#give up...but man is it so fucking hard not to. It makes me loathe myself that

[theultracharmingladynoire]

I am just so tired of everything but I can't do anything about it

[holylulusworld]

The story

Summary: She's not going to let him down.

Pairing: TFATW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, self-loathing, Bucky feels not worth being loved, written in Bucky’s PoV, fluff

A/N: Inspired by the song “The Story” by Brandi Carlile. Lyrics are taken from the song.

Sequel to: Ruined

No one wants to hear my story. I get it. I’m a relic from the past most people want to forget about.

Why think about dark times and the monsters I worked for? Or what I had to endure.

Even my best friend, the man I considered my brother, left me to go back to better times.

Steve wanted to live the dream he believed he wanted. He didn’t care that I had to hold his hand when he died. 

I’m stuck in this world, with my past hanging over me like a dark cloud. There is nothing I can do about it. 

The only light in my life is her. She makes the world brighter, and my life bearable.

Sometimes I believe I’m not attractive enough for her. I have lines across my face, and scars litter my body and mind. 

She’s perfect, looking like an angel. Every man turns their head when she enters a room. I always wonder why she chose me.

My girl left this perfect guy. He had it all. The looks, a shit-ton of money, and a good reputation. I can’t even hate him. It’s not his fault that my life got fucked up so bad that I can’t even sleep.

No wonder he fought tooth and nail and even played dirty to get her back. He spread rumors and lies about me, and Sam. Telling everyone we turned dark and tried to extort him. 

Y/N refused to go back to him. She even sent the huge diamond ring I’ll never be able to afford back to him. My girl told him to fuck off and grow up.

Still, I hate the man I see in the mirror. He’s not the cocky man going to war, or dancing with the ladies.

I feel like my body and soul are scared so badly that I’m not going to heal. And I don’t mean my missing arm, and the pain I feel most days.

“Baby,” her soft voice brings me out of my thoughts. She breaks the endless circle of self-loathing once again. “Stop it right now.”

Y/N wraps her arms around my waistline from behind. She dips her head to look at me in the mirror. “I love you the way you are,” Y/N says and kisses the scar tissue around my metal arm. “There is not a single thing I’d change about you, baby.”

“Y/N,” I stare at the man in the mirror as she steps next to me to take my hand. “I—”

“Look again, B,“ she says. “For me. I want you to see the man I see.”

I exhale sharply and drop my gaze. It’s so hard to look at myself and like what I see. 

“What do you see in me? I’m…no good.”

“Bucky, look again,” she squeezes my hand, holding it tightly. “Please…”

I lift my gaze, and oddly I see a different man. 

All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am So many stories of where I've been And how I got to where I am

The longer I stare at myself, the more I see.

I see the young man, full of dreams, who tries to lift his small and weak friend up. 

I see the soldier, becoming a man during endless nights spent in fear of getting killed.

I see the prisoner, praying that the monsters capturing him end his life.

I see the man, freed of his shackles as his best friend became a hero.

I see the man fighting alongside Captain America. Brave and fierce.

I see the wounded man, torn apart and put back together by the enemy.

I see the Winter Soldier.

I see the man buying plums first thing after he escaped his handlers.

I see the man fighting alongside his best friend.

I see the man losing it all again.

I see the man finding love when he is about to give up.

“I’m nothing without you, doll. You helped me become this man too,” I dip my head to glance at my girl. “I want you to look at yourself too and see the woman I see.”

She smiles, and we look at the mirror again. Together.

But these stories don't mean anything When you've got no one to tell them to It's true, I was made for you

“You came a long way, Bucky,” she says. “I know that there are still things you don’t want to talk about. But if you are ready, I’ll be here to hold your hand. Always.”

“Always.”

Tags in reblog.

[punkpandapatrixk]

🔻Tier 3 Patron-exclusive PAC at the end🔻

☆°・. Hustlin’ a la Goddess .・°☆ | Punk Girl Culture

A while back on Pinterest I saw a really cool quote like this: ‘I hustle like a man because I was raised not to depend on one.’ I understood what it’s trying to say and where it’s coming from; and above all, it really is an empowering idea considering how many women in this world are totally loser-like because their willpower is weak HA But the thing about that quote is…

It got me reminiscing about how I used to be a terrible, terrible workaholic caused by a toxic childhood that had been the complete opposite of that. In my past reality, I hustled like a man exactly because I had been groomed to depend on one. KABOOM!

In a toxic household was a psychopath that worked devilishly hard at having little girls believe that a woman is inherently—by nature—dependent on men. That our survival is at the mercy of men’s charity. Thus a woman must seek to marry a rich man if she wishes to live a happy life. Mind you, this wasn’t a simple case of a shallow Boomer who had grown up in a different era; this really was a psychopath who delighted in creating false realities for little girls to grow up and become absolute losers, in the hope that they never would surpass—never would become better than her.

I was only seven when I began to give that narrative a fuckton of thought. I loathed the idea that a woman is this kind of a helpless creature only because she was born with a vagina; that a woman would never survive without a man’s protection or provision; that a woman’s highest priority in life is to be attractive enough (whatever that means) to seduce a rich man so he wants to marry her. I LOATHED IT. I fucking despised it. What an insult to Love!

At any rate, by age seven, I had come to notice the bullshit that was often spewed by that psychopath. I refused to accept that degrading idea so I began to think and behave differently. I thought to myself one afternoon in the shower:

‘So a marriage is only necessary because of the money, right? But that’s an old people thing. This is a different era—I will make my own money when I grow up. So then, that means I don’t need to get married. I won’t allow myself to become dependent on a man. I don’t want it.’

And so it was that I grew up to become a hustler more resilient than most men because I wanted to rebel against the grooming of the psychopath. It was like a weird coping mechanism or overcompensation or something—not sure which term is more correct LMAO I grew up wanting to be seen as tough and not needing a man’s gentlemanly assistance. I hated being helped by men like, what, you think I can’t help myself? I was always able to help myself.

The problem is… I became way too tough. Waaay too tough for one short girl. I had come to hold myself to impossible standards. I thought that if a man could manage to do this or that, I should be able to do and achieve just the same. My brain is very capable! What’s stopping me?!

The reality of the limits of my physiology (tiny!🤪) as well as my psychology as an autistic girl had not become clear to me at this point. But as the wheel of fortune would have it, at some point in Life my eyes were opened to the very idea of my girlhood and I woke up to the realisation that a woman shouldn’t have to work so hard in Life. DIVINE FEMININE, BEBEH!

One cold and rainy October evening I was lying on my bed, broke as fuck, single as a stick, hungrier and lonelier than a stray cat, feeling all defeated in Life I thought about all of this and repeated to myself quite amusingly miserably:

‘I’m a girl. I’m just a girl. And a really tiny one at that. I shouldn’t have to work so hard. I don’t wanna have to work so hard. I shouldn’t be made to work SO hard. I wanna be someone’s baby girl!’

And I cried and I cried about the fact that I had been so unkind to myself as a girl. That I had allowed society to convince me that it was okay to be so impatient with myself in the name of professionalism! And I cried and I cried because now I was realising I’m really such a soft lovely polite girl who had been forced to fight for I didn’t even know what for the longest time trying to just meet the expectations of a batshit crazy world full of terribly gaslighty psychopaths…

I cried for three days straight, no cap. My youth… My entire Life… For what… And where did that lead me? It’s given me nothing. NOTHING.

By the end of the third day, I made a resolve to treat myself more kindly, more gently because girls are meant to be held with tender care and Love♥︎For the first time in my Life I was able to wholeheartedly accept that I was a girl LMAO That sounds funny but I wasn’t struggling with gender dysphoria—no, I don’t think that ever was the case but… umm… though I always liked the fact that I was a girl, somehow, there was also a part of me that used to view myself as just-a-14-year-old-boy-who-likes-to-play-video-games. I couldn’t even comprehend why I had an appearance that would be considered attractive by men💩

At any rate, so it was that I had held myself captive to impossibly stupid standards of conducts because I wasn’t aware enough of my biology, physiology, as well as psychology as a Goddess! Thinking about it now, it’s so bizarre I lived like that and even managed to survive pushing myself so hard even on those motherfucking days of murderous cramps *wink wink* One time I shed tears feeling so sorry to my younger self because I wasn’t gentle or patient enough with her.

I think the feminine force is supposed to be the embodiment of love and comfort. I think being a girl means I am deserving of an effortless existence. Say what you want if you’re a feminazi, but I want to live enveloped in lightness and ease. I think a girl deserves to be taken care of unconditionally because she’s so complexly fragile and delicate. No, it’s not a weakness. A flower’s delicateness is not a failure. Nor is a butterfly’s fragility useless.

We, are creatures of beauty. And when I was awakened to that reality, I learnt that the first thing I needed to do was stop being an enemy to my fragile beauty. I resolved to hold my femininity in highest regard and not continue to hurt myself with unrealistic expectations based on the male standards of conduct. It had to start with myself because the brainwashed world outside of me was never going to give this to me.

‘I simply do not want to hustle like a man anymore. I don’t think it suits me at all. More important, I don’t think the way men hustle is the standard of a good character! I don’t think they know what they’re doing.’

I, am a feminine force, baby—I don’t chase; I attract. When I hustle, I’m gonna hustle a la Goddess because that’s what I AM. The feminine, the yin, the abstract, holds the magick of the creation of the Universe. Literally I can manifest all I need effortlessly by just breathing calmly and being pretty—in harmony with the melodies of the Cosmic Vibrations💗

Gosh, why didn’t I figure this out earlier?!

I think I’ve now made peace with the homme and femme within though. I think, I’ve pretty much stopped being angry about the ways I used to hustle like a man—posing numerous dangers to myself both physically and spiritually. Ecologically, bish, that wouldn’t have been sustainable in the grander scheme of things!

I still have alternating days I feel more like an homme and a femme every so often but I’ve got to say I like me best on the days I feel most indulgently girly👗On such days, I feel the world is so fine because I’m a woman👒I feel everything is just gonna fall into place eventually because my Goddess Magick is taking care of my Reality. All is well in Divine Timing, my baby girl🎀

And god forbid—I don’t need no man to give that to me either!😉

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PGC Masterlist] [Patreon] [Paid Readings]

🍃🪨🍄🧚🏻‍♂️

���Tier 3 Patron-exclusive PAC🔻

[Breaking Conventions with Determined Softness]

your glamorous talent

empowering the soft girl

hustlin' a la Goddess

🍃🪨🍄🧚🏻‍♂️

[starheirxero]

OH GOD, EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING, EVERYTHING'S GOING ON-

I AM SCREAMING, KICKING, CRYING, RUNNING UP MY WALLS, DRAMATICALLY THROWING MYSELF ON THE GROUND AND WAILING-

FIRST SAMS FUCKING PUNCHES AND KNOCKS ME TO THE GROUND, AND THEN MGAFS GIVES ME THE FINISHING BLOW- FUCK EVERYTHING-

OH GOD, WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN-

First of all, we finally reunited with old Moon…BY GOD, DID I MISS THIS SNARKY BASTARD- I am so happy, to see him again!!! He's so nonchalant and blunt, especially towards people outside of his family- It makes me so nostalgic!! His similarlities to Eclipse are clearer than ever, honestly!

Everything about it just makes me so emotional, I can't even begin to describe it-

He's on that same old beach where he gave up his life, the same old beach where he showed empathy and compassion more than ever before, the same damn old beach where he was the more selfless than he'd ever been- It is making me sick to my stomach/pos

He still loathes himself so much, still looks down on himself and his mistakes. He has never been able to let go of it, he'll always hold on to the mistakes he made. One of these mistakes is leaving a part of his code behind, which in turn created Eclipse. His hatred for him comes from the hatred of himself, because Eclipse is the embodiment of everything he hated in himself.

But even though he hates himself, even though he buried himself underneath a mountain of mistakes, he will never regret protecting his family. He has always been a big brother, always been a protector, no matter what! Even after everything, they are the only thing on his mind. I'm going to fucking cry, man-

God, he adores them so much! Everytime he talked about them, I teared up!

He adores and treasures Sun with all of his heart, and only wishes for him to be safe and sound and happy! He knows his brother, knows he's blaming himself, and wants so badly to put a stop to it! But he can't, because that would involve a conversation, and he cannot bare to hurt him more than he already has.

He wants to thank Monty, who has been his emotional support, his best friend. Old Moon is anti-social, apathetic towards anyone outside of his family, even another version of himself, yet Monty got through to him, time and time again. Monty, in their own right, was family too! The two of them always got each other out of the gutter.

God, when he talked about Lunar and Earth, I legit started to cry a little-

He always wanted a sister. He always wanted a little brother. He wished he could've met them, wished he could've gotten to know them, wished to have loved them as much as he loved Sun!

He did know Lunar, but he never had the chance to truly get to know them. Everything he said about them is honestly just so sweet, and shows old Moon beyond his shell.

They were just a kid in a shitty situation, made with a purpose they never wanted.

Old Moon has a hard time caring for others, yet he looked at this child, who needed help and guidance, and took them underneath his wing without hesitation. Tragically, though, he always kept his distance. I don't think, he quite saw, how much they looked up to him. He always kept them at arms length, because he had hurt one brother, and was afraid to hurt another, afraid to open his heart. Yet, despite this distance, he would've ripped Eclipse apart for what he did, without mercy.

God, I can only imagine what his dynamic with everyone would've been like, especially with Earth, who is so incredibly different from him!

Old Moon is such an intriguing character to look at! Especially with how obviously different he is from New Moon!

I want to analyze him so bad, but my brain just won't cooperate👀

I'm really glad, New Moon got his reassurance though, and even learned from Old Moon, it seems!

Now, as for MGAFS….NO, GOD NO, PLEASE EVERYTHING BUT THIS-

THEY WEREN'T JUST SEPARATED- THEY WERE PERMANENTLY TORN APART, NEVER TO REUNITE AGAIN- THEY CAN'T DO THIS, I CAN'T HANDLE THIS-

BLOODMOON'S REACTION TO HIS BROTHER'S DEATH- HE TRIED SO HARD TO KEEP A STRAIGHT FACE, BUT THE MOMENT THEY TRIED TO LEAVE, HE STARTED YELLING- HE HAS NEVER BEEN ALONE, ALWAYS ONE HALF OF A WHOLE. NOW HIS OTHER HALF IS GONE, AND HE IS ALONE, AND HE WILL NEVER BE WHOLE AGAIN-

I ALSO READ YOUR INTERPRETATION OF BLOODMOON'S LAST LINE, AND IT HAS BROKEN ME- THEY COULD'VE BEEN GOOD. THEY COULD'VE BEEN FRIENDS. THEY JUST DIDN'T WANT TO BE CHANGED, DIDN'T WANT TO BE LIKED AS SOMEONE THEY'RE NOT. THEY JUST WANTED TO BE THEMSELF, YET THEY NEVER WOULD'VE BEEN ACCEPTED THAT WAY-

XERO, WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO ME-

-Stardust

YESSSSSYESYEYSES I DIDN'T TALK MUCH ABT THE TSAMS EP BC I GOT SO DISTRACTED BY MGAFS BUT EVERYTHING U SAID FOR REAL !!!!!! THE BEACH AND THE CONVO THEY HAD AND AAUAGGGHH

I was honestly so worried that there was going to be a sudden change in how Old Moon acted but seeing him just still wholeheartedly be him made me experience sooo many emotions. Like u said, the similarities between him and Eclipse are just wholly on display and it's like,, oh yea! you are who he stems from!

AND YEAH ALL HIS SENTIMENTS ABT MONTY + SUN + THE BROTHER N SISTER HE NEVER GOT TO KNOW. BURSTS INTO TEARS!!!!! For how little people he cared about, he made up for in caring about that small handful of people with his whole entire soul, even if that care could be convoluted and confusing and ultimately hurtful, he never wanted it to be like that. He just wanted the best :(

AND THEN THE LAST MESSAGE FOR NEW MOON AUGHHH I CAN'T EVEN. DIES EVERYWHEREEEE

AND THEN MGAFS. FUCK. I KNOWWWW I KNOW I KNOW IT FUCKED ME UP SO BADDD. THE FINAL BLOODMOON'S DESPERATE YELLING AT THE END FUCKED ME UP EVEN WORSE TO TOP IT ALL OFF I CAN'T EVENNNN.

AND SHAKES YOU SHAKES YOU THEY COULD HAVE BEEN SO EASY TO ACCOMMODATE FOR IT DRIVES ME INSANE!!! THEY WANTED CONTROL OVER THE ONE THING THAT IMPACTS THEM THE MOST, OF COURSE THEY WOULD HAVE DENIED ANYTHING ELSE!!!! THEY COULD HAVE HAD IT ALLLLL AAAAOAUHGHHHH

[draconicfool]

these are headcanons that have to do specifically with the event and why Eros was on the Luofu in general. I'm also tagging @starspurn cuz these were bounced off her and directly involve her interpretation of Luka! Under the cut cuz spoilies. They got so long because the event gave me a lot of just basic ideas as well as little bits just based on what I thought Eros' reactions to things would be

When we see Luka at the venue, Eros is just sort of standing on his tip toes and looking over his shoulder, they cannot be separated don't ask them to be. They literally would've whined if they had been

When Luka's in the clinic talking to Nat, you know who's there? That's right, it's the bestie, just nodding along in the background but he gives a chaste reminder to 'Not push too hard just to be the first Belobogian to enter a competition in space'

He's also standing there with Hook and Oleg giving Luka a pep talk even if he's most just sitting there with his hand over his mouth trying not to laugh at Hook, but he pats her head and gives Luka yet another reminder in tandem with Oleg that Gepard is tougher than the usual tricks and how he won't forgive Luka if he hurts himself just to win. Plus he assures that he'll be proud of him either way

As soon as that match was over you bet your ass Eros was checking him over just to double triple quadruple check that he was okay

The homie encourages all the IPC hate, he fucking hates the IPC thank you Luka for also hating IPC, they talk shit about them with each other

Eros really insisted on coming along, not just to look after the younger kids which he's so fond of, but to look after Luka. And- it's really for the best because Kit and I talked about how these losers whine the second they're separated from each other, so everyone should be grateful they didn't have to hear it

He also absolutely has just been 'playing human' and offered zero advice to Luka on how to deal with the long-life species of the Xianzhou. He's been acting just as clueless but he's laughed every time something happened to him. Especially when he called that vidyadhara a little girl

Before the tournament, Eros did some scouting around the Luofu to make sure that things would be safe- mostly for him to keep his identity concealed which is how he ended up seeing the Borisin, but he more or less just darted back to Luka's side at that. As he isn't a member of the Xianzhou anymore, their problems aren't his problems, and he'd rather be with the people of Belobog- that's his home after all

Unlike Luka, Eros makes no effort to hide his disdain for the IPC. Miss Carmella is nice and all but Eros won't forget so easily how their home was nearly turned into an asset and the whole of the people of Belobog were nearly birds in cages

The only person the tabloid journalist doesn't ask about being in a relationship with Luka is Eros which is really funny considering they're attached at the hip constantly

While Eros is loathe to get help from the Alchemy Commission, he admits that mental maladies are not his strong suit

Eros and Lingsha sort of 'exchange looks' but neither really says anything. After all, Eros is there to support Luka and make sure he's safe! Not stir up trouble on the Luofu

He absolutely would rub Luka's back after the Igor data they got bc he can tell that man is stressing holy shit

'Walk the streets alone a couple more times' as if Eros doesn't hold his hand and go with him the entire time do not separate them

He was also absolutely judging him when Yanqing said 'as a warrior I guess I'm always challenging myself' and Luka didn't realize that meant- that Yanqing was the kid they were talking to so he just standing there fucking staring at him

Eros is very obviously frustrated by the rumors that start circulating about Luka and has to be sort of held back. You've heard of scary dog privilege? Luka has a little Pomeranian that will bite issues for him

After the Boothill fight, Eros was absolutely fretting over him and more than grateful that all that got damaged was Luka's arm. Aeons know he would've torn that Galaxy Ranger to bits if he hurt Luka!

Even Eros is asked to leave when Luka wants to be alone for awhile which- is a big twist which leaves Eros a bit lost on what to do, they're attached at the hip after all! So he takes the time to hang out with Hook and Svarog for a bit. As much as he doesn't want to leave Luka at a time like this, he gets that he doesn't want to be around people right now.

Kit and i agreed it'd be super cute and super gay if during Tail being in Luka's mind there was also a section where we see a little Eros patching Luka up like "So maybe t'day- was a bad day, but tha's okay. I'll pick ya back up, mhm. Cuz y'er m'best friend!" and then we get the black transition where it's them older and it's like "C'mon, country bumpkin, let's get ya up. How am I s'pposed t' patch up m'favorite man in th' world if he ain't gettin' back up? Need t' lean on me? Tha's okay… I'll carry ya 'til y'c'n stand on y'er own two feet" and how that more or less is a little drive forward. That's "one of the smaller voices that matters" is his best friend since the day they met.

On the topic of Margie, I'm making an assumption that she was alive while Alexi was also alive, meaning that during the time Eros was more or less extremely against using his magic, even though he knew it would've helped her- he knew too that saving a life wasn't worth taking another when there was no way off of Belobog and he blames himself quite a bit for not doing enough for her

He's of course, very proud of Luka when he does agree to try again and cheers him on the whole way. Not that he's ever stopped, but he's proud that Luka was able to pick himself back up and even teases him about it, saying 'usually s'me pickin' ya up and patchin' ya up... went and did m'job f'er me~'

Eros, while afraid of Borisin, sympathizes with Samatha and the Borisin of the Clartewheel temple. Fighting against their nature and wanting peace despite what they are and despite how the rest of the galaxy sees them as monsters. It's something Eros understands all too well

He thought it was very funny when Svarog turned out to be the Independent Contestant, but it wasn't really a surprise given he'd spent that last bit of time with Hook, and by extension, Svarog. Besides, Eros and Boss Svarog have a good working relationship! Of course he wouldn't be kept in the dark about it.

This one is shipverse specific Eros absolutely ran up gave Luka the biggest hug and kiss when he beat Svarog, that's his bestie ! He knew he could do it! Also maybe this is where the feelings are finally actually realized? Who's to say

Luka gets another 'no time with Eros' moment when Boothill takes him to the teahouse. He dishes the hot goss and tea with the Trailblazer and Carmella, dishes all the dirt. The girls are talking shit ! Not about Luka just in general

When Luka returns he'd get another cute little pep talk from Eros of 'win or lose, jus' know 'm proud of ya... but y'er gonna win! I jus' know it!'

Needless to say Eros is very proud of Luka for even getting that far, not that he didn't believe in him, but all the same

I do think that based on timeline things that Eros would've gone to see the Luofu wardance back 700 years ago because he would've been younger and I think he would've found Igor interesting and inspiring. Especially because he was someone who wanted desperately to help his own people, he regretted that there wasn't a way for the alliance to help them. I think that in a way Eros has always seen a glimmer of Igor in Luka and that subconsciously that was part of what drove him to actually approach him that day they met. I don't think he's aware that the recognition was part of it, but I think he's glad in a way that it was a man he too ended up idolizing that brought them together.

With the trade agreement Eros has to be a bit more careful about the use of his magic and making sure that he doesn't accidentally blow his cover. Not that he's done anything before now outside of revealing himself to the Astral Express, but he's definitely a bit more aware of himself

Eros gets a Tuskpir of his own with the help of Lingsha, he names her Hypnos and even makes her a cute little corner of the clinic where she can relax and play, and at the end of the day she sleeps curled up in bed with him

[wednesdaythesecond]

What Gym Class Heroes album should I listen to first, having only heard a few scattered songs before?

okay, okay. good question. personally? i would listen to them all in chronological order (The Papercut Chronicles, then As Cruel as School Children, then The Quilt, then The Papercut Chronicles II) to see the change and growth of the band as a whole cuz that's kind of what i did. but if you wanna do a vibes based approach, i'll give you the rundown on all the albums.

if i had to clearly define each album as a singular vibe i would say they are Sad, Sexy, Experimental and Cunt.

The Papercut Chronicles (February 22nd, 2005) - SAD

angst on angst on angst. there's suicide, addiction, self harm, breakups, self loathing, homophobic violence, addiction, depression, shitty relationships, addiction and did i mention addiction? you've got Cupid's Chokehold and Make Out Club to add a little fun and sexiness but it's a lottttt of heavy shit. Travie's not fucking around on this, he's getting in! to! it! my favourite song right now would probably be To Bob Ross with Love but you should listen to it straight through, in order the first time.

As Cruel as School Children (July 25th, 2006) - SEXY

in an interview, Travie was asked to describe As Cruel as School Children using one word and he picked "sexy." i agree with him, this is a sexy ass album. are you feeling sexy? would you like to feel sexier? Clothes Off! fucks severely and makes me fan myself like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. you want horny romance? you got that. you want student/teacher? you got that. you want ye older internet romance? you got that. you want sex and addiction? you got that. you want sex as a metaphor for addiction? you best believe you got that!! also the sloppy love jingles? hawt <3 my fave song right now would probably be Shoot Down the Stars.

The Quilt (September 8th, 2008) - EXPERIMENTAL

there's a wide variety of genres and themes in this one. there's drunk sex, there's legal trouble, there's father-son bonding, there's a really excellent and non offensive trans joke, there's so many pop culture references, there's infidelity and there's a whole bunch of disses that i think go really hard. like i know in my heart that Travie could rip Drake a new one. the album opens up with fucking JAZZ, then there's fabulous rap and hip hop of course, with some Pumped Up Kicks kind of pop (happy music, dark lyrics) and some seriously sick ass guitar (thank you Disashi <333). my fave song right now would probably be Guilty as Charged

The Papercut Chronicles II (November 11th, 2011) - CUNT

CUNT is a mixture of confidence, sexiness, no fucks given and talent wrapped up in 11 bad bitch tracks. 14 years of Gym Class Heroes came together into this fucking beauty of an album. i'm just saying, if your fave album is so good, how come it didn't get a sequel? we've got back to back bangers that are not afraid to reference or not reference old Gym Class Heroes lore and they all do what they do fucking beautifully. there's confidence, there's vulnerability, there's religion, there's metaphors coming out of everything, there's fucking SICKENING guitar and beats, there's fight songs, there's love songs, there's grocery shopping, there's dinosaurs, there's breakups and there's dollar signs instead of S's. my fave song right now would probably be Martyrial Girl$

so yeah, that's my take on every Gym Class Heroes album <3 listen to them in order tho

[sdyd]

𝑀. sentence starters ... various sentence starters from my own writing. change tense / pronouns as necessary.

I have had many, many years to reflect upon that.

I thought the same, once.

with high hopes and lofty ambition comes the potential for great disappointment.

I do not intend to be humorous.

there is no concrete answer in hypothesis. that is what experimentation is for.

that is a peculiar question ...

it's more miserable, honestly.

I'm on Zoloft.

sorry. but hey ! he's dead.

meet me back here in, say, 24 hours ?

do you have a plane by any chance ?

If the gods tell you to do something, you do it.

what ? no, I'm perfectly sane.

ya ever get the urge t'just beat the $&!# outta your dad ?

life is so unfair, is it not ?

I miss my wife ...

$75 on the strange creature of indeterminate gender.

yeah, if you had a brain.

I do got a brain ! Everyone's got one !

you'd be surprised of what you're capable of when you're being chased by cops. or superheroes.

it ain't a crime if they're rich.

sounds like my college graduation party.

that was a big monologue where a simple "I hate you" would suffice.

I don't speak French.

if the tens of thousands of kilometers of blood vessels that make up your body burn with hate for me, it is not equal to even a tenth of the loathing I have felt for you since the moment you were born.

oh man I sooooo did not sign up for your family drama.

maybe I'm just trying to convince myself more than you.

what I'm trying to say is that — instead of beating yourself up for all the bad things that happened, maybe you should focus on the fact it all happened because you wanted to do something good.

dead moms are great motivators for crazy shit.

what was the end goal of it all ?

I have spent hours pouring over my work, trying to understand the mind of the person who wrote it.

why did you do in the first place?

heed my advice then, and go for it.

ah ! you are shy, worry not, I understand.

to lovers everywhere !

don't take it took hard, she's disappointed in me too.

I love her. I miss her.

I think you're just insane.

I chose you out of millions of others, and this is how you express your gratitude ?

I'm not the best at comforting, but feel free to let it out.

you do not get to die and come back as you were.

dreams are only nice while they last, I suppose.

I require your assistance in an utmost important matter.

psychology is rather fascinating, is it not ? I had long thought it a soft science, but the mind is rather intriguing.

as an expert in these matters, I most certainly see the sparks of mutual romance.

that was the glance of a woman in love !

I was being facetious.

I should have been a comedian, I know.

keep his name out of your wretched mouth!

my dear lady, it sounds like a fairytale !

I am a lesbian with a quest and I have succeeded in it.

I do not forgive you.

I am a rather forgiving person when it is I myself that is scorned. some may say it is a flaw.

ah, I did run into the woods in despair ! but alas, I did return, to this world of horror.

I did attempt to call force an exorcism, but my cries went unheard.

shut up ! you know nothing of me !

I have known you since you were four ! I know everything about you ! like for example, that you never grew out of watching --

remember when you used to drag us all up to the mountains to watch storms ?

that was terrible of me, utterly terrible. it is unforgiveable.

I should have done better by you.

I think the GPS is busted ...

dude ! you crashed into me ! and it gave you a boner ?!

I don't give a fuck about your dick.

why was [ name ] in the trunk ?

wow, you're a huge dick, aren't you ?

[townofcadence]

@foxedthecards continued from here!

A bleak silence greeted Artair's voice with no reaction on the part of the sopping wet little redhead sprawled out in the road. Then with a pathetic little drawn-out whine, he toppled over, landing with a splat in the puddle beside him. Huh. Talk about predictive text.

" I'm fihhinnnneeeeeeee.... " he worbled out looking very much the opposite. " I'm good. Great even. Fan-fuckin'-tastic. 'Cause it's uh....one in the mornin'? And I’m here in this little shithole of a town hours outside of Vegas with a brunch gig tomorrow morning at the Silver Strand Casino and that...that was the last bus out of here for the night. The last bus."

He gestured with a dramatic flair worthy of a death scene on a stage." Look at it. There it goes. I'm fucked...I never should have come to Ass Springs or...whatever this wanna-be Little Vegas calls itself. "

He slowly sat back up, flipping his limp red hair out of his face. " God. I need to find a bar and drink myself stupid right now. You know any good places or do all the bars close here after 11? Or I dunno. Maybe at this rate I should just lay back down and hope a car runs me over. I could collect insurance at least. Maybe? I dunno. Uh...Who are you again? "

Oh this man was not fine. He's loathe to use a word like pathetic for anyone-- the connotations are just too negative, and everyone gets down on their luck now and again. But this man is doing his best impression of a wet gym sock on a locker-room floor, and the description crosses his mind before he shoves it away. The guy's gesticulating and flopping on the wet ground (maybe it had been raining earlier?), and he doesn't know what to do but stay where he is, and keep an eye out for cars in case he has to drag this man from the middle of the street to safety.

It kinda gives him the impression of a sopping puppy, when the guy raises himself from the puddle, hair limp in his face. Artair's mouth creases all the more as Jonah speaks. Clearly, the guy doesn't want to be here, though the idea of preferring Vegas and calling this place a 'shithole of a town' is-- nigh incomprehensible. If this place is barren to you, what the hell was Vegas like? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

But either way, it seems the guy really needs a win. Jumping right to drinking or getting run over was... definitely a choice. It's hard to tell if the dramatic movements are theatrical or because he really is that miserable. But maybe he can.... at least nudge him, either way? Help some?

"Uh. Just a guy who saw you laying in the street." Artair finally answers the question Jonah had levied at him, after a beat of consideration. "I thought something might be wrong. I guess it was?" He shrugs, mouth all the thinner and brows creased with an upward slide near the bridge of his nose. He scratches at his chin and then his cheek, looking skyward with a hum. The drizzle is still gentle, and the occasional drop makes the spikes of his hair bounce when they collide. Neon highlights the drops and the wet tips of his hair alike, but it's only a background thought to the current predicament of the wet guy's plight.

His gaze breaks away from the overhead clouds, and he slips his phone from his pocket, shielding it with a hand from any raindrops. His free hand taps against the screen to unlock it. "Sorry, don't hink I can help on that front, I'm just visiting and I've never been here before. But.....mmmm. Honestly, I can't tell you what to do, and we don't know each other. But I might--- personally, I might put drinking on the back-burner? I mean that was the last bus, but there's gotta be other options if you're just looking for transport."

He pulls up firefox, and starts tapping in a search. "You gotta get there tomorrow, right? What about using one of those driving services? Like Uber or Lyft or whatever. They're not as cheap as a bus, but they might get you where you want to go, if it's not crazy far from here." And Vegas was a huge city, so if they were close enough to the outskirts, there's probably someone looking to play taxi. Or hell, maybe there'd even be a actual taxi service around.

[prettybiching]

MY SISTERS BIG FAT DESHI WEDDING IS DONE AND DUSTED AND IM NOW BACK TO DEVOURING MY FAVOURITE ANGSTY MASTERPIECE HELLOOOOOOOOO

Daemon is taken off-guard by how you pull away from him. He knits his brows, following after you as you head towards his niece, deeply annoyed by how easily you disregard him. But upon hearing the words you speak, he freezes.

For the 722819th time Daemon, please be normal for once (although his lovesick puppy behaviour is doing it for me ngl)

I would lay down my life for you my princess. On other note, I really hope that rhaenyra and the princess are able to find themselves on good terms despite the fact that alicent and rhaenyra are about to hate their guts. My girl needs all the support that she can get.

"Pain is difficult... but I've come to realize," you swipe her cheek, "it makes peace all the more precious." You chuckle under your breath when your own eyes begin to water, "I would know."

Rhaenyra's hand is quickly dropped when Daemon comes to your side, calling out your name. You sheepishly turn to him, apologizing over and back as he escorts you to a seat.

Girl bye, daemons disregard for rhaenyra is making me feel good about the man whore that is daemon 😋😋

...It makes her sorrow all the more sour.

Rhaenyra pls you're going to get your hunk of a bear guard to keep you company, leave him for us and dont pin after him 🙏🙏

You turn to him, sheepish, still, "I am. Thank you, darling."

ZOO WEE MAMA IM SCREAMINGGGGGGG

"Where is your father?" Daemon turns to Rhaenyra, seemingly not noticing your slip up. He did notice, but why wouldn't you call him darling?

omg slay you're so right daemon (for once!) Why wouldn't she????!!!

"No," Daemon quips, placing his silverware down, "I do not want to be subjected to tolling bells and incense."

Hey ho! The last time I checked, you're uncle not aunt. Stop poking your nose in other people's business omg???

"She has your sister," he turns to you, "if they need another companion, lend her your ward."

I want 2 bash his head against a wall. Thanks <3 The award for ruining progress should go to him.

The image of sorrowful wailing still haunts him, and your prayer for death is not something he wishes to hear ever again. You cannot pray such prayers if you are not in that fucking place, "I forbid you from going to the temple."

Something about how daemons intentions have perhaps always been misunderstood growing up and he's always been labeled as cruel/heartless so he stopped explaining himself. He had to bury that soft exterior and only knows how to give commands and now he's subconsciously commanding his wife to stop praying for her death. But she won't get to know it because it would seem like a weakness.

"You impress me with your commitment to understand everyone else but I."

Ugh, Daemon!! You frustrate me so much. How can she?! How can she when you're so busy fighting all different versions yourself at every moment that she can never predict which version of you she will get. I need you, to even for a moment, get over your self-loathing to look - and I mean really look - at her.

More accurately, you cannot. You clutch your chest and try to calm yourself before you slip into a full blown attack. You force yourself to take five deep breaths, and thankfully, you do not feel light headed.

Oh God, I'm not ready. I thought I was prepared for the bad parts but I'm not.

The thing was, you were still a terrible runner, and it if wasn't hard enough to catch your breath, you were screaming out the prince's name as you did, making it doubly hard.

IM GOING TO KILL MYSELF DAEMON JUST LOOK BACK AT HER FOR ONCE

"...as punishment for being unkind to your husband."

MY GIRL NO!!! NEVER. None of it was your fault ever and I can scream it from the highest mountain but you would never believe it, not even if daemon admits it to you. I will hunt down every man that has ever hurt you I promise.

"No!" you grab his arms, "you must not tell him! You must not tell a soul."

Oops I forgot about the baby doom again (mostly because I'm in denial and hoping that the destined chaos will simply never come)

"Papa," you mumble to yourself as you go to him.

No, stop. I will never get over how she instinctively reached for her father. And how Otto reacts to it like it's muscle memory (it is). Because Otto is her father, she has been raised being loved, protected and shielded by him. And Otto has spent her whole life doing exactly that.

The fact that Otto has tried and tested so many forms of consolations on you over the years, and it only goes to show that she has received a father's love- the only parental affection in her life - through the twisted means of Otto.

"The gods with strengthen you, daughter." he turns to Alicent, "I will take care of it, my girl."

Stop, stop, stop noooooo. This is the worst possible thinking that Otto has ever come up with. The idea that Alicent would have to sacrifice herself and her autonomy for the alleged safety (in the Hightowers' eyes) of the princess is going to be her end in itself. She would not be able to handle the fact that her baby sister is going to fall to the sword to save her.

Daemon ticks. He had been gazing into space, but now he has the wits to pours himself a drink, "is she dead now too?"

Fuck off you absolute rat. No but I need to see him react to some far-fetched rumour, perhaps when he has fucked off to God knows where, about the princess being dead and I just knowwwww he's going to absolutely fucking lose it mind like hah you little rat idiot, who is making these nonchalant jokes about her being dead now huh??

Your lips wobble, but you steel yourself away. You crush your sister into your arms and pepper her cheeks with kisses, "my sweet girl. I am five years your senior. I must lend you my ear." You pull away and cup her cheeks. You frown when you see her glassy eyes, "do not worry for me."

My heart just shattered into a million pieces. Justice for these two girls.

"Only I inherited your hair color," you mumble, beginning to tremble, "if my child looks too much like me—" you rapidly shake your head, "he will-"

Only once I need him to overhear just an ounce of her fear. Because I need this rat head to know that just because he feels this palpable love for her within himself, doesn't mean that she knows it and just how afraid she is of him.

Otto closes the door and the boy places the crackers on the table. The man circles 'round to his desk and sits down, "what news do you bring me today?"

I'm going to strangle some1 (possibly daemon)

I couldn't help myself but I already skimmed through ch10 earlier during the wedding festivities and bawled my eyes out at like 3am but gosh I can't want for a reread.

AS ALWAYS THANK YOU AUTHOR FOR KEEPING ME FED I LOVE YOUUUUUU

Tormented Spirit | 9

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS ITS STILL TOO FUCKING LONG I HAD TO CUT IT AGAIN. T_T canon stuff/medieval health care might not be accurate so ROLLLL with it ok. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Daemon takes you to the dining room, and upon entering, you are met with Rhaenyra and Alicent, who were in the middle of eating lunch. For a split second, you are happy to see them both, but then you remember the horrible news regarding the princess's mother.

Daemon is taken off-guard by how you pull away from him. He knits his brows, following after you as you head towards his niece, deeply annoyed by how easily you disregard him. But upon hearing the words you speak, he freezes.

"My deepest condolences, my princess," you curtsy at Rhaenyra before placing a hand on her shoulder.

She is dejected and her eyes are sullen as she turns to you.

"She was in active labor last I saw her..." you shake your head, finding the words to say, "it is terrible to be without a mother," you turn to your sister, placing a hand on her shoulder as well, "the pain never quite leaves you. My sister and I know it well."

Rhaenyra turns back to her food, "how good to know."

You frown and crouch down beside her, "darling."

Rhaenyra slowly turns back to you, tears now falling from her eyes.

"Pain is difficult... but I've come to realize," you swipe her cheek, "it makes peace all the more precious." You chuckle under your breath when your own eyes begin to water, "I would know."

Alicent frowns, quickly feeling her own eyes well up at the display.

The same happens to Daemon. He watches three girls weep and his face hardens as he comes to Rhaenyra's side, "bisa tolī kessa rēbagon, ñuha riña." This too shall pass, my girl.

Rhaenyra turns to her uncle as he grabs her hand, heavy tears stream down her face, "ziry ōdragon." It hurts.

Daemon is supposed to say something, but then he notices Alicent begin to fuss over you. You softly brush her off as you come to stand. Alicent is quick to stand with you, and she is glad to have done so, because you nearly topple back.

Rhaenyra's hand is quickly dropped when Daemon comes to your side, calling out your name. You sheepishly turn to him, apologizing over and back as he escorts you to a seat.

Rhaenyra stares at you as her uncle sits you in the chair across her She watches how Daemon treats you, thinking she's never seen him treat anyone like this before, much less a lady. It makes her sorrow all the more sour.

He brushes your back but only calms after your food is served and he's seen you eat a few bites. He takes a goblet of wine but his eyes remain fixed on you, "better?"

You turn to him, sheepish, still, "I am. Thank you, darling."

Alicent's eyes widen at the sound of the pet name. Rhaenyra rolls her eyes with a huff. It is precisely that sound that makes you realize what you've said. You were used to referring to Alicent and Rhaenyra that, it came so naturally this moment, "I- I mean-"

"Where is your father?" Daemon turns to Rhaenyra, seemingly not noticing your slip up. He did notice, but why wouldn't you call him darling?

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw as she shakes her head, "mourning his lost heir."

Both you and your husband's face fall. You turn from the princess to the prince, reaching for his hand. Daemon clutches your hand as his brows constrict, "your brother is dead?"

"Just last night," Rhaenyra absentmindedly stirs her food, "his and my mother's funereal will be held in a few hours."

Your heart hurts for her, "my deepest sympathies for your losses, princess."

There is a thick silence for a moment. You all find it quite hard to eat, but you do so regardless. You force feed yourself through the unpleasant churn in your belly. After a while, you look across the room, finding that it looked everyone was experiencing the same thing. You break the silence, turning to your sister, "perhaps Alicent can accompany you to the temple to pray. It did always help me."

Alicent turns to Rhaenyra, but she does not react.

Your sister looks back at you and you give her a nod of encouragment. Alicent thinks for a moment, "a walk there would be good for you as well."

You smile at the red haired girl.

"My prayers are terrible," Rhaenyra mumbles.

You huff and frown at the thought, "it is impossible. No prayer is terrible, especially not one spoken in earnest."

Rhaenyra remembers how her septa would use you as an example for praying. She sniffles, "would you join us, aunt?"

You perk and immediately nod, "I would love t-"

"No," Daemon quips, placing his silverware down, "I do not want to be subjected to tolling bells and incense."

You all turn to him as Daemon turns to you. You slowly shake your head, "if... that is the case, you do not have to come."

Daemon's eyes widen ever so slightly in offense.

"Perhaps you can wa-"

"Kesan daor mītepagon ao ñuha ābrazȳrys," I will not lend you my wife, says Daemon to Rhaenyra.

You turn from your husband to his niece. Rhaenyra looks back at you, "he says he will not lend you to me."

Your lips part, giving him a look, "Daemon."

"She has your sister," he turns to you, "if they need another companion, lend her your ward."

A long silence passes.

Rhaenyra stares at her half-empty plate and decides that's as much as she'll ever get to eat in this moment. She pushes her chair back and stands, "I'm quite finished," she looks between the table. Alicent takes a final spoonful before standing as well.

"Raqagon aōha ābrazȳrys, kepa," enjoy your wife, uncle, Rhaenyra says as she walks off. Alicent follows after her, and both girls look at you as you stand to greet them goodbye. Daemon simply looks at his niece.

Rhaenyra, though she always harbored a special affection towards her uncle, could not find it in her to project her ire out on you, for you were nothing but kind to her, and after all, you were her closest friend's older sister. She nods at you as she leaves, "princess."

"Princess," you nod back and do the same for Alicent, "sister. Take care of each other."

Once they are gone, you sit back down and glare at Daemon.

It takes a moment for him to realize it. When he catches your look, his brows contort. You immediately quip, "would it very hard for you to stomach the ambience of the temple for an hour?"

Daemon turns back to his plate. He thinks of the night he came to you at the temple, "just because I came for you does not mean I wish to do the same for Rhaenyra."

You knit your brows deeply, not having a clue on what he's saying, "what?"

The image of sorrowful wailing still haunts him, and your prayer for death is not something he wishes to hear ever again. You cannot pray such prayers if you are not in that fucking place, "I forbid you from going to the temple."

"You forbid me?" you ask, flabbergasted.

"It is my prerogative where I go, and-" he turns back to you, "where my wife does."

You stare at him for a moment. You feel frustration bubble in your belly, "Daemon."

Anger bubbles in his belly.

You reach for his hand and gaze upon him in confusion, "the child's mother is dead."

He looks at your hand before his away, "I knew her mother longer than she has."

You chuckle in disbelief, pulling your head back. He looks at you, jaw set and eyes glassy. You shake your head slowly, "that's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Daemon laughs, hurt by your sentiment.

"Her mother is dead," you shake your head rapidly, "she who taught her everything she kno-"

Daemon stands abruptly, jaw and fists clenched tightly, making you flinch. He stares at you for a long moment and you feel your breath begin to grow heavy. You slowly reach for his hand, half expecting him to rip his arm away. When he does not, you come to a stand, "Dae-"

"You impress me with your commitment to understand everyone else but I."

His words stab you like a spear through the chest. Your eyes begin to water, "is that what you think I'm do-"

"Then what?!" he snaps, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

You begin to sob and you take his cheeks, "I'm trying to make you understand what I am thinking, why I want to go with Rhaenyra, because I know what it fee-"

"Do I not mourn?" Daemon swats your hand away from him. He quickly turns away when his tears begin to fall. He does not get to notice how you twitch at his action, nor how instantly your heart begins to race.

He walks off to the door, stopping for a moment, waiting for you to come after him. You do not.

More accurately, you cannot. You clutch your chest and try to calm yourself before you slip into a full blown attack. You force yourself to take five deep breaths, and thankfully, you do not feel light headed.

Daemon, too wrapped up in his self-suffering, does not even think to look at you and storms out of the dining room.

By the time the doors slam shut, you are able to bring yourself to go after your husband. You move as quickly as you can, convincing yourself sprinting was worth it if you managed to catch up to Daemon. The thing was, you were still a terrible runner, and it if wasn't hard enough to catch your breath, you were screaming out the prince's name as you did, making it doubly hard.

Daemon, on the other hand, did not have to try to walk as fast as he did. He is walking so fast, if anyone were to crash into him, they would shoot off and hurt themselves.

It doesn't take long for you to lose your breath, and though you didn't want to, your body to forces you to stop. You were so close. You managed to catch a whiff of Daemon's silver hair, but now everything was turning silver... then black. You reach to the side to lean against the wall, but you miscalculate your reach and shift your weight, only to slip and crash roughly onto the ground.

You're so out of breath, no sound comes out of you when you crash. The pain is immense, yet you are rendered mute. Your ribs throb at the impact of colliding against the stone floor. You do not know it, but your nose it bleeding too.

It's a wonder that you did not pass out. Or perhaps it was the gods' will for you to feel fibre of your body strangle itself from how your lungs struggled, as punishment for being unkind to your husband.

You do know know it, but two Gold Cloaks find you on the floor. They are quick to bring you to the maester's ward. You hear them explain to the measter how they found you, and you muster up your remaining energy to say, "Daemon... please."

The two Gold Cloaks understand and leave with the intent of sending your husband to you. They will not manage to find him till much later for he went off on dragonback.

You lie on one of the cots in the maester's ward, staring at the ceiling you've come to know all too well. You know your maester can do little to help you in this moment, but you are grateful for his care nonetheless.

"You mustn't strain yourself in your condition, your grace," the old man says, "you are carrying a child within you."

You tense at his words. Your sit up and straighten your back, rapidly shaking your head, "b-but, maester, how can that be? It cannot be."

He offers you a solemn look, "your father, Lord Hand, has made us monitor you-"

"He does not finish inside me," you quip and frantically motion, "he- he... he spills on my skin. How then can I be with child?"

The maester is taken aback by your confession. He does not give himself away though and calmly explains, "it is still possible for... the seed take root from premature ejaculation."

You are floored by this information. You shake your head in disagreement, "but— he will not believe me."

"He does not have to. It does not ch-"

"He will do everything to villainize me. He will accuse me of infidelity."

He frowns, "I can explain it to-"

"No!" you grab his arms, "you must not tell him! You must not tell a soul."

He pulls his head back, "your grace..." he brings your hands slowly off him, "you can only hide such a thing for so long."

You shake your head and bring yourself to stand, "it is a worry for another time."

"Wait- you cannot leave-"

"I cannot miss the queen's funeral."

The maester does his best to prevent you from leaving. He calmly tries to lead you back to bed and explain that no one would fault you for being unable to attend. You are persistent however and managed to get out of the room. Two other maesters come and try to reel you back in, and it is the same time your wards come running in.

News of you fainting had spread like wildfire, and both their faces were marked with avid worry. "Princess!" they call in unison.

"Make them release me!" you wail in exhaustion as you fight off the maesters.

"She cannot go," your maester says, "she is far too weak."

"Unhand her this instant!" Erryk barks, ready to forcefully shove the old men away from you.

The maesters pull away in shock and confusion as Erryk imposes upon them. Arryk is the one to keep you upright, and he is horrified by the state you are in. You lean into his armour, lulled by his hard steel as you sigh in exhaustion.

"You would subdue her in such a state?" Arryk snaps.

"She is hysterical," the maester says, "she is not strong enough to-"

"Aye, but she's strong enough to fight off 3 grown men?" Arryk grits his teeth as he keeps you upright, "have you not given her medication?"

He sighs, "there is no medication fo-"

"Then what business has she here?" Erryk raises his brows, "you'd keep her to rot?"

The man scoffs, "I am offended, ser, that you think you know better than I when it comes to the health of the princes."

"I do know better," Erryk snaps, "you will not treat her like a prisoner if she asks to leave again."

"Ha!" the maester snaps, "fine! I'm sure the days you've spent gutting men has made you learned in the ways to heal them, ser."

With that, the maesters leave and you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders. You sigh as Erryk turns to you, seeing the hardness of his face soften in real time. You frown, "you should not have done that."

"My duty?" he narrows his eyes, "they had you surrounded like a criminal."

Arryk nods, "I fear they might have bruised you."

You sigh, fighting back tears. You steel yourself away and shake your head, "I should prepare for the funeral."

You do just that and Erryk and Arryk escort you to the funeral. You immediately spot Daemon, but he was stood beside his brother and niece, so you did not think it proper to interlope. You find Alicent standing just a few paces from Rhaenyra and debate to join her, but then you see the Lord Hand farther behind her, and you feel the need to cry.

"Papa," you mumble to yourself as you go to him.

Your father is quick to recognize your distress once you come to him, and quickly takes you under his arm. It is so instinctive, the Cargyll twins are shocked by it. They were supposed to keep close watch on you, but they decided to give you and your father privacy.

Otto had long decided physical affections were no use to you, and yet in this moment, he pulls you into him, securing one arm your shoulders. You press your cheek into his chest as you steal a glance at the king. Viserys stands before two lifeless bodies, and the sight mirrored that of the day your mother died.

You wrap your arms around your father.

He sighs, eyes throwing daggers at the Rogue fucking prince, "did he take the news badly?"

You shake your head, "I have not told him."

Otto sighs again, agitated and disappointed. His face is crestfallen as calls out your name, "what happened then?"

"I am terrified."

Your father tenses and clenches his jaw. He strokes your hair, doing his best to ignore the awful sounds you were making. "The gods with strengthen you, daughter." he turns to Alicent, "I will take care of it, my girl."

After the funeral, once Otto made sure you are taken care off, he goes to his other daughter and asks about the princess. Alicent is quick to explain to him that Rhaenyra is so much like you when your mother died, "I have not seen Rhaenyra in such a state."

Otto offers Alicent a soft smile, placing a hand on her cheek, "you are ever empathetic, daughter, to both the princess and your sister."

"Sister did not look well at the funeral either. I should check up on her."

"That won't be necessary," her father raises a hand, "I've seen to her already. She needs only to rest now."

Alicent slowly nods.

"You ought to offer some empathy to the king however."

The girl tenses at the thought.

"Unlike your princesses, the king does not have people to go to at this time. Even now, he's secluded himself in his chambers. It would be good of you to go to him from time to time, if only to express how you keep him in your prayers."

Alicent tries to make sense of it. She clenches her jaw, "wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to do this, father?"

He chuckles lowly, "how much sadder would he be if a widower offer another widower his bitter prayers?"

She stills at the thought and understands. Or so she thinks.

Otto smiles and places a hand on her shoulder, "it might be best if you keep private your visits to him. You need not explain your concern to Rhaenyra to further distress her."

She nods in understanding. In truth, she does not understand the true intentions of her father, and will not until it is far too late.

As this was happening, you were trying to get ahold of Daemon. You could not for he was quick to leave the funeral right after it concluded. He had seen you crying to your father and wanted to wash his eyes with alcohol, unwanting to behold such a gruesome sight. It stung far too much that you sought comfort in that cunt face. Why didn't you cry to him instead?

Daemon washes alcohol down his throat instead with members of his City Watch at his favorite brothel. Mysaria is there to keep him company and though her touch and words are gentle, he cannot find solace in them like he once did.

The two guards who had found you on the floor earlier today hear about the gathering and go to the prince to tell him what had happened to you.

"Your grace."

Daemon sulks as he stares at a cup of wine. Mysaria, who was stood behind his chair, looks at the men then to the silver haired man, "my prince. These men want to speak to you."

"Wha-what for?" he snaps through a hiccup.

"Your wife, my prince," one says.

Mysaria stiffens, lips parting. She was not a stranger to Daemon's foul moods and prided herself in easily defusing them. It changed when he married the Hightower girl. Though it was evident most of his frustrations stemmed from you, you were too much of a touchy subject, which is why she says, "I do not think he wants to talk about her."

"A whore should not meddle with concerns she cannot understand."

Mysaria scoffs, thinking about how Daemon fucked her once and called out his bride's name. When she brought it up after, he screamed, telling her he doesn't pay her to ask questions. She steps back and crosses her arms, "be my guest then."

One of the two guards lean forward in an attempt to gain the attention of the distracted man, "prince Daemon. We wished to report something regarding your wife."

Daemon ticks. He had been gazing into space, but now he has the wits to pours himself a drink, "is she dead now too?"

The two are taken aback. Mysaria steps back a few paces.

"N-no, your grace. But she-"

"Then do not FUCKING mention her to me!" Daemon snaps, jolting from his seat. His scream was loud enough to cause the noise to cease. He grabs his cup and downs his drink in one go. He then pushes past the two guards and begins to monologue.

"The gods give as the gods take," he says, voice horse and eyes misty. "Try as they may, I am not so easily replaced."

The room is solemn as they look upon the prince. He is clearly distraught and wholly drunk.

He stares at his cup, "wine does not taste sweeter with tears. Tonight, we drink to the Heir For A Day..." he burps, "perhaps he would have liked wine."

Back in the keep, as Alicent leaves her father's quarters, you go to them, which is why you cross paths. She is concerned by how you lean into ser Cargyll's arm as you walk, and immediately comes to your side, "sister?"

"Alicent," you smile, immediately perking up.

"Lady Hightower," the knight greets her.

"It's ser Erryk," you playfully whisper with a smile.

Alicent turns to you and offershim as soft smile, "ser Erryk."

"You spoke to father, surely," you take her hand, making her look back at you, "is his mood grim?"

She shakes her head, "no. He is... relatively placid, I think."

"Good," you break away from Erryk. He assures you are firmly planted on your feet before releasing you, "I can talk to him then."

"Shouldn't you rather be resting?" she asks in concern.

"It is urgent. I-" you shake your head, "I cannot delay any further."

Alicent realizes then that your hair was fully undone and slightly messy now. You were also in your thick velvet robe, and it only causes her further concern. "I know I am not Gwayne, but if there is anything you wish to speak of," she squeezes your hands, "I am hear to lend an ear."

Your lips wobble, but you steel yourself away. You crush your sister into your arms and pepper her cheeks with kisses, "my sweet girl. I am five years your senior. I must lend you my ear." You pull away and cup her cheeks. You frown when you see her glassy eyes, "do not worry for me."

She chuckles rather sadly, "we help but worry always for those we love."

Erryk heart pinches at the solemn exchange of the two sisters. He is glad to know that at least one more person in your family loved you with gentleness. He makes mental note to encourage you to write to your brother.

When Alicent leaves, you take a breath before knocking on the Hand's door.

"Enter."

You walk in and find your father busy at his desk.

"Father."

Otto looks up at you, immediately coming to stand, "what's wrong?"

You close the door behind him, catching Erryk's encouraging gaze. He nods before you shut the door. You turn to you father, finding he was already walking towards you.

He takes your hand, inspecting you. He speaks your name carefully, and it softens your frigid demeanor, "what has happened?"

You smile sadly, "I cannot sleep."

He sighs, partially relieved it is nothing so severe. He walks towards the door, "I will have one of the maids send you warm milk and honey."

"There is something I must tell you," you say, making him stop.

He turns back you, antsy over your serious tone, "if it is regarding Daemon. Do not worry. I have designs to keep him on a leash."

You release his hand and turn to your feet.

His expression hardens. He knows whatever you have to say is grave because you can no longer look at him. He steps forward and takes your cheeks, "daughter."

You look up at him, face stained with tears.

"Go to bed," he wipes your cheeks, "you'll muster the nerve to tell your husband the news soon en-"

"He does not finish inside me, father."

"..."

"I've-" you choke on your breath, "I've spoken about it to the maesters and he's explained it is possible for the seed to take root from premature ejaculation but-"

"Have you strayed?" Otto tightens his hold a fraction.

You are aghast by his statement and rapidly shake your head, "father, I wou-"

"Then there is nothing to fear," he cuts you off, brows tensing, "your child will be born with silver hair and violet eyes, and-"

"Only I inherited your hair color," you mumble, beginning to tremble, "if my child looks too much like me—" you rapidly shake your head, "he will-"

"Enough," he snaps, shaking you slightly.

You chest begins to tighten.

Otto notices and brushes your hair out of your face. He recites the common prayer you used to pray with your mother, "Seven, hear me. Father, strengthen me. Mother, protect me. Warrior, d—"

"Defend me," you sigh, joining in, "Smith, mend me."

"Mend my daughter," Otto mumbles softly.

"Maiden, beautify me," you say together, "Crone, enlighten me. Stranger, guide me."

Otto nods and strokes your hair, "now breathe."

It takes a few deep breaths, but you are calm now. He leads you to the door and opens it. "Oh, good," he says, once spotting your ward, "you're not entirely useless."

Erryk walks over to you, ignoring your father completely as he takes you by the arm.

"Take her to bed and have some warm milk and honey served to her."

"Yes, my lord," he says, though not sparing the lord a glance.

You, however, do, looking back with a soft smile, "good night, father."

He is about to reply, but then comes a servant boy, holding a plate of crackers and cheese, who freezes at the sight of the crowded entry. He thinks he's made a mistake, so he turns to leave, but Otto raises a hand and beckons the boy over, "come."

The boy walks past you, mumble a soft, "milady."

You smile and nod, "good evening."

Erryk eyes him suspiciously as he enters the room but refocuses on walking you back.

Otto closes the door and the boy places the crackers on the table. The man circles 'round to his desk and sits down, "what news do you bring me today?"

"Prince Daemon at the brothel, milord," the boy says, rolling back and forth on his heels.

The Lord Hand's face twists in contempt. He pulls his desk open and procures a cold coin.

The boy gleefully takes it and begins to explain the events that take place.

[tillwhen]

.

last month i promised myself not to be too self-deprecating lest gregory apartment appears behind my back and smugly tells me that i’m the living proof for his “people can’t change” mantra but it’s really hard. i don’t want to give up on it but it’s so so hard. i even started dumping personal stuff here too

i don’t wanna talk about it much with anyone either cause ultimately there’s nothing to say. i obviously have problems but more than that i’m kind of evil. to myself and others. i just act all high and mighty, cuck myself out of all the good shit, get unreasonably mad because of things that don’t matter and then feel incredibly guilty and stupid afterwards, so in the end it helps no one and people will eventually (rightfully) lose patience with me if they haven’t already

no matter what i do when it seems that i’m giving it my all, it turns out that i actually could’ve given more. no wonder i get so little in return, who would want to spend any more attention on someone who’s so muted and boring all the time- yeah i’m doing it again cause it’s so fucking hard to be nicer to myself when there’s nothing that could prove that i deserve it. and people who tried to make me believe that that are good things about me already gave up on that which i don’t strictly blame them for (does prove me right though)

i’m tired of always getting upset because of the most ridiculous stuff, getting mad at people and at myself, i’m tired of my brain being ready to jump from point a to point b in seconds only to beat myself up for my thought crimes later (you thought this evil thing, that means you’re evil!!! even if you didn’t act on it!!!! because that’s how it works right). i’m tired and i WANT to change even tho it might look like i’m enjoying rotting in this self-loathing - I’M NOT but i got too used to it cause it’s all i’ve ever done in my entire life and not only is it hard to unlearn, every relapse makes me feel like no progress happened whatsoever. what did i do to deserve this

whatever man. people can change but i suck at it majorly

[lover-of-dusk]

Does anyone else feel this way, or is it just me? Venting post.

(WARNING: might be triggering for some people. Discussion of depression and S*****dal thoughts, among other things.)

In the world I live in, it seems like there’s no escape. There’s no help or hope. There’s only misunderstanding, judgment and isolation. No matter how much these people insist otherwise, it feels as though I will never be loved. I will never be understood, or find my tribe. Do I give up hope, or keep pushing? I’m so tired. I wish that socializing would come freely for me. I’m so sick of being “other”, but that’s the only way to describe me. The outcast, the one with too many boxes checked. Too many thoughts and interests to be part of one group. That should be a good thing, right? Not really. On one hand, some people admire me, think I’m super smart. On the other hand, I do too much. I’m too all over the place, my head firmly cemented in the clouds. They lock me up because I’m not like everyone else. I wasn’t the goody-two-shoes, God-fearing, keep-in-line-and-be-quiet little girl I was supposed to be. I’m not even the good, charitable Christian woman who will marry a man, bear his children and bend to their every need. Instead, I’m the free-thinking, easily emotional, mentally fucked-up, genderfluid sapphic freakshow I am. I’m not even welcome in parts of the LGBTQ+ community, or the black community, or any community for that matter. But I think that’s everyone.

But why should I be ashamed of who I am? Why does everyone say I need help, but no one does? Why do they just foister me off to someone else, or smother me to the point that I can’t even tell who I am until I leave them?

It does nothing to explain my struggles to someone else because I can’t seem to do it right. I’m either wound up in self-pity or self-loathing. There’s nothing in between. My brain doesn’t let me feel the pain, the embarrassment or any other negative feeling when it’s not happening in that moment. Only in the dark hours of the night am I allowed to feel those things. They come at me like huge waves of water rushing over a tiny defenseless lifeboat on the sea. And no matter how hard I want to, no matter how much I need to, I can’t sob, I can’t scream, I can’t move. I’m paralyzed in those moments of pain and agony.

Why do I need to be fixed? Why do I have to go through therapy for something I can’t control, much less change? Why can’t I just be?

I don’t think I’ve ever truly sobbed, even when someone dear to me dies, or I’ve been so frustrated with everything that I wanted to join them. I’ve come so close to it though. I’ve hurt myself, I’ve wanted to die, I’ve ridden the waves of pain and euphoria, constantly changing from day to day, moment to moment. Never have I truly, gut-wrenchingly sobbed before. I’ve wanted to sob, at first, to prove that my feelings were valid enough to take heed of. So, my family would stop blaming me for the pain and embarrassment I’ve caused them in the past, so my teachers would help me when I couldn’t help myself. So anyone would take me seriously. Now, I want to sob because it may let me rest for once. To get all of the anger, the depression, the anxiety, the numbness, all of it out of me. Just to let me breathe. The silent tears do nothing for me anymore, because the feelings are stronger than them. Numbness kills those tears just like they were ants and it was a giant’s foot. Effortlessly. I want, no. I need something strong enough to kill those feelings, so I can finally rest easy. So I can get up every morning and move forward. What an amazing feeling it would be, to get up every morning, do everything that I needed to do, without effort or fail. Would I be loved more, be accepted more if I could do this? I’m not sure, but I feel that it may make my life a little bit easier if not a lot.

You, reader, may look through this and say, “This person definitely needs therapy.” However, you don’t know that I’ve been in therapy for 13 years at this point. I’ve been through psychiatric wards to residential facilities, and no one seems to be able to fix me. No one has cracked the code to my crazy brain yet, not fully. I’m exhausted from the necessity of explaining myself, of telling my therapists and the staff at psych wards and residential facilities how I feel. I don’t want to be patronized. I don’t want to be less than, or humiliated, or to be considered incapable of being an adult, because I’m not. I just want to be able to be considered a functioning individual worthy of other people’s time. Not just some patient of a therapist or mental hospital, or someone with mental illnesses. It hurts me when people say that it makes sense that I’m autistic, I have bipolar, or anxiety or ADHD or any other illness that I’ve been formally and informally diagnosed with, because they put me in a box and automatically shove me in with people who can’t function, who need supervision 25/8 just to make sure they don’t hurt themselves. I’m sick of being the only one in a room who understands what it’s like to be someone like me. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of having too many questions and not enough answers.

 Why is it so hard for me to explain things to my mom? Why is it so hard for her to understand? Why is it so hard for anyone to understand? Why do I have to be around people constantly, telling them all of my trauma and struggles just for them to label me as mentally ill and, by extention, untrustworthy of opinion, or too mentally unstable to be taken seriously?

On the flip side, why am I expected to be an outgoing, completely perfect carbon cutout of a “model citizen”? Why do I have to be just like the curated images on social media? Why can’t I make mistakes? Why can’t I be imperfect, with differing or ambiguous opinions? Why do I have to know everything about other people’s struggles and hardships when no one shares them with me? Just because I didn’t know about Stonewall for the first 16 or 17 years of my life, or about certain microaggressions (I’d been dealing with microaggressions my whole life, by the way) or the fact that id been raised by Republicans who lived and breathed Fox News and slightly distasteful humor doesn’t make me a shitty person who deserves to die a horrible death. 

Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way. I just want to know if anyone else knows what this feels like, or can at least understand where I’m coming from. Sorry for the vent, but I'm really needing someone else who's not a therapist to tell me I'm valid in this.

EDIT: I'm also sick of people telling me to "suck it up" and move on, too. Tell me how, then. Tell me how to suck up my literal shitshow of a brain and be a perfect human being when I have so much shit in my brain. Sorry, this seems like it's going on too long, but that should be it in terms of ranting for now.

[redflagbreakfast]

Journal Entry 1- The Playa Players

“I couldn’t possibly go to Mexico!” I exclaimed dramatically to my friends, who were all planning a getaway from the barren cold landscape of Fargo, North Dakota, to Playa Del Carmen. My company had been demanding all of my time and money, leaving me with barely enough energy to crawl into bed at night, let alone jet off to a tropical paradise. But my friends were a persuasive bunch, and before I knew it, I found myself rummaging through old flight credits from the summer of quarantine. Lo and behold, I had an unused one that was just begging to be put to good use. So, with a mix of excitement and trepidation, I hopped on a flight and made my way down to Cancun.

As I sat on the public bus to Playa, feeling tired but excited, I couldn’t help but wonder what the quick weekend had in store for me. I was going to secretly see Phil tonight for an innocent dinner since my friends had a long day trip planned to Tulum and certainly wouldn’t be back until late.

Of course, as luck would have it, my friends had in fact, canceled their day trip to Tulum and were lounging around the room when I arrived. My secret plans were foiled..I reluctantly had to explain why I couldn’t join them for dinner that night.

I had promised to meet up with my ex-boyfriend, who was currently living in Playa. It had been a while since I’d seen him, and even though I knew it wasn’t good for me (as I sure will be the theme for this journal) I decided to quietly make plans to catch up with him. Melania, loathes that I have kept in contact with him, and since she is the one who convinced me to book the ticket and donate a spare twin bed to me, she couldn’t help but be miffed. I assured her and the others I would be ready to party with them in a few short hours.

I slipped into a cute brown woven dress without a bra – because let’s be real, who needs that kind of restriction?? Now, I may have been running on fumes with no sleep for days, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me from the chance at fun. When in Mexico…right? I touched up my makeup and gave my natural curls a little scrunch to add some extra sass and headed out the door.

And then, there he was. The guy who had tossed me aside like yesterday’s news after I simply asked him to use protection. I mean, seriously, how hard is it to wrap it up? But even though he threw away our relationship like garbage, I couldn’t help but feel a flush when I saw him.

It had been eight long months since I’d gotten any action, and damn, there he was, looking hotter than ever. I know I probably should have been mad at him, but I just couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was his quirky aspergers traits, or maybe it was the cocaine he had for breakfast, but I genuinely feel like he is literally incapable of real human connection, so I had continued to give him the biggest hall pass of the century.

We had dated on and off for over four years, but the relationship had never been exclusive – at least not on his end, but when he gave me his undivided attention, I swear I felt like the queen of the universe.

But let’s talk about the real reason I kept coming back for more: the sex. This man knew how to make my body sing like a freaking symphony. And the size difference between us only added to the excitement. I mean, I’m a petite 5’0″ ball of pure fire and energy, while he’s this massive, calm and collected, hunk of man who could toss me around like a rag doll. And you know what? I loved every second of it.

The moment I wasn’t with him, he would disappear like a phantom, leaving me feeling confused and frustrated. At 52 years old, he had once told me that I was “the first real relationship he ever had”. I had to laugh at that – after all, he had never even met my family, and I had let him fuck other people. But to him, a real relationship simply meant being willing to be seen in public with me in front of friends and coworkers. .

There was something about the way he took control that just drove me wild. Honestly, I’m not sure if it was his attentiveness or our incredible connection in the bedroom (or the balcony, or the sleek kitchen counter ) that had me hooked. All I know is that this guy was like a drug to me, and I couldn’t get enough. So maybe I was the one with the “drug” problem after all…not him.

Despite all odds, he was actually an upgrade from my ex, the king of narcissism. The inspiration behind my decision to embark on this wild social experiment in the first place… At least what I saw with Phil, is what I got. He was refreshingly authentic. No dual lives and lies, empty promises and even emptier wallets.

No matter what, I had promised myself (and Melania) that I would not hook up with him, no matter how much tequila was involved.

Dinner went as expected. Romeo’s is my favorite hole in the wall Italian place in Playa, well, let’s be real, in all of the galaxy. Across from me, Phil chattered on about his latest achievements, from mastering the art of diving to his ever-expanding business empire. As much as I tried to stay focused on our conversation, my mind kept drifting to the past.

As I watched him eat his last bite of truffle ravioli, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at how seemingly awesome his life was despite how much he had hurt me. Aside from his philandering ways, his life seemed so damn perfect. But then again, when you’ve quadrupled your net worth in three years, it’s easy to see why the world is your oyster.

I’ve seen the new younger and hotter blondes that he’s been screwing. I’d done just an innocent amount of rabbit hole internet sleuthing over the last 9 months since we had broken up…as had some of my friends.. He was now trolling for women barely out of college, enticing them with simply the promise of 2 day long blow and liquor fueled trips to his time-share in Puerto Vallarta.

I used to think our 15-year age gap was significant, but it paled in comparison to the 30-year chasm he was now bridging with his arrangement site conquests. I realized that money truly could buy happiness, or at least a never-ending supply of willing young bimbos. The age gap works just fine when you’re 6’4” with a bio that blatantly parades your net worth is over ten million dollars.

The pandemic had been an absolute nightmare for me. My life had been crushed in every possible way, from becoming a homeschool kindergarten teacher overnight to my 5 year old son, to literally being terminated from my own company that I had started from the ground up, and getting quite literally ghosted by the new guy I thought would change my word. But then there was Phil, the lucky bastard who managed to thrive despite everything. He had even sold three bars in October 2019, right before the world came crashing down on the industry due to Covid. It was like he had a crystal ball or something. He had invested the money wisely and had exploded his net worth in the process.

“I own over 200 doors now,” he boasted, his muscular chest puffed up with pride.

While I was struggling to pay rent on my one measly apartment, Phil was buying up real estate left and right in Detroit like it was Monopoly money. His life looked so easy, and it made me queasy.

I had given this man everything, my heart and soul included. And what did he do? He threw it all away because I dared to ask for safe sex in our open relationship. Ethically non-monogamous my ass.

I swore to myself that I would never let him touch me again, no matter how desperate I was. It had been 9 long months since we had broken up, and I could last nine more if it meant I wouldn’t have to worry about some Mexican hybrid STD he’d picked up since he’d been here.. La Cucaracha in my crotcha? No gracias.

As we finished our delicious meal with a slice of heavenly berry cheesecake, Phil grabbed the bill. It was one thing he had always done, take care of me. I had been on a few dates since the breakup, but none of the men on the Bumble roster could hold a candle to Phil. Half of them didn’t even offer to pay for the damn meal. No wonder I was still single.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Dystychiphobia (n.) - the fear of hurting someone

Synopsis: The side-effects of the SEP program and Reaper's poor impulse control make for a very dangerous mixture.

Warnings: Angst, Cussing, Self-Loathing, Alcohol, Smut, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk Notes: Talon Researcher! Reader, Slow Burn, Size Difference Words: 7200, got a little carried away.

"Calm me down with your caress I'll get off while I watch you undress Maybe the sex will help me to forget A precious, transient, schizophrenic bliss

Oh, my god, you're beautiful Why do you stay with this neurotic fool?

I've lost control, please save me from myself" - IAMX: Insomnia

There it was - that damned smile again.

Reaper immediately became week-kneed at the sight, sinking down on the chair reserved only for patients at the examination room.

Admittedly, ever since you had joined Moira's research team, Reaper's obligatory visits at her laboratory became somewhat more bearable.

However, the more time passed and the two of you grew closer through the time you were required to spend together, being alone with you felt like bittersweet torture for the lonely man.

"Good morning, Reaper" you cheerfully greeted him, taking place on the office chair opposite to him. "Morning, doc."

It was a force of habit to call you by this title, though you were far away from having an actual medical carreer. Not that you had never thought about it before, but the circumstances of your life just didn't meet the requirements.

Well, one thing about Talon was that they didn't give a shit about your qualification, for as long as you'd commit your duty without question. Everyone had equal chances here if they were willing to prove - and improve - themselves.

Anyways, being adressed this way never failed to make you laugh.

"I've told you to just call me Y/N, right?" you snickered and the man slouched back in his chair, arms crossed.

Fucking adorable, he thought what he would never dare to voice aloud. Your voice was so balmy, he wanted it on tape - maybe listening to it he'd finally be able to find proper sleep.

It was pretty hard to know what someone's actually thinking if you can rarely ever see their face, since our expressions indicate a lot about ourselves - more than we care to reveal, most of the time. At least it was the case with you, being an open book in huge contrast to the man in front of you.

The only thing you could decipher was that while Reaper might be surrounding himself in mystery, his body language was significantly less hostile around you. However he'd always maintain his distance and keep up a defensive position, seemingly tensed.

Well, a medical examination wasn't exactly something to look forward to, so you got the idea.

Lost in his little infatuation, Reaper forgot to answer or react in any other way to keep the conversation alive. Not the first time, though, and you knew he wasn't a man of much words either way.

"We'll start with the usual, shall we? Miss O'Deorain wants me to draw your blood for a sample test." Reyes groaned quite irritated at your request, but an order was an order. "Let's just get this over with."

At least it was not Moira or some of her deranged underlings doing those silly experiments on him anymore.

The scientist's interest in Reaper had faded rather quickly ever since she was able to revive him - or however one wanted to call the atrocity she created in the progress.

Moira was quite the fickle person in general, and nothing could ever keep her entertained for long until she'd bury herself into a new 'project'.

So now that Reaper was able to keep his form and was not considered a general danger anymore, you had been assigned to work with him.

"C'mon, please" you cooed understandingly. It was the same every week, so one would think Reaper was accustomed to the necessary procedure by now - yet that didn't make it any easier for him.

The man huffed in response before he'd finally begin to disrobe his upper body, reluctant still as the heavy battle gear dropped to the floor.

"I promise I won't stare" you joked, but what a lie that was. After all, despite everything there was still quite the handsome person beneath the black leather.

His torso was covered in scars, varying in size and shape and constantly emmitting a black mist. You could practically feel a breath catch in his throat as you dared touching one, a shadowy tendril cautiously wrapping around your fingers.

"It tickles" you giggled all excited, not the slightest bit of fear or disgust present in your features.

Sometimes Reaper thought it was impossible that a person so pure and wonderful was working for the same organisation as he did.

Well, just like most here you had quite the opposite of an easy life. You chose not to talk about the past most of the time, yet once told him your loyality lies with basically anyone that was willing to pay - so you could support what's left of your family back home.

Which doesn't mean that you don't have any morality, but hard times require an even harder will if one wants to survive.

"Still the reckless one, I see" he rumbled with that deep, authoritative voice of his. Still, his former stiffened pectoral muscles now relaxed under your gentle touch and he let out a relieved breath.

"Do I have any reason not to be?" Hesistantly, you moved your hands to cup either side of his mask, removing it only after he gave you a slightly approving nod. "I trust you, Reaper."

This was not the first time that you had seen the person you almost considered a friend of yours without his trademark disguise, but it never ceased to amaze you.

Your smile wouldn't falter in the slightest as you set eyes upon his disfigured face, and you could've sworn to see just the smallest of smirks tug on the edge of his lips as well.

"Heya, handsome" you hummed as you grabbed some tools, and your words made a frown appear on his face, baring his teeth almost as if snarling at you. "Not funny."

"Wasn't meant as a joke" you objected, beginning to examine before he could make sense out of it. "Seems like your hair is still able to grow. I didn't know you had locks!" you noted, letting a hand run through his hair which made him sigh pleasantly.

"Shit...sorry" he mumbled in embarassment at almost moaning because of something so trivial, facing the ground and wishing to be swallowed by it.

But you'd simply wave it off with a bright, lopsided smirk as you continued to massage his scalp slightly with your nails, and he'd lean into your thoughtful touch without second thought.

If only you knew how much even those small gestures of yours meant to him...

"With all the things I am bothering you with every week, I think you deserve a small reward." And he'd soak in every little ounce of affection in like a dry sponge, drowning in the sound of you chanting happily - only until he took ahold of your wrist, voluntarily stopping this rare bliss.

You understood immediately, turning to type something on your computer then acting like nothing happened.

"Pulse 213." A little fast even for his standarts, probably due to your presence. But he'd be damned and confess this just to correct some silly data. Ever since the SEP his heartrate was already faster than that of a normal being to begin with, but now with his enhanced metabolism it usually stayed above 180 most of the time.

"Breathing normal." Actually, it was not necessary for him to breathe anymore, let alone eat or sleep, for his cells would decompose and regenerate at such a high rate, it made all traditional forms of external ressources obsolete. Though he continued doing so, in order to feel at least remotely human.

Reaper's physique worked somewhat parasitic, for his energy income would be maintained solely by draining it out of other living beings.

Talon would provide for lifestock or lab-animals whenever there was a longer period without any fights. Luckily, depending on the quality and quantity of the according victims, he could keep his solid form upright for several weeks.

While he certainly stared you down right now, you knew he meant no harm - that was just his default expression, you think, And you were also deeply buried in thought yourself, before you proudly declared "You've sure come a long way ever since the incident, Gabe."

The name slipped out faster than your mind could catch up on the mistake, and though you meant it as a compliment you caught yourself fearing his reaction...

...however, asides from a clearly puzzled look on his face, he remained silent.

"I-I...we're almost done, Reaper" you blurted out, correcting yourself before he could say something that would make you even more embarassed.

So you quickly drew some necessary blood, the bottle labeled 'Subject 666' reminding you harshly of Moira's lecture. Never adress them by their names, the less you involve with them the better.

See them as nothing but objects, otherwise it will eat you alive.

The red liquid steadily turned into a thin black mist and back, certainly intriguing to watch. Anyways, you'd stay quiet about it, knowing your fascination for Reaper's constitution was quite unsettling for the man itself.

Now to the usual questions - which you dreaded most, to be perfectly honest.

"Last week I gave you an injection." You shifted nervously in your seat, the chair creaking a little as it cut through the silence. "Any new symptoms since then? And most importantly: What about the pain?"

Every single time you were almost ashamed to ask - and just as you expected, Reaper didn't exactly look pleased. "You know the answer already, doc."

It seriously was a miracle how anyone could endure this kind of torture for so long without succumbing to madness - but even if he'd lose the will to continue, there was no way to end his existence in this state of neither life nor death.

And still, he sat across from you all calm and collected, though suffering silently - collapsing on the inside, where he had to die countless deaths over and over again.

Obviously, Talon was not interested in turning their most deadliest agent back to normal. However, you had lately achieved to convince them to give you the financial ressources needed to at least try and improve his current condition, promising him to become even more efficient afterwards.

"It hurts." His voice was cracking and laced with pain, bordering on the audibe and it scattered your heart into a thousand pieces.

The least you could do was continue to work until you'd be able to give that man some hope.

"I know" you whispered, placing a hand on his knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm there, and I'll do what I can to find a cure. I promise."

Reaper let out an almost inaudible sob before pulling away from you, burying his face in his hands before rubbing it frantically to become clear-headed again.

"I don't need your pity" he suddenly gritted, a menacing glare shooting over to you as he tore the mask away from the counter and put it on once again. "And I'm not your pet."

You closed your eyes and released a sharp breath to ground yourself, since you didn't want to say anything imprudent. "No, you're my friend. But I'm sorry if it ever appeared otherwise."

Shocked with himself and his demeanour towards you, Reyes shot up from the seat and uttered an apology as he rushed towards the door.

"It's okay, really." Yet the way you'd treat him with nothing but sympathy and care would only further feed the anger and loathing directed at no one else but himself. "See you next week?"

"Yeah" Reyes spoke in a raspy, distorted voice, already dissolving into his wraith form, almost fleeing from you as quick as possible. "I'm grateful, doc...for everything."

___

The way back to his quarters felt like a walk of shame, one that felt agonizingly long since he was now all along with his thoughts once again.

Everyone he would pass in in the hallways would fall silent and immediately duck down, remaining bowed down and with their heads hung low in respect and fear - hoping to be spared by the eldritch horror's rage.

As soon as Reaper arrived, he'd slam the door shut and let out a horrifying roar that made anyone in the hallway closeby shudder in fear.

Things were like this every week with you, and would end up just the same.

Gabriel Reyes had been the epitome of toxic masculinity - a person to never let his true, inward emotions slip that easily. It was just not how he was raised, in a strict household and as a soldier. He was expected to build a brick wall around anything that could even remotely make him seem weak - suppress instead of process was the mantra.

And while due to this he certainly already had poor anger management issues before, his transformation towards this thing they called Reaper would only amplify his erratic nature.

Right now, he felt conflicted - both pathetic and also so incredibly safe whenever he was close to you.

There was no judgement, no expected role to play for him. You had glanced right behind the facade and still chose to enjoy his company.

Slowly opening up, he realized how effortlessly you could silence the voice inside of his head, how your touch would replace his pain with pure pleasure without even trying.

Deep inside of him a longing had awoken, one he thought to have killed a long time ago - buried along with everything else that chained him to his old life.

A fist of his subconsciously made it's way towards the nearby wall, the impact strong enough to make the hardened steel yield under the force. When he opened his tear-stained eyes again, he realized that his shadow had spread through the whole room, demolishing everything in it's path.

So he could indeed still cry, huh.

Defeated, he fell down to his knees, in midst of the wake of destruction.

No. It could never be. Shouldn't be. This was a line he shall not cross.

As if you could ever think of him as something else than a broken abomination - and even if you'd be crazy enough to actually reciprocate his feelings, being around him would only put you in harm's way.

While he certainly would never direct his wrath towards you, the responsibility of being the moral support of a literal monster was simply too much to bear.

You were so full of light, and Reaper felt drawn to you like a moth that had always involuntarily found itself surrounded by darkness. He'd become addicted, take and take and take from you without anything to give in return - then failing you, eventually.

He must never give in to this desire, for your own sake.

Knowing you safe and being able to be graced with your presence once in a while was more enough - and more than he deserved.

Reyes let himself fall backwards onto his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight. His mind wandered back and forth to the genuine way you were smiling at him, how your eyes were shining with sheer admiration as if he wasn't a goddamn freak.

The thoughts got stuck on reminiscing the sensation of your touch against his skin, now turning into a burning need that spread throughout his whole body.

"Shit..." he muttered between gritted teeth, palming his erection through his pants. "Y/N, what are you doing to me..."

Before he even realized, Reyes had already discarded his clothes, tossing them away to the ground before plummeting down to the bed once again.

Desperate for some relief, he grabbed his cock and pressed his thumb to the tip, precum already leaking out of it. His eyes would remain closed as he imagined what you'd look like bend over your office desk, presenting the view of what's under that sinfully short skirt of yours.

Reyes' cock twitched in his palm at the thought of rubbing against your folds, what it'd be like if you'd grind against him with that perfect ass of yours.

He began stroking himself at the same time he pictured himself pushing into you, the mental sound of your moans vivid in his head as his pace began to speed up.

Taking the shirt of his that still had your scent of your perfume linger on it, he inhaled deeply before letting out an animalistic groan. Oh, he couldn't put in words just how much he craved to explore every single inch of your body and giving you pleasure no man before him ever could.

His toes curled, his free hand digging into the sheet as the memory of your smile flashed in front of his inner eye, leading him over the edge. Reaper came with a loud shout of your name, his seed spread across his stomach and wavering chest.

It didn't take long to come down from that brief high, all that's left for him now being to curl up under the blankets and claw into a pillow, harshly reminded of the empty bedplace next to him.

Not being able to feel you right now was more torture than his state of being ever could.

___

Asides from the weekly examination and occasional briefings, you and Reaper never really met before - neither coincidentally, nor planned.

You were way too shy to suggest it yourself, and much to your frustration the man just didn't seem to notice your subtle hints and ask you himself.

Yeah, it's not exactly professional to crush on a patient, but you people at Talon were basically villains so fuck the rules, right?

Maybe you were just imagining him reciprocating your feelings and he was plainly not interested, though. Completely understandable, since that man was basically married to his work.

But he could at least properly reject you instead of tiptoeing around you like that.

Today would be an exception however, since Talon would conduct their annual celebration - yes, as odd as it sounds, even an evil organisation made efforts to please their workers.

Sadly, Reaper had been on a mission during your latest appointment, so you weren't able to collect all of your courage and ask him out like you had planned. But at least you heared rumors that he'd attend as well, so even though you were usually not a fan of such trivialities, you thought it was worth to take the shot.

Now here you were, sitting at the shabby make-shift bar and sipping on your third alcoholic beverage in order to loosen up. Still no sign of him, and your patience slowly but steadily grew thinner as you realized how ridiculous you behaved.

Deciding to leave after you finished small-talk with some coworkers of Moira's lab, you emptied your glass in one gulp and let out a small sigh before getting up.

You were almost at the exit when suddenly, an all too familiar figure stepped inside, the unexpected sight making your breath hitch in your throat.

Both of you froze simultaneously, black holes of his mask staring back at you as the tall man towered wordlessly in front of you. His massive frame was almost completely blocking the door, and the people waiting to enter behind him knew better than to speak up.

Reaper had dressed himself in an all-black suit for a change, modified so it would still have a hood and gloves. The long coat he wore above it reminded you of his usual cloak, yet it was made out of silk instead of hardened leather.

"I- umm...hi" you stuttered, unlike your usual bubbly self Reyes knew from the laboratory. Opening and closing your mouth in several attempts to find the right words, you shook your head in defeat and grabbed his wrist out of a whim. "Come, we're blocking the entrance."

There was still not a sound from his side, and you sheepishly tried avoiding to look right at him even though his face was hidden behind the usual mask. Good for him, though, because like this you couldn't see how his gaze stuck on that cleavage of yours more often than not.

"Shit" was the only thing his baffled mind could come up with right now - though he had prayed to see you again, the rational part of his brain knew it was no good to run into you tonight. And now you were standing so close, with a dress whose fabric was hugging every single one of your curves so damn well.

It was hard enough to contain himself during the appointments, all alone with you in a soundproof room and with you always wearing those way too inappropriate clothes underneath your lab coat...

...but this was just too much for him to bear.

"You look...fine." His first sentence tonight was just that, unable to string together any more words than that and mentally facepalming at himself for having become such a socially awkward mess.

You were sheer magnificent and he was both awestruck and astonished - but god forbid that he ever not fucked up every single time the two of you would meet.

Of course you wouldn't mind, instead your face lighted up in excitement that your outfit had succeeded it's purpose of him acknowledging you. "Thank you very much! You also look as good as always - for someone who just returned from a mission, I mean."

Jittery beyond belief that you could finally be close to Reaper in a different setting than the medical office, you shifted your weight from one leg to another before suggesting "Do you want to, I don't know...get some drinks?"

Funny thing to say, considering he wouldn't take his mask off in public any time soon. "Or dance? Whatever? Anything?"

Seems like he wasn't the only lovestruck fool in here, though you highly doubted he'd interpret your clumsy attitude the right way.

"Aren't you with someone?" You could've sworn that sometimes you could exactly picture what kind of face he'd make behind the mask, and right now he probably rose a suspecting eyebrow at you.

It was hard to imagine that such a beautiful and kind woman would attend a party like this without suitors. You were so refreshingly...normal for a Talon member. One of the few that weren't completely inhumane, selfish or straight up psychotic maniacs.

"Not really" you chuckled, rubbing the back of your head as you remembered just how many invitations for tonight you declined. "But I wouldn't mind some company if it's you."

Reaper's good intentions ceased with every minute passing by, mind flooded by possible scenarios of the things he wished to do to you - for you.

Countless times he had made up excuses to leave your sessions early, since the sheer sight of you was enough to urge himself to do something unspeakable. The only thing keeping him from losing himself and just give in to those inferior instincts until now was his concern for your safety...

...because only his affection for you could outmatch even the maddening yearning achieved through a lifetime in solitude.

Whenever Reyes became emotionally instable, he tended to outbursts that would not differentiate between friend or foe, only afterwards being aware for the wake of destruction he left behind...

...so who knew what might happen if he'd let those intense feelings for you take over.

No matter what kind of person Reaper wished to be, it was impossible to escape his own skin.

He was a ticking bomb, ready to destroy everything and everyone around him at any time like so often before - and he certainly wouldn't take any risks.

"Hello, anyone there?" Waving a hand in front of his face, you metaphorically heared the gears in his head turning.

"I'm afraid I have to attend an emergency meeting." As if you'd ever believe some cheap excuse like that, yet there weren't many options to decline your generous offer.

Unwilling to let him leave you alone for the umpteenth time, you stormed after him into the empty hallway and held onto his cloak, effectively making him stop. Reaper harrumphed angrily as he turned around, just for his heart to sink into his stomach as he saw tears dwell in your eyes - built up over time via all this uncertainty.

"Did I do something wrong?" Your voice was small and clearly on the verge of crying, and Reaper would slack his shoulders in defeat. "No."

"Then why do you avoid me like I'm the goddamn pest?" You exclaimed, lip trembling before letting out a weak sob - yet refusing to break out in tears to keep at least a fraction of your dignity.

"Y/N, you're drunk." That was as far away from an answer you wanted to hear as humanly possible, only further feeding your frustration.

"I won't leave you alone until I got a proper explanation!" you snapped back at him, not caring about how pathetic and obtrusive you might be behaving at that moment, or who else might hear you right now. "Reaper, I beg of you...just tell me straight up if you can't stand me and I'll leave you alone."

Maybe it would be for the better to just lie and affirm your theory - but he just couldn't do it.

"Reaper, please..." you sniveled, and he wouldn't pull away when you put one hand onto his mask. "Just give me a reason. I like you very, very much, so...please don't shut me out."

Feeling bold - and probably still influenced by the wine still in your system - you wrapped your arms around the man, pressing yourself against him gentle yet demanding.

Reaper instantly felt his already boiling blood wander to his nether regions at the sudden proximity, lends prickling with lust as the embrace made your breasts press against his abdomen, almost inviting him to an unwise decision.

Goddamnit, why didn't he have any better self-control?!

Overwhelmed, there was nothing left for him than to ultimatively push you away, cussing inaudible curses under his breath. Concerned for the seemingly distraught man, you went a few steps towards him again - yet he signalized you to stay back. "I-I'm sorry, I thought-"

"Touch me again, and I'll kill you."

With those words he fled the scenario, and every syllable of them shot a bullet through your already aching heart.

Hearing your broken whimpers, the reality crept onto Reaper...

...he had succeeded in keeping you safe, even if it costed him the only joy left in his ridiculous existence.

___

Ever since that night, Reaper would cut you out of his life completely afterwards, without ever resolving whatever was the initial issue.

At the very next morning already he had demanded for another researcher to be assigned to him, much to your sadness replacing you just like that and taking the only remaining possible contact away from you.

It was evident that he purposefully destroyed any kind of connection between the two of you, yet the fact that you still couldn't make sense out of his drastic change of behavior was more than unsatisfying to you.

In the end, after several weeks had passed without any sign of life from your former friend and patient, you decided to take things into your own hands.

Reaper on the other hand had fallen into a downwards spiral ever since your weekly meetings - the only thing he had looked forwards to until now - had fallen apart as well.

The fact that you were save the farther he was away from you wasn't really as satisfying as he thought it would be.

His heart was clenching painfully again as he emptied yet another bottle of cheap whiskey - a deed that did not influence his biology in the slightest, but at least the familiar burning on his tongue was sort of a comfort.

And then, a soft knock on his door made him snap out of his self-caused misery.

As forlorn as he was in the moment, he didn't spent much thought about who could be behind that door as the second knock was a little more demanding. Probably an emergency, and he had forgotten to turn on his cellphone...

...yet when it was in fact you who was standing in his doorframe, he almost choked on nothingness at the sight.

You immediately leaped inside before he could slam the door into your face again, gasping as you saw the desolate state of his home. Turning towards the man, who was currently only wearing a jogging suit, he quickly pull the hood over his face.

Still, you could clearly see the even darker than usual circles under his eyes, along with a scruffy beard he didn't care enough to maintain.

"Reaper..." You had no clue what exactly was going on, but seeing him like this hurt nonetheless. Actually, you had prepared to toss all sorts of accusations into his face, to tell him just how sad and confused he had left you ever since then...

...but now, realizing just how much he was suffering himself made your anger for him disappear into thin air.

"What do you want?" he scoffed as your eyes darted across the room, just to pause at the stack of empty bottles. "I-I wanted to...apologize."

Apologize? You? For what?! If anyone should feel guilty, it's him!

You truly were too good for this world...

"No need to" Reyes nonchalantly brushed it off, aimlessly trying to move a safe distance away from you - to no avail. "Yes, I do!"

You wanted to touch him like you'd always do - yet his earlier threat popped up in your mind so you recoiled your hand. Nevertheless, there was still that spark in your eyes he wanted to believe would appear just for him. "I think I get it now. I-I mean, I...had a crush on you."

Had. Past tense. A plain word, and yet such a huge impact.

"I totally misunderstood and thought you liked me too. If I had known the situation you were in I would've concentrated on helping you instead, but I only pressured you further. I am so, so sorry..."

"Shut up" he now growled with a voice you did not recognize, darkened irises snapping back at you. "That's enough. Are you seriously not understanding the danger you're in?!"

"R-Reaper, I don't know what you're-"

The man now took firm steps towards you, with you backing off until your body hit the wall behind. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me all this time, Y/N?!"

Now it was Reyes who had his whole body weight pressed against your much smaller one, and you could clearly feel the outlines of his erection pressing against your chest.

His hands gripped your shoulders, digging into them tightly as he harshly shook you. "I've told you to stay away from me a thousand times...but you just won't listen, do you?"

Sounding woeful like this, he also seemed to be full of remorse - not for what had been, but what he was about to do.

Oh, you think to know even the worst sides of him, huh? No. You haven't even been close to the darkest corners of his mind he wanted to protect you from all this time!

The short period of time without your guidance had only further scattered the peaces of his mind, fed his insanity and drove him farther away from the person he once was.

Right. Reyes had been so patient, restrained himself for you no matter how tempting it was to just give in. And here you were, having come back for him in spite of everything.

You were indeed too naive for your own good, always stubbornly wanting to see the good left in him.

If you were really so selfless, then maybe he should just take what he needed from you.

"Teasing me all this time, acting all innocent..." Reaper grumbled and slammed his hands against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you between his muscular arms.

His voice bordered on desperation, proof of his internal conflict. "You have no idea how often I wanted to throw you onto the next best surface and fuck you senseless until you'd beg me to stop."

Wild eyes were staring at you, softening only when a hand of his slid under the back of your shirt, the contact raising goosebumps on your skin. He cradled you against him now, his palm still resting between your shoulder blades.

"All I ever wanted was to be close to you just like this...and now I've destroyed everything."

The mercenary felt how you slowly relaxed against his body, eyes closing as you nestled your face against his chest. He thought it to be just his imagination, a trick played by his own twisted mind...

...but then you forced him down to your height, faces just mere inches apart as you graced his lips with yours.

"Who said you couldn't?"

As soon as you released him from the kiss Reaper would stumble backwards, his voice wavering as he asked "Y/N...why?"

You cracked a painful yet promising smile, looking at him with those doe eyes he had never truly been able to withstand.

"I've already told you before: I trust you."

Reyes whined at your obvious statement, so close to lose his well-meant intentions - yet he still stepped aside in shame, making way for your escape. "Please...just- just go. And don't come back this time. I-I really don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't." The answer came as quick as a shot, not the slightest hint of doubt in your voice...

...and that was all it took for him to completely lose it.

The soldier's mouth crashed over yours in a desperate urgency, in his almost-undead state literally needing you more than air itself. You moaned against his lips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue entering your mouth and joining yours in an ecstatic dance.

Reaper took his time relishing in the sensation of your delicate skin under his raw fingers, finally able to experience the real deal. His caress was eager yet not less mellow. And surprisingly warm for a reanimated corpse, heat radiating off of him due to the constant cell repair.

You panted heavily as you pushed him away a little, and for a second he was afraid to have overstepped a line. "We don't need to go any further. If you've changed your mind, that's oka-"

"Shh" you hushed him as you kneeled down, smirking mischievously yet not less affectionate. "I think you've made me wait long enough."

Kneeling down in fromt of him, you impatiently pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants. His hard cock sprung up against your face, with prominent veins and an angry red tip leaking precum already. "Oh, dear...you sure need some release."

Actually he would want to object, say that you didn't need to do this for him straightaway, that he could take care of it himself - yet his mind was too clouded by lust for him to have any coherent thought.

"S-Shit, Y/N..." he bit his lip as you unsucessfully tried enclosing your fingers around him, the width of his making you a little taken aback. You could easily use both hands and still wouldn't cover his whole lenght, squeezing ever so little before moving up and down.

"I want to be repayed next time, you know?" You teased his glans as you swirled your tongue around it, making him whimper. "But for now that's enough."

Reyes thrusted his hips forwards to push himself further into your mouth, and you could feel heat rising at your core as well, pressing your thighs together for some friction. "Please, more... oh fuck..."

At this point you had left the man a stuttering puddle of lust, all sorts of pathetic sounds filling the room as you keenly continued pleasing him.

All of a sudden you felt Reaper ball a fist in your hair, shoving his whole member deep inside of you as he finished with a low groan. The first spourts ran down your throat before he quickly pulled out, the rest covering your chest while he stroked himself through his high.

"S-Sorry..." he stammered, gently petting your head as you coughed due to the brief cut of air supply. "I'm usually not the gentle one."

"As if that's news" you deadpanned, looking up to him just for your gaze to be stuck on lower regions again. "It's...still stiff."

"Well, the SEP increases stamina - and also one's libido." Indeed, his cock was still impressively standing upright in all of it's prime. "Don't worry about it."

Reyes thought about offering you a hand to stand up, but instead swiftly picked you off from the ground out of a whim. "Can- do you want to stay?"

"Of course" was your answer as he gently let you down on his bed again, quick to throw himself behind you and clinging to your back.

However, you weren't able to suppress an almost pornographic moan as you felt his erection pressed against your behind, pushing your ass against it out of reflex.

"R-Reaper..." you almost begged, leading his hands to cup your breasts and not stopping to grind against him. "Wha-what if I want to continue?"

"It would be the first time since, well...since I am like this..." Still, he couldn't resist to fondle with your nipples, humping against you as his other hand began circling your clit. "But I'd be damned if I don't indulge you as well."

You rolled around to lie on your back, the man towering over you as he hungrily parted your legs. He licked his lips, unable to refrain from touching himself at the sight. "Such a pretty pussy, fuck..."

Reyes let two fingers run between your already slick folds, scissoring them to reveal your core before he sunk them in. You gasped as more entered you, slowly stretching your insides as he began fucking you on his fingers.

Aroused beyond belief, he soon buried his face in your pussy, making you moan uncontrollably as he found your weak spot with ease. His fingernails dug in the surface of your thighs as he ate you out, groaning deeply at the heavenly taste.

As hard as it was to remained focused with your orgasm building up so fast, your mind was set on one thing.

"R-Reaper...I want you, please..."

He stilled at your words, climbing to settle over your body to look you straight in the eyes. "My love, I'm afraid I can't contain myself."

You cocked your head, furrowing your brows at the man. "I'm already writhing beneath you this whole time, Reyes. I think you have proven your resolve."

Wrapping your arms around your neck, you tenderly brushed your lips against his before engaging in another heartwarming kiss.

And oh, how his heart was soaring for you.

"Let's figure out together."

It was hard for both of you to ever let your lips part again, but if it was to be like that, Reyes would want to have you completely. He ripped apart of what was left of your clothing, leaving both of you fully bare.

"You look like a peace of art" you noted, letting your hand run over his scarred shoulders, slightly emmitting black fume. "A whole life story visible on your body."

And with your whole beauty now revealed in front of him, Reyes was willing to write his own love-letter on your skin - starting with tracing a path of kisses alongsides your curves.

His beard was tickling the skin on your neck, wandering behind your ear and whispering sweet affirmations only for you to hear. "Say my name" he ultimately pleaded, forehead resting on yours as he carefully began pushing into you.

"R-Reaper...ah!" He'd briefly wait for you to become accustomed to his size, pecking more kisses across your face before his thrusts started at a low pace. "No, my real name. Say it."

"Gabriel..." His name sounded so good in your voice, reminding him of the man he once was - as if able to pull what was left of him out of this abomination he had become. "Gabe, please...faster..."

Incited by your filthy noises, his rough touch began leaving bruises here and there as he began fucking you ferociously into the mattress. You'd cross your legs behind his back, allowing him inside impossibly deeper. He felt delirious, this amount of pleasure being too much to bear as you melted against his body - every single touch of yours feeling undeserved for a wretch like himself.

Having troubles to keep his form while being so aroused, he would hide his face in the crook of your neck, wanting to spare you the sight of his true self...

...yet instead you embraced him even closer, one kiss after another meeting his face even as it stopped appearing human.

"I love you, Gabriel Reyes."

Your confession led him over the edge together with you, shouting your name in exasperation as he rode you through your high, finishing closely after.

Shivering and whimmering as you reveled in the aftershocks of your euphoria, you could still feel Reyes pump his seed inside of you - just to grow stiff once again.

Your body was shaking in anticipation as Gabriel continued to slam his hipbone against your sensitive cunt, semen squirting out in the progress. "Shit, Y/N...you feel so fucking good, I can't stop..."

Even as the previous orgasm ebbed down, your nerves remained on fire, every pounding of his sending chills down your spine. You anchored yourself onto his body, fingers ghosting across the skin of his back as you felt yet another wave of pleasure wash over you.

When you came for the last time that night, the sun was alread threatening to rise above the Talon headquarters.

"Well, that answers Moira's question if you're still fertile" you almost choked at your own laughter and Reyes would only groan in annoyance, placing a wet kiss into your hair. "Never mention her name inside here ever again, please?"

"Just saying it's better than finding out her way" you snorted, stirring in the sheets until your lover put an arm and leg around you, trapping you in his hold. "Weirdo."

"You're one to talk." You finally saw him mirroring a genuine smile, his face lighting up brightly as he rubbed his cheek against yours. "Being happy suits you, you know?"

"And I hope you know that I won't let you go that easily again." As if you could even remotely walk after yesterday - not that it mattered, since it was your day off. "That was the plan. And to be honest, it was totally worthwhile."

"Let me take care of you today, alright?" Your lover briefly turned into his wraith form, returning shortly after with fresh water and a shirt of his for you to wear. "I'll even run you a bath if you like."

"Maybe later...mhh...sleep would be nice..." you already halfway dozed off, lolling around on the mattress and patting the empty spot next to you. "Come back?"

Gabe didn't need to be told twice, covering you with the blanket as you slowly drifted away to sleep. Having his whole world in his arms like this, it made himself feel grounded again as well.

Starting now, he wouldn't bother himself with fears or doubts anymore - for his focus would lie on becoming a better man.

Just as you had showed him he could be.

Alongside several disturbing features, Reaper was able to perceive the souls of all living beings...

...and while he adored you resting there all peacefully, he couldn't help but think that he had never laid eyes upon a soul like yours.

"Thank you, Y/N...for not giving up on me."

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 8 - Christmas Delivery

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 7 -- Part 9

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Alexandra)

Summary: Surviving your parents' dull Christmas party has become a fun little tradition for you, your brother Peter and his best friend. This year, your brother won't make it back in time, but Marshall can keep you company.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, NSFW, MINORS DNI!, p-in-v sex (technically safe, not necessarily very smart, but there's some convo about it, at least), size kink (minor), oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption. And some angst. I'm sorry about that.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: Not a lot to say about this other than; sorry it's so goddamn late, but enjoy some belated Christmas angst, I guess?

@peaches1958 there ya go, love!

“Christmas delivery!” The door to your room swung open and a tall, bearded young man stepped inside. You stuffed the book you’d been reading underneath the pillow, but not quickly enough for it to escape his attention. A sliver of mischief crossed his face. He put the bottle he was holding on the dresser by the door and dove for the book, trapping you beneath his body in the process. You didn’t stand a chance against him; he was far bigger than you and much - much - stronger. With the book in his one hand and a triumphant grin on his face, he rolled to the side so that he was next to you. 

“You’re reading this?” He laughed so hard when he saw the romance novel that you were afraid he’d suffocate. “Lex, you?” Another fit of laughter. Just when you thought your cheeks couldn’t get any hotter without melting your skin, he actually opened it to a page you’d been stupid enough to dog-ear. 

“God, it’s filth,” he chuckled as he threw the book across the room. 

“Walter Marshall!” You exclaimed while you shot up from the bed to retrieve your book. “If you came here just to throw my books around, I suggest you get out.” The bottle on the dresser beckoned you from its resting place. It was Baileys, something your parents always had at their annual Christmas party, that none of their guests actually drank. You, Walter and Peter (your older brother) had found out years ago - before it was strictly legal, for you, anyway - that it was the safest and easiest bottle to steal. 

“Why would you need that stuff, Lexi,” Marshall said as he sat up on your bed. You joined him, bottle in hand, and pushed against his shoulder. It was strange, now that it was just the two of you, but Peter wouldn’t make it back from uni until tomorrow afternoon.

“Because, Walter,” he winced, you chuckled - you knew he hated it when you used his first name; he loathed the name, and you loved exploiting that little fact. “If I want to ever have any kind of orgasm in this life, I’m going to have to make it happen myself.”

“You have that boyfriend, right? Ian? Mark? Shane? I lost count, I’m sorry - oof!” He groaned when you punched him in his abs. Your aim had never been perfect, and your fist landed a bit closer to his groin than you had intended. 

“Dean,” you replied - and for the record, there was never a Mark. “He dumped me for Laetitia, I think. I don’t really give a fuck. Besides, it’s not as if he was any help in the aforementioned department.”

“So, find another guy?” The laconicism of his recommendation hurt a bit; growing up, Marshall had always been like a brother to you, but you’d never forget the summer you turned sixteen. It was over three years ago, but you remembered it as if it was yesterday. 

“Alex, get over here!” Your brother had never had much patience. Especially not when barbecue - or meat in general - was involved, but your mom absolutely refused to feed anyone before every last soul was present at the table. You climbed out of the pool and made your way over to the tent, where the rest of your family was sitting. The Marshalls had joined you - not that they had to go far; they were your neighbors, anyway. Walter and Peter were putting the last plates down when you got there. Neither of them had bothered to put any more clothes on than they’d been wearing before, when you’d all been swimming. For some reason, you hadn’t noticed then, but now it hit you like a truck: Walter Marshall was hot… Distracted by the faint lines on his abs and confused by how not-gross the hair on his chest was all of a sudden - because you could have sworn you had found it absolutely disgusting literally yesterday - you didn’t watch your chair when you sat down. It wasn’t unfolded properly, and it decided to collapse when you dropped yourself into it. 

“Fuck!” You exclaimed - and were met with two “language!”-s from both your and Walter’s mom. 

“Are you alright, Lexi?” Two blue eyes appeared before you and strong arms grabbed you and pulled you off the ground. 

“Don’t call me Lexi,” you huffed as you prepared for him to let go - though you wouldn’t mind having his arms wrapped around you a little longer. 

“She’s okay, everyone,” he laughed before turning back to you: “And, eh… No dice… Lexi.”

“Lexi?” The bottle of Baileys appeared in front of your eyes. You gladly took it from the strong hand that held it there, as the memory of that camping trip faded to the background again. 

“No luck with other guys, either, so far,” you said without thinking. As soon as you realized what you’d said, you began hoping furiously that Walter hadn’t noticed, but of course mister detective always had to catch on to absolutely fucking everything. 

“Hold on,” he said in disbelief, “no guy has ever…” His voice trailed off and you shook your head in response. Marshall seemed at a loss for words. The both of you drank in silence for a while, as was originally the custom; neither of you spoke much, you mostly just enjoyed each other’s company. Your brother - believe it or not - was the talkative one out of the three of you. And he wasn’t here, therefore it took the two of you three quarters of that bottle to continue your conversation. A conversation you probably shouldn’t have been having in the first place. He was your brother’s best friend, for crying out loud.

“Jesus, Lexi, that doesn’t sound like good sex to me,” he muttered - quite hurriedly, as if he was ashamed of what he said. You shrugged. He was right, it hadn’t been good, but Walter didn’t need to know that. One of Marshall’s strong arms snaked around your body and pulled you into his side. His body was like a goddamn wall: solid and absolutely massive. You rested your head against his shoulder and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Lex,” he whispered, “you deserve better.” Oh, God, the alcohol. Your first year at college had proven that you could and should not be trusted around the stuff, and you cursed yourself, because you knew this. You’d just thought you could trust yourself around Marshall, him being one of your best friends and all - and your brother's best friend - but your brain watched from the sidelines as your mouth betrayed you.

“Well, I don’t see it happening, unless you volunteer.” 

Option one; A “Good one, Lexi!” and a playful tickle at your waist. Two; A “Jesus, Lexi, get off me!” and a firm push against your shoulder. Three; A “Fuck’s sake, Lexi, why would I want to screw you?!” followed by a thundering laugh. Four… You didn’t have time to think of a fourth scenario, but even if you would have, this would not have been what you’d have come up with. Marshall’s hand cupped your face and he pressed his lips to yours. He kissed you. Walter Marshall was kissing you. Right now. He was, he really was. Your brain short-circuited in the most profound “no thoughts, head empty” kind of way. Thank God for the tiny little voice that, after a few long moments, finally had the gall to tell you: Do something or he will think you’re not into this and he will stop. You broke the kiss and slammed the bottle you were still holding down on your nightstand before returning your attention to Marshall’s lips. You could taste the whiskey on them, and the soft, sweet taste of chocolate… The taste combined so well with the scent of his cologne that you thought you’d go insane. Your hands slid up his sides and over his chest before settling in his dark curls and you moaned into his mouth. He replied with a chuckle. 

“What?” You whispered when his mouth left yours and his head dipped into your neck. 

“Just glad you’re having fun,” he murmured against your skin. The coarse hair of his beard tickled, which meant it was your turn to chuckle, but the sound got stuck in your throat and was replaced by a soft whimper when his lips touched your neck. You leaned to the side and pulled him along with you, until you were lying on the bed in a half-on-top-half-next-to-each other pile of bodies. Every single time his lips came into contact with your skin - be it your neck, your mouth, your collarbone or that cheeky nip at the part of your breast that your blouse left exposed - you whined. More, your body screamed, more, more, more! You felt it everywhere; in your cheeks, that radiated heat and must have been glowing red for him to see, in your throat, that let out or choked back whines, moans and the occasional ‘fuck’, your chest, where your heart pounded and your breath hitched, and the pit of your stomach. If these were the proverbial butterflies, you never wanted him to leave, ever again. It was as if you’d never been kissed before. The feeling of a palm brushing your chest heightened another feeling; the increasing ache between your legs that you only now realized was so unfamiliar to you in a context involving another person. A small part of you wanted to push him off, berate him for invading your most private and intimate of emotions, but a much, much bigger part of you swore to God and anyone who would listen that if this man ever let go of you, you’d explode. Marshall was unceremonious when it came to your clothes; he opened two buttons of your blouse before just pulling it over your head, and he hardly bothered to look at your bra before it flew across the room. His own sweater followed suit in a matter of seconds. God, you thought as he towered over you in that moment, half naked and tall and all those other things you couldn’t quite articulate but you knew he was, nonetheless, how much hairier can a man get in three years time? Seeing him like this drove you insane, and you secretly wondered what had been wrong with fifteen year old you that she hadn’t found him attractive, then. Walter Marshall was no romantic, but he always knew what needed doing, and got it done. His hands and mouth explored your naked skin, allowing you to do the same. You ran your fingers through the dark, coarse curls on his chest, and along the muscles of his back, digging your nails into his shoulder when he softly bit your nipple. 

“Hey!” You exclaimed in surprise at the unfamiliar feeling, earning you another chuckle. 

“Did I hurt you?” He then asked earnestly, and you responded by shaking your head. 

“Just startled me,” you laughed nervously. The next nip was less startling and the slight sting was smoothed over by a swirl of his tongue. You couldn’t keep your body still underneath his as his mouth, assisted by his hands, explored your chest - and soon your stomach, lower and lower until he arrived at the waistband of your skirt. Not that the fabric of it was still in place; it was mostly bunched up around your hips at this point. The skirt suffered a fate much like that of your bra and blouse, and now the only thing separating your aching pussy from Marshall’s face was the thin cotton fabric of your panties. Startled by the sudden realization that your childhood crush had his face between your thighs, you snapped your legs together, forgetting that his face would be caught in between. 

“Alright,” he laughed as he got up on his knees and leaned over to give you a kiss on your forehead, “can we make a deal? If you don’t want me to do something, tell me. I promise I’ll stop. Just… There really is no need to kick me in the head or whatever that was.” You couldn’t help but laugh, too, but the inclination disappeared as fast as it had arisen when he bent over even further to whisper something in your ear. 

“I’m begging you, though, let me get back down there because you smell fantastic.” As if those words were your own personal remix of ‘open sesame’, your legs fell to the side and Marshall eagerly made his way back down, pressing a few wet kisses on you along the way. One moment you were wearing underwear, the next it was gone and you were completely naked. Marshall threw you the blanket that was at the foot of the bed and winked at you while he settled between your legs, and you gratefully spread it out over your upper body. Marshall shook his head while he laughed. You were always cold, and this was so completely in-character for you that he couldn’t help but find the whole thing very amusing. It wasn’t long, though, before he composed himself and focused his attention on the task at hand. You could tell from the look on his face that he was deciding whether or not to drag this out. Luckily, he decided against it. With one hand on the back of each thigh, and using his thumbs to spread your swollen lips, he dragged his tongue through your wet folds before settling at your clit, working the small pearl with a strong, dependable rhythm that had you squirming within seconds. He could tell you wouldn’t last long, which egged him on even more. Not because it would save him a cramped jaw, but because there was nothing in the entire world that he wanted more than to be responsible for your pleasure. Every single move of his tongue wound you tighter and tighter until you felt you were going to explode. Your fingers tangled with his hair, pulling his face closer to your body, hips writhing against his mouth, begging for more until you finally toppled over the edge. You had to cover your face with your pillow to keep your screams from being heard throughout the house. As the intense feeling of bliss slowly subsided, you became more and more aware of the trail of kisses that Marshall left on your torso as he made his way back up, lingering in your neck for a moment before kissing your mouth again. Your first instinct was to push him off - he’d just been down there and now he was kissing you? Ew! - but you soon found out that tasting yourself on his lips was arousing more than anything. Without thought, your hands moved to open the button of his jeans, and you were surprised when he stopped you. 

“Lexi, are you sure?” He breathed into your mouth. There was genuine concern in his voice, but you couldn’t quite figure out why. 

“Shut up, Marshall, I want you,” you hissed into his ear, and from the pained half-grunt-half-whine he let out, you deduced that he wanted the same. Your fingers continued to work the button and zipper of his jeans, this time with his help. When you brushed past the bulge in his underwear, your eyes opened wide and you gasped. There is no way in hell, you thought involuntarily as panic set in. 

“Is it too late to change my mind?” There was no way he couldn’t hear the way your voice trembled. 

“Never,” he said earnestly, “you can always change your mind. What are you worried about?” You looked at him in disbelief - was he really asking that question? Walter Marshall you arrogant cunt, you thought. He had to know he was massive, right? 

“You’re kidding, right?” A sardonic chuckle spilled from your throat as you thought about the ridiculousness of that question. “There’s no way that’ll ever…” Your voice trailed off without finishing that sentence - not that you needed to; Walter’s face had already warped into a needlessly cocky smile.

“Do you trust me?” You replied with a nod. “Will you tell me if I hurt you?” Another nod. “And can you try to relax?” This time, you whispered a very soft ‘yes’. “Do you have a condom?” He asked while eyeing your nightstand. 

“Do we need one?” You moaned against his neck. 

“Lexi!” He looked at you in disbelief, one eyebrow raised and with an open mouth. 

“I’m clean and on birth control,” you said matter-of-factly, the look on your face phrasing the accompanying question: Are you? He answered your unspoken question with a simple nod while he weighed the pros and cons in his head. Your hand moved between your two bodies and - again with his help - pulled his underwear down. Feeling it had in no way prepared you for seeing it; you swallowed hard and tried to get a grip on your lower lip, which trembled uncontrollably. 

“I said something about trying to relax, and I meant it, Lexi,” he chuckled before pressing his lips to your neck. Despite his reminder, your entire body tensed up as you felt the head of his cock press gently at your entrance. God this is going to hurt so bad, you thought and you scrunched up your face, awaiting the pain. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, love,” he whispered as if he could read your mind, “trust me, tell me if I accidentally do hurt you, and chill.” You took a deep breath and focused on breathing calmly while he began slowly inching his way inside of you, keeping careful watch on your face for any signs of discomfort. Sighs and moans escaped from your throat as he sank deeper and deeper into your drenched core. He was right; it didn’t hurt. That’s a first, you thought - at least; you thought you thought it. 

“First? Lex, tell me I didn’t just…” Fuck, you’d actually said that out loud.

“No, no,” you interrupted him with a chuckle, “it’s just the first time it doesn’t hurt…” 

Marshall gawked at you for a moment before a smile appeared on his face. “I’m glad I’m not hurting you,” he whispered before he kissed you while pushing all the way into you. You answered the kiss hungrily, frantically sliding your tongue along his lips, begging for entrance. He was more than happy to oblige, parting his lips so your tongue could slip between them and circle his. The feeling of his mouth on yours was overwhelming on its own, but combined with the incredibly full feeling of his thick cock deep inside you, it was almost too much. You rocked your hips, trying to get him to move, to give you more than just this, looking for the friction that would bring you release. It didn’t take a detective to understand that hint; Marshall started moving his hips at your request. They were short, shallow thrusts at first, which already left you moaning and whining like a… Like a desperate slut? It was the best description you could come up with. It only got worse as the thrusts became deeper, faster and harder. You pulled the blanket up to your mouth to stifle your screams as the sound of skin against skin became louder and filled the room. 

“Marshall.. I can’t…” You sighed in between moans, your breath completely out of control and slight soreness setting in where his hips slammed into you. 

“Hang on… please… close…” was all he could say as his breathing and movements became more and more erratic. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was close; it took only a couple more seconds for him to finish. You were both glad and sad that it was over, yet your sigh as you felt his cock slip out of you must have sounded more like the former than the latter, because Marshall immediately looked at you suspiciously. 

“Not good?” He asked as he stroked your hair out of your face. 

“A little sore, you’re a lot,” you laughed before kissing him softly on his lips. You wriggled out from under him and started looking for your clothes, which were scattered on the floor around your bed. Marshall looked at you questioningly from your bed. 

“Bathroom,” you explained as you hastily got dressed and made your way out of the room. 

When you got back, Marshall had put his own clothes back on and was sitting on the edge of the bed with the bottle of Baileys in his hands. You joined him on the bed and wrapped your arms around him, only to be sorely disappointed when he didn’t return your affection, and instead stared ahead stoically while taking another sip. 

“I just fucked my best friend’s little sister,” he sighed as he let his head hang. Your arms dropped to your side, the floor vanished from beneath you and it felt like you were falling. 

“You regret it.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, and you just knew you were right when you said it. Marshall, however, shook his head and chuckled sarcastically. 

“I regret that I don’t because I know that I should,” he said. 

Well, happy fucking Christmas to you.

-> Part 9

[shingekinomyfeelings]

Vanilla Bean (nsfw, mdni)

A Reiner x reader short fic in which you worry that perhaps you’re not quite ~spicy enough~ for your boyfriend. Comedy/smut-fluff???

warnings: explicit sex, rough sex, penetration, afab reader. It’s mentioned that you’re cadets, so do assume everyone is appropriately aged up

notes: I 100% wrote this to make myself feel better about uhh, myself, so if you find y/n hard to identify with, it’s because she’s me.

Also, this is my second attempt ever at writing smut, so I hope it’s not terrible! As always, thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read my writing. <3

“Reiner, I want you to fuck me as hard as you can this time.”

“Wait, what?” It’s enough to halt the large man in his tracks as he hovers over you on the bed, his cock at full attention as the head is just pressed to your warm cusp.

“I…” You falter for a second. “I want you to fuck me as hard as you can?” It comes out more like a question this time.

“Uh, yeah, I caught that bit, I just-- Are you being serious?” Reiner scans your face for any hint of a joke, but your expression is uncharacteristically resolute and oh-so-serious.

“Yes, I’m serious! Why would you ask that?” you demand, a little defensively.

“It’s just, uhh, you’re not exactly-- I mean, you’re always…” He fumbles as he grasps for an appropriate answer.

You’ve only been dating for a few months, and while you’ve been intimate together on a number of occasions, the bulky blonde has handled you quite gently every time. After all, you’re so gentle-natured and quite, well, inexperienced and shy in physical relations. A touch skittish, even. Reiner may talk a big game – and pack a huge dick – but he’s proven to be a softy at heart, and while the brawny cadet has certainly entertained a few fantasies about going buck wild with you, he’s loathe to do anything that could hurt you or scare you.

And that’s just the problem, now, isn’t it??

“I know,” you cut him off briskly. “But there’s a first time for everything, and this time I want you to just, y’know, give it all you got.”

He raises a brow at you, still incredulous.

“Y’know, just… no holds barred, full-on ramming speed, like, bam.”

Reiner can’t hold back a laugh, blushing from ear to ear. “Like, bam?What are you even--”

“Ah, wait...” You roll onto your stomach and wiggle invitingly against his erect length. “Now c’mon, please?”

He smiles helplessly at you, the absurdity not lost on him even as he aches to give in to your sudden, unexpected demand. “y/n, are you really sure…?”

“Yes, yes! Let’s do this. It’s okay, I wanna do this.”

With a sharp exhale from his nose, he finally relents, running his hands over your assto rest on your hips. “Okay, but if it’s too much, you’ll say something, yeah?”

“Hmm-hmmm,” you respond, and then your breath catches as he carefully pushes into your cunt, slowly, to give you time to adjust.

Soon enough, he’s up to the hilt inside of you, making you shudder in pleasure, and he pauses before he grips your hips tightly and draws his own hips back, only to slam them forward again with a force that takes your breath away entirely. Within a moment, the room is filled with the sound of his skin slapping hard against yours as he thrusts into you at a rough and relentless clip, with his breathy huffs, and with the squeaks of the mattress beneath you. Reiner’s sounds of pleasure ring loud in your ears.

“Oh my god, y/n, you’re--” his moan trails off and his motions cease as he’s suddenly aware that you’ve gone quite tense, and still, and silent. First his brow furrows in concern, and then his heart sinks as a tiny whimper of pain escapes you. “Oh my god, y/n.”

In a flash he pulls out and rolls you over to find you attempting to cover your face with your arm. “Shit, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Baby, look at me, please,” he implores softly, tugging at your wrist.

When you let him see your face, your expression is pained, a little tearful, and more than a little sheepish.

“Hi.” You greet him with an air of hollow dejection.

“y/n, what--”

“I thought I’d be okay, but... that was kind of awful.” Curling into a ball on your side, you sigh and face the wall. “I really am just completely soft and boring and vanilla, aren’t I?”

The realization suddenly dings in his mind.

“Wait, wait, is that what this is about?” he asks in bewilderment, and when you sniffle and unhappily nod your head, he struggles not to laugh, not entirely succeeding.

“Hey!” You lift your head to glare at him, but he scoops you into his arms and presses a kiss to your temple.

“y/n, you’re so sweet, and kind of ridiculous sometimes.” Before you can protest this, he gives you a tight squeeze that almost makes you squeak. “And you are pretty soft, and maybe you’re vanilla, but vanilla’s a good, complex kind of flavor, you know? You’re not the cheap, artificial vanilla flavoring, either. You’re the expensive, authentic, hand-pollinated, whole-ass vanilla bean.”

That earns a little puff of laughter from you, but you still pout. “Okay, but, I don’t want you to get bored with me, and it’s not like I don’t wanna try to be more adventurous...”

“Hey, I’m never bored with you,” he responds seriously, now repositioning himself to sit against the wall at the head of the bed, hugging you against his broad chest. “And if you wanna experiment a little, we can, but you don’t have to go from zero to eleven, you know.”

“If I wanted to go from zero to eleven, I’d have asked to peg you,” you grumble, though it’s affectionate.

Reiner just laughs again and kisses the top of your head, letting you snuggle against him. Resting your head where you can hear his heart beat, you’re happy to realize you feel even closer to him now, even if neither of you actually finished. There’d be opportunities for that again later. For now, you’re both content to be together like this.

[churchyardgrim]

this got way, way longer than i meant it to lmao so it's going behind a readmore, but the gist is: op you're absolutely correct on every front here

i work with a bitter, misanthropic guy in his 50s who's had to restart his life three times bc of poverty and addiction and abandonment, and who swears up and down that you can't trust people, that nobody cares about each other, that there's no one around worth leaning on, and by all accounts this trump-voter should loathe me

the guy declared me one of his best friends within a month of meeting me

because i listened when he talked about his life, and made sympathetic faces, and said "i'm sorry man, that's fucked up and it shouldn't have happened to you", and apparently that's the most kindness he's been shown in years.

also somehow queer rights is like. the only thing he's remotely progressive on? he might've offered to do physical harm to anyone that gives me shit for my gender, in that career criminal "i know a guy" way?? still not sure how to feel about that one

but the point is, i was gentle and nonconfrontational with him. i let him rant for an hour or two a week about this and that and his life and such, and it's been... educational, i think. this is a guy who bought into The American Dream hook line and sinker. he believes wholeheartedly that Hard Work Earns You Your Life. that nothing is free (except america), that if you work hard every day, eventually you'll be rewarded. that suffering for your work is a virtue, that "lazy people" shouldn't be enabled, that the world is full of fakers and liars and scammers and it's only honest people that feed themselves into the capitalist machine that deserve anything good in life.

he's 20 years younger than my dad and he can barely walk. he's worked himself into a disabled state, and refuses to see it as disability. because he's too proud, he says. because he doesn't want to be like those other people on disability.

he was out of work for three weeks with pneumonia, and now he's trying to make up the lost time by pulling 12 hour days in a fabrication shop. and i see how much he hates himself for not succeeding at that even once since he got back. despite still recovering from a three week illness! he thinks he should just bounce back good as new, and that his inability to do so is a personal failing!

and he talks a lot about money, he's very financially insecure. he's been working this hard all his life, working towards the promise of something he's now starting to realize is just as far out of his reach as it ever was, despite everything. he's likely never going to own a home like he wants to. he's likely never going to have a comfortable, modest retirement. he'll be lucky if he can keep working for the next three years.

and he blames all the wrong people for this, everyone who's in the same crab bucket as him, and i really don't think i have much of a shot at changing 50 years of ingrown, festering resentment and anger, but,

i can see where the crowbar would fit. i can see the leverage.

if i wanted to, if i was willing to put my back into involving myself in this guy's life and his health, i could turn that despair around to point at the people actually responsible for it. i could show him how everyone he despises for being "lazy" is just doing their best same as him, and maybe i could show him that the inability to work isn't the sin he thinks it is.

already i've got him thinking about some things! he was going on and on about how trump did the country a million favors, and i was all quiet and listening and then i pointed out that trump actually made a lot of places actively unsafe for me, a visibly queer person, to exist in. and he actually stopped and thought about that. he said he hadn't considered it that way before, that was a new perspective for him.

i don't know how much effect that'll have. i don't know how realistic it is to try to change the mind of a guy like that through a few conversations a week where it's mostly just him traumadumping on the first friendly ear he's had. but at the very least it's a good opportunity to see how the mind of someone like that works, and it's good practice for me in listening and nodding and then saying something that they'll actually listen to in a constructive way.

look. rhetoric that works leverages itself off beliefs that the LISTENER holds, not yours. like how americans believe that they’re in a democracy and they believe they believe in freedom. they believe that their country stands for democracy. you can use their beliefs in your argument even if you don’t share them.

you are operating within the bounds of their ignorance and building a bridge outward. you cannot unpack every single myth about the US and its geopolitical crimes in a conversation. what you can do is persuade someone that they’re looking at a civil rights issue by leveraging their existing understanding of civil rights issues.

unpacking all the bullshit they believe about civil rights movements is also a different and much longer project. you can’t tackle everything at once and the way that WE (online leftists) talk about issues relies on these understandings. just like. try for a second to remember what it was like before you knew a single goddamn thing about anything and you were 100% operating on the unthinking assumption that america flag equals freedom.

if they get far enough that they look at this rhetoric and think “SO MANY INACCURACIES!” GOOD! GOOD! that means they took more steps beyond the first, beyond the simplified rhetorical arguments that made them LOOK in the first place.