#cœur qui bat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

siampie · 5 months ago

Text

Risk and Reward||Chapter 8: La Vie en Rose

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: In the aftermath of your night of passion with Matt, you are trying to determine what is the nature of those new feelings that are arising.

Warnings/tags: 18+, MDNI, smut, p in v, oral (male receiving), protected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks, always.), lots of fluff

A/N: Here it goes, a little more smut in this chapter.

Previous Chapter || Chapter List || Next chapter

Masterlist || join my taglist

Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie; @sunflowersandsapphires; @abbyhaslongshorts; @schneeflocky; @danzer8705;

@ebathory997; @sarraa-26; @cheshirecat484; @rebeccapineapple

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Song the title is referring to:

Il est entré dans mon cœur (I welcomed in my heart)

Une part de bonheur (A piece of happiness)

Dont je connais la cause (Of which I know the reason)

C’est lui pour moi (It’s him for me)

Moi pour lui dans la vie (Me for him, in this life)

Il me l’a dit, l’a juré pour la vie (He told me so, swore it for life)

Et, dès que je l’aperçois (And as soon as I see him)

Alors je sens en moi (Well, I can feel inside of me)

Mon cœur qui bat (My heart beating)

You had not stirred up in your sleep when Matt slid out of bed. He huffed out a quiet laugh when you let out a soft snore. He had quietly gotten dressed, putting on grey sweatpants and a dark shirt. He only hoped he had food in his fridge, enough to cook some breakfast. Matt didn’t have a habit to stock his fridge with food, although he would argue he was getting better at it. His ears were on you while he was cooking breakfast. A slow lazy grin pulled at his lips as he remembered the night before. Your body going on overdrive while you offered yourself to him. He loved the way your body had reacted to him, to his voice and his touch.

Matt considered himself lucky to have found you. It was probably too early to say that he was lucky. Maybe he would ruin it one way or the other, as he always did. He just couldn’t help but enjoyed the way you always reached out to him when you were together in a room. Always seeking his touch as though you couldn’t get enough of it. He never wanted you to stop. He was also aware that he would have to let you know about the Devil. He was just afraid that once you knew, you would just stop. That you would want nothing to do with him anymore. And he didn’t think he could bare the thought of that happening.

You padded into the living room as he was pulling two cups out. A slow smile pulled at his lips, you were wearing his shirt. And as you wrapped your arms around his middle from behind, he could smell himself on you. You buried your face between his shoulder blades while he poured the coffee.

“How did you sleep?” Matt asked you, his hand wrapping around one of your wrists. He pulled you around him, so, you could face him.

“Amazing.” His arms wrapped around you. You yawned, burying your face in his chest.

“Not a morning person, uh?” He chuckled.

“Not really,” you grumbled.

“Hopefully, some coffee and breakfast might make it better.” Matt suggested, his lips met your temple tenderly before he steered you to the small table.

Rubbing sleep out of your eyes, you took in the sight of Matt bringing breakfast to you. It was a beautiful sight. Something you could get used to. He placed the plate in front of you, and your stomach grumbled at the smell of the omelet. You were not much one for breakfast, it was one coffee and nothing less. But you had worked up an appetite from the night before, and now you were famished.

“How do you take your coffee?” Matt asked from the kitchen.

“Black and three teaspoons of sugar.” You answered. “Is that bell pepper?”

“I had some left in the fridge. And thought I could make it fancy.” He answered, shrugging off one shoulder.

“Well, it does look fancy.” You smiled at him. “Smells delicious too.” You thanked him as he put the coffee cup in front of you. He tilted his head slightly, his unseeing eyes focused somewhere over your shoulder. “What?”

“You’re not eating.” He said sitting across from you.

“Oh—I’m waiting for you.” You shrugged smiling.

“You don't have to wait for me.” He smiled softly, grabbing his own fork. "Just go ahead."

“Bon Appétit.”

You felt pleasantly sore from the night before. It felt so surreal for you to be sitting here, having breakfast with Matt. He wasn’t your first boyfriend by no means, although your previous relationships weren’t as successful. You never truly worried about them, but sitting here with Matt, enjoying your breakfast, you were expecting for the other shoe to drop. You were expecting for something to go wrong. Because you were happy, because it mattered.

You were sure it was too soon to say anything. It had barely been a month. And maybe, you weren’t entirely thinking clearly. You had just woken up. And the night before, you and Matt had engaged in sexual intercourse for the very first time. And that feeling in your chest was probably the result of that. Maybe, you were getting your feelings all mixed up. You might feel different tomorrow. But right in this moment, you didn’t want to have breakfast with anyone else but him. The truth was, you didn’t want just anyone. You wanted him. And that truly scared you.

The truth was, you really, really liked him.

“Are you okay?” You asked him suddenly; you were both cuddling on the couch in the quiet apartment.

“What?” Matt exclaimed, a laugh escaping his lips.

“I’ve seen the scars, Matthew.” Your hand ran along his chest, where you knew the scars to be. Matt tensed under your touch. You looked up at him, sensing the shift in the air. “I’m sorry—I—”

“No, it’s okay—it’s just—um—” He cupped your jaw, “I will tell you all about it. Everything. Just not today.”

Your eyes roamed his face, it sounded like a promise. Although, he didn’t look comfortable about the topic. You didn’t know what had happened to him, you were curious. Those scars were almost identical, and you could only imagine how terrible and deep these wounds truly were. Matt wasn’t comfortable with this subject; you could feel it in the way he had tensed under your touch. You weren’t going to push.

“It’s okay.” You reassured him. “I’m not going anywhere. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You moved up so you could kiss him.

You would be patient, and you’d be there to listen. There were certain things that people had a hard time to share, just like you. There were certain things you weren’t ready to share with him. Things from your childhood, you had yet to come to terms with. Memories that were long forgotten. Mainly because your brain had decided to block them out. And only in recent years, some of them had come back. And feelings, emotions you had felt at the time had washed over you. And you wished they had remained repressed a little longer.

Maybe Matt wasn’t ready to revisit something that had been traumatic at the time. And you didn’t want him to revisit it for your own curiosity. So, you would ignore the subject of his scars and not bring them up. Not until he was ready to share his story with you.

You would wait for him.

“Someone had a good weekend.” Amelia commented when you joined her at the foot of her building.

“It was okay.” You shrugged, repressing a smile.

“Okay, uh?” Amelia repeated while you both started to walk together. “That’s it.” She shoved you lightly. “Come on, it was more than okay, wasn’t it?”

You giggled, “yeah, it was.” Amelia jumped up and down, next to you. “It was amazing.”

“You need to give me more than that.”

“No, I won’t kiss and tell. All you need to know is that—Matt is—an excellent lover.”

You and Matt had spent most of Saturday together, but eventually you had to go home. You had borrowed a fresh shirt and gym shorts to go home. And briefly, you had smelled like him. You were truly happy in this new relationship. Was that the honeymoon phase? Where everything felt great, carefree and happy. Where it felt as though nothing could go wrong. You wanted this—honeymoon phase to last for as long as possible. Before life and God came to the realization that you were happy and they just needed to ruin it for you. Before Matt realized you were too much to handle.

You were convinced your mother had walked away for this very reason. You were too much for her. You loved too much, you expected too much in return and she couldn’t handle it or didn’t want to. You didn’t know.

You were too much and also not enough. Not enough for her to stay. Not enough for her to come back. Not enough for her to love. You were simply not enough.

Your father had made you feel the same too. You were too emotional, too dramatic, too generous. As he was, by the way. And at the same time, you weren’t doing enough. You weren’t doing enough around the house. Or you weren’t doing chores fast enough. Or you weren’t making enough money. Whatever you did, was just not enough for him.

You had learned to give yourself some grace over the years. You have learned to love yourself and be kind to yourself. Still, this ill thought of being not enough and too much at the same time kept creeping back. Making you doubt and question relationships, people and yourself.

You should relax and let yourself enjoy this relationship with Matt. But in the back of your head, there was this small voice that kept telling you;

This is too good to be true.

“Alright, stop that!” Amelia bumped her shoulder into yours.

“What?” You turned to her quickly.

“This,” she waved her hand over your form. “The voices in your head are wrong.” She leaned closer to you, “listen, you are happy, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Very much.”

“Then don’t let those voices ruin everything for you.” Amelia reassured you. “Matt couldn’t take his hands off of you. He really likes you. Have a little faith in him.”

“It’s not him the problem.” You said, Amelia laced her arm with yours. “It’s me. I’m sure I’m going to do something that will—put him off.”

“Like what? Loving on him too much? Giving him head?”

“I’m serious, okay?” You snapped. “I always find a way to drive the people I love away. Or I’m the one who ends up walking away. And I really don’t want that happening with Matt.”

She let out a deep sigh, “Trust me, it won’t.” You looked up at her. “You won’t drive him away, and you love him too much to leave now.”

“Never said anything about love.” You stammered out, panicking that you had let something slipped.

“Oh, honey.” She huffed out a laugh as you neared your workplace. “Don’t worry, it’ll be our secret.” She winked at you.

Matt threw the empty bag of take outs while you finished up washing the dishes. His arms wrapped around your waist as you dried off your hands. His nose buried in your neck; you heard him inhale deeply. You brushed your fingers in his arms lightly.

“How early do you have to go to work tomorrow?” You asked quietly.

“Well, that’s the perks of being your own boss. I can afford being a little late.” Matt lips trailed up your neck, finishing their course on your jaw.

You both started swaying, “do you want to spent the night?” You asked him timidly.

“I’d love that very much.” He whispered against your ear.

A small smile pulled at your lips. As you turned around in his arms, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers grazing at the hair on the nape on his neck. You kissed him hard on the lips. You had missed him and you couldn’t wait any longer to have him again. His hands slid down your ass, squeezing it gently. The action pulled a quiet moan out of you.

“Matty?” You panted pulling away, he chased after your lips. “I want to try something.”

“What?”

Without a word you pulled him into your bedroom. Nervous of even breaching the subject, you just decided to initiate it. You had thought about it for a while. You pushed him down onto the bed.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Matt pushed himself up on his elbows.

You started to unbuckle his pants, “I just—I want—”

His hands rested on yours as he sat up, “you don’t have to do that. I’m not expecting you to.”

“I know.” You nodded, your hands sliding on his thick thighs. “But I really want to. And if you’re open to it, I would love to do this for you.” You pushed him back with a kiss on his lips. “Just let me take care of you tonight, okay?”

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you kept kissing him. You reached down to grip him through his pants, slowly stroking him. His fingers entangled in your hair; he pulled your bottom lip between his. You kept stroking him, moans falling from his lips. You let go of his cock, only to open his shirt. You kissed down his jaw, his neck, his chest. You felt his stomach tensed under your lips, tight in anticipation. Your hands reached for his belt, unbuckling it. You knelt between his legs, pulling down his pants, coming face to face with his bulge.

You swallowed your saliva, your breath growing shallow. So was his. You pulled down his boxer, he hissed when the cold air hit his leaking tip. You gripped him at the base. You licked at the salty pre-cum, a needy moan pushing past his lips, one of his hands finding the back of your head.

This was more for you than for him, really. You didn’t really have a good experience when it came to giving oral. You've had partners that had shown themselves forceful. They pushed you beyond your limits which had soured your experience. You wanted to do this for Matt as he had done for you. You wanted to enjoy it. And you trusted Matt enough to try it with him.

You wrapped your lips around his length. His fist tightened in your hair, pulling at them. But he wasn’t pushing your head down on his cock. You couldn’t take him entirely; you didn’t want to gag. So, you went slow, each time swallowing more of him, before coming back up to the sensitive head.

Matt’s head was thrown back against the bed, his eyes shut tight. Moans rising from his chest, cussing every time you go down on him. His free hand fisted the sheets on the bed, as he struggled not to buck into your mouth.

You felt yourself becoming wet as he came undone. The groans and moans you pulled out of him, made you clench your thighs, seeking for some sort of friction to alleviate the pressure that was building. You pulled him out, to breathe, stroking him with your hand.

“Sweetheart—” He moaned out, lifting his head. “I don’t—I don’t think I can last any longer, fuck, please—”

His words died on his tongue when yours swirled around his tip, before taking him again in your mouth. This time you took him a little deeper, your throat hurting a little. You pulled back slightly, he jolted when your tongue rubbed along the smooth head.

He was so lost in his pleasure that he couldn’t hold back anymore. He bucked into your mouth, his fist tight in your hair, pulling at it. You groaned at the sensation; Matt was losing control under your tongue. He was close, nearing his climax. Pleas fell from his lips, begging for that push over the edge.

Without warning, he erupted on your tongue, warm and salty. A filthy moan came out of his lips, your weeping cunt demanding for attention, clenching painfully around nothing. You swallowed it all down, your tongue rubbing against him once more, as he softened in your mouth. You let him fall from your lips, laid a kiss on his thigh, before moving to lie down next to him.

A slow blissed out smile pulled at the corner of his lips. Panting, he turned his face to you.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, your head resting in the palm of your hand. Your hand ran along his torso.

“Yeah, I’m more than okay.” Matt cupped your jaw, pulling your face to his, tasting himself on your tongue. His fingers brushed down your jaw, his hand gently wrapping around your throat. “That was amazing, sweetheart.”

“You enjoyed it, I take it.”

“Very much.” You giggled at his words, leaning over to kiss him. His hand pawed at your thigh, pulling you to him. “You’re wearing too much clothes, sweetie.”

You pushed off of him, to get rid of your clothes while he got rid of his shirt. You crawled back into the bed, and straddled him. His fingers finding your dripping cunt. A filthy moan escaped your chest.

“Shit, you’re so wet.” His finger slid easily into you, his thumb circling your clit. “Is this for me?”

You nodded; your eyes shut tight. You whimpered, “only for you.”

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you, sweetheart?” You nodded, your hips bucking into his hand. “Sucking me off, got you this wet, uh?”

“Yes!” You cried out. Your hand clamped around his wrist when you felt yourself nearing the edge. “I need—to feel you inside—” you panted out. “Please, Matty.”

He pulled his fingers out, while you reach for the condom. You stroked him a few times, his cock hardening in your hand once more. Heavy and warm. You rolled down the condom onto his shaft, before guiding him to your entrance. You slowly slid down onto his cock, taking him slowly, adjusting to him.

Your hands were on his bare chest, your eyes snapping shut as you paused. You sunk lower onto his cock, he filled you entirely.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart.” He praised you, your eyes rolled in the back of your head. “Just like that.” He panted, his hands resting on your hips.

Once he was fully inside of you, you rolled your hips. He let out pleased and throaty moans. You enjoyed it. His eyes were clamped shut. Setting up a slow pace, you grinded along him, his hands cupped your breasts. He kneaded the flesh as you rode him.

"Shit," you hissed. Matt unravelled beneath you, his eyes clamped shut. His hands pawing at you, going from kneading your breasts to gripping your hips. As though he didn't know where to put his hands. He looked erotically beautiful.

His grip on your hips tightened, your fingers clamped around his wrists. Your head fell back on your shoulders, his cock squeezed by your walls. Your moans and groans echoed in the room. Your hips rubbed along him, your pace unsteady as you grew tired.

Matt sat up, his arms wrapped around your back. He pulled you into his chest, his lips latching onto yours. Your hips kept grinding along him, your arms wrapped around his back. He flipped you over, switching your position.

"Oh, fuck!" You cussed, the action catching you by surprise.

It was hot that he switched your position without having to pull out.

"Doing so good for me, sweetie." Matt praised you quietly.

He bucked into you, he was now the one in charge, setting up the pace. Your hands gripped his back tighter, his lips found your pulsing point, in the crook of your neck. You naively thought that the novelty of your relationship, it being the first time sleeping with him, had made the experience so much more enjoyable. You were wrong. The second time around, you didn’t fare any better. You were stuck halfway between a panic attack and rolling around like a cat in heat. Matt’s expression, whenever you could focus long enough to see them, were as lust filled as yours felt. His pulse seemed to be galloping along about neck and neck with yours.

You gave out a sudden cry when he slammed hard into you. Your nails dragged down his back, eliciting a groan out of his chest. Matt pulled back and slammed again into you, without warning your cunt clenched around him. A loud moan echoing through the room, Matt kept bucking into you while you orgasmed, white dancing behind your eyelids.

Your toes curled; your legs tightened around his waist, shaking. Matt kept thrusting into you, slowing his pace as you came down from your high. Your hands raked through his hair, slick with sweat. Your lips latched onto his, swallowing his moans and groans.

“Matt, faster—please.” You panted out, building up to another climax.

He complied. The tip of his cock brushed along the spongy spot inside of you. A whimper escaped your lips, filthy and needy. The sounds you made spurred Matt on, he bucked into you a little faster. Stars erupted behind your eyes, as he kept pushing on this spot with the tip of his cock.

“One more—just one more.” He breathed out in your ear.

“Fuck, yes!” You cried out, gripping his back, tightly.

Matt lowered himself to kiss you deeply as he kept pounding into you. White dancing at the edges of your vision, his thrusts growing sloppier. Your mouth opened, breaking the kiss, to let out a guttural moan. His hips stuttered to a stop, his forehead falling in the crook of your neck, a loud groan rumbling through his chest.

Your pants filled the room, both of you a sweaty mess. His lips brushed on your neck, kissing down your shoulders. Both of you were slowly coming down your high. After a few minutes, he mustered up the energy to pull out of you.

Your hand reached out to his arm, weakly pulling him to you. Matt huffed out a little laugh as he moved closer to you. You kissed his cheek, resting your forehead against his temple. You threw your leg over his hip as he pulled you as close to him as possible.

“I missed you, Matty.” You kissed him softly, “I really did.”

Matt chuckled. “That's good to hear cause I missed you too." His hand rubbed along your thigh. "A lot."

A small smile pulled at your lips, his words filling your chest with a warm feeling. Making your heart swell with—joy, and something else. Something you weren’t entirely ready to face. You thought it was too soon to feel that way about him. And maybe, it was the novelty of it all. Everything was new and beautiful; the sex was great. And your hormones may influence you in that way. This wasn’t love, it probably was the post-coital bliss.

It didn’t matter in the moment though. You were perfectly satisfied falling asleep in Matt’s arms. You could truly get used to this.

“What?” You leaned closer to your mirror. On your neck, a large copper-rich bruise was on display. “Matt!”

“What’s wrong?” He turned to you, tying his tie loosely around his neck.

“You left a hickey on my neck.” You groaned, pointing to your neck. “A very large one too. When did you have time to do that?”

“Well—” Matt smirked, his hand coming up to brush against the offensive mark. “We did get carried away last night.”

“Amelia is gonna have a field day with this.” You grumbled, pouting.

Matt snorted before resting his lips on your brows. “I’m sure it’ll be alright.”

“Have you met Amelia?” You pulled back slightly to glare at him. “She’s merciless.”

“I can imagine,” he pulled you into his chest, burying his nose in his favorite patch of skin.

“Matt?” He hummed in your neck, both of you swaying. “We’re going to be late for work.”

“Or we could stay in bed all day.” He suggested, inhaling deeply. “Naked together, getting to know each other better.” His fingers travelled up and down your spine.

Your breath hitched in your throat. His voice, and his fingers on your spine, ignited the fire in the pit of your stomach. You would love nothing more than to stay in bed with him all day long. But he had his practice than needed him, and you had datelines to meet.

“As tempting as that sounds, and as much as I would love to, we can’t.” You reasoned. “Tell you what,” you pulled away slightly. “We can make that happen this weekend.”

“You’re full of good ideas, sweetheart.” His lips tugged up at the corner.

“Always, my good sir.” You replied back, “come on, hurry up, you still need to stop by your apartment.” You padded back into the bathroom. “We’re definitely going to be late.”

Previous Chapter || Chapter List || Next chapter

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #Spotify

61 notes · View notes

suburbangothic-rp · 3 months ago

Text

suburban gothic;

inspiré par twin peaks, desperate housewives, six feet under, hereditary, welcome to nightvale, euphoria, totally fucked up, american beauty, pretty little liars, murder she wrote, east of eden.

Par où commencer pour présenter ce monde? Pas de contexte déjà rédigé pour le moment, l’idée n’est que latente; si les rues ne se remplissent pas, à quoi bon y bâtir des maisons? Mais l’idée se fait pesante, lourde de ses possibilités.

Pennsylvanie, au pied des Appalaches, la rouille industrielle qui se bat contre la nature sauvage, elle-même lacérée par le tracé méticuleux de l’asphalte. Le long de l’une des ces longues routes, une ville. Une parmi tant d’autres, des milliers comme elle. Plantée sur une grille qui structure l’espace; au centre-ville et à ses bâtiments denses succède l’harmonie de la banlieue résidentielle. L’ordre s’y confond avec la monotonie, le charme se dilue dans l’ennui. L’architecture humaine se révèle creuse, les fissures laissent s’en échapper les échos de complaintes qu’on aurait voulu recouvrir de béton, de gazon ou de peinture fraîche. L’horreur s’excite avec chaque désillusion, secret, péché, danger, crime, frustrations. Le futur est riche en promesses mais demain n’est jamais un autre jour, inéluctable répétition d’hier. On enterre ses rêves sous un lit de bégonias dont on prend soin avec fureur et hystérie, dans l’énergie du désespoir, jusqu’au jour où une bande d’adolescents les piétine pour s'amuser.

La ville est séparée en quartiers; #1 est un petit centre-ville, le lieu des rencontres fortuites, main street, le cœur administratif et commercial du lieu. #2 est un ancien village rattaché à la ville, avec ses rues pittoresques, ses habitants qui n’aiment pas les visiteurs, le calme acheté à prix fort, les fermes reconverties. #3 est l’ancien bassin minier, abandonné, peuplé de mythes et de terreurs, peu à peu remplacé par l’industrie forestière. #4 est la banlieue résidentielle, le théâtre principal de notre jeu de dupes.

L’horreur vient de l’intérieur; du plus vaste, l’intérieur des frontières nationales, au plus intime: le foyer et l’individu. L’extérieur projette: un pays puissant et prospère, des rues propres, un voisinage aimable, des bonnes manières et de jolies choses. Le tout tient du mirage. À l’intérieur, rien ne va, on est à deux doigts de tomber dans le ravin. Les valeurs fières et heureuses sont corrompues; la communauté devient une prison, la religion devient une manipulation, le politique s’achète, la propriété creuse les dettes, le couple se brise.

Tout ne va pas mal; même si le gothique est souvent très sombre, il y existe aussi une place pour d’autres histoires. Edward Scissorhands est LE film du suburban gothic et c’est loin d’être un film d’horreur. Twin Peaks et True Blood mélangent un ton mystérieux avec des moments plus légers. L’excentricité ou la bizarrerie des personnages est d’ailleurs souvent un symptôme des rouages sombres qui font tourner l’histoire. Les tags associés au gothique sur Tumblr mènent à des contenus sinistres, mais chacun.e est libre d’aller un peu plus loin. À titre personnel par exemple, je pense que les Sims 2 est un jeu à l’ambiance gothique (: On fait ce qu’on veut avec le concept de gothique, et ce sera pareil sur le forum si le projet séduit et intéresse. (si besoin, je peux rédiger un texte un peu plus élaboré sur l'american gothic et ses déclinaisons régionales/thématiques)

Les années 2010; LA décennie des différentes gothic aesthetics. L’une des pires crises financières de l’histoire est passée par là et a fait beaucoup de mal au rêve américain. Le traumatisme est bien là, encore aujourd’hui, chez les individus comme dans les sociétés dans lesquelles ils évoluent. Le paysage de certaines régions change durablement; dans le Midwest, dans le sud, dans la Rust Belt. Une nouvelle tâche sur la mystique de l’Amérique. The American Nightmare.

J’ai beaucoup écrit et si vous avez lu jusque là – merci vraiment, et euh, pardon. C’est avant tout une bouteille à la mer, ce post. S’il trouve sa destination, alors on en fera germer les prémices. Il y a de quoi faire je pense. Les remarques, questions, suggestions, toutes bienvenues, j'ai envie de lire un peu après avoir autant écrit.

Contenu additionel; sera posté s'il y a de l'intérêt – le contexte, évidemment – mécanismes de jeu, animations – les postes vacants, leurs dynamiques – la ville, son monde, son histoire – les racines, l'inspiration – aes

un dernier mot: le tumblr n'est pas encore complètement fonctionnel, la plupart des liens est sous construction.

photo: edgar martins, éditée pour suburban gothic.

#post 0 #forum rpg #projet rpg #rpg francophone #forumactif #projet forum #fonctionnement

38 notes · View notes

ikarust · 7 months ago

Text

i am a rabid animal lurking in the woods, and you are the smoke that pours from the mouth of a rifle. the last remnant of my existence, before i am dead and dragged away / the smell of you. i can be a bleeding wound in the hide of a beast, and you can be the snow that stains red. the colour of something alive when you rip it open. the colour of love.

i am not a good thing / i get on my knees and beg you for things like the devil begs a believer to sin. i wish you would stick a blade in me and carve me up. i wish you would wear claws on your nails and tear me up like i am sand and you are looking for something buried beneath my skin. i wish i could pour your scent into my lungs and survive.

you made me feel something once and i have been searching for it in you ever since. maybe if you get a handgun and gut me with the barrel, i would feel it again. you can stab me and fall back when i say nothing. i’ll clean the scrapes on your skin with brandy and kiss the gauze a blotted sunset-red before i lay it over the wound. if we were stranded on a desert island, i would cut my thigh in two for you to eat.

consume me. destroy me. make me feel something again. i’m running out of ideas.

or maybe i just need to lay my head on your shoulder in a dark place with distant lights throwing delicate shadows over the slants of your face again. maybe i just need soft music, smooth-handed heat and blood in my mouth, and i will know that i am surrendering myself the right way.

be the bullet that shatters my clavicle. be the incense that burns in the realm beyond death. be the grip on my ankles / drag me into the void and tell me nothing’s gonna hurt me while you do it. say it to me. mon cœur qui bat, toi.

59 notes · View notes

au-jardin-de-mon-coeur · 1 month ago

Text

«Que fais-tu grand-mère, assise là, dehors, toute seule ?

-Eh bien, vois-tu, j’apprends...

J’apprends le petit, le minuscule, l’infini.

J’apprends les os qui craquent, le regard qui se détourne.

J’apprends à être transparente, à regarder au lieu d’être regardée.

J’apprends le goût de l’instant, quand mes mains tremblent, la précipitation du cœur qui bat trop vite.

J’apprends à marcher doucement, à bouger dans des limites, plus étroites qu’avant et à y trouver, en espace plus vaste que le ciel.

-Comment est-ce que tu apprends tout cela grand-mère ?

-J’apprends avec les arbres, et avec les oiseaux,

J’apprends avec les nuages.

J’apprends à rester en place, et à vivre dans le silence.

J’apprends à garder les yeux ouverts, et à écouter le vent.

J’apprends la patience et aussi l’ennui.

J’apprends que la tristesse du cœur, est un nuage, et nuage aussi le plaisir .

J’apprends à passer sans laisser de traces, à perdre sans retenir, et à recommencer sans me lasser.

-Grand-mère, je ne comprends pas, pourquoi apprendre tout ça ?

-Parce qu’il me faut apprendre, à regarder les os de mon visage, et les veines de mes mains, à accepter la douleur de mon corps, le souffle des nuits, et le goût précieux de chaque journée, parce qu’avec l’élan de la vague, et le long retrait des marées.

J’apprends à voir du bout des doigts, et à écouter avec les yeux.

J’apprends qu’il faut aimer, que le bonheur des autres, est notre propre bonheur, que leurs yeux reflètent dans nos yeux, et leurs cœurs dans nos cœurs.

J’apprends qu’on avance mieux, en se donnant la main, que même un corps immobile danse, quand le cœur est tranquille.

Que la route est sans fin, et pourtant toujours exactement là.

-Et avec tout ça, pour finir, qu’apprends-tu donc grand-mère ? »

J’apprends, dit la grand-mère à l’enfant,

J'apprends à être vieille ! »

[ Joshin Luce Bachoux ]

21 notes · View notes

coolvieilledentelle · 9 months ago

Text

Finalement, on aime à quatre-vingt-dix ans comme à quinze, l’âge ne change rien. C’est la seule émotion qui arrive toujours à tout chambouler. Peu importe le corps, les rides. Peu importe l’enveloppe, il n’y a que le cœur qui compte. Et tant qu’il bat, il peut aussi vibrer. Serena Giuliano- (Un coup de soleil)

Bonne soirée chers amis ....

61 notes · View notes

lisaalmeida · 5 months ago

Text

Ma nuit est comme un grand cœur qui bat.

Il est trois heures trente du matin.

Ma nuit est sans lune.

Ma nuit a de grands yeux qui regardent fixement une lumière grise filtrer par les fenêtres.

Ma nuit pleure et l’oreiller devient humide et froid.

Ma nuit est longue et longue et longue et semble toujours s’étirer vers une fin incertaine.

Ma nuit me précipite dans ton absence.

Je te cherche, je cherche ton corps immense à côté de moi, ton souffle, ton odeur.

Ma nuit me répond : vide ; ma nuit me donne froid et solitude.

Je cherche un point de contact : ta peau. Où es-tu ? Où es-tu ?

Je me tourne dans tous les sens, l’oreiller humide, ma joue s’y colle, mes cheveux mouillés contre mes tempes.

Ce n’est pas possible que tu ne sois pas là.

Ma tête erre, mes pensées vont, viennent et s’écrasent, mon corps ne peut pas comprendre.

Mon corps te voudrait.

Mon corps, cet aléa mutilé, voudrait un moment s’oublier dans ta chaleur, mon corps appelle quelques heures de sérénité.

Ma nuit est un cœur en serpillière.

Ma nuit sait que j’aimerais te regarder, chaque courbe de ton corps, reconnaître ton visage et le caresser.

Ma nuit m’étouffe du manque de toi.

Ma nuit palpite d’amour, celui que j’essaie d’endiguer mais qui palpite dans la pénombre, dans chacune de mes fibres.

Ma nuit voudrait bien t’appeler mais elle n’a pas de voix.

Elle voudrait t’appeler pourtant et te trouver et se serrer contre toi un moment et oublier ce temps qui massacre.

Mon corps ne peut pas comprendre.

Il a autant besoin de toi que moi, peut-être qu’après tout lui et moi ne formons qu’un.

Mon corps a besoin de toi, souvent tu m’as presque guérie.

Ma nuit se creuse jusqu’à ne plus sentir la chair et le sentiment devient plus fort, plus aigu, dénué de la substance matérielle.

Ma nuit me brûle d’amour.

Il est quatre heures du matin.

Ma nuit m’épuise.

Elle sait bien que tu me manques et toute son obscurité ne suffit pas pour cacher cette évidence.

Cette évidence brille comme une lame dans le noir.

Ma nuit voudrait avoir des ailes qui voleraient jusqu’à toi, t’envelopperaient dans ton sommeil et te ramèneraient à moi.

Dans ton sommeil, tu me sentirais près de toi et tes bras m’enlaceraient sans que tu te réveilles.

Ma nuit ne porte pas conseil.

Ma nuit pense à toi, rêve éveillé.

Ma nuit s’attriste et s’égare.

Ma nuit accentue ma solitude, toutes mes solitudes.

Son silence n’entend que mes voix intérieures.

Ma nuit est longue et longue et longue.

Ma nuit aurait peur que le jour n’apparaisse jamais plus mais à la fois ma nuit craint son apparition, parce que le jour est un jour artificiel où chaque heure compte double et sans toi n’est plus vraiment vécue.

Ma nuit se demande si mon jour ne ressemble pas à ma nuit. Ce qui expliquerait pourquoi je redoute le jour aussi.

Ma nuit a envie de m’habiller et de me pousser dehors pour aller cherche mon homme.

Mais ma nuit sait que ce que l’on nomme folie, de tout ordre, sème-désordre, est interdit.

Ma nuit se demande ce qui n’est pas interdit.

Il n’est pas interdit de faire corps avec elle, ça, elle le sait. Mais elle s’offusque de voir une chair faire corps avec elle au fil de la désespérance. Une chair n’est pas faite pour épouser le néant.

Ma nuit t’aime de toute sa profondeur, et de ma profondeur elle résonne aussi.

Ma nuit se nourrit d’échos imaginaires. Elle, elle le peut. Moi. j’échoue.

Ma nuit m’observe. Son regard est lisse et se coule dans chaque chose.

Ma nuit voudrait que tu sois là pour se couler en toi aussi avec tendresse.

Ma nuit t’espère. Mon corps t’attend.

Ma nuit voudrait que tu reposes au creux de mon épaule et que je me repose au creux de la tienne.

Ma nuit voudrait être voyeur de ta jouissance et de la mienne, te voir et me voir trembler de plaisir.

Ma nuit voudrait voir nos regards et avoir nos regards chargés de désir.

Ma nuit voudrait tenir entre ses mains chaque spasme.

Ma nuit se ferait douce.

Ma nuit gémit en silence sa solitude au souvenir de toi.

Ma nuit est longue et longue et longue.

Elle perd la tête mais ne peut éloigner ton image de moi, ne peut engloutir mon désir.

Elle se meurt de ne pas te savoir là et me tue.

Ma nuit te cherche sans cesse.

Mon corps ne parvient pas à concevoir que quelques rues ou une quelconque géographie nous séparent.

Mon corps devient flou de douleur de ne pouvoir reconnaître au milieu de ma nuit ta silhouette ou ton ombre.

Mon corps voudrait t’embrasser dans ton sommeil.

Mon corps voudrait en pleine nuit dormir et dans ces ténèbres être réveillé parce que tu l’embrasserais.

Ma nuit ne connaît pas de rêve plus beau que celui-là.

Ma nuit hurle et déchire ses voiles, ma nuit se cogne à son propre silence, mais ton corps reste introuvable. Tu me manques tant. Et tes mots. Et ta couleur.

Le jour va bientôt se lever.

- Frida Kahlo, Lettre à Diego Rivera (12 septembre 1939)

30 notes · View notes