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yourmidnightlover · 1 year ago

Text

forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

pt 2 -> control

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents.

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place.

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely.

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be.

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite.

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady.

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light.

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much.

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life.

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together.

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door.

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe.

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight.

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting.

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls.

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile.

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline.

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun.

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting.

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you.

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway.

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men.

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips.

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates.

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned.

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes.

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with.

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often.

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip.

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be.

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband.

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins.

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away.

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you?

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this.

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think.

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted.

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly.

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.”

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident.

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth.

and then there was a knock at the door.

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting.

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements.

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft.

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was.

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again.

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.”

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you.

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing…

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed.

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point.

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad.

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earthtooz · 8 months ago

Note

earth do you have any spare alhaitham thoughts 🥺 thinking ab him a little extra hard tonight 😵

nothing but fluff, reader and al-haitham are engaged, so much banter.

"What do you think about inviting Nahida to our wedding?"

Al-Haitham looks at you incredulously, blinking slowly to register your question. You know a lengthy discussion is imminent when he uncrosses his leg, a habit of his whenever he needs to prepare for a conversation that requires most of his attention.

"You don't mean Lesser Lord Kusanali, do you?" He asks and you nod, as if it is typical to invite a god to one's wedding. "Dear, do you understand what you are asking right now?"

"I do," you sit down beside him, Zaytun peach in one hand and a small knife in the other, cutting up slices that you feed him.

"Then do you realise how ludicrous your question is?"

"I think you are overcomplicating it."

His book snaps shut. "Am I? Or is it appropriate because you just suggested inviting an archon to our very ordinary wedding?"

"You still think you're ordinary after overthrowing a corrupt government and being promoted by said archon?"

"You're crazy," Al-Haitham murmurs, shaking his head with an affectionate smile, one that he always likes to conceal by pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You poke his side gently. "Then we are cut from the same cloth."

"That does not diminish your madness."

Still, you persist. "Well, you haven't said anything in response to my suggestion."

"I called you crazy."

"You haven't said anything I want to hear."

Once again, he sighs, but the noise is too airy to hold any true malice. "Even if I reject your idea, you would personally go to the Sanctuary of Surasthana and deliver the invite yourself."

Instead of answering, you merely feed him another slice of the Zaytun peach, smile growing more and more mischievous.

There is a reason Al-Haitham wants to spend the rest of his life with you. The bouts of delightful juvenility paints endless blotches of colour on his plain canvas, carving a certain feeling of warmth and admiration in his chest that no one else has managed to recreate.

No one compares to you, and he's certain no one ever will because even after all these years of knowing and loving you, every moment he spends with you is as priceless as divine knowledge. Even when you ask ridiculous questions that perplex him greatly.

"How do you even deliver messages to the Sanctuary of Surasthana?" You wonder.

A kiss to your temple halts your thinking. "Let's find out another time. How did this idea of inviting Nahida spring about?"

You shrug. "I was merely thinking back. She's always been so thoughtful and kind to her subjects, even when the Akademiya hid her from us. Then the idea of inviting her made itself quite at home."

"I see," he hums. "Ever so thoughtful."

"Maybe it's a good omen for our partnership to invite an archon. She won't have to bring a present, her presence alone is enough."

Al-Haitham huffs. "My faith in our relationship exceeds that of a good omen, but I agree."

"Aww, you love me that much?"

"Do you still doubt me?"

"Still?" You parrot. "Darling, I've never doubted you."

"I'd like to contest that. Remember when you were vehemently against me resigning as the Acting Grand Sage?"

You feed him another slice. "It gave me bragging rights! Who else could claim that their hot boyfriend-now-fiancé was the Grand Sage?"

"So you prefer when I'm away at the Akademiya working tirelessly from dawn to dusk?"

"Well, no," you set the knife and pit of the peach down before throwing your arms around his neck, pressing yourself close to him. "I prefer having you all to myself."

Al-Haitham huffs triumphantly and you stay pressed close to him for a while, watching as he returns to his novel. He flips back to his exact page despite the lack of a bookmark.

"I'll be sure to send the invite to Nahida tomorrow."

"Alright."

Two days later, you wake to a message written in beautifully precise handwriting on Al-Haitham's blackboard.

'Can Wanderer be invited too? - Nahida'

#thank u for ur ask alexis ^-^#alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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keigh0e · 1 month ago

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Touch ↬ Caleb

Summary: You have been dating Caleb for quite a while now and you’ve had enough of him not touching you with his metal arm, so you give some not-so-gentle encouragement

Word Count: 5.9k

Triggers: smutty smut and the usual language you can always expect from me

Author Note: Meowdy .₊̣̇.ಇ/ᐠˬ ͜ ˬ ᐟ\∫.₊̣̇. Hope you’re all doing well! I finished the new stories for Love and Deepspace last night and now I’ve got Caleb brainrot, so you must suffer with me I’m afraid. This hasn’t been checked so apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes. I’d appreciate any feedback!

You were an open book to Caleb and had been for years.

Every twitch in your lips was a poem to him, every laugh his new favourite song, every tear a sonnet that pressed more weight on his soul than his evol ever could.

He’d do anything for you. No, the man was determined, he would do everything for you. Everything, it seemed, but touch you with his metal arm. There would be accidental grazes here and there, but he made a vow to himself the first night he held you after returning, that he wouldn’t let his darkness touch you.

That arm was the physical manifestation of everything wrong with him. Even though it had been years and he’d learnt how to make use of the mechanism, learnt how to make it one of his greatest weapons in battle, that’s all it could ever be to him. He wouldn’t put a knife against your throat, so he wouldn’t dare even try to hold your hand with the very thing that had taken him away from you in the first place. Now you were back with him, back in his arms.

Now he was back with you, back in the light, he refused to let the shadows of his past consume anymore than they had.

Caleb thought he was pretty good at hiding things from you. He didn’t enjoy lying to you and made an avid effort to avoid creating any more after all the Farfleet drama that had originally reunited you, then torn you apart again.

This sweet man didn’t think you carried his same brand of obsession. He didn’t know that you watched him just as intensely, noting every smile, every wince, every breath.

There was a reason you two were so perfect for each other, after all.

He had no idea that you’d caught on pretty quickly to the fact that he’d constantly do things so as to avoid touching you with his right arm.

It hadn’t been obvious at first, not until you’d caught him reprogramming the faulty appendage one night. He’d been so raw that night. Maybe it was because he was so tired and recovering, but you’d seen it clear as day, the kind of look that didn’t belong on a man like Caleb, shame.

It had broken your heart all over again.

You’d done everything you could think of to wipe that look off his face that night, you’d made him hold you, you’d taken his hand, pressed a thousand kisses to each fingertip and you would have pressed a thousand more if he’d let you. But as per usual, Caleb had pushed his own feelings aside to concentrate on yours, he’d started making lightheaded jokes the second he saw tears appear in the corner of your eyes.

Though it didn't sit right with you, you let him change the subject, thinking maybe that was what he needed. But as time passed, you began to realise how big of a mistake you’d made by allowing him to shove the topic under the metaphorical rug.

To an outsider they might not notice how he favours you walking on his left side so he can hold your hand with his. If you ever stand on the right side, the most touch you’ll get from him is his arm wrapped around your shoulder. You’d barely be able to feel the weight of him, like a layer was over you, keeping him from actually touching you with his metal arm.

He’d make you sit on his left side whenever you cuddled up on the couch, or ate together at a table. As though he was trying to keep you as far away as possible.

He was sly about it, as was Caleb’s way. If you ever touched his right arm, he’d smoothly grab your hand with his left, bringing the hand to his lips and distracting you in all the ways he knew how because, as mentioned previously, the man knew every chapter in your book. Specifically the ‘how to arouse them with one look’ chapter. He’d clearly revised over that one many many times.

Last night was the final straw for you.

He’d been showering when you arrived at his home and you didn’t think twice about getting in the shower with him.

To your shock, his arm was uncovered, not hidden under fake skin so no one but you and him knew about his little secret. He had a couple of scratches over his chest so you guessed he must have gotten hurt and had to fix his arm again.

You let out a titter, hating the idea of Caleb taking care of his own wounds, sitting alone in the dark like that last time. He’d never let you do that, so it was unfair he expected you to leave him like that as well.

Feeling your heart swell, you reached out, dragging your fingers down his arm. The usual cold steel was warm beneath the stream of water from the showerhead. You heard Caleb suck in a harsh breath, one that told you he was uncomfortable, but it just pushed you more.

You pressed a lip against his metal shoulder before nuzzling at it with your cheek. Perhaps it was too much, but you wanted him to see what you really thought of this limb Caleb seemed to be too scared to touch you with. You wanted him to know you did not share that same fear, therefore he shouldn’t either.

His head turned towards you and your eyes connected, you were stunned at the emotions in his violet gaze. The pain tore at your insides and the shame gouged out your insides. He was so beautiful, so whole, but in that moment, you saw how he truly felt.

You saw the hatred. Not at you. He could never hate you. So you knew that was all aimed at himself, at the appendage you were currently hugging to your body, practically holding it hostage.

“Caleb,” you whispered, having to swallow as tidal waves of words tried to spill out. You wanted to call him stupid for thinking you could ever fear him, even just one small part of him. You wanted to tell him he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, that he had always been the pinnacle of attractiveness for you, you’d come to this realisation as a hormonal teenager and that hadn’t changed now that you were both adults, that hadn’t changed now that one particular part of him had been replaced.

You wanted to demand he touch you back, to grip your breasts in those cold steel hands, to pull on your nipples with his fingers, to strum at your clit and play your body anyway he wanted because you trusted him, all of him.

But before any of those words could come out, Caleb had blinked away his shame. He shook his head before gently tugging at his arm. You tightened your grip on instinct.

Reaching out, he pressed his other hand against your cheek, stroking your skin with his, ever-so-brave with that touch whilst his other arm layed like dead weight in your hold. “I was just finishing up, you finish your shower and I’ll go cook us some food.”

He wasn’t even going to talk about it, was just going to move on, just acted like everything was normal.

With a press of his lips against your forehead, he pulled his arm out of your hold and exited the shower, leaving you all alone with your thoughts, with your sadness, with your rage.

Caleb always told you that were his, always made sure you knew that every part of your body belonged to him. Why was this not the same for you?

Why did he get to keep a certain part of himself away from you?

For your protection? No, that was ridiculous, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Caleb’s arms were the safest place in the world for you.

As you finished your shower, scoffing every ten seconds at the nerve of your boyfriend, a plot began to load up inside your mind.

You’d play the dutiful girlfriend tonight, the innocent friend who didn’t push too far, who laughed and smiled, who gave and didn’t demand too much. That was clearly what Caleb needed tonight and you wouldn’t push him more than he’d already been pushed by whatever fight he’d had.

But after that, you were through with this game.

Morning light slipped through the cracks in the blind, illuminating your partner who was spread out like a starfish on the bed with you on top of him, his left arm wrapped around you, holding you to his chest like you were his favourite stuffie.

You’d woken up a few seconds ago and had just watched him, your plan that you’d prepared for the night before helping get you wide awake as the excitement began to gurgle at the bottom of your stomach.

After double checking that he was definitely asleep, you reached out towards your bedside table, sliding out the top drawer so you could reach in and retrieve the handcuffs you’d snuck in there last night when Caleb had been getting in his pajamas.

You kept your movements slow, not wanting to jar your partner awake.

Reaching out, you wrapped one of the hand cuffs around the headboard. That was step one of your plan complete.

Looking down at Caleb, a sleeping beauty in his very own right, you couldn’t help but reach out and smooth a finger between his eyebrows. Even asleep, he seemed to be worried about something.

Leaning you down, you pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then his cheek. Then his lips.

As you sprinkled these little kisses, you felt something nudge against your thigh. Step two had been achieved and it was just as easy as you’d thought it would be. Even without Caleb fully awake, you could always count on one part of hiM being wide awake for you whenever you needed it.

“What are you up to, pip-squeak?” Your boyfriend grumbled, his voice all sorts of rough from sleep that your thighs automatically pressed together in reaction. You pressed another kiss to his lips, pleased when you felt him pressed back.

Reaching down with one hand, you began to rub at his dick through his boxers. Damn, you really hadn’t been wrong about him always being wide awake for you down there at least. He was already hard, the heat melting through the fabric into your hand. It was enough to make you dizzy. Luckily, you were a trainer hunter, so even the very tempting prize between his legs wouldn’t be able to pull you away from your plan of action.

Satisfaction rolled through you as he gasped at your unsuspecting touch, his hips canting slightly, trying to force more pressure from your hand onto him.

“I just wanted to wish you a good morning,” you whispered as you moved your lips over to his ear, letting your tongue trace his jawline before tugging gently on his earlobe with your teeth. All the while you slipped your hands under his boxers, touching flesh to flesh, which had him letting out the dirtiest moan.

You almost moaned back yourself. It wasn’t often you had Caleb this out of control, this raw. It was a heady feeling you could get addicted to.

And exactly what you’d been hoping for. He began to move his hips more, desperate to get a feel of your hand which you kept just above his cock, not making the move to grab it more firmly just yet.

Whilst his focus was completely taken with trying to achieve that satisfaction only you could give him, you slid your other hand down his left arm, joining your hands together and then easily moving his arm above his head. He didn’t seem to care what you were doing, his only thoughts on getting you to touch him more firmly.

You did notice that his right arm, his metal arm, was still away from you. His fingers were curled up in the mattress, and you couldn’t tell if he was gripping it because of the feelings you were gifting him, or because he was doing all he could to keep from gripping you.

The sight of his metal arm stretched out away from you cemented the plan in your mind and kept you from getting distracted, even as the most delicious whine escaped him.

You pulled your hand out of his boxers and locked the handcuff around his arm as quickly as possible, your partner didn’t seem to even notice until the click echoed in the room, still bucking his hips slightly.

His eyes finally opened, though they remained half-lidded, revealing violet rings wrapped around blown pupils. “What are you doing?” He asked, panting.

“I want to play a game, baby,” you explained in your most playful voice whilst positioning yourself better around him. “Won’t you play with me?”

You’d moved so you were laid on top of him, your hips above his crotch. The covers had been pushed back revealing his solid, naked, chest whilst you were still wearing your silk nightgown. You’d purposely worn his favourite, just to add another level of resistance. Plus, the shoulder straps might as well have been paid actors as they slipped down your arms on accident, allowing the tops of your breasts to be revealed.

He’d certainly noticed as his eyes went to your globes first, then they went down to your crotch which hovered just above his, the barest of space keeping you from settling down on his cock. Then, eventually, his eyes flicked up to glance at the handcuff you’d wrapped around his wrist. He gave a tug, as though to confirm that, yes, they really were handcuffs. Then after no time at all, his eyes returned to you, carrying with them a glare that had your playful nature purring even more.

“What’s the game?” He questioned, cocking his head to the side.

Caleb was always in control, so you weren’t surprised to see him trying to grasp it back under his control even whilst you were holding him hostage. It was kind of hot, but no, you needed to stay strong and continue on with the plan.

One look at his arm which he’d somehow stretched even further away from you after you’d moved cemented this even further in your mind.

Gently, you laid more of your wait on top of him, pressing your slit against the hotness in his underwear. Satisfaction shivered up your body as you rolled your hips ever so gently, your clit pulsing in time with your movements.

He reacted exactly as you wanted to, barely able to hold onto his control, just like you. His lips parted and his eyes shut again, his head bent further into the pillow and it took everything in you not to go back down to bite at his neck.

Never one to make you do all the work, Caleb met your rolling hips with assertive thrusts of his own, working a gasp out of you as he followed your teasing movements with his demands. “The game, baby, what is it?”

“I need you to touch me,” you revealed in a gasp. Feeling drunk on power, you reached out with both hands, pressing them on the peaks of his chest. His nipples fell between your fingers and you couldn’t help but close them, pinching at his nips, earning an unexpected response as he growled.

You saw in your periphery as he lifted his metal arm, moving closer towards you before he seemed to tighten his fist and rested it back down on the bed.

Well, that just wouldn’t do, would it?

You took one hand off his chest, leaving one to continue playing with his nipples, and reached back into his underwear. You pulled out his cock, feeling the weight of it, hot and thick, resting in the palm of your hand as you pressed it to the very centre of your clothed slit.

You moaned out and bent your head back. That wasn’t part of the game, you just couldn’t help your reaction to him, not when he was so close.

“If you want me to touch you, then you have to take off the handcuffs, baby.” You could hear his teeth grinding whilst he spoke, and you knew in that moment he’d caught on, especially when he made a point to drag the metal arm back from where it had instinctively gone to.

You stopped all movement, still keeping his dick pressed against you, letting it twitch torturously against your clit. “You know that’s not the rules, touch me with your right arm Caleb.” He shook his head again. “Do it, baby, please.”

“Can’t.” He grunted out, tugging uselessly with his left arm. He was proving you right, you knew he couldn’t resist touching you, the same way you couldn’t resist touching him. He was just being stubborn, letting whatever silly worries he has control him. You just needed to push him more out of control.

You let go of his dick, watching it slap against his stomach, leaving a trail of pre-cum that you wouldn’t have minded licking up. Maybe later.

“Look at me,” you ordered as you slowly pushed up the silky nightgown revealing inch after inch of skin. You might not have been the most confident of people, but you were at least confident of Caleb’s feelings about your body. You weren’t disappointed when his eyes followed every movement, mouth agape and eyes drunk with lust. Once the outfit was off, you reached out to touch your breasts, shoving them together and pulling on your nipples. The pulsing between your legs was an earthquake, demanding you slip onto his cock and take what was yours, but you couldn’t do that yet. Not yet. “Please touch me Caleb, I need you, so badly.”

Another grunt came out of him as he tugged harder on his arm, more beast than man in that moment. He managed to sit up, managed to get his mouth so close to the peak of your breast but you pulled away at the last second, leaving mere inches between your tip and his lips. You felt his hot breath lavish your skin and a moan crested out of your mouth unbidden. This might have been your mission, but you were just on edge as he was.

Reaching out you wrapped your hand into his hair, tugging on the strands slightly until he raised his head and met your eyes once more. “Touch me with your hand Caleb.”

“You handcuffed it, baby.”

“You have two hands,” you countered teasingly, but the mere mention of his metal arm had his expression shutting down and his head shaking once again. “Please, you won’t hurt me.” You’d abandoned the husky voice you’d been using beforehand, matching his honesty with your own pleading version. “You won’t.”

His head fell onto your chest but there was nothing sexual about the touch, not with his shoulders sagging. “I wouldn’t, not on purpose, but-”

“But nothing,” you cut him off whilst running your fingers through his hair. “It is physically impossible for you to cause me physical harm, nothing I wouldn’t want anyway.”

He didn’t respond, but you didn’t think he was ignoring you. It was clear as day that he was going through a battle, and as his partner, you needed to join this fight. Tentatively you reached out for his metal arm that was still throttling the quilt in a tight grip, the moment your fingers pressed on the back of his hand those fingers opened up.

He wasn’t pulling away immediately, that was progress.

“If I lost my arm and got a prosthetic, would you think differently of me?”

“Of course not,” he lifted his head up immediately, abhorring the thought that you might ever doubt how much he cares for you.

“Would you not let me touch you with that arm? Would you fear it?” Your fingers snaked in his and you brought the hand closer until it was resting between your stomach and his chest. Again, he just shook his head. You could see his jaw working, teeth clenching. He saw your argument, and he couldn’t exactly refute that you were making sense. You brought the hand further up, beginning to press your fingers between each knuckle. “I do not think differently of you because of your prosthetic. I will let you touch me, wherever, with your hands. I do not fear you, I love you, every inch inside and out.”

Like an animal bearing its neck to a predator, you unravelled his fingers before placing his palm around your throat.

His eyes watched every movement intensely, spellbound, and you watched second by second as that doubt grew dimmer and dimmer. Something else began to sparkle in his eyes, something familiar, the same something that was pulsing between your legs.

“My baby needs me to touch her?” He spoke so softly, you felt yourself melt a little bit more. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak at that moment. “Show me where, baby, show me where and let me take care of you.”

Your skin was practically vibrating, his gentle dominance petting you into submission, a place only Caleb could get you to fall into. Because you only trusted Caleb to this extent. Trusted all of him.

Grabbing his hand once more, you lowered it down, letting his fingers trail over your breasts. Whilst that felt good, you needed him somewhere else far more. You let him give your nipple one small tug before pushing his arm back down further, as you got to the spot between your legs, you released him, showing him that you trusted him to take care of you exactly the way you needed.

He didn’t disappoint. His metal things were cold, the change in temperature a sharp change to the heat coming from your body, you couldn’t help but coo as he slipped them further into your wetness.

“Oh, my poor baby,” he hummed, “so wet and needy for me, I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“It’s okay.” Your hips moved forward automatically as the tips of his fingers pressed against your clit, touching you exactly where you needed to feed that demanding pulse between your legs. He went slow at first, beginning to speed up as he leant forward once more and captured your nipples in his mouth. You hadn’t even realised you’d moved closer to him. You moaned out again, the satisfaction of his touch only making your body demanding for more. “Please.”

“You want to cum baby?” His fingers moved with expert precision, his thumb taking the place of his fingers as they went exploring. One finger slipped inside of you, stealing all air from you before a second one joined it, air gasping out of you with your moans. “You want to cum for me, yeah?” He asked again.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted out as his fingers plunged deeper into you, reaching a spot that had lights dancing behind your closed eyelids. Then, he froze, his fingers still inside of you.

Opening your eyes, you were met with your boyfriend wearing an expression that was oh-so-deliciously Caleb. His eyes were alight with mischief, a smirk on his lips that you wanted to kiss over and over again. Gone was the man afraid to touch you with his hand.

“Prove it,” he whispered out huskily, “make a mess on my fingers, pretty girl.”

He was asking you to prove a lot more than how much you wanted to cum on his fingers, which was a lot. Thankfully, you were up for the challenge. You began to move your hips, using his hand to get yourself off. All the while, you maintained eye contact. Letting him see how you fell apart at his touch.

“Keep going,” he encouraged, leaning forward once more to press kisses against your breast. When you fell even closer against him, desperate to feel all of him, he used this as an advantage to lick across your collarbone before biting down on the spot where your neck and shoulder met. “Good girl, keep going. Make a mess for me.” He groaned out.

“Do you hear that?” He whispered, not wanting to speak out the schlick that escaped every time you pushed his fingers back in your body. You were definitely soaking the bed, but you found it hard to care about anything other than just how good he felt. “So lewd, baby, but you just can’t help yourself can you?”

You shook your head, whining as you struggled to get out a word.

“Can’t help yourself, need all of me, my dirty girl,” his breath was coming out with pants, his eyes laser focused now on where his fingers pushed into you. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m yours baby, all fucking yours.” With those last couple of words he gave you everything, pushing his fingers in and out of you at a rabid pace, satisfaction rolling through him like a tsunami as he watched your wetness coat his entire hand, falling onto his lap where his cock stood at attention, hard and twitching, waiting for a chance to get in your hole.

“Fuck, Caleb!” You held onto his shoulders, worried you’d collapse on him as your hip thrusts became messy. All sensuality was lost, just an all-consuming need to cum. Caleb would provide, he always would. He’d always give you everything you needed.

Every kiss against your neck, every growl that escaped him, was his solid vow that that would never change.

“Cum for me pretty girl, give me what’s mine, give me it.” He hadn’t even finished before you were coming apart on his fingers. Your moans were cut off as a wave of pleasure rocked your body so harshly that you collapsed fully on top of him, body shaking with the aftershocks of the glorious orgasm he’d just gifted you.

Caleb watched unblinkingly, taking in every shudder, every breath you made. Taking note of everything so he could never forget this moment, could never forget how easily he’d played with your body, with the one part of his he’d never believed could be used for such soft things.

He pulled his arm out, wrapping his arm around your waist so he could keep you close. He saw his arm, witnessed his fingers splayed out on your back, so large they took up the entire middle and then some. He might not be able to feel you from his fingers, but he wasn’t scared, for the first time since he’d gotten that forsaken arm, he wasn’t afraid. He knew how you felt, how soft and how strong your body was against his.

A giggle broke out of you after a few more seconds of heavy breathing, your mind catching up with what you’d done, and what Caleb had finally done.

You lifted your head up, looking into his violet eyes with the biggest smile on your face. “I told you, you could never hurt me.” You said each word with such utter confidence that Caleb was left speechless. Instinct was running the show for him, and for the first time ever, he wasn’t forcing himself to play safe. You were right, he could never hurt you, his instinct was only ever to protect you, to keep you safe, to make you happy.

And he was only halfway through with that last part.

He pulled his metal hand back from around your waist, slipping the fingers into his mouth and sucking on each digit that had been inside you.

Once he was done, he brought the fingers up to your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, and like the good girl you were, you did as he said. You let him push his cold metal fingers into your mouth, let him explore the inside of your mouth with those digits.

“Is this what you wanted all along, baby girl?” He asked. “Wanted to unravel me?”

He took his fingers out of your mouth, letting you answer his question. “I wanted you to see you the way I see you.”

He cocked his head to the side, “and how’s that?”

You leaned forward, letting your lips rest against his as you spoke your next words. “Completely and utterly mine.”

The next couple of things that happened, occured within the blink of an eye.

His metal hand reached up to the handcuff, snapping it with ease and releasing his other hand. Both hands wrapped around your body as he spun the two of you around until he was on top, his waist pressing against the apex of your thighs. His cock rutting once, twice, against your clit which in turn had your hip stuttering with the overstimulation. His left hand, warm and soft, pressed down on your hip, keeping you in place, whilst his other rested against your throat, the fingers curling and pressing down on your pulse points. Not hard enough to cut off air, just hard enough for you to be incapable of ignoring their presence.

Despite the rough way he’d handled you, he followed up these actions by pressing three gentle kisses against your lips. “Always.” Another kiss. Far more demanding, teeth grazing. “Always have been.” His tongue plunged into your mouth, dancing across yours before he sucked it into his mouth. Another barely contained growl escaped him as he rutted against you more.

You just couldn’t help yourself. You’d got him to the very edge of control, and you wanted to see him lose it.

Pulling back you bit down hard on his lip, gathering what little attention he had left which wasn’t completely taken by the wet warmth cradling his cock.

“Prove it.” A demand, no, a challenge. The final stab at his control that pulled forth the beast.

Both hands moved beneath your thighs, pushing them against your chest so your pussy was completely open to him. Glistening under the few rays of sunlight that peaked into the room, as though trying to glimpse at the display of ravenous lust you were putting on. Caleb could understand why, you’d never looked so beautiful to him, spread open and soaking down your thighs, your hole twitching as though begging to be filled.

His poor baby. You didn’t need to beg anymore.

With ease he placed his dick against your hole, slipping in with barely any force because of how slick you were.

Home. That’s what your pussy felt like to him.

The both of you groaned out, a cacophony of moans that he could listen to for days on end without ever growing sick of the tune.

“I’ll prove it to you, pretty girl.” His voice was rough and hoarse as it fell from his lips, though he wasn’t sure anymore if it was from being tired, or because of all the moans he’d let escape. “You’ll never doubt me again, never doubt that your mine.” Each word was followed with a deep thrust, his cock reaching places you never knew existed until he’d explored them.

He fell on top of you, surrounding you. You couldn’t see anything but him. Feel anything but him. Hear, smell, taste anything but him.

His thrusts turned harder, quicker, every stab of his cock a lightning bolt to your senses.

You lost yourself, mouth opening with silent cries as your eyes stared unfocused on his face. Any time you closed them, he’d respond with a harsher, sharper, thrust of his hips. Even without words, he was in complete control of you.

“You need this, need me,” he told you in between grunts. You could only nod. Too drunk on the pleasure to tell him that he needed you too. He knew. He knew he needed you more, that’s why he was never going to let you go. “You need to cum all over this cock, need to make a mess, give it to me, pretty girl.”

Your legs were pressed so deep into your chest you weren’t sure if you were breathing, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was his thick cock dragging in and out of your pussy. Pulling pleasure from you with each thrust.

“Give it to me, and I’ll give you my cum.” He promised, and oh, your pussy clenched tightly around him, liking the sound of that far too much. An almost sinister laugh came from your boyfriend as he felt it too. “Oh,” he hummed, apparently just as surprised as you were by that reaction. His thrusts slowed, but they seemed to turn longer, somehow going deeper than ever before. “You want my cum baby? Want me to fill you up until your overflowing with my seed?”

When you moaned in response, he knew he had his answer.

“Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to give you all my cummies? Fill you up? Give you my babies?” Another clench had him slamming down into you. “Want that too pretty girl. Want to see you full of me, knowing you’re filled with me, knowing everything who sees you will know what I did to your dirty little pussy.”

“Fuck.” Both hands wrapped around your thighs tightened to the point of bruising, but that was exactly what he wanted, to mark you in every possible way. And he could, because he was in control. “Fucking take it, pretty girl. Fuck, good girl. Good fucking girl.”

His words were drowned out by each slam of his hips against yours. You knew you’d be hurting later but you were past the point of caring, you wanted every single thing he’d just promised you.

Through heaving breaths, you managed to squeak out a hoarse ‘please’ and that was his undoing. His thrusts stuttered until he pressed as far into you as possible and then you felt your insides being flooded.

It almost felt unreal, there was so much. You felt every corner of your insides being covered and then the knot inside you released with him, your pussy tightening almost instinctively around him, trying to keep his essence inside of you.

“Good girl,” he continued to praise, throwing out little phrases of admiration as you both rode out your orgasms.

Then, when the final wave crested and fled, he released your legs from his hold. His hands stayed steady, controlling how they fell around him, making sure you didn’t move too quickly just in case. His fingers caressed your soft skin, massaging at your thighs where most of the strain had been.

He moved so most of his weight wasn’t on you but he was still hovering over you. Pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, he left his lips to rest there as he mumbled out an almost reverent, “thank you.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! I’ve been thinking about doing a part two where Caleb gets revenge and handcuffs the reader, let me know if you’d be interested.

#love and deepspace #love and deep space #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #caleb x mc #caleb smut #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #lads caleb #lads sylus #lads

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chiaraforfun · 3 days ago

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I think they both make fair points actually, because what @elenasalvatore1 is referred to what happened once they where together, and @jilyydoe to both before and during.

I've always been a big fan of Hinny, and I find this extremely true analysis a bit unsettling, lmao. However, I would like to clarify 3 points that are very subjective.

The first is that yes, Harry and Ginny probably wouldn’t have stayed together forever instead of what Rowling later decided, because they were likely together for insufficient reasons. At the same time, I don’t see Harry with Hermione as a good match (I could easily write a fanfic about it because it would work well as a romance, just to be clear). I don’t know if it’s because they literally grew up together, and I can’t fully support those couples who date young and end up marrying, but I never saw them as "in love".

They had a beautiful friendship, that's it.

However, it's also true that I love Romione, which goes against that last thought, BUT there has always been that... I don’t know... distance? The friendship that Hermione and Harry shared is not the same as that between Hermione and Ron. You could almost feel that tension from the start. So, I guess it makes less sense to me.

Point two: Ginny in the books is very different from the films, where they made her too flat, and while it may be true that the premises of their relationship were somewhat toxic (okay, maybe a bit more than somewhat), them being together makes sense. I reiterate, not forever, because I believe they would inevitably break up sooner or later, but in the books, it makes sense, and she is fantastic. I mean, she is mean to Fleur behind her back, but so is the rest of them beside a few if I remember properly. It's not an excuse but I think I remember Ginny and Hermione both making fun with Mrs Weasley.

She makes fun of Ron but let's be realistic, I did the same with my brother and he did the same with me. I'm not proud and growing up we changed but let's not forget she's still young!

All the dynamics makes sense if you think of her age.

We are so used to see the golden trio as "older" because of what they fight but in truth they are not.

So I guess I do give her a bit of an excuse for her behaviour. Also because she was funny, I'm sorry.

And then, as @jilyydoe pointed out, Harry's last thought before dying was about her so—why not!

Point three: for once, we’re not reading about the extremely predictable relationship between the protagonist and another main character. I mean, come on, let’s break away a bit. I love f/m friendship!

True friends, not romanticised.

Point 4 (that I forgot about): I really don't think that Ginny loves because of his popularity.

Surely that’s the reason she had a crush on him in the first year, but I don’t think that’s the reason she fell in love with him. I believe the story of the younger sister falling in love with her older brother's friend is an old classic, but there’s a deeper reason behind it. And it's the same thing here, among many reasons, right? I mean, Harry was constantly with Ron, he spent a lot of time with the rest of the brothers, and it often happened that he was at the Weasley house. In my opinion, she started to fall in love with him precisely by spending time together, gradually more and more, especially since at the beginning she was a bit pushed aside by her brother, lol. Then, indeed, she tried to have her own experiences and well, we all know how it went from there, toxic dynamics included.

But, I don’t think she fell in love with him for popularity. That, I would say, was just the spark that ignited everything else

I get all your other points and yess it's ruined a bit my idea, I won't idolise their relationship anymore (😭 ), and I get it, it's not that perfect, but maybe that's why I like Hinny so much; it’s unpredictable. It’s a couple that means nothing from a distance, but for them, it’s everything.

I don’t know, it makes sense to me, and I apologize for not being able to explain myself better. English is not my native language, and unfortunately, I don’t know how else to convey these concepts.

P.S.: The thing that makes me cringe a little about Hinny, I have to admit, is that it gives me a bit of a “mommy issues” vibe because of the hair, lmao.

Ya'll really gonna come in here and tell me you love Harry Potter but you hate Hinny.

You're going to tell me to my face that you love Harry James Potter, a man who has been through so much. Lost his whole entire family., and you're going to deny him his greatest source of comfort.

Are you actually going to tell me that you think ferret face or someone who Harry has described as a sister to him is a better fit for him than someone who makes him happier than he can ever remember being.

He was willing to die happily just thinking about her kissing him. Literally his last dying thought but you're gonna come here and tell me that you hate true love.

Please.

#hinny #harmony #harry/hermione #harry/ginny #harry potter #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry

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hitlikehammers · 17 days ago

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POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post s4 #established relationship #corroded coffin #as in: the boys are here #and they DO NOT APPROVE OF STEVE #and think it’s absolutely essential to confront eddie about what the hell he thinks he’s doing with HARRINGTON of all people #and yeah okay: maybe steve OVERHEARS IT ALL #it’s 100% accidental though #eddie’s van is just in the shop! he needs a ride from band practice!#fluff #romance #anniversary #eddie munson: COME DEFEND YOUR MAN #true love #declarations #love confessions #steve harrington gets to feel all warm and gooey about his boyfriend okay? he deserves that #stranger things #steddielovemonth #prompt: we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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dark-raven-666 · 3 months ago

Note

For the homicipher men falling in love you made..may I ask if you will make a part 2 was really getting all giddy seeing your post but then mr.hood wasn't there 😭 man deserves some love too

Homicipher x reader (gn) headcanons.

How they love p 2

Warnings: Mr Hugeface is toxic

✧༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻✧

Mr. Hood

When he first met you he felt like needed to protect you, like you were a tiny creature that was so helpless and needed him.

He never expected you to come back and thank him each time.

"Thanking me? Why? "

It seems that no one there is kind or even grateful, he's never been thanked. It feels nice, warm.

Then you do it again, and again, and again.

He expected you to leave, use his help and never come back, but you did.

As the rest he never realizes what love is bit he feels protective of you.

Mr Crawling is too weak and Mr machete runs away. He's the only one capable of protecting you

Mr. Machete

Now this guy can't handle weaklings or kind soft people, sorry not sorry.

If you can't keep up with him and fight why would he bother with you?

Now let's say you can fight. He's intrigued. Very intrigued.

It takes you very long time even land a hot on him but when you do.. His heart goes doki doki and he immediately respects you (loves you)

He will demand to fight again and each time you win he will be bashful instead of upset.

Wow you got a hit on THE Mr machete.

Mr. Silvair

You're a human in the ghost realm so you've already got his attention.

He wants to research you and push you to your limits.

He does ask for consent to work on you but if you get violet you're ending up like Mr chopped.

He has clear boundaries and needs you to understand that he is stronger than you. You're the subject, he's the researcher.

Now if you get through all of that he'll be kind enough to give you anesthesia when researching.

One day you wake up with an actual heart on your bedside table. That's his gratitude. Never mention it again or he'll never love you again.

From then on he considers you two lovers and will sometimes give you small smiles as he works and teach you stuff.

Mr. Hugeface.

Tiny human, so fun, so cute.

Literally incapable of love only obsession.

If you're kind enough to obey him and be his little doll. Be obedient in your room maybe he'll get you a few gifts, a book or two.

He's so childish and will throw a tantrum if his doll is not perfect. How dare you have messy hair!?

Will get you clothes and style your hair like you're a Barbie.

That's your life now eternally. You're a doll. And perfect dolls are always pretty and happy.

All throughout toxic.

Mr. Stitch

This man is perfect for maladaptive daydreamers.

You met him when he took you from Mr Crawling, well kidnapped you, but when you get in that bus, you travel in the abyss with him.

Ever since then, that became you two's favorite hobby. To get on the bus, share stories, cuddle a bit, he will Yap to no end and tell you of his adventures and how he plans to take you on many!

He shows love by making you little things, like old cloth you found? It's a dress now. He isn't called Mr stitch for no reason.

You were heitamt at first but then the world of daydreams and the abyss with no stress takes you like a dream.

You love him just as much.

He thinks you're a fun person who treats him well and laughs with him.

Most of your time is spent giggling at his jokes and he likes that.

No matter where or when he picks you up, when he does you're going to adventure.

#homicipher x mc #homicipher fanfiction #homicipher x you #homicipher mr crawling #homicipher x reader #mr chopped head #mr hood #mr crawling #mr hood x reader #mr machete x reader #mr hugeface #mr stitch

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copper-16 · 12 days ago

Text

Remind Me That There’s A Room To Grow Part 3

Broken, rueful, and mended as it should have been.

(a/n: Part 3, here we come! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on these, I'm so grateful! Reminder for anyone who likes a musical touch that you can find the Spotify playlist here, if you would like. Please enjoy this part, and I would love to hear your feedback about the note at the end!)

Alexia sat on that damn park bench for God knows how long.

She didn’t care if she got no sleep or looked absolutely insane sitting there for hours on end. The things you had told her rattled around in her brain disconcertedly, unending every single thought that attempted to interrupt. The brunette had gone from feeling like she was the most stable and vindicated person on the planet to a feeling as though she were a shell of herself.

This whole time, there had been so much more to the story than she ever could have imagined. And though she knew it really wasn’t their fault, resentment flared within her at how quick Eli and Alba were to blame you for everything.

Everything in Alexia felt anguished. Just thinking about looking at your face made the Catalan feel nauseous, stuck on how distraught you had been. It wasn’t as though she could blame you either, not when she had been so irate.

She had allowed herself to be influenced by every single person around her instead of trusting you, as she always had. She should have trusted herself, should have trusted the fact that she knew something was wrong. The last nine years had been spent giving you the benefit of the doubt, but when it came to it, she had treated you with such animosity.

Never in a million years had she expected the reasoning behind all of this.

Cancer. It seemed impossible for someone who was only eighteen years old, but it wasn’t as though stranger things hadn’t occurred. Now all Alexia managed to think of was how scared and alone you must have felt. She had lost you, but she did so when she was chasing her dreams. You had to watch her leave you behind because of a situation entirely out of your hands.

All this time where she had felt abandoned, and in reality it was the other way around.

What an absolutely fucked up situation.

When the footballer finally stood, a chill wrapped around her and caused her to shiver violently. She didn’t remember it getting cold, but it wasn’t as though she cared about the temperature when her mind was a ruction of emotions.

She booked it back to her car, driving herself toward her Mami’s house in what would have been considered a fury. The brunette knew that her sister was there as well, so she could kill two birds with one stone.

When she arrived, the brunette barged through the door with no care at all for the hinges, her inner turmoil gathering and growing with each and every step she took. She found her family in the kitchen, enjoying some dessert with a glass of wine in each of their hands.

“You were wrong,” Alexia seethed, almost heady with the amount of wrath she felt within her. Eli and Alba both turned to her in an instant, instantly confused at the animosity in her tone. It was so rare to hear the brunette truly upset in the way she was right now, and they glanced at each other for a second before they turned to Alexia fully.

“What happened?” Alba asked, very confused as to what her sister was talking about. They had no idea that the pair of you had talked, but Alexia didn’t care to give them context.

“You both blamed her for leaving me behind, you made her out to be the villain and she never was! This was all of your fault, how could you do this to me? How could you twist my mind in such a way?” Alexia snapped, her whole body tense with rage.

“Alexia, what the hell are you talking about?” Alba demanded, understanding dawning on the subject her sister spoke about but still confused as to the circumstances.

“She was fucking sick, you two. She let me go alone because she had cancer, and she didn’t want me to have to live through it when I was moving away. She broke up with me so I could go chase my dreams and build my career without being bogged down. She gave up her own happiness so that I could have my own,” the brunette spat, her face red with exertion. Whether it was to keep her anger inwards or to stop the tears that burned in the back of her eyes, the Catalan was unsure.

“She did it to protect me, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt for her decision for a decade before you two got so defensive and twisted my mind. She was never the selfish person you made her out to be, she was always the most selfless, empathetic, compassionate of all of us!” Alexia argued, and she seemed only to be growing more and more in her anger.

“Alexia–” Eli tried to interrupt, but she was quickly cut off.

“No! I don’t even want to hear you two attempt to explain yourselves. I don’t want to hear it. I loved her, I love her now, and I’ve fucked it all up with your words in my mouth! She left the conversation in tears, she told me to leave her alone. If you two hadn’t been so horrible about the whole thing, I never would have been so skeptical in the first place!” Alexia was ready to burst at the seams, and she couldn’t handle it.

“Now Ale, we only did that because we wanted to protect y–” Alba attempted to interject, failing just as her mother had.

“I don’t even want to hear it! I am so angry at the two of you, especially considering that you hardly let me get a word in edgewise about her character. She grew up with us, she loves us, and she trusted you with her heart just as much as you trusted her with mine. So don’t sit there and say anything, but maybe think about your own actions!” Alexia finally demanded, her words fervent in manner.

When her mother and sister said nothing but looked at her in shock, the brunette shook her head and chuckled austerely, not a trace of humor in her tone.

“God, and now you don’t even have anything to say for yourselves,” she looked around at her mother’s kitchen as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The midfielder was aware she was only redirecting her anger onto two people whose blame was minimal, but the affliction in her heart needed somewhere to go.

“I have to go, I will talk to you two later,” Alexia said after a second, defeat heavy in her expression as the anger began to drain out of her. It was replaced by an excruciating misery that weighed on her shoulders exactingly, as though it knew that she was really the one to blame in all of this.

She felt as though she had lead in her shoes as she walked out to her car. The drive back to her apartment was done in complete silence, the Catalan unable to deal with anything other than the chaos in her mind.

She barely made it one step in the door before the first sob bubbled up her throat. She finally allowed herself to succumb to it, sobbing so hard that her ribs ached and her eyes swelled, and she had nobody to blame for everything except for herself.

—

Every single person on the team could immediately tell something was wrong with Alexia when she showed up at training the next day.

Alexia had always been the most dedicated of them all, relentless in her pursuit to be better. She was endlessly pushing herself and those around her to be their best selves, and it paid off. The team worked hard, and they looked better than ever. The Catalan had helped to lift them from relative obscurity into a team that people feared to play, and as much as Vicky was their fearless leader, every single player would tell you that the Catalan was their beating heart.

But today? Well, today the brunette looked about two steps away from death as she walked into the changing room.

Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Her hair was mildly unkempt, her skin sullen, the bags under her eyes endlessly listless. She kept her head down, and changed as though she wished she could curl up into a ball and never be seen again. The midfielder was usually a quiet person, but today she seemed…unobservant.

Somehow, that made all of it seem worse.

Jenni and Mariona were instantly alarmed because they knew what had happened, while the other girls were both confused and in a state of shock. Nobody had ever seen Alexia this clearly upset, considering the fact that she typically kept things close to her chest.

To be this outwardly downtrodden was incomprehensible, to the point where the rest of the team wasn’t sure how to act toward her. They all seemed to avoid her as though she was radioactive, and she made no attempt to engage with any of them.

Jenni, Mariona, and Vicky, however, had no problem marching over to the Catalan as they created a concerned cocoon around her.

“What happened Alexia?” Vicky questioned gently, only to receive nothing short of the death glare back from Jenni and Mariona in response.

“How did it go?” Mariona amended quietly, hopeful that they might have been able to draw out some sort of reaction from the midfielder. It was clear the conversation had not gone well, but they did not know why.

And sure enough, Alexia’s entire face flashed into something nearly venomous, and she shook her head with what looked to be a clearly concerted effort to remain in control.

“Nothing. I would appreciate it if everyone left me alone and we could conduct training as normal, like we are supposed to be doing,” she managed to grit out pointedly, her voice bolstered with hostility and malice. The three women looked around at each other, none of them in the least bit convinced, but the mutually agreed upon decision seemed to be that they clearly weren’t going to get anything out of the brunette right now.

The midfielder was a monster at training that day, and not in a good way.

Every single ball was launched with a lethal ferocity. Every single pass was too hard, every single first touch sloppy and heavy.

None of the movements were reminiscent of the Alexia that everyone had come to know. It wasn’t great football, it wasn’t even good football. The midfielder was clearly angry at something, and the longer practice went on, the worse it got. The Catalan was frustrated with herself, bitter and enraged at how she seemed unable to play with any ounce of grace.

It felt ironically similar to how she seemed unable to converse with you without accusation, a thought she was ruefully reminded of.

It was when she sent a ball flying angled toward Caro’s head that Vicky and Marta finally pulled the midfielder aside brashly. The captain of the team had taken one look at their manager, whose expression agreed with her own, to know what needed to be done.

“You’re done for the day,” Vicky stated without an ounce of discussion left in the conversation. Alexia certainly wasn’t in the mood to be ordered around as she decisively brushed them off.

“I’m fine, we still have another half hou–” The brunette was cut off without even managing to finish her sentence.

“No. You are done, you’re going to go back to the changing room and take a long shower. You’re going to get dressed and go home and process whatever you’re trying to avoid right now by almost murdering your teammates,” the Barcelona captain dictated with even greater finality, her eyebrow raised as though she dared the younger woman to argue with her.

Alexia looked posed to respond, but when she caught Marta looking back at the Norwegian with worried eyes, she felt the fight drain out of her. The older Spaniard had always had a sweet spot for the nervous Wolfsburg transfer, and seeing it right in front of her eyes made her deflate like a balloon.

She knew that look.

She had lived that look before, when she hadn’t fucked all of this up seven ways to Sunday.

With a reluctant, apologetic glance at Marta, the midfielder nodded her head. She turned on her heels, much to the surprise of her co-captains, who were honestly expecting more of a pushback.

As they watched the midfielder walk off the pitch, they stared at the way her body seemed to curl in on herself, almost as though the brunette couldn’t bear to stand up straight as she stared down at her feet.

“What the hell happened?” Marta asked Vicky as she looked over at her captain. But the Barcelona captain was unable to tear her eyes away from Alexia’s retreating form until it disappeared into the building. It was only then that she looked over at Jenni, who hovered a short distance away from them with a look of unease on her face.

Vicky shook her head before she turned back to the pitch.

“I honestly have no idea,” she replied curtly as she made direct eye contact with Jenni, who seemed to understand the silent request of her captain as she turned back toward practice.

When the team filed in after training was done, Alexia and all of her stuff were gone, nowhere to be seen.

—

Nine years.

You had lived with the grief of losing her for nine years. You would never change your mind on the decision, but God did it feel as though you were sucking the blood out of your body. Even all of these years later, it still stung to think about how much you had lost in that moment.

Alexia took every ounce of happiness and peace with her when she left. While you still had other friends, you were by no means alone, it was never the same without her there. You hardly had to speak a single word for the brunette to understand where your mind was at. There was a closeness to the two of you that was impossible to replace. It hadn’t been the same after she had left, no longer having a confidant who held space for you.

Your father, while a lovely man, was never terribly involved in your life. He loved you, but having children was never his dream, and with how much he worked, you rarely saw him. It was a loss that you didn’t feel rather acutely, especially not when Jaume had swept you into his orbit through your friendship with Alexia. He had loved you like a daughter, and you cherished him for it in a way you had never managed with your own father.

Your two younger brothers, Leo and Adan, had struggled when you had gotten sick. They always looked up to you as their protector and ring leader. Seeing you unable to help, organize, and work as you usually did was strange for them, especially considering the fact that they were only fifteen and fourteen at the time. And while you spent much of your childhood watching over them with a loving gaze, it was your mother who stepped up to take care of them more.

Your mother Paula was a lovely, exuberant woman, if not a touch frazzled. She was a better entertainer than she was a mother, but there was no question she loved the three of you. The two of you had been a team in helping to raise the boys, because while your mother had wisdom you were steadfast in your ability to calm. You had been a significant help in raising the two boys, and your mother had come to rely on you as a result. It had all gotten thrown out of place when you had gotten sick. Your mother tried to pick up the slack, bless her, but she struggled. She did as best as she could until you were declared cancer free, and able to help pick up some of the slack that had been created. It helped that your brothers were compassionate and kind, never one to try and cause too much trouble.

Your mother passed away just a few years ago because of a brain aneurysm, much to the devastation of your father. While you missed her terribly, you never needed her for stability and strength. That was found on your own.

Chemo treatments were mostly done on your own, a book and a sick bag in hand. It was a tough three months, but you made it through with as big of a smile as you could muster. A friend would accompany you occasionally, but they never quite knew what to do when they were there with you. Not that you faulted them for it, but it only made you more exhausted having to entertain on top of feeling ill.

After a grueling few months, the tumor had shrunk enough to be surgically removed, and a few rounds of radiation killed off the last of it. It had been less than a year to get rid of everything, though in your mind it had felt much longer.

Overall, the treatment had gone well from a medical perspective. You had responded well and were declared to be in remission swiftly. You were young and otherwise healthy, making you the perfect candidate to respond to treatment.

That didn’t seem to account for the ache that persisted deep in your chest, but it wasn’t as a result of your sickness. The sense of loss that pervaded your mind for years afterward was impossible to banish. You had not made a mistake, and yet your mind and body betrayed you with a wanton amount of unearned yearning.

There was a restlessness that existed within you, a restlessness that needed to be solved and yet had nowhere to go.

You had begun university toward the end of your treatments and sped through a track in finance, turning heads each and every way you went. There was always a level of intelligence to you that you were aware of, but investment analysis and management came naturally to you it seemed.

Though you had the opportunity to go earlier, you waited dutifully for your brothers to finish school and go off to university before you left your hometown. Leo ended up in Valencia for school, and a year later Adan made the decision to stay in Madrid for his degree.

Once you were certain your brothers were settled, you began to dig for opportunities in your own career. The work you had put in paid off, and you had offers not only in Spain but France, Italy, the United States as well.

You didn’t care about any of that, though. You took the one job that put you directly in Barcelona and decided to figure it out from there.

There was a safety and security to being in the same city as Alexia, even if she had no clue you were there. You were thankful for the move, honestly, thankful for the opportunity to meet new friends and build your own life. The sun forever shined and the city was exciting and vibrant, devoid of the reminders that face you everywhere in Madrid.

Both of your brothers ended up staying in or returning to Madrid, living near your mother until her death and trying to stay vaguely connected to your father. He had struggled immensely in the wake of her passing, but both Leo and Adan never seemed to mind stepping in to keep him on the right path.

By all logical standards, you had a wonderful life. An amazing group of friends, a job you really enjoyed, hobbies you found interesting. It felt like the whole package of what someone would want in their life.

But you found in the morning after your talk with Alexia, there was nothing you wanted to do with this life. You simply wanted to be left alone to rot, and you found that you didn’t care who disagreed. The longing in your heart threatened to swallow you whole, your hatred for your decisions every single day of the last nine years.

You had finally been honest with Alexia, you had told her the truth…but was it worth it?

Based on the feeling inside of you right now, it wasn’t worth it.

You would have taken anger over devastation on her face any day.

You loved her too much to care about your own peace of mind.

And yet…

—

Alexia nearly jumped out of her skin when she unlocked the door of her apartment, only to find that Jenni was sitting on her couch with a glass of lemonade and a raised brow. The midfielder did a complete double take, confounded when she reminded herself that the door had in fact been locked before she came in here.

“How the hell did you get in here?” The Catalan asked with confusion as her heart rate struggled to return to an acceptable level. She looked around her apartment with a perplexed glint to her expression, as though she expected to find the answer laying in front of her in the form of a crowbar or something.

“Oh please, we’ve been friends for many years. We are both allowed to have our little secrets, no?” Jenni diverted, and Alexia shook her head instantly, looking toward the striker with a lost expression.

“What – no?! That doesn’t mean you get to break into my apartment! How did you even get in her–”

“This is not the point of this conversation, Alexia,” Jenni cut her friend off easily, ignoring how bewildered the brunette was as a result of her surprise appearance. The striker settled, a concerned look flashing across her features. “You fucked up that conversation, didn’t you?”

“You’re not allowed to just barge in here whenever you want!” Alexia spat, a sudden rush of anger coursing through her at Jenni’s words. Defensiveness coursed through her veins with a fury, and nobody had managed to pin her down for long enough to have a real conversation with her.

Until now, apparently.

When the raven-haired woman leveled her with a disbelieving stare, the Catalan’s shoulders collapsed just slightly. When Jenni wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. She would stop at absolutely nothing to get it, and the midfielder knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation with anger or deflections. She sighed forcefully, settling her keys down on her kitchen counter and pressing her head into her hands.

“I did,” she conceded after a moment, her voice shaky and impossibly quiet. When she finally looked up, the torment inside her entire body seemed to reflect in her expression. Jenni felt horrible, seeing how torn up her friend was.

“I fucked everything up Jenni, everything. I came into it with so much aggression and fear, and made all these accusations I don’t even really think I meant,” she admitted with a humorless chuckle, an echo of agony in her words.

Silence cascaded around them, the air thick with regret and despondency.

“She was sick,” Alexia revealed after a moment. She glanced up at Jenni, struggling to control herself. “She was sick, and so she broke things off because she couldn’t leave, but she wanted me to. She saved my career, made a sacrifice for my own happiness, and in return I screamed horrible things at her. What kind of person does that make me?” Alexia pleaded, her voice cracking over the last sentence.

Jenni thought about the question for a moment before she shook her head and looked back at Alexia. There was a compassion in her expression, and the Catalan forced herself to look away in the face of it. She didn’t deserve it.

“It makes you human, Alexia,” the raven-haired woman countered, her words soft and sympathetic, almost saccharine in their amount of sweetness.

“No it doesn’t,” Alexia grumbled under her breath, but Jenni was quick to continue.

“Yes it does. You did not have all the information at the time. And okay, you said some things you regret? Go apologize for them then! You made a mistake, and you feel remorse, Alexia. That in and of itself means that there is love and compassion in your heart.”

“And if she doesn’t accept that apology?” Alexia shot back, fighting to be kind as she was gripped with fear. She looked over at Jenni with a flame in her eyes, anything to hide how upset she truly was. It was easier to mask it than it was to face it, after all.

“Then she doesn’t accept the apology, and life moves on. But you won’t know if you don’t even bother to try,” Jenni offered as she walked over and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder comfortingly.

“Forgive yourself enough to give her the opportunity to forgive you. If she was in your spot, you would do the same. If she cares as much about you as you say she does, I think you have a fighting chance,” the striker suggested, her voice gentle. The brunette remained deep in thought, thinking hard about Jenni’s words. The raven-haired woman let herself out before Alexia could even formulate a response.

And while there were a lot of thoughts swirling around in Alexia’s mind, perhaps the top of the list was that she really, really needed to get a locksmith to her apartment.

—

It was a thought that often consumed the brunette as her career began to take off. It had been a question, something that weighed on her mind in the dark of night when she lay alone.

Was it worth it?

The duty to herself, to her career pulled at her endlessly. Everyone around her was dedicated to their career, putting it above their family at nearly all cost. And she understood, she wanted to be the best. The pull to change the sport, to leave a legacy behind that made women’s football better than where she had started.

But what was the cost?

How many family dinners had she missed? How many birthdays? How many celebrations?

How many moments had she missed, even just the mundane, small things in life. How many inside jokes and how much late night laughter had evaded her because of this choice?

And she knew that her family loved her, and that they understood how important her career was to her. But it never took away from the fact that she was gone often. That unlike her teammates and peers, she spent the least amount of time with her family as the years had passed. Whereas many of her friends grew more committed to their families, getting married and even having children, football had become her sole focus in life.

Other than you, she had never been in a committed relationship with anyone. Her friendships were from football, everything in her life had revolved around football. Protecting her image, embracing the game, doing whatever she could to advance the team and herself to perfection.

It wasn’t until you had stumbled back into her life that suddenly she remembered what it had been like to live a life. And sure, she knew that her career was different now, much more intense. But the Catalan also knew that you never would have allowed her to become so overwhelmingly immersed into her career.

It was less the time commitment and more the mindset she approached her career with that had changed in your absence. Alexia had always assumed that in order to be the best, she had to be so devoted to football in every aspect of her entire life. That there was no room outside of it for distractions.

Her friends hadn’t become worse because they had loved ones, because they took a step back. They were still dedicated, but also well rested and prepared.

The two of you had been together for so many years, and then football had been the thing to divide you. It was Alexia’s career that had been prioritized above you, a decision that you had made and believed in.

Had you really ever thought you were more important than football?

Had she done that? Had she felt that you were more important than football?

All she could think of was how you were sick and alone, a burden to bear alone when you should have been loved and supported.

Alexia was not angry that you hadn’t told her, not by a long shot. But she was furious with the circumstances, with her own choices, with everything else in the situation besides you.

You had meant so much to her, and she had let you go without any recourse. She never even considered that there was so much depth to the decision you had made.

And now here she stood, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had gone from broken to shattered entirely.

Alexia knew that she loved you.

That she still loves you, even after all this time. There were parts of a person that never changed, and she saw it in your expression.

Even after all this time.

Her career came first in every aspect of her life, but maybe just this once it didn’t have to. Maybe some personal happiness was deserved, maybe it could be her choice to try and fix this.

Maybe she deserved a break, or some peace, or to undo all of the mistakes she had made in the last decade. Maybe the choice she made here would make her better, and not worse.

The brunette had no idea if you still loved her anymore, not after the appalling things she had said, but she couldn’t let it go without at least trying to get you back.

She had lost you once, and she wasn’t prepared to let it happen again without a fight.

—

Alexia can’t bring herself to pick up the phone and dial, so she took the coward's way out and texted you to ask for your address.

Much to her surprise, you answered her. It’s nothing more than the address rattled off, but it’s there. The brunette felt her heart constrict for a moment at the thought that it wasn’t really your address, that you had sent her a fake location.

But at the same time, even if that were the case, a part of her would understand. For all the years that she had been hurt and alone and yearning desperately for you, it had been the same for you.

The choice you had made was impossible, indescribable even, and Alexia knows in her heart that her career wouldn’t be where it was without your sacrifice. You had sacrificed your own dream so that she could live hers, and when it all came back to the two of you all these years later, she had completely desecrated that sacrifice without a second thought.

She continued to be appalled with herself over that entire conversation. It was all she saw every time she closed her eyes, the words she had said rattling around in her brain all night long.

The look on your face as she dug herself into a deeper hole, filled with disregard for how much care you had tried to give the situation. It was never going to be perfect, but you had tried to be perfect. And in that moment, she had acted as though it wasn’t enough.

It was.

You had always been more than enough for her, regardless of whether you two were together or not.

Every single time she had laid in bed since, memories both good and bad of the two of you had pooled in her eyes, rolling down her cheek and escaping onto the pillow beneath her.

She had lost her curiosity inside the ferocity of her own judgement, and she regretted it with every molecule inside of her. She regretted it so much that it made her feel physically ill, to the point where she no longer cared about being appropriate or saving face.

It was late in the evening when she drove over to your apartment. She had a plan to go on Sunday morning, but it was Friday night and her self restraint had ground away until it no longer existed.

The Catalan took the steps two at a time up to the third floor, knowing that each moment likely brought her closer to you. She hoped it did, at least. It was highly possible that you were out with friends or doing something fun, as you should be.

But still hope gripped her with a strength she was unaware she ever had. Loving you was never the detractor she had spent the last decade convincing herself it was, but was where she got her strength.

Loving you had breathed life into her and she was silly to have ever thought differently.

She knocked on the door to your apartment before she could stop herself from overthinking every single one of her life choices. Her knuckles struck against the wooden door exactly three times, each one more forceful than the lost.

The brunette waited with everything in her for the sound of anything in the wake of knocking. Any movement, any sign of life, anything. The seconds felt like hours and years as her heart rammed its way into her throat.

And then she heard it, the softness of your voice as you called out that you were coming.

Alexia was known for being a stoic person, never one to overly show emotion. She kept everything close to her chest, and rarely did she express how she was feeling. It took hours of knowing her, and even then she was still hesitant to show weakness.

But the tears were pooling in her eyes even before you opened the door.

And there you were.

Standing in your pajamas, a book in your hand and an expression of mild surprise at the sight of Alexia nearly in tears at your door. It certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, though you knew the footballer had your address.

“Ale?” You questioned softly, your voice barely there. The brunette swallowed thickly, trying and failing to conjure an apologetic smile.

“I am sorry…I meant to come later but I couldn’t…wait,” she finished lamely, rather breathless as she fought to keep the pressure in her throat from turning into full blown sobs. You stared at her for a second, at how tense she was, at the anxiety written across her face. After you had tucked some of the hair away from your face, you stepped back into your apartment and widened the opening of the door.

“Would you like to come in?” You proposed, and the footballer took your offer up with a shaky nod of her head.

The brunette trailed after you further into the apartment. It was a large apartment, but it felt cozy and lived in. Half-burned candles and ear-marked books were strewn around the space, and a throw blanket could be found on every surface.

She remembered that you had always run cold. When the two of you were young and in love, she would whisper to you about the warmth Barcelona would offer, even as she provided you plenty of her own body heat as she laid curled around you.

“Alexia?” You probed lightly, and she shook her head as she glanced up, realizing that she had let her mind wander. Concern and compassion stared right back at her.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she replied harshly, trying and failing to be discreet as she wiped at her eyes.

“You don’t have to be,” you said delicately, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?”

You couldn’t help but realize that right now with just one look at Alexia, you already forgave her. Every line etched into her skin was written with devastation and contrition. Somewhere deep within you knew how she felt, and knew that she did not mean the things she had said.

There was so much information to process, so much confusion and chaos, that you had both lost yourselves.

Maybe there was an opportunity to be found again.

You weren’t going to let the weakness of one moment detract from the opportunity that lay in front of you.

You led her over to the couch, and the pair of you settled down across from one another. You sat with your back against one arm of the couch, while Alexia was across from you, her hands on her knees. Her knuckles were nearly white, and you wished in that moment to reach out and soothe the ache in her heart, even if you knew that you couldn’t. When the midfielder turned toward you, all you found facing you was suppliance.

“I cannot explain to you how sorry I am,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I had no idea the sacrifice you had made for me, I had no idea that there was so much more behind all of this. I was foolish to believe that you broke up with me over something selfish or petty.”

She seemed to bite her words back, as though her self-loathing was simply too great of a burden to contain for a moment. When she settled, the Catalan continued.

“I never should have spoken to you that way. The truth is that I’ve spent the last nine years missing you, thinking about you, unable to get myself over the years we spent together. It feels as though you’ve been out of my life as long as you were in it, and I hate that. I hate that I haven’t been able to grow with you. I hate that when I lay awake at night I miss you with an ache I cannot even begin to describe to you. I hate that I wasn’t able to be there for you when you needed me. I hate that your sacrifice probably saved my career, even though I wish with everything in me that I was there for you when you needed me,” Alexia finally admitted, deciding to be nothing but brutally honest.

“And I won’t lie to you and say there haven’t been other women in the years without you, but God it never compared to you. I didn’t give a shit about any of them, and I never really expected to. You’re intertwined within my soul in a way I don’t even fully understand, and living without you feels like walking around missing a limb. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over you, and I tried to force football down my throat because if it was the reason I lost you, it had to be worth it.”

“I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you roll your eyes at me when I do something ridiculous, or how patient you are with me when I get frustrated. I still find myself looking for you in every crowd, at every family gathering, everywhere. When I finally did see you again, it felt like a fever dream. The one thing I’ve wanted for the last nine years was granted to me, and there you were.”

“You were standing there so perfectly and in one piece, and inexplicably, you seem to care about me still. I never could have imagined that happening, even if I dreamt about it every single night of my life that you haven’t been in,” Alexia continued, allowing herself to take a deep breath and center herself. Frustration passed over her face for a moment, entirely

“I fucked this up royally, I know. I let the fear in my heart and the fear that those around me held get in the way of seeing the truth, and I need you to know how sorry I am. I never should have treated you that way. I never should have acted toward you with such hostility. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that everything I said, I don’t believe. You are brave and wonderful and empathetic, and so, so, extraordinary. Please do not let anyone else ever say that you are not,” Alexia urged, looking at you with such clear intent you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“I still love you, Flori. I think that I always will. My heart knows what it means to love and be loved by you, and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. My heart was always yours to break, and I don’t care if you do it once or twice or a million times. All I know is that even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know that I love you,” Alexia said with finality, barely able to see against the blur of tears that swarmed in her eyes.

You stood up from your end of the couch slowly while her eyes tracked every single one of your movements. You walked closer to her, settling down next to her as closely as you could while you reached over to place your shaking hands against the frame of her face.

“You big, blithering idiot, of course I still love you,” you whispered fiercely, your face scrunched up somewhere between disbelief and teasing. Alexia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding, the entire upper half of her body collapsing into you.

It was easy for you to catch the brunette, cradling her against you as she sobbed without restraint against you. It was easy to rock her back and forth softly, while you whispered sweet nothings into her ears. And it was just as easy to pull her away from you and utter the words she never thought she would hear.

“I forgive you, and of course I still love you Ale. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you still are. I’m right here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, if you’ll have me. We might have lost our chance when we were young, but maybe we can have another one?” You proposed hopefully, almost with disbelief. Neither of you ever expected for this to be anywhere near possible, but here you both were.

The Catalan’s expression broke entirely, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in defiance as she placed a hand on your arm and held it tightly.

“I’m here,” was all she could manage, but it was enough.

You leaned into her slowly as you glanced down at her lips, giving her time to pull away. It was a concern you needn't be worried about when she met you halfway, the feeling one of muscle memory even after all this time. You could taste the salt from her tears and yours as you kissed her.

“Please stay,” you murmured through the ball in your throat as you pulled away just a touch, and Alexia gripped you impossibly tighter as she pulled you into a hug.

For the first time in nine years, you fell asleep that night with the footballer’s body curled around your own, the feel of her chest breathing steadily against your back as she held you in her arms with content.

It was the first time in a long while that you had felt warm enough when going to sleep, and hope ballooned inside you fervently.

(a/n: So…anyone up for parts 4-10?)

#alexia putellas x reader #Alexia Putellas #barcelona femeni #jenni hermoso #mariona caldentey #woso x reader #Woso

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sylvies-chen · 2 months ago

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personally I think we moved on too fast from the “he sometimes lingers when boats come into harbour” line not just for obvious adorable danlou reasons but also the implication that armand spends a significant amount of time by the harbour whenever there are boats is very precious to me. we know he loves watching the boats go by on night island in the books and when he’s in rome as a teenager, but there’s just something so emotional about the idea of assad’s armand just lingering by the water in one of his two default settings: either all meditative and full of longing, or conpletely elated and nerding out over his hyperfixation method of transportation true to his unbridled autistic gremlin form.

like. do we think he’s like a dog with squirrels? does he unhook his teeth from his victim and start doing zoomies whenever there are boats by the harbour? how many victims of his have had to be subjected to his waffling about steam engines and cargo vessels? does he simply get really quiet and pensive while his hair blows in the wind like a lana del rey music video? good god this man fascinates me.

#iwtv #amc iwtv #amc immortal universe #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire #armand #assad zaman #danlou #the vampire chronicles

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maxlarens · 7 months ago

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saw that your requests are open! currently moving flats and cities and wow this is utterly exhausting and scary to do alone - would love to read a lil something with Lando where reader is moving and maybe it's pre relationship but they've known each other a long time and he somehow shows up to help reader out, in between races / on break whatever. Tysm!

omg good luck! genuinely moving is the worst and good on you for doing it all on your own that must be so difficult. i hope you enjoy this💝 i did it with best friend!reader, felt very perfect. and apparently i had some personal insecurities to address?

You’re starting to regret listening to Lando.

This isn’t a new feeling— you often regret listening to Lando. When he begs you to come out only to inevitably disappear with a girl. When he says that you look fine, only for you to look in a mirror and find your hair at weird angles or your makeup smudged. When he invites you to a race just for you to have to spend an awkward three hours around one of his flings; inevitably ending in disaster when he hops out of the car and hugs you first.

Lando’s not an idiot. Lando just doesn’t always know how to plan ahead.

Move to Monaco, he’d said. And you had. At the very least you’d had professional movers and your family then. It was hard work but you’d had help. Still, it had been such a nightmare that you’d sworn off moving again, deciding that the next time you did it’d be somewhere more permanent. That had been a nice dream— perhaps unattainable with Lando around.

It had been great, perfect even, or at least until Lando had found out about the vacant flat in his building. Then you’d been subject to a month of pointed sighs and wouldn’t it be awesome if we lived in the same building and we could work out at the same gym and we’d see each other all the time! Wouldn’t that be great?

You’d tried to tell him that you already see each other all the time, and if it really mattered to him you’d come all the way to his gym to work out. But Lando’s Lando and doesn’t know how to let a thing that he wants go. It quickly becomes a point of contention, a reason for him to whinge at dinner and direct his green puppy dog eyes at you. So, y’know, of course you fold.

Of course you do.

You don’t want him to feel unwanted. And you really do like the idea of living in the same building as him, even if moving is the last fucking thing you want to do.

You hire people to move the big things. The couch, the fridge, the bed. But you’re left with everything else and only your hatchback to move it with. You’ve collected truly an insurmountable amount of things— dishware, linens, random trinkets, clothes and books and decorative stuffed animals. You don’t realise how much it is until you’re packing it into cardboard boxes all on your own and nearly crying at how long it’s taking you.

By some cruel twist of fate there’s no one available to help you. All your friends in Monaco are Lando-adjacent, either his friends or people you’ve met through F1. You’ve got a few work buddies, but no one you feel like you can ask to give you a hand. Besides, Lando’s racing at Spa over the same weekend you’ve got to be out of your old flat— so you can’t rope him and his friends into your mess. Even Fewtrell, who would help, is on holiday.

By Monday morning you’re at your wits end. You’d slept on a thin little futon for three hours last night, and are up bubble wrapping dishes before the sun rises. You’ve got noise cancelling headphones on, blasting some house music playlist that Oscar had recommended you and you’re trying to be okay— trying to let the jumpy beat lift the panic in your heart. But you can feel yourself hiccuping, crying rather. You wipe salty tears off the bubble wrap to make sure the sticky tape stays.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

It’s just overwhelming. Doing this all alone, in Monaco, without your Mum, your Dad, without your best friend. It’s not anyone’s fault, not even Lando’s. Just you and this feeling of inadequacy that you harbour. This sense that you’re not grown up enough, that you’re not accomplished enough. Lando’s out there driving a Formula One car, flying in a private jet and partially running a business and you’re here crying over the amount of shit that you’ve accumulated.

It’s just—

You hear a faint thud, muffled by your headphones. Heart racing, thinking something might have fallen or broken, you rip them off and clamber up off the carpeted floor. You’re ready to run into the hallway, your bedroom, every room that’s still got things in it to find the inevitable wreckage.

But it’s just Lando—

Standing at your front door in an old t-shirt and shorts, with cardboard boxes tucked under his arm. He’s frowning at you. You’re not sure why until you remember that you’re still in yesterday’s clothes and there are dark circles carved out under your eyes. Tear tracks down your face as well, probably.

“What’s wrong?”

He drops the cardboard, it goes sliding onto the floor and he has to dodge out of its way as he steps towards you.

You shake your head, sniffing, “I’m fine, Lan.”

You don’t quite reject his attempt at a hug, just dodge it slightly. Force him to give you a one-armed, half-hearted thing, instead of the squeezing, reassuring hug you’re sure he meant to give you. He grumbles something into your hair that you can’t hear then says,

“Well, clearly you’re not fine.”

You sigh, push him away in your anger at yourself, “I’m fine, Lando. I just— I just can’t do anything on my own as per usual.”

You watch his shoulders drop, his eyebrows press into the bridge of his scarred nose, concern flooding his face. He shakes his head minutely, pink lips parting slightly.

“What are you saying?”

You shrug, looking away and feeling shame fill the cavity in your chest at your admittance of weakness, “You know what I’m saying.”

“That’s absolute shit and you know it,” he cuts back, “You’ve done all this by yourself haven’t you?”

He gestures around you and admittedly the room is rather empty of things. The whole flat in fact. You’ve got just the little things left pretty much, and a bunch of cardboard boxes that are ready to be ferried over to your new building. It’s not nothing that you’ve managed to do over the weekend. You sniff again.

“Don’t say that crap,” he manhandles you into a hug, winding an arm around the back of your shoulders, pulling you to him, “I’d have to pay movers a couple grand to move all my shit, you know that. I wouldn’t be able to get any of this done.”

“Yes you would,” you mutter into his chest, “You’re capable of things.”

He shakes you, just a little, like trying to knock some sense into you, like trying to make you hear your own words, “Okay. Then so are you.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess.”

After a moment, he brings a hand up to your face, uses his thumb to tenderly wipe the tears that pool in your tear duct. You don’t think anything of it then— but you do later—

When the sun is setting over the water and you and Lando are watching it and eating takeaway burgers on your new balcony, in your new flat, that has every single bit of your stuff in it. And you’re thinking about the feeling of pad of his finger on your cheek and how he’s just spent his first day of a very well-deserved summer break helping his friend move—

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for Ibiza?”, you cut him a bit of an admonishing look, and scold yourself for not remembering sooner, not urging him to go pack.

He shrugs, turning his green gaze to you, the light of the sunset making him glow, “‘S fine. I can join later.”

You bite your lip, resisting the urge to tell him to go start packing straight away. You won’t change his mind, once he’s got his heart set on something he doesn’t know how to let it go.

“Will you come with me?”, he asks suddenly eager, as your heart skips several beats, “I know you said you had this to deal with. But.”

“But?”

“But. I want you to come. It’ll be no fun without you.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Ibiza will be no fun without me?”

He nods, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You’re going to say no. It’s on the tip of your tongue, on the verge of slipping out. You’ve got a million boxes to unpack, all your clothes are in suitcases, this is what your holiday leave is meant to be used for. Not the trip to Ibiza that you’d already said no to—

But, it’s Lando.

Of course you fold.

#lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #💫drabbles #drabbles:ln4 #best friend!reader

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coline7373 · 2 months ago

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How to comment 101

A fandom is the subculture inherent to a group of fans. It touches anything related to the field of predilection of such a group of people and is organized or created by these same people. And, like everything that comes from people, it is alive and requires exchanges to continue to exists.

People who receive no comments have often and at length express how lonely it can feel to be shouting alone in the void and how discouraging such silence can be.

I have found after asking around that readers aren’t unwilling to comment, but mainly don’t have the energy or know what to say.

Some readers have also expressed a fear of annoying the author, as they are clumsy with words, or feeling intimidated in front of an author who has such a talent with words that the reader's own words feel too embarrassing. Or not feeling that their own five word sentence is worth the bother.

Every word matters.

Every comment is worth its writing to the author.

I refer you to this post if you doubt the importance and impact of comments on fanfics.

To help those willing to comment, I have done a very modest survey of roughly 20 persons, writers and readers alike, and here is what I have come up with.

For writers:

Write in your notes, at the end of the fic, clearly what type of comment you do not want.

Clearly stating your limits and preferences helps readers who are uncertain or not very verbose to write in a relaxed way.

If they do not have the anxiety of offending, vexing or annoying the author, they will be more comfortable and therefore more inclined to write.

If you have repeated commenters, try to reply to their comments, even with just a few words. Some people who do not receive replies to any of their comments take the lack of response to mean the author is not reading comments at all, feel discouraged and stop commenting in turn.

If you do read the comments, but don’t want to reply for whatever reason, do say so at the end of the fic, in the notes, so that readers know what to expect and not be disappointed.

For readers:

Do:

About the story:

You can write about a particular line that you liked, the themes, parallels with canon or within the story, the characterisation, a character’s exploration, a/several character’s motivation, a/several character’s mindset/thinking/emotional reaction, a/several characters’ interaction, the plot, the action happening, the worldbuilding, emotions within the fic, subtext, pacing...

If you liked everything and are overwhelmed on how to narrow it down, you can just say exactly that. “I loved everything!”

You can also focus on pointing out just one moment, one line, one specific thing and why you liked them, specifically. What matters is not that you wrote a novel but that you communicated to the author what made you happy, what you enjoyed.

About you:

What emotions the fic made you feel, what you think is going on in a wip or what you (think you have) figure(d) out, what you are doing in real life while reading the story, afterward, because of it, and/or how the fic impacted your life (yay! motivation to make art!), how the fic is meaningful on a personal level because x, y, z, what it made you think of, like another fic, a book, a song, a movie, what subject/fact it prompted you to discover more of…

How:

You can write an essay, a prose, or some serious, meaningful, impactful words but you can also joke with the author as long as you stay mindful or polite. A lot of authors have said they love when people make jokes or break the fourth wall.

Unsure about your sense of humor? Here is an example: do not write "I hate you! How could you do this to me!” Write "How could you do this? The betrayal! die offscreen.”

Making a parody of what is going on with the characters with a few lines can be funny! Keep it positive. Not everyone has the same degree of sarcasm. But levity and good humor are always welcomed.

Small fics vs longer fics:

Emojis, keysmashing and incoherent yelling are very often correct comments for small fics or drabbles. (Unless otherwise specified.)

They are also loved in longer fics, (unless otherwise specified,) but people who have been writing a story for literal years appreciate you taking at least five minutes to say a bit more than that.

Try to go through all the “about the fic” and “about you” points above, methodically, and choose just two or three of them. Then write just one sentence per point.

If you really don't know what to say, look at other people's comments. Sometimes, you will recognise something you liked too or that you thought was really good. It can help and be the starting point of your own comment.

Long WIPs:

For long fics that you follow while they are being written, people have said they have at first a lot of enthusiasm for commenting, but find it harder and harder to know what to say as the number of chapters accumulate, and so does the number of comments they feel obligated to give in turn.

Please, keep commenting! Love keeps the writers motivated and helps creativity. It’s like shouting in the void and getting a high five back.

Even one line about something specific (a dialogue bit, a reaction, a plot maneuver) can make an author happy.

Writers are not really looking for length or details. They are looking for care. If you read something you liked, just point out what you enjoyed. That's engagement enough.

Comments aren't really about the act of a compliment. They are about the shared joy of a fandom or a ship or a character.

Example: “'X character diving headfirst into the sea like that is so like him!”

It’s good. It’s fun. It’s nice.

Some people have said to “save” a chapter, give a kudo and say “looking forward to reading this when I have time!” and wait until they do have time and energy to comment more at length, sometimes two or three chapters at the same time.

It let the writers know their fic is still being read. You just have to be mindful to not let months go by, otherwise, it goes back to leaving the author the impression they invested hours, weeks, months, into something no one interacts with. You can alternate strategies, lengthy comments, short comments, and commenting on several chapters saved.

If all else fails, go back to the tried and true. Choose one of the points above, choose just two or three of them and then write just one sentence per point.

If you are not a native speaker:

Google can help with the bare minimum. It's not great, but it lays the foundations. Write what you think in google translate and the translation will help guide your answer. You can always ask for help from someone else or warn the author that the fic’s language is not your native language, if you are unsure if your words come off in a tone not intended.

At the start of your comment, say “I am not a native speaker”.

Do not apologize. It’s not necessary. Just provide context. Use your words. Be clear.

Remember:

The writer isn't what they write. They do not necessarily headcanon what they write, nor do they necessarily approve of it in real life. Be mindful to not approve or disprove of x, y, z going on in the fic as if they do. You do not know that.

It’s not about the length or the wording or the quality of your comments. Of course authors love that. But what they love most of all is to hold hands, jump up and down with you and squee and gush about the fandom, ship or character.

It’s about the sharing of the joy.

Don’t:

Do not ask for another chapter and for the author to finish a fic.

Do not threaten the author to put their fics in an AI if they do not finish the fic.

Do not say "I didn't like it" or "I liked but not that" or "It would have been better if x, y, z." If you want to talk about what you didn’t like, whether it’s part or all of the story, discuss it with willing friends. The author is not responsible for you reading something you didn’t enjoy (how it made you feel) and persevering.

Do not “offer” to correct typos, grammar, vocabulary, facts, canon facts, characterisation, ect. unless you know the author and know they are fine with it or they say so explicitly in the notes.

Do not make demands. Do not.

Like that tumblr op said, “this is not the bespoke zone.” This is off-the rack. If the free suit is not to your liking, look for another free suit rather than demand to speak to the manager for "adjustments."

Tags are not owed to you. Ao3 is not a safe zone. Not everyone agrees on what degree of content merits each tag. Or what qualifies for a tag. So, if you found a fic that was more angsty than you expected and it broke your heart, comment on a part that was good and didn't make you sad, without saying you want a happy ending to the angst fic that was written for angst purpose. Off-the rack, remember?

Exemple:

"I found x,y,z to be upsetting. Would you consider tagging it?"

Vs "Your work is totally x,y,z triggery. You ought to tag it."

Vs "Hey, you do know some people find x,y,z, triggery, right?!? Because they do! So tag it!"

One of those answers is correct. The others aren't. No demands in the comments.

Your emotional well being while reading fic is your responsibility. If your expectations have been disappointed, do not say so. Talk about a point that was positive for you. If your expectations have been exceeded, do share!

Also, if you're mad, I have found that it helps to write your comment, leave it to decant, and wait a week or so to see what it looks like when you're in a different emotional mindset.

Some elements of fics can be very upsetting unexpectedly. It is not the responsibility of the writer to answer that. Nor comments are the place for it.

Once some time has passed, if you still want to talk about it, try to communicate in a way that is neither demanding nor negative. If you can't, talk about it with someone who is not the author.

My own personal opinion:

It can be so easy to focus on the fic and your own inner imaginary garden/cinema, that we sometimes forget to switch from "inner life" to "outer life" and exchange actively with people on both sides of the fence.

But it can also add so much more to the experience <3

Clear communication is always good. Even if you disagree. At least you know where you stand.

Say thank you. Fanfics are a gift. You have been given one. Say thank you.

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lemonhemlock · 9 months ago

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the reason why i don't think blood & cheese works without maelor is because it undermines the gravity of helaena's choice

in the books, as we all know, she has to choose which son to sacrifice. blood & cheese are going to kill one either way, so, whatever happens, if you want to get cynical about it, aegon will still be left with a male heir of his body. no, the horribleness of the choice lies not really in dynastic matters, but in basic humanity: which of your children are you willing to condemn to death? and helaena truly does try to make the best out of a bad situation, she picks not because she loves jaehaerys more, but because maelor is so tiny that she hopes he won't understand what's going to happen to him.

and she absolutely has to choose, because b&c threaten to rape her daughter if she doesn't. it's psychological torture. b&c just want to fuck her up in the head as much as possible and helaena tries her goddamnest to minimize the harm done to her family. to further compound on the tragedy, b&c kill the opposite child, so now she has to live out the rest of her days knowing that the son left alive is the son SHE herself marked for the axe. which is what understandably drives her to lose her mind

now, in the show, the "problem" blood & cheese have doesn't exist at all: that they can't supposedly tell the twins apart. but (as awful as it sounds, since it involves sexual assault) they could very easily check which child has male genitalia and be done with it. it's a "problem" that takes literal seconds to solve. they don't need helaena at all! it becomes irrelevant which child she points towards - b&c can always just check! she can't save jaehaerys in this situation no matter what she does, because b&c were never interested in jaehaera in the first place. in the books, she has the ability to save one child and this exact horrible "agency" bestowed on her torments her for the rest of her days. in the show, even had she pointed towards jaehaera, it would have been a narrative plot hole for the writers to have killed her without checking

likewise, in the books, she begs them to kill her instead, but, in the show, she offers them a necklace? you can't deny that the dramatic stakes are lowered substantially by making that change. which one of these options would have been more filled with pathos? personally, it just feels like this was phia's moment to shine and, while she did a good job with what she had, every narrative choice was somehow made to subdue this horrible event and left her only crumbs to work with. cinematically-speaking, this scene (as it was executed) does not even come close to the iconic moments that cemented GoT into the collective consciousness, which is very strange, as the subject matter is anything but mediocre

and that's not even getting into the rest of the plot holes that others have already pointed out, like:

- why are there no guards at helaena's door or anywhere else for that matter? not just on that hallway, but on many other hallways, she has to run quite a lot to get to alicent's chambers

- why is her room unlocked at the very least

- why is ALICENT's room unlocked, for that matter? she is having secret guilty sex with criston and she forgets to lock her door in a castle full of spies? anyone could have walked in

- not even getting into this whole thing just being one huge misunderstanding + minimizing daemon's and mysaria's roles :))

- NOT EVEN mentioning removing the trauma of alicent witnessing all of this, gagged and bound on her own bed, not being able to help or intervene in any way

i can understand the likelihood of these elements happening sometimes (maybe someone does forget to lock their door from time to time, maybe a guard does shirk their duties from time to time), but you can't write all of them at once without it turning all looney tunes. if you introduce too many aspects that defy logic in your story, it ceases to be believable and just becomes bad writing

___________________________________________

also, "they killed <the boy>"? not "my son" or "jaehaerys"? it sounds so removed, don't you think? helaena out there on her mother's floor dropping exposition for the audience 🥲

#house of the dragon #helaena targaryen #blood & cheese #maelor targaryen #jaehaerys targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd s2 #hotd spoilers #this is SO annoying as the episode was pretty solid throughout until this

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atrologynuances · 8 months ago

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Astrology observations pt2 || Planets in their detriment

NOTE: the interpretation of these are solely on the planets. harmonious/inharmonious aspects can change the translation of these planets.

these are based on personal observations as well as acquired knowledge from books, websites, and other observation posts.

𓋼𓍊 Aries/Scorpio Venus- may struggle maintaining a harmonious relationship which can lead to them changing their relationships quite often. aries venuses might posses an either fiery or more grounded energy thanks to the cardinal energy. scorpios on the other hand might be emotionally reserved, and only truly love very few people around them if any, the rest they keep around depending on what they can access from them (very manipulative). Given their possible relationship insecurities these two venus signs will seek for someone going at the same pace and someone with the same mindset, which realistically is hard to find. when they do think they’ve found it, they might later find out they were in fact wrong. When they do get in a relationship they might become possessive as a result of possible insecurities.

𓋼𓍊 Taurus/Libra Mars- these natives might need extreme motivation to get things going, like a 9-5 they don’t like, but the security and responsibility of it keeps them on their toes. these mars signs could also lack sense of security in their actions, which could leave them wondering whether they were right or wrong and as a result they might not fight for themselves as hard as they should. it is important for them to have a big support system that reassures and validates their actions when conflicts arise.

𓋼𓍊 Gemini/Virgo Jupiter- these natives have a hard time seeing beyond logic explanation, they could experience something and until they don’t find logic behind it they won’t be satisfied. get fixated on many things but never seems to finish or find a final answer to any of them. is not that they’re unable to finish them, they’re just no longer interested to. closed minded towards otherworldly subjects, or tries very hard to understand it.

𓋼𓍊 Cancer/Leo Saturn- these natives lack discipline but want it. they might vent to you that they do not like their current monetary situation and are looking to make some changes in that aspect of their life, but the next day you see them spending all their money on clothes. they know this is wrong but will still do it. they may be prone to control people and situations because they think they know what’s best for everyone. however, they do not like people telling them what to do lol. they might be prone to burnouts easily and immune system problems.

𓋼𓍊 Sagittarius/Pisces Mercury- struggles to find something that feels “right” for them, when they do find it they mostly have to work harder than everybody else to catch up. problems with communication; either started talking late or have problems expressing themselves as they get older. prone to saying things that don’t make sense upfront which will make them have to explain themselves often. this might create insecurities that will lead them to express themselves less. this is the reason why I think so many great writers have these placements, they can just erase and reword their writing without being judged for it.

- fyodor dostoevsky, jane austen, james joyce, victor hugo, emily dickinson

𓋼𓍊 Capricorn Moon- find it difficult to be vulnerable, this translates to needing or wanting material security to make sure they won’t need anyone. do not like to rely on anyone for emotional/financial support even if they really need it. despite all this, they are very emotional. the difference between them and their sister sign cancer is that they are not expressive with their emotions or act on them. something I have noticed is that they are not as workaholics as people might expect them to be, however when they work, they splurge on the money they make or might be stingy with it, as either one of these actions brings security to them. most of the times they don’t feel loved by either one of their parents even if they’ve both always been present in their lives.

𓋼𓍊 Aquarius Sun- natives are hard to describe for me because I have not met many of them, I feel like most hideaway at home lol. one thing i’ve noticed is that they cry a lot and are unapologetic about it. these people shine bright like their sister sign leo, the difference is they don’t want to so they avoid situations where they have to or when they are put in these situations they have to make sure their presentation is flawless. however in day to day life they do not really care how they’re perceived. they’re the ones that go to school in pijama pants. they also oftentimes seek some form of validation with other people, which is why they change partners often. very physically beautiful, but doesn’t seem to know or act on it.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope y’all have a wonderful day.

guide

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kaisaerinlover · 4 months ago

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michael kaiser

married life

tw: toxic relationship, abusive

you and your (not so) beloved michael kaiser finally decided to tie the knot. well, he decided, and you obliged. because what else are you supposed to do? you wouldn’t ever betray him, everything he wants is what you want too. he has you so well trained, doesn’t he? you went along with it because of how docile you are, how you’re basically putty in his hands. but you also had your own selfish reasoning, but you aren’t ready to admit that to yourself yet. no, you hoped that if you became his wife, maybe, just maybe, the tenderness he sometimes showed would be more common, the nosebleeds he bestowed upon you with his cruel fists would subside, the gentle nature he has somewhere inside of him would come out more often.

unfortunately for you, that’s not how michael kaiser works. and i think you know that too, don’t you? so why do you keep up the hope? you’re a true masochist, and he’s a true sadist. a very dangerous pair. dangerous for you, the one who subjects yourself to kaiser’s brutality willingly (it seems that way these days).

don’t get him wrong, kaiser yearns for love, yearns to be loved, yearns for you to keep on loving him ‘till the very end. and he knows you will, because you don’t have any other choice. michael kaiser is truly a master of his craft, a skilled manipulator and a very intelligent man. and now that you’re his wife, things really became a whole lot easier for him. he knows he has it drilled into your pretty little head that the only thing good for you in this world is him. him, him, him, him, him. pleasing him. loving him. being with him. being so sweet to him after he’s so mean to you.

he loves you and you love him. so why does the love he feels for his cute wife manifest in the most atrocious of ways? you know, he’s always making dumb excuses for why he’s this way. he thought if he was loved he would stop, then he thought if he got a girlfriend he would stop, then he thought that if he married you he would be able to stop too. he’s ran out of excuses now. he’s fucked up, all that psychology he’s polished up on throughout his life, all those books on human traumas and emotions, they should have made him realise what he really needs is the drive to change and a therapist a million times better than the average one. but he’s a little ignorant too, in that sense. or he was, he realises it sometimes, but he ignores it.

and besides, he’s not exactly one to complain about the arrangement you guys have. especially after marriage. you became so much more perfect, he didn’t even know it was possible. you’re the perfect, doting little housewife. and you’re all for him too, so cute, so docile. you like it too, but kaiser made you. you’re a little too stupid, a little too trusting and a lot too in love with kaiser to realise it. if you were just a little bit more intelligent than the girl he first met, he’s sure you would have realised something was seriously up by now. but it’s fine, ‘cause wits were never your strong point, nope, your sweet obedient nature was. and kaiser likes that.

you’re a great housewife. and he’s a great husband, you think. you’re in the kitchen, cleaning up, wearing a sweet little outfit kaiser bought for you. he’s so generous, he doesn’t have to spend money on you, yet he does. isn’t he just the best? so expensive too, he spends his hard earned money on you? isn’t your husband seriously just the best? you’re dressed in a cute vintage style dress, hair tied up into a cute ribbon and a cute pair of slippers and socks to go with it. haha, you don’t even realise it, but you’re playing right into kaiser’s weird fantasy. he always had a thing for housewives, everything. so now he has you dressed as one cleaning the kitchen whilst he’s hard at work. maybe he’s so obsessed with this dynamic because he never had it himself, his mother packed up and left as soon as he was born, of course. and his dad was an abusive sack of shit. fucking bitches. pieces of shit. ah, he’s getting worked up. he shakes off that feeling.

today, he tried to release as much of that pent up rage into the match. and he won, as always. he’s the emperor of the world. he wanted to get out all of his anger, because what he wants more than anything today is to be a normal couple with you. but that’s not going to happen, it never does.

he walks in, “where is mein engel, hm?” he stands waiting at the door, waiting for you to come greet him like you always do. after getting married you established this new routine. and you do come, you come so quickly to him and stand on your tip toes to kiss his cheek oh so lightly. “micha, i missed you sooo much” you bat your eyelashes at him. he has you trained so well, it’s impressive. you’re like some cute puppy, you’re actually incredibly well trained. he thinks he should indulge in this idea some time, he just likes any scenario where you’re completely submitting to him. but he shakes that thought off, he won’t get distracted for too long.

he wraps his arm around your waist and walks you to the couch, where he sits down and you stand in front of him, between his legs, looking down at him so innocently. you’re confused, maybe you’re not as well trained as he thought, because you sure don’t know what he wants right now. maybe a glass of wine? you go over to the wine cabinet and pull out a glass and pour in some wine.

kaiser is waiting impatiently, he trained you properly, didn’t he? so why the fuck aren’t you going along with what he wants. god, it’s pissing him off. he sees you walk away, ah, maybe you’re finally going to cook dinner as he wants. he picks up the tv remote and turns it to the bltv channel, today will be perfect, he’s going to simply sit with you, watch some soccer and then eat some nice homemad-

and there you are, standing in front of him looking oh so innocent holding out a glass of wine to him. are you fucking serious? you’re kidding right? you’re definitely doing this on purpose, don’t look so innocent. you’re just trying to piss him off, aren’t you? you fucking bitch. “what is this?” he asks you. he’s angry, but he’s being eerily calm. “wine, i thought you wanted a glass?” are you being dumb on purpose? no, you definitely did this to anger him, didn’t you? ah, he’s so mad now. “and why would i want a glass of wine, after such a long day of playing. wouldn’t i want a meal, hm? dumb girl” he patronises you. and you feel so small. “

but you do something unprecedented, something you haven’t ever done before… you have a… reply? you actually talk back? “y-yeah but how can i know what you want-“ enough. he’s even angrier now. why the fuck are you talking back to him instead of bowing and doing what he told you to do. you retarded whore. what the fuck? all that calmness is gone, he’s gritting his teeth.

poor you, you thought you could reason with him before he got mad, he seemed so calm. stupid, naïve you. you thought he wasn’t mad and now you’ll pay the price.

he knocks the glass out of your hand, the glass shatters everywhere, cutting your hand slightly. the wine pours on you, staining you red. and if that wasn’t bad enough, his fist hits you square in the nose. the pain doesn’t even register until you feel the first drops of blood, and then see them on that cute dress kaiser bought for you just days before. he’s towering above you, staring you down. you messed up, didn’t you? “you don’t talk back to me. ever. i didn’t teach you that. next time, keep your pretty mouth shut. you fucking bitch. did you forget your manners? that’s not how a girl like you should be acting. should i just find a new girl, hm?” he’s holding your throat with his tattooed hand. find a new girl????? no, don’t do that micha!!!! don’t do that to you, you didn’t mean to. but now you’re even doubting that, you definitely meant to. you just didn’t realise it. or something like that… it’s your fault.

he slightly releases the hold on your neck to let you talk, you have a chance to make things up with your words. a very slim chance. because he probably won’t care about what you have to say, whether it’s an apology or not. but he’s letting you talk, so use the opportunity before you get a black eye next too. “i-i’m sorry. i’m really incompetent” you don’t even make any attempt to grab his hands off of your throat, or even wipe up the blood streaming down your pretty lips. “i’ll not mess up again micha, i promise.”

your blood is covering part of his tattoo now too, he notices it and withdraws his hand, and laps up the blood. he always had an affinity for your blood, you taste so sweet. he likes tasting the hurt he’s caused you. it’s fulfilling, this is how he likes living. he loves hurting you, he doesn’t like admitting it often though, ironic for a monster like him. for some reason, that anger subsides. he’s not as mad anymore. maybe he’s going to apologise to you? you’re actually kind of hopeful for that, the small, rational part of you that knows it wasn’t your fault. but that part perishes as quickly as it was lit up. he ruffles your hair with his other hand and wipes the rest of the blood his tongue couldn’t quite clear up onto your rosy cheek. “it’s fine, don’t mess up again, ‘kay? i was nice this time, wasn’t i? you’ve had worse from me before. don’t take my mercy for granted, prinzessin.”

you’re so lucky for getting that mercy, thanks kaiser, isn’t he just so nice? you don’t even know how he managed to forgive you for such a horrible mistake. you’re a shitty wife, thank god your husband is so nice. and, ah, that dress, the one kaiser generously bought for you, it’s all ruined. all stained in the wine and blood. you ruined the dress with your incompetence. you messed everything up, god, why did he even marry you? you’re so stupid, and good for nothing.

he can tell what you’re thinking, he feels a little bad, but he’d rather you beat yourself up over it than him. it’s easier that way anyway. he pats your head again. “poor little thing, all bloodied up because of her own stupidity.” he chastises, and you look down in shame. he’s right, you’re so stupid. “let’s go get you cleaned up, little häschen.” and he does, he leads you to the bathroom sink, sits you on the side, and cleans the blood from you. he almost flinches at the newformed bend in your nose, and the bruise which just seems to be getting darker and changing between shades of nasty blues and purples every second. yikes, he forgets how delicate you are compared to him sometimes.

all you can think about is how generous he is, he hasn’t even changed out of his jersey yet. that’s how nice he is. and he’s bandaging you up too, a cute bandage to hide that hideous bruise. he wants to hide your mistake for you? that’s even sweeter, he doesn’t want you to look in the mirror and feel bad for it, right? that’s what he’s doing right? your husband really is the best.

and that night, you make up for your mistake. you serve him his favourite bread crust rusk, and a nice glass of water. get him changed into his robe. tie up his hair. give him blue-red glasses so he doesn’t hurt his eyes. you pamper him, ‘cause that’s what he deserves. you pamper him whilst ignoring that banging headache from the brutal assault on your nose. and the bruise on your neck. and arms. and legs. all from past outbursts of his. you tend to him and treat him like a king even though you’re so injured, but you’re too brainwashed by your husband, too eager to be the perfect housewife so he doesn’t leave you, and you end up ignoring all of this.

kaiser knows what you’re thinking, predictable little thing. he thinks you’re real stupid. he’s the one that should be scared of you leaving, he couldn’t ever find anyone better than you, anyone more willing. you’re perfect. but he won’t tell you that. he won’t give you an ego. keep being scared of being left alone, so that every second you spend with him you’re even more grateful. he’s scared too, but he’s confident most of the time you’re going to stay. he feels a little guilty for everything right now, ah, it’s one of those times. the weight of his actions presses heavy on him, but instead of taking it out on you again, he just pulls you next to him, opens his robe and drapes one side over you, feeds you a spoonful of your home cooked rusk and pinches your cheek affectionately.

“good girl, schatzi. so good. i love you. du gehörst für immer mir.” he nibbles at your ear a little.

and you just sit and blush. “i-i love you t-too micha, ‘s much.”

you’re the luckiest wife in the world, thank gosh your husband is so willing to put up with your incompetence and stupidity. being a wife is so great. you lean your head against his shoulder, and whilst you’re being so tender with each other, you can forget about all your physical pains caused by him, and he can forget about all of the things weighing and stabbing at his mind at all times, caused by everyone. you’re truly his safe place. a real angel sent from heaven.

“engelchen.”

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #dark content #michael kaiser x reader #bllk x reader #kaiser x reader #kaiser michael x reader #michael kaiser x y/n #kaiser x y/n

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