#the storm has passed i should feel better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollfacefantasy · 3 months ago

Text

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..."

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion.

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut #x men x reader #marvel x reader #marvel smut

3K notes · View notes

februarys-wednesday · 2 years ago

Text

i like the idea that bruce just shows up to league meetings with his birds with absolutely no explanation offered

i mean this man frequently stalks his coworkers and knows everything that's happening in their personal lives and i think he'd forget that HE is the weird one for doing it and not everybody automatically knows when he's acquired a new child

so he just shows up at the watchtower with a new bird and literally says nothing about it . just sits at his chair with the latest robin standing next to him and literally doesn't acknowledge that anything is different and it gets even more confusing when they change their costumes and names 😭

20-something bruce: and containing this may be a matter of-flash did you have a question

barry: uh. yeah. sorry, what is that?

20-something bruce: (glancing at 9 yr old dick who has been next to him for 45 minutes) that's robin. obviously. as i was saying,

early 30s bruce, who hasn't shown up with a robin for a few years, entering with a nightwing and a jason todd robin:

barry:

diana:

hal:

j'onn:

bruce: what.

hal:

hal: do you like clone them or

mid 30s bruce, quietly talking with a clearly-not-sixteen-years-old robin in the corner after being without one for two years:

hal:

diana:

barry:

j'onn:

clark:

bruce:

tim:

bruce: this one followed me

late 30s bruce zeta-beaming in with a nightwing, a slightly older robin, and an absolutely BUILT man in a red hood:

barry: did you hire a bodyguard

bruce: no.

barry: whos mr red over there

bruce: you don't remember my second one???

barry:

hal:

diana:

j'onn:

clark:

barry: did. did that one not die

jason: got better

later 30s bruce, quietly showing around a blonde robin:

hal:

bruce: don't ask.

hal: i didn't say anything

40 yr old bruce, making intense, unbroken eye contact with a black shadow:

clark, leaning over to talk to tim: what are they doing

tim, not looking up from his fancy ipad: do i look like i know that

red robin popping in unnanounced in the middle of a league meeting: batman is alive.

barry: who the FUCK are you???

batman, some minutes later, trailed by what is CLEARLY a new robin: did red robin happen to pass through here????

barry: i have several questions

no-longer-lost-in-the-time-stream bruce, talking to batgirl, black bat, and the signal:

hal: did you get three more.

bruce: no. just one.

hal: i shouldn't have asked, my bad

mid 40s bruce wayne, stepping out of the zeta tube: sorry i'm late

diana: not to worry. let's get start-

bruce: i have a few more coming behind me

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

jason: hi

cass: 👋

diana:

diana: ok should we st-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

dick, holding damian like a scowling, sopping wet cat: bruce he's not feeling polite today

damian: HISSS

bruce: okay does he need to go back?

dick: he said he's fine but hes just not feeling polite

diana:

diana: is that the las-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

steph: b i need a hair tie

diana:

diana: so can-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

duke: b did i miss rolecall

diana: no, signal, you did not. let's-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

tim: b alf is mad at you

bruce: why

hal: it's like a fucking clown car

steph: you didn't eat breakfast

tim: you didn't eat breakfast either

steph: shut.

damian: HISSSS

jason: wing. if you do not keep that brat quiet-

dick: hes a BABY!!!!!

duke: you didn't eat breakfast either, timothy

jason: hes a BITCH!!!!!

tim: who the fuck told you????

cass: :)

hal: (storming off, in tears), YOU HAVE TOO MANY CHILDREN.

23K notes · View notes

verstappen-cult · 8 months ago

Note

I would LOVE a part two of the birthday drabble if ur open to that? maybe how max tries to ask for reader’s forgiveness? maybe asking Charles for help but he’s just like “no u gotta figure it out on ur own this time buddy” bc he’s mad at him too?

PART ONE. Max totally blanks on your birthday plans and it’s not pretty.

Max is pacing around the kitchen when you wake up the next morning. When his gaze snaps up to meet yours, you can see the bags under his eyes. You think about reaching for him when you remember what happened, so, you simply walk past him to make some coffee.

“Good morning, schat.” He whispers, looking down. You’re still very much hurt but seeing him like this breaks your heart.

Maybe you’re being too mean, giving him the cold shoulder and not even meeting his eyes, but you also think about what your best friend said last night when you called her crying. He needs to sort out his priorities and give you what you deserve. And you also need to stand up for yourself, you’ve let Max get away with similar things in the past and it’s time for that to stop.

“Good morning,” Charles says as he enters the kitchen. He looks at Max but doesn’t say anything when he sees his eyes filled with tears. You’re hurt but he’s angry. “Want me to drive to your appointment?”

“Mmh.” You nod, taking your cup of coffee and going back to your room.

Charles opens the fridge and tries to look busy waiting for Max to get the fuck out of the kitchen. But that doesn’t happen and he is forced to close the door and face his boyfriend.

“Have you talked to her?” Max asks him, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Yea’,” Charles simply answers, trying to choose between an apple or banana for breakfast. You or Max are the ones always cooking because Charles just can’t do it, but you’re not in the mood to make breakfast and he’s definitely not gonna ask Max. “I’m not the one who fucked everything up.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I just—I didn’t forget, but there were—”

“I don’t fucking care, Max. It was her birthday! It was supposed to be special but instead of enjoying the one day—the only day she really asks for our attention, she cried all the way home.”

Max feels like crying again. He feels awful but doesn’t know what to do to make things better.

The Dutchman opens his mouth but before he can say anything, Charles holds his palm up, shutting him up.

“I won’t tell you what to do, you need to figure that out by yourself.”

Charles storms out of the kitchen, leaving a sad Max behind.

You don’t say goodbye when you leave but Charles, at least, tells him that they should be home by eight, to not wait for them because they will be having lunch together. He doesn’t ask Max if he wants to join.

Max doesn’t know what to do.

You’ve never been this angry before. Charles is a different story, they’ve been racing their whole lives together, so, he has seen parts of Charles you don’t even know.

Max thinks about calling his mom to ask her for advice, God, even calling his sister, but rejects the idea because he knows what they will say.

It’s all his fault. Stupid Max, stupid SimRacing—

Max gets up from the couch, he doesn’t know how much has passed since you left, but the sun is already sitting down.

When Max enters his streaming room he wants to cry again. And he does.

He cries as he disconnects everything. He cries when he smashes the camera onto the floor. He cries while throwing a chair across the room, crashing against the wall. He cries looking at the mess he made, the mess he is.

Max falls to the floor and cries, and cries, and cries, until he feels two strong arms around him and soft words spoken into his ear.

“Max, breathe with me, please,” Charles begs, caressing his back and lifting his chin up with his free hand. Max’s gaze focuses on his face as he imitates his boyfriend, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It takes some time, but Max eventually stops shaking. “Oh, Max. What did you do?” Charles sounds so broken and disappointed, Max doesn’t want him to feel like that. He’s done so much already.

Max starts crying again.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Charles wipes his tears and kisses his eyelids.

Max doesn’t deserve this.

“Hey, love.” Max turns his head around at the sound of your voice. You crouch down next to him, a soft smile dancing on your lips. “Would you drink this, please? For me?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice. You guide the glass to his lips and he drinks the water — with a little bit of sugar you always add when you’re not feeling okay.

Max wants to talk, he wants to apologize again, he wants to scream at you and Charles for being so attentive with him when he doesn’t deserve it. But he feels so tired, all he can do is lean into your touch when you cradle his face with both your hands, palms comfortable against the stubble on his cheeks.

“We’re gonna buy new things and me and Charles will help you set everything up, okay?”

Max wants to scream. Instead, he barely has the voice to say, “I don’t want any of this. I fucked up because of this stupid shit.”

“Max,” Charles calls his name, moving around so he’s sitting next to you. “You love it.”

“I love you more.” He simply says, looking between you and Charles. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…” He lets silent tears fall down his cheeks.

“I know you’re sorry.” You lean to leave a kiss on his forehead, then, you look directly into his eyes. “I’m still hurt, Max. I won’t lie. We need to have a long conversation, the three of us, but I don’t want you to quit something that you love and enjoy so much. I just,” You notice you’re crying when Max wipes the tears with his thumb. “I want to be a priority in your life.”

“And you are!” He wants to smash his head onto the floor. “God you,” He takes your hand, lips quivering. “and you,” He takes Charles’s hand then. He guides them to his chest, just where his heart is. “are the most important people in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

There’s still so much to say but, for right now, you just want to be as close as possible. You’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to go from here.

#꒰꒰ 📁 �� verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #lestappen x reader #f1 imagine #poly!f1 #f1 grid x reader

2K notes · View notes

jadeylovesmarvelxo · 2 months ago

Text

The fight was ugly. The first fight that you and Eddie had turned from a quiet disagreement to a full blown yelling match.

Truthfully you couldn't remember what the fight was actually about. Something silly, something miniscule that turned into a big thing.

A big argument with some horrible things said; you still couldn't get Eddie's words out of your head.

"Why would this mean anything? It's just sex isn't it?" Eddie snapped and your heart broke into a million tiny pieces. Just sex. Right. Of course that's what you two were.

Truthfully you were a mess and you should have just gone straight back home after storming out of the trailer.

Eddie has tried to go after you but you were faster and ran before he could catch up with you.

Instead you bumped into a few of your friends and hitched a ride to some party that one of Jason Carver's friends were throwing. Robin noticed your tear streaked cheeks and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

She was the only one of your friends who knew about Eddie; maybe Steve as well as him and Robin were as thick as thieves. Like platonic soulmates or something.

You and Eddie got together two months ago, passing off the hook ups as just mind-blowing sex and that worked at first. That's until you begun to get to know Eddie better and the two of you spent more time together.

Eddie was easy to fall in love with. His reputation portrayed him as mean and scary, satan obsessed and someone people should stay away from.

He was none of those things, he was kind and fiercely loyal to his friends and uncle, he was passionate and badass and really it was no surprise that you fell in love with him.

At least now you know that he doesn't feel the same way, at least you found out now before it was too late and you were even more in love with him than you are now.

Maybe you could just hang with your friends and forget the words that had broken your heart tonight.

At least you hoped that was possible.

❤️

Fuck, you really should have went home. Your head was pounding, the two beers you had made you even more anxious and upset. To make matters worse Tyler Harvey wouldn't leave you alone, he had zeroed in on you from the second you had walked through the door.

As much as you tried to avoid him, he followed you around and it was beginning to give you the creeps.

He manages to corner you when you're trying to get up to the bathroom with Robin. He stinks of beer, smoke and sweat and it turns your stomach a little bit.

Leather, smoke and the hints of woods and musk were your favourite scents in the world right now and that had to do with the man you were trying not to think about.

You cringe away from Tyler but he's so drunk that he doesn't seem to notice, he moves closer to you and you instinctively step back.

"Can you move please? Robin and I need to go upstairs" you ask him but he doesn't appear to be listening.

"Aww why don't you come upstairs with me? I'll take care of you" Tyler smirks but you don't like the look in his eyes and immediately step away from him. Yeah...no thanks. Robin is at your side at once and glares at Tyler.

"Take the hint asshole. She's not interested" Robin gently guides you away but Tyler grabs your arm at the same time and you stumble, landing hard on the floor. It knocks the wind out of you and your body throbs from the contact with the floor.

Tyler scrapers from the scene without even checking to see if you're alright. Robin is cursing out Tyler and helps you up. You're sore, annoyed and just want to go home.

Steve appears out of nowhere and Robin mentions that she called Steve when you mentioned you were getting a migraine. Relief fills you, at least you could go to Steve's for a little while and try and salvage some of the night with him and Robin.

There's a tiny voice inside of you that is aching for Eddie and it's growing stronger. You dismiss the idea, you're sure that Eddie was glad to be rid of you. That thought caused a new throbbing ache in your chest and you hurried outside with Steve and Robin determined not to think about Eddie and his big brown eyes.

❤️

As soon as you're at Steve's he puts in a movie and you settle up on the couch with Robin while Steve makes snacks. Being here is soothing and you rest your head on Robin's

Steve's landline ringing breaks you out of your sleep, Steve hurries to answer it and your heart skips a beat when you realise it's Eddie.

"Yeah, yeah dude she's with me and Robin. Some shit went down at a party we were at... Oh that asshole friend of Jason was being a prick. Yeah Tyler is it? Woah calm down man, she's fine. She's just tired"

You get up which is a little tricky as the sudden movement makes your migraine feel ten times worse but you really want to speak to Eddie.

Steve passes the phone over to you and you smile a tiny bit as Eddie is still ranting about what he wants to do to Tyler.

"Eddie, I'm okay" you murmur and he stops his rant and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Sweetheart. Fuck, I've been so worried princess. I went to your house, then Family Video. I even dropped around Wheeler's house which was a shock for Mama Wheeler to see if you were there. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I was a butthead"

The ache in your chest subsides a little bit and you relax. "I'm sorry too. I'm really sorry" tears spill down your cheeks and it's cathartic to finally let them out.

"I'm going to come and pick you up Kay? I'm not going to relax until I see that you're okay. I'll see you in about ten minutes okay?"

The tension you're feeling begins to disappear and you wait for Eddie to arrive, thanking Robin and Steve for being so amazing tonight.

True to his word Eddie arrives as quickly as he says he would and gives Steve and Robin a quick nod in greeting, he immediately pulls you close to him.

His lips press against hair and he briefly talks to Steve before guiding you out the door and into his van.

You're so exhausted from the nights escapades that you're asleep instantly.

❤️

When you wake up you're in Eddie's bed, Eddie is laying beside you and reading Lord of the Rings - The Two Towers. When he realises you're awake he presses his lips to your forehead and he tucks the covers around you, cuddles up at your side and holds you close.

"I'm sorry I was such a dickhead. You have no idea how much you mean to me, you mean everything to me and I was so scared to tell you. So I lashed out and said stupid shit. Things I didn't mean"

There's something unspoken hanging in the air, a familiar tension that's been playing the two of you for a little while now.

"I thought that you were sick of me and that's why you said those things" you confess and play with a start thread on his plaid shirt.

Eddie's jaw drops and he's silent for a moment, "Princess how could you even think that? You're...shit, I've never felt this way about anyone and it's terrifying trying to think of the right words, wondering if you feel the same way" he pauses as he lets the words sink in.

He's blushing, restless and anxious as his eyes meet yours; You sit up and cup Eddie's cheek with your hand.

"How do you feel about me Eddie?" It feels pretty certain now but you'd like to make sure. You'd like to hear him say it.

"I'm in love with you princess. How can you not see that? I guess I was just scared to tell you because I'm not exactly the perfect guy am I?" He scoffs as he says this and you scowl at the way his eyes turn sad.

"I don't care about that Eddie. Who wants perfect? I don't. I think you're amazing and handsome, you're sweet and kind, a gentleman. You make my heart skip a beat when you look at me and I feel at ease and content when I'm with you" his fingers entwined with yours and he sighs.

"You know so many people think I'm a freak, normally I don't give a fuck but I do care what others think about you" you soften and press gentle kisses over his cheek, the action causes him to smile shyly and his tense body relaxes.

"Eddie I don't give a shit what anyone says or thinks. Are you going to give us up just because of some idiots who don't matter? The only people that matter in this relationship are you and me. I love you Eddie, I'm so in love with you"

He looks up at you stunned and then he kisses you fiercely, "No I'm not giving us up. I love you sweetheart so much. You're my girl and I'm not letting you go because of some dumb assholes opinion"

The two of you spend the rest of the night making up and when you're tucked up in Eddie's arms as he falls asleep, you're left with the gentle feeling of this being where you're meant to be.

This trailer, Eddie's room, his arms around you as his soft snores fill the air. The sound of the wind blowing against the windows as you're lulled to sleep.

This felt like home.

💕

I get to love you

It's the best thing that I'll ever do

I get to love you

It's a promise I'm making to you

Whatever may come, your heart I will choose

Forever I'm yours, forever I do

I get to love you, I get to love you.

I Get To Love You- Ruelle

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff

451 notes · View notes

mikasa-imadebiscults · 2 months ago

Note

HII

Can you please do hashira with s/o who defends them when someone speaks ill about them?

(HEYYYY ANON!! This took longer to make than expected but I hope ya enjoy this and have a wonderful day!!)

The Hashira’s S/O Defending them

(Characters Included- All the Hashira)

(Warning: Just fluff and a little swearing)

🦋Shinobu Kocho🦋

- She finds it really endearing that you defend her. Even though she tells you multiple times that she can fend for herself, she still finds it adorable that you care that much.

- She will definitely tease you a little afterwards, saying stuff like “Thanks for saving me, my knight and shining armor.” (and will giggle her ass off)

🐍Iguro Obanai🐍

- Usually ignores rude people, very rarely will he confront them. So when the both of you were making your way downtown, walkin’ fast, faces passed, and spending time together. You suddenly encountered a person being downright rude. Saying stuff like he needs to take off the mask or else. It took him by surprise when you got in front of him and started yelling at them.

- He quietly thanks you and takes you out to some food to help clear your head. Plus he wants to treat you as a way to express his gratitude.

🍡Mitsuri Kanroji🍡

- It’s not often that someone has a problem with Mitsuri, since she’s always kind, caring, and just a lovable person in general. Although one day someone had an issue with how bubbly she was. They were also nit-picking every single thing she was doing very loudly to one of their friends. Then finally you had enough and told them off.

- Mitsuri stood there in amazement at your bravery to stand up for others. Then she panicked and tried to tell you that it was okay so that you’d stop making a scene.

🔥Kyojuro Rengoku🔥

- He doesn’t let other people’s hurtful words bother him because he assumes that they just had a bad day or are going through a hard time so he just moves on with his day. When he noticed your demeanor suddenly changed he asked what was wrong. He assures you that it’s no big deal, but when the person keeps on going on and on you just had to say something.

- When you were walking over to them he tried to stop and reassure you that everything was okay. Although even though it didn’t work, he’s still appreciative of your spirit.

🔊Tengen Uzui🔊

- If Uzui encounters someone being disrespectful to him he usually just shoos them off or belittles them, unless the person is being rude to you, Makio, Suma, and Hina. Then he gets a little more riled up.

- If you ever go off on someone he’ll just stand back and watch the show. Afterwards he’ll be like “That’s right, tell ‘em what’s up.” in a joking way.

☁️Muichiro Tokito☁️

- It surprised him at first when you defended him, he had no idea how to react so he just stood there (like this: 🧍🏻)

- Whenever you come back to him he’ll say “Next time don’t waste your time on those scum, just knock them on the head.” His bluntness earned a laugh outta you.

🌪️Sanemi Shinazugawa🌪️

- When he heard someone talking shit, he turned towards their direction and was ready to say something. But he was cut off abruptly by you storming to them and letting them have it. He was shocked but kinda proud at the same time.

- After you’re finished, he says that he can defend himself and that you should save that energy for something else.

🌊Giyuu Tomioka🌊

- Usually if someone talks shit about him he’ll just ignore it, he has better things to worry about after all. He was bewildered when he overheard you defending him. You taking the time out of your day to defend him made him feel warm inside.

- He will make some food and give it to you as a thanks for having his back.

🪨Gyomei Himejima🪨

- Was really surprised, he certainly didn’t expect it. He calmly tells you that there will always be people in the world saying ill things about others, and to not get yourself all worked up over that.

- After the minor lecture he’ll pat your head and tell you that he’s very grateful for you defending him.

Masterlist

532 notes · View notes

cavegirlpoems · 2 months ago

Text

Violet Core Approaches

So. My close friend and collaborator Sarah Carapace has been working on Violet Core - a ttrpg about dykey mecha pilots in space - for the past few years, and that work is approaching its fruition. It's about to get kickstarted pretty soon, and I got a preview copy of the game ahead of that. So, preview/review I shall.

Disclaimers: I'm close friends with Sarah, was involved in some of the early playtests, and might end up doing a stretch goal for the game. So, I am of course wildly biased in Sarah's favour. Still, even if I wasn't, I figure this'd be my jam.

TL,DR: This game is really really good, back the kickstarter. For more details, read on.

The Basics:

Violet Core is set in the Nemesis System, an alternate scifi version of the solar system. The game follows the lives of spacers cut off from their home planet, Cerulea, as they face an oncoming disaster as escalating waves of comet-storms hit the system and everything starts to come apart.

Our characters are mech pilots for one of three factions of spacers - The Reach, The Homebound, and The Cosmic Embrace - each with their own perspective on what to do about the looming disaster. It's generally agreed that they need to escape, but where to and how is a source of conflict.

All three factions and their approaches have their merits. Although the Reach are positioned as more heirarchical and organised than the other two, all three are clearly scrappy tenacious punk-ish survivors who've been rejected and exiled to space by the dickhead bourgoisie of their home planet, Cerulea.

Luckily, you get to pilot X-10s, giant personalised mechs powered by a mysterious psycho-active (psychic?) crysteline core. This lets you get up to all the various activities you just pictured when I said that.

Tonally, it's Sarah Carapace through-and-through. Everything is purple and blocky, with CRT monitors and snaking cables and spray-paint. Riot Grrl mashed up with retro scifi mashed up with cosmic weirdness.

On The Humble D4

The game uses the oddity of dice - the humble D4 - as its main dice, with D8s scattered in here and there. It's a choice I really like, giving the game a feel that's a little angular and off-centre. It's a simple choice, but it does a lot to set it apart. I can't sum this up better than Sarah does, so I'll just quote her:

d4s are the most cursed of all dice.

They are awkward to roll.

They are pointy and can/will stab you.

Femininity is pointy, painful and powerful and so are these odd little polyhedrons.

Also, There is no standardised style for d4s. When you roll them, the result is the number displayed upright, either on the top or bottom. It varies from die to die.

Which I think gives you a good sense of the tone of the whole game, y'know?

The game cares about dice as physical objects deeply. Players can use the emotional connections between their characters to donate bonus dice to another character's rolls: the game suggests that when you do, you should pass her your physical dice, and use the motion of how you do it (including potentially how your hand touches hers as you hand them over) as a way of expressing the connections between characters, which is a fucking genius bit of design.

Anyway. Who do you play as?

Some sort of dykey space-gal x-10 pilot. To define who you are, you pick three things: the faction you belong to, your pilot type, and the X-10 you pilot. I'll go over each in quick succession.

Your faction determines your political alliance and likely goals, and the culture you grew up in, and each faction has access to a different set of X-10s. You pick between:

The Reach: the most organised and strict faction, and the oldest. Strict, heirarchical, and high-tech. You play here if you want to have a good The Man to chafe against, or to be that The Man for somebody else. The Reach are working on engineering humanity to be able to survive the coming disaster and thrive in space, and building a vast engine - the Overlock - to enable this.

The Homebound: the most rough-and-ready faction. A large population of working-class gals, and with too few resources to go around. They're working on repairing a giant machine, The Sling, to transport their people to another star system and flee the coming disaster. Unfortunately, The Sling and The Overlock are both adaptations of the same machine...

The Cosmic Embrace: the weirdo faction. The smallest, most mystic, and overall hippy-est. Short on space, people, and resources, but not on idealism and enthusiasm. They're poking the weird shit of the setting, and getting results. A little culty. In the playtest I was in, I played Cosmic Embrace, obviously.

Notably, you can have PCs all be in the same faction, or be split between them. If split, there's lines of conflict, but also room for alliances and subterfuge. PCs can, and might well, switch faction in play.

As well as your faction, you pick your pilot type. There's three broad types of pilots you can be:

Genebuilt, artificially created super-pilots with custom genetics to make them good in space. Divided into two rough types; the Violet Kind (for if you were a successful project, and inhereted mysterious abilities) or the Rat Bitch (for if you... weren't, and mostly just inhereted emotional issues). There's some interesting space to play with the idea of nature vs nurture here, or with the pressure of expectation.

Baseliners, aka normal humans who haven't been genetically engineered or tinkered with. Again, divided into two types; the Shining Star (for if you're keeping up with the best through sheer talent and training) and the Baseline Breaker (for if you're a normal person getting by with determination and adaptability.

And then, lastly, the Returned. People who died - or nearly died - and were brought back. The character creation section only mentions one sort of Rebuilt - the Returned, who have been remade by the power of humans science - but hints that other sorts might exist. And indeed they do, tied to the mysteries of the setting.

I ended up playing a Rat Bitch, who'd seen her best buddy get horribly fucked up in a training exercise and gone awol. It was great fun.

Lastly, your X-10. Each faction has three models of X-10, divided by function: Warriors to be brutal front-line fighters, Rogues to be mobile scout-types, and Witches that do weird shit and fight at range. Out of these, each faction has its own version of each of these archetypes. Some X-10 models are pretty common and mass-produced (like the Ogress, the Reach's warrior-frame), and some are rare or even unique (like the Hag, the homebound's rare and experimental Witch type that can fuck with time and space).

Each X-10 has its own Violet Core, the psychoactive crystal that's at the heart of the mech and gives the game it's name. Thoughts from the violet core filter through to the pilot, and visa versa. If you pilot a Hag for long, you'll start thinking Haggish thoughts, and your own emotions will start to seep into the core. It can get real strange real fast.

Each type of X-10 feels and plays extremely differently, in a way I personally found made your choice of frame a reflection of your pilot's personality. My pilot ended up in a Mermaid - the Cosmic Embrace's version of a Witch frame - that had the ability to shift space around it (her?), and 'swim' out of the normal world into sub-space. Which brings me to...

The Spaces & The Mysteries

As well as the material, mundane world - what Violet Core terms 'top-space' - there are two other spaces that exist.

Sub-space is a serene, empty (is it?) realm that lies below top-space. You can dive into sub-space in the right X-10s, and explore. Time and space are wierd and fluid here. If you dive deeply, you find... things. If you dive too deep, you might not come back the same, or at all. There are mysteries down there. Remember I mentioned there are other types of Returned you might become? Yeah. Remember those Violet Cores that power your X-10s? They're made from something called 'the fingers' found deep down in sub-space. Who's fingers? You see where I'm going with this.

There's also The Violet Realm. This is the psycho-sphere, the realm of dreams and emotions and mystical experiences. The violet core of your X-10 links you to the Violet Realm. You can meditate to experience it, to commune with what's within...

This is a setting with mysteries. There are things to explore, forces and powers beneath the surface. I won't elaborate. Partly because I don't want to spoil the discovery for you, and partly because I don't want to read it all and spoil myself before I can play this again. What I will say is that the bits I did read ahead on give you a lot to explore, and are explained in a way that make how they tie into the wider setting and plot. It's all coming together into something impressive.

Personally, as a player of rpgs (larp and ttrpg) I really enjoy settings which present you with mysteries and mysticism, which let you explore the underlying nature of this universe in ways that are at times rational and at times intuitive or mystical. It's an itch few other ttrpgs have scratched for me. Lacuna and Orpheus were, until now, games that achieved what I wanted; now I get to add a third game to the list in Violet Core.

In case it wasn't clear, this is high praise. This is extremely high praise.

Mechanics

I'm going to assume you're already sold. If you aren't, let me make a statement:

I'm mad I didn't think of these game mechanics.

The core engine is pools of d4s, in a way I believe is drawn from forged in the dark. However, unlike FitD, I really like how VC handles its rolls. Particularly - as I mentioned above - the way players can pull on the connections between PCs to offer each other dice, and the way this affects the game.

The core is pretty simple but has nuance. There are PbtA-style moves - things like Negotiate, or Hurt, or Shield - that trigger when you do a particular thing. You roll, and get a codified result based on the result. When you roll, you get a number of dice depending on how you're going about it. In person, you use your talents; things like Making Out and Using Your Head. In your X-10, you use the X-10's talents, things like Synchronising and Drawing Near. An example: You're piloting a Mermaid, and you see your friend (piloting an Ogress) is about to be struck by spiraling comet shards. To save her, you dive across to pull her out of top-space and into sub-space with you, dipping out of the material world to avoid the hazard. Since pulling somebody into Sub-space with your X-10 is Draw Near, you roll as many d4s as your Draw Near pool, and count how many hits you get. Since you're trying to protect somebody, you take that result and look at the Shield move to see what happens.

It's a simple core that's then built on with more detail, giving it a lot of room for nuance and expression.

Further, there's a neat little system for tracking the emotional connections between PCs and how they escalate over time. As they escalate, you pick statements to describe how you feel, pinning down the nature of the relationship, that will get deeper and more intense the further in you get. And the further in you get, the more potent it is when you hand another player your dice to assist her PC.

In play its such a neat, deep, evocative system that it made me really mad I didn't think of it myself. It's basically perfect.

Sorties, in which our cosmic purple space robots punch each other

Up front. Although your in giant space-mechs with giant space-weapons, combat isn't meant to be lethal and horrid. It's intense, and gritty, and emotional raw, but in the way that a bloody-knuckled fist-fight is, not in the way that a shootout is.

Fights aren't war. They're personal.

There's a lot of dancing metaphors in how the fights are described. You might be sparring or actually seriously going after each other, but either way, a fight is an interplay between two characters at their most intense. That thing where a fight scene serves the same purpose as a musical number? Yeah, that.

So. Each fight between X-10s is a Sortie. A sortie is divided into a series of steps, and at each step you pick an option for how you're fighting;

Lead, to be agressive

Sway, to be fluid and fucky

Follow, to be evasive

Sway hits follow, Follow hits lead, Lead hits sway. Its a rock-paper-scissors cycle. (If you get two Leads, both hit, and if you get two follows or sways, both miss.)

When you hit, you can trigger one of the moves as a result. It can get ugly and painful. It could concievably get vulnerable and emotional.

Critically, you have a limited pool of lead/sway/follow actions (depending on your X-10), that get used up as you use them in steps. IE: if you're piloting a Witch, you can use Sway twice and Lead & Follow once. So, you can count what you're opponent's used up, and predict their moves based on what they've got left. In really long sorties, once you've only got one option left to you, it resets.

A sortie is a sort of dance as you maneuver for the advantageous position, use that to fuck with your oponent, and get your fists bruised.

Damage to your X-10 can bleed through to you. Contact between two X-10s can bleed through to their pilots. Things can get strange, particularly when there's Witch X-10s involved.

I'm gonna quote the book again here:

Not all pilots fight to win. Some pilots fight to hurt.

The Gay Bits

As you might have realised by now, it's a really fucking sapphic game. Not as a focus, but in the way where all our PCs are assumed to be some sort of dykey queer type because that's just the kinda tone we're going for.

To misquote Sarah's fellow aussie: "This is my book motherfucker, they'll walk be lesbians if I tell them to".

Pulling It All Together

Tonally, it's a fucking slam dunk. The world bleeds with a very specific atmosphere, a sort of dykey grungey weirdness that draws on old late-80s to early-90s mecha anime, and Heaven Will Be Mine, and weird scifi.

The writing has a really strong voice. Sarah doesn't write like a typical clinical dispassionate ttrpg text, she writes like Sarah. There's little witicisms, emotional bits, slang. It reads like somebody passionately explaining how to play in person.

There's a lot of snippets of in-character text - chat logs, reports, records, recordings - that give you a sense of the sort of people in this world.

The art is all fucking gorgeous. Mostly Sarah art, with some guest spots.

It is extremely purple, so purple its even in the name.

In conclusion:

Listen I am wildly biased because I've been friends with Sarah for yonks, but even if I wasn't I'd be incredibly enthusiastic about this game because:

a) it seems to have been carefully fine-tuned to hit my tastes.

b) it's really fucking good. Really fucking good.

It's an idiosyncratic personal work that also has a huge cosmic scope to it. It fucks around with the medium of dice-based ttrpgs in interesting ways. It's gorgeously written. It's got a setting that makes me want to dive in and explore it.

You should go back the kickstarter when it goes live, and tell your friends about it, and I am not kidding. If this game isn't a wild success there is something wrong with indie ttrpgs. The kickstarter is here, I believe it's due to go live in a couple of days.

If any bloggers are interested in getting a preview copy of their own, hit me up and I can hit up Sarah and we can sort things out.

#ttrpg #rpgs #rpg review #rpg kickstarter #queer ttrpg #mecha ttrpg #scifi ttrpg #dyke stuff #my friend is incredibly talented and you should give her money

577 notes · View notes

ew-selfish-art · 1 year ago

Text

DpxDc AU: Soulmates only meet in the afterlife...And Danny is dead half of the time.

It was the general consensus that Soulmates did indeed exist, and that there were a couple of hints to know if your soulmate was, but you wouldn’t know for certain until you died. This was often devastating for widows of non-soulmates but... Widows could hear the voices of and feel the phantom touches of their Soulmates. That after their loved one passed away, they didn’t truly leave them.

Soulmates always traveled to the infinite realms together in a pair, unwilling to pass on without the other. This leads to the ghosts that seemingly never moved on and gave Danny so much grief, they needed to pass the time until their loved one died some how.

Danny dies and feels himself talking to himself more often while transformed into Phantom, kicking butt and taking names aside. Just small things to reassure himself, nothing more than an instinct to process the situation he was in with this insane life he was living.

I’m going to be okay, I’m going to get out of this.

I swear to all the ancients that Casper High better make a statue in my honor.

Mom and Dad don’t mean it.

The fundraiser to rebuild Poltergeist Avenue is going to be ridiculous.

Mom and Dad wouldn’t mean it if they really knew.

Nasty burger really should rebrand but my goodness is this the best shit ever.

It takes a few years to think about the fact that he might have a soulmate who could hear him- how unlikely would that be though? It’s not like he was haunting the person, so it probably wasn’t any big issue. Was there a proximity thing involved? Clockwork sighs and gives him no true answers.

...

Tim has been hearing the voice of his Soulmate for years. Not...All the time though. He’d mapped out the time frame by which he did hear the additional male voice, accumulated enough data to determine a general profile and geotagged a few of the landmarks mentioned to find the most likely town. Restaurants, street names, highschools, and notable names all help Tim to find what he’s looking for. The concerning amount of comments on his soulmates parents make Tim’s blood boil and motivate him all the more.

Thing is...Amity Park is under a complete media blackout. The challenge nearly makes him swoon, as if his dead soulmate were leading him towards his favorite hobby (taking down corrupt groups of assholes with too much power, cult or government, was his ideal pass time). He just wants to know who his soulmate was. He wants to know who is waiting for him.

Arriving undercover and unannounced as a random tourist, Tim cannot find his soulmates grave. Can’t find anything about the person who died all those years ago and had spoken in his ear ever since. He’s about to storm the Mayor’s office, his plans for the GIW already in motion, when a ghost attack begins.

Phantom arrives and suddenly Tim understands who exactly he’s been looking for. Getting into the crosshairs of the fight, Tim pulls a few RR moves and Phantom cautiously approaches him after capturing the assailant ghost.

“I’m here because you’re my soulmate, and it’s very interesting that you only talk to me during non-business hours. Care to explain what you’re doing between 9 am and 3 pm, Monday through Friday?”

“Uh... High school mostly. Wait you can hear me? You’re my soulmate?”

Cue Danny de-transformation, explanation of his death and ability to die on command, and Tim’s very softball interrogation with his presentation on how he found Danny through the small conversational phrases.

They kiss as the GIW headquarters explode in the background.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #dc crossover #dp crossover #danny phantom #tim drake #this could work with a number of other soulmates in the JL #It would be interesting with Jason or Damian also since they've died and come back #that got more complicated than i wanted to write tho lmao #soulmate au

3K notes · View notes

reidrum · 3 months ago

Text

the prophecy part 2:

poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand | s.r.

A/N: she's arrived! i hope we like this one,,,,.....,,,.,maybe a part 3 what who said that

cw: angst, hurt/comfort no comfort, penelope is a really good friend, fem!reader, spencer's kind of a dick bro

summary: you and spencer deal with the aftermath of cat's words

wc: 3.01k

part 1

_______________________________________________

“I wish I fathered the child,” Spencer starts, JJ can feel her heart tighten, “Because you and I deserve each other, don’t we?”

Cat smirks, “You’re much better at lying now than you were last time at the restaurant, bravo. Better keep the performance up when you have to go explain yourself to your girlfriend later.”

Spencer’s face steels up and he’s trying his damndest to keep his composure, knowing the only way to get the location of his mother is to let Cat think she won the game. But with every mention of you that falls from her poisoned lips, he feels the burn sinking further into his skin when he thinks about what could be going through your head right now.

“Even if you think I’m lying,” Spencer stares at her, trying to push down any emotion on his face, “That’s the secret right?”

Cat is taken aback by his words, almost looking offended and triumphant all together.

JJ watches her eyes well up and dial Lindsey to give her the go signal, when Lindsey learns at the hands of the rest of the team her one sided lover was pregnant with another man’s child, she devastatingly surrenders the bomb controls and Diana Reid.

Spencer slackens knowing his mother was safe with his team, but he’s unable to stop thinking about Cat’s accusation.

“How did you know?” He asks as the guard stands her up to put the handcuffs back on.

“About Maeve?”

He nods.

“At the restaurant, you were talking about a fake wife,” The guard walks her over to the door where she passes Spencer, only inches apart, “The ring may have been fake, but the way you spoke about her told me that she was real. And I’ve got eyes everywhere, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re different now than when you were with her.”

She pauses then chuckles, “But clearly this genius couldn’t figure it out.”

He feels the temperature rising again but JJ preemptively grabs his forearm before he has a chance to react, “The team has your mom, we’ll go meet them at the BAU.”

Spencer nods curtly and storms out of the room without a second glance at Cat.

————

The elevator doors open and he’s met with the relieving sight of his mother, safe and sound. He embraces her in a big hug while the team dissipates around them giving them a moment. Spencer holds onto his mother for some time, letting his emotions come to surface. The last 24 hours have been the most tumultuous he’s ever experienced—almost dying in prison, getting released, the kidnapping of his mother, and the most wrenching of all, you.

He can’t help but grip onto her like a baby bird refusing to fly. He’s been someone who’s had to grow up way faster than anyone expected, academically and mentally, in order to care for the people in his life when they weren’t able to themselves. It’s led him to questionable decisions with detrimental repercussions, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant they’d be okay.

Diana pulls away first and wipes the tears from Spencer’s eyes, “Can we go home?” He nods tearfully and pulls his keys out, walking to the elevator to go down to the parking lot. As they’re going down he feels the adrenaline dying down and the reality sink in. He has no idea how he’s gonna fix this—if he can even fix this.

In a taunt from the universe, he hears a text come through on his phone, from you, of course.

You should spend time with your mom and make sure she’s okay. I’m staying at Penelope’s for some time. We can talk later.

He sighs and shuts his phone off, slipping it back into his pocket. You were right, it had been a textbook definition insane 24 hours in his life, and he knew he needed to spend time with his mother in getting her resituated.

——

You and Spencer spent five days apart. Neither of you went into work, for obvious reasons, and all you could do was rot on Penny’s couch, barely eating or drinking enough water, hyper analyzing every intimate moment of your relationship with Spencer to find any clue that he wasn’t fully present with you.

Penelope would come home after her day at the office, bringing you food from your favorite takeout place just the way you like, the way only Spencer knew, and sit with you while you cried.

It nearly killed her seeing you so down, her dear friend who she cared for so much and wished desperately to take away all your suffering. But the empath in her knows that if she’s feeling this bad, she can’t even imagine how Spencer must feel.

She sits with you for twenty minutes in silence, your head in her lap as she strokes your hair before speaking up, “So um, he was able to put his mom back into a sanitarium. With a vetted full time nurse who said he’d get hourly updates from.”

“That’s great, Penny.” you mumble apathetically. A small part of you felt bad, despite what was going on between you and Spencer, Diana was also collateral in a whole different way. You were grateful that she could find some sense of normalcy after all that’s happened. You wondered if that could be you, receiving solace and safety from someone you were supposed to trust.

“He won’t stop asking, sweetie.”

You sigh, “I know, I’m sorry he keeps bugging you.”

She waves you off, “It’s not that. I—I don’t know how to fix this. You guys are my bestest friends, a—and to see Spencer go through wh—what he went through, and then seeing you after what he d—did.” she sniffled.

“Penelope—“

“I’m not trying to be selfish, I swear! I have big emotions you know this. I won’t tell you what to do or what I think you should, because honestly sweetheart I don’t know either,” she tears up more, “But I will tell you the facts, because like that dummy boy, fact dumping reassures me of what’s real. And I need you to remember that when your brain is trying to trick you otherwise.”

You start crying again seeing her all emotional and she puts a hand up, “Let me finish first, or you don’t get the donut I got you.” She laughs tearfully.

You match her laugh and let her continue.

“I only have one fact for you, and you might not like it but it’s the truth, no matter what you think.” she starts, “That boy loves you. Like he would petition the Oxford dictionary to put you under the definition of love, loves you.”

“But—“

“But two things can exist. He loves you dearly, but what he did was fucked up. How you feel is extremely valid. God, my love, I can’t even imagine how you feel. But if and when you go talk to him I just need you to remember that. Okay?”

You sit silently next to her, contemplating everything your brain has been computing the last five days. The spirals, the what ifs, the self doubt—you know logically you won’t get any clarity unless you face your fear, and accept that whatever happens is your predetermined fate.

“Okay.”

“I love you so much. I am always in your corner, and if it comes to it, I know his social.”

“Penny!”

“I’m just saying!” she laughs, “You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need to, okay?”

You lean forward to hug her, “Thanks.” you mumble. She squeezes you and rubs your back affectionately.

You end up finishing out the week in Penelope’s apartment, using Sunday to deliberate your plan of attack for when you finally see him again. All the questions, insults, and doubt are written down in your notes app to help you organize your thoughts. But there’s no real organization, because what category does this even fall into?

You text Spencer a couple hours before that you’d be willing to talk to him now if he was free, and not even a second later he replies telling you to come over whenever.

The walk to his apartment feels like edging closer to the end of a plank that you willingly got on. The dread presses on you heavier and heavier with every step, and soon enough you’re standing at his door with a boulder on your shoulders.

The soft knocks echo through Spencer’s barren living room, and his head snaps to the door. He’s not sure if he’s mentally prepared for this, but he wipes his eyes and ruffles his hair stressfully and goes to open the door.

It’s like a truck hit him seeing you right in front of him, puffy red eyed and looking so defeated, nothing like the girl he knew.

“Hey,” Spencer breathes out.

“Hi, can I come in?” you reply.

Spencer stands aside to let you in, “Of course, yeah.”

You walk into his apartment, feeling a strange sensation wash over you. The familiarity of his bookshelves and antique chess boards provides you with a comfort you wish you had over the last week. But right now it feels like someone placed barbed wire over it all, enticing you to get closer lest you get hurt.

Spencer stands awkwardly in the door, watching you trek about his apartment before finding a seat on his leather couch. He shuts the door and sits in the adjacent arm chair, not knowing if you’d be okay with him even sitting on the same couch as you.

You clear your throat, “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good, she’s settled in the sanitarium.” he says with a slight tone of relief you knew he hadn’t had in weeks.

“Good, good,” you trail off and avoid his eyes, “Um, so obviously, I came because we need to…talk.” Spencer nods and waits for you to continue.

“I don’t even know how to start. But, I am hurt. I don’t know how to process this, or even get to the root of this.”

“Cat was lying.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

He furrows his brows, “Yes, she was. She lies about everything, that’s her game.”

You avoid his eyes, “No Spencer, that’s just what you want to tell yourself.”

“Baby—“

“You don’t get to call me that right now.”

That hits him bad. He takes a moment to take in your appearance, how you’re picking at your skin, repeatedly brushing your fingers through your hair and picking the strands that fall out. You’re trying so hard to be brave, he can tell. It breaks his heart.

“How am I supposed to convince you I’m telling the truth when you won’t even look at me?” he says with a slight edge of annoyance.

“You don’t get to be upset, Spencer! Don’t give me that crap—“

“I’m not upset, I just want to fix this! Maeve is gone, as far as it goes she might as well be an ex-girlfriend. The same way that I don’t get worked up over your ex boyfriends.”

“That is not nearly the same thing. You didn’t get to see her, Spencer. She didn’t even get a chance to be your girlfriend,” you huff, Spencer’s eyes start welling up as your voice lowers, “How am I supposed to believe that you still love me, when you’re thinking of another woman when you’re with me?”

Whatever color was left in his face has drained out of his feet, the swirl of emotions bombarding him senselessly.

He’s upset, he’s mad, embarrassed, tired, shameful. He’s feeling hopeless, he wants to just drag you to his sock drawer where that little box sits and show you exactly how serious he is about his love for you. But he knows that would be a cop out, and you wouldn’t believe him. He wouldn’t believe himself either.

“Do you think we’re the same?” you ask, pulling him out of his thoughts. You’ve stood up and started pacing the living room, unable to sit still.

“No! God no, you are so much more than she ever was.”

“Are you just saying that because I’m sitting in front of you, alive?”

He’s taken aback by your bluntness. You’re nearing the end of your resolve, and truth be told, you’re just mad at this point.

“Every time we’ve kissed, we’ve been in bed together, anytime you’ve shown any affection towards me, you were thinking of that…that bitch.” you spit out with venom.

Spencer snaps his head at you without missing a beat, “Don’t call her that.”

Your face drops, “Or what?”

He doesn’t say a word.

Calling a dead woman a bitch is beyond any morals you’d set for yourself, but this situation is one you could have never predicted. Doubling down you step closer, “I called Maeve a bitch, Spencer. And I meant it. Now what are you going to do?”

Spencer swallows grimly, “You can be pissed at me all you want but there’s no need to act…irrational over past things.”

“My boyfriend is thinking of his dead ex girlfriend when he’s fucking me! I don’t know what part of this you expect me to act rational about!” you scream.

He flinches at your raised voice, knowing you were completely valid. Spencer hates that he feels he deserves pity right now, that he can’t help how the grief manifested in him and confused itself with the love he has for you. He loved Maeve, past tense, or maybe he loved the idea of her considering he never got the chance to actually prove it.

He loves you. Loves—present term. And he has the chance to prove it every single day.

Yet, he still fucked up.

He stands up, “I don’t…think about her when you and I are doing anything. I swear.” he pleads blankly.

“Bullshit.”

He breathes out, “Sweetheart…I don’t know how to prove this to you. I love you, always you.”

You hardened your face despite your heart clenching, “Cat wouldn’t use that against you if she knew it wouldn’t work.”

Spencer’s face drops. He knows you’re right, Cat even told him the evidence that proves it.

A full three minutes of silence pass by before Spencer decides to speak up.

“It happened one time.”

Your glass heart shatters, “…When?”

“When we went to New York for that weekend between cases.” he recounts reluctantly, “It just slipped into my mind a—and I didn’t realize it at first. But once I did I asked you to stop immediately.”

Tears are free falling down your face, “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you asked me to stop?”

“No—no it’s just me telling you what happened…It was…around the time of the anniversary of that day. So it was in my brain, and I guess it just…” he trails off.

“It just made you want to fuck Maeve?”

Spencer rubs his face with stress, “No, it didn’t. It made me realize that what I couldn’t have with her, I have with you and it’s a billion times better than I could have imagined.”

Your heavy breathes fill the room, and Spencer takes a daring step closer to you.

“I’m sorry, angel. I really am truly sorry. But I love you. I love you more than anything. I fucked up and I should have been honest with you. I’m sorry.”

For Maeve, for Mexico, for not being able to prove that you are the most important person in the world to me.

A soft whine escapes your throat, Spencer feels his heart shatter now, joining the scattered pieces of yours on the floor.

“I—I want to believe you Spencer, I really do,” you sniffle.

He feels the smallest glimmer of hope as you continue, “I don’t know how to move forward from this, I don’t know if I can.”

“I’ll prove it to you, I swear. I’ll spend every day proving that I love you, and showing you that you deserve the world and that I’ll try my hardest to give it to you,” he swallows and takes a deep breath before continuing, “Things like this don’t happen to me, people like you don’t happen to me. You are once in a lifetime. I don’t deserve any chances from you, but I promise to spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me.” Spencer finishes with a tear rolling down his cheek.

A hiccuped sob escapes you and Spencer really wants to come closer and comfort you, but knows that that is quite literally the last thing you need right now. You angrily wipe at your face, battling your conflicting feelings on what the fuck is the right thing to do for you.

You realize that the truly sad part of all of this, is that you still love him. No betrayal could ever sway how you feel about him you think, and this seems to be the biggest one you can think of.

“I feel used, Spencer. Like I was a placeholder for something you didn’t even know you wanted.”

He pleads your name, “Never ever in my life have you been a placeholder for anything.”

“Well, at that moment in New York, I was.”

He shuts his mouth and bows his head like a cornered dog.

“I just want to feel like it’s me that you want,” you whisper to no one, “I just want to be enough. Why can’t it be me, Spencer?”

“It is you, it’s always you angel.”

You take a deep breath and let out, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” and you turn to walk out the door.

Spencer is left on the other side of the closing door, the shut of it echoing throughout his empty apartment. He pulls his phone out to text Penelope to expect you, and then drops on his couch.

Spencer knows many things, and while he has had his stupider moments, with all the certainty and truth in the world you are the love of his life. He won’t go down without a fight for you, because he’d always fight for you. Especially when you’re the one fighting him, he will always fight for you.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader

735 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 5 months ago

Text

Dead Disco / Chapter Fifteen Dead Disco masterlist

AO3 Warnings: Angst. The storm.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.” Your heart breaks on it, on two little words. Breaks apart again at him standing in your door. The silence between the two of you is a scream, and though your tears have dried, there’s still an ache stretching infinitely before you. You peek over his shoulder, hoping Johnny is here too. Wanting to fix the mess you just made, but he’s not.

Simon is alone.

He pulls it wide. His face is twisted. His eyes are red. He’s been crying. The realization nearly brings you to your knees. “Can I come in?”

You didn’t clean the kitchen up, and neither did Johnny. He stood there for too long, kissing you over and over on your cheek, your forehead, your mouth and profusely apologizing, tugging his jeans up over his hips. Frozen afterwards, the two of you, fire and fuel once burning in your veins now ice cold, slithering under your skin like a disease.

That’s what you are. Who you are, who you were. An illness. A plague.

A slowly healing thing.

You always thought they made you better.

“I’ll stay, I should-“

“He’ll wonder.” You stared at the floor. “And he’ll worry, you know he will. He’ll be scared something happened to you.”

“Darling, I dinnae want to leave ye right now-“

“I’m fine. Go.”

Simon doesn’t try to touch you. He takes inventory of the mess, the caramel puddle of coffee spilled over the edge of the counter to the floor, the knocked over stagnant water and paintbrushes.

You become starkly aware, too aware of the state you’re in. The state of your apartment. The state of your brain.

You wish Johnny was with him. You want it to feel like before.

You can see his face so perfectly in your mind, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips. Anxiety twists your stomach, worry about how he’s doing, what he’s doing weighing you down.

Still. Simon is steadfast. He’s the ship in a storm and you’re the sailor, clinging to a mast, praying to god you’ll survive.

“Are you-“

“I’m sorry I was so emotional on the phone.” You rush out, cutting him off. His brows knit together, prodigious sympathy in his eyes, golden brown refracting.

“I’m sorry for calling.”

“I’m… I’m glad you did.” He steps closer, and then away, opting to stand to the side, still taking stock of the kitchen, studying the orange pill bottles on the counter. “New meds?”

“Yeah.” The conversation is stilted, a dam preventing a flood.

“Are they working out?” You shrug.

“The one makes me really forgetful, but it’s not so bad.”

“That’s good.” You’re nodding and can’t stop. There’s a part of you wanting so badly, so desperately, to go to him, to bury your face in his chest and let it all go.

And there’s another part that doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to reconcile any of this.

“Will you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Confused. Sad.”

“That’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, darling. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.” Your stomach rumbles at the exact same time, and his lips quirk to the side. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Have you eaten today?” You can’t force your mouth to give the answer, the obvious no, so you shake your head. “Do you have groceries?”

“Some.”

“Can I make you something to eat?” You suck in a sharp breath. Can he? Will you let him? Will the two of you revert to these roles, like no time has passed? Have you not made progress, have you not grown?

You pack the shame of it away, burying it deep. You’ll try to unpack it later, on the couch, in front of the doctor. You’ll talk through every second, pick it apart and try to put it back together again. You’ll rip yourself open, expose your soft spots, the ones that bleed more than any other.

She’ll tell you it’s okay.

She’ll ask you how you feel about the decision.

You’ll say you don’t know, as you always do, and she’ll say that’s okay too. You don’t have to know right now. She’ll tell you there is nothing wrong with the way you feel, just like Simon does.

There’s been intensive therapy, to get you to this place. To drag you across the finish line. Sessions after sessions, four days a week.

It was a bargain. She promised not to have you sent involuntarily, and you promised to be in her office every other day.

Still, she doesn’t know Johnny, doesn’t know Simon. She doesn’t see how they love, how they exist.

You take a deep breath. “Yes.”

You watch him from the couch. Curled over the armrest, your chin on your elbow. His shoulders, chest, flex under his t shirt, opening cabinets, searching for things in an unfamiliar place.

You’ve never felt more loved by him than you do in this moment.

A man willing to push everything away to take care of you, to disregard himself in favor of you, to put himself aside every time he steps through the door to focus on you.

A man who knows what's coming. Who's always been able to see inside you, and yet, still makes you dinner. Still cares for you in the way he knows how.

All you ever wanted, was to feel loved by them. Separately and together.

Now you feel it more than ever.

You tried to force a circle into a square.

You think about Johnny again. About how he’s at home, penitent, destroyed. You think about how he must feel, knowing Simon is here, and he’s there. You ache for him. Wish you were settled between them in bed, his body against yours, the steadfast pace of his breathing evening your own out. You want him to hold you.

You wish he was here.

You ache without your pieces.

But you know it’s not supposed to be this way.

“Darling?” The cadence of your moniker pulls you away from yourself, and you look up.

He’s crouched in front of the couch, nearly eye level with you. “You’re crying.” You tap your face, surprised. You are, the realization abrupt, the onset of them too acute.

“’m sorry.” You choke, and he murmurs softly.

“It’s alright. You’re okay.” His thumb finds your cheek, carefully sweeping them away.

“I’m not.” The truth is agony. You’re not okay. You weren’t okay when you fucked Johnny, and you’re not okay now. You haven’t ever been okay, and it hurts so badly. It stings deep down in your heart, your belly.

Your tears rush out of you, and Simon moves, comes around the side of the couch.

He pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his chest.

Hiding. Relying. Letting him carry you through.

“Simon…” You sob, and he rocks you, arms tight, resolute in their hold.

“Shhh, I know. I know, it’s okay.”

“I d-didn’t mean for this to happen.” You’re talking about Johnny, but you’re talking about everything. The struggle, the agony. Everything.

“I know you didn’t. I don’t want you to worry about that.” The feeling inside you is more than pain, it’s death, it’s excruciating. There’s a piece of you dying, crumbling, turning to ash. You’re trying so hard to hold onto it, to keep it inside, but it comes out with these wretched sobs, the ones that split your ribs open and bleed you dry.

He holds you through it. Holds you tight enough the pressure eventually calms you, and there’s nothing left except the soaked circle on his t shirt and your tired, wet eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes a deep breath, still clinging. “Let me feed you.”

“Okay.”

He sits next to you at the little table where you usually try to eat alone. Where you drink your coffee, alone. Where you pick at your food, where you swallow a handful of pastel-colored pills with a glass of juice every morning like clockwork. Like a robot.

You manage more than a few bites. Breakfast for dinner, one of your favorites. You know he picked it because you love it, and he wants to make you happy.

It only makes you lachrymose. “I’m sorry about Johnny.”

“It’s not your fault, darling.”

“Don’t be mad at him.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“It wasn’t… he didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who put him in that position. I kissed him and-“

“He knew better. I don’t want you to dwell on… that.”

“I love him.” Your voice cracks.

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do, darling. I know.” You’re going to cry again; you can feel it. The acid starts up behind your eyes, and though you’re not sure you have anything left, they pool along your lower lids. “None of that.” He soothes. “C’mon. stay here, stay with me.” You shake your head.

“I l-love you both, so much. It hurts.” He blinks furiously, and then through your own blurry vision, you see his tears. The ones that slip reluctantly through his lashes, down his cheeks.

“We never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, and you d-didn’t. It… it hurts Simon. It hurts and I don’t know why.” He tugs you from your chair and into his lap, hauling you up onto his thighs. “P-please-“

“Just… let me- let me hold you, darling. I don’t want- I want to feel you.” He cheek rests on the top of your head, and you cling to him, a child lost, a sailor scared in a storm.

He knows.

You know he knows. You feel it in the rapid pace of his heart, the shudder of his shoulders.

He knows. He knows it better than you do.

And maybe he always has.

“You were right.” After a while, he whispers in your hair. “And so was I, even though I didn’t want to see it. It was never fair.”

“We wanted it… too much.” That much is more than true. You wanted it so desperately, and so did they, you know it. You don’t doubt their love for you, though the scales have always been imbalanced. Imperfect puzzles, trying and failing to click together.

“I’m sorry, I… we, were so selfish.”

“I wanted you to be.”

“It still wasn’t right.”

You sit there for hours, curled up on his lap, listening to him breath, memorizing his heartbeat.

You think of Johnny for the hundredth time. You want him to be here. You want him to hold you too. You close your eyes and try to remember how he feels, your love for him overflowing into a mountain of more and more agony. For both of them.

“I should go.” Simon finally says, shattering the moment, and you nod.

It’s a death march to the door.

“Will you come by, to see us? I mean… to… talk to us. Together.”

“Yeah, I… I will.” The guillotine waits in the wings, a final chorus cut off by a symphony.

“Tomorrow?”

“Okay.” He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead.

“I love you, darling. We always will.” You nod, but say nothing, cheeks wet again.

He turns away, rolling his shoulders, heading down the hall.

There’s something building in your heart, an explosion, fear compounding.

“Simon! Wait.” He stops. You close the gap, tugging him down until your lips crash together, warm and salt soaked and full of torment, suffering. “I love you.”

This time, he says nothing. Only kisses you again, long and slow, before taking you by the shoulders and intentionally stepping away.

“I know.”

You stand in front of their door for too long.

You wish there was something you could take, something you could do, to release you from this. To build a barrier around your heart so you don’t have to feel it. Any of it.

There’s not, and you know that.

You know you must succumb to the water, dip your head below and hope you come up for air on the other side.

There’s nothing left to do except this.

You lift your fist to knock.

“This is my fault.” Johnny cries, and you squeeze his hand.

“It’s not. It’s… it’s all of us. We did it together.” Simon kisses his temple, rubs his back, and he leans into him, face buried in his shoulder. The guilt eats you alive, knowing that the last time you truly spent with him was when he was inside of you. You wish you talked to him more, made him feel loved, told him how much you cared.

But you were selfish.

And so was he.

“It’s not your fault, sweet boy. I promise.” Simon tries to soothe him, but Johnny slams a fist into his knee, so hard you wince, and Simon grabs it, fingers firm around his wrist. “Stop. Stop now.” He strokes a hand through his mohawk. You struggle to breathe.

“I love you so much. That’s… that’s never going to change.” Johnny shakes his head as Simon closes his eyes, nose dipping down into his hair.

“Ye cannae leave us, darling. We need- I need ye. I love ye… p-please.” The three of you are crying, sliced open, surgically diced into cross sections for an autopsy.

The death of a relationship.

The death of three parts to a whole.

“Johnny.” You say his name, over and over, until he pulls away from Simon and tugs you close. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, committing his scent to memory.

Simon wraps his arms around you both.

You feel whole. A puzzle complete. A sunrise after a storm.

And that’s why.

“I love you.” You kiss the shell of his ear, soaking him with your tears. They’re everywhere, dripping down your face, your neck, your shirt. You can barely keep your breathing steady, despair restricting your lungs. “I’ll always love you, Johnny. Always.”

“Please.” He sobs, shakes, holding onto you so tight. “Dinnae leave me. Please.” Your heart is shredding to pieces. Ribbons of blood and muscle trying to contain too much, unable to cling together. His pleas are enough to make you second guess yourself, to make you nausea enough to nearly throw up.

It’s beginning to become overwhelming, and in the throes of your building panic, you glance wildly at Simon.

He stares back. Nods. Wraps his hands around Johnny’s shoulders and tucks him back into his chest. “No!” Johnny hisses, but Simon holds him steady.

“I’ve got him.” He says, voice broken.

You sit frozen like a deer in headlights.

“I love you.” You cry, and hope they know it’s meant for both of them.

It’s always meant for both of them.

Simon takes one last long look at you and closes his eyes. “I’m proud of you.” He whispers, hoarsely, and the final piece of your heart breaks. “Go.”

Can you?

Do you have the strength?

The sun is bright on your face.

It’s warm, and beautiful, the promise of something new, something different. You stand on the sidewalk, devastated but-

Unafraid. Imperfect pieces, slowly stitching together to make you whole, all on your own.

Without Simon. Without Johnny.

Just yourself.

It’s terrifying. Heartbreaking. And it’s only you now.

You, figuring out how to exist in a world too harsh for your heart. You, without the protection and promise of your other pieces, the ones who came home to you every time, the ones who put you back together. You, learning how to take care of yourself, to truly do it, for the first time.

You, who is not broken.

You, who is stepping forward without darling.

You who is just… you.

#peaches writes #dead disco #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader

696 notes · View notes

sweetimpurity · 6 months ago

Text

I Think I'll Keep You 3

Notes: Thank you for your patience and your kindness! I've been finishing school and I'm graduating next week so I'm BUSY! But I love you guys and I hope you enjoy! I recommend rereading the last section of Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 next chapter>>

w.c. 8k. rated p for plot

Miguel storms back to his dorm, across campus, clutching his jacket around his bare torso. Feeling like an absolute idiot for losing his cool. Losing control. What is it about you that makes him act this way?

It’s like you’re trying to knock down the walls he’s built around himself all his life. Running to his building as rain starts to sprinkle, he makes it to the lobby, rushing around, pacing in the elevator getting up to his floor, his mind on total lockdown. As the doors open, he steps out, eyes widening, heart thumping, instantly seeing Peter and a few other teammates down the hall walking his way. Before another thought crosses his mind and before they can spot him, he steps back into the elevator as the doors are closing, slamming on the buttons for the lobby. His heart beating out of his chest.

It’s starting to pour by the time he gets back downstairs, racing out before anyone he knows will see him. He’s sure they’ll get a bloody nose if anyone tries talking to him now. He keeps his head down, pushing through the doors outside and walking in the freezing rain, running at a certain point, crossing the courtyard and running to the other side of campus towards the athletic building. His Nikes splash in shallow puddles along the uneven parking lot, his dark eyes squinting as rain pelts down from above. His long legs bring him closer to the doors, closer to sanctuary, out of the freezing rain. Soaking his jacket, his hair, dripping down the bridge of his nose, fluttering in his eyelashes.

He pushes through the doors, sighing audibly in a mixture of relief and annoyance and realizing how fast he was running. He pushes through the next set of doors, walking down the dark hallways of the building. Sneakers squeaking softly on the linoleum as he reaches the team's locker room door. Rain drips down from the curls that flopped onto his forehead and down the nape of his neck. Droplets glistening off his cheeks and his nose as he flicks on one of the locker room lights. He has no idea why he came here. Maybe it’s just the only place no one else is.

He runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back from the cold rain, a few stray hairs springing out around his face. His mind flashes with images of you. Your smile, the pink tint of your lips, the peachy soft roundness of your cheek. His breath is heavy and his cheeks flushed from the cold. He gets to his locker, figuring maybe he should just… just do anything… 27… his fingers slip over the lock as rain drips from his curls… he could run around the field until he passes out…15… the color of your eyes… he could work on those drills he just gave the team the other day…10… the joint of your hip… the team does have a big game coming up this weekend… the lock won’t unlock… 27… the crook of your neck… he could go back to his dorm and work on that grant proposal he’s been needing to start…15…he could go to the lab and keep working on his thesis project… your gasping whispers of his name… 10… he could go to you right this second and tell you he’s sorry… 27… maybe that would make things better…15… the sound of your whimpers… the pitch of your moans… he could kick a ball around until it fucking pops… holding you close as you come down… 10!!... kissing you as you’re trembling… Why won’t the lock unlock? “Fucking unlock!!” He bellows and tugs on the lock in anger. His anger is blinding, numbing, controlling… his fist slams into the front of his locker. The bang of impact ringing throughout the empty locker room.

Instant pain shoots up his arm but he doesn’t care. He hits the locker again… and then again… and a few more times until the pain is too much to bear. Bang. Bang. BANG! Until his knuckles are worn raw. Punching, beating, denting the big “C” painted on the front of his locker. Captain. Leader. But he feels like a fucking loser. Punch, punch, PUNCH! Until he can’t anymore. “Ah… fuck!” He grunts and clutches his hand. Knuckles busted and fingers tingling hot and numb. “Fuck fuck ah… ngh…” He winces and groans in pain. “Shit…” He sighs and slumps his shoulder against the lockers. His hand throbbing and searing, clutching his hand to his chest in pain. His head rests against his locker, and he can feel the dents from the punches against his arm. Squeezing his eyes shut in pain and trying to stop the tears. Clutching his right hand and beating himself up in his head for being such a baby… for freaking out… for having feelings like this. Even when he’s alone, he won’t let himself cry over this.

“Ah…” He winces, looking down at his hand, trying to move his fingers but the instant swelling makes it practically impossible. Hissing softly at the pressure and pain between his knuckles.

Maybe this was necessary. Maybe this was the only way he’d slow the fuck down for one second to get his head on straight. He’s standing there and going over the events of tonight in his head. All that shit with Dana… then seeing you, kissing you, touching you… leaving because he couldn’t bear to listen to what you were saying. It was too much. It was too real. And the kind of conversation he actively tries to avoid. He can hardly remember what you said, it all feels like a blur right now. He can’t even remember what he said right now either. Probably some douchey stuff. “Ow, fuck…” He sighs and winces, holding his hand close to his chest.

He sits in silence only when he catches his breath enough to suppress the sounds of pure agonizing pain. He feels embarrassed. He thinks you probably hate him now too. You must. How could you not after the shitty things he said. Sighing, he sits down on the bench in the middle of the locker room. His hair still dripping down the back of his neck uncomfortably.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He thinks to himself. Watching the purple bloom over his fingers and feeling the searing hot pain.

Why did I just do that? Freak out. Is it because he knew what you were about to say? That you… you might be in love with him? After all the needy nights, the sneaky meetups and the lazy mornings, why is he so afraid? He can’t help but think of one specific morning... a week before you'd left… after a long night entangled in the sheets.

“You’re so warm…” You had said. Wrapped in his arms after sleeping beside him all night long. Naked and soft in his thick arms. His chest pressed against your back, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He smiled softly to himself, wrapping his arms a little tighter around you. He wanted you to feel warm. He wanted to be the one to warm you.

“You’re so soft…” He hummed into your neck. Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You smiled, feeling so wanted, so safe and secure. No one had ever made you feel this way. And Miguel just kept doing it. When you were in his bed, he was always holding you. Always touching you. The sex was usually rough and desperate, and that was good… that was… incredible. But there was something about seeing him like this. Soft and quiet with all his attention on you. You were just dreaming of the day that these hookups would turn into something more. Trying to be patient but feeling like it would happen very soon.

“That tickles…” You whispered, squirming in his grasp as his breath and his lips tickled your neck. “Shhh…” He shushed you ever so softly, encasing you tighter in his arms and grazing his lips all around your neck and your shoulder. Knowing it’s tickling you, that it’s making you squirm. “Hah…” A soft puff of tense air left your lips at the feeling, unable to resist the urge to squirm and escape his tantilizing torture. “So sensitive…” He whispered, his hand coming up to softly grasp your throat, his lips moving up the side of your cheek before going back into the dip of your neck, biting down softly. You’d never experienced something so intimate, so romantic. You just closed your eyes, accepting everything he’s giving as you usually do. Except right now it feels like he’s giving it just to you. It’s for only you to have. His arm that’s under you wrapped around, his fingers teasingly tracing down your hip.

“Hey, don’t start anything. We both have class soon…” You said with a smile and he nipped at your shoulder. “Mm.” He grumbled defiantly into your neck, breathing in your scent, your shampoo mixed with the sweet smell of your skin. When was he not trying to start something? To fill you up and keep you in his bed all day after having you all night. “You’re not making me late to class again…” You said softly, still smiling as warmth spread over your cheeks. He smiled as you brought that up again. You just couldn’t seem to let that go. “It was one time…” He hummed playfully. “One too many…” You said with a sort of mischievous smile. “One too many…” He echoed your words in a breathy laugh, scoffing at your teasing. His voice is deep with sleep, fingers brushing down your chest, against your soft plush tummy and to your side, his fingertips pressing pleasantly to the little love-handles at your back, up to your shoulder blades and down your arm, his fingers encasing the back of your hand, so gentle, so soft. You’re still crushing on him hard except this time around he’s fucking you like he owns you and holding you like he made you. He sighed against your neck.

“You know what’s better than being late?... Staying in bed…” He said all smugly. “You know what’s actually better than being late?... Being on time…” You retorted back and he laughed softly. He can play this game. “You know what’s better than being on time?...... Staying in bed.” He repeated and it made you laugh. “You already said that one!” You pouted, feeling the vibrations of his laughter against your back. “You know what’s better than staying in bed?... Going to class…” You said quick and giggled. It didn’t really mean anything anymore but it was fun and you wanted to win this back and forth. “No way, that’s undeniably incorrect.” He smiled, leaning up on his elbow to look more at your face as you were laughing. You looked so cute. He just couldn’t resist. “You know what’s better than going to class?” He asked and you turned back a bit to look in his eyes. “What.” You brow raised knowing he was about to say something stupid. He really wanted you to stay in bed. He smirked. “Sex with me…” It made you roll your eyes when he said it. You should have known. He smiled and moved to climb more on top of you, looking down right into your eyes. The blush that washed over your cheeks and the way you tried to look so unimpressed. “You know what’s better than sex with me?” He whispered. Was there such a thing? “Sex with you.”

You looked up into his eyes. The tension got thicker the longer he just looked at you. Your eyes rolled again, trying not to break out into a big smile. He said it so easily. Before you could even form another thought his lips were on yours. His hand coming to your cheek, fingers soft upon your face. He kept it quick, knowing you actually didn’t want to be late for class. He was only teasing. But he kissed you again… and then again. Soft pecks. That kiss he kept doing. Like his lips couldn’t stop coming back for more. Your eyes fluttered open when you realized he’s not stopping. “Mm!” You hummed, pressing softly against his shoulder and he finally relented, pecking your cheek before getting off of you. Chuckling and laying beside you on his stomach, hooking his arm under the cold side of his pillow.

Your phone buzzed on his bedside table. Catching both of your attention. You picked it up, opening it for the first time this morning. He watched over your shoulder as you unlocked the phone and went to your messages. He tried not to look too much. He did glance at the screen a few times. A certain tension building inside him. Wondering who could be texting you. He wanted to ask, or just outright look at who was texting you but he didn’t want to seem like he cared. His dark eyes flicked to the side of your face, the wisps of hair around your ear and your hairline fanning to your cheek, the slight blush from sleep and his flustering touch. The thought of anyone else seeing you like this, being with you like this…. It made him want to kill any guy who so much as looked your way. Or texted you first thing in the morning…

“My mom is just… driving me crazy…” You sighed and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Your mom?” He managed to say, physically feeling himself relax finding it was just your mother texting you. The knot in his chest unraveling. He remembered you talking about some plans to go home for the weekend. A family reunion type of thing.

“Yeah she’s… I love her but she gets sort of… crazy when it comes to plans…” You said and sent one last text before setting your phone back on the bedside table. “Well she just probably wants to see you…” He said and it brought a smile to your face. “Yeah… I just feel bad when she tries to take care of everything...” You said softly. Thinking of your mom, the kind of brave and determined woman she’s always been. “I told her, I don’t need anything fancy, I just need to see her and dad and my siblings and that’s it. And we have all the time in the world once I’m there. I mean… until it’s time to come back to school obviously…”

“Yeah…” He said softly, but it sounded like his mind was somewhere else.

You have a large family. Lots of siblings. And Miguel doesn’t have that. He has one brother of course but he doesn’t even speak to his parents unless he needs to. It was interesting for him to hear about the conversation with your mom and your relationship with her. How you always spoke of your family with such love and tenderness. He’s never experienced anything like that in his life.

“You have such a…big family.” He said softly. You couldn’t really tell with what tone he was saying it. Whether it was simply an observation, a judgment, or some sort of longing. “I do…” You sighed with a smile. You are the oldest of six which Miguel was flabbergasted to learn. “It’s not something I expected, but once you told me, it made sense.” He stated. And you couldn’t help but be curious as to why he thought that. You turned over on your side to face him more, his eyes meeting yours and the look on his face was a little surprised like you caught him off guard turning around like that. Making a direct connection with him. “Made sense, how?” You asked with a smile, curious about how he sees you. His face felt hot. The way it got hot a lot when you looked at him like that. Like his body knew something his brain didn’t. So he tried to explain while he feels like the wind is being knocked out of him. “Well… you… are very…” He starts and you’re expecting him to say what a lot of people say. That you’re dependable, you’re mature, you’re independent, helpful, capable. Because that’s how everybody has always seen you. Like anytime anyone looks at you, they’re trying to get you to help them in some way. “…patient.” He said. And you’ve never heard that one before. You smiled softly at him and he felt relieved. “Five siblings, I mean you’ve got to be patient, right?” He said and smiled, trying to make it all just a light joke, looking around a bit and away from the way you’re gazing in his eyes. But what he said was pretty profound. Tells you he’d thought about you and the kind of person you are. He’d thought about more than just sex with you. You looked in his eyes, a smile dancing on your lips. It distracted him a bit.

“How does that make you feel?” You suddenly asked him. “What.” He asked, not knowing really how to answer a question like that. “How does my patience make you feel?” You reiterated slowly, looking right in his eyes like you’re staring right into his mind. He thought, getting distracted by that look on your face. The look that for some reason let him know whatever answer he gave you would never be the wrong one.

“It…makes me…feel….”

“Fuck.” He sighs, the memory dissolving in his mind as he shoves it away. How could he be so stupid? Why did he say that kind of stuff to you? It’s like he doesn’t even remember that being him. Like he’s looking at someone else’s memory with you. He becomes someone else when he’s with you. But you looked so happy and he remembers how warm and soft you were. Holding his swollen, mangled hand, he winces at the pain still throbbing. It’s not getting any better, it’s only getting worse.

It’s radio silence for the next few days. Midterms come and over the week you’re finishing up exams and tutoring students to do well. More students than ever are taking advantage of the tutoring program that you basically resurrected from the dead. So that’s a good feeling at least. You’ve been spending basically all your time in the library, both doing your own work and meeting with any students that need help. And just hanging out with a few tutoring friends. There are some new tutors that just joined the club a few weeks ago and it’s made this whole thing much more fun, hanging out with people that are like minded in that way. Wanting to help other people.

You haven't heard from Miguel. You don’t know what became of him on Sunday night. And he didn’t reach out or anything on Monday to talk. Discuss what happened. Will you ever talk to him again? Or do you have to pretend none of this ever happened and he never existed in the first place. Your Sunday night heartbreak turns into Monday numb and Tuesday rage. Now it’s Thursday and you’ve thought of all the things you’d say to him if he showed his face again. But deep down you know it’s only the kind of thing you’d never be able to say. Like scripting the perfect comebacks in the shower and kicking yourself for not thinking to say it in the moment.

It’s hard not talking to him. Not seeing him basically everyday. Because before this past weekend you were seeing him every second you both had to spare. You’re mad at him but you miss waking up in his arms. You miss the late night texts, him wanting you, coming to you and making you feel things you’ve never felt before. Maybe you’re delusional. Was that all this was? Sex and pillowtalk? After what he said Sunday night it seems that way and he made you feel bad for ever thinking otherwise. You’re not stupid, you know that friends with benefits exist and fuckbuddies are such a common thing. And you didn’t even need to be his friend if he really didn’t want you to be! There was never even a need for some conversation about labels because to you it just seemed so obvious! No one could fake that desperation and need. That wanting passion you both shared. The things he said as you gave him everything. Your body, your thoughts, your heart. His whispers of wanting you and how good you make him feel.

Of course he felt good. He was fucking you raw almost every night and you let him because you’d fallen in love with him. But were you even friends to begin with? Did he see you as anything more than a body to do whatever he wanted with? You thought he wanted you. You were his. He told you that.

This week has been hell but you push forward. Trying not to isolate yourself and staying in touch with some tutoring friends. Unfortunately, Miguel is so popular that you always find yourself running into his friends too. But you’re realizing more and more that no one knows about you. It’s like Miguel didn’t want anyone to know he was with you. Not even his closest friends.

You’re sitting in the library for a tutoring session. Last minute cramming before the last exams later that day. Typing on your laptop, a student at your side and helping him on a calculus study guide. Elbow leaning on the table, watching him work, checking what he’s doing as he’s doing it. “Simplify it first, then use the formula…” You say softly and he does as you say, erasing some and correcting himself. “And then just the same on the next one?” He asks and you nod. Patient. That word is in your mind. Remembering when he said it. You were a little too patient with Miguel.

Miguel’s watching all of this happen. Standing behind the library door, hidden mostly and only peering in through the window in the door. He finally caught up to you after days of trying to get to you. He tried multiple times to catch you in the library this week but he always missed you. Every night he debated texting you but ultimately decided he wanted you to text him first. Mostly because he had no idea what to say. He just wanted you back. For things to go back to the way they were. He’s pissed himself off. In his mind it’s like he’s convinced himself you don’t want to talk to him.

The library is mostly empty except for you and your tutee. He wants to get you alone right now but doubts he can. Especially when you’re in the middle of doing something. But what you’re doing can’t be as important as what he needs to say to you. As important as him. His hand is aching badly as it has all week since Sunday night. Hidden in his pocket. He hasn’t done anything about it. He’s been taking ibuprofen but it’s not doing much.

If he has to wait hours to talk to you, then so be it. He won’t let this go on any longer. You’re going to talk to him whether you have anything to say or not. Somehow he’s managed to turn his desperation into anger. He leans against the wall outside the library door. Staring at the pattern on the floor. Fidgeting with the seam inside his jacket pocket. Sighing deeply, he feels uneasy thinking about what he’s going to say to you. What you might say to him. He’s got to act tough so he doesn’t lose control of the conversation. If he does he’s sure he’ll lose you. Because he knows deep down that he’s the asshole here. It’s his fault. And he’s scared to beg you for another chance.

These feelings are foreign to him. Never before has he acted this way over someone and he doesn’t know why. Is there something wrong with me? He thinks. That always seems to be his first thought. A while goes by and his mind swirls with thoughts of you.

He’s lost in thought and only glances up as he hears the doors at the end of the hall swinging closed. Someone must have walked by him. He pushes off the wall, instantly going to the window in the library door and seeing you’re finally alone. His heart thumps in his chest. Clenching his swollen bruised hand in his pocket. He sighs and forces himself to walk inside.

He gets halfway to you before you suddenly look up. Stopping him in his tracks. And it’s like he suddenly feels like he’s doing something wrong. Eyes locked and breath caught in both your chests.

It’s been four fucking days. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. And now he’s here. You look away first. Back down to your laptop to continue typing. And he continues walking, stopping at the edge of the table across from you.

It’s silent. Not a word dared spoken until…

“I need to talk to you.” The tall man finally speaks, towering over the table. Silence follows as you think about how to go about this. You thought about this moment all week. All the different scenarios and possibilities. You imagined melting into his arms as you’ve done a million times by now. But thinking back to all those moments it’s like none of that ever mattered because it didn’t matter to him. How can you trust him again when he treated you like he wanted you and then told you, you were never supposed to happen. After he finally spoke, it lit a fire inside you. “I’m busy right now.” You say softly, keeping your eyes locked on your laptop screen. While this time away from him has been hell and you’ve been heartbroken over this, he’s also been a total dick. You don’t want to let him get away with it. You don’t know how you’re going to do that but you try not to bend completely to his will. Your attention is directed back to your keyboard, typing away and ignoring him. All those comebacks are stuck in your throat. Miguel frowns, watching you.

He’s been trying all week to find you. To talk to you. Trying to find sneaky ways so that he doesn't have to beg for your attention. And now seeing you ignore him. He wants your attention and he’s gonna get it.

After a few beats of heavy silence, he walks around the table. You don’t look up, not even sparing him a glance. Glaring at your laptop screen and seeing his movement in your peripherals. He silently walks to the seat right next to you. Pulling it out and slipping down into it to sit beside you. His hands shoved back into his pockets as he sits like he intends to stay.

“Y/n… hey...” He says gently, trying to get your attention. Turning in his chair slightly to face you more, his knee pressing softly into the side of your thigh. He can see your anger, he can feel it too. “I’m not talking to you.” You say without looking at him. “Well I’m talking to you…” He says so softly, one could mistake the tone for sweet nothings. You sigh, closing your laptop with a click, you grab your bag. Ready to just leave and brush him off if he’s not going to take the hint to leave you alone. “No…no.” He says softly and reaches across you, taking your bag, lifting it over and onto his side. So you can’t get to it.

An annoyed huff escapes your lips, crossing your arms and staring straight ahead to avoid him. You’re not good at confrontation. Never had to do something like this before.

His hand comes up to brush your hair back behind your ear. The backs of his fingers brushed across your cheek. And you brush his hand away when he does it. Is he really trying that right now?

“Stop it.” You sigh, pushing his hand away absentmindedly so he opts for resting his arm on the back of your chair. “Come on… let’s talk about this.” He says and you’re starting to fume inside. Now he wants to talk? After you begged him not to leave, begged him to talk to you Sunday night? You look over at him angrily and he keeps his arm around the back of your chair. His broad shoulders give him an advantage. “What do you want?” You glare at him and he sighs. He knew you might be angry but he’s never seen you look at him that way. “Why did you even come here? Just to make things worse?” You frown and keep your arms crossed, closed off from him. “I came here to speak with you.” He says calmly, trying to maintain the control he’s been losing all week. “Well you’re not doing much speaking.” You sigh. A beat of silence follows.

“I want you to come over… tonight…” He says in that soft tone again. In his mind the both of you just need some time and things can go back to normal. “We can cool off and then you can come over and we can just move on from this.” He says and leans back a bit as if that’s that. Everything’s fixed?

“What are you talking about?” You look at him like he’s from another planet. “Can’t we just move on from this?” He asks, patience running even thinner. “This has gone on long enough… I’m tired of it… come over…” He says again and he doesn’t even realize how disappointing this all is to you.

You sigh softly. Feeling let down. He couldn’t even apologize. Couldn’t fix the problem he created. He didn’t come here to explain, or apologize, or to check up on you. The words just start to flow now.

“So you just came here to get your dick wet, is that it?” You say and stare him dead in the eyes. But his expression changes, brow raises in a certain surprise. He wasn't expecting you to say something like that.

“No… I… I wanted to…” He starts but it’s like he can’t find the words. “I just wanted to see you.” He says feeling like he’s teetering on a very dangerous line right now. And silence follows.

Why must he be so confusing? It’s like he’s making it your fault that he has no idea what he wants or how he feels. This week started with you feeling so small and insignificant. You told yourself that he’d never talk to you again after the things he said. That he really regretted being with you. That you were never supposed to happen. Just like he said. But now he’s back and he doesn’t even apologize? He just wants to act like none of it ever happened? Like he didn’t break your heart?

“Why did you ask me to tutor you? That day?” You suddenly ask as it’s something you’ve been wondering and these are the things he’s not good at talking about. He knows all of this started with him acting like a greedy douchebag but he didn’t expect to feel this way towards you. He doesn’t want to tell you the real reason he invited you to his dorm a month ago. The real reason being he wanted a quick easy fuck with someone who seemed eager and innocent. He feels like a fucking jerk. “I don’t know…” He sighs and shakes his head, looking down at the table then back up at you. All your words just seem to come spilling out now.

“Well you knew that I liked you...” You state as if it should be obvious. “What do you mean?” He asks and your brow furrows. Is he serious? “You… you knew that I liked you. When you asked me to tutor you? A month ago??” You ask hopefully, trying to confirm what you hoped to be true. You had thought he knew you had feelings for him all this time. You even hoped those feelings were returned. “N-no I… I mean I assumed maybe you might have. I didn’t really think about it too much” He says a bit nervous about where this is going. His cool control slipping. But everyone likes him so it just makes sense that you would like him too. That’s why you didn’t refuse him. And it’s all getting twisted up in his head. “Didn’t think about it? Like… it wasn’t important to you whether I liked you or not?”

And the silence falls over the both of you right then. “Well then what is this? What have we been doing?” You frown at him, waving your hands in the air a bit because you just can’t understand how you got to this point and he just keeps acting so oblivious. And he’s losing control.

“No. Wait. I didn’t say it right. I-”

“Why did you start doing all this then? If you didn’t even like me in the first place?”

His eyes go wide, not having an answer that wouldn’t make you feel even worse. “I don’t know…” He says again. He doesn’t seem to know a goddamn thing. “Was it just to string me along?! Is this all just a joke to you?! Are you trying to make fun of me or something?” You press for answers, feeling more heartbroken the longer he doesn’t give you a real answer. “No! It’s not! I am not trying to make fun of you!” He exclaims, shaking his head. This isn’t going how he wanted. This is spinning out of his control and he’s on the verge of all this collapsing. If this happened with anyone else he’d just forget it ever happened in the first place. But he couldn’t forget you if he tried. He doesn’t understand that feeling.

“You’ve just admitted you didn’t even like me when you first started this… and after a month of me giving you nothing but sex, you still just ‘don’t know’?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

“That’s exactly what you just said! And apparently I was never even supposed to happen in the first place.” You throw his own words back at him and he scoffs before scrambling to explain himself in a way that won’t make you hate him even more.

“I freaked out… I don’t know why I freaked out. Can’t you just forget it? What I said was stupid I don’t even know what I was thinking…” He insists. “Seems like you were thinking a lot actually. That this was your plan all along. You don’t want a relationship, you just want a fucktoy…” You scoff and stand up from your seat, to which he immediately stands up too. His earlier confidence is crumbling.

“Come on, I was… drunk!” He scrambles to justify his outburst Sunday night.

“You said you weren’t drunk or were you lying about that too?” You move past him to grab your backpack from where he put it trying to keep it from you.

“Can you just come over? Let’s forget about this, this is a waste of time.” He begs and follows you around as you’re collecting your things off the table and shoving them into your backpack.

“I don’t think it’s a waste of time…” You say softly and shove your computer inside. “Yeah, well I do… you have wasted my time!” He raises his voice, trying to get a rise out of you but when he sees your disapproving expression he knows that wasn’t the right move. With one last zip, you’re starting to leave the empty library. And he follows frantically.

“W-Wait! Just wait… w-what do you want me to do? You want me to block Dana’s number? I’ll do it!” He’s speaking fast and frantic, reaching for your hand and holding it to stop you from leaving him.

“I don’t want you to block Dana’s number… I don’t care.” You sigh, completely over all of this. It’s too confusing. He’s a mess you’re not sure you want to be a part of.

“I’ll block her right now… you can watch me do it!

“Oh my god… enough…”

“Please.”

“Enough!!”

“I’ll cut her off… I don’t even want to see her anyway, I hate her…and we didn’t fuck on Sunday if that’s what you think!”

“Dana is not the problem”

“Dana must be the problem.”

“I’m telling you, she’s not!” You yell at him. And he finally shuts up, watching you wide eyed as you keep scolding him.

“Do you even hear yourself? D’you ever think that the problem might just be you? Are you incapable of just apologizing or do you genuinely not believe this is all your fault??! All of your problems just have to be other people’s problems right?!” And he flinches as you yell.

He’s stunned by your words and the volume with which you just scolded him. He knows he deserves it but he just can’t stop himself from arguing. He doesn’t want you to hate him even though he deserves it.

“Well I’m not perfect, okay? I can’t be…I can’t be perfect.” He pleads softly, holding onto your hand like a lifeline. A silent plea for you to not let go of him now.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect!”

His eyes stay wide. Staring at you like you’ve just told him a deep dark secret.

“I’m asking you to stop being a selfish asshole!!”

Your voice doesn’t echo in this place padded with old books and hardwood. It's sturdy and final. And finally it seems like you’re getting through to him. Maybe he’s understanding.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same. Do not tell me I was making it all up in my head. I’m not the one misreading things. You are.” You say. Your voice is softer now. Fragile as you can see he’s thinking about all that you just said.

Tell her you’re sorry, Miguel. He thinks to himself. He knows everything you’ve said is what he needs to hear. He knows he hurt you. What he said was not okay. And now he’s made you upset and angry too.

“You’re right I… about everything…” He mumbles. Sighing and looking down. His fingers slipping away from your hand. Letting it go. Letting you go.

“I… I’m sorry.” He finally says. And you let his apology sit. Allowing yourself time to decide if you’ll accept. If he deserves it. The silence is deafening.

“I-I just…” He sighs deeply. At a loss for words. He just feels so stupid. Rubbing his forehead down to his cheek frustrated. Sighing ashamedly as he tries to think of what to say that could fix this. “You asked me… to tell you what I’m feeling and I-I don’t know…” He says softly. And you stare at him wide eyed as he admits this.

“What is that?” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts for a moment. Looking back up at you confused. “Your hand.” You say, your eyes locked on his busted hand as he rubs his face. He pulls it behind his back. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy. “It’s nothing I-” He painfully clenches his hand behind his back. The guilt is overwhelming. Please don’t feel bad for me. He thinks to himself. You’ve been far too patient with him.

“Show me.” You demand softly, looking in his eyes. And you’re serious. He sighs softly and brings his hand out, holding it out sheepishly to show you. The hand that’s held you, the hand that’s touched you… it’s cut up and bruised.

“What happened?” You ask sternly with a hardened expression when you finally see the cuts in his knuckles and the bruises. His hand is mangled, swollen, purple and clearly would cause anyone lots of pain. “Don’t lie to me.” You sternly say. And he doesn’t dare lie to you again. “I just… punched my locker.” He looks down ashamed. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. Broken and defeated. It’s not a good feeling, you don’t like seeing him like this. “When did this happen?” You ask firmly and he answers in a sigh. “Sunday.” Shoving his hand back in his pocket. It makes sense that he would have thrown a fit after he stormed out Sunday night. He must have been going about his week with his hand like that and not doing anything about it. “Did you go to the hospital?” He shakes his head at your question. Averting your gaze. “It’s gonna get worse if you don’t.” You insist and he just nods. For fear of his voice breaking if he found any words.

“I’m sorry Y/n… I’ll just go…” He says softly and steps back, and once again it’s like everything inside him is telling him to leave. You stand there. Not wanting to stop him this time. Watching him as he goes.

“You should go to the hospital.” You say soft and serious as he walks past you. Staying still and not attempting to stop him from leaving. You’ve made your point. And he didn’t win. But neither of you won tonight. He nods softly and keeps his head down, walking past you to leave the library. And he’s going to try his hardest not to bother you again. You’re so kind, so patient, so real. And he fucked up the one good thing he had going on. The one thing that made him feel good. Instead of belittling you, he should have acknowledged that he has some messy feelings of his own.

So he leaves. And you’re left standing in the library. You stood up for yourself. You told him off. But why do you feel so empty? Maybe it was seeing him so broken. When it comes to things that are good for him, he seems to forget himself.

He leaves the library silently. Walking down the dim hallways of the building and then outside. It’s raining again. It’s been raining pretty much all week. Pulling his hood up, he walks down the front steps of the academic building. Walking through the rain and not even bothering to run this time. Letting the rain pelt his sweatshirt, soak right through to his skin. He feels so stupid. He feels confused. And he feels sorry. But you deserve better than him.

Getting back to his residence building, he gets in the elevator. Staring at the floor and leaning his head against the wall as it travels up to his floor. He scoffs when the conversation replays in his head. His own words echoing and hearing himself act like such a dick. He didn’t know what other way to approach you other than to try and make things go back to normal. He wants things the way they were.

But he’s realizing the way things were is not fair to you. It’s not like all month the two of you just happened to cross paths. It’s not like you were sleeping with each other because there was no one else. It’s because neither of you can stay away from the other. It’s this messy obsession fueled with fire. He could touch you blind and know the pulse at your throat, the tips of your fingers, the plush of your stomach. He’d know the whispers of your voice, the fan of your breath over his cheek, the taste of your tongue. So then why is he so afraid? If he’s memorized every shimmering stretch mark, every inch of your skin, the sound of your voice, then why does he keep pushing you away?

He wants you to be his… but he wants to be yours just as much.

Miguel sighs as the elevator finally dings and the door opens. He keeps his head down, walking down the hall to his door. Unlocking it and walking inside. His hand hurts like hell. The cuts are just starting to heal but his fingers are still busted and swollen. It’s hard for him to open and close his hand all the way.

His phone rings, vibrating in his pocket as he peels off his wet hoodie and kicks his shoes off. Pulling it out from his pocket, he sees who’s calling. He didn’t expect it to be you. And it’s not. It’s his Father.

His heart sinks further, letting it ring, staring at the caller ID. This is the last thing he needs right now. Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his vibrating phone in the palm of his hand, his eyes start to sting. Hot tears welling up and brimming in his eyes. When the ringing finally stops he drops his phone on the bed and drops his face into his hand. A shaky sigh trembling in his chest, swollen, hurting fingers clenching painfully on his lap. His arms wrap around himself, leaning over and down into his bed. He’s so tired. And he’s alone again just like always. He doesn’t feel bad for himself, he feels bad about himself. What is it about him that drives everyone away? You just answered that question for him tonight. It’s just him.

...

“It… makes me… feel… steady? Like… like there’s nothing to worry about. Or like… y’know…” He sighed, flipping over to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling as you looked over at him across the pillows. The words felt trapped in his chest but they flowed like a river from his lips. “Like things feel slow...in a good way.”

…

He remembers saying that. He remembers meaning every word. Right now he feels anything but steady. He's collapsed.

His tears dry after a while and he keeps trying to just fall asleep and forget all of this. Even for just a few hours. But he can’t seem to just fall asleep. His head hurts and all he wants is to rest for once after this shitty week. But his running mind won’t let him.

His eyes crack open to check the time, his alarm clock blaring red in the darkness of his room. 2:17am. “Ugh…” He sighs, letting his head fall back onto the covers. He’s been sitting like this for hours now.

Knock knock knock.

He hears the knock on the door, flinching and sitting up slightly on his elbows. Watching the door and wondering if he’s hearing things. But there it is again. Three soft knocks.

“Miguel?” Your soft voice sounds from the other side of the door and he sits up completely. Eyes wide and heart thumping. This is his last chance. He can’t mess it up this time. He immediately gets up and turns on his desk light, running a hand through his hair and going to the door, unlocking the bolt and opening it. He doesn’t care if it seems desperate, he is desperate.

He looks smaller somehow. Or maybe you just feel bigger in some way. He’s staring at you as he stands in the opening of his door. And his immediate instinct is to try whatever he can to make things better.

“Y/n… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t hav-”

“Put your shoes on.” You shush him softly. You didn’t come here for an apology.

“What?” He steps forward, not understanding your request. It’s 2am and you’re both half asleep anyway.

“Put your shoes on please.” You say again. “And a hoodie or something, it’s cold outside.”

His brow furrows in confusion but he’s not going to argue with you right now. You’re here and talking to him so that’s what matters. Using his one good hand, he pulls his sneakers on at the door, grabbing his hoodie off the back of his desk chair. “Where are we going?” He asks and passes through his door to you. He’d go anywhere if it meant he could be with you right now. A soft hopeful expression on his face. “We’re going to the hospital.”

To be continued…

images from pinterest

Taglist: @miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@m4dyy @nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharacumslut @daisy-artfield @peachey-pie @izakopanyi2

@rinnako @ohara-whore @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

#artists on tumblr #smut #artists on tiktok #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara smut #miguel #miguelohara #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguelito

488 notes · View notes

lev1hei1chou · 6 months ago

Text

Cafe Drama

Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Gojo loves drama when he’s not the center of it Masterlist

"BABE, YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED!"

You almost dropped your phone. Not a hello, not even a 'Hey, how are you?' Just Gojo, screaming into the phone, voice filled with eagerness.

"Satoru, what—"

"So I was on this mission, right?" he interrupts, not bothering to wait for you response. "And I decided to take a break at this cute little cafe. You know the type, rustic charm, overpriced lattes, the works."

"Uh-huh," You reply, already grinning because you know this is going to be good.

"Okay, so I’m sitting there, minding my own business, trying to decide between a macchiato and a cappuccino—very important stuff, obviously—when suddenly, BAM! The couple at the table next to me starts arguing."

You can almost see his eyes sparkling with glee as he recounts this. Gojo loves drama when he’s not the center of it.

"So, naturally, I tune in. It’s like my own private soap opera. The guy’s all like, 'I can’t believe you did that!' and she’s like, 'Well, maybe if you paid more attention to me instead of your stupid phone!' Classic stuff. Anyway, they’re getting louder and louder, and I’m just sitting there, sipping my coffee, trying not to laugh."

"Of course you were," You chuckle, shaking your head. "You love a good train wreck."

"Exactly! But it gets better. The guy stands up, and I think he’s going to storm out, but no. He leans in, gets all serious, and says, 'You’re being irrational.' Which, by the way, never helps. She stands up too, and I’m like, 'Oh boy, here we go.' She picks up her glass of juice—orange, if you’re wondering—and I’m thinking, 'No, she wouldn’t.' But she did. SHE DID, BABE!"

"She threw the juice?"

"Right in his face! Full-on, slow-motion movie style. It was beautiful. Juice everywhere. The guy’s just standing there, dripping, looking like a soggy, defeated puppy. And the whole cafe goes silent."

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, picturing the scene in your head. "Did anyone say anything?"

"Oh, the barista tried to act professional, but you could tell she was dying inside. Everyone’s just staring, and the guy, poor guy, he wipes his face and says, 'You know what? I don’t need this.' And then he slips on the juice! He didn’t fall, but it was close. Very close. He regained his dignity just enough to leave the cafe without actually hitting the floor."

You're laughing so hard now, with tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "Did you do anything? Or just watch?"

"Me? Oh, I applauded."

"No you didn’t!"

"I did! How could I not? It was a stellar performance. I gave her a standing ovation. I think she appreciated it, too. She bowed before storming out. Quite the exit. Ten out of ten."

You could barely breathe. "Only you, Gojo, would turn someone’s breakup into your own personal entertainment."

"Hey, I’m just here to enjoy the show life puts on for me. And to share it with you, of course. How’s your day going? Any juice-throwing incidents I should know about?"

"Sadly, no. My day has been quite boring compared to yours. Just paperwork and a slightly burnt grilled cheese."

"Tragic. I’ll have to take you to that cafe sometime. Maybe we’ll get lucky and see round two."

"As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll pass on the drama. But thank you for the update, babe. You always know how to make my day."

"Anything for you, babe. Now, tell me more about this grilled cheese situation. Burnt, you say? Sounds like a crisis."

You giggled, settling back into the couch, feeling the warmth of his ridiculous story still lingering. "Well, it started with the toaster oven malfunctioning..."

964 notes · View notes

thesirencult · 2 months ago

Text

Lunar Eclipse In Pisces, Tarot Reading

@thesirencult

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pile 1

“When a young tree is injured it grows around that injury. As the tree continues to develop, the wound becomes relatively small in proportion to the size of the tree. Gnarly burls and misshapen limbs speak of injuries and obstacles encountered through time and overcome. The way a tree grows around its past contributes to its exquisite individuality, character, and beauty. I certainly don't advocate for traumatization to build character, but since trauma is almost a given at some point in our lives, the image of the tree can be a valuable mirror.”

― Peter A. Levine, Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma

How Will This Eclipse Change You?

Pile 1, things will get worse for you, before they can become better. Right now, you have been going through a period of upheaval. You feel as if though you have to watch every step you take. There might be people around you who are praying for your downfall. This to me shows that you are someone who takes charges and like to lead the way, otherwise, these people wouldn't have a reason to be intimidated by you.

This eclipse will shake things up. Expect a confrontation with someone, especially at work. You will find out who is by your side and who isn't. Be careful. Retreat and don't fight back. Tigers don't compete with kittens, for they know their power.

You are someone who has "grown around their traumas". This eclipse prompts you to escape your "in-between" position and show your teeth by setting even higher goals. Take charge, travel if you need to and never lose faith. Become more vigilant but not aggresive.

Kittens can not and will not stop a tiger!

What New Era Is This Eclipse Ushering You Into?

This eclipse is doing all the work for you. If you take a break or travel for a while, expect a different setting when you return to your familiar environment. Justice came out. I don't know why, but I get the impression you are someone who tends to suffer quietly. You don't like to give attention to petty people and small things others may find annoying. Keep doing that, but work through it internally. The Justice card is ushering you into an era of getting paid back your good karma, while those who wronged you are getting served theirs.

Another thing I see, is that in this era you will realize that every action has consequences, be it good or bad. This will offer healing and make you think twice before you do everything. You are a calm, cool and collected individual who may struggle with setting boundaries and taking responsibility because you don't believe you are good enough. Expect things to fall into your lap and getting celebrated for past successes. Get over your "imposter syndrome". You deserve to be rightfully compensated,

Where Is It Asking You To Focus Your Energy?

Focus on raising your risk tolerance and lowering your tolerance for bullsh*t! You have great potential for success, so act accordingly. Any ideas about new ventures you should turn into plans. Find wholeness within and don't wait for external validation, be it about your self worth or plans. Overall, stand on your own and be like a tree that withstands the jarsh conditions by bending with the wind. You are strong enough to let the storm pass.

Pile 2

“Through transformation, the nervous system regains its capacity for self-regulation. Our emotions begin to lift us up rather than bring us down. They propel us into the exhilarating ability to soar and fly, giving us a more complete view of our place in nature. Our perceptions broaden to encompass a receptivity and acceptance of what is, without judgment. We are able to learn from our life experiences. Without trying to forgive, we understand that there is no blame. We often obtain a surer sense of self while becoming more resilient and spontaneous. This new self-assuredness allows us to re-lax, enjoy, and live life more fully. We become more in tune with the passionate and ecstatic dimensions of life.”

― Ann Frederick, Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma

How Will This Eclipse Change You?

This eclipse will make you sharper, quicker to act and ready to be strategic about your plans. After many trials and errors you have come to the conclusion that you're the only one who can change your life. You are becoming more stoic and pragmatic.

You are getting the bird's eye view, sitting high up in your throne like the queen/king you are.

I'm getting the message that clarity is here, not because of others but because of a change in your mindset that comes down to this: "I'm setting myself free from expectations and expecting. I'm choosing my battles wisely. I see things from a higher perspective."

Wisdom, truth and logic are the tools you are going to use to manifest your dream life.

From now on you will be guarding your heart and letting it rest for a while. Now, it's time for the sensitive heart to give the reigns to the cold head, just for now...

What New Era Is This Eclipse Ushering You Into?

This is perfect! I just saw a carousel on TikTok that talked about the "winter arc" and when it starts (October 1st). I'm getting that this eclipse is ushering you into your villain era/winter arc.

You are a very soft and caring person but you've had enough, haven't you? I'm not getting that in this era of your life you'll turn into a b*tch and go from one extreme to another. I'm getting that you'll simply use radical honesty with yourself, you'll cut out the fluff and use your empathy to empathize with the one who deserves it, YOURSELF.

I want you to know that after this much needed period you will see that only people with the beat intentions approach you. I'm not getting that you will be lonely, I'm getting that you will choose to keep your distance from toxicity. You may meet someone who is going after their goals too and you two become really great pals.

Where Is It Asking You To Focus Your Energy?

Very interesting...

First of all, share your gifts with the world cause this will lead you to material abundance. It's been reaffirmed that you are a generous and empathetic person. The Universe wants you to know that it's clearing out from your life those that are leeching off of your energy and are sticking around just to have a taste from the fruits of your flavour.

Since you will become more logical in this period of your life, you will see that certain people are better to be left in the past.

You need to focus your energy on making money, finding like minded souls who reciprocate your positive energy and also, SERVING karma. Be okay with being the villain in someone else's story. They wronged you first and now they just want to use you. Don't feel bad that you want them to watch you win, because they wanted to watch you lose.

Now, let them watch from the sidelines, while you are running towards success. It's going to be sweeter though, cause you will be so focused on the path ahead of you that you will not care about the bench sitters.

Take care !

Pile 3

“Every trauma provides an opportunity for authentic transformation. Trauma amplifies and evokes the expansion and contraction of psyche, body, and soul. It is how we respond to a traumatic event that determines whether trauma will be a cruel and punishing Medusa turning us into stone, or whether it will be a spiritual teacher taking us along vast and uncharted pathways. In the Greek myth, blood from Medusa’s slain body was taken in two vials; one vial had the power to kill, while the other had the power to resurrect. If we let it, trauma has the power to rob our lives of vitality and destroy it. However, we can also use it for powerful self-renewal and transformation. Trauma, resolved, is a blessing from a greater power.”

― Ann Frederick, Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma

How Will This Eclipse Change You?

As far as I can tell, Pile 3 needs to read both this pile and number 2! You are a complex person with lots of layers and reading both piles will help you gain two very distinct perspective on this next cycle taht will transform you COMPLETELY. It's not just about the eclipse, it's about the node change and the overall energy of the next 18-20 months. One of the two piles may not resonate right now, but in a few months or even a year it will be helpful to read it again for guidance.

The eclipse will change your perspective when it comes to your "all or nothing" attitude. Now, this change might have started already but what I see is that you will have a moment in the next month where you will realize that you have the ability to stand still while the world around you is moving. Before, you saw this as your inability to change and evolve but spirit wants you to know that you have the super power and luxury of following your own path. Your timing is way different than taht of others and your ability to move mountains while being still will help you advance in life. You see yourself as a walking contradiction but in reality, energy may manifest in different ways but its substance is the same. Stop beating yourself up and let your energy flow in different ways/wavelengths.

What New Era Is This Eclipse Ushering You Into?

You always get so close to the finish line but refuse to let go of the burdens so you never finish the race. The Universe is asking you to let go of expectations, negative beliefs and fear. Ask and you shall receive. Your options are confusing you, that's why they will fall away one by one. This new era is the era of shedding your new skin and of stripping down to the basics. You can not jump into cold water with clothes on, they won't help you even though they protect you at the shore, in the water they will weigh you down and you'll drown. Different things work at different phases, now it's a new phase and whatever was helpful before it's not working now. Paradigm shift.

Where Is It Asking You To Focus Your Energy?

Know that your life is headed towards a beautiful direction and trust your inner compass to lead you to this destination. Focus on improving your skillset and mindset and let yourself prepare for abundance. This next chapter is all about sharpening up before we climb the mountain. Thinl about it, if you had to climb up Everest wouldn't you want to be as prepared as possible. This last hump on the road is just a preview of the mountains you will climb.

#astrology #level up journey #tarot reading #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #soulmate

350 notes · View notes

barbieaemond · 9 months ago

Text

The order of things

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: mild angst, masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), grinding

Word count: 3k

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee @credulouskhaleesi @bunbunbl0gs @alphard-hydraes-blog

MASTERLIST

There is a raven that flies towards the rookery as soon as the sun is high enough to bathe the Keep in orange. It always comes at the same split minute, Aemond sees it every day, because it is the same split minute in which his training ends. Sometimes he even manages to get the better of the bird, then looks up as he sheathes his sword and awaits him. As soon as it crosses the sky he leaves the courtyard.

His day is like a prayer, devoutly tenacious and unchanging. A bath, breakfast, a flight on dragonback, a book. A visit to Helaena and the twins if the reading bores him.

Someone might say that even his walk is always the same. Rigour and order, to be everything Aegon is not.

This time, he disarms Ser Criston well in advance, so much that the raven has yet to show itself, and when it does, Aemond will be blind to his passing.

"Mother," he says curtly as the Queen passes by. She goes to pray as she does every morning, always at the same time. She too is a creature devoted to rigour, and duty; she has seized her days and clutched them in her fist to prevent them from floating through her.

She pauses to greet him, her voice as mellifluous as ever and her eyes just as warm, and then suddenly, he turns to look at her as if he is looking at a stranger, as if she is speaking a language he does not know. "I wanted to tell you that I'm going to see some girls today, to choose your new maid."

"What's wrong with my maid?"

"Well, I figured she might ask for a leave as the wedding approaches."

He blinks, he stalls, he bogs, unnaturally, the sand stops in the hourglass. The raven glides over the towers, unnoticed.

"Yes, of course." he says, sheathing his sword, and the sand flows again, grain by grain; the funnel shrunk.

Everything in his life is part of that rigour, even people, even her.

She has been in his service long enough to know without asking when the scar pulls to the point of requiring medication. She has been in his service long enough to know that a slight frown in his eyebrows is enough to make her close the curtains and prevent the light from worsening the pain in his head, to know that he likes his venison rather raw, that he hates that doublet because the sleeves are puffed and he feels like a court jester. And she tacitly made it disappear.

She does everything without uttering a word. She doesn't need to ask, she moves when he moves, she has adapted to him like a second skin, and she doesn't seem harmed by the edges.

Yet he is harmed by something, as she pulls off his boots in front of the fireplace. He sees a flat sea where he would like to see a storm. He sees grains flowing and wishes to crash the glass.

"Do you need anything else my Prince?" she has a seraphic expression on her face, and he sees deception. She speaks in a firm, devoted voice, and he hears betrayal.

He stares at her with the eye that looks like a needle, feels like it, then shifts his gaze to the fire and says "I will be in need of your assistance tomorrow, for the whole day."

"The whole day?"

"Yes. Why? Do you have something better to do than the duties you are paid for?"

She is no novice to his bitter tongue; somehow, stupidly, naively and recklessly, she is able to imbue it with treacle when it enters her head. It doesn't matter anyway, her foolishness will end as soon as she takes her vows.

"No. Of course not. I'll be at your service, my Prince."

"Hmm, until?"

"Until?"

"You should be the one to tell me. When is the wedding due?"

Her eyes widen like two large moons and she seems to crumple in on herself, on the floor she is kneeling on, under the Prince's unwavering, iron eye. She feels her throat tighten and yet his hands are steady along the armrests. She feels her lungs crackle against her ribcage. "I—"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Why didn't she?

"My prince, I thought your Grace should not be bothered with such trivial matters."

"I decide what to be bothered about." He says in an imperative tone. "When would you have bothered to inform me? Is this how you show loyalty to your prince? Keeping things from me?"

She glues her eyes to the floor, she cannot hold the Prince's gaze, not when he is like this, even though he has never been like this. He looks angry, he looks outraged? As if he has been wronged. That look makes her blood run cold, and then it melts in red down her cheeks and neck. It would be too easy to blame the chimney behind her back, easy but necessary, to keep things in order. Prince and servant, nothing more. What else is there?

There are heavy sighs falling in the dark, stranded between the sheets as his bones boil and tense at the climax, desire spilled, wasted. But that's fine. To not be all that Aegon is. This too has become rigour, part of the order of things.

It is the order of things to watch her kneel at his feet and wish to spill his desire into her mouth. As is seeing her nails always neat and tidy scratching the floor as her back arches against him, as is seeing the blood reddening her cheeks and neck, and wanting to lick it as far as it goes.

Someone else will do it. An ordinary man of no consequence in the order of things, the real one.

"You may go." he says coldly, hoping the frost of his tongue will cool the feverish blood under his skin.

She rises from the floor with a bowed, desolate head. "I bid you good night, my Prince."

The next morning he asks her to change the sheets, and he turns his back on her, ashamed, as if she knows she is in those sheets.

He takes a bath while she does her chores, finishing exactly when he does, because she moves when he moves. She helps him put on a dark green robe, unperturbed by his nudity, because that is her duty and it no longer makes her blush.

There's never been clumsiness in her hands, but there is today. Aemond feels her hands heavy as boulders when she prepares the ointment for his eye, when she leans over him to remove his eyepatch. She doesn't speak to him as she always does, oozing that glimmer of amusement when she brings up the servants' petty feuds and wars.

"You're rather quiet today." He asserts later, as she buttons his doublet "Has the armistice been reached in the kitchens?"

She opens in a brief smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I don't know, Your Grace. I find myself spending a lot more time outside the Keep these days."

"Is that so?” He retorts, narrowing his eye “Hmm, is that why my books are still on the desk?"

She finishes her buttoning and ties her hands on her modest skirt. "I am sorry, Your Grace. I will see to it that they are put in order at once."

"I have no use for your apology. Why didn't you do it when I told you to?"

"Your mother gave me a leave for a few hours yesterday."

"And why did you ask my mother and not me? You are in my service, not hers."

She keeps looking down like a suspect on trial and swallows. "I went to Flea Bottom to buy some fabric for my wedding dress. I was ashamed to ask you for a leave for something so frivolous. As a woman, I thought your mother would understand."

"You will do no such thing in the future. Hide things from me and leave the Keep without my permission, or I'll have you punished. Am I being clear?"

"Your Grace, I…” she pauses, she looks down, she swallows, but it’s now or never. “You should know that I will no longer be here after the wedding. I am going to formally resign my position. Your Mother has already-"

His eye goes wide, and wild, and he breathes loudly until he is snarling. "Are you deaf or dense? Did you not hear me? You will not leave my service."

The moons in her eyes are full now. She looks at him, begging him to let her go, because that is the natural course of things. She will marry a common man, give him a couple of children and live a quiet life in the country, where her groom has a smallholding of land, their only source of wealth if they do not want a life of misery in Flea Bottom. And she is fine with that. She has accepted it. She is like any other common girl, she cannot dream, her blood is only red, there's no castle nor crown waiting for her.

She has accepted her fate with the calmness of a stream that lets itself be carried along by its current. She is happy like this, because as far as she could, in that silly way in which all ordinary girls dream, she dreamed, even though her dream is made of flesh and blood.

She had shivered when he had leaned over her when he taught her to read. She had breathed in deeply to know what he smelled like. She had felt ice in her stomach under his gaze when she read a few pages to him. And that is more than dreaming.

She cannot remain in his service, because she is an ordinary girl and more than dream, she cannot want.

"Your Grace..." she begs, going down to the floor "I beg you. Let me go my way. I believe I have always served you to the best of my ability and if I’ve ever failed you in something, name it. I will do anything to make it right."

Aemond bogs again, but in something far more paralysing and at the same time overwhelming than all his rigour. Perhaps it is the sight of her on her knees again, her head bowed and devoted, and the fact that he wants to touch that devotion, wants to taste it and swallow it.

Slowly, he lifts her chin with two fingers, eye blind to everything else; his thumb moves over her lower lip as if to know its edges, as if he has wanted to do this all his life.

"Anything?" he asks in the voice of another, the one stranded in the sheets.

She nods slowly, and the movement rubs his thumb against her teeth for a moment, forcing him to swallow, to give himself control, not to push his finger in. He is not Aegon, He is not Aegon, he is not Aegon.

"Would you be willing to please me?" he asks, and his question reaches some remote place in her, that place where a girl can dream and want freely. In that place, if he had asked once, twice, a hundred times, she would have bent to his will, not to the duty of the servant who must please her lord. Sure, that too. But first of all to her will. It is a question that need not be asked, for there is but one answer.

"Yes..."

Blood flows into her cheeks, breathing out fire from her lips. "How...? How do you want me to please you, my Prince?"

"With this..." he replies, pushing his thumb over her lip.

Her hands move fluidly over the belt and buttons of his breechers as if she had done this countless times before. She helps him dress, she knows his body even though she has never touched him. She has never touched a man in her life, not like this. Aemond reads the embarrassment on her cheeks and he basks in it with a glimmer of pride, because he will be the first.

Gently, he places a hand behind her head, tilting it a little, and looks at her with his heavy, clouded eye, enthralled. "Open your mouth..."

He knows she's never done this before, but the hot alcove of her mouth is enough to make him open his mouth and let out air in a broken cadence. She raises her eyes as if to ask if she is doing something wrong, and the sight, real and not the outcome of some delusion hidden in the dark, smothers his breath. He begins to thrust into her mouth slowly, hardening quickly as she continues to look at him and welcome him into her mouth with the devotion with which one kneels to the Seven.

"Gevie..." he pants hoarsely, brushing his fingers through her hair "You look more beautiful than I thought like this..."

His hand in her hair never tightens, though his hips move faster and the wet sound is the only one that keeps his panting company.

"Your cheeks..." he instructs her "Hollow your cheeks..."

And just as when he was teaching her to read, she listens , sucking agonisingly slowly. “Fuck—” he curses, threading his long fingers through her hair and pulling at the roots; he thrusts faster so that she has to grip his waist with her hands but when he senses she can’t breathe, he lets of her head and slips out of her scorching lips, hissing at feeling the cold air of the room.

She’s panting hard, with her mouth open and slick with him. But she has little time to catch a puff of air. He thrashes her on the carpet, with a rough kiss full of teeth and growls, and his hands move like talons, pulling her modest skirts up to her waist.

“No—My Prince—” she muffles on his mouth, pleading but desperate all together “We can’t—”

“I won’t ruin you, I promise.” he says rummaging through her garments “Just let me feel you this once—”

He finds her core with his large hand, hot and slick, and she whimpers loudly in his open mouth. “Do you get this wet for your groom, hmm? Or just for your Prince?”

She unconsciously bucks her hips against his hand and he smiles, delightfully, against her neck, licking a stripe down her throat. “I’m in need of an answer, my sweet girl…” he says raising his head, the leather piece is about to fall behind his disheveled hair. “Have you touched yourself thinking of me?”

Shame washes over her as well as pride does him. “You did, didn’t you?”

His retrieves his hand and licks her off his fingers as if he was waiting for nothing else, staring at her with his eye pitch black.

“Do it.”

“M-my Prince?”

“Touch yourself. Now.”

She looks away, reddening even more, but he grasps her chin and forces her to look at him. “Do you want that permission to leave my service?”

It takes her a minute to swallow her shame, and then her hands is slipping between them. He pulls himself up on one arm to give her space to spread her legs some more, to watch closely as she starts to move her little hand on her bundle of nerves. “Look at me.” He commands, and she flutters her eyes with a bit of prudery before obliging.

Her breathing becomes heavy, just as his, slowly touching himself to mimic her, as he has done countless of times before but this is different. This is like the first time. He can watch her chasing her pleasure because of him, with him. He can watch the sweat beading her neck, her lip trembling. He can hear the sweet lewd sounds she makes for him.

She grows more desperate by the moment, swaying her hips on the carpet, grabbing his shoulder and neck until he falls on her. He groans upon feeling her cunt against his cock and by now they’re both too close to need hands anymore. He starts to grind against her, his hard flesh slicking ever so easily on her wetness, swallowing her whimpers and moans as he pants and rasps on her lips “Go on, sweet one. Come for me, hm?”

She does so, gripping his shoulders until digging her nails on the fabric, moaning with her mouth slack open.

He keeps grinding against her, frantic, panting, the eyepatch is somewhere on the ground and she watches him in the stupor of pleasure, like she’s experiencing a vivid dream, but the weight of the prince on her is real, his cock rubbing against her core making it twitch for more, his coarse voice as he rasps “Gods—‘M so close…” and then the jolt of warm seed on her belly.

He falls on her breathing hard, making her wince, but she can't find the strength to slip away, to pull down her skirt or move the long silvery lock that has gone into her mouth. She must leave everything as it is, and then leave it to be the ordinary girl without dreams.

For two days, her presence around the Keep is rather scarce, barely traceable in the Prince’s chambers. But his breakfast is always ready on his desk, his clothes always clean and well folded on the chair.

Aemond does not send for her nor does he seem to care where she is. He returns to his rigour, to his books, to his training as soon as dawn breaks.

One of the Kingsguard shows up in the courtyard and stands there to watch, waiting for the Prince to finish his duel.

"My Prince, I've done some research after our last conversation."

"Well?"

"Just as you said, your Grace. A modest cottage and a piece of land near Duskendale."

"Good." He says, sheathing his sword and glancing up upon hearing a distant caw. "I want you to send two city guards there, and burn it all down."

The guard blinks, widening his eyes. "My Prince?"

"You heard me."

The guard leaves and Aemond hears cawing again, closer this time. He glances up and the raven greets him, flapping his wings in the newborn sun.

Everything is in order.

#liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd fic #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #dark aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #the order of things

724 notes · View notes