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yourmomazfav · 11 months

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Devil Horns?

Wednesday Addams x Fem reader

Summary- After an over-emotional event during a therapy session, Wednesday discovers her girlfriend has much more to her than meets the eye.

Word count- 1152

Warnings- Angst to fluff, mentions of absent parents, doubtful reader, soft Wednesday

You never liked having to got your therapy sessions. They never helped, it was like discussing all of your 'issues' in order to find the 'root' but to just never find it.

You had talked about your family, the progress of your demonic abilities. Neither of which were positive, so when your therapist asked you about anything that made you happy your mind had instantly gone to your girlfriend...

Wednesday Addams.

For such a gloomy girl, Wednesday sure brought you a lot of happiness. And you certainly weren't complaining.

''Wednesday is another one of my clients you know.'' Dr. Kinbott says, her hands folding over her clipboard.

''I'm aware, but bringing her sessions up isn't exactly following client confidentiality.'' You say, leaning back in the armchair.

Kinbott tuts and nods ''Of course, I wasn't planning on bringing up her sessions.'' She scans you over for a moment ''She means a lot to you doesn't she?''

''Of course she does, she's my girlfriend.'' You sigh looking around the room, just five more minutes until you could leave.

''Wednesday sure has interesting ways of showing she cares, I'm only guessing of course, she is quite a mundane girl isn't she?'' She asks going back to writing.

''I understand her well enough to appreciate her much more than I appreciate myself.'' You nod.

''And do you think you are more accustomed to Wednesday's sparse human emotion due to the absence of your parents?'' She looks back at you with raised eyebrows.

''What have my parents got to do with this?'' You huff.

''Well it has quite a lot to do with this. You see, if you spent most of your childhood trying to please your parents just to get a shred of attention. Attention that you aren't used to. Then even the slightest level of interest given to you is something to thrive upon, so in short Wednesday doesn't in fact have to do much to keep you happy.'' She analyses her papers again as she speaks.

''Are you trying to make me doubt my relationship?'' You ask through gritted teeth. What she said, a low fucking blow.

''No not at all.'' Kinbott waves her hands about frantically.

''Well you did.'' You get up grabbing your bag and storm out of the office and out of the building.

Usually Wednesday waited outside for you when you had therapy sessions, but she had a hummers meeting with Eugene. So instead of her presence calming you, you anger continued to grow as you made your way back to your dorm.

Initially you were supposed to go to Wednesday's dorm, but you couldn't right now, so as soon as you stepped in the your dorm you threw your bag on the floor.

You thought for a second, it really didn't take much for Wednesday to keep you happy, so maybe she didn't care as much as you thought she did.

The thought of her not feeling as passionate about you as you do for her, sent a sharp pain through your chest, and then your hands, leading up to your head.

At first it confused you, they weren't normal pains, they were the kinds of pains you got on blood moons when you would turn into your demon form. So you rushed to your bathroom and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Your eyes glowed a crimson red and through your forehead began to protrude horns. You had never had horns come through before, not even in demon form. Your hands moved up to tug at the new issue, they were warm, maybe even hot if you kept your hands on them.

After staring at yourself for a few moments a short knock came at the door, no doubt being Wednesday.

You moved to the door and opened it wide enough to peak through but not wide enough for Wednesday to see your new appearance.

Looking at your girlfriend a brief look of relief passed over her daunting features before leaving.

''Why am I seeing you here instead of at my dorm?'' She questioned, crossing her arms.

''Therapy wasn't good today, that's all. Nothing to worry about.'' You attempted to give her a sweet smile.

She didn't fall for it. Within a second she moved forward and pushed your door open, taking advantage of the fact you would never slam the door in her face. Now with your entire body in her line of view her eyes immediately darted up to your horns.

''Well that's new.'' She mumbled ''When did that happen?''

''Just now, a few minutes before you knocked.'' You answer tugging on them slightly.

''Do you know why they are there?'' Wednesday asks, stepping further into your dorm.

''I have an idea, but it's not important.'' You waved off, you really didn't want to tell her what happened at therapy.

''It must be if you are trying to hide it.'' She is too observant for her good.

''I think it has something to do with therapy, well what was discussed in therapy.'' You sigh.

''Did Kinbott make you talk about something you didn't want to?'' She asks again.

''Just talked about my parents.'' You mumble, still fiddling with your horns ''And you.''

''Me?, what about me?'' Wednesday's face contorts into something you can't quite decipher, maybe she was worried.

''She was saying that because my parents never paid much attention to me, I thrive of off any attention I'm given, and then she said that it wouldn't take much for you to keep me happy so in short you may not care as much as I thought you did.'' You avoided eye contact at all costs moving to sit on your bed.

Wednesday takes a moment to think before stepping in front of you and holding your head up with her hands on your cheeks so you would look at her. It was quite pathetic how tingly it made you feel.

''You shouldn't listen to her, whether you are advised to or not.'' She starts ''I know I do not show it much but I do care.''

''I know you do.'' You nod.

''You clearly don't know if you are doubting it, Y/N I care for you an inordinate amount, so much so that it makes me sick knowing how weak I am for you, I swore to myself I would never become like my parents, yet here I am. Do you understand now?'' She asks, it is rhetorical but you still answer with a nod.

''Say it.'' She demands, her voice still softer than usual.

''I understand.'' You say and she nods.

Still standing in front of your sitting form, she pulls you forward into her chest by the back of your head, your arms instantly wrapping around Wednesday's waist, one of her hands moving up to touch your horns while the other stays on the back of your head.

''I must say the horns make you look more dangerous. It's a good look on you.'' She hums in approval, her nimble fingers gently moving over the curves of the horns.

You knew as she held you, that everything was going to be okay.

#Wednesday (series)#Wednesday #Wednesday Addams #Wednesday Addams x reader #wednesday x reader

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violetflowerswrites · 3 months

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Taking it Slow

Summary: An unexpected explosion severely injures you, and Jim Street, your LAPD SWAT roommate, comes to your rescue. The life and death situation makes you reevaluate the status of your “just casually dating” relationship.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Cannon violence and danger. Mentions of fire, explosions, and bombs. Location is an elementary school, mentions of danger to minors, but reader is the only one injured. Gruesome descriptions of bodily injury and blood. Some angst and mentions of divorce. BUT ALSO consensual kissing and touching. The smut in this is absolutely filthy as usual. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. Street has a big cock. 18+ for explicit smut, violence, and language

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I finally got around to watching more SWAT after taking a break from crime dramas and I gotta say, Season 4 has been SO good. The commentary on our Covid and post-Covid society especially with race and Black Lives Matter is so thoughtfully done. I was re-inspired to make a part 2 of my Jim Street fic from back in July 2022! This fic can be standalone but it is technically a continuation from “Too Complicated.” Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Part Three Here - “I’ll Be Here”

Masterlist Here

…

“All Units please respond, bomb at Harriet Tubman Elementary, repeat bomb and fire at Tubman Elementary.”

The police scanner radio squawks to life in the leather-scented interior of Sergeant Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson’s sliver Dodge Charger.

Hondo locks eyes with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. His expression falls immediately, drawn and serious.

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

”20 David, Sergeant Harrelson responding. Let’s roll!”

…

Your pink highlighter squeaks across the tiny Times New Roman text of each signature line on the paperwork you’re preparing.

A tightness in your neck forces you to pause and lean your head to the side, trying to release the tension in your body.

It’s another tough case. The student was expelled out of a previous school due to repeated fighting. His current teacher is young and inexperienced, and the counselor is definitely overwhelmed. You were called in to take over his case and then recommend him to a therapist, a behaviorist, a specialist, someone before he was expelled again.

Who knew that an 8 year old could wreak so much havoc at a school?

You glance out the window of the 2nd floor classroom, watching the poor kid get into a screaming match with a yard duty. The bright red digital display of the classroom clock shows 9:00 am in blinking lights that seem to say…

tick

tock

It’s

only

freakin

on a Monday.

But, no one could have predicted what would happen in the next ten seconds.

One

A thunderous boom echoes across the playground, so loud that all the kids freeze, balls dropped and forgotten.

Two

Thousands of shards of shattered glass fly through the air as the school building collapses into itself from the roof downwards.

Three

The ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm forces everyone to cover their ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Four

Smoke rises in thick gray plumes into the sky, followed by bright orange flames.

Five

The stampede of three hundred little feet shakes the earth as panicked children run towards the grass field, away from their burning school.

Six

Bewildered shouts across the blacktop try to account for all the children, staff members still running out of the smoke.

Seven

Wide-eyed stares fill with tears as it dawns on the kids what had happened.

Eight

A dozen simultaneous calls to 911, all trying to be heard over the crying, screams, and shouts.

Nine

A terrifying pop pop pop makes everyone flinch and duck for cover, as the heat from the fire breaks even more windows. But it could have been gunshots. Everyone doesn’t dare to move.

Ten

After those ten, chaotic seconds, you finally open your dust-filled eyes, ears ringing, sounds muffled as if you were underwater, and your dazed mind takes several agonizing seconds to comprehend the scene around you.

Fallen desks and books scattered haphazardly across the classroom.

Shattered glass reflecting the flickering flames of a fire somewhere above you.

Looking up, a gaping hole in the ceiling leading to a smoke-stained blue sky.

The incessant blaring of the fire alarm doesn’t help your clearly concussed head make sense of it all.

You deduce that there had been some kind of accident. An explosion maybe.

And that caused an industrial AC unit to collapse through the ceiling, knock you out of your chair, and pin one of your legs from the waist down.

And now, an alarming pool of blood was starting to seep from under the crumpled gray metal.

Even more alarming, you couldn’t feel a thing underneath the crushing weight.

“Oh. I’m dying.” You huff out loud, your logical deduction giving way into dark humor.

You twist your neck around, the soreness long forgotten, and try to find something, anything, to help yourself survive.

You grab your cardigan, covered in drywall dust, and slip it under your upper thigh, tying the sleeves together as tight as it could possibly go. The makeshift tourniquet immediately soaks up your blood, turning the cream-colored yarn into a horrific deep red.

Bile rises in your throat as panic sets in, but you push it down, desperate to get out of this.

You look down, realizing that your phone fell out of the pocket of your jacket when you grabbed it. The screen is cracked, but usable.

Without hesitating, you press a number on your phone and it starts to ring. There’s only one person in the world you want to talk to before you lose consciousness. Maybe forever.

…

“Street! What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? You’ve never played in one of these as a kid?”

You’re out on another casual date with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. Also known as your impulsive, annoying, immature, and absolutely adorable roommate.

That you had accidentally-on-purpose kissed one drunken night. Which led to much more…for several hours.

And now, the two of you went out most every weekend, casually dating, but not trying to label it…yet.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Street ducks into an arcade, which immediately deafens you with a cacophony of beeps and honks, electronic character voices, and techno dance music. It’s an overstimulating nightmare so you focus on the leather-clad back of Street, who is leading you deeper into the room.

A couple of surly teens throw judgemental side eyes at the two of you, grown-ass adults screaming and shouting at basketball, skew-ball, and claw machines.

You clutch a small blue plushie, from Lilo and Stitch, courtesy of Street’s claw machine skills, as he whoops upon seeing another game, his childhood favorite.

“Yes! We have to play this next!” Street grins at you from ear to ear.

You hesitate for a split second, but shake your head, chuckling, “Okay NASCAR, wait for me!”

You tease him, knowing that Street’s name is all too fitting, his long history of all things on wheels that can go faster than 100 miles per hour is well known.

You sit behind the plastic wheel of the racing game as Street quickly punches in a couple quarters.

“Think you can keep up?” Street teases you immediately.

“Mhm.” You reply, your face dead serious, all traces of amusement long gone.

Street takes in your expression and furrows his brow.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as you leave him in the dust, your digital car screeching as the wheels fight against the tight turns.

You’re silent, the only sounds are the quiet clicking of your foot pressing on the fake gas pedals of the game.

Your car peels around the track, going into the final lap, with a 3 second lead on Street.

“Oh my god, are you seriously drifting?” Street shouts in frustration, watching your vehicle slide sideways against the last tight turn and across the finish line with a flourish.

He smacks the wheel and laughs.

“That was crazy, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to be so good! I thought you said you didn’t really go to arcades growing up.”

“Can we go home?” You grab your jacket from the armrest of the racing game chair, turning away from Street.

“Uhh…yeah sure.” Street says slowly, confused.

You walk quickly out of the arcade, a mix of frustration, shame, and sadness filling you.

Hands clench into fists at your sides as you suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady your whirlwind of emotion.

Street half-jogs to catch up with you, calling your name. He reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, but the instant he makes contact you snatch your arm back abruptly.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, more harshly than you intended.

Street’s face flashes confusion, hurt, and a bit of anger all at once. You see him stifle the urge to snap back at you, and instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped down and he quietly pleads with you instead.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Don’t keep it in again.”

You know you’re acting like an asshole and ruining the date. Street surprised you with being the mature one in this situation while you’re the one taking out your emotions on him.

So you slowly reach out to take one of his hands in both of yours. It’s warm, heavy, and sure in your grasp, a reassuring anchor. You clutch his hand close to your chest and duck your head down, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“It’s just—I’m not used to opening up like this.”

“I know. We’re learning how to, with each other.” Street slips his free hand under your chin, lifting your head up to kiss you affectionately on the cheek.

“Take your time.”

You sigh into his touch, releasing some of the tightness in your chest.

“Can we get ice cream first?”

…

Over a double scoop of cookies and cream, you confide in Street more of your life story.

How there was a period of time in middle school where you used to spend hours at the arcade after school to avoid going home.

Your parents were fighting constantly and you just couldn’t take all the screaming. Your older sister was in high school and worked part time, so she would drop you off with a handful of quarters and get you after.

For some reason, that racing game became your focus, your obsession. You channeled all your frustration, all your hurt, all your pain into that game.

It was your escape.

“It feels silly to freak out now. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve played that game.” You mumble into your ice cream.

“It’s not silly,” Street reassures you, “It’s a painful part of your life.”

You scrunch up your nose and murmur in agreement, not really wanting to think about it anymore. You take another lick of your ice cream, accidentally getting some on your cheek.

Street reaches out with a finger to wipe the smudge of the sticky treat off your face and instead of cleaning his hands on a napkin, he decides to lick it off instead.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the gesture unexpectedly sexy, but Street just chuckles.

“What? You taste good.”

…

You clutch Street by the collar of his leather jacket, slamming his broad back against the apartment door.

He drops the keys with a clatter, slides a free hand up to lock the door before gripping the back of your neck roughly, returning your desperate kiss.

“Y/N. Are you sure?” He releases your lips with a pant, pressing his forehead to yours and checking in with you.

Consent is so sexy, especially coming from him. Your previous boyfriends always took what they wanted, when they wanted, and you thought that’s how sex had to be.

It was only after being with Street that you realized how gentle, how considerate, and how trustworthy someone could be during sex.

Street treated you with respect, with reverence. He took his time to worship your body.

You were his queen, his goddess, and even if he didn’t say as much in words, he sure as hell showed it with his actions.

So yes.

You were fucking sure you wanted him.

You pulled off your clothes as you walked ahead of him towards your room, dropping fabric across the hallway on your way there.

Street followed quickly, stopping at the foot of your bed with his jeans still on. His chest visibly flushed red as he stared in wonder at your naked form. And he half-laughed, half-groaned out loud.

How did you manage to get your clothes off so quickly and look so damn delicious on the bed for him?

He grabs both of your ankles and drags you down, lifting them up above his shoulders so he can taste you.

You lean back on both elbows, your hair splayed across the sheets as you tip your head back in delight.

“Oh shit, that feels so good.” You breathe out, a moan slipping through your lips.

“Mmm, I can tell.” Street smiles into your pussy as he licks long strips up your core. He finds your clit within a few moments, and starts alternating sucking and licking the sensitive nub.

Your thighs start shaking as the stimulation shoots down your legs.

Street’s chin grows slick as your arousal throbs out of your core, but he simply holds down your thighs with his strong grip, and dives his tongue into your center even more.

It’s only when you spasm particularly hard, almost kicking him in the head that he finally releases you, chuckling as he swipes a thumb across his lips, wiping off some of your juices.

Your body is still twitching, your nerve endings shooting electricity from your core all the way down to your toes and you throw an arm back across your forehead, trying to recover.

“Come on, you can’t be done yet…” Street teases.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh out in a huff, “j-just…give me a minute.”

“Nah.”

Street lifts your legs again, this time crossing them behind his hips, so that he can line himself up to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, but just the round head of his cock stretches your pussy to the point that you have to grab his arms and stop him.

“Hold on, Jim.”

Street freezes. You only call him by his first name when you’re being serious or something’s wrong.

He pulls out immediately and lifts you up into a sitting position. He immediately grabs your face in his hands, searching your eyes for pain.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? We can stop— I didn’t mean to—“

You grip his wrists and gently remove them from your cheeks. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, your gaze at him soft and reassuring.

“I’m okay. Let’s try a different position.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn around, holding up your weight on your hands and knees, and spreading your hips back. You flip your hair over your shoulder and glance back at him with a smirk.

“You haven’t made me cum yet, have you?”

Slowly, Street’s concerned look spreads into a smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So fuck me.”

Street holds his cock steady while you carefully push back against him, controlling the pace.

When you’ve fully taken him in, now adjusted to his size, Street still hesitates.

“It’s okay. I’m ready now.” You brace yourself.

“Be as rough as you want.”

A sound akin to a growl escapes from the man who is balls deep in your pussy.

He places a bruising grip on your right shoulder and left hip, and slams you back, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He does that again and again - pulling out almost all the way before slamming your body back against him almost violently.

“Oh fuck!” You yelp each time, your pussy throbbing around him.

Street then pushes your neck down, and you fist the sheets in your hands as you press into the bed, your ass in the air as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

You can hear your bottom smacking against his strong abs, as he swings his hips into you over and over.

And that cock, his huge, delicious cock, spears your pussy in just the right place every time.

“Oh my god, Street. That feels so good!” Your muffled voice can barely be heard over his grunting. God, you love it when men are loud during sex.

Before you know it, you’re close. Street must be too because he snakes a firm arm around your tummy and lifts you up, holding you tightly to his chest. Your core is still clenched in a vice grip around his member as he thrusts upward into your pussy.

“Street! Oh wow! You’re so big!” You praise him, feeling his cock hitting your cervix from his position.

“Yeah? You like it when my cock hits your pussy. Just. like. that?” Street punctuates his question with a hard bounce into you.

“Mmph!” You moan, and you grab his arm, still trapping you against his sweat-slicked body.

“Street,” you pant.

“Yeah?”

“Go faster.”

With a guttural groan, Street grabs the flesh around your hips and drills up into you. His cock drives in and out at a speed that could only be described as mechanical, a piston that pumps as deep as it could possibly go before pulling out and slamming back in as far as it can go.

You fall onto the bed again, unable to do anything but hold on far dear life as Street rails you like a rag doll.

Within seconds, you feel that familiar tingle spread from your core to your entire body, washing over you in waves of pleasure.

“Oh god— I’m cumming!” You scream, gasping for air.

You are answered with a growl as Street collapses on top of you, cumming inside your throbbing core, your pussy milking every last drop from his twitching cock.

Fuck, that was incredible.

After a few moments, you crawl out from under him, and stand up to head to the shower. He leans up on an elbow, watching you with a blissed-out smile. You tie your hair up into a messy bun, the simple action somehow sensual as hell as he sees your bare shoulder blades squeeze together as you reach up to your head.

You turn, catching him admiring you.

“What?” You ask, totally unaware.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your already hot skin somehow flushes even hotter at his words. You have a love-hate relationship with Street’s compliments.

So you just lean down and peck his cheek with kiss-puffed lips.

“Go to bed. We both have work tomorrow.” You whisper before pushing him back onto the mattress, shaking your head in laughter.

…

Your current reality is a universe away from yesterday’s date night with Jim Street.

You stare at his name on the phone, willing him to pick up.

“Y/N?”

Before you can explain to him, you hear the police radio in his car announce your school site and the bombing.

“Jim. I’m there.”

Street is speechless, the dots connecting with several torturous seconds as his worst fears become true.

One

You had told him that morning that you weren’t going into the office, but visiting a school today.

Two

You never call him, preferring to text. If it’s a call, something must be urgent.

Three

You almost never call him by his first name.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hondo responds to the radio but Street barely hears it as he shouts into the phone.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“There’s been an explosion. A bomb? An AC unit fell through the roof. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

“Are you hurt?” Street repeats his question, desperation seeping into his tone.

Somehow you hesitate to tell him. So instead, you switch to video call and show him your leg.

Street’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the bloodied, crushed flesh.

Hondo glances at Street’s phone, his siren already screaming down the streets of LA.

“We’re coming.”

…

“You can’t keep me here, Hondo! Y/N is hurt, I have to get to her!”

“Street, you’re compromised. You’re gonna take risks and I can’t have you do that, not when there are kids here who need your head straight.”

Another sudden crash makes both men instinctually duck for cover. They had just arrived into a horror scene, with a blazing fire, fire trucks dousing the building with water, police holding back hysterical parents, ambulances treating kids and staff for smoke inhalation, and a soot-smeared principal talking to the fire marshal.

Hondo makes a beeline for her, Street on his heels.

“Sergeant Harrelson, LAPD SWAT. Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, all the kids and staff, but we’re missing one visitor, a social worker.”

Street chokes your name out, to which the principal nods, confirming that it’s you.

Meanwhile you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god everyone is safe.” You remark weakly, still on the phone, hearing their entire conversation.

Street is astonished you can think about others but his train of thought is interrupted when Chris in his comms crackles to life.

“There! I got eyes on the bomber! He’s on the roof, east side!”

“We have to go!” Street yells desperately.

“Okay.” Hondo huffs out, making a split second decision.

“Tan, go with Street and get Y/N out. Weapons hot, masks on, the bomber might run into the building. Deacon, you’re with me, let’s trap this rat.”

Street wastes no time running inside the smoke-filled building, his flashlight barely penetrating the ash and dust as he finds the stairs and runs up, Tan covering his back, sweeping his gun back and forth just in case the bomber decides to come their way.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Ten seconds out.” Street speaks into his comms, and his phone, for your benefit too.

But he doesn’t hear a reply.

“Shit!” Street curses. “She was losing a lot of blood, she’s not responding!”

Tan makes a game plan immediately as they keep running.

“I got the AC unit, you start CPR!” Tan shouts.

They skid to a stop at the destroyed classroom, and Street’s heart almost stops at the scene.

Your limp body, lying in a pool of dark blood, trapped under a giant hunk of metal, your phone still clutched in one hand.

Street kneels next to you, his own heartbeat reverberating loudly in his ears.

Thu-thump

He presses his fingers to your neck, feeling for a pulse while leaning down, trying to feel your breath on his face.

Thu-thump

Nothing. He immediately rips his smoke mask off his face and breathes into your mouth.

Once. Twice.

Thu-thump

He braces his hands against your chest and pushes down forcefully, starting CPR compressions.

Thu-thump

With a grating screech of metal, Tan manages to tip the AC unit off of you, revealing your upper thigh soaked in blood and your leg clearly broken in at least two parts.

Thu-thump

Street barely glances down to look, focusing on bringing you back to life. He feels for a pulse again, finally feeling a weak heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

“She’s stable! Let’s get out of here!” Street shouts, throwing his smoke mask back on, and another for you.

Tan has already tied your leg down into two splints, one for your thigh, and another for your calf and ankle.

“Ready!” Tan replies in a voice muffled by his smoke mask, wiping his blood soaked hands on his tactical pants and gripping his gun again.

Street lifts you up, carefully draping your injured leg over his forearm, and cradling your concussed head gently against his shoulder.

He flies down the steps, Tan covering his back.

“This is 25-David, Y/N is secured, coming out of the school now.” Tan communicates to the team.

The moment they step out onto the front lawn of the school, their comms crackle again.

“Don’t do it man, don’t!” Hondo yells out. He must have found the bomber.

“Second bomb!” Chris warns, just as another explosion on the far side of the school collapses the roof completely, burying the spot where you were just trapped, and taking the bomber along with it.

“Hondo! Deacon! Chris!” Tan shouts into comms. The two of them shield you from the debris, holding their breath as they wait for a reply.

After a few moments, they hear Hondo coughing into the radio.

“20-David. We’re okay, we’re coming down.”

Street and Tan breathe a sigh of relief, as the EMTs run up to the three of you, carefully putting you on a stretcher.

Streets hurries alongside them, and jumps up into the back of the ambulance, glancing back at Tan.

“Go!” Tan shouts at him. “I got it covered.”

The last thing Street sees as the doors close is Tan standing with his back illuminated by a school on fire, his hands hanging at his sides, bright red with your blood.

…

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

Vision blurry, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to focus and notice the late afternoon sun streaming through plastic blinds in a white-washed room.

A hospital room. That’s right, you were injured in an explosion at the elementary school, and your leg…

You looked down to see a full cast, from thigh to ankle, keeping your leg locked straight. A thin, polyester blanket covers the rest of your body.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

The insistent vibrating of a phone turns your attention to where a sleeping Jim Street, still in full SWAT gear, rests his head on his folded arms in the empty space on your bedside. One of his hands holds yours gently, even as he dozes.

You slip your hand out from his warm grip and brush his hair back, still flecked with a bit of ash and dust from the rescue mission.

Your gaze softens as you look at his peaceful face. You must have worried him so much with the accident.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

You see his phone lying on the table and you can just make out what it says.

5 missed calls from Hondo. 2 texts from Chris and Tan saying he missed the debriefing.

And currently, Commander Hicks is ringing, ready to ream his ass for being irresponsible, you’re sure of it.

“Street.” Your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you try again, louder this time.

“Street!” You shake his shoulder insistently.

He shoots up, awake in an instant. “Y/N! You’re up!”

His eyes dart over your face, checking for any signs of pain.

“You’re in trouble.”

Street takes one look at his phone and mutters “Shit.” Without thinking, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead and ducks out the door, phone pressed to his ear.

You bring a tentative hand up to your forehead, a lot dazed and a little shocked. The two of you haven’t really discussed the nature of your relationship after that weekend of crazy sex, trying to take it slow.

But it’s not every day that you get gruesomely injured and your hot as fuck roommate rescues you from near death.

As you hear Street’s muffled apologies outside of your hospital room, fuzzy memories start coming back to you.

White letters of a SWAT vest hovering over you as firm hands push down on your weakening heart.

Strong arms holding you up as you feel yourself being carried down a flight of stairs at a ridiculous speed.

The smell of smoke, and the unmistakable smell of Jim Street as he cradles your head into his chest, keeping you safe.

A warm hand never letting go of yours as sirens squeal in the ambulance, your consciousness fading in and out.

A reassuring voice, his voice, telling you that you’re alright, that you're safe.

“I got you, Y/N. I’m right here.”

Fuck taking it slow.

You’re not a girl who normally falls in love with a man in an uniform but damn. You sure as hell get it now.

The door opens with a quiet click and Jim Street steps back inside.

“Hey—“

“I love you.” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. ”I love you, Jim.”

Street's words die in his throat as his eyes widen. He crosses over to you in two strides and simply lifts up your chin so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

A desperate, urgent, love-filled kiss that says just how scared, just how terrified he was to lose you.

And just how much he loves you too.

….

#swat #swat cbs #cbs swat #jim street #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street smut #jim street x reader #street x reader #swat imagine #swat fic #swat smut

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oracle-of-dream · 1 month

Note

hi can you do a xiaojun x male reader smut?

I totally can, I've already been trying to write something for him so I'll put it here! It's gonna be in parts so hang tight <3

Never Really Alone

Minors DNI

Summary: A feeling, at the corner of your mind. Always with you–even when you know you're alone. Someone's watching you, following you, getting closer...

Warnings: Male Reader, Stalking, Thunderstorms, Psychological terror, Fear of darkness

Wordcount: 1.5k

As your eyes opened, dark circles under them, you felt it again. The same feeling you've been experiencing for the last few weeks. It feels like you're never truly alone–someone you can't see is always with you. At first, you believed it was just the feeling of settling into your new apartment. You moved in about a month ago, but the feeling followed you outside your apartment.

At Work. The Cafe. Walking down streets. Everywhere you went.

It was to the point that you couldn't stop looking over your shoulder, even in broad daylight. You'd bought a taser, keeping it with you always even when you went to bed. The extra security still never was enough to make you feel safe enough.

You didn't have anyone to talk to about it. You'd just moved because you started a new job, if you told any of your coworkers they'd think you're crazy. Calling your parents was out of the question, they'd see it as a reason to bring you back home. You even thought about seeing a therapist. You could only text your friends from back home, they made you feel heard but couldn't do anything to help you. You were alone.

Work was the only time that you felt okay. You were surrounded by people who were at least semi-familiar, and it made you feel comfortable. But one night, after a long day of work, there was chatter about a get-together of all your coworkers.

"Y/n, you'll come, right?" Your team lead asked.

"No, I'm sorry, not tonight. I... have to look after my cousin tonight," You lied.

Your coworkers didn't press you for more as they left to enjoy each other's company, leaving you alone again. Almost alone. The feeling returned as you walked out of the work building, rushing to get home. The clouds were dark, thunder sounded in the distance, and rain was coming. You liked the rain, the soft sound of rain distracted you from feeling watched. It sometimes even made you smile, having something else to be focused on for a change.

As you got to your apartment, hustling up the stairs, a man stood outside your door. It was your landlord, Xiaojun. He was a thinner man, with black hair, always having a tired look in his eyes–like he never slept, draped in a black sweater you had always seen him in. He was standing outside your door, holding a bundle of mail.

"Hi, y/n," His voice was deep and soothing. "I noticed you hadn't picked up your mail in a while, so I wanted to drop it off."

"Thank you, that's so nice." You put on a smile as you took the mail from him.

"Have a good night, watch out for the storm. I've heard some people have had outages. Call me if anything happens," Xiaojun said as he walked down the hallway before descending the stairs.

You entered your apartment and closed the door, sighing in relief. Xiaojun was a nice man, and you felt safe around him. He offered your apartment to you at a discounted rate, after mentioning how expensive all the others were. He always went out of his way to make you feel comfortable. He also looked pretty handsome when he wasn't super tired.

You put the mail on the counter and then realized–the feeling was gone. You didn't feel like you were being watched... The urge to break down and cry was too powerful as you sobbed silently. Your chest had a weight lifted off of it. But your celebration was short-lived. As soon as you started changing out of your work clothes, you felt a sharp coldness run up your back. It was back. Now you wanted to cry for different reasons.

You took your taser out of your bag and took it with you as you swept through your apartment, just like every day, checking your home. But, just like always, you never found anyone.

You returned to your mail and started to sort it right as your lights went out. Xiaojun mentioned power outages so this is probably it. The storm must've knocked it right out. You stumbled through the darkness that invited itself into your home until you found your phone–Xiaojun asked you to call him if anything happened so he must have a way to fix it...

The phone rang as you waited for him to pick up, the sound of the rain getting louder and less friendly.

"Hello?" Xiaojun's voice came out of your phone.

"Hi Xiaojun, it's y/n, we just spoke?"

"Of course, I know who you are, silly. Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah, you told me to call if my power went out. Is there anything you can do about this?"

Xiaojun was silent for a moment. "I can get a flashlight, and bring it to you if you don't have one. I'll also check your power box, in your laundry room, to see if the circuit tripped."

"I'd appreciate it." You hung up the phone and waited by the door for Xiaojun to arrive. You opened it cautiously as you heard the knock, your camera for the front door was also not working so you couldn't see who it was unless you opened it. A flashing beam of light hit your eyes as they tried to adjust.

"Sorry about that, y/n. I didn't mean to shine you like that." Xiaojun's voice rumbled dryly. You blinked a few times, waiting for the dazzling sensation to fade.

"It's alright, come in," You mumbled as you rubbed your eyes. You felt Xiaojun's arms hold you as he shifted past you, pushing the door with his broad shoulder. You shut the door and followed him as he navigated your apartment, using the flashlight to light the way.

"You live here alone, right?" Xiaojun asked, trying to make conversation.

"Yes, that's right."

"What about your parents?"

"They're far away... I moved out here for a job opportunity, but I'm still trying to see if it was all worth it." You shivered, "What about you?"

"My father passed away, leaving the building for me to rent out."

Xiaojun got to the breaker box and opened it. "Hold this for me?" He handed you the flashlight so he could use both hands to work. You didn't know much about what was happening as he fiddled with wires. "Got a girlfriend?"

"Not really my type."

"Boyfriend?"

"No, I don't have anyone in my life like that..." You sighed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to–I was just wondering." Xiaojun tried to change the subject, "So how do you like the apartment?"

"It's nice. Cozy."

"Really? No issues, at all? You're the only tenant who doesn't complain about something in their apartment."

"Well..." You hesitated, thinking about the feeling. This was your chance to talk about it. For someone to finally understand. "There's been this... one thing."

"Oh?" Xiaojun said without looking at you.

Your jaw tightened. "I've been having a weird feeling since I moved in. Like I've been followed. It started in the apartment, then went outside. I only don't notice it when I'm at work..."

"That's strange. I haven't heard anything on the news or something. You should be careful, is there any other time you feel okay?"

You blushed at the answer, "Well, I don't feel it now."

"Now?"

"I think it's because you're here?"

"So I'm making you feel safe?" Xiaojun chuckled. "That's so cute. I'll keep you safe, anytime." Xiaojun smiled, trying to focus but couldn't stop thinking about you. He sucked his teeth in frustration. "I think I need to grab a tool, can you hold this in place? It's gotta stay like this for me to fix it." You nodded as Xiaojun guided your hand over his, pressing down on a bundle of wires. "Okay, I'll be right back, so stay put." Xiaojun hopped to his feet, taking the flashlight with him as he left you in the dark. The second you couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, your chest started filling with anxiety. You felt incredibly vulnerable, and you'd left your taser in the kitchen–not wanting to scare your landlord with it. Your breathing got heavier, shadows danced in your vision, and your hands shook as they were glued to the wires.

Then you felt it. The feeling, creeping up your back, was the most intense you'd ever felt. You couldn't hear or see anything, but every hair on your body stood on end.

"W-who's there!?" You shouted into the darkness.

The darkness responded with nothing but dead silence.

You could run to the kitchen, grab your taser, and hide somewhere. But what if you attack Xiaojun by mistake? You needed something, anything. Your mind raced, but even in your panic, you could hear something. Someone breathing. They were excited, ready for you to fight back. You felt more helpless than before. You were doomed from the start. They stepped into the laundry room, finally making a singular footstep.

You stood, trying to see who it was, but only saw a shadow. There was sudden pain, and then darkness.

You were knocked out cold...

To continue, click here!

#oracle of dreams #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #x male reader #kpop male reader #x reader #xiaojun #wayv #wayv smut #wayv xiaojun #wayv imagines

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thinkingaboutjaedyn · 3 months

Text

good days [i.engen x reader]

prompt: moving on from someone you loved after they hurt you is hard, but you do it anyways.

author notes: part three and technically the last part finally! i have been so busy lately which was so annoying, but i can now sit down and write long form fics so yippie for me. enjoy it everyone!

part one: nights like this part two: could've been

GOOD DAY IN MY MIND, SAFE TO

TAKE A STEP OUT

GET SOME AIR NOW, LET YOUR EDGE OUT

TOO SOON, I SPOKE, YOU BE

HEAVY ON MY MIND

CAN YOU GET THE HECK OUT?

I NEED REST NOW, GOT ME BUMMED OUT

YOU SO, YOU SO, YOU, BABY, BABY, BABE

I'VE BEEN ON MY EMPTY MIND SHIT

the moment you landed in san diego and got into your apartment, you cried. relief and guilt washes over you as you sit on the floor (in your haste to leave, you didn't furnish the place just yet). you finally did the one thing you never thought you would be able to pull off; leaving ingrid. the weight of her lies are now off your back, but now a different weight sits there now. how could you? how could you just up and leave her with no warning. deep down you know you don't owe her anything after all the bullshit she pulled, but it's hard to think about that when you leave someone you love so deeply. it feels like you dumped her even though you two were hardly together.

ingrid's guilt tripping really has done a number on you. it's funny really, you always was the one telling her to go to therapy and now you definitely need it. maybe if you left sooner, you wouldn't be looking at different therapists in the san diego area. none look appealing to you or maybe it's just the refusal in your mind to be grouped into any type of group as your ex. it was always ingrid needs therapy, not you. now you realize having her around has impacted your mental way more than you thought. moving on is going to be a mess.

you decide to push away all these messy thoughts as you slip on your jacket; having never taken off your clothes or shoes. getting some air and looking at the new city you will be living in for an indefinite period of time is better than trying to fight against the emotions floating around your mind.

it's windy today, your hair flies around a bit as the wind hits you. the slight chill of it makes you shiver, but it's refreshing. ingrid is still weighing in on your mind as you walk around. heading to the park near your apartment building.

how was she feeling right now? what was she doing right now? has she already tried to reach you?

all these questions make you feel a bit lightheaded. how you wish you could just turn off your mind for an hour or two; get a break away from the anxiety that ingrid gifted you. it can't be helped really. you love her and that won't change for a while. you refuse to make yourself move on faster just because the relationship was a bunch of nothing; the right to dwell or not belongs to you. nobody else can dictate if you should do it faster or slower. not even the words of ingrid in your head that you can imagine her saying.

why would you do this to me?

don't you love me?

you threw everything away..

that's the ingrid that exists in your mind. all her bad moments cloud over the happy ones. you wish it was different, but it isn't.

your lips curl up into a small smile as you look at the sunset. it's beautiful with the sky being a mix of orange, pink, and blue. you use to call ingrid your sunset because just like the sunset she's gorgeous, but is only there for a bit before leaving completely. it was an endearing nickname based off feelings of annoyance and love.

this time around, the sunset is not about ingrid to you. it's about this moment. you have finally left her for good and once that sun sets fully and the moon rises, you promise to yourself to close this chapter of your life. your focus is on taking care of yourself and moving on at your pace.

once you circle back around and reach your apartment, the sun has already set. your head is feeling more empty than from before you left. is this dissociation? or is this just the feelings leaving you right now? you don't really care about it at the moment as you slip off your shoes and jacket. going into your bedroom to go lay on one of the only pieces of furniture in your apartment.

no sheets (you have to go shopping tomorrow), just a pillow. just like the blank mattress, your life is now a blank canvas for you to paint any way you want. how freeing is that.

I TRY TO KEEP FROM LOSIN'

THE REST OF ME

I WORRY I WASTED THE BEST

OF ME ON YOU, BABY

YOU DON'T CARE

SAID, NOT TRYA BE A NUISANCE,

IT'S JUST URGENT

TRYA MAKE SENSE OF LOOSE CHANGE

GOT ME A WAR IN MY MIND

GOTTA LET GO OF WEIGHT, CAN'T

KEEP WHAT'S HOLDING ME

CHOOSE TO WATCH

WHILE THE WORLD BREAK UP

AND FALL ON ME

you have a long list of worries that you carry with you throughout the day; when are you going to finally set up a therapy appointment? when is the next time you're going to see ingrid? have you lost your mind? are you ruined forever?

before you ever got involved with ingrid, you never thought about these things. it wasn't until she started to treat you like shit that all these thoughts started to invade your mind. you hate her. that you know for certain.

the fear of being forever ruined makes you contact a therapist in your area and make an appointment. refusing to be stuck in a pitiful, constantly thinking about your ex state.

you are tired of letting yourself down again and again. the mistake of not leaving ingrid the moment she showed how toxic she could be was the first of many, but now it's different. you have to do this; get some help so all these feelings can be let out somewhere.

you deserve this; this is the start of your new beginning. it won't be tainted by ingrid this time, this is all about you.

the first therapy session was exhausting. not because your therapist, ms. wright, wasn't great. the complete opposite. she was so good that suddenly all the emotions that have been building up inside of you spilled out the moment she asked what's wrong?

the internal desire to just not tell anything and be difficult was strong; a bad habit you have to shake. it's hard when in the past every time you bought up an issue to ingrid she would dismiss and deflect from it, so you just stopped trying. now you have to learn how to communicate your feelings in a healthy manner again. that they aren't miniscule, but important aspects of your being.

in the first session it's a lot of crying and not being able to say what you wanted because the words wouldn't flow out of your mouth. but still ms. wright listens and takes in every word and lets you go at your pace; this is all about you and she lets you know it.

you leave out of the modern styled clinic building with a different feeling from before. the lack of emotional weight is so freeing you want to cry again, but you have already cried enough so no tears come out as you get into your car. still there is a fight within your mind as you drive that distracts you slightly. half of your mind is still feeling guilty for just up and leaving ingrid. the other half is reminding you that she technically left you first and not once, but over and over again. why are you expected to stay, but she is free to run away from you at any moment?

you reach your apartment building after a few minutes, pulling into the parking lot. the light breeze of the san diego evening makes you smile as you get out of the vehicle. walking into the building with a small smile on your face.

healing will be a long process, but you are willing to do it. you have already taken the first step, more than ingrid has ever done for you, so it's a start. the moment your head hits the pillow you're out. for the first time in months you sleep peacefully.

ALL THE WHILE, I'LL AWAIT MY

ARMORED FATE WITH A SMILE

STILL WANNA TRY, STILL BELIEVE

IN (GOOD DAYS)

GOOD DAYS, ALWAYS (GOOD DAYS)

ALWAYS INSIDE (ALWAYS IN MY MIND,

ALWAYS IN MY MIND, MIND)

GOOD DAY LIVING IN MY MIND

TELL ME I'M NOT MY FEARS, MY LIMITATIONS

I DISAPPEAR, IF YOU LET ME

FEELING LIKE (ON YOUR OWN)

FEELING LIKE JERICHO

FEELING LIKE JOB WHEN HE LOSE HIS SHIT

GOTTA HOLD MY OWN, MY CROSS TO BEAR ALONE, I

OOH, PAID A DEAL, WAY TO KILL THE MOOD

KNOW YOU LIKE THAT SHIT, YEAH, GROOVY BABY, BABY

HEAVY ON MY EMPTY MIND SHIT

you constantly have to remind yourself that healing is a process. one that takes time, energy, and willingness. that's so hard to remember on the nights where the only image in your mind is of ingrid every time she left you to dry. the endless times she refused to make you two's relationship work, the fear that always lingers in her eyes when you would open your apartment door to let her inside. the norwegian's biggest fear was someone "catching" you two. whatever that means because at the end of the day what you two were wasn't illegal. she just made it seem like it was. perhaps for ingrid, in her mind for herself, something like that is wrong; is illegal. in the court of the public, it was worthy of punishment is probably what she thought whenever you two kissed. whenever you two cuddled. whenever you two acted like any other couple, was ingrid worrying about how it would look to others?

oh, god and every word she has spoken to you is imprinted into your mind at this point.

you know i can't

if you loved me, you would wait

i swear i love you but i just can't..

ingrid always had a thousand excuses and a thousand more lies to cover up all her problems. it didn't matter if her actions heavily affected you because it was all about her and what she feared and what she needed. what about you? you weren't a fucking robot. fears and worries clung to your conscience too. there were needs that needed to be taken care of too. but did you run and deflect at every turn? no, you wanted to sit down and talk them out like a normal couple would. too bad nothing about you two's arrangement was normal. sneaking around like romeo and juliet wasn't as thrilling as it sounded. and just like those two, you two's story ended in death. ingrid was the first to stab it and you were the one to send another stab straight into it's heart. ripping it apart into shreds until it was unreadable.

however, those nights were just moments in your new life where the past got the better of you; and that's all they would be, moments. those haunting thoughts don't push you into a corner anymore like before. outside of therapy and those late nights, ingrid is the last thing in your mind.

being around your teammates at san diego wave lightens up your day so much. a group of goofballs who refuse to let you be sad for even a second. the times after practice when you all just decide to go to dinner make all the worry in your body leave. transferring from barcelona was possibly the best decision ever for you.

you would have probably isolated yourself back in spain, not wanting to be around ingrid anymore than you have to be.

outside of your teammates, there was something else making the move to the wave worth it; someone else. a pretty journalist who you met at an interview. she wasn't even the one who was interviewing you.

you have bumped into her while looking for the bathroom. saying a quick apology after realizing you bumped into a really pretty woman. she gives you a warm smile, "it's fine" comes from her lips. why do her words sound so satisfying? before you could completely gay panic, you excused yourself and eventually found the bathroom. suddenly feeling too shy to ask that pretty brunette about where to find it.

you thought that would be the end of it. one small interaction that you forget about after a while, but no. the universe for some reason was pushing you and this woman together. she became a regular journalist for the san diego wave. you come to find out her name is julianna; how gorgeous. even when you kept seeing her around, the reminder that you needed to heal and work on your trust issues was constant in the back of your mind. but you couldn't really help it, could you? eventually you started to spend more and more time around her whenever she came around to training or at games. being the first to volunteer for an interview after a good match. it was honestly sorta embarrassing; why were you feeling all giddy like a teenager again? still julianna was still so pretty and kind and many other positive adjectives that you could think of. the woman spoke with such a tone like she was deeply interested in whoever she was talking to. strong eye contact and always having something to say that would lead the conversation to be more interesting.

soon enough the time spent around her bled into spending time outside of soccer. you took the first step one day after asking her out for coffee after a short interview. julianna laughed softly as she asked, "is this a date?" the bashful smile on your lips answered her question. she said yes; leading to one of the best dates you have ever had.

you two spent a good hour at a cafe just talking. getting to know each other outside of y'all's work personalities. the conversation was so good, you two didn't want to end so julianna suggested going to a nearby board walk; and that's exactly what you two did.

sitting beside each other on a bench on the boardwalk, overlooking the ocean. talking for hours until the sun set. it took all the resolve inside of you to not invite her over to your place. you didn't want the date to end, but that was okay as you weren't going to let it be the last.

after dropping off julianna off at her house you headed back to your apartment. a light feeling in your chest as you changed into your pajamas before laying on the couch to find a show to watch. the moments from the date replaying in your mind. you couldn't believe you have been missing out on stuff like this for so long. with ingrid a simple date like that would have never happened. it was too risky because "what if someone sees us" was always her answer whenever you asked to go anywhere outside of your or her's apartment.

it seems like it will be another one of those nights where you think about ingrid. a soft sigh escapes your lips as you reminisce. nothing could ruin how good your day was, but these thoughts were definitely darkening it. you remember the first time you built up the courage to ask ingrid out on a date.

it was around new years, spain was electric with celebration. this was around the early stages of the relationship and still you two have never been out on a proper date; and that bothered you.

you thought it was just because of the busy schedule you both had. being too tired to do anything else but a few cuddles before bed or a hug after practice before going to your two separate apartments. so as you sit next to ingrid on your couch, cuddling up to her, you ask her; "shouldn't we go for dinner. to celebrate the new year?"

the way ingrid tensed up didn't go unnoticed. you look at her confused as she says, "how about we just stay in and cook? that's more romantic, right?" the words sounded forced like that option wasn't even that appealing in all honesty. just a cover up, so she didn't have to say what she actually wanted which was no.

that moment was one that stuck with you throughout the relationship. every lie, broken promise, and lack of attention weighed heavily on you. that should have been the first sign that ingrid was ready to be in a relationship with you, but no. out of pure blind love you moved past that and agreed.

now the fear that julianna might be the same way settles in your mind. she might not have said no to a date, but what about bigger commitments? would she run just like ingrid has.

a string of anger hangs in your heart; this is so unfair. even with ingrid not around she ruins your day in a way only she can. it was fucking frustrating, you wish you didn't have to deal with all the left over baggage she left you.

an annoyed sigh leaves your lips as the sound of all american plays in the background. you decide to push your feelings away and to just indulge in a night full of watching a meaningless tv show; wanting to get annoyed at the problems in the characters lives, not your own.

and that's exactly what you did. watching random shows back to back until you drifted off to sleep.

I GOTTA KEEP FROM LOSIN'

THE REST OF ME (LOSIN' THE REST OF ME)

STILL WORRY THAT I WASTED

THE BEST OF ME ON YOU, BABE

YOU DON'T CARE

SAID, NOT TRYNA BE A NUISANCE,

IT'S JUST URGENT (IT'S URGENT)

TRYNA MAKE SENSE OF LOOSE CHANGE

GOT ME A WAR IN MY MIND (MY MIND)

GOTTA LET GO OF WEIGHT,

CAN'T KEEP WHAT'S HOLDING ME

CHOOSE TO WATCH

WHILE THE WORLD BREAK UP AND FALL ON ME

ALL THE WHILE, I'LL AWAIT MY

ARMORED FATE WITH A SMILE

STILL WANNA TRY, STILL BELIEVE IN

(GOOD DAYS, GOOD DAYS ON MY MIND)

GOOD DAYS (GOOD DAYS ON MY MIND)

ALWAYS SUNNY INSIDE (ALWAYS IN

MY MIND, ALWAYS IN MY MIND, MIND)

GOOD DAY LIVING IN MY MIND

therapy was getting better. ms. wright knew the exact words to say and the exact ways to help you with your mental state. you have started to journal at her request, at first thinking it's slightly childish. writing down all your feelings like some type of diary? you left that in highschool ages ago, but somehow that method still works when it comes to your emotions. whenever your mind felt clouded with ingrid you would write your feelings out.

not only that, but you started to run. outside of your usual workout routine and the training sessions you had as a professional footballer, you never was one to be interested in exercise. most workouts were just ways for you to keep up your physic for games; nothing more. however, running was freeing. not only mentally but physically.

just like how ms. wright has said, mental stress weighs heavily on the body. causing tension and discomfort even though it's all mental. you knew this of course but never wanted to admit how your mental health has been causing your body to feel like it's tight enough to burst at any moment. in your mind it didn't make any sense, but ms. wright reassured you that it was natural. the mind and body are undeniably connected, one will always follow the other. anyways back to running, the feeling of your body being sore as you pant was exhilarating. your chest feeling so light after each run.

you take one in the morning and one at night. making sure not to miss the run at night because that's when your emotions always get the best of you.

not only did you work on finding healthy coping mechanisms to let out your emotions, but you worked on your trust issues.

the process was dreadful.

when people say the path to healing is linear, it's true. some days you felt like you could trust anyone with anything and on others you wished you could isolate yourself from the world so you wouldn't be hurt ever again.

your therapist was there at every step. guiding you and also sometimes letting you figure out some thoughts on your own.

"why do you think i couldn't just, you know, up and leave her?" you asked one day as you sit in front of ms. wright. the tall woman smiles at you. staying silent for a moment before saying, "why do you think so?"

getting a question back for your own questions makes you frown. how were you supposed to know? the whole reason you're in therapy was for your therapist to help you out, not make you figure out issues on your own. that was your mind process at first but after leaving the appointment, you really sorta understood why ms. wright didn't just give you some answer.

there are some things in life that only you know and can answer; this is one of them. you didn't want to sit around or even journal about the why. instead you go for a run. it was around time for your evening run anyways, so why now kill two birds with one stone?

the thoughts flow easily as you step out onto the trail. ready to go down your usual path. the why doesn't come immediately, but you think about your feelings for ingrid again.

it wasn't a lie to say that you loved ingrid. that you were in love with her. why else would you fight for her so badly? not even in just a romantic sense. before you two dated, you were obviously teammates and had a sorta close relationship. hanging out outside of practice with the other barcelona players often. talking about current shows and books that you both liked. it wasn't your fault that you fell in love with the friend version of ingrid. who would have thought she would be so different as a girlfriend?

perhaps that's why you clung on. you hoped, no, begged that that version of ingrid that you knew in the past would come back. that it was deep inside of her and just needed some pulling to come out. you just had to fight for it and throughout all that effort, it would appear. which wasn't true in the slightest. the ingrid from before wasn't the one you knew throughout that time where you two hid and snuck around; you should had known.

well, you just found your why. you smile as you finish your run, turning back around to walk to your car.

did you just realize you were chasing after someone who didn't exist, to you at least, anymore? yeah.

would this realization haunt you for the rest of your life? maybe so..

but still you felt lighter. not just physically, but mentally. the sun looked brighter as it set low in the sky.

god, how gorgeous life is when you aren't chasing after broken dreams. after something that doesn't and will never exist again.

why do you feel so free?

GOTTA GET RIGHT, TRYNA FREE

MY MIND BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD

I DON'T MISS NO EX, I DON'T MISS NO TEXT

I CHOOSE NOT TO RESPOND

I DON'T REGRET, JUST PRETEND

SHIT NEVER HAPPENED

HALF OF US LAYIN' WASTE TO OUR YOUTH,

IS IN THE PRESENT

HALF OF US CHASIN' FOUNTAINS OF

YOUTH AND IT'S IN THE PRESENT NOW

ALWAYS IN MY MIND, ALWAYS IN MY MIND, MIND

YOU'VE BEEN MAKING ME FEEL LIKE I'M

ALWAYS IN MY MIND, ALWAYS IN MY MIND, MIND

you post julianna on your instagram after four months of being together. she has asked you after a nice dinner date that ended in a walk near the beach. you remember feeling so special, like a priority when she pulled you close by the waist. her hand gently caressing the skin that was exposed there. a warm look in her eyes as she smiles at you. "can i be your girlfriend?" the brunette asked. giggling once you just pulled her into a kiss. no words needed.

back to hard launching you two's relationship, it was a whole new feeling. a mix of uncertainty and happiness was floating around in your heart. what if julianna changed her mind? that she didn't want to publicly claim you? that would definitely drive you insane, but it was the complete opposite. julianna was fine with you posting a picture of you two; the picture is from one of the earlier dates y'all went on. you're holding her face as you kiss the tip of her nose. she's smiling, her hands holding onto your waist.

you could finally do normal couple things like post about cute dates and funny off guard photos and walk around in public while holding hands. there was no risk attached to it. no "we can't let them know" coming from julianna. she was happy to hold your hand and give you a small peck on the cheek while out. the lack of shame was refreshing.

the teasing comments from your teammates on how you charmed the team's journalist away were slightly annoying, but it was all in good fun.

life was truly looking up. your therapy sessions were centered around just ingrid based issues anymore, but others you have been needing help with. ms. wright was one stable support pillar in your life who consoled you for everything; especially the pressure from being a footballer in the limelight. san diego was really shaping up to be your home.

the day you heard about ingrid's new relationship was a day that you wish you could forget. it was a late saturday night, you had just got off a facetime call with julianna who was away in france for some press work. scrolling through instagram, seeing a post about ingrid and mapi dating on your feed. it wasn't some speculation post but one that was completely official. a photo that was obviously posted on one of their instagrams.

that single photo almost made you throw your phone against the wall.

after all the fighting and struggle.

all the begging and trying to help her face her fears.

all it took for ingrid to be open was for her to date someone else? that's all it was? so was it really just an "afraid of being open" thing or a you thing?

a sense of anger hits you. the audacity for her to move on after everything she put you through was laughable. of course you didn't expect her to sit around, crying over the relationship forever. that wasn't realistic or healthy, but you just didn't get it.

what was wrong with you? why couldn't she do that for you?

then came the rush of guilt; you had no reason to be angry. you had moved on, so why couldn't she? it was a double standard that you didn't want to touch on.

it took two hours of journaling to get your feelings sorted out. that sense of anger was just from feeling like this whole situation is unfair. ingrid refused to be public with you; claiming to be afraid, but pops out with mapi? you should be happy for her. that obviously means the norwegian went and got help like you always told her to. she had finally faced her fears.

but you are healing, not healed so you allow yourself to fully stick with your emotions. watching trashy rom coms while thinking about that post.

the next day, you slowly but surely got over it. once you talked to julianna in the morning your feelings were quite small about that lil reveal post. who cares if ingrid moves on? you have moved on too! this is for the best, so you shouldn't care so much about it. at least you wouldn't have to see her any time soon.

or so you thought.

you became a puma athlete only recently after your partnership with adidas ended. puma had the bigger offer, so you went ahead and signed the deal. the athletic brand wanted you to come to an event for their new campaign and you obviously didn't refuse. throwing on a gorgeous dress along with having julianna help you do your hair; keep cute giggles still in your mind as you sat at one of the tables in the large room.

there were many other athletes here, not just footballers. some you knew and others you didn't. it was nice to see players you haven't seen in forever. expect for one in particular.

you were daydreaming about what to do when you went back home. already about to grab your phone to text julianna when you looked up and saw her.

ingrid was sitting at a table across from yours; enjoying some pasta. she looked just the same as when you left her. just as pretty. hopefully not as toxic. your eyes must have been burning her hole through her as she finally looks up and sees you. her eyes dilating slightly as you two hold eye contract.

you're the first to break it. not being able to stand looking into her eyes for any longer. those same eyes that always held fear in them were different now. beside the opposite panic in the norwegian's eyes, there was something else. sprinkles of happiness in her eyes. the sound of a chair moving and steps passing your table snap you out of your thoughts.

ingrid was heading towards the bathroom. should you follow her or would that be weird? with how she looked back at you, maybe she had something to say. did you want to listen? you don't know, so you stand up and follow after her. of course letting a few minutes pass before following; no one could know, right?

once you walk into the bathroom you can hear the water running. ingrid is putting some water on her face. you had to say something to get her attention since she definitely didn't think you would go after her.

"i didn't expect to see you again," you say softly. she gives you a glance, obviously about to say something. the surprise that comes into your mind once she starts apologizing is hard hitting. you never thought she would apologize; that wasn't the type of closure you thought you would ever get.

hearing her apologize and put all the blame on her should be satisfying. finally should be sitting in your mind in bold letters, but it wasn't. after all the therapy and finding someone else, an apology wasn't something you wanted anymore.

"i don't forgive you," the words come out of your mouth easily. you never thought you would ever be able to say that to her; in the past you always ran to forgive her and just forget. not this time around. the small disappointment in her eyes makes you almost reconsider, but no. you have a right to not accept an apology. "but i'm glad you got help. finally," you say genuinely.

you two just stare at each other before you turn and leave out of the bathroom. not wanting to deal with the awkward silence anymore.

ingrid has done it; gave you the thing you needed and wanted from her. and you didn't even accept it.

why was that so freeing to do?

the apology wasn't the closure, being able to give ingrid the rejection and disappointment you experienced from her countless times before was the closure.

you're officially over ingrid engen.

#ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso x reader #woso fanfics #norwnt #barcelona femeni

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sitp-recs · 6 months

Note

any recs for jealous harry? especially before they’re in a relationship. i think i’ve read most of them. but just in case i’d love to see if you have any!

thanks :)

Hi anon! I’ve seen more and more jealous Harry recently, good food 🤌🏼 here’s my reclist with jealous Harry and some additional recs for early jealousy before they get together. Enjoy!

The Real Thing by @skeptiquewrites (M, 5k)

Harry only means to cheer Draco up after a terrible breakup. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

Two of Us by @sorrybutblog (E, 5.5k)

The gang goes to a gay bar. Or: five times Harry accidentally pretended to be Draco’s boyfriend and one time Draco told him to put out or shut up.

Deadheading the Odd Dahlia by @peachpety (E, 8.7k)

Harry is content to spend his days at Draco’s flower stall at the farmers market, burying his true feelings in artisanal coffee and rose bouquets. When forced to find new lodgings, he accepts Draco’s offer to live in a cottage at Malfoy Manor, and his long-hidden crush blossoms out of control. Turns out, proximity makes the heart grow fonder.

Let Me Roll It by @lagerloutfic (E, 9.5k)

The thing about Harry was, he hated most people. And there was no one he hated more than Draco’s boyfriend Justin - certified knob and all round wanker. So when he finds out Justin is just as selfish inside the bedroom as he is outside it, Harry can’t help himself.

Peep Show by @kbrick (E, 10k)

To everyone’s surprise, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have become maybe-possibly-sort-of friends. When Harry moves into the building next to Draco's, they become neighbors, too. Actually, Harry can see directly into Draco's flat from his window. And as it turns out, Draco gets up to some interesting things at night.

Take These Lies by @pennygalleon (E, 20k)

There’s a portrait of his godfather in Draco Malfoy’s potions shop and Harry needs to know why. But that’s not why he keeps coming back.

We Might Be Too Old for a Bildungsroman by @wellhalesbells (T, 21k)

Harry finds something he’s been looking for since the war’s end. Admittedly, the packaging’s a bit odder than he expected.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man. God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

Around You Moves by ignatiustrout (M, 29k)

Harry knew Draco was gay when he invited him to move in. He’s never had a problem with this. So why does he feel so weird about Draco bringing men home all of a sudden?

LA, Who Am I To Love You? by @epitomereally (E, 42k)

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

Can't Sit Still by wilteddaisy (E, 193k)

Five years after the war, Harry finds himself drawn to Draco Malfoy by memories that aren't his own.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #jealous Harry #get together

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cassandrasimplex · 8 months

Text

Listen, when I say, as an abuse survivor, that Astarion's storyline is written with care, delicacy, and profound understanding: Since I completed it a few days ago, which I found incredibly cathartic and fulfilling due to points of commonality with the nature and causes of my CPTSD, I've been sleeping 7-8 hours a night straight through (instead of 3-5 at a time), my resting heart rate has dropped almost 10 beats per minute, I've had zero nightmares (based not just on what I remember but also on how much I move and talk in my sleep), and my fitness tracker wants to know what I've been doing different lately and whether I can keep it up.

I don't expect this change to be permanent or even long-lasting, but not even months of therapy at a time have ever had a positive effect so strong my tracker picked up on it. Not even when I was in crisis mode and only able to sleep 2 or 3 hours a day was therapy able to improve my sleep and my well-being so immediately. Astarion's storyline from finding Cazador's prisoners to the final confrontation, which took me a bit over an hour, did. If you want to count all the narrative build-up to that climax that gave it meaning, call it six weeks' investment for such a dramatic improvement.

The idea that trauma-aware roleplay can help people with PTSD and especially CPTSD find short-term peace and even a long-term improvement in overall functioning and mental health isn't new to me. I stumbled across it on my own, unguided, 30+ years ago. It's a bit newer to most therapists, but it's an approach used in experiential therapy and some related strategies and had been studied for much longer before its incorporation in such toolkits. But BG3 isn't being sold as therapy; it's being sold as a fun video game to play in one's free time.

The thing about CPTSD and recovery from abuse in general is that you have to practice new ways of reacting to the world. Therapies like cognitive behavior therapy focus on helping the patient replace old, maladaptive patterns of thinking that helped them survive a traumatic situation but hinder functioning in safer environments with intentionally-created ones that would have been too dangerous to practice in the traumatic environment but are healthier and more supportive outside it. These patterns have to be practiced, though; it's not enough to just correct yourself once with a more affirming statement and wait for results. You have to do it over and over until it becomes your new default. And results matter. If practicing the new behavior or thought results in the kind of negative outcome it would have prompted in the original abusive situation, the effect is that the old, maladaptive pattern is reinforced instead: "See? I knew acting that way would be too dangerous. I knew thinking that way would just be lying to myself. I already know what's best. The way I've always behaved in order to survive is what serves to keep me safe."

Which is why Astarion's storyline is both so effective and so astonishingly well done. Over and over, you get the chance to reassure him that your friendship is not merely a set of opportunistic transactions, that you don't want to control him, that you see him as a person rather than a puppet or a tool, that he can refuse to manage your feelings for you or even outright hurt your feelings without being "punished" for it. You can comment out loud to him when you catch him being manipulative and tell him that's not how your friendship works while still accepting and supporting him as a person, as a friend. You can make your friendship with him an environment completely opposite in nature to his relationship with his abuser. You can teach him -- and, if you need it, yourself -- what a safe environment looks like. And you can teach him that his abuser's behavior was successful in an environment created specifically to reserve all power for the abuser, but doesn't serve as well outside that situation, to encourage him to find healthier ways of dealing with the world than the ones that were modelled for him within that trauma. (Am I projecting? Of course I'm projecting; that's precisely what makes roleplay such an effective tool. It's a natural human tendency that can be used to advantage.)

And somewhere in your psyche, if you're a person who needs to hear all that as much as Astarion does, your mind is taking note: "How I thought the whole world works was wrong. Only that one little part of the world worked that way. The world is much bigger than the limited environment that hurt me. There are better ways to live and be." The parts of the brain where trauma plants its deepest roots can't tell the difference between play and reality, between past and present. They can't tell the difference between "I can make a safer environment for this person in front of me" and "I can go back in time and make a safer environment for the person I used to be." (That's why so many abuse survivors feel compelled to help other abuse survivors -- empathy, yes, and identification, but on a deeper level than that; we try to become the person who never showed up to help us.)

And if "this person in front of me" happens to be a fictional character, well, it can't really tell the difference between fiction and reality either -- especially when the fiction has a visible face and an audible voice and convincing expression in both.

I'm not in the slightest saying, "Go out and buy BG3 to fix yourself!" because using roleplay as therapy is far too highly personal and variable to expect consistent results from a script. There might be people whose trauma is reinforced by the same things that spoke so soothingly to mine. Larian is a video game company, not a therapist. But I can't get over the way a video game company for fuck's sake has created such a sensitive, tender, supportive story that it can even accidentally function this way. They didn't have to go so hard. They didn't have to lean so far into empathy. They didn't have to bring so much realism into it. They could have just told an interesting story. They did tell an interesting story -- but someone here decided they needed to tell it so well, so powerfully, that they were going to need to know exactly what living through events like those would do to a person, and how a friend would have to act to support that person in working toward happiness and health.

Well fucking done, Larian. Extremely well fucking done.

And although I can't reasonably expect the current effects to last, I can carry something lasting from here on; I can add "What would I say to Astarion right now?" to the list of questions I ask myself when triggered, when I realize I'm experiencing an implicit flashback. What would I say to Astarion? What would I say to a friend? What would I say to someone I care about who's been through the same things I have? What would I say to myself if I thought I deserved to be happy and free?

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #astarion #astarion ancunin #Larian #ptsd #complex ptsd #cptsd #child abuse #abuse survivor

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ultralightpoe · 7 months

Text

Mini Me - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Word Count: 956

Warnings: none

Description: Small halloween blurb. - reader is a single mother

This is apart of my Halloween event, stay tuned for a new story every hour!

Happy Halloween!

Being normal was hard.

Not that Bucky had ever thought any of this would be easy, leaving the history of the winter soldier behind was going to be impossible, but he was going to give it a shot.

He got an apartment and a nice bedframe………that he kept empty and chose to sleep on the floor since it seemed to help with the anxiety of it all. It’s what he knew.

He got a therapist……. That he often lied to.

But as much as he panicked about not being able to blend in and not being able to catch up, there were some things that Bucky found he liked about his new life.

The absolute biggest being the wonderful woman that lived across the hall from him with her small daughter. The two people in this building that had actually made him feel like a human being after years of torture and misery.

He remembers the first day he met you both, when he had first moved in and you had welcomed him with a welcome basket that your daughter refused to let you hold. It was too heavy for her to carry and she obviously struggled to hold it up, the smile on her face more of a grimace that showed her missing tooth. When you went to help her she cried out and moved away which made you pull back quickly and look at him with an apologizing look.

You had invited him to breakfast, he had not gone until a couple months later when you both invited him again and the beating in his heart absolutely demanded he go.

Now he was here, pacing back and forth in his apartment dressed and ready to go as he waits until he hears you two leave your apartment.

This would be his first halloween he would see in the new world, and you had both done him the honor of inviting him to go trick or treating with you. And he was so excited, though it was too late to come up with a really cool costume he had managed to snag a pirate costume from a place called Spirit Halloween at the last moment and he was really hoping you both liked it.

He finally hears y/d rustling about out in the hall and takes a deep breath in, trying to calm himself down before he opens his front door slowly and finds you both standing in the middle of the hall waiting with big smiles on your faces.

His eyes meet your own, dressed as an old witch, and he can’t fight the blush that fills his cheeks before he looks down to the young one and his heart completely stops.

She is barely containing her own excitement, your hands on her shoulders the only thing keeping her still as Bucky looks at the winter soldier costume she had made. The silver arm made him smile.

“She wanted to go as her hero.” You smile and he can do nothing but nod with a large smile on his face.

“I am completely honored.”

“LETS GO LETS GO LETS GO!” Y/d screams, escaping your hands and dashing to him where he easily catches her with his flesh arm.

“Trick or treating?” He asks, looking to you as you shake your head.

“Too early. Dinner first.”

Multiple people had stopped by your table at dinner to compliment the family costumes, and by the time you had all eaten and it was time to trick or treat y/d had a firm hold on his hand, allowing him to lift her every so often to make sure she didn’t trip as you both took him door to door.

He was having the absolute time of his life.

But finally the night was coming to an end and he held two fulls bags of candy in his metal arm and carried Y/d in his other arm from where she fell asleep in his arms. Her cheek smushed against his shoulder, some of the eyeliner from the winter soldier swiping on the fabric of his own costume.

“I can carry something-” You offer once more before he shakes his head.

“I’ve got it.” You nod at his answer, walking beside him. Truth was he was so incredibly happy that you let him hold your daughter, that you trusted him enough to carry her. And his heart practically melted when he realized your daughter trusted him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder. “Thank you for inviting me, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you for coming with us. We both had a wonderful time.”

“So did I.” You were both getting to the entrance of the building and Bucky cringes as a loud horn blasts and he can only hope it doesn’t wake his mini me up. “Would you…. Maybe ever consider getting dinner sometime?”

His voice is tight and he feels like he is about to melt at how hot his skin is. You smile sweetly as you watch him before tilting your head.

“We have dinner and breakfast every week, Buck.”

He can’t stop the nerves, cringing at his own awkwardness. “I…. well I meant like a- okay well- It’s just-”

“I would love to go on a date.” You whisper, leaning forward to plant a small kiss on the corner of his lips and he can’t help but smile. “Y/d has been trying to convince me to marry you for weeks now.”

“I knew I loved her for a reason.” Bucky laughs, looking down to where the girl is actively snoring.

Overall his first halloween with you guys was a great one, and he could not wait for next year as well.

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themonotonysyndrome · 21 days

Text

Ě̸̡̞̱̘̹̮̫͚̯͍͕̟̪͂̀̋̉̾͛̂̑̅͜͝c̴̢̺̟̣̠̤̽͋͒̄̄͂̆̿͗̑̊̒̒̕ḧ̷͇͍͉͉̺͈͙́̀͆̀̒̒̅̒͒̔̽ó̶͔̜̓͛̓̂̔̆͌́͆̉͂͘͝͠es of regrets

So! I saw this post from @rivyx (if you like, I can untag you. Just wanna give credit where credit is due):

And I thought:

"Man. It's been a while since I broke my own heart. Oh! Angst between Geordi and Cutie? How about I make Geordi regret for making Cutie believe that they need to multiate and hide the magical part of themselves and even the Empowered world because he doesn't understand a Telepath's needs?"

Hence. This oneshot. Shout out to @moonandstarlightsposts for helping me come up with the title!

(Yes. Yes. I know. Cutie was canonically at fault, too. I just wanna focus on Geordi regretting his actions for a change.)

Summary: Second chances come and go. But for Geordi and Cutie, perhaps they should have let it go by.

First comes the awkwardness.

It’s to be expected. A break was decided - no, needed - for the both of them after… well. No point in digging up bad memories. The two of them were heading down a dangerous spiral, and Geordi could no longer ignore the red flags. He’d been through too much to drown in toxicity and abuse again. Whether his partner realised it or not. And that’s the part that crushed his heart. A heart that Geordi painstakingly put back together with liquid gold and long nights of tearful frustrations. He told them about Ben. He told them how his ex callously disregarded his boundaries. And Cutie just -

Therapy was something they agreed to during their break. Geordi needed to address old trauma that re-open like wounds and Cutie -

‘I… I hope this isn’t me coming across as presumptuous, but one of my coworkers is a really good therapist. I think you’ll like him! His name is Cam - ’

‘I still have my old therapist’s number. Um. Thanks, though.’

‘O-Oh! Right. Of course. I should’ve thought of that. I just… never mind.’

That was the last text that Cutie sent. Even after they moved out of his apartment, the two continued to exchange careful messages with one another, awkwardly making sure not to step on each other’s landmines. However, as days gone by, the texts became more and more superficial: ’Morning. Have you eaten?’. ‘Just cereal. Thanks for checking up on me.’ ‘The weather forecast mentioned a thunderstorm. Don’t forget an umbrella, ok?’. When Cutie brought the subject of therapists to the table -

The texts stopped after that.

Geordi had no idea how lonely his existence truly was without Ben and Cutie. The two-bedroom apartment became too big. He cooked too much for a single person. His left side felt too exposed whenever his coworkers dragged him out for drinks and karaoke. It hurts. He has a habit of rubbing his left arm nowadays.

His therapist is a kind woman, the kind that has laugh lines all over her face. Older than him, more at ease with her place in the world, unlike Geordi. She never judges him whenever he finds the courage to unravel before her. Ugly, jagged broken pieces for a heart. Gold and bitter tears for the next few months.

Soon, a year passes.

Something settled within Geordi then. New foundations were built. The world is a little less lonely now that he has opened up to his coworkers, reached out to some cousins on phones and slowly put himself out there again. He had fallen in love with building LEGOs recently. A hobby that happily kept him occupied while a slow, reverb version of Evil by Melanie Martinez plays in the background of the living room.

It took a while, but he finally reached a point and mental headspace to put Cutie back into the equation.

His therapist's words constantly echo in his head, grounding him whenever his fingertips run on the rim of their favourite mug, red with little ladybugs on the ceramic. Witty, funny, confident, mischievous and kind - Cutie’s best would always outshine their worst in Geordi’s eyes. Perhaps that’s why he subconsciously ignores the raising red flags the more and more they tested his boundaries. Anyway, being with Cutie brought out the best of Geordi in return, which he never even knew existed. He loved them, plain and simple. He loves learning about them and their world every day of the week. He was so happy and content whenever they were in his arms. Growing old together was something he thought about when they drove back home from his folks’. Cutie was fast asleep, with their head gently resting against the window of the car. That moment was magical in its own way.

Geordi misses them. His incredible, one-of-a-kind partner.

He thinks about them more often than not nowadays, wondering how therapy is going for them. Had they fallen in love with any new hobbies? Did Cutie make any new friends outside of the Department? If so, he wonders what they’re like.

Thoughts turn to yearning. Yearning turns to Geordi, picking up his phone and texting Cutie first for once.

‘Hey. Good morning. How are you?’

The two of them never used to be awkward when they were a couple. Feeling hopeful, Geordi puts aside his phone as he continues about his day. Fixing himself a hearty lunch using a recipe that he can’t wait to share with Cutie and goes about doing the laundry afterwards. It’s only after his evening shower that a notification lights up on his phone screen.

‘Hey. I’m alright. You?’

Superficial. That’s OK, though. Geordi is not giving up.

The two resume texting every day soon enough as if the distance weren’t ever there. It makes him happy to be updated with every little thing that is going on in Cutie’s life. He spams GIFs and emojis at every picture they share and they, in return, slowly start to send over recorded audio of their little laughter and quips. It makes him miss them all the more. Enough to replay those audios over and over again whenever he can’t sleep at night. During those nights, his phone would always be on the right side of the bed.

Texting eventually evolves to calling when Geordi wakes up from a rather bad nightmare. Something so vague that it slipped from the recess of his conscious as he panted for air. Without even thinking about it, he presses on a familiar number. His call is answered almost immediately.

“Geordi? Why are you awake around this hour?”

Relief floods into his very being. They once fondly tease him that, no, their voice isn’t magic. Unlike Vampires and their special eyes, Telepaths specialised in minds instead. It’s his love that makes their voice special and it’s love that dispels the lingering nightmare.

“Geordi?” Cutie’s voice is hesitant at the end of the line. “Is everything ok? Do you have someone nearby that you can call for help?”

“No! No, no. I’m fine.” Comes his quick assurance. The shirt that he brought to sleep is drenched in sweat. His hair is matted to his forehead. He feels gross, and yet he doesn’t want to put Cutie on loudspeaker while he cleans himself up. “I just… really miss you. So much.”

Cutie’s reply is a whisper, “I-I miss you too. Can I ask if that’s the reason why you called me?”

“Yeah… had a nightmare; can’t remember what it was about. What I do remember is how you used to bring me to the kitchen, and you’d make warm chocolate milk for the both of us to help. You’d then talked me through it, helped me calm me down. Did I ever thank you for that? Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. I like taking care of you. And, uh, you did thank me. Always.”

Geordi lets out a ragged sigh. Those happy moments were just what he needed. “Did I wake you up? I didn’t mean to.”

“Nah, you’re good. I was doing some leftover documents for an assignment.”

Cutie never used to stay up past midnight. They like to sleep early whenever they can due to how mentally, emotionally, and physically taxing their job as an intel extraction officer can be. Cutie often rants about how the Department inefficiently run things, especially when it comes to bureaucracy. Perhaps this is one of their new habits? Speaking of which -

“How’s work treating you? Did you get that promotion?”

“Work’s alright. Are you feeling better now?”

Well, his heart was no longer racing, that’s for sure. But he still wants to hear their voice even through the static. “Like magic. You’re always the perfect cure for everything.” He waits for Cutie to laugh in that out-of-breath sort whenever he compliments them. Light and carefree.

Instead, they hum.

“Glad to hear it. Are you going to try and go back to sleep?”

“Only when you are, Cutie.” Geordi tries to flirt and perhaps coax them to rest for the evening.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll go to bed in a bit. Um. If that’s all - ”

Perhaps it’s because the nightmare that he can no longer recall had something to do with Cutie. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t heard their voice properly in so, so long. Whatever it is, it gave Geordi a burst of courage. He quickly asks before Cutie can hang up, “Wait, wait! Can I see you, Cutie? I just want to talk. Please?” He swallowed thickly. “I think we’re ready to discuss about… us.”

A thoughtful silence from Cutie.

“I’d like that. Where do you want to meet up?”

Geordi’s night becomes much sweeter after that. They talk and plan until his eyes grow heavy and Cutie’s documents are filed away. They even put him on loudspeaker and brought him to the bathroom so they could continue talking while they showered. God, the sounds of running water alone fill him with wants and images. He can’t stop picturing himself in that shower with them. So you can’t blame how incredibly giddy Geordi is when he finally sees Cutie walk up to the cafe the next day. They offered him a small smile as they made themselves comfortable across the table. Healthy and rocking a new fashion style when Geordi is busy absorbing every little detail about them. He could honestly stare at them like a work of art in the Louvre.

“So I’m here…” Cutie says rather unnecessarily. They scratch their cheek nervously. “You wanted to talk?”

He snaps out of a daze. Shit, he got distracted by his thoughts! For a split second, Geordi can’t help but wonder if they heard his inner ramblings. Judging by Cutie’s guarded expression, he lets out a sigh of relief. It sets his heart at ease to learn about this new side of Cutie. “Yeah. Thanks for agreeing to meet up with me. You look… god, Cutie. You look amazing.”

“Thanks! You’re not too bad on the eye yourself.” Cutie’s smile is wider now. “We’ve practically caught up to speed with each other lives for a while now. So, this is it. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it this time. I promise.”

That assurance dissolves any doubts that Geordi might have harboured. He’s more sure about his next few words than ever before. “I still want us to be together, Cutie. That never changed. Even when we were on a break, I had no one else. I love you, even when you broke my heart. Do you… do you still feel the same?”

Cutie reaches out to hold his hand, which is gripping a fork so tightly. He didn’t even realise it. The moment when skin meets skin, a familiar warmth spread across his arm. It’s like sunshine thawing out the chills in his bone marrow. He lets go of the fork in favour of holding their hand and squeezes it. “My feelings haven’t changed too. I love you so damn much, Geordi. I know I said it before, but I’m so sorry for hurting you. Words alone aren’t enough to promise you that I won’t do it again, but I’ll make sure my actions make up for it. From now on, you’ll lead where this relationship is going. I’ll follow” Steely determination glimmers behind Cutie’s eyes. God, they look so hot! Would his therapist finally judge him if he asked Cutie to drag him to the bathroom for a quickie? It’s been too long since they’re in him.

“Geordi? Are you ok? You look flush.” Some of that hesitation creeps back into Cutie. Dimming that spark of fire. He panics when their hand tugs back.

“Yeah! Sorry. My head’s a bit of a mess.” He begins to explain. Here, he lowered his voice; his eyes lidded. “Maybe you can make sense of it? You might like what you find, Cutie…”

“Oh!” For some reason, Cutie looks positively alarmed. A deer in a headlight. He had never seen that kind of look on their face before. Their sudden reaction threw Geordi off guard. Any lustful thoughts are completely replaced with concern now. “Maybe later. So, uh, where do we go from here? I can’t move back in just yet due to my apartment lease. Or do you want things to stay as they are right now for a little while longer?”

Continue this distance between them? Geordi doesn’t think he’s that strong of a man.

“Feel free to move in any time you can. My place is your home. You know that.”

That gorgeous smile slowly returns. This is Cutie at their best. After that day, things begin falling into place without a hitch. Cutie is back in his life. They bring their clothes and toiletries over when their lease is up -

“You kept my mug?”

“Of course I did, silly. Why would I throw it out?”

“Right… right. Sorry.”

“Cutie? Is something wrong?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Say, that recipe you bookmarked earlier, why don’t you let me take a crack at it? I’ll handle dinner tonight!”

- their routines fall into one once more, and Geordi couldn’t be happier. His world is no longer filled with silence and bitterness.

Second comes the realisation.

Geordi has been riding high on cloud nine ever since Cutie settled back into his apartment, into his life. Waking up to their sleeping face feels like a dream that he never wants to end. Their giggling when he rouses them with kisses is a bonus. He loves greeting the morning sun with a partner who is happy and satiated from the night before. And if Cutie is in the mood to play? Well! He’s more than happy to ruin the sheets for the third time in the span of six hours.

And don’t even get him started on domestic bliss.

Since Cutie’s work hours are a lot more flexible than Geordi’s, he’s forever grateful that they always have a pot of hot coffee ready for him on the table and a sweet kiss before he dashes out for the day. If he returns before traffic picks up in the evening, the couple would either go out for a dinner date or stay at home and binge-watch a new series while they eat in the living room. They alternate in cooking and cleaning depending on their schedule, but Cutie seems to have a habit of doing both whenever they can. The coworkers that he invited over for DnD sessions would whistle and nudge him on the shoulder when they looked around the spotless apartment, praising him for scoring the perfect partner after Cutie left them with a tray of snacks and drinks. Internally, Geordi preens.

When the weekends roll around, and it’s just the two of them lazying together in their sweats and old t-shirts, Geordi and Cutie would spend time together by combining their new hobbies. Geordi would lose himself in another LEGO building project while Cutie reads a novel on their phone on the couch. His favourite playlists play on and on, wrapping the couple in a peaceful cocoon.

That is until -

Geordi blinks, back in the present, when he suddenly hears the sliding door of the balcony softly shut. He sees Cutie outside talking on the phone, their back against him. He watches them moving their free hand animatedly for a few seconds longer before focusing back on the tower that he had been building. When the sliding door shuts again, he absentmindedly asks, “Hey, Cutie? What are you in the mood for lunch? Do you want to go to that Chinese restaurant down the street or…” His words trail off the moment he notices the frustrated lines on his partner's forehead. Their eyes were exhausted all of a sudden. Before he could say anything, his partner flashed an apologetic smile.

“Work called. Something came up. I need to step out in a bit, but I should have some time to make lunch - ”

Geordi stops them right there and then. He doesn’t want them to get more stressed out, especially when an emergency - he assumed - just happened. “No, no. Don’t sweat it. How about you go get ready while I make us lunch? I’d rather you have something in your stomach before you leave.” He replies, already up on his feet.

Deer in a headlight on Cutie. Again. What’s going on? “I can do it. It’s your rest day after all - ”

“Nu-uh. You just get your pretty ass in the shower, alright? I’ll have your favourites ready as soon as you step out of our bedroom door again.” Geordi assures them, but in reality? He’s so confused. They never so stressed out about cooking before. Seriously, what’s going on?

Cutie eventually nods. They kiss him on the cheek and make a beeline for the bathroom while Geordi takes out a wok and spatula. Their strange behaviour remains in his mind as he makes spicy stir-fry noodles. Now that he thinks about it, they’ve been going along with everything he likes nowadays. Cooking his favourite meals, making sure the laundry is clean and folded, helping him with the LEGOs, hanging out with his friends and letting him initiate intimacy and sex every time. They laugh when he tells jokes, as cheesy as they are. Apart from their clothes and toiletries, they haven’t brought back their Digimon plushies, or any of their physical books on the shelves. They hate horror movies, but when he absentmindedly suggests they watch Saint Maud, they agree without any hesitation.

It’s like they’re a satellite, faithfully orbiting Geordi’s every need and want. Why… why did he never notice that before? And when was the last time they went out to Cutie’s favourite restaurant again? When was the last time they did what Cutie wanted for a change?

Ah. Geordi remembers now. It was before they went on a break.

Something’s wrong with Cutie. Shit! Why didn’t he notice it before!? Was he truly caught up in his own world that he utterly neglected his partner’s?

The noodles are hot and plated, ready on the table, but Geordi feels so cold and empty. Guilt was heavy in his stomach. His grin is stiff when Cutie finally emerges wearing their standard work fit. Even in black slacks and a white collared shirt, Cutie looks like a model ready for the runway. They tuck into their meal, but Geordi doesn’t have much appetite for it. So many thoughts clash with one another in his head like angry hornets. He doesn’t even know where to start or what to ask. At times like this, Cutie would slip into his mind and act as his anchor. But ever since they got back together again -

“What time would you be coming home?” Is what comes out from Geordi’s lips, frustrated with himself.

Cutie stops washing their dishes to turn around. “If all goes well? In the evening. Probably before midnight, so you don’t have to wait up or put aside dinner for me. I can just grab something when I leave the office.”

And that’s another thing that Geordi just now realised. They don’t talk about work as much as they did before. When asked, sure, Cutie would always answer him, but it was never more than a, “Oh, my cases? Some old, same old.”, “These documents are pretty boring, actually. Something for the higher-ups to keep in their record.”, “The therapist I mentioned before? Oh, you mean Cam? He’s still working on the floor above mine.” Lukewarm. Tepid. Those are the kinds of replies that Cutie would often give him before the conversation seamlessly shifts to another topic.

Not once have they performed magic around him. In fact, ever since they got back together again, Cutie’s voice is constantly absent in his mind.

Suddenly, Geordi feels sick. He forces himself to put on a brave face, a mask that tells his partner that everything is alright, because their eyebrows begin to furrow in hesitation.

And now he knows why.

“Call me when you leave?” Geordi tries not to plead. His voice didn’t crack, that good. The last thing he wants is to get the love of his life in trouble with their superiors. They never did tell him if they received that promotion or not.

It’s a bittersweet victory when Cutie smiles again. “Sure! Have fun with your project, baby.”

They exchange a long kiss; he wonders if they find it weird that Geordi is reluctant to pull their lips away from him. He weeps and weeps into his hands when they leave the apartment. What has he done? Oh god, Cutie… he didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to drive them into cutting a part of themselves in order to make him happy. He didn’t mean to be so blinded when they made themselves smaller and smaller if that’s what they thought would make him happy. Would let them stay in his life.

He didn’t mean to hurt Cutie. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen! He thought that - he had hoped they got better, not - why couldn’t they just talk - has he become Ben?

Mrs Potato Head plays on and on while Geordi struggles to breathe.

Finally, in comes the heartbreak.

Geordi didn’t even wait for Cutie to come back. The moment he regained control of himself, he ran out with his phone and wallet. His eyes are rimmed-red, just like the setting sun behind him. He knows which streets are veiled against people like him; he just hopes he can ask for help from any Empowered folks who might be entering the Department. He has to fix this. He desperately needs to talk to Cutie. He needs them to know that he loves every part of them, that he loves the magical world as much as they do.

However, when he cuts through the park, he freezes.

Sitting on a bench a little further from the playground is his partner, crying in the arms of a stranger. Cracks begin to form in Geordi’s heart. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but judging from how the stranger does the talking and Cutie sighs and sniffles, it clued him in pretty quickly that they’re talking through him via telepathy. The stranger smiles sadly and offers them a handkerchief. His body language is serene, but the expression on his beautiful face is tight and worried. Is he a coworker? Another lover? Geordi doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Stricken, he watches them pat the stranger’s hand and gathers up their things. Leaving him on the bench as Cutie makes their way out of the park.

It’s at that moment that Geordi’s phone rings. He answers the call without a word.

“Hey, baby. Just left the office.” Cutie’s voice is hoarse. They clear their throat. This time, they sound more like themselves again - fake and bright. “Turns out one of the interns needed a stand-in instructor for tomorrow’s fieldwork. Since I’m on the way home, do you want me to grab anything?”

Geordi watches them wait at the same bus stop from which he just got off. “Why haven’t you talked to me through my head?”

“…Geordi, I’m out right now. Can we maybe talk about this at home?”

“OK. Why have you stopped ironing your work clothes with your hands?”

“I-I like using your new iron instead. What’s going on, Geordi? Did I do something wrong? Look, tell me how I can fix it, please? I don’t… I don’t know what I did wrong…”

Is this how it will always be when they’re together? Hurting each other whether they mean to or not? Acts of love turning into subservience?

The weaker side of him can’t help but wonder if it was a mistake for him and Cutie to get back together again if it means new sorrows and new regrets will always sour their relationship.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #fanfic #angsty #redacted geordi #redacted cutie #redacted camelopardalis

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0w0tsuki · 4 months

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Hey Ive seen Baeddel used in a lot of your posts but like,, other than a definition of the word I cant really find much on what it means like discourse-wise.

I know its something relating to transfems but other than that im lost x.x sorry for the bother

Basically it started out as an old timey slur for trans women. The word "bad" is rooted from it. In the early 2010s a group of trans women adopted the term and had a community for a very short time before it collapsed and not much information is left over.

Some say that had abusive dynamics. Some say they were just talking about transfeminism like they do now. My sibling swears up and down from their personal experiences with the initial group that they were a group of grifters using queer politics to fundraise for tumblers first big scam, The ARK(C?) Project.

A bunch of anti-transfeminists in their efforts to create the magical word that will allow them to terf-jacket trans women without having it called out as such happened upon the term and used the lack of concrete history/the fact that most of the subjective history isn't too charitable to this original group to fabricate a conspiracy theory that these original Beaddels were an evil cabal of bigoted trans women who never really went away and now operate and sow intracommunity discourse from the shadows for the explicit purpose of weakening the holy divinity of TransUnity.

And while some of them moved on to other terms like "TIRF" and "Neo Radfem" a good portion of TransUnity/Transandro anti-transfeminists have latched onto the term and have doubled down on their intent to use it to create a category of trans women that it's ok to exclude. Out of all of the anti-transfeminists that have come out of this new wave, the ones who build their politics around "Anti-Beaddelism" are some of the most mask-off exclusionists of the bunch. Like look at how they talk about Beadels

They will list how these groups have a bunch of ties to nearly every anti-queer group they could think of. And then they warn White™(Because everytime they attack trans women they have to pretend like it's a race thing to distract from the transmisogyny) that they mean to need to maintain a sense of hypervigilance around their transfem sisters and read into every laugh, every joke, and every word for the possibility of finding Beaddel rhetoric. This is a manipulative abusive tactic to keep the transfems within their sphere of influence to reach other to other transfems and rely on TME people to tell them what's right and provide community.

I remember on sailorportia's "Anti-Egg discoursers sound just like my conversation therapist" post I saw one of these people referring to the notes section as "full of beaddel dogwhistles" and inviting people to "take a look and educate themselves". Not specifying what the dogwhistles are or how they are dogwhistles. Just vaguely gesturing at the notes section and inviting you to regard anything a vocal trans woman as a crypto-beaddel and anything they say as "beaddel dogwhistles"

These communities cultivate a sense of paranoia. They encourage constant scrutiny regarding anything a trans woman says. Their leaders sell themselves as protectors of the community whose exclusion is a necessary evil to keep online trans communities safe. They are incentivized to keep the term Beaddel definition murky but representative of all the evils they attribute to trans women.

The term in the modern day is largely prescriptive and moreso defined by the reactionary "Anti-Beadelism" movement than it is defined by its history. Only a few trans women have reclaimed the term. When anti-transfeminists talk about Beaddelism they aren't talking about an organized group or community, they are referring to a bunch of individual trans women they have branded with the beaddel slur.

Currently I don't think reclaiming the word is a good move. Not that I disagree with it or think trans women shouldn't reclaim it. It's just that it will do more harm than good for as long as exclusionists control the narrative on its definition. I've seen mutuals have their posts on general transfeminism get completely discarded out of hand because they had Beaddel in their profile name or bio.

Because like it or not the current definition of Beaddels that gets passed around was written by current ex-terfs/transandro nothorses bro and cites TERF resources in their definition. This is the same dude who's responsible for the foundation or the current TransUnity echo chamber and used the influence from creating that community to try and redefine TERF to include trans women for the purpose of TERF-jacketing.

It's why me and some other trans women have been picking up the words trasfeminism to refer to discussions of transfem issues and anti-transfeminist to refer to these new wave of transfem exclusionist. It denies the exclusionists the ability to define our politics for us to outsiders. Also note: If the term trasfeminism picks up in use your going to see a lot of these people switch from "Beaddel" to "Radical Transfeminist" as their go-to anti-transfeminist TERF-jacketing slur

#transmisogyny #transfeminism #exclusionists #beaddel #trans unity #transunity

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betterbemeta · 3 months

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Non-Bullshit Self-Affirmation Exercise

I'm nobody's therapist and I shouldn't be. But the world we're in is mentally damaging. Any world would be to some extent, and I understand different people have different experiences of the world. But whoever you are I think we can agree most environments we're in don't promote a good relationship with 'the self.'

I can't say 'you should like who you are' or 'you should think you have all these great virtues.' That isn't up to me. But whether you already 'like yourself' or 'are building yourself' or 'want to like a future self more' you can't do that easily if 'who you currently are' is passively eroded without relief.

And this can happen a lot of ways I think. Our responsibilities (school, job, etc.) don't value our authentic experiences but instead our 'performance' within a system. Our bodily needs and logistical realities can frame the practical steps to our care like a burden for ourselves or for others. We are constantly assaulted with external appeals to desire that disrespect our own effort to navigate those desires ourselves. And so much stuff can feel 'more important than ourselves' like, why is it relevant you're a person when immense choices jeopardize the future and the lives of collective humanity???

A lot of talk about 'self-care' is bastardized into like... 'giving yourself special treats' which often can tie in to a highly consumerist culture or self-destructive habits. And 'special treats' may feel irresponsible or like a waste of time in the face of our practical human problems. But the important part is not actually the 'treat', but that the context of the treat is yours. This is YOUR unique treat, that represents you, showing up for you.

And looking at yourself can feel embarrassing. But it's not a coincidence that the 'least cringe' position, least vulnerable position, is to erase yourself. But you're not superficial. And stating 'yourself' is not egotistical. It's the foundation for everything else that matters, and could matter about you to another person.

So like. Some self-affirmations. Not the type that's like, "I'm brave, I'm smart, I'm good, I'm worthy, I'm flexible," etc. I mean:

My favorite color is...

My favorite food is...

I remember a time when I felt, 'wow'...

When I speak, I am [loud, soft, wordy, brief, etc.]...

I am interested in...

People who are [X] inspire me...

I wish I was more...

I wish I was less...

When people meet me, I want them to feel...

My favorite animal is...

I like to spend a free afternoon doing...

I like my spaces to be...

The smell of [x] reminds me of...

When I daydream, the story is usually this type...

I think about these on-purpose maybe once a week.

Affirmations like these may seem childish, basic, frivolous compared to building 'successful habits' and routines. And those are useful, but they can only keep you moving forward through a harsh environment; relying fully on 'discipline' to carry on will put you on paths where an external default is affirmed and your authenticity will be overwritten.

Whether you are trying to become more confident, or trying to work on your self awareness, trying to 'hang in there,' trying to reconcile who you have to be at different parts of your life, trying to unblock your creativity, or if you're entering a new part of your life... even if you think you have yourself all figured out, I believe purposefully sitting down to think about these things will help you.

#self care #self love #self help #stressful bad day? write a post about how you're better able to handle it than you would have been years ago #works for me #long post #self confidence #when people say 'kill the cringe cop inside you' this is actually the gun you need to use #yelling NO!!! at the self does not actually help free you or help heal you from a world that already screams NO!!!

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sparrowrye · 2 months

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Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 21

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 21: new things

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winter came and with it lots of new things.

For starters, Lucifer and I found out how to let the shadow souls move on. I had to give them my own energy and hand them off to him. While he wasn't the one who made judgement on a soul, he had the power to send the soul to those who did.

The only problem with this was that it required Lucifer's presence and left me utterly exhausted. I had killed hundreds of opponents as a ring fighter so letting them all pass would take a long time.

Another new thing was our Demon seamstress and architect, Arleen. She had lived on the surface for most of her life with her single mother, who taught her everything she knows of thread work. She helped her mother run her store while attending a big university for architecture. After the big Demon reveal, she and her mother ran for Hell, quickly realizing it wasn't that much better. There was no debate when she saw our posters.

She instantly became a celebrity in the haven. Not only did her Demon side stand out, beautiful red butterfly wings and a long, thin matching tail, but her charming personality caught all men, women, and children. She walked and spoke with an air of elegance and never turned away a sad soul. Althea was grateful for her since everyone had deemed the healer as also a therapist. She now had more time to herself.

Arleen was always making something. She had dozens of requests for certain types of clothes or outfits since everyone pretty much wore the same thing. Husker was in charge of a group that would go out to get the materials she needed.

She liked to spend time outside and thus, people would sit around her like children listening to a bedtime story while she worked on her current project. Althea and I both noticed a sense of overwhelment from her after the first month. I spoke to Vivian, our teacher, and she agreed to convince some of the older teenagers to start learning how to sew. Arleen worked well with the teenagers who felt like they were finally giving something back to their community.

Alastor and I had come up with the idea to keep the haven wrapped in a warm greenhouse during the day. Snow turned to rain as soon as it touched the 'shield' and the temperature was kept nice and warm. The responsibility switched between me, Alastor, Husker, and Charlie.

My relationship with Alastor was...increasing? Getting better? I felt a combination of nervousness and excitement whenever I was around him. I noticed he had a tendency to leave a rose nearby, whether that was in my room or on the side table when I was reading. He also initiated fleeting touches like our shoulders bumping or hands 'accidentally' brushing.

It soon became a habit for me to spend time in his room in the evening. I had grown comfortable enough that I laid on the window seat to read while he sat at the table to do his writing. I enjoyed seeing him in such a calm state. His glasses sat on the edge of his nose, eyes focused and jumping slightly to read the words and copy them down, his claws gripping the pen and moving it smoothly across the paper, and his long, elegant legs shifting every so often.

We had decided not to reinstate the deals. I didn't think it was necessary to try to keep him out of my head since he had been doing well with respecting my boundaries.

He didn't think it was necessary to keep our second deal since we usually started our evenings drinking each other's blood. He had found a way to use his magic to make it less painful and my style of magic could heal the wounds perfectly.

My decision to keep our first deal void was reinforced when nightmares started to plague me again. These were normal nightmares but they weren't any less terrifying. I dreamt of Reagan being killed by Blackwater or turning on me and driving a knife into my heart. I dreamt of Blackwater trapping both Alastor and I and killing him in front of me.

After most of the nightmare had happened, Alastor's presence would seep into my mind and push the fear out. He couldn't nix it altogether, but it was better to feel the after-comfort.

Blackwater had gone underground again. His factories had been abandoned, minus all the inventions and everything, and remained hidden from everyone's radar. I somehow always managed to bring him up, Alastor patiently trying to tell me everything would be fine.

"We will know if he even comes close to the haven," he answered one night.

"But we won't. I didn't even feel his presence in the forest before he hit me. He can hide himself somehow."

"We have a large group, dare I say close to an army, of Demons who are constantly watching out for danger on our borders. He will be found."

"What about the ocean? He could come...from...there..." My words slowed as Alastor stood up to remove his jacket, revealing a red button up underneath. He had straps over his shoulders from his waistband and a single one over his chest to connect them. He draped the jacket over the back of the chair and returned to his seat. His eyes found mine.

"I do enjoy making you speechless," he mused, face in his palm.

My face reddened. I wanted to make a retort but failed, the words dying on my tongue. I let out a huff and returned to my book. I was lounging comfortably on the window seat, wind softly whistling against the glass.

I'm not sure when, but Alastor had begun signing along to the radio. Not humming. Singing. It took one song to have my book on my stomach and eyes closed. I felt his mind brush mine and let him push through. My entire body felt comfortably warm, as if he was embracing me, something I doubt he's done since his mother and sister passed.

No words could describe the state I was in. Content, happy, and safe are all good words, but they still couldn't capture it. I was practically in a trance from the sound of his radio filtered voice singing the soft tunes. I didn't want it to stop. I could stay like this for all of eternity.

Smoke, like a bonfire, reached my noise a second before it was replaced by a rainy, earthy scent. I pushed further, wanting to surround myself with nature where I belonged. I felt like I was in a patch of tall, soft grass and rolling around in it on a summer afternoon.

My dreams continued. I found myself flying through the sky and through the soft clouds, or down in a stream enjoying the cool running water over my face. Nature was beautiful. Nature was safe. I wanted to meld myself and become one with it.

I stretched out my arms and legs, lazily pulling myself out of the sweet dream. It was the best I had slept in...ever. I felt refreshed and warm, perfectly comfortable and unwilling to get out my bed.

But it wasn't my bed.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized the sheets were not mine. I slowly lifted my head to find Alastor asleep beside me, head turned away and a single hand underneath the pillow.

I forced my claws to retract so I wouldn't puncture the soft sheets. I ran a hand over my body to feel my clothes still on me. I didn't believe he would do something like that but it was an innate fear.

The room was dark, save the single day of sunlight managing to poke through the heavy red curtains. The air felt thick and heavy, not in a suffocating way, but in a way that said nothing and no one had moved in hours. The fire was dead and his papers were still scattered on the table, pen and glasses sitting atop.

I turned back to look at him, half expecting him to be smiling at me, but he remained asleep. His chest rose and fell with every breath he took. He wore a black long sleeve of some kind but the rest of him was hidden under the covers.

I used my magic to stay as quiet as possible as I climbed out of bed. He stirred and I froze. When his eyes didn't open, I continued. I had backed all the way to the door, hand on the handle, when his voice suddenly sliced through the silence, "I'm awake, you know."

My breath caught in my throat. My hand tightened around the handle as he moved to sit up. His hair was a little messy and his eyes were half open as he fought off sleep.

"I-I was trying to be quiet," I stuttered. "I'm s--I'm sorry. I'll leave." Before he could say anything, I slipped out of his room and closed the door behind me. I looked at my own door but froze. Standing in the hallway, at the top of the stairs, was Angel Dust. Husker's old, small room neighbored mine.

We just stared at each other for a moment. Our minds were trying to register what the other was doing. Angel recovered the fastest and had a wide grin on his face.

"Doing more than kissing?" he teased.

My face turned bright red. I ran for my door but before closing it I said, "Guess the haven doesn't have a lot of privacy."

I stayed in my room until I felt Husker's presence go down the stairs. In my usual attire, I made breakfast with him in the kitchen. We were both comfortably silent as we cooked and moved expertly around the counter.

Once we sat down, my ears picked up Alastor's movement. I heard his shadow going through the walls and picked up conversation to avoid any with him.

"So, how's Angel?" I asked.

He was pouring alcohol into his coffee. He looked at me sideways. "How should I know?"

"Because he was coming out of your room this morning."

All his fur stood up and he choked on his coffee, earning a laugh from me. "It's not what you think. We were just..."

"Sleeping together?" Alastor manifested behind us, making us jump. He was back in his usual attire.

"We weren't having sex if that's what you're trying to get at." An angry cat growl murmured in the back of his throat.

"Just sleeping next to each other?" I offered, using all my effort not to look at Alastor and keep my voice casual.

"Exactly. Now shut up and eat." He shoved the plate closer to me.

"You know," I said next, trying to avoid any silence with Alastor around, "maybe you should request something from Arleen. Get you a top to match these." I gently tugged on the straps over his shoulders.

"Maybe I'll go back to the color orange." He made a pointed look at Alastor who was staring out the window over the sink.

"Go back?"

"I used to wear orange a lot before I came under Alastor. Apparently he thought I looked better in red."

"Indeed you do," Alastor agreed, not yet looking over at us. It made me nervous not to see his face, but I wasn't sure I could handle meeting his eyes either.

We ate in silence for the most part. Once we had finished, Husker noticed the time on the wall and panicked. He had to run out to get more materials and resources with his group. I told him not to worry about the dishes and he nuzzled his nose to the side of my head as a thank you. It felt good to have a brother figure.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I moved to the sink to wash the dishes. Alastor moved to stand by the backdoor, arms folded behind his back and eyes on me. I was too nervous to see if he had his cane or not.

I took my time cleaning the dishes since it was just plates and silverware for two. He remained dead silent until I inevitably finished, dried, and put them away.

I dried my hands and finally met his eyes. "What is it?"

"Did I overstep?" His radio filter was off.

I looked at him for a moment, hands mindlessly drying nothing on my skin. I touched our minds and felt a small pulse of nervousness that wasn't my own. He was genuinely concerned.

"I don't...I don't think so." I hung the towel on the cabinet handle and slid my hands in my pants pocket. "I mean...I think that was the best sleep I've ever had."

The bottom of his eyes scrunched a little and his eyebrows lifted, telling me the smooth smile was genuine now. He crossed the kitchen to stand in front of me, hand out and waiting.

"I had a restful sleep myself. Perhaps we can make it more frequent?"

His forwardness was making my face warm and my heart run twice its speed. It caught in my throat and I had to swallow before I answered, placing my hand on top of his and watching each claw slowly enclose around it. He turned it over and placed a light kiss on the back of my hand.

"That would be nice."

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Author's Note:

Touch starved, my little devils? I've had this scene stuck in my head since like A1 part 17

Also, welcome new OC Arleen!

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Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #soulmate au #soulmates #hazbin hotel #reqs open #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk

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