to help.

His leg has begun to jostle the bike with the weight of its shaking when she returns to their call.

"You're not going to like this," she says and he feels the bile rising in his throat.

"What." He grits it out through his teeth, unable to manage much more than that. He hears Oracle sigh.

"Looks like an aphrodisiac," she says clinically. "Her plan was to get them caught compromised enough to lose credit publicly."

"Oracle." She hears his growl for what it is – Tell me whether or not it's over.

"It's non-lethal," she affirms and he sighs harshly. The tightness in his chest loosens ever so slightly as she talks. "Ivy let it off near city hall because most of the shareholders were scheduled to hold a meeting – that's where your girl works, right? Alf's working on an antidote but she should be relatively fine until it's ready. Just – keep an eye on her."

Tim joins the line then and Jason startles at the sound of his voice in his ear.

"I don't know what the fuck she wanted to achieve," the boy grumbles. He's a little out of breath and in any other situation, Jason would have something to say about that. Tonight, he's not in the mood for jokes.

"Red," he barks out. The kid makes a distracted noise, and he can hear the sounds of a scuffle on the other end. "You tell Ivy if anything happens to my girl, I'll make sure she's next."

He doesn't wait to hear what's sure to be a non-committal answer at best, kicking off and veering between the lined up vehicles. There's an outroar from the drivers around him, laying on their car horns. Someone pokes their head out of their window to scream at him.

He hears none of it, the blood rushing in his ears keeping him single-minded.

This string that twines him to you isn't new. It wears signs of age, shows the years in the way his fingers reach for yours in the early moments of his day, the turn of your eyes to his in any room. He's seen a few summers with you at his side but the fear –

Blood, coagulating, the cold brush of death, splintered wood beneath nails and a haunting smile

– the fear never stagnates.

A bitter, resigned shard of him breathes out as he speeds through the streets. A veritable sword over his crown, this almost seems expected. Loathing colours the skyline and he, the fool, to think he could hold this one, precious, beloved thing unscathed.

He forgoes the groceries in his haste, leaving the bags in his haste to throw himself up the stairs and out of the parking garage. Pulse thundering in his ears, sweat coating his palms, he scrabbles with the key to your shared apartment.

The door flies open and a hand is grabbing him by the front of his shirt before he can slot it through the lock.

You, wild-eyed and frantic, pull him inside with a bitten off sob.

"Shh, shh, I'm here, come here."

He kicks the door shut, reaching behind him to flip the locks with one hand. The other curls you protectively to his chest, fingers splaying over your back. The sight of you calms him considerably and he chokes out a stuttered breath, the lump in his throat dissolving to give way for a flood of relief.

You're burning in his arms, the thin undershirt you've got on soaked through with sweat, face glowing with perspiration. Eyebrows knitted, you cling to him tighter and he finds himself making noises of comfort.

"Jason, I –"

"Shh. I know, honey, I know," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes are tearful, salt spilling over lashes and rolling down your cheeks. "Come on, let's get you to lie down."

"No," you whine, pitching miserably as he shuffles the both of you towards your bedroom, face creasing with every movement. "Hurts."

"I know," he whispers, hating the way his voice cracks. His eyes burn painfully. "'ll get you a towel, alright?"

You're deposited on the bed and he makes a turn for the bathroom, wetting a cloth. When he enters the bedroom again you've pushed yourself up, kneeling on the bed. You've shed the pants you'd worn earlier, left now in only and undershirt and your underwear. His name falls from your lips pitifully and he steps forward, lips turning down into a commiserating frown.

You shy away from the cloth when he presses it against your forehead, letting out a hiss as it makes contact with your burning skin. He brings a hand to the nape of your neck and you seem to like that much better, sighing under his touch. Jason takes advantage of this to keep you in place, mopping the sweat off your face and neck, trying his best not to give into your dissatisfied squirming.

"I know, I'm an asshole," he mutters, when you cry out his name, displeasure making itself clear on your face. "Get better so you can yell at me for it, alright?"

"Don't wanna – yell at you," you mumble, wetting your lips as they part.

He clocks the dilation of your pupils a little too late and shakes his head adamantly, trying to draw back but you've got a hold of his shirt, pulling him forward. He catches himself with a hand agains the headboard, a knee pressing into the mattress beneath him.

You stare up at him, mouth turning down into a pained grimace.

"C'mon honey," he mutters, pleading, feeling his face flood with warmth. "Don't do this to me. Be good, you'll be alright, okay? Any minute they're gonna call and tell me Alf's got an antidote ready – shit, maybe we should just drive you there now -"

"No," you sob, face crumpling under the weight of your tears again, pushing up on your knees to fling your arms around his shoulders. The effort of the movement makes you stutter out a gasp and he's forced to band an arm around your waist to steady the both of you.

Your tears wet the skin of his neck, your body pressed flush against his. He becomes aware, regrettably, of the skin beneath his fingers, your undershirt having ridden up to expose the softness of your lower back.

"Please," you hiccup into his shoulder. "Please, Jason – Please."

He'll have to ask Oracle later if second-hand exposure to the toxin is supposed to have an effect on him. At the touch of your chest to his, he feels himself warm all over, mouth drying when you begin to keen, arching up into his touch in an effort to get him to do something.

"Fuck," he curses. "Fuck. Alright, just – come here."

He kicks his shoes off, the sneakers clattering against the floor, and crawls onto the bed properly. Sat up against the headboard, he meets your baleful gaze with a raised brow and reaches for you.

Jason shakes his head when you go to straddle his lap, maneuvering you against his chest until your back rests against it. You let out a whimper, displeased, but he shakes his head.

"This is all you're getting, alright? Just – it'll tide you over until they call."

He spreads your legs until they hang over his own, your thighs bracketing his and leaving you open. His blood thunders in his ears, hand trembling as he reaches it up to your mouth, fingers prodding at the soft plush of your lips.

Your tongue laves at his digits, a muffled moan trapped in the recesses of your throat. One of your hands curls around his wrist, the other perching against his thigh, nails curling against the fabric of his jeans. He can feel you shift against him, hips canting ever so slightly over his own.

Awful, wretched, lecherous, he stiffens under the movement, jeans tightening. His free hand wraps around you hip with the intent of pinning you in place and stopping you. Somehow, he finds himself guiding you back and forth instead.

You tip your head back against his shoulder, baring the soft line of your throat as you drool around his fingers. He can feel the wetness pooling around his knuckles, the softness of your ass against him, separated only by a few layers. If he cranes his neck, he'll probably find your panties sticky with your need. The thought alone makes his eyes flutter.

The room is blanketed in muffled whimpers, the whispers of rustling sheets and his shaky breaths. You've quietened down some since he'd gotten his fingers in your mouth, but the heat seems to have returned with a vengeance when you begin to fuss in his lap again. Your fingers dig into his thigh and you whine, tugging at his wrist in an effort to push his hand where you need it most.

He hushes you with a squeeze to your hip and tips your face to meet his. Bleary eyed, silvery tracks smattered across your cheeks, you're struggling to hold on. He lowers his mouth to yours, a chaste kiss that deepens when you part your lips to lick into his mouth.

"Jason, come on."

"No, don't take it off," he whispers when your hands make to tug your underwear off. You whine and he hushes you again, "Shh, I'm going to take care of you, be patient for me, alright?"

He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and watches you shudder at the first swipe. Similarly affected, he feels himself twitch when his fingers make contact with the soft slickness of your flesh, gliding against silken folds.

"Oh," you sigh, sagging slightly into him.

"There you go." He presses a kiss to your sweaty temple, trying to pretend this is just another night together and he's being a loving boyfriend, that you're not delirious with want just because of the toxin running through your bloodstream. "That's my girl."

He presses gentle circles against you, closing his eyes and ghosting his mouth over the curve of your shoulder. The smell of sex is thick in the air, that heady musk and sweat that he could drown in. Your breaths come in pants now as he works you open gently, thumb rolling over your centre.

"Just like that," he rumbles, straining to keep his head on straight. It's difficult, when you arch against him, his name spilling from your lips in adoration coloured mewls. Your arm raises, curling behind you to embrace his neck.

It doesn't take you very long to come, pent up and sensitive – he discovers this when his hand grazes over your chest to stroke your face and you keen so loud he fears he'll come in his pants at the sound, your mouth, bitten raw, dropping open as you moan. A few strokes against your centre and you come apart in his arms, hard. The tremors wrack your body long after the fact, your core pulsing around his fingers.

He, ever the fool, expects this to sate your hunger.

Whatever Ivy's put in her newest concoction is potent. You gather your breath quick enough and it becomes apparent that just the one isn't nearly enough. He's pushed back against the headboard, stunned into silence as you clamber onto his thigh, pawing at him like you can't get close enough.

You struggle with the fabric of his shirt before giving up and any questions he has sputter off into silence when you begin to rock back and forth on him. The denim of his jeans is unforgiving against the thin, sodden material of your underwear, providing a harsh friction that you lose yourself to. He watches, his heart racing, you taking your pleasure for yourself.

It isn't as though you've never done this in front of him – he remembers, blurry, the aftermath of a dinner date that had seen you riding his thigh on the couch, still in your dress.

But this… This feels different.

There's an urgency to this, a franticness running beneath your skin that pushes your hips down harder, more unforgiving. Your face screws up, salt misting your cheeks and neck.

For a moment, Jason almost feels as though he's the one that's been hit. You take on a blurry quality, smudged around the edges like wet paint, wanton, hazy. A gauzy film over his eyes, he blinks, and blinks.

When you come once more, it shatters and he's aware of the stain that's bled into the dark denim on his thigh, a stickiness that's smeared between your thighs. Your panties are ruined and he gulps when he drags his gaze up from between your legs to your face.

Quiet, hungry, you're already staring at him. Your chest heaves with exertion but you remain still otherwise, lips parting in invitation, eyes half-lidded.

"Baby–"

"You said you'd take care of me," you intone beseeching, voice affecting a trembling, delicate quality.

Fuck.

He's never been good at denying you much. Already, he feels the urge to take you into his arms and promise to make it better, but he forces his hand to stay, curling his fingers in the bedsheets.

You crawl forward, until your lips are ghosting over his, eyes swallowing his field of vision until all he can see are the stars in your irises. He feels the

"Jason, please, it still hurts," you whimper quietly, a wounded noise that carves him from the inside out, guilt and shame poisoning his every nerve. He's at war with himself, wanting to ease your pain – he feels responsible for it, in a way – and hesitating similarly. Is this right? Is it okay?

Before he can come up with an answer, you press your mouth to his.

The last of his inhibitions crumbles completely under the plush of your mouth.

He rolls the both of you over, relishing in the gasp you let out, the sight of you splayed against the mattress. He's quick to divest himself of his clothes, tugging his shirt off recklessly, not minding the sound of ripping fabric he vaguely registers hearing. The jeans go next, and his underwear in one, flung to some corner of the bedroom.

Your spit slick mouth curves up into a delighted, drunken smile when he crawls over you, body eclipsing yours with every intent of ravishing you.

Jason holds himself up with one hand, the other reaching to the bedside table and rummaging in the drawer for the box he keeps there. Only, he comes up short and dread dawns over him in a cold wave when he remembers –

He'd used the last of the condoms a few nights ago. It hadn't mattered in the last couple of days, the weekend too busy for the both of you to do much else but curl up next to each other, too exhausted to consider working up a sweat.

"Fuck," he whispers, shaking. "Fuck, baby, there aren't, um…"

Your eyes fill with tears at the unfinished sentence, a hiccuped sob stuttering out of your chest.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he tries to soothe you, a hand smoothing down your face. "I'll just – I'll run to the store, I'll be back before you know it."

"No, please, just–" Watery eyed and upset, you tug him closer as though fearing he'll take off. "I don't care, I don't, I just – I need you, Jason. Please."

He stares at you, heart thundering in his ears. "Fuck you without –"

"Need you now," you whimper, lips tugging down pitifully into a pout that cuts through his chest.

It isn't as though this is his first time fucking you raw –

Tipsy laughter, hushed whispers of it's fine, just once, we'll get the morning after pill.

– but still. This is different, another ballpark entirely.

You stare up at him, desperation in every crease and curve of your face, pleading with him. Too far gone to care, you beg him.

"I'll, um," he rasps out, throat dry, "I'll pull out."

You make some sort of noise that sounds like a vague affirmation, tugging him closer hastily. Poor, pretty girl. His chest aches at the sight of you, needy, looking to him to fix it.

"I'll fix it," he finds himself muttering, lining himself up with your entrance. You've similarly taken to murmuring under your breath, hands carding through his hair, devotion in your every touch.

"Need you so bad, please, please, baby."

The slick that smears against his head, the soft warmth of you, nearly makes his eyes roll back into his head. A drawn out whimper spills from your lips at the press of his hips, the first inches of him pushing into your tight heat.

You sink into the mattress as he notches himself further inside, mouth opening. You paint an obscene picture, your lips bitten raw, naked chest arched. He lowers his head to mouth at your nipples, teeth teasing at the sensitive points. You're warm, so warm beneath him – around him.

He's given only a moment to breathe before you push your hips up, impatient. Fucking yourself against him, your fingers dig into the muscle of his back for leverage, tucking him close enough to you that he brushes against your neck and tastes the salt on your skin.

Jason sets a harried pace, bucking forward against you. You begin to cry out again, every resounding slap of his skin against yours drawing out a moan that curls tight around him and presses down on his stomach. You exchange panted breaths between open mouthed kisses, tongues and teeth clashing messily, muffled pleas that beg for more, more, more.

Filthy, debauched, it doesn't take very long for you to approach your peak. Jason, lost in the wetness of your cunt, feels his own building and knows this is a dangerous game he's playing, toeing the line of recklessness.

"Close," he pants, feeling the tell-tale fluttering of you around him, your orgasm imminent. If he can just hold out until he's gotten you there –

Your legs wrap around him, hold so tight he's not able to do much more than rock against you in desperate, quick rolls of his hips.

"Inside," you warble. Your hands come to cradle his head, coaxing him down to kiss you, licking up into his mouth sweetly, teeth catching on his bottom lip. "Mmh, please, baby? Please? I – Jason – want it so bad, need you inside."

"Oh fuck," he gasps, voice hitching, breath stuttering. His face creases, overcome, and you grin, dazed, drunken, pulling him into another sloppy kiss. What's he to do?

You scream into his mouth at the same time that Jason comes. His vision whitens at the sensation of your pulsing heat, the unforgiving tightening that demands his orgasm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips, burying himself to the hilt and surrendering to your claim.

Warm and wet around him, the evidence of his debauchery coats the inside of your thighs and clings to the base of him. He's light-headed, a little winded, and it takes him a moment to gather his sensibilities. When he looks down, he finds you a boneless puddle beneath him, eyelids fluttering tiredly.

He should pull out. He knows he ought to – but he's broken so many rules, what's another? Jason gathers you in his arms and rolls over gently, tucking you against his chest, a hand skimming up and down the length of your spine comfortingly.

"Fuck," he whispers out into the air, and you murmur atop him. He glances down, meeting your bleary eyes. "Y'just had to go and get caught in that crossfire, huh?"

"N'my fault," you grumble, pressing your face back into his chest.

"Gonna give me a heart attack," he grumbles, dropping a kiss to your crown. Then, with a look over at the bedside table, he jostles you a bit. "Hey. Don't fall asleep. We still have to get you the antidote."

"Wake me when 's ready," is your answer, tone somehow managing a prissiness unexpected of someone who'd just been fucked to within an inch of their life, and he drops his head back into the pillows, incredulous.

This girl would be the death of him.

first kinktober 2024 fic let's go!! i genuinely didn't think i was going to be able to commit to kinktober this year (i'm still nervous about whether i'll be able to) because finals are literally just around the corner and i'm stressing. but hopefully you enjoyed the first installment to this year's kinktober and the coming ones don't disappoint, either!

#jasonsmirrorball #jay my heart #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd smut #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #jason todd fanfiction #kinktober 2024

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 4 months ago

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Creating Compelling Character Arcs: A Guide for Fiction Writers

As writers, one of our most important jobs is to craft characters that feel fully realized and three-dimensional. Great characters aren't just names on a page — they're complex beings with arcs that take them on profound journeys of change and growth. A compelling character arc can make the difference between a forgettable story and one that sticks with readers long after they've turned the final page.

Today, I'm going to walk you through the art of crafting character arcs that are as rich and multi-layered as the people you encounter in real life. Whether you're a first-time novelist or a seasoned storyteller, this guide will give you the tools to create character journeys that are equal parts meaningful and unforgettable.

What Is a Character Arc?

Before we go any further, let's make sure we're all on the same page about what a character arc actually is. In the most basic sense, a character arc refers to the internal journey a character undergoes over the course of a story. It's the path they travel, the obstacles they face, and the ways in which their beliefs, mindsets, and core selves evolve through the events of the narrative.

A character arc isn't just about what happens to a character on the outside. Sure, external conflict and plot developments play a major role — but the real meat of a character arc lies in how those external forces shape the character's internal landscape. Do their ideals get shattered? Is their worldview permanently altered? Do they have to confront harsh truths about themselves in order to grow?

The most resonant character arcs dig deep into these universal human experiences of struggle, self-discovery, and change. They mirror the journeys we all go through in our own lives, making characters feel powerfully relatable even in the most imaginative settings.

The Anatomy of an Effective Character Arc

Now that we understand what character arcs are, how do we actually construct one that feels authentic and impactful? Let's break down the key components:

The Inciting Incident

Every great character arc begins with a spark — something that disrupts the status quo of the character's life and sets them on an unexpected path. This inciting incident can take countless forms, be it the death of a loved one, a sudden loss of power or status, an epic betrayal, or a long-held dream finally becoming attainable.

Whatever shape it takes, the inciting incident needs to really shake the character's foundations and push them in a direction they wouldn't have gone otherwise. It opens up new struggles, questions, and internal conflicts that they'll have to grapple with over the course of the story.

Lies They Believe

Tied closely to the inciting incident are the core lies or limiting beliefs that have been holding your character back. Perhaps they've internalized society's body image expectations and believe they're unlovable. Maybe they grew up in poverty and are convinced that they'll never be able to escape that cyclical struggle.

Whatever these lies are, they'll inform how your character reacts and responds to the inciting incident. Their ingrained perceptions about themselves and the world will directly color their choices and emotional journeys — and the more visceral and specific these lies feel, the more compelling opportunities for growth your character will have.

The Struggle

With the stage set by the inciting incident and their deeply-held lies exposed, your character will then have to navigate a profound inner struggle that stems from this setup. This is where the real meat of the character arc takes place as they encounter obstacles, crises of faith, moral dilemmas, and other pivotal moments that start to reshape their core sense of self.

Importantly, this struggle shouldn't be a straight line from Point A to Point B. Just like in real life, people tend to take a messy, non-linear path when it comes to overcoming their limiting mindsets. They'll make progress, backslide into old habits, gain new awareness, then repeat the cycle. Mirroring this meandering but ever-deepening evolution is what makes a character arc feel authentic and relatable.

Moments of Truth

As your character wrestles with their internal demons and existential questions, you'll want to include potent Moments of Truth that shake them to their core. These are the climactic instances where they're forced to finally confront the lies they believe head-on. It could be a painful conversation that shatters their perception of someone they trusted. Or perhaps they realize the fatal flaw in their own logic after hitting a point of no return.

These Moments of Truth pack a visceral punch that catalyzes profound realizations within your character. They're the litmus tests where your protagonist either rises to the occasion and starts radically changing their mindset — or they fail, downing further into delusion or avoiding the insights they need to undergo a full transformation.

The Resolution

After enduring the long, tangled journey of their character arc, your protagonist will ideally arrive at a resolution that feels deeply cathartic and well-earned. This is where all of their struggle pays off and we see them evolve into a fundamentally different version of themselves, leaving their old limiting beliefs behind.

A successfully crafted resolution in a character arc shouldn't just arrive out of nowhere — it should feel completely organic based on everything they've experienced over the course of their thematic journey. We should be able to look back and see how all of the challenges they surmounted ultimately reshaped their perspective and led them to this new awakening. And while not every character needs to find total fulfillment, for an arc to feel truly complete, there needs to be a definitive sense that their internal struggle has reached a meaningful culmination.

Tips for Crafting Resonant Character Arcs

I know that was a lot of ground to cover, so let's recap a few key pointers to keep in mind as you start mapping out your own character's trajectories:

Get Specific With Backstory

To build a robust character arc, a deep understanding of your protagonist's backstory and psychology is indispensable. What childhood wounds do they carry? What belief systems were instilled in them from a young age? The more thoroughly you flesh out their history and inner workings, the more natural their arc will feel.

Strive For Nuance

One of the biggest pitfalls to avoid with character arcs is resorting to oversimplified clichés or unrealistic "redemption" stories. People are endlessly complex — your character's evolution should reflect that intricate messiness and nuance to feel grounded. Embrace moral grays, contradictions, and partial awakenings that upend expectations.

Make the External Match the Internal

While a character arc hinges on interior experiences, it's also crucial that the external plot events actively play a role in driving this inner journey. The inciting incident, the obstacles they face, the climactic Moments of Truth — all of these exterior occurrences should serve as narrative engines that force your character to continually reckon with themselves.

Dig Into Your Own Experiences

Finally, the best way to instill true authenticity into your character arcs is to draw deeply from the personal transformations you've gone through yourself. We all carry with us the scars, growth, and shattered illusions of our real-life arcs — use that raw honesty as fertile soil to birth characters whose journeys will resonate on a soulful level.

Happy Writing!

#writing #writeblr #thewriteadviceforwriters #creative writing #on writing #writers block #writing tips #how to write #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #authors on tumblr #author #historical fiction #fiction #novel #publishing #short stories #short story #character arcs

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its-avalon-08 · 3 months ago

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Can you write me something for Lando? Where his girlfriend is scared, he's going to leave her because everyone eventually does. (Like a bad home life and never had good relationships) And she's just waiting for Lando to dump her, but Lando resizes this and assures her that she is it for him and he would never abandon her.

i'm never giving up on you (ln4)

avaspeaks: at this point i'm just a lando norris fanclub, and i have no issue with it whatsoever

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, neglect, fears of abandonment, comfort

Y/N sat in the dimly lit living room of her small apartment, the shadows on the walls a stark contrast to the memories that haunted her. Her fingers traced the worn edges of a photo album she had found while cleaning earlier, each page a painful reminder of her past.

Growing up, Y/N's home life was far from stable. Her parents' relationship had been a volatile cocktail of arguments and broken promises, their voices often raised in anger rather than love. The air in their house had always felt thick with tension, a palpable force that suffocated any semblance of comfort or security.

Y/N flipped through the album, her eyes lingering on a picture of her younger self. She was smiling, but the smile didn't reach her eyes, even then. Her parents stood on either side of her, forced grins plastered on their faces for the camera. She remembered that day clearly—it had been one of the few times they had tried to act like a normal family, but the effort was short-lived.

As the years went by, the arguments escalated, and the once infrequent absences of her father turned into a permanent departure. Her mother, already struggling with her own demons, fell into a deep depression, leaving Y/N to fend for herself. She became a master of hiding her pain, putting on a brave face at school while silently dealing with the chaos at home.

Friendships came and went, most of them fleeting. Y/N had learned early on not to get too attached, as people seemed to drift away just when she started to rely on them. Her heart had been broken too many times, not by romantic relationships, but by the countless times she had opened up to someone, only for them to leave.

Closing the album with a sigh, Y/N glanced around her apartment. It was small but cozy, a space she had made her own. The walls were adorned with pictures of places she hoped to visit one day, a reminder of dreams she refused to let go of, despite everything. Yet, the emptiness of the apartment echoed the loneliness that had been her constant companion.

Meeting Lando had been a beacon of light in her otherwise dark world. His infectious energy and genuine kindness had drawn her in, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a glimmer of hope. But with that hope came fear—the fear that he, too, would eventually leave, just like everyone else.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Y/N from her thoughts. She quickly wiped away a tear that had escaped, not wanting Lando to see her like this. She loved him deeply, but the scars of her past were not easily forgotten.

Lando entered the room, his eyes immediately finding hers. He could sense something was wrong, the way she held herself, the distant look in her eyes. He walked over and sat beside her on the couch, his presence a comforting contrast to the turmoil in her mind.

"Hey," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Are you okay?"

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a smile. "Yeah baby, I'm okay"

time skip

The tension in the apartment was palpable as Lando and Y/N stood facing each other in the living room. The argument had started innocuously enough—a simple conversation about their busy schedules—but it had quickly escalated into a heated exchange.

"I just don't understand why you can't make more time for us," Y/N said, her voice tinged with frustration. "You're always so busy with races, interviews, and events. I feel like we're barely together anymore."

Lando ran a hand through his hair, his patience wearing thin. "I have obligations, Y/N. This is my career we're talking about. I can't just drop everything whenever I want."

"I'm not asking you to drop everything," she retorted, her eyes flashing with anger. "I'm asking you to make an effort. I want to feel like a priority, not just another item on your to-do list."

"That's not fair," Lando shot back. "You know how demanding this job is. I can't control the schedule. And it's not like you don't have your own commitments."

Y/N crossed her arms, her voice rising. "But I still try to make time for us! You promised me that we'd find a balance, but it feels like I'm the only one trying."

Lando's frustration boiled over. "I’m doing the best I can! Why can't you see that?"

"Because it doesn't feel like it!" she shouted, tears of anger and hurt welling up in her eyes. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one making an effort in this relationship."

A heavy silence fell between them, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Lando shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration and helplessness. "I'm driving around the bloody globe and this - Y/N I'm just- I need some air," he muttered, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

Y/N watched him leave, her heart sinking. She stood there for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts of abandonment. This was it, she thought. This was when he would realize it wasn't worth the effort and leave her like everyone else had.

Y/N sat on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The city lights flickered in the distance, but her mind was far away, lost in the painful memories that had shaped her.

She was six years old, hiding under the kitchen table as her parents screamed at each other. Her father’s voice was a thunderstorm, her mother’s a desperate plea. "I can’t take it anymore, Marie! I’m done!" Her father stormed out, slamming the door so hard it rattled the windows. He never came back.

Years later, her mother’s addiction had taken hold. Y/N would find her passed out on the couch, empty bottles and needles scattered around. "Mom, please," she would whisper, shaking her gently. "Wake up." But her mother’s eyes remained closed, her body unresponsive. Social services came and went, but nothing ever changed. The house felt emptier with each passing day.

Her first boyfriend seemed kind at first, but the facade quickly crumbled. "You’re too clingy," he said, pushing her away. "I need space." He left her in tears, feeling like a burden. The next relationship was worse—manipulation, emotional abuse, constant belittling. "You’re worthless," he sneered. "No wonder your family abandoned you." She believed him, internalizing every cruel word.

Y/N hugged her knees tighter to her chest, the tears slipping down her cheeks. The patterns of her past replayed in her mind, a cruel reminder of the pain she had endured.

Her best friend in high school promised they would be friends forever. But as soon as things got tough, she disappeared without a word, leaving Y/N to navigate the tumultuous teenage years alone. "I thought we were friends," Y/N had said, voice breaking. But there was no answer, just an empty silence.

Her college roommate had been kind, at first. They shared secrets and late-night talks until one day, without warning, she moved out, leaving a note saying she couldn’t handle Y/N’s “drama.” Another abandonment, another confirmation that Y/N was too much for anyone to handle.

She wiped her eyes, the heaviness in her chest a familiar ache. Lando was different, she knew that. He was kind, loving, and patient. But the fear that he would eventually leave her, just like everyone else, was always there, lurking in the back of her mind.

The balcony door slid open, and Y/N didn’t turn around. She felt Lando’s presence as he stepped outside, the silence stretching between them.

"I'm sorry my love," Lando finally said, his voice soft and weary. "I didn't mean to storm out like that."

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice trembling. "I just… I don't want to feel like this anymore, Lando. I don't want to keep waiting for you to leave. It's not your fault, it really is not. I'm just- my past. It has been hurting me so much even when I try for it not to."

He moved closer, sitting beside her on the balcony floor. "Y/N, I'm not going to leave you. I didn't realize how much this was affecting you. I thought we were okay but I need you to speak to me, to voice your conerns."

She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I was scared to tell you how I really felt. I didn't want to seem needy or make you feel guilty."

Lando reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "You have every right to tell me how you feel. I need to know if something's wrong so we can fix it together."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with vulnerability. "But what if you get tired of always having to reassure me? What if you decide it's too much?"

He squeezed her hand, his gaze steady and sincere. "I won't. I'm here because I love you, Y/N. I want to be with you, and that means working through the tough times, too. I know I haven't been perfect, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make this work."

Y/N's heart ached with both fear and hope. "I want to believe you, Lando. I really do."

"Then let me prove it to you," he said softly. "We'll figure this out together. I promise."

She nodded, a small smile breaking through her tears. "Okay. I trust you." He could see the pain in her eyes, the scars left by a lifetime of abandonment and disappointment. He knew this was the moment to make her understand how much she meant to him.

"Y/N, look at me," he said softly, lifting her chin so their eyes met. "You are perfect for me in every way. I don’t just love you because you’re beautiful or because we have fun together. I love you because of who you are, inside and out."

She tried to look away, but he gently held her face, making sure she was listening. "You are the strongest person I know. Everything you've been through, everything you've survived—it hasn't broken you. It's made you who you are, and that person is incredible."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't say anything. Lando continued, his voice full of conviction. "You have this amazing heart, Y/N. You care so deeply about the people in your life, even when they don't deserve it. You give so much of yourself, and that’s something truly special."

He brushed a tear from her cheek. "You make me want to be a better person. Every day with you is a gift, and I don’t take that lightly. I see how you look after everyone, how you’re always there for others, even when you’re hurting. You inspire me."

Lando's voice grew more intense as he spoke. "You’re not a burden. You’re not too much. You are exactly what I need in my life. You’re my anchor, the one who keeps me grounded. Without you, none of this—racing, fame, everything—would matter. You’re my reason, Y/N."

She sniffled, her tears falling freely now, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "I know you’re scared, and I get it. But I’m here to stay. I’m not going anywhere. I promise you that. We’re in this together, and I will never, ever leave you."

He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes again. "Please believe me when I say that you are my everything. I love you more than words can say, and I will spend every day proving it to you. You are my future, Y/N, and I’m not going to let anything take that away from us."

She clung to him, her sobs quieting as his words sank in. "I love you too, Lando," she whispered, her voice shaky but filled with hope.

"And I love you," he replied, kissing her forehead gently. "Always."

For the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to make it work. And for now, that hope was enough.

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awearywritersworld · 11 months ago

Text

she mumbled that i was peculiar

sukuna x reader summary: impressively, sukuna is still trying to find ways to deny his feelings for you. nevertheless, he keeps you safe from harm when a late night trip to the store doesn't go as planned. will seeing his violent nature for yourself change the way you feel about him? he seems to think so. w/c: 4.2k (oops) tags/warnings: angst to fluff. attempted kidnapping. canon typical violence. depictions of blood. reader throws up. reader is in shock for a bit. cursing. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: i'm sorry this took so long! im ngl, i struggled quite a bit to write this chapter. i'm still unsure about the pacing, but here it is anyway. thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! series masterlist // masterlist

it's not often that you go out for the evening, but tonight is one such occasion. you leave around seven, excited to meet nobara and maki for dinner.

when yuuji falls asleep a few hours later, sukuna doesn't take over right away. he spends a while in his domain, engaging in what some people might call sulking.

before long, however, he begins to feel restless and he tells himself it's because he's grown accustomed to his finite hours of freedom. of course, it has nothing to do with your absence.

so he assumes control of his vessel's body and pulls a short novel from your bookshelf. settling on the couch, his fingertips brush over the cover: the stranger by albert camus

it's the first time he's ever been alone in your apartment, a fact he's well aware of, and his eyes wander to the front door. it'd be all too easy to pull it open, to make his way downstairs and out onto the street.

how long would it last before yuuji regained control? are you nearby? would you get caught up in the havoc he'd doubtlessly wreak?

the thought makes him grimace. returning his focus to the book in his hands, time seems to pass by faster as he makes his way through the pages.

even so, he deems the narrative a bit boring. in his (what's the opposite of humble?) opinion, dead mothers and nagging girlfriends don't make for the most captivating story, so his mind begins to wander once he happens upon the quote:

"so why marry me, then?" she said. i explained to her that it didn't really matter and that if she wanted to, we could get married. besides, she was the one who was doing the asking and all i was saying was yes. then she pointed out that marriage was a serious thing. i said, "no." she stopped talking for a minute and looked at me without saying anything. then she spoke. she just wanted to know if i would have accepted the same proposal from another woman, with whom I was involved in the same way. i said, "sure." then she said she wondered if she loved me, and there was no way i could know about that. after another moment's silence, she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

sukuna thinks about you— the woman who forced her way into his solitude.

although, what if it hadn't been you? what if the brat had been involved with another woman? would he have eventually taken an interest in her too?

are you really that special, or is he just going crazy inside the cage that is itadori yuuji? the latter is much more likely, right?

he supposes he prefers the idea of madness over... feelings for some human.

all of a sudden, your apartment door seems much more inviting. would it be so bad if he were to step through it? what did he really have to lose?

yeah, that's right. he'll get up any second now and act on every horrible impulse he's been repressing. any second now... any second...

he can't quite figure out why he's unable to bring his limbs to move, weighed down by some force that's beyond him.

it's at that moment the door clicks open and for a split second, he thinks it must be his sign to go, but then you come waltzing in.

"'kuna!" you greet in an excited manner, disrupting the peaceful quiet.

kicking off your shoes haphazardly, you make your way over to him and promptly drop yourself into his lap. it elicits a bout of unwelcome clarity for the king of curses.

no, he wouldn't have taken an interest in just anyone, that much becomes obvious. it wasn't through a medium as flawed as chance that he came to... tolerate you. you're much too annoying for that to be the case.

"hello???" you wave your hand in front of his face. "i'm home."

"i can see that."

"welcome home, darling," you say in a deep voice, a poor imitation of him. "i missed you so much— that's what you're supposed to say."

yeah, definitely too annoying.

"but i didn't miss you." one of his hands comes to rest on your thigh, a betrayal of his preceding assertion.

"you're sitting alone reading—" you pause to inspect the book lying open beside him. "existential fiction about a nihilistic frenchman. of course you missed me."

he changes the topic rather swiftly. "you're drunk."

"i'm tipsy, at best." you roll your eyes. "can't i just be happy to see you?"

"you'd be the first."

"i don't mind making history."

you place a kiss on his lips, casual and affectionate in way that makes sukuna's body stiffen, and stand up.

"i need to get ready for bed, then we're gonna watch tv together because i missed you— gosh, see how easy that was?"

you run off to the bathroom and his body doesn't fully relax until he hears the shower turn on.

the thought of missing someone is a strange notion to him, because it implies eagerness and desire. for as long as he cares to remember, those emotions have been reserved for proclivities much more sinister.

so he hadn't missed you. he just would have preferred it if you stayed home. that's all.

when you return to the living room around fifteen minutes later, you're wearing one of yuuji's shirts, and as far as sukuna can tell, very little otherwise.

making yourself comfortable on the floor between his legs, you pass a hair tie behind you. "can you braid my hair?"

he's watched you get ready for bed enough times that he's fairly certain he can manage it. taking the tie from you, he still asks "why can't you do it?"

"because i'm sleepy," you frown, reaching for the tv remote.

gathering your hair in his hands and carefully dividing it into sections, he sighs. "you require so much looking after."

"you're not going to die if you can't have cookies tonight." sukuna states dryly, glancing at the clock that reads eleven o'clock.

"please don't trivialize my struggle," you begin, pulling on your jacket. "i want miso butter cookies— my grandma's secret recipe."

most of what you need can be found in the kitchen, but a trip to the store is in order for a few final ingredients.

"my mistake," he huffs, rising to his feet. "how insensitive of me."

"oh, it's alright. just don't let it happen again."

"sure. i'll keep that in mind, princess." sliding the apartment door's chain lock off the track, he does little to hide the vexation in his tone.

just as he reaches for the handle, you stop him and wrap a scarf around his neck, forcing a hoodie into his hands. "put this on. you'll be cold."

he looks at you as if you're crazy. "i don't have to worry about things as insignificant as the weather."

"well, put it on anyway," you insist.

he decides that acquiescing will be easier than arguing for the next five minutes and slips the hoodie over head. when you both step out into the chilly air of night, there are still a decent number of people traveling the streets.

stopping at a crosswalk the next block over, you begin to prattle on about what you need to pick up and the different steps in your recipe. naturally, you completely miss it when the pedestrian sign turns green.

"come on," sukuna commands, his hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you along with him. "i don't have all night."

you scoff. "to be fair, i didn't say you had to come with me."

"yeah well it's late. you shouldn't be out alone." there's a hint of exasperation in his voice, like he truly had no choice in the matter.

despite that, once you reach the other side of the street, his fingers slide down your palm and thread through yours.

you glance over at him and find he's looking off to the side, so you bite your lip to suppress your pleased smile. is he avoiding your gaze intentionally? you decide that bashfulness suits him better than you would have expected.

offering him a light squeeze of the hand, you hope it conveys your appreciation of his small display of affection.

"so, are you going to help me make the cookies?"

his lips press into a thin line. "as thrilling as that seems, i don't particularly have a penchant for baking."

"you think you'd humor me a little! you know, since i'm your only friend and all."

"if anyone else asked me such a ridiculous question, they wouldn't live to see tomorrow." you ponder whether he's joking and quickly decide that he isn't. "this is me humoring you."

"you're so mean to me."

"hardly."

"fine," you pout. "then you can't have any!"

"now, hold on." the threat does make him hesitate. you've come to learn that if there's one thing he loves as much as reading, it's food. "let's not be hasty."

you're approaching the store, the sliding doors just a few strides away.

"it's only fair! besides, you're not going to die if you can't have cookies," you throw his earlier words in his face.

he exhales deeply. "have i ever told you how irritating you are?"

"woah! now you're definitely not getting any, mister!"

"alright, alright," he groans as you step inside. "i'll help you bake your stupid cookies."

"perfect!" you exclaim as if you knew he'd give in eventually (you did). "then you can start by finding the miso paste while i get everything else!"

you scamper off before he can tell you not to order him around like some common servant. he's never even been grocery shopping, how the hell is he supposed to find anything in here?

wandering the aisles, he stews over how domestic this is. for god's sake— the king of curses, shopping for ingredients and making baked goods. what have you reduced him to?

just as he considers giving up, he spots the item he's looking for and grabs it so aggressively that it knocks a few packets of instant miso soup to the floor. wrinkling his nose in distaste for the entire experience, he sets off looking for you, though his efforts are to no avail.

he wonders where the hell you could have gone off to when a flickering light catches his eye, filling him with a strange sort of unease.

it's emanating from a narrow hallway tucked away in the back corner of the store. at the very edge of the hall, a phone with a familiar case is lying on the floor, the screen shattered.

his blood runs cold, a sensation that is fully unknown to him, and the miso paste slips from his fingers. he appears in the hallway the very next second and the sight that greets him ignites a furious hostility in the center of his being— heavy and consuming.

you're struggling against one man as he drags you out of the backdoor and into an alley. another man is holding the door open, urging his partner to hurry up.

the hand over your mouth keeps you from yelling, but you're unsure you would have been able to make a sound regardless.

one second you're cast into darkness, and the next, the light seems blinding. the flashing is unceasing and it makes your head hurt.

two limbs are wrapped around your torso, keeping you firmly in place, and your arms are trapped at your sides. you might be kicking your legs, but they may just be dragging along too. you really can't be sure.

there's a thrum of a heartbeat at your back. it's pace is unforgiving, the intensity mirroring that of your own. you've a vague concern that your heart may very well beat right out of your chest.

then there's an abrupt shift in the air and a sickening crack echoes through out the night. crumpling onto the concrete, you think it must have started raining before you realize that the droplets on your face are warm.

you wipe at your cheek and your fingers stain crimson, the color matching that of an increasingly large puddle seeping across the pavement beside you.

there's a heap lying a few feet away and you recognize that it's wearing clothes. it's a sight you struggle to make sense of.

needing to focus on something else, your eyes find sukuna and the expression he's wearing is fierce and unreserved. "tell me what you wanted with her."

you've never heard him speak in such a way. his tone is low, his cadence nothing short of threatening.

"s-s'kuna?" your own voice sounds foreign to you and it goes unheard by him.

he has your attacker pressed against the brick wall of the alley, both hands wrapped around his throat. he's too livid to realize the pressure on his windpipe is preventing him from answering.

sukuna throws him to the other side of the alleyway out of frustration, the man rolling onto his back and wheezing to appease his lungs.

"tell me!" sukuna commands again, louder this time. less collected.

the man scrambles away from his looming figure. "th-they sent us, told us they needed her for an important matter."

"who?"

"they'll kill me if i tell you—"

sukuna crouches down, laughing dryly. "and what do you suppose i'm going to do?"

his eyes are almost unrecognizable to you. they're frenzied— a few shades deeper than the scarlet you've grown so fond of.

"you'll k-kill me either way, so at least i'll die with honor—"

"tch. useless." sukuna waves his hand, and you can hardly comprehend what happens right in front of you.

neat red lines appear across the man's body, then it ruptures into nothing at all. the only evidence that he was ever there in the first place is his blood.

the stench of which is perhaps the worst part— intense, coppery, and hot. it makes your eyes water, and before you know it, you're hunched over and emptying the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

sukuna is at your side in an instant, pulling your hair away from your face, but while one of your hands is braced against the concrete, the other endeavors to push him away.

his body doesn't budge at the contact, but he takes a step back anyway in an attempt to respect your wishes.

your mind is a mess filled with racing thoughts— what the fuck? this cannot be happening. what the hell even happened in this first place? that man was there and then he wasn't.

inhaling sharply, you wipe at your mouth and shift to pull your knees to your chest.

"what..." you trail off, surveying the unutterable, incomprehensible scene before you. "what did you do?"

he doesn't respond, though his features noticeably soften. somewhere in the back of your mind, you know very well what he did, but you can't help repeating. "what did you do?"

"we need to leave." it's not that sukuna couldn't handle whoever might show up, but seeing as this is your reaction, he has no desire to. "if you let me touch you, i can take us home."

you take a moment to think about it, then nod wordlessly. as soon as his hand falls on your shoulder, you're met with that same sensation you felt the night gojo teleported you and yuuji home after one too many drinks.

though this time, the sick feeling in your stomach isn't caused by liquor. you don't stand up, you don't so much as move a muscle when you feel the surface beneath you shift from concrete to carpet.

sukuna breathes out your name, his uncertainty evidenced by the way he's shoved his hands into his pockets. meeting his eye, you reiterate the same inquiry once more. "what did you do?"

it's almost as if you want him to tell you that he didn't do anything. that the whole experience was some disturbing nightmare.

"those men would have hurt you."

"that doesn't mean they deserved to die." you choke on the final word.

"yes— it does."

with that, silence hangs in the air like a suffocating miasma.

looking to your hands, you're reminded of the blood you've been spattered with. "i need to wash up."

you still don't move from your spot, too fixated on your flesh and the dreadful hue that it's been painted with. sukuna notices now that you're trembling.

he approaches you hesitantly before extending his hand. "let me help you."

you decline his offer, shying away from him. "i think you've done enough already."

god, the look in your eye is utterly despondent. he struggles to swallow the lump that forms in his throat.

his arm falls limply to his side and he looks across the room, your copy of the stranger earning his attention.

he's overcome with chagrin when he realizes that his concern brought about by camus' quote the other night was wholly misguided. he'd been focused on his own feelings, whether they were genuine or simply wrought by his isolation.

how foolish was he to ever question what you truly mean to him? with the anguish that's settled in his chest at the sight of your current state, the fact he ever doubted it makes him feel like a hopeless idiot.

had he any sense at all, the part that resonated with him would have been—

she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

disgust. is that what you're feeling now? he's certain it is.

it was just last week that he relayed the story of his past. you're the only person alive to know the truth of how his wickedness came to be, and you met him with unconditional sympathy and understanding.

you pulled him close and embraced him, but now that you've seen him for what he truly is...? you can barely stand to touch him and it's like a knife to his heart.

you're so fucking warm— like the sun against his skin after weeks of endless rain.

and if you're the sun, surely he is the moon— cold and barren on his own, but brilliant when in the presence of your light.

to be without that? to be without you? it's a prospect too terrible for him to bear. it makes his stomach twist miserably.

you're startled (as is he) when his form falls to the floor, his knees meeting the carpet with a dull thud. he calls out your name again, but this time, his voice cracks as he speaks. "please."

he doesn't have a clue what he's even asking for. a chance to explain? forgiveness? a way to turn back time?

you don't say anything, but you do shift your gaze to him. he knows that he needs to fix this, so he wracks his mind for the right words.

"i didn't enjoy killing those men." he's somewhat surprised to find he's telling the truth.

"you didn't?" your voice is so small and timid that he can hardly decipher your words.

"no. my only concern was to keep you safe— to make sure they never put their hands on you ever again. all i felt was rage and... and... guilt. i should have never left you alone and it's my fault—"

"stop," you interrupt him.

there are tears welling in your eyes, making it difficult for sukuna to breathe. he's positive you're going to tell him that his intentions were of little consequence and that you never want to see him ever again.

instead, you push yourself forward and collapse against his body, your own wracked with violent sobs. the reality of the situation is only just now hitting you. it'd been much easier to focus on what sukuna had done, rather than what almost happened to you.

"i was so scared, 'kuna."

and still, despite the way you're clinging to his shirt and burying your face in chest, he's under the impression that it's him you were afraid of.

"i'm sorry," he tells you earnestly. "i never meant to frighten you."

"n-not of you. those men." you're struggling to speak in between desperate gasps. "why did they do that? what did they want with me?"

"i don't know." though, he is going to find out.

sukuna is not a man well versed in comfort, so he's not entirely sure why he begins rocking you back and forth, but he does it anyway.

when you finally start to breathe a little easier, he mumbles into your hair, "come on. let's get you cleaned up."

he doesn't give you a chance to respond before he scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. setting you down on the counter gently, he searches the linen closet for a cloth.

it's quiet, save for your intermittent sniffling, as he runs it under warm water and wrings it out. his free hand moves to rest against the side of your neck and he dabs at the blood on your face, rinsing the washcloth every now and then.

he tries his best not to show it, but sukuna is agonizing over what might be going through your mind.

do you still feel safe with him? have your feelings changed? do you still love him, even when you've been so harshly reminded what he's capable of?

when you speak for the first time your words are hoarse, barely above a whisper. "thank you for saving me, sukuna."

he thinks about telling you not to thank him, not when it shouldn't have happened in the first place. he left your side, an error in judgement he'll never forgive himself for.

he considers your mortality— your weakness— in relation to his feelings for you. he's always seen this exceptionally human quality as despicable.

but now? all it does is terrify him.

"in the past, i was only concerned with my own whims and desires." his hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb running over your cheekbone. "though after tonight... you have to know..."

it's clear that he's struggling. his eyebrows draw together and his mouth twitches as he ponders his next words.

"i care about you, angel." his voice is hushed when he adds, "very much."

your eyes widen briefly and you murmur his name, but your mind is still reeling from the events of the past twenty minutes and you can't think of anything more to say. you're emotionally exhausted in a way you would have never thought possible.

it's plain to him too, so he knows his next question is selfish, but he can't go on without knowing. "does what you saw tonight change things between us?"

the silence preceding your answer seems to stretch on forever.

"i thought it would," you confess eventually. it was as if you'd put up a wall in your mind separating sukuna the king of curses from sukuna the man you spend your evenings with.

and it's difficult to reconcile the fact that the hands you saw used to murder two men are the same hands that are caressing your face so delicately.

at some point, however, you realized that the only time you felt fear tonight was when you were without him. his arrival and ensuing actions inspired shock and apprehension, though in some twisted way, you knew it meant you were safe. "but it doesn't."

the next question tumbles from your lips thoughtlessly. "does that make me a bad person?"

he chuckles and some of the tension in the room dissipates. "i think i'm the last one on earth that can pass moral judgement on you."

he tucks your hair behind your ear and scans your face, relief coursing through his body when he sees you smile. in this moment, there isn't anything else in the world he would have asked for.

"i guess you're right."

and now, the hand over your mouth is your own, an attempt to stifle your tired giggles. the light of the bathroom is warm and steady. sukuna's hands rest atop your hips, his touch firm but comforting. while you can't feel your own heartbeat, you're positive it must be beating in time with his.

when you crawl into bed that night sukuna pulls you close, your back pressed to his bare chest. you're thankful for the softness of his demeanor, because you need it tonight more than ever.

he doesn't recede to his domain until yuuji wakes up the following morning. he's determined to keep an eye on you as you sleep, to watch the slow rise and fall of your chest with newfound gratitude.

he knows he needs to speak with the brat about what happened. someone is after you and while he hates to admit it, he knows he can't ensure your safety alone.

and he will keep you safe, no matter the cost.

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @elusivemoon @annoyingstrawberryballoon @miabiar @hyeon-yi @iluv-ace @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines

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alyrasturnz · 4 months ago

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THIS IS ME TRYING

❐ summary » y/n struggles silently with a heavy heart. unable to open up to matt, y/n pens a poignant suicide note, a final cry for help. unbeknownst to y/n, matt stumbles upon the note, unraveling the depth of y/n's hidden pain. as the weight of the discovery settles, matt is determined to bridge the chasm of silence and offer the support y/n desperately needs.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » suicidal thoughts, suicide letter, implied depression

❐ a/n && w/c » this was a request but i forgot to reply to the ask and i only realized when i was balls deep into designing this. so this was my 3rd update tonight.. i literally have school in an hour i didnt sleep at all. • 3.54k

you lay in bed, motionless, enveloped by the stillness of the room, your thoughts a tangled web of inertia and despondency. each breath felt like an echo in the cavernous silence. the world outside continued to spin, oblivious to the stasis that had overtaken your being, leaving you suspended in a void where time seemed to stretch infinitely.

you haven't been able to get out of your bed lately. the weight of innumerable burdens has been amassing, creating an insurmountable heap that leaves you paralyzed with indecision. you grapple with an internal tumult, yet the words to articulate your struggle elude you, leaving you in a silent battle against an invisible adversary.

you didn’t know much, countless questions swirling in your mind without answers. yet amidst the haze, one truth crystallized with stark clarity: you were utterly and profoundly tired, both in body and spirit.

so, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you mustered the strength to sit up. you stood, the chill of the hardwood floor seeping through your feet, grounding you in the present. with deliberate steps, you made your way to your desk, each movement a small yet significant triumph over the inertia that had held you captive.

you had brushed matt off countless times, relying on the familiar refrains of "i'm busy" or "i don't feel well." there were even moments when you chose silence over any response at all, letting the unspoken words hang in the air like a heavy fog.

and you felt a gnawing guilt that only compounded your stress. it was as if the weight of your actions, or lack thereof, was an additional burden you were too weak to carry. each moment of avoidance chipped away at your already fragile resolve, leaving you feeling utterly incapable of handling anything.

you had endured this countless times before, but this time, it felt almost surreal. it was as if a cruel twist had taken hold of your very core, leaving you with a nauseating sense of unease. the sensation was both visceral and disorienting, amplifying the sickening nature of the experience.

you lowered yourself into the chair, the familiar creak accompanying your descent. with deliberate movements, you opened your notebook, the rustle of pages breaking the silence. you tore out a sheet, the sound sharp and final, before reaching into the drawer to retrieve a pen, its cool metal a reminder of the task at hand.

your thumb instinctively navigated to the pen's tip, the satisfying click resonating in the quiet room as you began to inscribe your thoughts upon the paper.

your mind was a chaotic whirlwind, the words on the page becoming an indecipherable jumble. amidst the confusion, one truth remained clear: you needed to muster the strength to say a proper goodbye.

you were writing, but the words felt disjointed and uncertain. the only coherent threads in your mind were the vivid memories you held with matt, each one weaving through your thoughts like a haunting refrain.

the ink from your pen flowed freely onto the paper, creating a tapestry of words even as tears welled in your eyes, blurring the lines between emotion and expression.

as you completed the final sentence, you gently placed your pen down, allowing the tears that had been welling up to cascade freely from your eyes, each drop a silent testament to the emotions etched within your words.

your heart constricted with a sudden, intense pang. but then, the sound of your front door clicking open broke through the haze, your head snapping toward the source of the unexpected intrusion.

"y/n?" matt's voice reverberated through the house, a resonant echo that amplified your growing panic.

you quickly opened your drawer, tossing your pen inside with a sense of urgency. grasping the piece of paper tightly, your eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for a suitable place to hide it, if only for the meantime. your mind raced, considering and discarding potential hiding spots, each one seeming inadequate under the pressure of the moment.

your heart raced with mounting intensity as you discerned the deliberate footsteps of matt ascending the stairs, each step echoing ominously and amplifying your sense of impending confrontation.

you swiftly crumpled the paper in your trembling hands, casting it to the ground with a hurried flick. using your foot, you deftly kicked it to the side, hoping to obscure it from view.

matt opened the door, his gaze locking onto yours. his eyes, which had initially held a stern intensity, softened almost immediately, a subtle shift that spoke volumes.

"hi, sweetheart," he murmured, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he quietly closed the door behind him. "you okay? you don't look well," he continued, his voice laced with concern as he approached you. his hands tenderly cupped your face, his eyes meticulously examining your features for any sign of distress.

his eyes meticulously traced the contours of your face, lingering on the more pronounced cheekbones that seemed to have become more defined over time. he noted the somber shadows beneath your eyes, dark bags that told the silent tale of sleepless nights and unspoken worries.

his gaze moved with a deliberate slowness, absorbing every detail as if trying to understand the depth of your weariness through the subtle changes in your appearance.

it's true. you don't look well at all. it seems you've neglected self-care, with showering becoming an infrequent luxury rather than a daily ritual. you haven't been nourishing yourself properly, if at all. sleep has eluded you for many moons, leaving you in a state of perpetual exhaustion. your once sun-kissed skin had now taken on a pallid hue, a stark contrast to its former vitality.

he surveyed your room, his eyes taking in the disarray before finally settling back on you.

"i was going to discuss something else with you, but..." he murmured softly, his thumb delicately tracing the contours of your face, lingering as if to memorize every curve. "do you want me to run a bath for you?" matt inquired, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul.

a bath does sound nice, you muse internally, the thought wrapping around you like a warm, comforting embrace.

"yeah..." you murmur softly, accompanied by a gentle nod. matt's smile widens, his hands falling to his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if reluctant to let go. you turn around slowly, the weight of the moment lingering in the air, a silent understanding passing between you.

his hand found its way to the small of your back, a reassuring presence that guided you with gentle insistence towards the bathroom, each step a silent promise of comfort and care.

you stood in the middle of the bathroom, feeling the cool tiles beneath your feet, as he turned the faucet of your bathtub on. he then bent down, opening the cabinet under your sink with practiced ease, retrieving a bath bomb with a flourish, its vibrant colors promising a moment of tranquility.

he plopped the bath bomb into the water, watching as it dissolved and painted a mesmerizing tapestry of colors across the surface. turning to face you, his eyes reflected the swirling hues, a silent invitation to join in the moment of serene beauty.

"up," he said softly, his hands deftly finding their way to the hem of your shirt. as you lifted your arms, matt carefully guided the fabric upwards, the motion slow and deliberate, as though savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

matt discards the shirt into the laundry basket with a casual flick, his hands then finding their place on your hips. with a gentle yet firm pull, he slides your sweatpants down, the fabric pooling at your feet as you step out of them, the movement fluid and unhurried.

you slowly walked over to the bathtub, each step deliberate and measured. as you approached, matt turned the faucet off with a precise motion, the water now still and inviting as you stepped inside, feeling the warmth envelop you.

you felt the warmth of the water envelop your skin, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips for the first time in what felt like an eternity. the gentle embrace of the water seemed to wash away the weight of countless days, leaving behind a fleeting moment of pure serenity.

"i'm gonna be back," matt said, his voice a gentle promise as he left the bathroom, the door closing softly behind him. you sank further into the bathtub, the water cradling you as you closed your eyes, surrendering to a moment of deep relaxation.

matt surveyed your room, his eyes absorbing the disarray with a contemplative gaze before he made his way to your bed, each step deliberate amidst the chaos.

he meticulously made your bed, replacing the sheets with fresh, crisp ones and arranging the pillows with deliberate care, ensuring each one found its rightful place.

he then gathered the scattered dirty clothes from the floor, swiftly descending to the laundry room. with a practiced motion, he deposited the soiled sheets and garments into the washer before making his way back upstairs.

he then approached your desk with a discerning eye, methodically organizing the clutter and discarding any paper that served no purpose. his gaze landed on a piece of paper lying adjacent to the bin. he intended to discard it, but the extensive writing it bore caught his attention.

he picked it up, carefully uncrumpling it and placing it onto your table. he was about to move on, but something made him glance back at it. there, amidst the text, was his name, written with unmistakable clarity.

his brow furrowed in contemplation as he delicately retrieved the piece of paper, his fingers tracing its edges with a sense of curiosity.

matt,

i don't even know where to begin. my heart is breaking as i write this, and i can't help but think of all the memories we've shared. every laugh, every tear, every quiet moment where we just existed together. you were my everything, and i wish i could have been stronger for you.

i've been fighting this darkness for so long, and it's like a weight that i can't lift anymore. i've tried to hold on, for you, for us, but i'm so tired, matt. i feel like i'm suffocating, and there's no air left for me to breathe. please know that this isn't your fault. you did everything you could, and you were my light in the darkest times.

i'm so sorry for the pain this will cause you. i wish i could stay and be the person you deserve, but i can't keep pretending that i'm okay. i don't want you to remember me like this, broken and lost. think of the times we danced in the kitchen, the nights we stayed up talking about our dreams, the mornings we woke up tangled in each other's arms. hold on to those moments and let them bring you comfort.

whenever you look at the sunset, think of me. think of the warmth and the beauty, and let it remind you of the love we shared. as much as it might hurt, i want you to move on. my selfish actions shouldn't take away your happiness and your potential to become better. you deserve all the happiness in the world, and i hope one day you'll find it again. don't let my absence take away your light. keep shining, keep loving, and keep living. i'll always be with you, in your heart, in your memories.

with all my love,

y/n

as soon as matt finished reading the letter, tears began to cascade down his face uncontrollably. he felt as though the very air had been stolen from his lungs, each breath a struggle as the weight of the words pressed heavily upon his heart.

he let out a soft sob at the thought of losing you to something he could’ve helped with. oblivious to your suffering, he was tormented by the realization that you had never confided in him.

matt stumbled into the bathroom, his hands trembling as he clutched the note, the paper crinkling under the pressure of his grip. his eyes, red and swollen from the relentless tears that refused to cease, bore the weight of his anguish. y

ou looked up from the bathtub, your face a poignant blend of exhaustion and sorrow, the dark circles under your eyes speaking volumes of sleepless nights and silent suffering. the room seemed to close in around him, the air thick with unspoken words and the heavy scent of despair.

"matt?" you mutter, your voice laced with a palpable concern, each syllable trembling as it escapes your lips, reflecting the depth of your unease and the gravity of the moment.

matt raises his trembling hand, revealing the crumpled letter, and in that instant, you feel your heart seize, as if time itself has momentarily halted.

"what is this?" his voice cracked, but now it carried a sharp, almost accusatory edge. "what are you doing?"

you could barely meet his eyes, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like an unrelenting tide. "matt, i... i don't know what i'm doing. i'm so lost. i'm so alone."

he dropped to his knees beside the tub, the note still clutched tightly in his hand. "you think this is the answer? just leaving me like this?" his voice trembled, a volatile mix of anger and hurt lacing every word.

tears streamed down your cheeks as you reached out to touch his face, your fingers trembling. "i'm sorry, matt. i feel like i'm drowning in my own thoughts. i don't know how to make it stop."

he shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface like a simmering cauldron. "you don't care about what this would do to me? to us? you think disappearing is the solution?"

you leaned in, your breath trembling as you delicately brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. you paused for a moment, your fingers lingering on his skin, tracing the contours of his face as if trying to memorize every detail.

then, with a tenderness that belied the turmoil within you, you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "i don't want to, but i feel so trapped. it's like i'm stuck in this darkness and i can't find my way out."

matt's eyes flashed with a tumultuous blend of anger and desperation. "you can't just give up! we have to fight this together. running away won't solve anything."

"i don't know how, matt. i don't know how to let you in when i can't even understand what's happening to me," you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled away, feeling the warmth of his hands cupping your face.

"we'll figure it out together," he whispered, his voice filled with determination but still tinged with frustration. he took a deep breath, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face, as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory. "just promise me you'll stay. we'll find a way through this, i swear."

you nodded, tears cascading down your cheeks like a relentless stream. "i'm scared, matt. i'm so scared of what i'm feeling," you confessed, your voice quivering with the weight of your emotions.

he pulled you into a tight embrace, his own tears mingling with yours. "i know, but you're not alone. i'm right here with you, every step of the way," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of your fears, as his arms tightened around you, anchoring you in the shared vulnerability of the moment.

you clung to him, the warmth of his hug a small comfort in the storm of your mind. "thank you, matt. i don't know what i'd do without you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you buried your face in his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

"you'll never have to find out," he vowed, his voice steady and strong, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface. "we'll get through this, together," he promised, his words a resolute anchor as his grip tightened, conveying a fierce determination to weather the storm side by side.

with that, you allowed yourself to lean into his strength, the darkness still looming but no longer as suffocating. matt's unwavering support and his raw, honest emotions were the beacon you needed to start navigating your way back from the abyss.

»--•--«

it had been half a year since matt had stumbled upon the letter that bared your soul's darkest thoughts. true to his word, he had been a steadfast beacon, guiding you through the tempestuous seas of your despair.

now, you find yourself enveloped in a profound sense of contentment, a state of happiness that has eluded you for what feels like an eternity. matt, with unwavering dedication, facilitated your journey into therapy, and his presence has become a constant in your life, as if he has seamlessly integrated himself into your very existence, never straying from your side.

you would find solace in the nights spent at his place, and he would reciprocate by staying over at yours. matt, with meticulous care, ensured that every action he took was aimed at nurturing your well-being and lifting your spirits.

he unearthed a myriad of shared hobbies for the two of you to indulge in, much like the one you're presently engaged in.

you and matt find yourselves amidst a picturesque picnic, where he has decided to embrace the art of painting as well.

your paintbrush delicately grazed the canvas, a gentle smile playing on your lips as you meticulously brought a beautiful garden to life through your strokes.

"matt! look," you giggle softly, your voice a melodic whisper, as matt leans over, his eyes twinkling with curiosity and admiration, to behold the intricate masterpiece you've crafted.

"that looks beautiful, sweetheart," he murmured tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, as a delicate pink hue blossomed across your cheeks.

“y’think so?” you inquire, turning towards him with a mixture of hope and curiosity in your eyes, seeking the affirmation and reassurance that only his words could provide.

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in, planting a tender kiss onto your lips. "i know so," he murmured with a smile that spoke volumes of his unwavering certainty.

as you both continued painting, a comfortable silence enveloped the space between you. the gentle hum of nature filled the air, with the chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves composing a symphony of tranquility that seemed to dance around you.

matt broke the silence, his voice imbued with a thoughtful resonance. he paused for a moment, glancing around as if the memories were painted in the very air around you. "do you remember the first time we came here? it was right after that big storm, and everything was so fresh and new."

you laughed softly, the memory vivid in your mind. the sound of your laughter seemed to blend with the gentle rustling of leaves, creating a harmonious melody. "yeah, we got soaked trying to find shelter, but it was worth it. the meadow looked like a scene from a fairy tale."

he nodded, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes reflecting the warmth of the memory. "i think that's when i knew this place would always be special to us. it's like our own little world, untouched by everything else."

you looked at him, feeling a surge of affection swell within you, like a tide rising to meet the shore. "it's not just the place, matt. it's what we've built together. the memories, the growth... it's all part of our story."

he squeezed your hand gently, his eyes reflecting the same sentiment, a silent echo of your own feelings. "you're right. and i wouldn't trade any of it for the world."

"you know," you began, dipping your brush into a shade of blue, watching the pigment mix with the water, swirling gently before lifting it to the canvas and applying it with careful, deliberate strokes, "i never thought i'd feel this peaceful again."

matt glanced over, his own painting a beautiful mess of colors and emotions, each brushstroke layered with meaning and depth. "i always knew you would," he replied, his voice soft yet unwavering. "you've come so far, y/n. it's incredible to see you like this."

you smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling with genuine happiness, a warmth spreading through your chest. "i couldn't have done it without you, matt. your support, your patience... it meant everything."

you both fell silent again, the weight of your shared history settling comfortably around you like a well-worn blanket. it was in these moments of quiet reflection that you truly appreciated the profound depth of your bond.

finally, you lifted your brush, a newfound resolve kindling within your heart. "to new beginnings," you said, your voice steady and imbued with hope.

matt echoed your words, his smile a reflection of your own. "to new beginnings," he repeated, his voice resonating with the same hopeful resolve.

tags — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668

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bellaxgiornata · 4 months ago

Text

A Favor from the Devil |Chapter One|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Mom!Reader Word Count: 2.2k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Domestic abuse, depictions/mentions of sexual assault, struggles with past trauma, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut (possibly more warnings to come)

Summary: Between working cases at Nelson, Murdock, and Page and combating crime as Daredevil in Hell’s Kitchen at night, Matt had little time for much else. Until a new neighbor moves in across the hall and you attract his attention with your odd behavior. But when your quiet four year old doesn't just befriend the Devil–she unravels his biggest secret–Matt only grows closer and more protective of the both of you. Inevitably he learns the truth of your past, but that's not what surprises him most. It's a favor you ask of the Devil–a favor that initially leaves Matt conflicted.

a/n: This is a story I've had in my head for quite a few months now and have steadily been working on for a bit for myself, but now I've decided to share it. I've spent quite a bit of time outlining and fleshing out the story--more than I usually do. As always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kee-0-kee @dethspllz @a-half-empty-g1rl @senjoritanana

“And that's the end,” you said.

Closing the book in your lap, you glanced up from the brightly colored illustrations of animals on the back cover to your daughter who sat clutching Barnabas, the stuffed teddy bear that she never went to bed without. Her eyes had grown wide and hopeful as they held your gaze–a look you'd long since become familiar with. It was the same one she always gave you when she was about to stall in an attempt to avoid her inevitable bedtime. And it often worked on you, whether she realized it or not.

“Again?” Evelyn asked softly, a little hand reaching out towards the book. “Please, mama?”

“Cricket,” you replied gently, glad to hear she was stringing more words together tonight despite the excitement of this evening's move. “I've already read it five times now. I think it's time we put it away for tonight and you get to sleep.”

Evelyn's face fell at your answer and the sight pained you. It didn’t help that you knew just how anxious she'd been the entire weekend with all the big changes you both had going on yet again. She'd spent the past week barely saying more than a single word because of it.

“The book will still be here tomorrow,” you promised her. “We can read it again then.”

“Helps me sleep,” she whispered.

The growing frown curving her lips downwards and the little crease forming between her furrowed brows tugged at your heart. Especially with how she looked so small tucked inside the too-large sleeping bag you'd recently purchased at a thrift store. It looked as if she was being swallowed up by the giant purple thing considering she didn't even take up half the length of it.

Sighing, you felt your resolve fading the longer she stared up at you with her pleading eyes. With everything that you'd both been through over the past few months, and how you'd already felt guilty for all of the things you'd done wrong and hadn't been able to give her–which included an actual bed to sleep in once you'd gotten this apartment–you knew you wouldn't be able to resist that look. The very least you could do was read the book to her for a sixth time.

Leaning back once more against the bedroom wall behind you, you settled in for another few minutes on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright,” you relented. “I can read it just one more time for you, cricket. But then you've got to promise me something. Can you do that?”

The expression on her face changed, her small nose slightly scrunching up as her head turned to the side. “What?” she asked.

“Promise me that you'll actually go to sleep when I'm done,” you said, reaching a hand out to lightly ruffle her hair. “Because it's late and you've got your first day of preschool in the morning. Remember?”

“Oh,” she whispered, visibly sinking lower into the sleeping bag.

You frowned. She'd been nervous for that, too.

“Hey,” you said, your hand smoothing her hair before coming to gently rest along her shoulder. “You'll have fun there, I promise. I know it can seem scary going somewhere new, but you've been doing a great job adjusting to all the new things we've been through already. And you'll make friends, Evie. It'll be alright, I promise.”

The doleful look on her face didn't waver despite your attempt to comfort her. You hoped that beginning preschool tomorrow in conjunction with yet another move didn't set her back to nonverbal responses again. Guilt burned inside of you at the thought of how much your previous situation had led her to become so timid and quiet, afraid to use her own voice. It didn't matter that everyone at Hope Haven had tried to reassure you that none of what you'd been through was your fault, that you had done everything you could when you could. That didn't stop you from still feeling wholly responsible.

You should have seen it coming. Should have done something sooner.

But that was in the past now.

“And after work I'll pick you up and bring you back home with me,” you told her, trying to lighten her mood. “We can eat tonight's leftover pizza for dinner. And maybe I can get us some ice cream on the way home. How does that sound, cricket?”

Evelyn's hands began fidgeting with the edge of her sleeping bag, rolling it up between her small fingers. Her eyes remained downcast, avoiding yours. You knew she often fidgeted when she was anxious, a habit that just seemed wrong for a four year old to have acquired.

“Is this home?” she asked.

The ever present guilt in your stomach burned, your chest tightening at the unexpected and loaded question. You hated that she worried about things that no four year old should be worrying about, too. Another thing that was all your fault.

Expression softening, you nodded. “Yeah, Evie,” you answered, your hand dropping down to wrap around her little one that was still fidgeting with the edge of her sleeping bag. “This is home. We're staying here. Hopefully for a long, long time.”

Glancing up at you from beneath her lashes, you could see the expression on her face had yet again changed. This time she was staring up at you with a look that you absolutely hated seeing on her little face. One full of fear and uncertainty. A particular memory flashed through your mind at the sight of it and the acid in your stomach had a wave of nausea hitting you. Eyes briefly dropping down to the scar across the back of your right hand, you tried to fight back the tremble that had begun in it.

“We're safe?” Evie asked.

Attempting to swallow down the lump that had formed in the back of your throat, you nodded. You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, though it felt like your heart was shattering in that moment. Because after all, it had also been your fault that it had taken so long to get the pair of you somewhere safe.

“Yes,” you stated, your trembling hand gripping the book in your lap tighter in an attempt to calm the quivering. “We're safe here. Don't ever worry about that, alright? That's for me to worry about. And I will always make sure you're safe. You hear me? Always .”

There was a long pause before she very slowly nodded her head just once. Your left hand patted hers tenderly, sending her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. You hoped it had been, because you'd been doing your best to appear more put together than you actually felt lately. You didn't need Evie to be worrying about anything else.

“So,” you said, trying to change the topic, “I guess we should get back to finishing our bedtime story, huh?”

Evie nodded vigorously, pushing herself more upright in her sleeping bag, her expectant eyes on you. You sent her another smile before clearing your throat and focusing back down on the book in your lap. Opening it once more with your still quivering hand, you tried to push the bad memories from your mind as you began to read in an animated voice.

It wasn't until four pages later that you'd glanced up at Evie. She had leaned over to see the pictures in the book while you read, all traces of fear gone from her face. Instead, she looked enraptured in the story that you knew she had completely memorized by now with how often you'd read it to her. There was a ghost of a smile on her face as she cuddled Barnabas tightly to her chest. And in that moment your heart felt full of hope.

Running a hand across your forehead, you paced your way around the mostly unfurnished apartment you'd just moved into this evening. The sparseness of the place was truthfully embarrassing. Currently all you had was Evie's sleeping bag, a blanket and lumpy pillow set aside by Evie’s bedroom door which would be your bed for the foreseeable future, and the empty boxes tossed around what would someday hopefully be a living room. For now it was just a large, empty room beside the small, empty kitchen.

As you paced around another overturned, half-broken down cardboard box, your shoulders dropped. You'd managed to pack all of Evelyn's and yours’ belongings in those boxes now lying discarded on the floor. Just six boxes fit your entire life. You certainly hadn't had much when you'd grabbed Evelyn and ran those couple of months ago. Just one garbage bag filled with mostly her clothes and things with a few of yours mixed in. Though even if you'd had time to pack more, there wouldn't have been much else to bring with you because neither of you’d ever had much to begin with.

And now here you were struggling to afford the very little you had as it was, no matter how desperately you were trying to stretch your measly new salary. It pained you to not be able to provide properly for you and your daughter. You remembered how you’d felt that very last night you'd stayed at Hope Haven, the women's shelter that you’d be forever grateful for taking the pair of you in and helping you start your new life.

Long after Evelyn had gone to sleep on your last night there, you'd laid awake in bed crying quietly to yourself as you stared at that damn purple sleeping bag mocking you from across the room. You’d felt like a terrible mother–for more than one reason. As tears ran down your cheeks, you’d vowed to save up to buy Evie a bed, doing whatever you needed to until you could. You'd give her that at least, even if it meant skipping meals whenever you could to save the extra cash. But honestly, you found yourself already often having to skip meals just so you could afford to keep Evie fed.

Pausing in your aimless pacing, you came to a stop beside one of the large windows in the living room. Placing a hand against the cool glass, you looked outside at the city. Your eyes inevitably found their way to the massive billboard positioned on the building across the street which hung at precisely your apartment's height. But fortunately for you the eyesore was more directly across from the apartment next door to yours, making it less noticeable and disruptive from your view. Though you had no choice but to feel grateful for the hideous thing because it had been the sole reason you'd gotten such a reduced rent in the first place. Otherwise you'd never have been able to afford a place in a relatively safe area of Hell’s Kitchen.

As you blankly stared outside at the billboard, watching the advertisements change from one to the next, you hoped things would be different here. Better. Because both you and Evie needed that. Your daughter needed a stable place to live, one she felt safe coming home to for once, and you desperately wanted to provide that for her. With every fiber of your being you hoped that this place would finally become the home you'd been struggling to create since the day she was born.

Pushing away from the glass, you rubbed at your tired eyes. It was late and you knew you should probably get some sleep yourself now that Evie had finally fallen asleep a little while ago. But the prospect of sleeping on the cold, hard floor with nothing but a singular blanket and pillow didn't sound that appealing. You certainly weren't rushing to get to sleep yourself.

Making your way back across the apartment, you reluctantly picked up the blanket and pillow from the ground. Carrying both of them over towards the closed door of Evelyn's bedroom, you set the pillow down. With both hands you tossed the blanket out, splaying it wide across the floor. You realized it was probably ridiculous sleeping in front of her bedroom door like this, especially because there was another bedroom, but it made you feel better. Because laying here, you knew that you were between your daughter and anyone who might come through the front door–namely one person in particular.

Not that he even knew where you were.

Beginning to lower yourself to the floor, preparing to get some rest, movement caught your attention out of the kitchen window across the room. You stopped instantly, head spinning fully towards the window as you sat half-crouched like a startled animal. Adrenaline and fear spiked through you as your eyes caught a shadow darting across the neighboring rooftop. For a moment you could have sworn the shadow had been shaped like a person, but as you scanned the rooftop now, you didn't see anything at all.

Shaking your head, you blinked hard a couple of times as you finally sunk to the floor. You had to have been seeing things because you were overtired and on edge. That's all it was. There was no reason for someone to be running along a rooftop late at night.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

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evilminji · 5 months ago

Text

Oh god :Dc a Danny Summons Contract

No you guys DON'T UNDERSTAND-!

Just. Danny! Only Danny! He fucked up. Some ancient Warring States Ninja fucked up. They BOTH agreed to NEVER talk about it again.

Cause like? That ninja? Was a GROWN ASS MAN. A qualified BAMF of the highest order. He WAS the Danger, thank you very much. So, he? Will NEVER live down being saved by...well...

*holds up wildly struggling, noodle limbed, sad wet raccoon havin a terrible day lookin, meat thresher on legs*

THIS.

It's a BABY. Honestly, his Clan's TODDLERS know how to throw better punch. This scrawny infant baby child is both? His new son. AND an embarrassing trainwreck in motion. FFS kid, that's not how you- No! NO! Don't you DARE bite that opponent! You don't know where they've B-!

Kid they could have BEEN POISONED!!! Spit um OUT! DROP UM! Drop that RIGHT NOW! What are you? A dead Inuzuka? A god forsaken Hatake!? DROP IT!!!

It...sure is An Adventure™.

One of many early "here's how you DON'T make a Summoning contract" experiments, that Clans without seal masters were attempting. He's honestly lucky HIS attempt ended with him still... you know... ALIVE. Problem, though? After bunking for like... a few months? A year? In the command center?

And you know, terrorizing the GIW into complete collapse. Parenting him through some pretty serious life changes. Somehow making Sam MORE terrifying. And a whole host of off screen ninja shenanigans? They figure out? Oh. Only way to send him HOME is to either accept or refuse a Contract.

They gotta make one.

First they head to Frostbite for a recommendation, then? Off to a reputable Ghost Lawyer they go! They have to camp in the waiting room for like... a week. But? Worth it! The contract is AMAZING. And terrifying! Protects them both. Can't be used against EITHER. And that loophole you're thinking off? Ten pages worth of point 4 script, twenty three yards down, for why it's a BAD IDEA and breaks contract~!

Neither of them can make the other do SHIT! Only fully consensual, mutually beneficial, ass kicking here! If we FEEL LIKE IT!

Ninja dad insisted. Never sign a contract with anything less then extreme paranoia, kid! Leave no "implied" or "spirit of the rules"! Loopholes are holes in your armor, with which your enemy stabs you in the back!

Danny, tearfully, sends ninja dad home.

Gross. Emotions all over his armor. If only there wasn't all this sand in his eyes, he'd definitely complain about it. *stoic ninja hug*

Danny? Become a king. One of many. An Ancient. Becomes FUCKING HUUUUUUUUGE. Like? "Aw, your city is so pwecious~☆ n smol~♡! Whats it called again? New York?" Huge. A fuckin LEVIATHAN made of void, stars, and space ice. A Winter corpse, marked by lightning, that became the night sky itself. With a crown of aurora borealis, ever shifting, like flame.

Proportional, in a way, to Summon Bosses. Just as a normal human is to a normal toad, a normal cat, a normal slug. So too, is Danny LARGER then them.

You know... when he feels like it.

The contract? Passes down. Ninja dad does warn his kin. Prooooobably not gonna answer you. He only answers ME cause I'm, well, ME.

Fuckin BET. They declare. And lose. Repeatedly.

Time marches on. The Senju and Uchiha has their Drama. Dear KAMI do they Have Their Drama. Please Stop, says everyone. They... do not. The contract? Fuckin STOLEN. Because of course it is.

It's a HUGE, glowing, death radiating Summons Contract kept in a shrine behind like... SO MANY seals. It makes anyone less then a full grown JOUNIN physically SICK to even touch! Prolonged exposure kills people! Of COURSE it gets fuckin stolen. It's obviously a super, mega, ultra rare AMAZEBALLS Summon Contract... right?

Eeeeeeeeeeeh *so-so hand motion* KINDA!

It IS technically that.

They ain't wrong. Cause Danny IS an Adult now. A King. Connected to the Zone. An ANCIENT. Beyond and Above his mortal origins, even as, by being a Halfa, he is utterly the same. That contract is as close as one could GET to having a contract with the Sage himself.

You know... if he answered you.

Felt like your petty bullshit was worth getting up off the couch for.

Not to MENTION? He can make clones! Like.... billions of them now. Has a skeleton army. Is kinda one of the stronger Ancients. But that's not the point. The POINT? Clones. Don't have to be EQUAL facets of self.

You CAN make a .00001% clone of yourself!

Behold *summons poof noise* Lil Baby Man!

The harbinger of Danny! Here to Test Your VIBEZ™. He sends them each time. To be an adorable menace. Cause problems on purpose. Be gremlins, chew on table legs, maybe. You know, the works! They RADIATE his " I Am Death." Energy. But also his "winter, protection, and starlight" vibes... if you're brave enough to LOOK.

If you don't flinch away from a spirit of the dead. Can embrace the chaotic nature of a Zone ghost. Are kind to something that isn't what you expected, that you can USE, that appears weaker then you. Something that seems dumb. Distractable. Useless in battle.

Can you be kind? Do you immediately give up? To recognize a test when you see one? Is your first impulse cruelty? Distain? It tells Danny a lot. Saves him time.

Which? Is how a young Itachi, freshly Jounin'd, gets thrown through an old and rotting wooden gate into what LOOKS like a vaguely demonic death shrine. Hmmm, concerning. Baby 'tachi has been separated from his teammates. Is having a Bad Time™. The crows can't really help much here.

And, well, that IS a Summoning contract...

He's outnumbered. Low on both weapons and Chakra. Refuses to do anything BUT return home to his family. His baby brother. Is it WISE? No. It is in fact, incredibly, incredibly UNWISE. He has no idea what he'll be agreeing too. But... so long as he live just a bit longer...

He slams an earth wall against the entrance.

Falls back to the Glowing Contract.

Stumbles, as even landing near it makes his insides revolt. His skin prickle and burn. Colder then the nine tails Chakra, emptier, yet somehow endlessly more ABSOLUTE.

It's like the very Chakra in his body screams against it. Rejects it's mere presence. As though all thing alive REFUSE it with desperation and fear. He has no time to muse upon this. It hurt his hand to touch. He does so anyway. Struggling to hold the earthwall against enemy attacks.

He doesn't bother to read the contract. Flings it from the pedestal, to unravel, so he may sign quickly. There. With a practiced motion, he nicks his finger, and scrawls his future away. Whatever demons may come. Whatever monsters this brings. Please... let him live long enough to say goodbye.

The world CRACKS as he summons.

Death and the Shinigami are not the same.

Even those without the ability to sense are battered by the tsunami of... not killing intent. No. There is no intent. No killing. Just... knowing. Heraldry. That Death comes for us all. You can not escape. Foolish and small, is this what you waste your existence on? Ants before a god. Dust before the heavens. He... he can not... breathe...

Frozen. Eyes wide. Sharigan spinning, spinning, spinning. Capturing the delicate lace of nothingness, absence of life, as it drifts by. Unable to move from where he kneels, bloody hand pressed to the ground, in a Summoning.

What Has He Done?

Outside there is panic. Screaming. They flee. He... he wishes he could flee. W...why can't he-? *THHHWAP!* Mmmmph?! Something small and almost bird shaped smacks into his face like a flung ration. Tiny arms spread wide to cling to his bangs and dangle. The deathy power fades... almost... almost as though it were... a threat display?

He focuses on the tiny creature whining and hugging his face. It... is a floating snake toddler? Or is it dragon? They have sharp little claws and stars along their face, a tiny whispy mane of white. Likely a dragon child then. They stick their small tounge out slightly, eyes the blankly trusting stare of small children everywhere.

He clearly want to be carried. Ah. Of course, little one.

Did... did he agree to raise a dragon?

Just?

Itachi, smol. Serious. With lil baby man floped on his head or tucked lovingly in his arms. The TEXTBOOK definition of "he don't bite" "YES HE DO!!!" For everyone but Itachi and Sasuke. To whom he is, of course, an INNOCENT BABY who has NEVER done anything wrong EVER. An angel! Why is everyone being so MEAN to poor innocent baby man? Boo hoo~!

It fucks up SO MANY plans.

Because Itachi. A smol child. INSISTS he is a Father now. What are you going to do? Say he can be? Why? Because he's a CHILD? Which is it? Is he a Jounin or a Dependant? An adult in the eyes of the law or a child to be protected by said law from pushing him off to war? Old enough to die, old enough to parent his dragon son!

And SORRY Father, he CANT join Anbu. Who would be there for his child? Ah, he should join a parenting group. *various competent parent instincts go haywire over this tiny Uchiha child in need of parenting* Danzo? For some reason his son seems to really, REALLY hate him. Better avoid him. His child doesn't know yet not to bite respected elders.

Sasuke? Gets to be an UNCLE! To a DRAGON! He takes his job very seriously.

It's the best PR the clan has ever had.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes @mutable-manifestation

#dp x naruto #dpxnaruto #minji's writing #lil dragon man au #Danny Summons au

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