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psilliguykai · 19 days ago

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Welcome to the completed tracklist and summarized story of William’s Wanton Weary Wiles!

I want to keep this project manageable and fun for me, while still being able to release the full story. Hence posting this, rather than each cover’s lyrics individually (what I initially intended :)). Most of what’s described here is what would be depicted in each song, though some events would only be implied/have happened outside of the actual “lyrics". These will be put in square brackets.

Basically everything under the cut!

Names and pronouns (Note: these will be used interchangeably. You may use whatever pronouns you want for any of them, these are just what I’ll be using/what feels right to me personally ^^ ref sheets are hyperlinked):

The Heart/Jimmy/Vestal/The Moon - He/it

The Mind/Laplace/Al/Marsha/The Sun - He/she

The Soul/Mr. Capgras/Cotard/The Stars - He/it

Whole/Will/William Racheal McSprout - He/Him

Warnings for: alcohol, abuse of psychiatry, manipulation, suicide attempt, discussions of mortality, and mental health issues. Also very long post + not written in entirely complete/gramatically correct sentences (my futile attempt to keep things concise /lh.)

Without further ado…

-iSH/Ryan I Wonder (Outro from Wanhope)

Opening song! Cotard pondering. Going back and forth between hopeful/determined and tired/giving up. Remembers every time they’ve been through this before - hopes it will go better this time but is losing faith.

2012 (Intro to Warray)

Sorta like Mucka Blucka - each character introduces themselves + a bit of the dynamics are shown. Welcome to the loop and endless suffering, babyy!

I think of “2012” here referring to the past loops. Heart/Mind don’t remember them, but they heard (from Soul) the world would turn to hell! /ref

“Did you lose yourself? It’s always in the last place that you’d check!” referring (mostly) to them splitting. “Losing” Wholeness. Do with that what you Will (ahahah)

The Song with Five Names, a.k.a. Soapbox Tao, a.k.a. Checkmate Atheists! a.k.a. Neospace Government, a.k.a. You Can Never Know

Similar to 2012 in the “introduction” sense. A little more of the trio each getting some time in the spotlight + sharing their thoughts.

“You can break a shovel when you break new ground, you dig dirt up when you dig deep down”--the more they try to form new solutions/the more times they split, the deeper they dig themselves into this metaphorical pit of dissonance.

Jimmy sings from the “sunshine is a gaslight” to “and that’s good enough to be not enough to be good enough for me!”, talking about Mind, accusing him of being fake and manipulative + claiming to be more capable and more deserving of power than her.

Laplace’s Angel

Essentially Mind’s rebuttal to the last part of TSW5N.

The trio are mostly equal at this point, but Laplace does have a bit more control than Jimmy.

This is essentially Laplace talking himself up + mocking Jimmy for lacking as much free will in this situation + expressing that if it were in her place, he would see her reasoning and do the same as she does.

Everything Is A Lot/Destroy To Enjoy

EiaL is mostly just Jimmy pondering/being generally unhappy.

He comes to a decision. This is Marsha’s fault - he’s ruining them. He forces Whole to avoid doing the things he enjoys! (drinking, spending money, etc. - self destructive habits which are arguably fine in low doses but should be metered).

[Marsha keeping things under control is good, but he does so to an extreme–deprives Whole of breaks/other needs in the interest of “staying productive”/trying to reach arbitrary “perfections” (more money, more benefitting others, less enjoying life, less rest). Obligatory Nobody-here-is-the-“villian”-or-“hero”. They’re all flawed but ultimately trying to do what they think is best for Whole.]

Vestal resolves he needs to take charge.

Front Street

I imagine this song happening in a bar in Marybell. Jimmy is getting reckless and self destructive in the name of feeling “free”. Drinking excessively and smashing bottles and such.

I’ve got the line “you say let loose, but you are lost” in my head as Marsha’s retort. Throughout the song as Jimmy tries to convince her and Cotard to “loosen up”, Marsha tries to express to him that this isn’t actually helping the Whole and is only hurting him (though the way he does so is fraught with resentment and only makes Jimmy want to ignore her).

Jimmy does not listen.

Memento Mori

Twist on the original. Instead of using inevitable death as a comfort/reason to enjoy life, Laplace is instead essentially saying “one day we’re all going to die, and with the way you’re doing things it’ll probably be your fault.”

[Laplace is making a decent point, but is largely using this as a way to put Jimmy down. More guilt-tripping/trying to emotionally manipulate him rather than actually properly communicating.]

Red Moon

Vestal singing to Cotard, trying to convince it to hand control over to him.

“We walk the equator chasing the light” referring to the loops - they all go around in circles chasing the idea of being Whole, but it never stays and they’re stuck chasing.

Vestal says they’ll only be able to “turn around” (break the cycle) with a Red Moon (because like. Heart is moon and Soul is red yeah.)

This leaves Mr. Capgras progressively getting more annoyed/angry. He knows Vestal thinks it’s doing what’s best for William, but is also aware that it largely wants power and the ability to do what it wants with no oversight. He’s pissed that Jimmy thinks he could be manipulated so easily and is exhausted with both his and Marsha’s vies for power

[Capgras is also frightened of both of them, even if he doesn’t show it. He’s worried about Laplace working/depriving Will to death, and he’s worried about Jimmy getting too reckless and over-indulging to the point where it gets them all killed. While CCCC’s Soul prioritizes ending the loops by any means necessary, Cotard is a lot more concerned with keeping Whole alive, regardless of how many times they have to go through Cacophony/Warray to ensure that, and regardless of how much suffering they're in.]

Jimmy Mushrooms’ Last Drink: Bedtime in Wayne, NJ

Jimmy!! Is Not Happy with the trio’s situation, and Laplace/Cotard’s halfhearted attempts at convincing him to keep going (“Jimmy, you’re fine”/”keep trucking it’s all in your mind”) don’t help.

Hitting a low point after a few days of self-destructive euphoria (see Front Street), and giving up on the idea that they could ever be whole.

Will is driving home from the bar (yes, very drunk. Don't drink and drive /srs) and Jimmy decides to try and end all their suffering, attempting to take control of Will and crash the car (“gaining speed, wrapping trees”).

BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA

[The crash didn’t work. Marsha jumped in, physically tearing Vestal away from the wheel.]

[Marsha generally presents himself as a sort of therapist/psychiatrist in occupation, though he has no one–aside from Jimmy who’s not paying for shit--to “treat”. Despite there being no real business, she has an office in Marybell and does extensive paperwork {which IS necessary because it gets Will to do his own work but that's a Whole Other Thing}. This is where Jimmy is locked in as both as punishment and a safety measure–equivalent of Apathy from CCCC. Room resembles the one at the end of the love me normally video.]

The first part of the song would be Laplace recounting “the Jimmy incident” (attempted crash). She goes on to basically torment Jimmy with overcomplicated medical terms and underhanded insults veiled by psychiatric jargon. She considers this both justified punishment, as well as the only way to get Vestal to improve or at the very least, cease to be a threat.

TLDR: Laplace maliciously and aggressively provides unhelpful psychiatric service to a very overwhelmed and trapped Jimmy.

Outliars and Hyppocrates: a fun fact about apples

Marsha is partially ranting about/mocking Vestal to Cotard, and partially continuing to mess with Jimmy to his face. “I doubt that you would even if you could change, the things that make you special are what make you strange!”

Mr. Capgras Encounters a Secondhand Vanity: Tulpamancer’s Prosopagnosia/Pareidolia (As Direct Result of Trauma to the Fusiform Gyrus)

Soul steps in. Could be very literally breaking down the door to Jimmy’s therapy room and getting between the two. Up for interpretation!

Think “You seem to forget you answer to me…” in terms of the themes/vibes.

Dr. Sunshine is Dead

Mr. Capgras is tired of both H/M’s pathetic attempts at manipulation. He doesn’t want himself or Will to “be” either of them (“I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night”)

Being earnest and trying to explain how he feels + reflecting on the loops and his identity.

He ends the song essentially saying “I could run the Whole on my own, but I want to give you two a chance to reconcile. I’ll wait.” (“I will be my sunshine, I will be my moon at night, I'm nowhere now, here's no one now to be. And if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares? I'll stay awake tonight…”)

Skeleton Appreciation Day in Vestal, NY (Bones)

Vestal and Laplace take a shot at reconciliation. Jimmy starts by expressing how he feels and asking Mind to do the same - “show me your bones” and “Mind unweave again” as metaphors for opening up emotionally.

Love, Me Normally

And he does! Open up! Wow!

Marsha begins to genuinely share his emotions. He expresses fears about Jimmy/the dangers he puts them all in with its recklessness. Admits that he does wish he could “loosen up”/encourage Will to enjoy himself. However, Laplace feels Vestal does it to such an extreme that she needs to over-correct (depriving Will of his wants/needs to keep up appearances/focus on responsibilities).

Falling up

Think of this as a sort of Variations on a Cloud equivalent - one last song together before they become whole

I honestly don’t have a very thorough plan for this at the moment - might elaborate later

White Noise (Outro From Warray)

This is basically them combining. Some final contemplation/reflection from the three as separate entities, but it fades into Whole. Gonna leave this one mostly up for interpretation/to you all’s imagination.

Half Decade Hangover (Intro to Waltz)

Will is recovering from/sorry for what happened while he was split (though he doesn’t know that’s what it was, as he’s not aware of HMS. For him and everyone else in the “real world” it was just a general mental health episode).

Honestly the meaning doesn’t change that much from the original :’)

…And If I Did, You Deserved It

Completely implausible. Chonny would never cover this one /silly

This would be the CJ version with some lyrics altered to make it less about dealing with “fame” and more about day-to-day relationships.

The Main Character

Possibly one of the most accurately reflective of Will’s personality. The perfect(ly dysfunctional) mix of self absorbed, self loathing, and self destructive.

Um, It’s Kind Of A Lot

Not gonna say this is canon, but I think it would be really funny to change it from being afraid to being pissed off at everything. “I love you so much, it scares me half to death makes me really fucking angry”

This would be about LI.

Against The Kitchen Floor

Mostly directed at LI + somewhat aimed at other people in his life.

He’s sorry! He promises he’s doing his best! He just. Hasn’t learned how to be human as you are yet. /lyr

Yeah I’m not even sure if I’d change any lyrics for this one. Meaning stays the same, man this guy sucks [/aff]

Willard!

Will finds and befriends a rat in his house during a depressive period. He names it Ben (Willard movie reference yayay), cleans it up, and essentially adopts it. Ben appears in Cotard's house after this. He takes care of him (w/ some help from Marsha/Jimmy) and his physical health reflects Will’s health. Very sweet.

Vampire Reference In A Minor Key

It’s Will about himself in relation to LI 👍(not much to say on this one lol)

Whiny Fuck William’s Woke Pie, Weasel, and American Cheese Emporium a.k.a. “Mr. Ben is in the Macca’s again” (Feat. Cheese by Tommy McMinchin) [From “W.F.W.’s WWA: getting auto-suplexed”]

Comedic relief?

Don't look too deep into it idk what the fuck I was doing either

Cicada Days (Outro from Waltz)

This is still a little about LI, but more significantly about Will spiraling again. Very seriously/literally “losing touch”. Things get better for a time, but he still hurts people. Thing’s might’ve been better for a time, but he’s still hurt. Thing’s can get better, but it will take a lot more to “fix” him, and that’s if “fixing” is even a possibility.

Self- (Intro to Wanhope)

Hey I mean . at least Cotard is back?

Yeah. Timeloop. I’ll leave this one up to your imagination (for now, anyways :))

#chonny jash #chonny's charming chaos compendium #cccc #cj whole #cj mind #cj soul #cj heart #wwww au #William's Wanton Weary Wiles #cccc au #chonny jash au #I'm free! [<- now going to obnoxiously post all his fucking around with bonus tracks and poetry and memes]#this was so much fun. I don't want it to flop but tbh I think it would be ok if it did. I had a good time and mostly made this for me :))#<- massive bonus though if you all enjoy it too! aaaahhh my dumb guys /aff #In absolute shock tumblr let me get away with this absolute monster of a post lmao. character limit who??? I guess????

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darlingdaisyfarm · 26 days ago

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Could you ever see Ford getting into a sorta DDLG relationship with Reader? Ford doesn’t need to be referred to as daddy or anything like that, it’s just more or less the nature of the relationship

thank u for asking!! seriously. made my brain work lol because ive thought about this too. honestly a lot. and i still don’t have a clear answer

part of the reason it’s so hard to figure out is because ddlg, when we’re talking about the actual dynamic, not just internet kinky stuff, is kinda complicated. it's deeply psychological, for me its about vulnerability and being taken care of in a very dependency-coded way. and with Ford, you can’t talk about dynamics like that without talking about trauma, guilt, repression, and the constant tension between his need for control and his belief that he’s fundamentally not safe to be close to

ill hide it under the cut because it's long

i believe Ford is extremely caring. intensely so. he’s protective over those he loves and absolutely has the capacity to caretake. i mean, he’s the kind of person who would research your triggers. who would actually read articles about your mental health condition and then print them out and annotate them. he’s the kind of person who would wake you up with a glass of water and your meds without making it a big deal. who would block off certain lab sections just because “i don’t want you around the chemicals, i’m not risking that” he’s cautious and self-sacrificing and..... yeah, really tender under the layers of anxiety. he’s not cold, i don’t see him so. maybe really bad with his feelings and explaining his emotions, but he’s not THAT distant emotionally, especially not when he really loves someone, especially OLDER Ford, post-weirdmageddon, when he's finally trying to be in the world, near his brother and family, instead of just run from it.

i think, Ford is not okay with being in that role CONSCIOUSLY. let me explain!! because deep down, he doesn’t trust himself with power after nearly destroying the whole world (not his fault, but he still blames himself for it). he has done damage with it to the people he loves so much. to Stan. to McGucket. to the entire world, as he thinks of course, because of weirdmaggedon.

BUT, and this is important, if we’re talking about a dynamic where it’s very much care-focused - yeah. Ford WOULD do things like make sure you ate. he’d pack your bag if you had a big day and he knows your executive dysfunction’s acting up. he’d gently push your forehead and go “bed. now. no, i don’t care that your doomscrolling is ‘important,’ come on.” he’d tuck you in and grumble about you using your phone a lot. and he’d never call himself “daddy” that's right, but he’d say things like ”come here, sweetheart. sit still for me”, ”i’ll take care of that.”, “you don’t have to think about it right now, i’ve got you.”, ”talk to me about it” and etc

and i 1000% believe there would be days where he needs to be the one taken care of. like where he goes into a shut-down state and doesn’t eat and you have to drag him out of his work chair. and if the dynamic is mutual and based on trust and respect rather than roles, i think Ford would exist in that kind of relationship absolutely normally. it just wouldn’t be ddlg in the way most people imagine. like sexualized or through roleplay that’s too close to the thing he fears he failed at most, being responsible for someone’s wellbeing

so yeah.... :') i’m still not sure. it's just Ford is that kind of character you want to trust, you want him to take care of you especially if you're into older men lol. and i think he wants that too, to take care of someone, he just doesn’t always think he deserves it because of his past

i hope that didn’t sound weird by the way. and yeah, not my final answer either. i love getting philosophical about this stuff. i still think about it a lot. AND IF YOU HAVE YOUR OWN THOUGHTS I’D GENUINELY LOVE TO READ THEM <3

#i hope it makes sense please tell me it does #thank u for asking still i love thinking about Ford #answered asks #ford pines x reader

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pepprs · 6 months ago

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hi, everyone. i hope you all are doing well. i’ve been meaning and wanting to check in here for many months but i have also been too afraid to. but i want to do it now because im potentially at a turning point and i want you all (especially close friends and mutuals who i haven’t talked to in a long time) to know what’s going on because unfortunately i do not have the strength to reach out individually right now, as much as i desperately want to.

when i left this place a year ago my depression was extremely bad. i didn’t know how long i was going to be gone or whether i was leaving for good, but i knew i needed to make some changes in my life before i could be here healthily again. well… 2024 has been a year of IMMENSE change for me! a lot of it has been for the good. i made some progress in my life by moving out, and i’ve had a lot of joy and healing in (very slowly) building a home for myself and figuring out what kind of life i want to live and how i want to live it. (im learning how to drive! i have string lights and stuffed animals and a wii! i am capable of solo travel!)

but… a lot of the changes that have happened this year have been for the worse. in almost every respect 2024 has been one of the most difficult and painful years of my life (and that is saying something!). this year a couple of traumatic things have happened to me and around me, and it has been extremely hard to live my life despite and beyond them. i have been dealing with physical and mental health issues that have greatly impacted my quality of life and make it unbearably difficult for me to get through every day. i am constantly running on negative spoons. one of the most damaging outcomes of this is that i have almost completely withdrawn from society both online and off and that is not an exaggeration. ive stopped talking to all of my friends and family except for people i see every day at work. i impulsively isolate myself when im in pain / distress despite knowing both emotionally and logically that it makes literally everything worse and i don’t know how to (and often can’t muster the mental strength to) work through the shame and grief and anxiety to seek connection and support. and im struggling to take care of myself including physically and its having severe consequences in every aspect of my life and in the lives of people who care about me. i live alone and i still think that was the good and right choice for me to make, but i am profoundly and agonizingly lonely. my depression was extremely bad when i left here, but i think despite everything it might be even worse now.

all of this is to say: this week i finally decided i can’t suffer like this anymore, and i began the process of seeking a formal diagnosis for my depression and other mental health issues and exploring additional treatment beyond talk therapy (most likely meds but there may be other things too / instead; still at the very beginning stages of figuring it all out). i am extremely anxious about many dimensions of this but also hopeful that it will help me hurt less because when i tell you at this point my brain and heart physically ache from depression like 85% of every day…. lol. im really hoping that once i get my mental / emotional pain under control i’ll be able to start tending to the parts of my life that have withered while ive suffered and repair the damage of my neglect as best i can. (which is to say… if you’re my friend and you’re reading this please know i love you and i miss you terribly and i am so sorry we haven’t spoken and i am so sorry im telling you this in a tumblr post you may not even read instead of a reply or a call back. i still love you and i want you to know it is not you specifically i am ghosting, its everyone. i am trying to build the strength and im scared i can’t but i hope i can.)

that said… i have decided i am not going to be coming back to this blog. i miss this place and the community i felt connected to here, but the way i was using this website as a public diary was extremely unhealthy, and as much as i miss it and still crave the instant comfort/validation i see clearly now with months of distance how damaging it was. (i truly cannot believe i was oversharing like that lol i am so private now (yes due largely to mental illness but still!)) i am so grateful to everyone who reassured me when i was struggling and celebrated my successes. this was the first place, online or off, where i (misguidedly but it’s true!) could actually be honest and candid about things happening in my life and my reactions to them instead of communicating it all through metaphors in my art and poetry, and it truly mattered that i had that experience here so that i could seek out more spaces like it in my offline life. i know i already said thank you in a previous update but really… thank you. 💗🫂

im not planning on deleting this blog. i may come back here and share updates like this one from time to time, but otherwise i will leave it as it is. but… i do want to get back to using a few of my fandom-centered sideblogs because looking at and compiling art of things i like is a low-energy thing that makes me happy! so you may see activity there every once in a while (tbh during this hiatus i have opened tumblr from time to time to look at art and save a bunch of posts that i wanted to reblog eventually lol). but… if i notice myself slipping back into bad habits i may private the sideblogs or abandon them completely.

i don’t know how to end this post. actually wait yes i do. one of my all time favorite artists is anna-laura sullivan (@/annalaura_art on instagram) and this is one of my all time favorite drawings of hers (so much so that i made it my lock screen so i can look at it every day!). this saying has brought me a lot of comfort and i hope it (and her other art) will bring you comfort too if you’re also in a dark place.

one more thing: not to be kind of a freak but in writing this post i discovered a longer version of my goodbye post from last year in my drafts. i don’t remember why i didn’t post it and obviously it’s outdated now but i want to share the draft because i went into more detail about tumblr having been helpful for me specifically when it comes to my mutuals + info / disclaimers about how to reach me and i want you guys to hear that in my past self’s voice lol! i put it under the cut if you want to read it!

2023 tess said it best: i hope you know how much it’s meant to me to be in your company. thank you for sharing and thank you for listening. i love you. happy [almost] new year. be well. good luck. shine bright. until we meet again ☕️🐈🫂💗

#purrs

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melodygatesauthor · 2 years ago

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Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now.

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that.

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,” you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

Thank you for reading! You can support your favorite writers by the simple act of reblogging AND liking! Thank you again!

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

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#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara imagine #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara noncon #miguel o'hara noncon #miguel o'hara non-con #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fan fiction

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vlrghoes · 9 months ago

Text

What Once Was | Chapter One

author’s note: I edited and proof read this after coming back from the club so if you see something wrong don’t be afraid to point it out as I’m quite friendly anyway!

I still don’t know if I like this chapter but overall I’m just shy about sharing my work because I’m hyper judgmental of my own work but I still wanted to share this with you guys anyway.

The chapters after this will be set a few years after this (which will be clarified in the chapters)

I’m English so if anything is wrong in terms of America and the health practices please forgive me!

I’m literally yapping now but I do want to say that I can’t promise chapter two will come in under 2 weeks as I’ve just finished my law degree and landed my dream job (not related to my degree) and I start training next Sunday and it’s for 5 weeks, really intense and with exams almost every day and if I mess up I lose my job. (Not sure if it’s obvious what my job is but anyways.) Also it’s my birthday on Wednesday and I’m celebrating Thursday so less time to write!

cw/tw: death, pregnancy complications, heavy angst, references to mental health and body dysmorphia/body image issues

word count: 4370 (I never usually write more than 2k so this is weird for me)

tag list (ask to be added): @trippinsorrows @cyberdejos2 @maeb99 @southerngirl41 @callmekayd @trentybenty @tian-monique @rose-bliss (if your name isn’t in grey, it’s not letting me tag you but I’ll try in the comment section)

masterlist

“You’re choosing that stupid title over your family again.” Ayanna’s voice cracked, the finality of her words hanging in the air as Joe stood frozen, his guilt palpable and his resolve wavering. She had spent all day running around the house and decorating for their special day. She spent hours preparing a nice steak dinner for the two of them, however it had been left untouched, the wait quelling her appetite as she now only felt sick. The dress she picked out now felt too revealing, no longer complimenting her body. Suddenly it clung to all the wrong parts and accentuated her weight gain, making her feel like a whale instead. The candles in the house had melted to the point where the fire had flickered out and the playlist she had queued just sounded like white noise at this point. Nothing matters anymore because Joe is late, late home once again and Ayanna is reaching breaking point. She spent hours waiting for him after she prepared their dinner, but all the effort didn’t matter anymore because instead of romance, the air was filled with tension and dread. “You know they’re due any day now, Joe how could you do this to me, to us. How can you still be wrestling so soon to my due date?” She said, her voice filled with emotion as she tried to steady herself. She didn’t want to cry, she had cried so much this entire pregnancy and she felt miserable. Instead of having that pregnancy glow like Rihanna, she had the life sucked out of her and she just felt lifeless.

“Look baby, I'm sorry.” Joe began, trying to figure out mentally how to get himself out of the trouble he was in. It wasn’t his fault, the media day for Wrestlemania was meant to finish much earlier but they took longer to set up, in turn making Joe’s interview (which was last) late. He had intended to be home earlier but it just seemed like the universe had other plans.

“Don’t even bother” Ayanna sighed, playing with the ring on her finger which now felt like it weighed a tonne. When they first got together, he gave it to her as a promise he’d marry her and whilst he did deliver on that promise, since getting pregnant and no longer being able to join him on the road she wondered if it was worth it sometimes. It’s not that she didn’t love Joe, hell sometimes she thinks she loves him too much. However she now isn’t sure if he loved her more than that title. He used to be so romantic; he’d bring her flowers every single day no matter what, he’d take her on dates, even small ones that weren't as lavish and she loved it. But the more he climbed up the ranks of WWE, the less the romance was there. Then shortly after he became champion everything stopped. Their marriage hit the rocks as he was never home and he started to miss things such as birthdays and christmases, so to save their marriage Ayanna gave up everything and joined him on the road. It was all going great until her later stages of pregnancy which stopped her from travelling with him but the most important thing for Ayanna was that he never missed an anniversary.

Well that was until now.

“Do you even know what day it is?” Ayanna asked, her voice quiet as she watched his mind tick, the cogwheels visabilly spinning with his face scrunched up in confusion, dull eyes squinting until it all finally clicks and he looks at her horrified. “You know, as bad as you’ve been lately, I always used to say ‘at least he’d always remembered our anniversary’ but it seems I can’t even say that anymore.” She spits, her heart breaking as the words leave her mouth.

“Yana” he started, feeling dizzy as he watched her flinch, a look almost of disgust flashing within her eyes. The nickname didn’t bring the butterflies it used to bring anymore, instead it forced a swell of emotion that made her feel like she could spew her guts any second. She used to look at him in adoration, but as the years passed the glimmer in her eyes decreased daily until they were fully extinguished. “Baby things are going to change after wrestlemania, I promise. Just one more match, after this I promise I’ll ask Vince again for some time off, I’m sure he’ll give it to me this time.”

The both of them knew that he was telling her what he wanted her to hear, the same conversation being repeated so many times to the point where they felt like they were in limbo. The last time Joe had asked, Vince told him he couldn’t have time off as he was their top star and Joe simply didn’t ask again. He always seemed to lack a backbone in situations that require him having one, but is happy to have a backbone and be stubborn when he doesn't need to be. Ayanna was exhausted, carrying one baby is hard enough but of course Joe carried the twin gene so she was carrying two instead and it felt like they were draining the life from her body. “I just want you to be present Joe, I feel like a single mother despite being married.” She pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. No one ever mentioned how lonely pregnancy is. She had lost many friends as she couldn’t go out to the club or drink anymore which meant that she spent days on end staring at the four walls of her bedroom watching the time pass as she waited up for Joe to come home. She sighed, tears threatening to well in her eyes which made her mentally curse. Stupid baby hormones. “You made the same promise last time, I don’t think you understand that one day I may not be here. You’ve missed so much already and you will never get this time back.”

She waited for Joe to say something, anything that could save the situation and at some points she felt like he was. But he’d then swallow the words back with a bitter taste and instead just looked at her in defeat. Nothing could save Ayanna for the despair she felt and she felt stupid even having this conversation with him. Instead, she gives him one more look over, a silent plea to say something or do something but the window of time closes as soon as she opens and she ends up turning on her feet and going to bed. She kept her room door ajar, hoping he’d come and knock, give her the tight hugs he used to give her and shower her in kisses and apologies but it never happens.

Joseph himself didn’t know what to do. They had the fairytale romance all their friends envied when they were younger, he was the promising D1 football player and she was a shoe-in to be a future Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. They looked good together and spent years in their honeymoon phase, yet somehow as they grew older the fairytale had started to wear off. He looked around the room with a frown, his stomach twisting and his heart aching as he realised exactly how much effort she had put in for their anniversary dinner and in that moment he felt like a horrible person. He knew he needed to pack as he was leaving at 5AM to get a jet for Wrestlemania but a large part of him wanted to go and fix the situation. But he knew nothing could ever fix it. They promised each other that they’d never go to bed without resolving an argument but that promise got broken several times to the point of which it no longer had any weight. So instead, Joe went into the walk-in closet and packed his things, believing that there’s nothing he could do to fix the situation.

That night, for the first time in their marriage the couple slept in separate rooms. Joe in the guest room tossing and turning in his own guilt, whilst Ayanna tried her hardest to muffle her sobs in the pillow. Her tears soaked the case through and her heart shattered in the pieces.

The next morning, Ayanna woke with the worst headache. Her head was pounding so intensely it hurt to open her eyes, however she put it down to the fact she spent all night crying and didn’t sleep. She called out for Joe, hoping he’d be home still so they could make up after their argument and wish him luck tonight as no matter what she loved him and didn’t want to continue on with another argument. But as she made it to the guest room, she realised it was too late and he was already gone. Her heart splintered like fragile glass, and she wept until the well of her tears ran dry, leaving her hollow and desolate.

“Fix your face uce.” His cousin Joshua says with a nudge. Joe having a face like a slapped ass and a snappy attitude had become too common these days and the twins, Joe’s only confidants, knew exactly what was going on. They’d grown up with Joe and practically spent their whole lives with Ayanna through her association with Joe, meaning they had been privy to almost all of the couple’s relationship issues.

“He’s right, every day you walk around here with the face you used to have when my dad used to whoop us all for breaking the window with the football.” Jonathon adds on, a small chuckle escaping from his twin brother as the memory of that day flashes through him. The twins and Joseph had grown up together due to their parents living next door to one another. Rikishi, the twin’s father and Joe’s uncle would say the twins were a bad influence. However everyone who knew them knew that it was actually Joe, he always managed to get away from it all by snitching on the boys before they could save themselves. Which is what led to all of them getting chased with a broom stick as children after Joseph broke the window as they were all playing football, but instead of admitting it he blamed the twins whilst the twins blamed him so the punishment was collective.

“Are you fighting with Yana again?” Joshua asks, earning him a dirty look from both his twin brother and Joseph as the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. The two of them somehow manage to fight more than Joshua and his baby mother, and the pair of them were never even together, just a stupid one night stand.

The pair wait for Joseph to say something but it becomes more and more obvious that he has nothing to say, but the situation is clearly bothering him. Jonathan, the self-labelled “mature” one out of the twins, felt it was best to offer some advice, even if Joe didn’t ask. “Man, I don’t know what’s going on but I know you two have been together since you were both thirteen, whatever it is you’ll make it through it. You guys have always found a way.” The advice, albeit sweet, doesn't really make a difference for Joe. But thankfully he gets called for his press conference anyway so he doesn’t have to engage in the conversation further and he shifts from vulnerable ‘Joe’ to the formidable ‘Roman,’ like a Jekyll turning into Hyde, shedding his worries and fears to become the stoic, unyielding figure everyone dreads.

Joe never really cared for press conferences, however since he was the face of the company he was obligated to fulfil every duty in his contract. He was always used to giving the cookie cutter answers to the usual questions like “what are your expectations tonight?” and “how do you feel about your opponent?” However, he gets caught off guard when someone in the crowd asks "with the demands of your career, how do you balance your professional and personal life, especially with your wife expecting?" The question then places a pang of guilt in his stomach once more as he’s forced to remember their argument from last night. He really wanted to speak to her before he left but he didn’t want to wake her up and his flight was too early for him to stay. He took a thought and tried to compose an appropriate answer before taking a small breath.

“It’s a challenge, no doubt.” He began, slightly sounding defensive whilst making sure to try and make eye contact with the journalist in the crowd to make sure he appeared engaged in the topic. “But I’ve always believed that if you’re committed to something, you find a way to make it work. My family understands what this career means to me, and I make sure to be there for them as much as I can. After tonight, I’m looking forward to some quality time with them.” The words feeling hollow knowing his home life isn’t in a good place.

At home, Ayanna rubs her temples trying to quell the headache that has seemed to intensify from earlier on. She sits on the sofa, her head spinning from the pain when a sharp, twisting pain in her abdomen causes her to shift positions. “It can't be.” she mumbles, it was too early. The twins were not meant to be due yet, she had an entire plan for Joe’s mother to come down and stay in the guest room and help her for the last week of her pregnancy up until the babies hit six months, this can’t be happening. Her phone lay on the coffee table, just out of reach. She stared at it, debating whether to call Joseph or not. But he was probably in the middle of his press conference. She didn’t want to worry him—she could handle this.

She bided her time, until the pain suddenly intensified, radiating from her abdomen up to her chest. Ayanna’s breath hitched, panic creeping in as she realised something was seriously wrong. She forced herself to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her. The room spun, and she fell back onto the couch, gasping for air. She gave in and phoned Joe first, his phone going straight to voicemail as she thought before hanging up, her hands trembling as she dialled 911.“Please” she began with a gasp, struggling to even breathe, “I think something’s wrong I'm pregnant, and I—” Her voice broke off as another wave of pain hit her, harder this time as she screamed, the sound of her pained yells bouncing off the walls.

Joe, pleased with his answer to the first question, felt like he was in the clear and that would be it for the interview but then another question hit him. "There have been rumours that you were considering taking some time off after this match. Can you confirm or deny that?" The question made him feel hot under the collar, he didn’t want to give a definitive answer as Vince had already turned down his request and he didn’t want to put himself in a position that gets him in trouble. He hated it about himself and in a way he also hated Vince for putting him in this situation, however deep down he knew that he was at fault. No matter what, he was a coward and tried to avoid rocking the boat at work but all that has done is cause problems in his marriage.

He once again flashes that million dollar smile that he knew the ladies loved the most before positioning his answer. “Right now, I’m focused on tonight. Whatever comes after, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I’ve heard the rumours, but my priority is to go out there, put on a hell of a show, and take care of business. The rest will fall into place." He was cool and composed, everything a champion should be, however, the answer in itself was very evasive. It was as though he had mastered the art of saying much while revealing nothing, leaving everyone guessing what truly lay beneath.

Ayanna’s vision blurred as she tried to focus on the operator’s voice. “Stay with me, ma’am, help is on the way,” the voice said, but Ayanna could barely hear it over the pounding in her head. She doubled over in pain, clutching her stomach as the baby kicked wildly inside her. Her thoughts were a jumble of fear and regret. She should have told Joseph—should have insisted he stay home. But it was too late now. The darkness at the edges of her vision crept closer, and she knew she was running out of time

Joe looked at the crowd, wanting to go backstage and get ready for his match, a sigh of relief leaving his body as he’s told this is the last question of the conference. "Any plans to celebrate after the match, or will you be rushing home to be with your family?”

Joe smiled, the question feeling so bittersweet as he’d love to have Ayanna in the crowd like she usually is tonight, but that isn’t the case. "We’ll see how the night goes. My family’s always been my anchor, so I’ll be getting back to them as soon as I can. But first, I’ve got to take care of business in that ring."The reporters nodded, satisfied with his answer. Joseph glanced at the time—just a few more minutes, and he could get back to his routine. But he had no idea that his world was about to shatter.

Ayanna’s strength was fading fast. She clutched her phone, the operator’s voice a distant echo in her ears. “Hold on, ma’am, the paramedics are almost there,” but Ayanna’s world was already slipping away.

The last thing she felt was the sharp pain in her head, then—darkness.

The crowd was electric as Joe stepped into the ring, his face stoic as he played with his wrists to loosen them up. The glamour and feel of Wrestlemania never gets old, but he stayed focused, his mind locked in on the match and his eyes focused on his opponent. He couldn’t afford any distractions - not tonight.

The bell rang, and he moved with precision, every punch, every kick calculated. He could feel the weight of the championship on his shoulders, the expectations of the fans, the promise he had made to himself to be the best. Minutes felt like seconds as the match intensified, the crowd on their feet, chanting his name. With a final, devastating move, Joseph pinned his opponent to the mat. The referee’s hand slapped the canvas—one, two, three.

The crowd booed as Joseph was declared the winner, his arm raised in victory, gutted that their golden boy Cody Rhodes had lost the title. The championship belt was handed to him, and he held it high, basking in the glory of the moment. For a few seconds, everything was perfect. But beneath the cheers and jeers, he felt an uneasy feeling run through him, it was almost as if his body was trying to warn him that this victory came at a price—one that would haunt him long after the spotlight dimmed.

After the match he walked backstage, sweat dripping down his face but a victorious smile plastered on his lips. Fellow wrestlers patted him on the back, congratulating him on another win, another title defence. He had done it again—proven why he was the best. But it didn’t feel the same without Ayanna there to give him a kiss and tell him how proud she was of him. He longed to have her sweet floral scent dancing though his nose, he simply missed her and he was going to make it his mission to call her immediately and apologise and make it up to her. In fact, he was going to ask Vince again for time off or just go to Hunter and get him to explain to Vince.

As he headed toward his locker room, he saw Vince stood them with a solemn expression. His heart dropped, usually if Vince looks at you like that you’ve done a terrible job and you’re about to be pulled off TV. “Joe, we need to talk,” he said, his voice tight with urgency.”

Joseph frowned, still riding the high of his victory. “What’s up, Vince? I’ve got some celebrating to do and I need to call my wife.”

Vince hesitated, his face pale. “Joe, it’s Ayanna… She had a stroke during labour. She had tried to call you as she was going into labour but you were in the press conference.”

The words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. “What?” he whispered, his heart plummeting. “No… no, that can’t be right.” His mind scrambled to reject what he’d just heard, clinging to disbelief as though it could keep the truth at bay.

Vince’s eyes were filled with sorrow as he continued, “I haven’t heard anything else, however I would suggest that you take the jet and go to the hospital now. We will cover you in the post match press conference.” The championship belt slipped from Joseph’s grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The noise of the backstage area faded into nothingness as Joseph stood frozen, disbelief and horror washing over him.

Joseph’s heart pounds as he bursts through the hospital doors, the sounds of WrestleMania’s victory still ringing in his ears. But as he’s confronted by the white walls of the ICU, his triumph feels meaningless, distant. Joseph’s hands trembled as he pushed through the hospital doors, his mind a whirl of fear and denial. He moved as if in a trance, barely registering the people around him as he demanded to be taken to Ayanna.

“Where’s Ayanna? Where are my kids?” he demands, his voice edged with panic.

The receptionist’s eyes flickered with sorrow, looking around in desperation as she did not want to be the one to be here when the news was broken to him. Luckily for her, the doctor steps forward. “Mr. Anoa’i, I’m so sorry. Your wife suffered a massive stroke shortly after going into labour. By the time she got here, there was nothing we could do to reverse the damage. Her brain activity ceased before we could save her.”

Joseph’s breath catches, his world starting to crumble. “What… what do you mean? Where is she? Can I see her?” His voice wavered, a desperate plea for a reality that was slipping through his fingers.

The doctor hesitates, his tone measured but heavy. “We had to make a decision quickly, Mr. Anoa’i. We kept her on life support long enough to deliver the twins via emergency C-section. It was the only way to save their lives.”

For a moment, Joseph just stares, unable to comprehend the words. “You… you kept her alive just to deliver the babies?” His voice is raw with disbelief and rising fury. He couldn’t believe what was being said to him, Ayanna being reduced to a baby making machine made him feel beyond sick. They could’ve had another baby, but he could never have another Ayanna. “She wasn’t just some fucking incubator! She was my wife! She is my wife, why didn’t you save her?!”

The doctor’s eyes hold steady, though full of sympathy. “She made that decision herself. Your wife signed an advanced directive, instructing us to prioritise the babies if anything went wrong. She knew the risks and chose this course.”

The words hit Joseph like a sledgehammer. Ayanna had known this could happen and made a decision without him—a decision that had ripped her from his life. Anger surged and then ebbed away, leaving a hollow ache where it had been. He had spent his life with her, and now, learning to live without her seemed an insurmountable challenge, a cruel twist of fate.

“Where are they?” he finally whispers, his voice barely audible, eyes vacant.

One of the nurses gently guides him to the room where the newborns lie in their incubators. They’re tiny, fragile, and perfect. But as Joseph looks at them, he’s overwhelmed not with the joy he expected but with a deep, unsettling mix of sorrow and resentment. They’re here, alive and breathing, but Ayanna is gone. She sacrificed herself for them, and Joseph can’t help but feel a stab of resentment toward these tiny beings who cost him everything. He stands over the incubators, his hands shaking as he touches the glass. The twins stir slightly, their small cries echoing in the sterile room, but all Joseph feels is an unbearable, suffocating grief—and an anger he can’t reconcile. Whilst he was angry at the world, he was also mad at himself. What sick bastard resents an innocent child? He thought, trying to force the feeling out of his heart, but it was no use. He just couldn't stop himself being filled with disgust when he looked at them, especially as they both look exactly like her. It felt like some cruel punishment from the universe for his wrongdoing.

Finally, he forces himself to pick up one of the babies, holding the child close to his chest. The warmth of his newborn is supposed to bring him comfort, but instead, it feels like a weight pressing down on him, reminding him of what he’s lost. Tears blur his vision as he collapses into a nearby chair, the sound of the twins’ cries filling his ears. But instead of the joy and love he once imagined, all Joseph can feel is a hollow emptiness and a dark, creeping resentment that only deepens his guilt. The nurse gently touched his shoulder, but Joseph barely noticed. He sank into a chair, the twins still wailing in his arms, as tears streamed down his face. The world had stopped making sense. He had won the match, but in doing so, had lost everything that truly mattered, as if triumph had come at the cost of his very soul.

#roman reigns #liyah’s literature #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black oc #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling imagine #wwe imagine #wwe x black oc #whatoncewas

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lewistoferrari · 8 months ago

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Do you think Kyle is the type to have a fancy wedding or a simple wedding? I already know he'd be just as active in planning the wedding as you were. Less stress on you and your wedding planner (if you hire one) loves you because you've been the easiest bride-to-be they've ever worked with. And they learn from you that they are allowed to have boundaries with other clients and can fire them if they get to be too much for their mental health.

Something tells me that while he commends some traditions (i.e. groom can't see the bride's wedding dress before the wedding, etc.), he'd be the type to do his own thing.

tbh kyle just wants you to be happy. if you want a fancy wedding he’s fine with that. something simple? he’s fine with that too.

“it’s about what you want, sweetheart. if you tell me you no longer want a wedding at all and would rather go to the courthouse, i’m down.”

and yes kyle is very active with the wedding plans. he’s not gonna sit around and slack off, while you and your wedding planner do all the work. he says you’re the one who gets final say so, but he’ll still tell you what he likes. flower selecting, cake testing, choosing the colors of your decorations for the reception, the seating chart. kyle will even help you choose a venue, whether it’s a church, a hall, the beach, etc.

your wedding planner is very much surprised to see kyle being so involved. they think you’re marrying an angel by way.

“i can’t tell you how many times i’ve had a groom sitting with the bride and i, and he wouldn’t even offer his opinion on whether we should use candles or flowers as a centerpiece for the tables.”

you don’t care for the tradition of not being seen by the groom before the wedding dress, and neither does kyle.

“i’ll see my wife whenever i want,” kyle huffs on the day of the wedding when he pokes his head into the room where you’re getting dressed, and his mothers, his sisters, and your friends are trying to shoo him out.

“not your wife yet, get out,” his older sister says.

but you just shake your head and tell her to let your man in, traditions be damned.

#just kyle things #kyle garrick #lewistoferrari.text

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cupcakeslushie · 8 months ago

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Any advice for someone who's going through art block?

Art block is so difficult, because I really think it’s down to each individual person finding what helps for them.

For me, I more often just try to power through. Because if I do stop to take a break, there’s a danger, where I know I’ll get stuck for weeks, just lazing about, not getting anything done. Then it’s really hard to get back in the swing of things. But this method of being stubborn, might be horrible advice for someone whose mental health really suffers from staying in that mindset of “failing, failing, failing”. Because that’s what it can feel like, when you’re not seeing the results you want. It can be very frustrating, and it either causes you to grow even more stuck, or it lights a fire in your ass to keep you going until you’ve forced it.

Both of these methods aren’t necessarily unhealthy or bad, but they simply work for you, or they don’t. And what helps, can often change based on your mindset and energy levels.

If powering through ever does fail me, (like it kinda has recently lol). Then, I’ll throw up my hands and accept that life is telling me to take a freaking break. In a week or two, I can come back when I’m rested and inspiration hits again. Because even I have points where I just have to listen to what my brain is telling me—despite the fact that all I want to do is be drawing nonstop lol.

Ill watch some tv, listen to some music, read, cook. Whatever is relaxing. And most of these things will provide me with enough chill vibes that I can jump back in when I’m ready!

It’s all about listening to yourself and knowing when to actually give your mind and body a break.

But, If you’re coming in well rested and bright-eyed, and the art block is still popping up, maybe it’s less art block, and more just your brain being slow to switch tasks. Do some warm up sketch exercises, get up and jump around to get your blood pumping. Browse your feeds for inspiration, but set an alarm to give yourself a certain amount of time so you don’t fall down the rabbit hole. Play some banging music to get your energy up. Staring at a blank, white canvas is hardly the proper kind of stimulating activity lol. You’ll rarely find any ideas that way.

There’s plenty of methods to handling art block. The real killer of it, is more when you let it pull you into this loop of self deprecation/sabotage that only gets worse the longer you sit in it. Art block isn’t failure on your part, it doesn’t need to be punished, or mean you’re lacking as an artist.

It’s an unavoidable part of the creative process, you learn how to handle it, and how to sail through it when it hits.

It’ll either blow over when it’s ready, or when you’ve developed a good strategy to hurry it along.

#rottmnt #ask slushie #art resources #Slushie rambles

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sitkowski · 22 days ago

Text

watching heaven burn (jolly karlsson x nicholas ruffilo)

pairing: jolly karlsson x nicholas ruffilo cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ angst, discussions of mental health, post tour burnout, mentions of therapy sessions, a little bit of a slow burn fix, making up, blowjobs, finger sucking, unprotected anal sex w/ minimal prep, happy ending. word count: 3.5k author's note: the fix it continuation of the white light of the morning. this one kicked my ass, but happy endings all around. title comes from a trashboat song, divider by @strangergraphics

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || read on ao3

The slam of the door echoes through Jolly’s head for days.

He somehow manages to avoid Nicholas when he comes back to get some of his stuff, and to get the cats. Maybe it’s weird to feel hopeful to see the majority of his things still in the apartment; he doesn’t think that he deserves the hope right now. But even if it’s small, it is still there. For all he knows, He’ll come home and find everything gone one day.

He’s managed to avoid Nicholas, but there’s no avoiding Noah, who shows up after just a few days. He lets himself into the apartment like he’s always been known to do, and gives Jolly a mock disapproving look.

“You know, only one of us is allowed to have a mental breakdown at a time,” he says as he looks around the living room.

Jolly hasn’t been the best at taking care of things right now. He’s not really taking care of himself if he’s being honest. There’s a pile of takeout containers on the coffee table, one of his guitars on the sofa. The place is a mess, and he wishes he cared more about it.

He scoffs, “Right, I forgot.”

“Hey,” Noah frowns. “I was joking. What’s going on?”

“You mean Nicholas didn’t tell you?” he doesn’t really believe it given how close the two of them are, but Noah’s confusion seems genuine. “I broke up with him.”

He’s only said the words out loud to Nicholas, and to the therapist he started seeing. It doesn’t make it any less painful. He wasn’t expecting the break to be like this, he wasn’t expecting to feel like this. The air in the apartment feels thin as Noah just stares at him as if he told him he was quitting the band.

“You broke up—he didn’t say anything. What happened, why—what did you do? Jolly, what the hell did you do?”

Noah’s not yelling at him, but Jolly wants to stand up and shout at him. He doesn’t though, he just wraps his hands around the back of his neck and slumps forward, closing his eyes. “I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t be okay for myself and for him. I fucked up, Noah.”

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting now that he’s told him, but it’s not for Noah to kneel down in front of him and make him look at him. He looks so disappointed, it makes Jolly want to cry. But he’s also not punching him or walking out the door, so he considers that some sort of win.

“Are you talking to someone?” he asks, and Jolly blinks at him. “Therapy? Talking out your shit, working through the burnout?”

Jolly realizes that Noah probably knows exactly what he’s going through. They took a break from touring because of it. But Noah didn’t set fire to the best thing in his life just because he felt so mentally drained he couldn’t be what Nicholas needed. He just nods and Noah nods along with him.

“I’ll track Nick down and talk to him, I’m not going to try to convince him to come back to you or anything, that’s your job,” Noah pats his knee and gets up. He gestures for Jolly to stand up. Swallowing hard, he does and immediately accepts the hug that Noah pulls him into. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jolly doesn’t believe him.

When he’s gone, the apartment is too quiet and it feels cold. Jolly’s used to Nicholas being in his space constantly, being able to walk in a room and find him there with that smile of his that only gets brighter when he looks Jolly’s way. Laying on the couch with him watching television, the cats keeping them company. Hours lost tangled up in bed. Jolly walks into their bedroom and opens the closet door, double checking to see that the majority of Nicholas’ stuff is still there.

He pulls the first shirt he sees off of a hanger and holds it against his chest. It mostly smells like their laundry detergent but if he tries hard enough, he can still smell Nicholas on it.

The next week is nothing but a blur; going to therapy, cleaning the apartment, staring at his phone and trying to decide if he should text Nicholas. He hears from Noah, who tells him that Nicholas and the cats were at his sister’s place. He won’t give Jolly anything more than that because at the end of the day while they’re all friends, Nicholas was his first and Jolly hurt him. He gets it. And as one week rolls into another, he starts to feel more like his old self again, despite the gaping wound in his chest that keeps bleeding everywhere he goes.

Nicholas had told him not to reach out to him until he felt like he was ready to talk, and Jolly’s been respecting his wishes. He knows Nicholas has been in the apartment again when he comes home and can smell hints of Nicholas’ cologne and cigarettes faintly lingering in the air. He thinks he’s imagining it; maybe because he’s wearing one of his boyfriend’s t-shirts right now beneath his hoodie. Dread fills his stomach at the thought of more of Nicholas’ things being gone from the apartment, of everything being gone altogether.

Instead of finding things missing from their bedroom, he finds Nicholas. He’s sitting on the end of their bed. Jolly sags against the doorframe with relief at seeing him. This is the longest the two of them have been apart in years, and he missed him so much it physically hurts him. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting and he doesn’t know why he’s here right now. He won’t get his hopes up.

“I got tired of getting updates from Noah,” Nicholas says finally. “I got tired of waiting.”

Jolly walks further into the room. Instead of sitting beside him on the bed, he kneels down next to him. He doesn’t touch Nicholas yet, he doesn’t even know if he wants him to. He just waits. He won’t look at Jolly right away, and it stings. But he deserves this, and he knows he’s got a long way to go until he’s forgiven, if he’s going to be forgiven at all.

“Well? How are you?” Nicholas asks.

“Better…in my head at least. Miserable without you. I fucked up, Nicky. You were right, it wasn’t healthy to do this without you.”

Nicholas finally looks at him. “You don’t love me anymore.”

“You know that isn’t true—”

“Do I? You are the one who broke up with me because you didn’t love me anymore.”

Jolly shakes his head, grabbing onto Nicholas’ hands urgently. “I didn’t know how to love you when I didn’t even love myself. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you away again like I did.”

Nicholas isn’t trying to get away from him, but Jolly sees the tears in his eyes. He reaches up to brush one away as it slides down his face. He thinks Nicholas is going to turn away from him but he doesn’t. He leans into the touch almost desperately. “Say it then.”

“That I’m sorry? I’ll say it as many times as you want—”

“Say that you love me.”

“There has never been a time where I haven’t been in love with you, Nicholas Ryan. No matter what I said to you before, I never fell out of love with you. I was just…afraid I was going to drag you down to the bottom with me and then neither of us would get back up. I love you too much for that.”

“Hey,” Nicholas grabs onto the hand still on the side of his face, squeezing Jolly’s fingers. “I’ll always be here to pull you back up, okay? But you have to let me.”

His free hand comes down to pet through Jolly’s hair and all he can do is nod again and slump forward, pressing his forehead against Nicholas’ knee. His tears seep into the denim of his jeans, and he feels Nicholas’ hand move to the back of his neck gently.

This isn’t exactly forgiveness yet, but it’s something.

Nicholas doesn’t stay that night. Jolly wants him to, but he honestly would have been surprised if he had. He doesn’t see Nicholas again for three more days, when he comes home and finds his bags tossed in the foyer and the cats wandering around getting reacquainted with the apartment. It loosens something in Jolly’s chest. It’s impossible not to immediately go and look for him. Just like the other day, he’s in the bedroom again. Except this time, he smiles a little when he sees Jolly come into the room.

“Hi,” Jolly says.

Nicholas’ smile widens. “Hey.”

It’s silly how shy Jolly suddenly feels around him. But he can’t help it, not after anything. When Nicholas pats the mattress beside him, he moves and sits down next to him.

“I saw your stuff, and the kids. You’re back for good?”

The amount of hopefulness he feels right now is a little overwhelming. Nicholas reaches over and threads his fingers between his, and he nods. “Are you okay with that?”

“I’m very okay with that. I just wasn’t sure at first if you wanted things to go back to the way they were. Or if you needed me to apologize more. Whatever you want—”

Nicholas cups Jolly's face and kisses him. At first, Jolly doesn't react, he can't. It's been weeks since he's felt Nicholas' lips on his and he thinks he might be dreaming or something.

"Kiss me back," Nicholas breathes out, kissing the corner of Jolly's mouth softly. "I want you to kiss me back, Joll."

Jolly does. He brings a hand around to the back of Nicholas’ neck, pressing light kisses along his cheek and the bridge of his nose, up across his eyelids and down to his lips again finally. And he keeps kissing him until they both pull away breathlessly. Jolly leans his forehead into Nicholas’, closing his eyes.

“I need you to do something for me though, okay?” Nicholas’ asks, and Jolly would do anything he wanted. He nods, feeling overwhelmed. “I need you to talk to me and keep talking to me. I’m not going to let you push me out like that again.”

“I shouldn’t have and I won’t again, I promise,” it’s a promise he knows he has to keep because he knows if he were to do something like this again, Nicholas wouldn’t come back. And he’s not willing to risk this a second time.

Nicholas reaches up to run this thumb along the edge of his brow and Jolly melts into the touch. He starts to say something, but he cuts him off with another kiss. The audible sound of a stomach growling between them has them pulling away from each other, laughing.

“Clearly you need me to feed you,” Jolly says, and presses a kiss to the corner of Nicholas’ mouth before tangling his fingers with his to pull him up from the bed. “C’mon, you can help me cook.”

“Helping is just me sitting there on the counter watching and giving commentary, Jolly.”

“And you look pretty doing it, so come on.”

He’s missed this, having Nicholas in the kitchen with him. Even doing just what he said he’d do, sitting on the counter and slouching back against the cabinets, eyes tracking every move Jolly makes. Nicholas has always been distracting, but for some reason right now, he’s making Jolly nervous. Not in a bad way, but in a way that he hasn’t felt since before they got together. When he realizes that he needs something from the cabinet behind Nicholas, he clears his throat and presses his hands on his knees, watching as the corner of Nicholas’ mouth turns up.

“You need something?”

Jolly does what he would have done before, he doesn’t want to act like anything has been different between them. He slides his hand up Nicholas’ thighs, almost feeling relief when Nicholas opens his legs for him to step between.

“I need the colander out of the cabinet.” Jolly says, and Nicholas sits up so that he can get it. He pecks Jolly on the lips before leaning back in the same position. “Do you want to put together the salad?”

Nicholas nods, “Sure.”

They prepare the rest of the meal in a comfortable silence, and maybe it’s dramatic, but Jolly can feel that hole closing up in his chest the longer he and Nicholas are in that kitchen. It’s not as if he never left, that would be impossible, but it does feel like they’re going to be able to move past this. After dinner, they stand side by side at the sink, washing and drying the dishes together like they have a million times before. For some reason, that’s what makes Jolly a little emotional. He leans against the counter for a minute, closing his eyes and trying to breathe.

He feels Nicholas press a hand between his shoulders, rubbing back and forth. “Hey, we’re okay. You’re okay.”

Jolly nods, head hanging down for a moment. Nicholas cups his face and turns him so that he’s looking into his eyes. It’s impossible not to kiss him, and he doesn’t even care that his hands are soapy and wet, he wraps them in Nicholas’ hair and pulls him close. Nicholas pushes at him until he’s backed up against the opposite counter and he licks his way into Jolly’s mouth, tongue teasing over his before pulling back to nip at his lower lip. Reaching back, he manages to fumble with the faucet, turning the water off.

“Would it be wrong of me to say I want to take you to bed?”

Jolly shakes his head, “Nothing wrong about that at all. I’m yours, Nicky.”

He sees the way those words affect Nicholas, and when he holds out his hand to him, Jolly doesn’t hesitate to take it, sliding his fingers through his. Nicholas starts walking backwards, leading him towards the bedroom. They only get as far as the hallway before he gets impatient, pushing Jolly up against the wall and kissing him, more insistent than before. Before Jolly can return the kiss, Nicholas is sinking to his knees in front of him, tugging his pants and boxers down Jolly’s thighs in one go. The surprised noise he lets out makes Nicholas laugh, a sound that Jolly had probably missed more than anything.

He feels the sharp bite of Nicholas digging his nails into his hips, pinning him against the wall, minutes before he shifts his head and sinks down on Jolly's cock, taking him into his throat in one smooth movement. Jolly lets out a loud moan, banging his head back against the wall. If this had been before, he might have grabbed onto Nicholas by the back of his neck, held him there the way that he knew he liked, but instead he just curls his hands into fists as Nicholas pulls off and does it again, over and over, cheeks hollowed as he sets a fast rhythm.

“Wait, fuck, wait wait!” Jolly finally manages to pull him off and the disappointed pout on Nicholas’ face is cute. “I don’t want to come like this. Not after all this time.”

He almost expects Nicholas to argue, but instead he starts tugging at Jolly’s clothes again and he gets the message. They leave their clothes scattered in a path to the bedroom, where he pushes Jolly down on the bed, crawling over him and kissing him.

"Missed you," Nicholas mumbles, stroking Jolly's cheek with his thumb, and Jolly can't breathe. "I missed you so much."

“Nicky…” Jolly chokes on the emotions he’s feeling, breath stuttering out of him when Nicholas drags his free hand down his chest and wraps it around his cock. “Whatever you want, just please do something.”

Nicholas’ raises his eyebrows teasingly, “Whatever I want, huh? That’s something.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, Joll,” he kisses him again before taking his hand away and bringing it to Jolly’s mouth. He presses his index and middle fingers to Jolly's bottom lip, pushing inside gently. "Suck."

Jolly blushes hotly at the idea that he can taste himself on Nicholas’ fingers, but he sees the approval in Nicholas’ eyes as he watches, and he slides his tongue around those fingers, getting them as wet as he can. Finally, he pulls them away, drips of saliva hanging off of the digits and without being asked, Jolly opens his legs for Nicholas. He knows how this is going to go, and he yearns for it.

Nicholas works those fingers into him slowly, and Jolly’s hands fly up to grab at the pillows above his head. Nothing will ever feel as good to him as this; Nicholas’ fingers inside of him, his eyes watching filled with love and a little bit of awe. Those fingers skim across the right spot, almost but not quite. Enough to make Jolly writhe under Nicholas’ touch.

Jolly lets out a soft moan when he pulls his fingers out, but then Nicholas is kneeling between his thighs, spreading them further. Jolly watches as he reaches over him towards the nightstand to grab the bottle of lube from the drawer. Nicholas slicks his cock, and then his eyes meet Jolly’s.

“You want it like this?” he asks.

Jolly nods, “Yeah Nicky, I want it like this.”

Bracing one hand on Jolly’s hip, Nicholas uses the other to slowly guide his cock into him. It’s always been something Jolly’s been into, something that Nicholas is always willing to give. It burns a little, the initial slide in, but Jolly feels everything and all he can really do is lie there until there’s no space left between the two of them. His fingers trace where Jolly’s stretched open around him and Jolly chokes on a breath.

“You feel so good around me,” Nicholas murmurs, leaning over so their lips are just barely touching. Jolly clenches around him instinctively. “Just stay still for me for a minute.”

It seems like an eternity before Nicholas pulls back and thrusts in deep, and Jolly's breath catches in his throat. He reaches for Nicholas' hand and he obliges him immediately, tangling their fingers together as he leans over him to press wet, open mouthed kisses along his chest and neck. Jolly's heart pulses in his throat and he wonders if he can feel it.

When he kisses him, Jolly kisses him back, urgent and messy. He wraps his free arm around Nicholas, crushing him close and hoping that he says everything he can with the kiss that he hasn't said out loud yet. Nicholas gets it, he always does, the way he angles his head to kiss him back. He thrusts into him harder, faster, a sound that Jolly has never heard from him before being wrenched out of him.

Nicholas slides a hand between them to wrap around Jolly's cock, working him hard and matching the pace that he's driving into him. "Missed you, never stopped missing you."

It doesn't matter that it was only weeks, it felt like forever to them and Jolly nods, tears welling up in his eyes as he keeps him as close as possible.

"Missed you too, Nicky, please, I need you," he presses his face into the curve of Nicholas' throat, whimpering against the sweat-slicked skin as he comes over Nicholas' hand and his own stomach.

It's enough to push Nicholas over the edge, no sound coming out of his open mouth as he moves unsteadily inside of him until he gives one last hard thrust. Jolly doesn't let him go, feeling him go slack against him and they're practically fused together. A few moments of unsteady breathing pass and Jolly's carding his fingers through Nicholas' hair, eyes closed in contentment.

"Are you okay?" Nicholas asks.

Jolly laughs, knowing it probably has an edge of emotional hysteria to it. "Yeah Nicky, I'm okay."

He only moves enough to pull out before immediately making himself comfortable on Jolly’s chest, tracing his fingers over his tattoos. Jolly keeps his arms wrapped around him, unwilling to let go.

“I don’t like makeup sex,” Nicholas says, and Jolly winces. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but everything before it? We can’t do that again.”

“I can’t say things won’t get hard again, but I’m not going to push you away. I promise.”

Nicholas looks up at him, propping his chin up on his hand. There’s a small smile on his face, still a bit of sadness in it. “No, because I’ll chase your ass down if it happens again. I’m always here, okay?”

Jolly nods and rolls them suddenly, and the surprised laugh that Nicholas lets out is music to his ears. He’ll be hearing it in his head for days.

⇉ taglist

@ladyveronikawrites @circle-with-me @deathblacksmoke @dominuslunae @rumoured-whispers @cookiesupplier @kinseysucks @collapsedglasshouses @thatchickwiththecamera @th4t-em0-k1d @blackveilomens @illmakeyousaywow @kait16xo @nocturnalheathen @malice-ov-mercy @itsjustforce @darksigns-exe @baddestomens @collidewiththesavannah @sorrowsofsilence @fadingangelwisp @wonh0z @xxrainstorm @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @concretejunglefm @lacy1986

if you ’d like to be added to the taglist, you can find the form at the top of this fic! thanks for reading/reblogging 🩷

#jolly karlsson x nicholas ruffilo #jolly karlsson fic #nicholas ruffilo fic #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens angst #bad omens smut #.ficbysitkowski

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ariannabananasstuff · 2 months ago

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i’m going to TRY and be more active on tumblr

also going to be on marauders tok less because i don’t want to engage with creators who only have ‘fuck jkr’ in their bio but no more than that, i’ll be watching people who actually understand WHY and who TELL PEOPLE WHY and how to HELP. (don’t think that’s worded right but yk what i mean)

aka: @messrsrarchives

marauderstok has been A LOT lately and i fully understand why so many people are stepping away, as a cis person trying to spread awareness for what’s going on im struggling to get my points across without wanting to be perceived a certain way

also the people who are only now learning about what is happening and why we don’t support jkr, just because it has started to affect their media and creators whom they enjoy and make them feel safe and welcome in this community

because THEY (the creators) don’t feel welcome and safe in this community and YOU (i say Yoy as a broad term, not directed specifically You unless you are the people i am talking about) are NOT helping them feel this way.

i think tumblr is a lot better with this, but i’m personally getting pretty overwhelmed by this all.

i am someone who has and still is struggling with mental health issues for my entire life and i think more people need to understand that it may be the tinyiest things that set you off, it could be someone hating on your video, it could be a negative comment,,, or it could be someone leaking your deadname.

but the point of that is that sometimes it’s the things that single people have done,,, and sometimes it’s the things a community has done to make someone feel unwelcome and unsafe

i would also like to say,,,

you can be oblivious and uninformed, but that can be by choice. just because you don’t know why something is happening NOW doesn’t mean you can’t catch up now and do your research, we don’t blame you unless you don’t know on purpose or are choosing to ignore it.

i know i don’t have a large community but apparently people with the larger community’s done care, so i appreciate you for reading and trying to stay educated !

i’m not sorry for posting about this twice, as someone who is guilty of apologising for almost everything.

much love and stay safe <3

‘it will always be, and always has been, protect trans lives’

apologies for spelling and grammar issues, haven’t had time to check over this.

STAY. EDUCATED.

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mushroomwarning · 1 year ago

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A sorta long post on why I believe Lightbulb SHOULDN’T win season 2 and instead, the other three should be the candidates for winners

Before I start this off, PLEASE DONT BE MEAN TO ME WAUGHHH I’m just respectfully sharing my thoughts as someone who loves writing and I don’t even hate Lightbulb. I just don’t think she would make a good winner to make the story feel satisfied! So this isn’t LB neg, okay? Also keep in mind, I haven’t seen S2 in a hot minute so maybe I might get SOME things wrong but I’ll try my best to go on with my side.

Lightbulb

To start off, I’ll say it, Lightbulb as the possible winner of II S2 will be the most predictable and bland of the four possible contenders. Out of the four, she’s the one who’s managed to get the most out of the show, new friends, enjoyable experiences, a new pet, etc. She also has gotten a lot of screen time ( I think? ) and is a fan favorite for her wackiness n such. Yeah, she’s a little sad her friends are gone but she could always go and be with them if she just quit.

Her friends are waiting for her, honestly I’d say that’s a prize enough For her story, being able to go back and be with her friends, enjoying her time with them without worrying about the game anymore. She’s shown to be distraught with TT leaves, just go and be with your friends to stop being in this game that’s made people way more miserable. She’s got the winner attitude but it’s just. Boring. Predictable. Something that would not be that fun by a story standpoint tbh, at least in my opinion

The other three, I feel would make great winners in their own ways.

Baseball

I’ll start with Baseball, definitely an underdog and a guy nobody expects to win. That’s why he would be a wild card as a possible winner! It would shatter people’s expectations completely, but here’s the twist…If Baseball were to win, it could possible tie back into his story with Nickel. with Baseball probably thinking Nickel would pressure him to share the prize with him and his thoughts of how much of a doormat he’s been for others, Baseball could make his own decision without others influencing him, giving up the prize and giving it to the second place winner, which could be Suitcase or Knife it doesn’t matter.

THAT WOULD BE COOL WOULDN’T IT? Something that ties together Baseballs story thematically eh eh?

Knife

Anyways, Now onto Knife. He’s different from the other three in that, while he hasn’t lost anything like Suitcase or Baseball ( if I remember correctly), unless you count his dignity, he hasn’t gained anything either, unlike Lightbulb. He’s very much a pretty intelligent and strategical person, very much someone who could easily win if it played his cards correctly. There’s also a bit of a lesson he learns from S1 to S2, due to Trophy.

He learns to become less rash, mellowing out after Trophy gave him a bit of a reality check to the way he acts, even if the way he showed him wasn’t the best in the slightest, Knife learns to control his temper, mellowing out and instead uses his smarts to advance more in the game without relying on others and even gives advice to people Like Suitcase, Pickle and Microphone as he goes on.

He learns to be a better person and would honestly make a good contender for first, to reward him for his growth and change, or maybe second place if you want to show his new found humbleness in regards to his emotions

Suitcase

As for suitcase, while she’s sort of predictable as well, she isn’t as predictable as Lightbulb due to the events that she’s gone through and honestly is sort of the most deserving thematically to win out of everyone. Unlike Lightbulb, she’s lost a lot, not really gaining many friends excluding Balloon and gained mental health issues due to the treatment Nickel was giving her. This game has not treated her well in the slightest and she gains growth as time goes on, learning to stand up for herself and speak on her own.

She very much deserves the prize but at the same time, I don’t think she would care if she won or lost. She’s lost a lot and learned from her experiences in the game

Conclusion!

BUT YES. these are my reasons for why Lightbulb should not win. The others have very nice thematic reasons for why they could win but Lightbulb basically gained way WAYY more then they have out of the experience

But yeah, my ranking would go

Lightbulb- not a winner, Fourth place

Baseball - First place ( gives up prize) or Third

Knife - First or Second place

Suitcase - First or Second place too

#sorry if the grammar or spelling is off #object show community #osc #inanimate insanity #ii lightbulb #ii baseball #ii suitcase #ii knife #please be nice and respectful on your opinions..#Martin nonsense

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charliehoennam · 2 years ago

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Aww I love your writing so much!!!! 🩷🩷 The detective Loki A-Z felt so accurate 🥹 he’s so precious. Can you write something that kind of goes off the jealousy area? Like it’s a coworker who reader gets close with and is honestly clueless to the flirting?

F o r g i v e n

a/n: here you go, nonny! i couldn't agree more. David is my baby and he deserves some happiness and a warm hug

pairing: Detective David Loki x reader

summary: a new co-worker makes a misguided move on the reader and david gets pissed

warnings: language, angst, arguing (if i missed one, lemme know. minors, do not interact!)

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

Sliding your legs over the edge of your side of the bed, you sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. David’s on the phone with O’Malley. You already know he’s gotta go into work today.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in 30 tops” he says lowly in his gravely morning voice before hanging up his cell phone.

“I’ll make breakfast” you smile sleepily at him.

You reach out to reassuringly squeeze his arm to let him know it’s alright. He’s already mentally beating himself up for waking you up and not being able to be enjoy his morning off with you as he had promised.

You make your way through the one-story house and head to the kitchen to get his coffee going. You decide on making a hearty breakfast because you know very well David will skip lunch today.

So, you settle for a nice egg, bacon, and cheese sandwich on toasted bagels with cream cheese. You make two for him so he can take one to work and hopefully eat while he’s on the road. You even cut up some bananas, apples, strawberries and oranges to make a little fruit salad.

David isn’t the healthiest guy around, but he deeply appreciates that you care for him and his health. He never really had anyone to care about him – much less his health – so he’ll sure make to eat every bite.

You hear his electric razor shut off after his shower. A while later, he comes into the kitchen with his hair slicked back. His light blue button-up shirt is open, exposing his white sleeveless undershirt. His gold chain dangles and dances around his neck as he buttons the cuffs of his shirt.

You can’t help but smile to yourself. You wish you could stop him and slide his button-up off. You love it when he wears his undershirt and chain around the house.

“Honey, think you can get a ride to work today?” he asks kissing the back of your head as you slice up the fruit.

“Yeah, babe. It’s no problem. I already texted Jared and asked him to pick me up.”

His hands working the buttons closed on his front stop as his eyes narrow in on the back of your head.

“Jared? You already texted him?”

“Yeah. I figured you’d leave before me.”

“Oh…”

You know that there’s something he’s holding back from you. You turn your head to glance at him, hoping to get a read of him as you slide the chopped-up fruit in a container.

“Is there a problem with that?”

You already know the answer to that.

“No. Nothing. Just didn’t know you and Jared were so close already. I mean, didn’t he just start there like two weeks ago?”

His eyebrows rise and his lip press flat as he looks down at his hands, letting them finish their work on his shirt.

“Two months ago, but he was pretty much on his own, so I figured I’d be the first to befriend him. The first weeks are the worst when you start working at a new place.”

“Yeah, I get that. Just didn’t think you were already texting each other.”

“Dave, there’s nothing going on between us if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your face says it all.”

You’re slightly hurt that he would think there could be something brewinh between you and Jared. It may come from a place of worry, but isn't that trust is for?

“Look, I gotta get going. I’ll see you tonight.”

You nod as you hand him the containers of sandwiches and his travel mug. He leaves you with a kiss on your forehead and you watch him leave, letting the tension hang in the air. You try to put it on the mental backburner as you head up to get ready for your day.

Hearing a honk coming from outside, you look out the window and confirm Jared’s arrival. You grab your bag, keys and phone before heading out the door and walking to Jared’s car.

“Hey, Jare. Thanks for the late-notice lift. David got called in and my car’s still at the shop.”

“You know I don’t mind it at all. It’s been almost a couple days though. Have they given you any updates on it?”

“Something about the starting motor failing. Solenoid damage, I think? They have to replace some coils or some shit.”

“That shouldn’t take more than a few hours to replace though.”

“David says the same thing. He’s getting pretty impatient. Said he’s gonna stop by there today to check up. You know how some mechanics can be when they see a girl with car trouble.” You complete with a roll of your eyes.

“Yeah, some pricks take advantages. I know a thing or two about cars. I’d be happy to look into it for you if you want?”

“Really? Yeah, yeah. That’d be great. I’m gonna wait for David though. He said he’d stop by there today. I’ll give you a heads up though.”

After arriving to work, you head straight for your sector to settle in. You can’t help but notice how kind Jared seems to be towards you in this new light that David casted earlier in the morning.

Jared always offers to refill your water bottle whenever he gets up, always offers snacks, brings you back your favorite coffee or tea after his breaks, compliments your hair or nails or even your perfume. During the whole day, you can’t help but notice he doesn’t treat his other co-workers the same. You begin to wonder if you’ve led him on to believe you’re more than just co-workers or if it’s because he’s new and not very close to the others.

You decide to shake the thought from your head and go on about your work. However, with this new concept in the back of your mind, you start to politely deny Jared’s kind offers. He doesn’t seem hurt by it. A small wave of relief washes over you. Maybe you were just in over your head and overthinking what David had told you.

Around closing time, Jared stops by your station to check if you need a ride home. You check your phone, hoping David texted you with a reply about picking you up, but there’s no new messages.

Your heart sinks a bit. You’d hoped he could’ve at least replied. Is he really that upset with you?

“Yeah, I could use a ride.”

The house isn’t very far. You could walk home, but the rain is already pouring down heavy. And this time of year, the cold winter air is starting to arrive, slickening the streets and sidewalks with ice.

You smile to hide that you wished you didn’t need a ride from Jared. You know it’s not gonna make things easier to deal with at home.

Part of you thinks David is acting ridiculously like a child that's too selfish to share a toy. Only you’re not a toy. You’re a human being and you’re his fiancée. You’re supposed to be getting married.

The other part of you wonders how you would feel if it were the other way around. If he had a new partner on the job and spent hours with her. With everything Jared does for you, would you be ok with someone else treating David the same way?

Trying to settle the internal dispute, you remember that it’s your intentions that really counts. You’re not breaking his trust because you have no intention of getting with Jared. You’re friends and that’s all there is. And you would want David to have a good friend too in your situation.

You walk out together, gabbling on about the day as you climb into his car.

As Jared turns onto your street, you’re laughing over an amusing situation you’d survived in your first week at the company with an unsatisfied client. Jared had had his first unpleasant interaction with a frustrated client. Although he handled it pretty well, he was still a bit disappointed about it.

Grateful the rain has let up, you notice Dave’s car parked in the driveway. Why didn’t he at least text you back if he was home? You feel a slight pang in your chest, but you shove it down as you continue your conversation. Jared knows your line of though has been thrown off and he can only guess it has to do with the black Crown Victoria perched in front of the garage.

“It can happen to anyone,” you say looking up at the tall brown-haired co-worker as he turns the car off, parking in front of your house. You hear a door close from outside and keys jingling, but you don’t think much of it. Most of your neighbors get home at this time as well.

“You can’t please everybody and you have to accept that,” you resume looking down at the dashboard. “You’re not here to please, you’re here to do your job.”

“You’re an amazing person, you know that?”

Something is different about the way Jared is looking at you. It’s intense and you don’t like it.

He leans over the arm rest/storage compartment separating the front seats and places a surprising kiss on your cheek.

You quick react by pulling yourself back and gently push him away with a hand on his shoulder.

“Whoa, Jared. That’s sweet, but i-it’s not like that. We’re just friends. You realize that, right?” you ask frowning at him. “I’m happily engaged.”

“Y-yeah... I figured. I thought I-I’d shoot my shot. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He looks down embarrassed as his cheeks blush a bright regretful shade of red. “I misread things. I’m sorry. That’s on me. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just… Don’t do that again, alright?”

“Yeah. Definitely will not” he chuckles nervously. “It won’t happen again. I promise. Just like you said, we’re only friends.”

You’re not really sure how to react. You can tell he feels really awkward about the whole thing, but you just want to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Flashing a shy, nervous smile at him, you thank him for the ride and climb out of the car. You slowly walk up the concrete path, digging through you bag for your keys.

Upon finding them, you look up and freeze.

David is standing in the path, glaring at the young man in the car. As he keeps his furious gaze locked on Jared, his hands move to rest on his hip. Pushing back his black winter jacket, his gold badge and his standard issue gun are exposed to remind Jared of who he is.

You don’t realize it’s a non-verbal threat. You just think he’s pissed judging by the constant hard blinking of his eyes.

“David, it’s not what you th-“ you start only to be cut off.

“In the house. Right now.”

He has a point. This isn’t a topic to discuss outside for all your neighbors to hear.

You walk quietly past him and march up the porch. You leave the door open for him, but he’s not far behind you. Only a couple moments since he’d been staring Jared down until he finally drove away.

The door slams as he enters the house.

“Are you fucking serious? There’s nothing going on, right?” He asks loudly and angrily.

“Yes, there’s nothing going on, Dave.” You say trying to stay calm, unwilling to match his tone. You’d be angry too in his place.

“You expect me to believe that after what I just saw?!”

“Yes, because that’s the truth. I know how that looked like. He thought I was sending him signs of interest. I won’t lie about that. But I didn’t want him to do that. There is absolutely no interest on my behalf!”

“The fucking chicken hawk just kissed you!”

“I didn’t want him to! I told him that! Maybe if you had picked me up from work or at least fucking texted me back, I wouldn’t have gotten in that fucking car in the first place!” you seethe at him.

“Oh, so this is my fault??” he snaps back at you bewildered.

He opens his mouth to speak, but just in that same moment, his cell phone rings. A hushed ‘fuck’ escapes from his lips as he answers the call. You just roll your eyes and fold your arm across your chest because you already know what that means.

The conversation is quick. You can’t tell much; all you know is that Captain O’Malley is calling him into the station.

“We’re not done on this”, he says with a raised finger in your direction and opens the door behind him.

The door slams shut. You close your eyes and lean against the wall, wishing you had never gotten in that car.

Dragging your tired body up the stairs, you make your way to your room. You notice the comforter is rumpled on David’s side along with his pillows. It’s not as you had it in the morning; it was neat and made to look inviting. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. Now you know why he didn’t answer you at first; he had fallen asleep.

You set your bag atop of the dresser that you share. You dig out your phone to set it to charge. There’re a couple unread messages and 2 missed calls; all from David and right around the time you’d left work.

Sorry, babe. Fell asleep and just woke up.

On my way right now!

You feel guilty thinking about how you could’ve avoided the whole ordeal. Now, David is mad at you and you’re mad at him for thinking that you wanted Jared to kiss you.

You head into the ensuite bathroom to shower and let the water wash away the stress of your day. As the warm water pours over you, you just hope this isn’t what ends your relationship.

Once you’re cleaned and a bit more relaxed, you go about the house to start on some of the chores. Deciding on a simple, quick and easy dinner, you sit on the couch to eat by yourself.

It’s been hours since David’s left and you miss him. You just want him to come home, so you can tell him how much you miss and love him.

You look down at your phone. He read your “I’m sorry” text, but he hasn’t replied. You wonder if it’s because he’s busy or he just doesn’t want to talk to you.

Wanting to stay up and wait for him, you start on the dirty dishes and pots in the kitchen. Then the laundry. You can’t stay still. It bothers you too much and you have to stay awake. There’s nothing left to do around the house, so you plot back down on the couch and surf through the channels to try to find something to watch.

It’s around midnight when you hear his car pull into the driveway. You race to the window to look out and make sure it’s him. He looks tired as he approaches the house with his keys in hand. His shoulders are hunched from the weight of the day’s stress.

You stand by the window and watch as he drags himself inside. He closes the door and hangs up his jacket before kicking his boots off. His back is turned to you and he hasn’t seen you yet.

When he does, he gazes at you for a moment. He’s too tired to argue, but he loves the fact that you’re wearing his sweater.

“You hungry? I made dinner. I can make you a plate,” you say softly breaking the silence.

“Yeah, I could eat.”

It’s quiet between you both. It’s a moment of cease fire. The elephant is still in the room, but you know how his weighs heavily on him. Especially with the case he’s working on. You don’t know much about it. David likes to keep that away from you. All you know is what you heard on the news and that there are kids involved. Those types of cases hit too close to home for him.

You leave him to eat in peace and tell him that you’re heading up to bed.

Assuming he’ll sleep on the couch since he must be upset still, you head to the bathroom to have a final tinkle before bed and brush your teeth. You crawl into bed and hug your pillow as you stare at the wall, luminated only by the fluorescent orange light of the street lamps.

Tears prick your eyes. You hate this distance between you and him. It’s ridiculous, but you know it’s not the time for it.

You hear David’s footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall. The door creaks as he walks into the bedroom.

He goes about his usual routine; set his ring and chain on top of the dresser along with his badge. Then he walks over to the nightstand to open the drawer there. He pulls his gun from it's holster and makes sure its' safety is on. He had set it before already, but it never hurt to double check.

Soon after setting the gun in the lockbox within the drawer, he quietly makes his way to the bathroom. He opens the squeaky faucet and water pours from the shower.

He doesn’t take long. It’s a quick shower to wash his hair and body. He’s too tired to do more than he has to.

You hear him come into the room to grab a pair of boxers from his drawers. He seems quiet and still. Though your back is turned to him, you feel his eyes on you.

He stands still, hands on the wooden dresser as he mentally contemplates what to do. He knows it wasn’t your fault. He knows it wasn’t you who kissed Jared. He saw you pull away and push him back. He knows you didn’t like it or expect it just as much as him.

His head drops and his eyes close. In truth, the time at work had kept him too busy to think about it much, but he did think about you. Part of him felt you were like a victim, caught up in the crime with no fault. The other part of him wondered what could have happened to influence Jared to kiss you.

With a heavy sigh, you sense his footsteps approaching the bed. You expect to feel the wool blanket at the foot of the bed slide off along with his pillow.

To your surprise, you feel the comforter lifts behind you allowing a cool breeze to creep onto your back. Your heart beats faster. The mattress dips with his heavy frame. And you feel an arm drape over your waist.

“You awake?” His voice is a whisper in the dark.

You reply with a nod. You don’t want him to see you’re crying, though you know it’s inevitable.

“Can we talk?”

You quickly wipe your eyes in an attempt to omit the evidence of your pain. Turning onto your other side, you’re face to face. His hand doesn’t leave your waist. You let him slide underneath your shirt to feel your warmth.

“I don’t wanna fight. I don’t wanna argue,” he starts.

“Neither do I, Dave.” Your voice is soft as you reach to tenderly hold his bicep. You want to pull him close and hold him forever, but that might be too much.

“Are you really happy being with me?”

Your heart breaks to think that he feels like you might not be happy with him. You open your mouth to answer him, desperate to chase away his fear, but he continues.

“I know I’m not the best partner. I know for sure I haven’t been in the past. In some relationships, I didn’t even try to be. But I’m trying, sweetheart. I’m trying real hard because I love you and I want to be with you. I don’t know if it’s enou-“

You can’t listen to him anymore.

“Listen to me, Dave. I love you. You are more than enough for me and you make me the happiest in the world. And that’s enough for me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure about that?” he asks with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Jared is just a dude I felt bad for at work. I was just trying to be a friend, that’s all. But he misread my intentions. That’s it, that’s all that happened. And I’m gonna distance myself from him because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

David feels relieved to hear your solution. He didn’t want risk sounding like a possessive jerk and ask you to not talk to Jared anymore, but he likes that you’re willing to make that change willingly for the sake of your relationship.

After all, he can’t be surprised someone else would want to have you. The minute he met you, he wanted you for himself as well. He’s just lucky he got to have his chance before anyone did.

He smiles tiredly at you and closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Think you can forgive me for being a dick earlier? I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“I don’t know. You might just have to make it up to me” you tease with a playful smirk, getting a low chuckle out of him.

“Whatever you want. Just name it.”

#david loki #david loki imagine #david loki prisoners #detective david loki #david loki x reader #david loki x y/n #david loki x you #prisoners #jake gyllenhaal

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