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#Rose's Growing Migraine
heartlilith · 4 months
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Difficult Placements in the Natal Chart
*Difficult: defined as "not easy; needing effort or skill to do or to understand" 
I'm going to be discussing what placements I believe are more difficult to have in a natal chart. I just want to emphasize that this is my opinion (Tamra Judge voice) . Let's remember that all placements have their pros and cons, you are not defined by a few unfavorable placements. Of course, aspects and orbs matter... Chiron with 3 squares to your personal planets will be more difficult to handle than if you had Chiron trine Sun and Venus, for example.
One last thing: Difficult placements can be the ones with the most value. They teach you things, make you stronger, and they can make you an inspiration to people dealing with similar situations. Difficult placements have their positives too, which we will discuss.
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Sun conjunct Chiron: These natives go through a lot of pain, physically and emotionally. They go through many trials and have to learn how to heal again and again. I feel like the universe puts them through a lot so that one day they can help others, which is nice but damn. This aspect can easily make someone slip into addiction, depression, and bitterness if the energy isn't channeled correctly. These people are prone to psychic attacks that lead to chronic illness, specifically migraines.
Positives: Can become a healer, can help other people through their problems, can become an inspiration, selfless character.
Sun square/opposite Neptune: These natives struggle when it comes to their fragile ego. They are deeply sensitive and feel things intensely. They absorb energies meaning if they're around negative people, they themselves will become negative as well. It's so important for these people to be surrounded by positive and successful individuals. Sun square/opposite Neptune is also easily manipulated and taken advantage of since they tend to see the world through rose-colored glasses. Throughout life, this placement can make an individual feel unworthy and inferior which can lead to a victim mentality that's hard to break. Watch out for escapist behavior because these people are prone to addiction.
Positives: These people are very psychic and should work on their spiritual abilities. Becoming religious or spiritual can be very beneficial for them. They have the most impressive imagination and are super creative.
Capricorn Moon: I've noticed that people with Capricorn as their moon sign have difficulties with being vulnerable and asking for help. They are the people that hold their family and friends together - they are the strong one. Oftentimes, they become responsible too early in life, which probably cut their childhood short if they had one at all. Their sense of responsibility is their strength but its also a weakness; they don't want to be thought of as "weak" or "needy" so they hold their feelings in. Like Pisces, when their emotions come on strong they need an escape, Capricorns rely on work and their sense of duty. They are prone to becoming workaholics and will ignore painful situations by working all the time.
Positives: Likely to become successful career-wise, very driven and ambitious, people trust them, they make great friends because you can rely on these people.
Aquarius Moon: Similar to Capricorn, Aquarius Moons struggle with their emotions and how to express them. Their emotions might not even be felt in some cases. They look at things intellectually and in a detached way; they think "Should I be sad about this?" or "Am I supposed to be angry?". Growing up, they probably didn't have someone that they could emotionally confide in or even worse, they could've been punished for showing their emotions. I've noticed a lot of Aquarius Moons have a detached sense of family, they could've been adopted or they just feel "different", they could even look at themselves as the black sheep.
Positives: Can come up with creative solutions to problems, a great friend, nonjudgemental and open minded when it comes to others and their life experiences.
Moon square Pluto: This placement could've been the victim of abuse, especially from their mother. Their mothers could have struggled with mental illness and unfortunately these natives could've been the scapegoat and received the backend. Their mothers could be careless one second and the next they could become obsessive; the obsessiveness usually shows when the native leaves home and creates space between them. This leads to distrust in people, women especially. Moon square Pluto people cling onto any sense of control because they grew up in utter chaos. Unfortunately, these people can deem self destructiveness as "normal" since it was what they knew throughout their whole childhood.
Positives: If these people conquer the negative traits brought on by this aspect, they could become great psychiatrists or therapists. These people are devoted and loyal.
Moon square Saturn: This placement could've struggled with feeling unsafe in childhood; like they couldn't count on their parents. Their mothers were less affectionate than normal and they didn't receive the comfort that they needed, which leads them to being uncomfortable with affection in adulthood. They probably went through some tough changes in childhood which is why they loathe change as an adult. This placement could've felt like they had to parent their parent, specifically their mother. And their mothers could've vented to them about problems that they had no business hearing, cutting their childhood short. Their mothers could go to them for advice a lot of times. They could've felt like a burden growing up, usually an emotional burden but more likely a financial burden.
Positives: Strives to become successful, these people are independent and self sufficient.
Virgo Venus: Virgo Venus isn't too bad but can make a native struggle with self esteem issues. I put this on my list because these people attract lovers that need fixing. Venus in Virgo love to fix people and make them "better". The people they're trying to fix could be toxic and destructive; the "bad boys/girls". But having their partner in focus and ignoring their own needs makes them resentful after awhile. I've noticed this placement attracts creeps and stalkers as well because they have a vibe of innocence and purity. In love, they can grow to be very demanding and make their partners feel inadequate in the process. They also get the ick quite easily, meaning its easy to turn them off.
Positives: Is reliable in love, a lady in the streets freak in the sheets type, definitely someone you want to bring home to your family, will take care of you.
Venus in the 8th house: Venus in the 8th house natives tend to be possessive and jealous in love. It's not that they view their partners as property (they can but this placement alone doesn't indicate that imo), they are just extremely loyal and expect their partner to be as well. From my experience, Venus in the 8th house people are ready to give it all up for someone they love. They want to merge and become one with their partner. Their intensity comes from a good place but once a relationships ends, it can be very very painful for them. Love and relationships trigger transformations for these people and sometimes triggers transformations in their partners. They come out of relationships a stronger and better version of themselves but this is usually achieved through heartache. This placement also has a real fear of abandonment and will stay in toxic relationships for this reason.
Positives: Loyal and devoted in love, is a ride or die person. They are very alluring and magnetic. Not easily forgotten.
Venus in the 12th house: I believe these natives are too good for the world. I say this because, like 8th house Venus, they are ready to give it all up for love. Venus in the 12th house is self sacrificial to a fault, oftentimes neglecting themselves in relationships. Love can bring subconscious pain to the forefront, attracting lovers that make them face hidden problems they hold within themselves. Venus being in the house of the hidden, it's not uncommon for these individuals to be the "other woman/man" or be in secret relationships for whatever reason. They can be easily manipulated and taken advantage of since they're hopeless romantics. This can lead to them having to regulate how much love they have for someone; they'll hold back their feelings and needs in fear of being naive and walked on.
Positives: They love people genuinely and whole heartedly, they see the best in their partners, they form deep connections in love.
Venus square/opposite Saturn: These natives may have grown up in an environment that lacked physical affection. This creates a person that is uncomfortable in love and becomes very regulated with how they express their emotions. They may be inherently insecure when they're young which creates doubt around being loved; they're prone to thoughts like "why would anyone love me?" which then creates trust issues. These people also struggle with self-love, they have feelings of inadequacy and compare themselves to others a lot. Since they have low self esteem, they often attract partners that treat them badly and the worst part is they think they deserve it. These people aren't fans of PDA or physical touch and often express love through gift giving or acts of service.
Positives: Self sufficient, usually has a "glow up" later in life, once this placement is conquered (could be the second half of life) they are unstoppable and have so much love for themselves.
Mars in 4th, 8th, 12th house: Mars doesn't feel very comfortable in water houses, this is especially true if the native has a lot of squares and oppositions to their Mars or water house lord. Mars ignites the emotional watery nature of the houses which can lead to sudden outbursts. Mars in the 4th house natives could have dealt with a prominent mother who dominated the household (4th house). This could indicate that a father figure was absent or estranged. Either that, or his role was weak compared to the mothers. Mars in the 4th house could also signify an aggressive mother and hostile home environment. Mars in the 8th house natives experience extreme emotions a lot of the time, this can include anger, obsession, and jealousy. Since Mars is in the 8th house of transformations, you can expect these people to go through many many painful changes in their life because Mars here speeds things up. These natives are prone to accidents involving vehicles, tools, gym equipment, etc. so watch out for transits! Mars in the 12th house could suppress their martian traits; sexuality, motivation and anger... or it could be the opposite, they could become addicted to sex and have a wicked temper, depending on the sign and aspects. Trauma related to sexuality and the inability to stick up for oneself could be prevalent here as well, or they could be downright violent towards others. These people can either lack motivation or become extremely restless. They also probably have crazy vivid dreams and aggressive hidden enemies.
Side Note: Mars in water houses can either be horrible or not so bad, it really depends on the rest of the chart. I included this because the negatives can be extreme.
Mars square/opposite Pluto: These natives usually had a childhood filled with violence and witnessed a lot of strong emotional outbursts. This makes the native think that reacting aggressively or even violently is normal. They could've been abused by their peers, siblings or parents. As they grow up, physical violence, fights, and anger issues could arise. They can get offended really easily and people just assume they're picking fights. Has a lot of physical energy that can manifest as aggression.
Positives: If they channel their energy correctly, they could become talented athletes. Has enough energy to meet their goals and then some.
Saturn in the 1st house: These people have had it hard since childhood. These natives struggle to be comfortable within themselves due to being surrounded by critical people and even being bullied growing up. The judgmental voices they grew up listening to becomes the voice within. They could struggle with body dysmorphia and have deep rooted insecurities. They are confused within themselves and their insecurity could make them miss a lot of great opportunities.
Positives: These people often have a deep sense of responsibility and can be very successful in their career, depending on the rest of the chart.
Saturn in the 7th house: Saturn, the planet of restriction and blockages, sitting on the 7th house of partnerships can make a native go through a lot of trial and error when it comes to one on one relationships. These people could be shy and fear intimacy due to their self esteem especially when they're young. Since Saturn is very karmic in nature, these people could attract toxic relationships or partners that don't fit well with them in order to learn necessary lessons. These people should be careful of going into business with people and also should be careful of divorce settlements (sign that prenup!)
Positives: After Saturn return, these natives will finally meet an adequate partner and since the universe put them through trial and error, they'll be ready for it. Has meaningful life long friendships.
Chiron opposite ASC/Chiron in the 7th house: These peoples' lessons come in the form of lovers. Betrayal, deceit, heartbreak, and infidelity can make their way into these natives lives. It doesn't have to be those themes although it can be. Depending on the sign of your 7th house, those are the themes that'll teach you the lessons and open up old wounds. For example: Leo in the 7th house (Aquarius rising) you may attract and deal with partners who, worst case scenario, are selfish, egotistical, and want everything to revolve around them. This could trigger your childhood in which your parents fought with each other and forgot about you in the process. Another example is Aries descendent (Libra rising) you may deal with partners who are aggressive, dominating, and maybe even violent. This could trigger old wounds from childhood: maybe you lived in a home where domestic violence was prevalent. You get the idea.
Positives: You're not doomed in love by the way, it's just 7th house signs and their themes that will show up throughout your life. The examples I used were pretty extreme to get the point across. The positive here is that most of the time, the themes are much more discreet. For the 7th house Chiron in Leo example I used, it could be that your partner is self centered and you recognize and treat this. Could be an easy lesson learned (well it better be because if not it's gonna keep showing up).
Chiron in the 11th house: Chiron in the 11th house is a placement I personally have using Placidus. These natives never feel like they fit in, they feel like they're looked at as the outcast, like they don't belong. This is usually the consequences of being bullied as a child and made to feel less than. These people could go through a hard time in life where they have no friends and feel like they have no one to turn to. Loneliness could be a prominent theme in their lives especially when they're young. Chiron in the 11th house would rather have one on one connections than be part of a friend group.
Positives: Could be an advocate for people sharing similar experiences, knows how to be a good friend, values friendships and knows how to be alone.
Chiron conjunct Pluto: I have this one! I've noticed that certain painful experiences; death, heartache, betrayal, rejection affect me SO much. Growing up my mom would just brush these things off and say that they're a part of life. But to me, these things would happen and I would grow to fear them immensely. For example; my grandmother who I was super close to passed away when I was 17 and ever since then I've been terrified of my parents dying. Painful experiences really change people with this aspect, for better or for worse.
Positives: These people are forced to confront their deepest fears which in turn makes them stronger. They have the power to transform themselves after traumatic events.
Lilith in the 1st house: Lilith is the exact opposite of what "women should be" which rubs people, men specifically, the wrong way. It also rubs older generations the wrong way or whoever believes in traditional gender roles. Here in the 1st house, these natives embody Lilith which, you guessed it, rubs people the wrong way. They usually have trauma related to males trying to put them down or put them in their place, even as a child. Growing up, adult women could talk about them negatively as well. Everywhere they go, there's people that look at them sideways; they're either disgusted or intrigued. They often experience people hating them for "no reason". The real reason for this reaction is because they make people feel threatened just by being. They were also sexualized from a young age and could've had older people, mostly men, commenting on their bodies.
Positives: Extremely magnetic and alluring, blessed with beauty, intense aura and presence, always gets what they want.
Lilith in the 10th house: Similar to Lilith in the 1st house, these natives have a tendency to set people off just by being themselves. This creates a lot of disturbance in the workplace; people either love them or hate them but either way their reaction to them is extreme. Male authority can either sexualize them or belittle them making the workplace uncomfortable. Lilith being Lilith here, they may use this power to their advantage and climb the ranks so to speak. Rumors about them swirl around the workplace because people are just obsessed.
Positives: Strong people, very attractive, can use their good looks to their advantage, will grow to be a boss.
18° in Personal Planets/1st house/6th house/8th house: 18° is the shadow side of Virgo. Having this degree could indicate serious illness, tragedy, and critical misfortunes playing a role in your life. This doesn't have to be the native themselves experiencing these things, but it will affect them whether that be through family, a partner, friendships, etc.
Positives: I feel like this could be true but not always so if you have this degree anywhere you're most likely safe. But then again you might not be. Good luck. :)
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I'm definitely forgetting a bajillion placements but it's all so negative so I'm going to end here. I'm not trying to be negative I'm just shining a light on certain placements because they're fucking hard to deal with!!!
To the people that say no placement is bad or negative: how does it feel to have rainbows and sunshine shooting out of your fucking ass?! Be forreal.
Life is hard, we all know that. How could we appreciate the fortunes if we didn't have misfortunes? For all the negative there will be positive too. Here's to all of us and our shitty fucking placements 🎉
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kamiversee · 19 days
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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏
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✧.* CHAPTER 11 || The Thorn and The Petal
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[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?
[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, angst, & fluff.
[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4k
[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.
[ [ chapters mlist } ]
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——"WELL, CONSIDERING THE FACT THAT he's my professor, I thought it'd be pretty obvious that he's one of the hardest on the list." Gojo's voice flew through your ear.
You had him on the phone as you lay on your stomach across your bed. Talking to him is something you want to limit as much as possible but you can't try anyone on the list completely blindsided so, sadly, you still need him.
"Then there's Nanami. As far as I know, he's not interested in sleeping with just anyone-- you'll most likely have to get to know him a bit." Gojo explains. You're taking little notes of this in a journal of yours since it's a lot of information to keep up with. "And uh, you said you met Choso already...?" The man over the phone asks.
"Mhm, ran into him in the hallway. He doesn't seem like he'll be hard to win over." You say casually.
Gojo pauses for a second. Then he sighs, "Yeah, the worst-case scenario with him is that he'll catch feelings for you."
A brow rose in suspicion, "What makes you think he'll catch feelings for me?"
"He's not like the other guys on the list. Aside from..." Gojo takes a second to think, "I guess, Nanami, I'm not sure Choso is used to or even understands the concept of a hookup."
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning, he'll grow attached."
"Okay well," You hesitate. "Let's just hope he doesn't."
"Right." Gojo chuckles a little, nearly sounding relieved.
You write some more stuff into the journal, trying to devise a plan for each man. "Okay and, can you just tell me the last two people on the list?"
"Oh. Well, there's Sukuna, who happens to be Choso's older... half-brother? I really don't know how their family works but, yeah." He answers, sounding a little confused on the matter himself.
You're quiet for a long moment, white noise heard through the phone. It takes you a few minutes to really process what that idiot just told you. First a professor and now you're learning that you have to fuck two people who are related...
"Gojo..." You let out a stressed sigh. "Y'know what, never mind."
"Nono, what is it?" He urges, interested in hearing how you feel about it.
He knows it's probably not the most easy thing to accept but, that doesn't make him care any less about how you feel.
Your eyebrows are tensed, "Half-brother?"
"Okay I know how it sounds but, I'm pretty sure they hate each other," Gojo tells you as if it's supposed to make things sound good.
"Oh my god," You reply, voice sarcastic, "That makes it so much better."
"Listen-"
"No Gojo, I really think I'm done listening. Who's the last person?" You divert.
The sound of him taking a deep breath can be heard, "Fuck, you're not gonna like this one either..."
"What is it?"
"It's Naoya... Who happens to be..." Gojo swallows hard, "Well, he's..."
"He's what?!" You huff, "Spit it the fuck out Gojo."
"I'm like fifty percent sure he's Mr. Fushiguro's cousin or something."
You scoff in pure disbelief. "Why am I not fucking surprised?"
"I'm sor-"
"Apologize to me one more time and I promise you, this will be our last conversation ever." You cut off.
You then drop the phone in your hand onto the bed, putting the man on speakerphone and moving your fingertips to massage your temples. A migraine is on the rise within your head and you don't know how much longer you can put up with this shit.
You swear the only good thing about this is the fact that you're getting paid.
Suddenly, as you think harder about the situation you're in, tears well up in your eyes. This shit sucks. It fucking sucks. You don't wanna do this. What if you get caught doing something with Toji? Or, what if one guy finds out about the other and then you experience a spiderweb effect of everyone figuring your little scheme out?
How can you get out of this situation? Why did it have to be you of all people? Why won't Gojo just find someone, anyone else to do this bullshit for you? Yeah, you need the money-- which is another thing for you to cry about because you can't get a proper job to save your life, but you still hate everything about this.
Before you even realize it, you're sniffling and wet spots are forming against the bed below you.
Gojo's still on the line, wondering if he's hearing things correctly. You hear him call out your name softly, almost as if he genuinely cares about you. The sound of his gentle tone alone makes your crying get a little worse.
"F-Fuck off," You choke out.
You then move a hand to hang up on him because you don't want him to hear you crying like this but he starts talking and you start listening before you press that bright red button.
"Wait, shit, listen. I know I'm an asshole, I know this whole thing is fucked up, I know I'm treating you terribly right now but..." Gojo trails off and you think you hear a thud on the other side of the phone. Did he just hit something? "Fuck, I know you don't want to hear this but I am sorry, honestly."
Your voice is a small whisper as you wipe your face off, "Screw you and your sorry."
"I... I-I'll triple it." Gojo suddenly offers.
You swallow and sniffle a bit, "Triple what?"
"The original price. I'm changing it to six thousand." He says.
You can tell he's serious about it too because as you stare at your phone in shock, you see another deposit made to your account to make up for the interactions you had with him and Geto.
"P-Per person??" You ask to clarify.
"Yes, it's... it's the least I can do, right?" Gojo sighs. Even though you want to ignore it, you can hear how disappointed in himself he sounds.
For another long moment, you're quiet. The least he can do? Bullshit. He's the one who put you in this damn situation in the first place.
"...No..." You end up mumbling out.
He scoffs lightly, "No?"
"The least you could do is delete the video and let me go." Your voice is as delicate as ever, gently hitting the man's ears in a way that makes his heart throb.
Gojo grits his teeth and although you can't see it, his head tips back against his bedframe as he stares up at his ceiling. His hands raise to his face and his words are a little muffled, filled with distraught, "...I can't do that, sweetheart. I can't." He breathes.
The man sounds almost pained at the thought of letting you go.
You scowl at the phone, eyes watering all over again, "S-Stop it with the damn nickname, I hate it-, I hate you."
Gojo has a broken little smile on his face and the voice you hear over the phone is full of hurt, "I know but-," He clears his throat a little and you hear him inhale deeply, "Fuck... you don't really mean that do you?" He whispers.
You don't know why you don't respond instantly like you were before. It's like the sound of his voice was getting to you. Why does he sound hurt too? This isn't affecting him the way it is you so, what the hell is his problem?
"...I don't know," You mumble, "I don't even fucking know anymore."
It goes quiet after that.
You couldn't hear much from your phone but the softest sounds of him moving. It was gentle movements though, not like he was doing anything inappropriate but almost like...
You don't want to think about it or even take a guess but it genuinely sounded like the man could've been crying over the phone.
As soon as you think about it, you scoff at yourself and shake your head. Gojo Satoru, crying because you said you hate him? Yeah right.
"I should uh," You sniffle a bit, "I should go-"
"I'll make it up to you." He suddenly sighs. "All of it. I swear, I'll make it all up to you, okay?"
Again, his words and the tone of his voice are yanking at your overworked heartstrings. "...Promise?" You whisper, having no idea why you're giving him this chance in the first place.
Gojo's smiling at his phone, hearing the change in your voice and feeling relieved that you're actually listening to him, "I promise."
With one last quiet okay slipping from your lips, the phone call ends there.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
Within minutes after that ridiculously angsty phone call, you receive a text from someone that instantly has you blinking away your tears.
It's Choso.
It had been maybe a little over an hour and a half since you ran into him in the hallway but, here he was texting you already. It was a simple text that read; 'hey ik we just met and all but, can I call you?'. You had to blink a few times to register what you were reading.
After you mentally prepare for it, you go ahead and respond with a simple yeah in response. Seconds later, the male is calling-, no, FaceTiming you.
You think your heart sinks into your fucking toes. Your eyes are slightly reddened and puffy from the crying you just did and you do not want him to see you right now.
Regardless, you answered the call and have the camera directed toward the ceiling. Choso's stupidly handsome face pops up on your screen and you're smiling already.
"Hey uh, ok I know this is kinda awkward but my brother wouldn't answer and I wanted to show this to someone," He tells you, his voice like a calming balm to your ears.
"You could've just sent me a picture y'know..." You say, your tone noticeably light due to the tears you just shed.
Choso pauses for a second, staring at his phone. "Okay, scratch that for a second, are you okay?"
"Uhm, yeah? Why?"
"You sound like you were crying." He points out.
How the actual fuck can he tell?
You chuckle at him, "I wasn't."
"Then you sound upset. Did something happen?"
"Nothing I feel like talking about right now but, thanks for asking. What did you wanna show me?"
"I won't show you unless you tell me something." Choso says in full seriousness, "And plus, you're not even showing your face which further believes me to think you were crying."
Again, you laugh, "I uh, I just look a mess right now. And the only thing I'll tell you is... I dunno, I had an argument with my..." What the hell do you even refer to Gojo as at this point?
"Your boyfriend?" He suddenly fills in for you.
"No!" You huff, giggling at his assumption, "I don't even have a boyfriend."
You see him smiling a little, "Girlfriend, then?"
"No, Choso. I'm single."
"Ohhh." He hums, sounding genuinely surprised. "My bad, did you fight with a friend?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess you could call him that." You say, shrugging a little.
"Damn. It must've been a big argument."
"What makes you say that?"
His shoulders raised, "You don't even wanna call him your friend."
You scoff a little, "He's just... an asshole."
"One that made you cry?" Choso asks, arching a brow in suspicion.
"No," You roll your eyes, "I didn't cry, Choso."
"Show me your face then."
"I don't want to."
He scoffs, "That's how I know you were crying."
You hate the way the man is reading right through you. "I wasn't." You argue.
"Lying to me when the truth is obvious is crazy," Choso says dramatically.
"I'm not lying."
You see him shake his head in disappointment, "Damn, I might need to remember this as a red flag of yours; pathological liar." He tells you with his voice both serious and playful at the same time.
"You really don't believe me, huh?"
"Not until I see your face, no."
"Fine," You lift your phone slightly, only showing your face from the nose up.
Choso stares for a minute before suddenly smiling fully and holy shit is the sight sexy. The phone is quiet as he stares at you, almost dazed like how he was earlier. You feel a little awkward and have the urge to put the phone down but when he blurts something out, you end up freezing.
Choso tilts his head and his gaze is scrutinizing, "Your eyes are so fuckin' pretty, I'm gonna lose my mind." He compliments abruptly.
Your heart definitely stopped for a minute, maybe three. The way you drop your phone and sink your head into your blanket like a blushing and giggling teenager is comical at this point. The man's words made you smile so hard that your cheeks were starting to hurt.
"Don't... Don't say shit like that so suddenly," You say, chuckling through your words.
He shrugs and sits back into whatever chair he's in, "But it's true. Fuck, show me your full face this time."
"G-Gimme a second," You sigh.
"Why?"
Does he not realize how attractive he is right now? You can't even conversate normally.
"Cause' I... I need a minute." You mumble to him.
The corner of his lips is up in a smirk and damn the way he looks at the phone. "Did I just make you nervous?" He asks, his voice suddenly a little lower.
You scoff, "No."
"Liarrr," He taunts.
"I'm not lying."
He clicks his tongue, his eyes low on the phone. "Then show me your face, princess."
Jesus, the nickname caught you off-guard. You can't do this. Why is Choso so... so... hot? Sexy? Attractive? You don't even know what word to use for the man at this point.
"Fuck. Fine." You end up sighing.
Then, you slowly move to lift your phone and prop it up with a nearby pillow. Since you're laying on your stomach and you're wearing a loose tank top, your chest is pressed against the bed below and Choso has a full view of that and everything else from your neck up.
He blinks a few times and you pray that he doesn't say anything that'll fluster you again.
To your surprise, it seems as though you'd flustered the man without saying anything. Choso's head turns to the side as he looks away from his phone and you get a lovely view of his jawline. Damn, he's got quite the side profile.
You watch him inhale deeply and then peek over to his phone from the corner of his eye as if that'll change the sight on his device. You simply blink innocently at him as if you're unaware of the way you look right now.
"You alright over there?" You ask in an almost sultry tone.
Choso clears his throat and nods, turning to face his camera again, "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure?"
He stares intently before saying, "You're somethin' else, y'know that?"
A chuckle leaves you as you tilt your head, "Am I?"
"Yeah. But uh, now that I can see you..." His eyes dart past his phone and you watch as he looks back and forth between the device and whatever is in front of him.
Your eyebrow raises in curiosity as you watch him, "What is it?" You ask.
"Oh, it's what I wanted to show you." He says and you watch him stand up and look down at his phone one last time. "Okay, it's not perfect but I hope you like it."
For a second you're still confused but when Choso flips the camera around, sheer surprise takes over your expression and your jaw literally drops. It was by far one of the most beautiful things you'd ever laid your eyes on.
"Don't freak out, I hope this isn't weird," Choso says quickly as he backs up a little and gives you a full view.
The man had painted you.
It was unique too. Not just like a normal portrait but like how you appeared in his eyes which just so happened to be so very beautiful. His art in general includes darker colors and you can see other paintings behind his newest one, all fitting in with his theme.
"Y-You painted me?" You say dumbfoundedly, "I thought you majored in graphic design."
He laughs, "I do but that's just for school. I paint in my free time."
"Choso you just saw my face for the first time a few hours ago, how the hell did you..."
"I honestly can't explain that," He says with a shrug, "When I got home I uh, couldn't get your face out of my head, and well, if I didn't draw or paint you I think I was gonna go crazy."
You study the art a little more. It's you but at a side profile, your gaze is downwards and you think for a second before you realize it's a painting of you as you were looking at his other art on his phone earlier. Choso painted an image of you from his perspective and boy was it beautiful.
There was predominantly black paint and he has this smudgy yet clean art style you don't think you've ever seen before.
"Choso that's beautiful, oh my god," You gasp, eyes wide and a smile prominent on your face.
You're so distracted by the canvas you're being shown that you miss as the man screenshots the reaction you have.
"You want it?" He offers simply.
You don't even know what to say, "Uhm, I dunno, i-it's your art."
"Yeah, but it's you."
"Kinda narcissistic for me to have a portrait of myself, don't you think?"
"Kinda stalkerish for me to have a portrait of a girl I just met, don't you think?" He asks in return, mocking you.
You giggle, "You're the one who decided to paint me."
"True. Alright then lemme ask this," He turns the phone back around to himself and you watch him sit back down, "Can I keep it?"
You blink. "It's your art."
"It's your face." The man fires back.
"I-," You sigh, "Yeah Choso, you can keep it."
He smiles, "Thanks."
"No, thank you. I didn't think I could look that good." You sigh, feeling all bubbly and light inside.
Choso tilts his head as he looks at his phone, "Have you seen yourself?"
"Don't give me that." You roll your eyes playfully, "Have you seen your art? You could make a pile of shit look good."
"I can't make anything look good, I can only work with the beauty that's already there."
Your voice gets caught in your throat for a second. When you swallow down the compliment he's given you, you can't stop yourself from smiling. "Y'know they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder right?"
"I'm aware. And in this case, I'm the beholder and you're someone I find beautiful." He responds.
Damn the way he's quick with all these comebacks. "I think your gaze is filtered." You say with a shrug.
You see him raise a brow, "By what?"
"I dunno, delusion."
Choso laughs wholeheartedly at you. "My gaze is delusional because I think you're beautiful? Wow."
For a long moment, you'd forgotten about everything again. You forgot about your rules, the list, the situation you're in-- all of it. For once, it felt peaceful, blissful even.
"I'm joking," You tell him, watching as he sighs in relief. "But on a serious note, thank you for this."
"For what? The painting?" Choso asks.
"Yeah, that and uh, calling me. You have some interesting timing."
"Oh yeah, no problem. I'm glad I made you feel better."
The way you and him have these little conversations so seamlessly is something you never want to end. He's so sweet and refreshing to talk to that you wish you could forget about the list and just run away with the man.
"Who says I was feeling bad...?" You reply to him.
Choso rolls his eyes, clearly seeing through you, "I don't like liars y'know..."
You pout, "Whatever."
"And I'm being for real, I'm glad I made you feel better. I uh, hope you and your friend fix things."
You scoff, "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what he did."
"No, I would." Choso protests. He doesn't know the details but he's being genuine, "If whatever you guys were arguing about was enough to make you cry then, clearly you care about him."
Your head shakes slowly, "You don't have enough context on the situation to come to that conclusion."
"You didn't deny it-"
"I don't care about him." You cut off. "Trust me when I say, I hate him."
Choso chuckles at you. He didn't take your words seriously one bit. "Ehh, sounds like an enemies-to-lovers situation..." He comments with an innocent little shrug.
"Oh hell no, this isn't that." You assure the man.
He gives you a skeptical look, "You sure?"
"I'm positive."
"Damn." Choso blinks, "He really fucked up didn't he?"
"You have no idea."
"I wanna ask more buuut I don't wanna be nosy soo, m'kay." Choso results in saying. "Even so, I still hope you and him get through whatever it is you're going through."
You sigh, "I don't but, thanks Choso."
"No problem, princess." He says sweetly.
Fuck, he keeps catching you off-guard with that. It makes your brain get to stuttering and your face gets hot, "Don't call me that..."
"Why? It's fitting."
"No, it's not." You argue.
"Alright," He glances away to think before saying, "How about angel?"
You sigh, "Stop."
"Pretty girl?" He continues.
"Choso." You call.
He doesn't listen, "Doll? Baby?"
"You're still going..."
He pauses for a minute to think before uttering, "Sweetheart?"
Fuck that made you think of Gojo. You think your body freezes for a second at the thought of the man alone.
"Love?" Choso adds on, having no idea of your little history with these damn pet names.
"You can stop now," You say sternly. "Seriously."
"Alright, alright, my bad. I'll stick to the first one." He hums, "Unless you seriously don't like it...?"
The way he holds nothing but consistent care for your feelings toward things is truly endearing, "Nah, the first one's fine."
Choso nods, "Alright then princess, I'll talk to you later."
You're smiling all over again, "Bye Choso."
The two of you give a little wave to each other before the phone call comes to an end.
Oh, you definitely feel like a teenager all over again. The way he painted you the same day he met you, the way he speaks so charmingly to you, the way he... fuck it's everything about him
Scew Gojo and his shitty little promise of making things up to you, based on the one phone call you had with Choso-- there's nothing that white-haired bastard can do to fix the paining fact that your real chances with Choso are slim to none because you'd never be able to tell him about the list.
And god forbid the man finds out about it.
Butterflies are still stirring in your stomach, the feeling being the after-effect of talking to Choso. You don't want to like him but it's already difficult. You actually shouldn't and really can't like him.
You've gotta distance yourself going forward. You have to.
The question now is, will you be able to?
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GOJO SATORU ✔︎
GETO SUGURU ✔︎
TOJI FUSHIGURO ☐
KAMO CHOSO ☐
NANAMI KENTO ☐
??? SUKUNA ☐
??? NAOYA ☐
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mlist || previous chapt || next chpt
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heartthrobin · 9 months
Text
press your tulips to mine
steven grant x female!reader
wc: 4.6k
warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n
an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers
summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.
Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.
Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.
Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.
He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?
In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.
Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.
Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.
Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.
Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.
He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.
Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.
Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.
The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"
Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.
By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.
There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.
Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.
Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.
It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.
"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"
Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.
The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.
Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.
"That was mortifying." He muttered back.
The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.
"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.
He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."
"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.
"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."
Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."
Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.
He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.
It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--
"Steven don't even think about it--"
Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.
"Oh my god, are you alright?"
The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.
As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."
Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."
Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"
Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."
"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.
"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.
"Jesus, Steven."
Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.
"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"
An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.
"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."
"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.
"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.
"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.
"Who's birthday is it?"
Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"
"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"
"My girlfriend's."
"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"
"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.
"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."
"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.
Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"
Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"
You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"
Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.
You blushed a velvety red.
"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"
"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."
Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."
He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.
"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."
Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?
"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.
"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.
"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."
Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.
"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"
"Let her respond, Steven."
But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.
"So, uh, yeah."
"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"
Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."
You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"
"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."
You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."
"Thanks."
"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.
"Uh-- and you are?"
"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.
Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.
"It's ... it's a beautiful name."
You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."
His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."
Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.
"Good job, Stevie."
-
Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.
Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”
His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”
-
In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.
Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.
Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”
But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.
Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.
He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.
Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.
“What’s up, Stevie?”
The nickname made him shiver every time.
“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.
When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.
“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.
You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”
It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.
Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.
“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”
Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.
He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.
“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.
Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.
Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”
It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.
He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.
The day passed like most of them do.
The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.
Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.
Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.
He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.
A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--
"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."
The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.
Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."
Your eyes found him, waving a hand.
Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.
"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"
"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."
He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”
Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.
“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”
Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.
“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”
“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.
The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.
“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”
With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."
"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"
"Of course."
Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.
When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.
"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.
The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.
Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.
With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.
"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"
The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.
Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.
Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.
“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”
He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.
The silence was beginning to turn stale.
“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.
“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”
Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”
“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”
“And you’re very beautiful.”
The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.
Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”
Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”
An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.
“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”
“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“
A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.
The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.
Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.
He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.
“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.
He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.
In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.
Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.
“Steven?”
The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.
He didn’t.
Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.
Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”
If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.
“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“
He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.
“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“
“Will you go on a date with me?”
You blinked up at him. Once, twice.
The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.
“When?”
Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?
“Now. Right now, tonight.”
The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.
“Don’t you have work?”
“You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”
Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“
He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.
“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.
He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.
They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.
With his experience being limited to the pool of:
A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.
B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,
C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,
It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.
“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.
You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.
“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”
-
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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 13 days
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Mini fluffy soulmate au, fates intervening and things like that. Mentions of a toxic relationship (not Eddie and reader) 18+ blog so minors shoo.
✨🫶🪄
Eddie was so late. This was his last chance to get back together with Violet and he was late. He had planned everything to a T, had flowers sent to her but when he called to confirm that she had gotten them it was met with stony silence.
"What flowers? Honestly all you do is fuck up Eddie, why am I surprised this is any different?" Her words cut him deeply, he wasn't the one who cheated, she was.
All because of a stupid tattoo. A tattoo that literally everyone in the world had. It was the mark of a soulmate, when the person met their soulmate the tattoo would burn and then glow.
The person was their other half, the one. Eddie scoffs at this. It sounded like fairytale bullshit and he wouldn't believe it was more than some fake shit. Except he knew that Steve had met his soulmate, Robin had met hers and Gareth had met his.
He was the only one who hadn't. The odd one out as Wheeler had unhelpfully pointed out.
Violet had supposedly met hers but it was a complete mix up, but she still went ahead and went out with the guy, all because of the constant fighting between her and Eddie.
He lashed out and said stupid things, they broke up and got back together to break up again three weeks later. It was toxic as fuck as Steve pointed out.
Eddie knew that but it was taking him a while to accept that. He didn't believe he would ever meet his soulmate so he spent all of his time with different women, relationships that were eventually doomed to go anywhere (ie. Violet)
He was currently tracking the whereabouts of his flowers and had tracked them to an apartment just a little away from his.
He barely had time to pick them up and get to the restaurant to meet Violet but he was going to try, his phone pings with another voicemail from Violet and he growls in frustration.
Honestly was this really fucking worth all the stress? His mood was growing more and more irritated by the minute, when he finally got to the apartment he was silently fuming.
Jesus h Christ, Violet was going to give him hell. His heart sinks, he really doesn't want to fight again. He was sick of it.
He buzzes the doorbell of the person who took in the flowers, sighs as another voicemail comes through from Violet.
"Eddie Munson, we are through. Fuck you! I'm waiting here like a dumbass and you don't even have the decency to show"
He rubs his head, feels the beginnings of a headache forming and groans. Just what he needs, a migraine to make his day even worse.
"Penny for your thoughts?" He opens his eyes and you're standing watching him, curious and smiling. Wow. He blinks rapidly and his cheeks warm. You were...just wow.
"Uh hi, my flowers were sent here by mistake" he suddenly feels tongue tied. Kinda what he was like in highschool when he met people who he found attractive. Except this was ten times worse.
There's a faint pulse that grows stronger and he realises it's his tattoo, it begins to turn golden and flows brightly.
You come back with the flowers. Gasp, then drop them as you clutch at your wrist. It's like something out of a cheesy movie as you pull up your sleeve and your tattoo is glowing as brightly as Eddie.
Well fuck. You look up at Eddie stunned and beam.
"Well hey there soulmate. Thought you'd never show up" you tease. Any thoughts of reconciliation with Violet completely leaves Eddie's mind. All he wanted to do now was get to know you.
He salvages a rose that hasn't been completely ruined and hands it to you, watches the way your eyes light up and he wants to do that all the time. Watch you smile, get to know you and be with you.
"Hey there, I'm Eddie"
❤️
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stayfortwominutes · 6 months
Text
📝 all in your mind | jeongin
disclaimers; cursing*, female pronouns, written from third person perspective, pet names, self-doubt; no depictions of the members' personalities, actions or thoughts reflect their true character.
pairing; jeongin x pregnant reader
synoposis; the result of exhaustion and stress clouding jeongin's mind is a dismal view on reality.
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content; office worker!jeongin, one-sided misunderstanding trope, angst, fluff, comfort, married, slice of life | word count; 2.3 k
song recommendation; "mariah carey - all in your mind"
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jeongin is haunted by that one image all day long.
the image of y/n. a deer in headlights, caught in the doorway as she tried to quietly scamper - more so hobble, due to her current state - from their bedroom at two-thirty in the morning. her wide eyes were glossy, her cheeks glistened pearlescent with tears that cascaded down to her jaw, and her chest was slightly heaving.
the scene was vividly imprinted in his mind. not to mention a duffel bag gripped tightly in her left hand. a shirt sleeve was caught in the zip and stuck out like a sore thumb.
naturally, jeongin would have rushed to her side to comfort her, but instead he feigned ignorance. he simply rolled over, his back then faced the door as he let sleep consume him. 
that morning, he finished up his breakfast and smoothed his suit in the full-length mirror as normal. his gaze focused on the bag stuffed full to the seams that now sat in the corner of their bedroom; the sleeve having been tucked away. an undeniable tension lingered in the air; a suffocating silence replaced the couple’s usual lively morning chatter. 
the only acknowledgement between the pair was when jeongin stood in the entryway, as he and his wife exchanged a routine goodbye hug and kiss. when he took y/n in his arms, he gave her a cautious, gentle squeeze before placing a light peck on her lips. it was a meagre effort resultant of the guilt that festered in the pit of his stomach.
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he had to be honest with himself, the current demands of his office job had him exhausted. this exhaustion left him little to no time to even process his own emotions. work had intensely preoccupied his mind for the last week, sapping him of all his energy and consequently, he felt himself growing emotionally distant from his wife.
jeongin’s gradual aloofness was surely a strain on their relationship. it wasn’t that he took out his stress on y/n, but that he became a shadow of the person he used to be. he was recoiling into himself, shutting out everything that wasn’t work - unfortunately that included y/n. 
a myriad of thoughts raced through his head, manifesting into a dull ache. seeking relief, he brought his right thumb and index to his temples, trying to massage the stress away before it had a chance to morph into a splitting migraine. a lonesome feeling settled in his heart along with the combined sediments of remorse and weariness that had slowly piled up.
“assistant manager, yang? you’re needed in meeting room three.” 
a bright intern called for jeongin from down the hall, breaking him from his trace. a despondent sigh rose from the depths of his chest, as he stood up from his desk to pull on his jacket. 
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the remainder of the workday flew by, and fortunately for jeongin, his team successfully wrapped up their project. so successfully, they finished it three days ahead of schedule. ergo, a celebration was in order, and their team leader summoned everyone for an afterwork dinner.
jeongin was never a fan of these dinners, often times coworkers ended up blind drunk, senior employees boasted about their “achievements” – that came from exploiting their juniors, whilst others miserably recited their woes to one another.
conflicted, he momentarily vacillated between having to upkeep his professional façade as he joined in with his colleagues or, returning straight home to confront the bleak reality that relentlessly plagued his mind.
reluctantly, jeongin let himself be ushered along with the procession of his fellow office workers that were headed off to a nearby restaurant.
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as the group took their seats at the conjoined tables, jeongin silently cursed to himself having to be sat at the front end near their team leader. he prayed his displeasure had not bled onto his face.
jeongin became preoccupied with his phone, as it buzzed in his jacket pocket. he held it in his lap, covering it from the view of wandering eyes as he peered at the most recent message from y/n.
jeongin: we’re having a team dinner to celebrate the end of the project. i’ll be home late. make sure to eat, don’t wait up for me. y/n: oh… i’m making your favourite, soybean soup. i’ll put yours in the fridge for tomorrow. have a good time, be safe ❤
a pang of guilt surged through his chest, but he brushed it aside, muting the little voice in the back of his mind that urged him to go home.
“mr. yang, how nice of you to grace us with your presence.”
slipping his phone back into his pocket, jeongin looked over at the team lead, mr. song. the older man brandished his grotesque golden smile, the edges of his teeth blackened like charcoal from years of smoking.
jeongin flashed a polite smile, veiling the grimace he often sported when engaging with mr. song and his brutish behaviour.
“i thought a drink with everyone would be a good way to lift the spirits, after all this hard work we’ve been through.” jeongin simply responded, ignoring the snarky undertones of the older man’s previous comment, and taking a sip of his water.
“here, let me pour you drink,” mr. song offered, but jeongin courteously reached for the alcohol instead.
“i don’t drink, my wife doesn’t like the smell.”
mr. song scoffed, but accepted as jeongin filled his glass to the brim. “suit yourself.”
soon after, everyone settled down as various dishes began to line the table, and mr. song proposed a toast: congratulating all staff, rather insincerely, for their efforts.
the evening eventually crept in, and jeongin sat amongst his coworkers, drifting between conversations, but never really paying attention to any of the topics.
“yang,” a silenced sigh emitted from jeongin as he mentally prepared himself for whatever the team lead would shoot his way.
“yes, sir?”
mr. song loosened his tie, draping an arm over the back of his chair, before taking a vigourous swig and emptying his shot glass.
jeongin moved swiftly to refill the cup, wishing his senior would fall drunk and stop bothering him.
“must feel good to wrap up another project so quickly. you’re lucky to have me to guide you.” 
“i couldn’t have done it without my team, they work hard, sir.” he replied in a seasoned manner.
after years of the same repertoire of narcissist self-praise, jeongin knew that any comments were always motivated by the chance to undermine him for his success at such a young age.
the older man continued, “now it’s over, i’ll have to find another reason to avoid my wife.” he cackled as he took another shot and pushed the glass back in jeongin's direction.
“oh right, don’t you have a kid on the way?”
jeongin hesitantly nodded, unsure of his senior's intention in raising the topic. “yes, my wife is five months along.”
“you’re so young, and you’ve already set your prison date,” mr. song callously groaned, beginning to slur his words. “all that freedom gone! but don’t worry, these team dinners are a great time to be single again.”
the last comment had jeongin clenching his jaw. he continued smiling as awkward chuckles were exchanged between the other workers in ear shot. sickened by the attitude and souring atmosphere, jeongin downed the last of his water.
“yeah, and that’s why his first wife divorced him.” the voice of the other assistant manager indignantly piped up before a wave of laughter erupted. mr. song was already slouched back in his seat, unable to rebut; face glowing red as the alcohol diminished his senses.
“i’ll be taking my leave,” jeongin muttered through gritted teeth, excusing himself from the dinner. he stood in front of the restaurant, checking his phone for the time: seven-fifty, it read.
he hastily typed: “i’m coming home, i miss you,” and hit send before putting his phone away to hail a nearby taxi.
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throughout the twenty-minute journey home, jeongin continued lamenting over the situation he’d left at home that morning. when the driver pulled up to a red light, a few minutes’ walk from the couple’s home, jeongin hurriedly paid, cutting his trip short upon noticing a flower stall still open late at night.
he scurried out of the taxi, and over to the vendor, requesting all the leftover flowers. the old lady running the stall was pleasantly surprised at the late custom, but happily set to wrapping up the bouquet.
“whoever it’s for, i’m sure she’ll love it! now go on home.”
handing several bills and an extra tip for the older lady’s warm hospitality, jeongin quickened his pace, his heels hot as he got closer and closer to the apartment block. his impatience got the better of him, as the elevator was stuck at the higher floors, seeming to stop at every level.
“fuck this,” he hissed, and made his way to the stairs. skipping every second step, the wind was knocked from him as he reached the front door.
jeongin frantically punched in the passcode, his initial anxiety overwhelmed by the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.
immediately, when he clambered into the quiet apartment, he was met a daunting suspense that he believed would swallow him whole.
y/n was stood blankly in front of the stove, her swollen ankles clad in compression sleeves, and her shoulder shaking a little. jeongin noticed her phone on the table, his recent message still unread.
“honey, i’m home.” he gently called out, and saw the way her whole-body jolted, startled by his unexpected return. y/n made no effort to turn around, rigidly continuing to stir the pot in front of her.
“welcome home, did you eat? it’s almost ready.” jeongin hurried over to her side, setting the flowers on the table to engulf her in a loving embrace.
“i couldn’t bear the thought of you eating alone. listen, for everything that’s been going on, i’m so sorry. i was struggling to handle work; i promise i wasn’t shutting you out on purpose.” he earnestly confessed.
y/n turns to her husband, nuzzling her face against his chest as her arms encircle his waist. focusing on the soothing rhythmic pump of his heartbeat, the couple stood swaying together in unison, holding onto each other as if life itself would end once they separated. jeongin pulls back to pepper delicate kisses over y/n’s face, a wholehearted smile broke out on her face – oh, how he missed her crescent eyes and cheeks rounded with glee.
“here, sit at the table, and i’ll serve it up.” jeongin gingerly guided y/n to the dining table and donned her apron over his work suit.
y/n’s watchful eyes followed him, softening at the return of his thoughtful gesture. she fiddled with the bouquet, caressing the petals and smelling each flower, her smile only grew wider with fondness.
jeongin placed a bowl of hot soup and rice in front of her, then slid into the seat beside her. his eyes filled with adoration, as he took a quick sip of the soup – the homely taste warmed his soul.
“let me,” he insisted, taking a napkin, and draping it over y/n’s bump – she often spilt food, a clumsy trait she’d developed with the change in her body shape.
jeongin took the spoon, briefly blowing over it before bringing it to y/n’s lip. she followed his directions, opening her mouth to accept more food and relishing in the abrupt onslaught of pampering.
“i’m not a child, you know.” she quipped cheekily, “but you’re carrying mine and i should be helping you a lot more often than i have been.”
jeongin flushed a shade of red akin to the roses on the table, thinking back to his negligence for his wife’s current state and yet having acted so indifferent.
“innie, is something wrong? i heard you did well at work today.”
y/n’s right hand came up to tenderly cradle the side of his face, he melted into her touch. that was when the first tear fell, and she instantly thumbed it away. her husband shuffled closer to her, feebly placing his head against the curve of her neck.
“please… don’t leave me,” he croaked.
“why would you ever say that?” y/n quizzed, perturbed by his desperate plea.
jeongin leaned back to sit upright, gathering his wife’s hands in his.
“i saw the bag you packed, the tears this morning too.  i promise i’ll do better.” his saddened eyes and the downturn of his lips drew anguish in y/n’s heart.
“darling, i think you misunderstood something. that bag is for the baby, i wanted to pack my essentials for the hospital ahead of time. don't you remember buying it with me?” his wife chuckled as a bewildered expression painted jeongin’s face.
“a-and the tears?”
“i had terrible hayfever last night, and i know you’ve been working hard to finish your project, so i thought i’d leave the room. i didn’t mean to wake you, silly.”
jeongin was overcome with an incredulous sense of relief, he had spiralled making the reality of the situation in front of him murky.
“i’m not sure what you were thinking, but maybe it’s time to shut off your mind. go take a bath, and we can relax together on the couch together.” y/n reassured him.
affection poured from her eyes as he stared back at her. comfort seeped from her gaze to envelop his anxious soul and laid to rest the flurrying burdens of inadequacy and self-doubt that burgeoned in his own heart.
“i-i was worried i made you feel unloved and that’s exactly the opposite of what i vowed when i married you.” the heavy sigh had his shoulders rattling as it escaped him.
“never, innie. i know sometimes you get caught up in yourself, so don’t forget, i’m here to listen.” y/n held her arms wide, beckoning her husband back into her embrace. she placed soft feathery kisses against his temple while her fingers carded through the tangles of his black velvety locks.
“i love you,” jeongin hummed against the bare skin of her neck, causing her to giggle at the ticklish sensation.
“and i love you. always have, and always will.” 
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consider reading more: masterlist
૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა note; this was a self-indulgent innie fic, and unintentionally based on the theme of mariah's song - all in your mind. the idea originally came to me when i was thinking back to some of the outfits and skits they prepared for their SKZ code episodes. i am trying to remind myself that i am writing as an outlet, not for perfection, so instead of aimlessly keeping this in my drafts, i thought i should post it. please enjoy! © stayfortwominutes ; september 11, 2023.
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dukewrio · 3 months
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cold tea (lyney x sick!reader)
request?: yes, hope you enjoy!
-
awakening to a cold bed was never y/n’s ideal start to their day. but waking up alone and with the slight pang in the front of their head, not necessarily a migraine, but something that brought slight discomfort. as well as a tingle in the back of their throat, that would surely lead to a coughing fit in the upcoming minutes, was definitely not ideal.
blurry eyes attempt to scan the dark room, only lit by sunlight creeping in from cracks in the blinds, searching for lyney. following the thought of where he might be, y/n is struck with the thought, how do i tell lyney i don’t feel well enough to help him practice today? guilt floods y/n’s mind distracting them from the incoming footsteps. not long after the door bursts open and in walks lyney holding two mugs.
“good morning! i brought tea for you, mon coeur!” lyney sings. motions coming to a halt as he notices the furrow in y/n’s brow. slowly he approaches his lovers side of the bed, setting the mugs on the nightstand, before moving his hands to brush y/n’s hair away from their face.
“are you feeling okay, y/n? was i too loud?” he whispers, purple eyes searching their face for any sign of discomfort.
“mon trésor-“ the coughing fit y/n was holding at bay, finally breaks through. lyney immediately moves one hand to rub soothing circles on his partners back while the other reaches for the tea he prepared. once the coughing subsides lyney brings the tea to y/n’s lips, urging them to take a drink to soothe their throat.
“sorry, i am not feeling at 100% today, i think i should rest.” y/n mumbles, “i don’t think i can help you rehearse today.” lyney looks at y/n with a sad smile.
“there is no need to apologize, mon coeur. let’s rest today!” lyney smiles, before getting up and situated on his side of the bed. he moves slowly attempting to pull y/n into his embrace.
“oh lyney, i don’t want you to get sick!” y/n grabs lyney’s arms to restrict him from embracing her. lyney, however, pushes through their trap, pulling y/n to him.
“i won’t get sick, my immune system is stronger than my illusions, and on top of that i am holding my luckiest rainbow rose.” lyney presses a kiss to y/n’s temple. slowly the both of them drift back off into sleep, tight in each others arms, as their tea grows cold.
-
a/n: i was listening to a few songs while writing this, but i will say ‘next to you’ by john vincent iii feels like what i imagine being with lyney would be like. idk.
masterlist
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yccoffeesimp · 2 months
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𝐵𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑛 𝐸𝑦𝑒𝑠 | 𝐷𝑎𝑛 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑔 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 & 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟
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Dan Heng :
You sat in a long dining table, empty chairs surrounded it except for the one that was the opposite of you at the other end of the table. He only read a book while he ate the fine meal he prepared for the both of you. The silence was so uncomfortable, the only reason why you were even back in this strange world was so that you'd be able to rest with a full stomach after working overtime as a waiter. You dipped your spoon in the warm dish that was freshly prepared. How was this place even real to begin with, how is it that dream food would be able to make you feel like you actually eaten something.
You took a spoon full of your meal before thinking back to as to how you even ended up here. You returned home from work only for you to then appear here the moment you closed your eyes upon entering it. As you tried to remember what happened before you appeared in this world, your felt a sharp migraine start. Such a sudden force of pain caused you to drop your spoon, the food falling from it and onto the floor. You close your eyes as you rubbed your temples, before feeling someone else's touch on you.
You opened your eyes to see Dan Heng next to you. Black hair, pale skin, and those cameo blue button eyes... You remember when you first entered this place. It was when you moved into this run downed apartment complex with some skeptical people as your neighbors. One of them was a young boy named Yanqing if you remember correctly... It wasn't until he gave you a button eyed doll of yourself that you fell into a world that wasn't yours.
"This is the other realm.." The stranger explained as he set down two plates for the both of you. "And who are you?" You then asked. He froze for a bit before sitting down across of you before answering. "I am what you'd call your other lover."
"Funny. I never had one before." You scoffed, crossing your arms. This was unbelievable, everything that was happening was.. "That explains why you're here then..." He muttered under his breath, you turned to look at him. He was looking down before he met your gaze. He cleared his throat before speaking, " Apologies.. It wasn't - I didn't mean it like that..."
"Yeah, sure..." You sigh.
-×-
"Are you okay?" He asked, bringing you back from your thoughts. "Uh- Yeah I'm fine.." You replied, the both of you were still in the dining room but this time the table was empty and not filled with food and desserts. You attempted to get up from your seat before Dan Heng gently sat you back down. "Stay here, you're probably experiencing symptoms of fatigue. I want you to sit here and wait, I'll come back with a glass of water for you before we take you to bed.." He explained before leaving.
Blade:
The man you knew as Blade walked beside you, the both of you touring the gardens of this strange world. The gardens filled with red spider lilies, a small fountain in the middle of the grounds. A small white roses floated in its waters..
You walked up to it, Blade following closely behind you. The water was crystal clear minus the roses that filled it. You could easily see your own reflection alongside Blade's but in the reflection his hair was white... it's probably just the lighting that made it look white. He barely spoke a word to you, only when he deemed it really necessary to of course.
"It's getting late. We should head back now, the food will grow cold.." He spoke, his voice was deep and detached. But that's to be expected from him, you grew used to his quiet nature since the few days you've known him for. "Just give me a moment." You spoke, taking a white rose from the fountain before turning to look at Blade. Dark navy blue hair with faded red tips, pale skin, significantly taller... But your attention went to his red eyes... Those red button eyes.
It didn't cross your mind as to why he had them for eyes. How was it even possible to have buttons for eyes? How was any of this real? Who even is this guy? What is this place? Why can't you- Suddenly you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen, nearly causing you to fall back if it wasn't for Blade stopping you from doing so. "Come on, let's get you inside already.." He spoke, taking the white rose from your grasp. The flower immediately welted in his grasp and fell to the ground as Blade led you to the building.
Upon entering your other home, Blade had you seated in the living room when he went to go get some water. You remembered the first time you set foot here, having to move due to complications from your former location. You thought the High Cloud Apartments would be a good place to stay. The neighbors were oddly very kind except for one you've met who was a young boy named Yanqing. One day when he was following you around, more than likely curious of the new person, he gave you this doll he found that looked exactly like you.
That was when you fell into this other world. Once falling here, you met Blade. "Just call me Blade. This is the other world you've found yourself in and I'm.. your other-" He mumbled the rest. It was later then revealed that he was your so called other lover? He didn't really seem to like the idea of it but didn't say anything after those words left his mouth.
You snapped out of your thoughts as the sound of a glass cup being set down was heard. Your eyes landed on the small cup, that Blade once held, was now on the coffee table before you. "Drink it and I'll help you up the stairs to your bedroom for you to rest."
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fridayth13 · 7 months
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—when they hate you (or do they?)
↳ mammon, leviathan, mephistopheles, thirteen, and raphael × gn!reader (separately)
↳ genre: fluff(?), enemies to lovers-type beat | wordcount: 1.7k | warnings: cursing, lower demon tries to eat you (mammon), kissing mention (thirteen), you get locked in a closet by solomon (raphael)
↳ notes: when i tell you i worked on this for months 🤡 hfdfjkgdgjfdgjdg
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—mammon
between the demeaning remarks from mammon and the fact that you wouldn't take his shit from day one, one can probably guess there'd be a problem
but lucifer appointed him to escort you and show you how things are in the devildom, so it's not like mammon could just say no
but eventually your constant bickering seemed to create a fifth type of migraine for lucifer, so he let mammon off the hook and told you to choose another one of his brothers to escort you around rad
you, being you (and still feeling very petty about mammon's comment of you needing a babysitter. like he was one to talk) you did not listen
the freedom was thrilling, in your defense
after being constantly followed and berated by mammon everyday, being able to go around campus without anyone telling you where to go made you a bit excited
that is, until you found yourself cornered by a random lower demon looking for a snack
but before you could even consider making a run for it, the demon stiffened, their previous predatory sneer freezing into a grimace
they fell to the floor immediately after
and there stood mammon, glaring down at them, his fist positioned upwards like he was ready to land another punch
his glare rose to you
"if you're gonna run around rad all willy-nilly without an escort, at least know when you're bein' followed. idiot."
you merely blinked at him, still reeling in surprise
mammon tore his gaze away. if it were anyone else, you'd almost say he looked flustered
"oh come on, don't go lookin' at me like that! what, did ya really think i'd let some lowlife snack on ya? lucifer'd murder me on the spot!"
you didn't even notice you dropped your bag until mammon picked it up off the floor, carrying it on one shoulder. he gave you a rougher-than-intended nudge on the shoulder
he still wouldn't meet your eyes
"come on, human, let's get ya to class"
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—leviathan
it all began.. with the tsl trivia quiz. and then it went downhill from there
though leviathan honored his word and gave you a pact and you began respecting his otaku expertise, on a personal level? yeah no
maybe he was still butthurt about the quiz..? you didn't want to assume the worst about him. you barely knew the guy after all
but also he tried to kill you over his hyperfixation. maybe you had the right to assume whatever you want
and honestly, you were bound to get tired of it at some point
"you're just a random normie anyway lol"
"what, you think i'll just let some normie into my room?"
"ugh, i can't believe a normie beat me at a gamee."
forget tired, honestly, you were getting sick of it
you decided you've reached your limit on a random thursday morning
"hey, normie, pass the salt, would you?"
you ought to throw it at his head at this point
your teeth ground together in irritation
you didn't even notice that you'd crossed the room and moved around the entire dining table until you had the demon's collar by the fist
"i have had it with you!"
"wH- eh?" leviathan could only sputter as your grip tightened on his shirt. "what is your problem?"
"what's my problem? what's your problem?"
you didn't catch the hitch in his breath, the growing red of his cheeks, too blinded by annoyance to look anywhere but the narrowed pupils of his eyes
"would it kill you to have some manners, goddammit? i haven't done a single thing but breathe near you and all i hear is normie this, normie that, do you even know my fucking name?"
levi gulped nervously, but he surprised you nonetheless
"..m....mc.. your name is mc." he mumbled.
you were silent for a moment. but even after all the shit, you decided it would have to do for now. this wasn't worth being late to class over
"i'm not done with you.. demon."
you let go (he heaves a sigh of relief below you) and pick up your bag and leave. simple
all the while, levi watched you leave with his heart hammering in his chest
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—mephistopheles
let's be honest, it's not very hard to make an enemy out of mephistopheles
even if you weren't an angel, as a human, you managed to get on his nerves just fine
you'd think with his status and titles and riches that fighting with him on a near daily basis would have some serious kind of ripple effect against you
but you quickly learn that no, he was just the most dramatic bitch in the universe
we been knew
but this only served to annoy you more, really. it was clear that he didn't even take you seriously enough to fight you properly
instead, he resorted to being petty and snarky and obnoxious about literally everything and you wanted to break his stupid nose with his stupid cane
depending on who you are, you would be delighted or very irritated to know that you get on his nerves just as badly!! :D
he knew the demon brothers were a bunch of oafs from the start, but honestly, the way they tumbled over each other to kneel at your feet was just a whole new level of pathetic
you were just some random human exchange student, after all. how great could you really be?
that was what he thought until one day, when his younger brother came barreling into the newspaper club room, completely unannounced, for his first surprise visit to his older brother's school
before mephistopheles could question him, he noticed you standing awkwardly in the doorway
"meph, did you meet mc?" his brother's bright grin seemed like a slice out of the sun as his eyes darted between you and your so-called enemy
obliviously, the kid continued rambling on. "your school is really really big, and i got lost after dad dropped me, but mc found me and brought me to you!"
huh
mephistopheles raised his eyes to meet yours. he couldn't quite read the expression on your face. but he didnt push you further
"is that so?"
(as he soon learned, you were actually pretty great)
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—thirteen
in thirteen's defense, you were not the target of the trap
obviously
(so clearly, it was solomon's fault right?? riiiight???)
but you didn't seem to think that way. and to her discredit, you did still get caught in it
upside down and dizzy, the rubber rope latched around your ankles and wrists bouncing with the slightest breeze, you swore you would get her back for this
and you did:
after setting you free, the day after, she reset the trap. all you needed to do was push
in your defense, being stuck upside down for hours, even if on a mere accident, was not fun in the slightest
you were even late for class :(
unfortunately for both of you, the reaper seemed to take this as an act of war
and so ensued your rivalry
unfortunately for everyone else, you were both incredibly stubborn, headstrong, and dramatic
so more often than not, other people ended up falling victim to either of your pranks
belphegor gets caught in a tickle machine intended for you, mephistopheles suffers a bucket of ink falling from the door onto his head, not to mention the time lucifer got hit face first with glitter glue
legend says you were both almost suspended
but that wasn't even taking into account how much everyone hated being there for your verbal fights
satan has had to leave so many rooms just to keep from getting irritated at your antics
it isn't until asmodeus intervened one day that some of the poor witnesses figured out how to make a little entertainment off of this predicament
"good heavens, would you two just KISS already?!"
and, well, in asmodeus's defense, it had just been a joke on his part; a way to get you both to shut up
but much to both of your discredit, neither of you were all that good at hiding your blushing
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—raphael
it started with solomon, being the good, amazing, wonderful peacekeeper with no ulterior motives that he is, he hatched a plan to get you and the angel to make up
a plan that was totally not for his own entertainment whatsoever, no
he even got luke to help him out :D
and that was the story of how you and raphael got locked in a room together <3
"luke, please let us out. right now."
a muscle ticked in raphael's jaw as solomon laughed from the other side of the door
"sorry!" luke exclaimed. "we can't open it just yet! not until you talk and make up!"
"solomon....." you warned
"tsk tsk tsk. come on, mc, we're only trying to help you. both of you"
"define 'help'." raphael muttered
you snorted at his quip
"well, for one, the fact that spears rain from the heavens whenever you fight"
"that is none of your business!"
you couldn't help but laugh at his words, even as he glanced your way with incredulity. if anything, the bewildered look only made you laugh again
"guys, you know i could just summon one of the brothers to let us out right? why bother with all this?"
"i know you can, of course," replied solomon. "but. you know. we'd much rather you didn't"
"we just want you two to stop fighting.." luke said
your shoulders slumped at his voice. luke, at least, was being serious
you glanced sideways at raphael. he met your gaze, and the look on his face told you he was thinking the same thing
the angel sighed. "..okay"
"okay what?" luke asked
"we will try to get along."
"really?!"
raphael chuckled. "yes, really" the soft smile on his face faded as he saw your expression
"what."
"nothing, nothing, i just don't think i've seen you smile so nicely before" :)
"which would make sense, given that you're annoying"
"you-"
"haha," solomon chuckled. "they're getting along already"
"it doesn't sound like it.."
"guess it's our time to leave, luke"
"wait, wh- HEY. solomon, put me down!"
you and raphael exchanged glances
"who shall i call?"
"lucifer"
you shared a short, conspiratorial grin
"just what i was thinking"
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dividers from @clutteredfun
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supernaturalgirl20 · 1 year
Text
The Viper & The Lamb
Prologue
Pairings: Oberyn Martell x f!reader
Warnings: References to sex, kidnapping, arson, mention of death and murder, reader has dark hair, light eyes and is curvy.
Summary: Oberyn is one of the bosses of the Martell crime family and he’s out for revenge. Revenge for the murder of his beloved sister Elia and her family. He will stop at nothing to bring down the Lannisters, including kidnapping their precious daughter and using her as leverage. But you’re not who he was expecting, so when you completely flip his world upside down, he’s not prepared for the inevitable outcome. Falling madly in love with you.
A/N: just a short little piece to wet your tastebuds 😜 my migraine has been kicking my ass this week so I haven’t done any writing. Apologies if you’re waiting on requests to be answered. They are coming I promise 🥰
Series Masterlist
Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰
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The air was thick and reeked of smoke and blood. The familiar smell filled his senses as he sat on his bike and looked behind him. A smile worked its way onto his face as his lips curled slightly at the corner of his mouth.
The Lannister crest fell to the ground as their club was engulfed in flames. Not his handiwork but his determination to see them ruined played a part.
The rev of engines roaring to life filtered out the muffled screams coming from Jarons bike. His eyes drift towards the sound and his face becomes serious again. You!
Another Lannister bitch. Not the one he was hoping for but he got what he came for all the same. Leverage.
“Ready to go, boss?” Trystane asked as he came up beside him on his bike.
His eyes flicker to you again briefly before he nods at his men. “Let’s head out before daddy dearest catches wind, and ruins all our plans. His time will come but not tonight.”
Oberyn stayed put a moment longer, watching as his men rode off, one by one. His eyes somehow found you once again and he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you were.
Dark hair falls over your shoulders, drawing his attention to the curve of your breasts. Beautiful and perky, barely contained in the black silk dress you wore, begging for his attention.
Your skin glistened with perspiration, no doubt from fear, and it somehow turned him on even more. His cock strained against the zipper of his jeans growing harder by the second as his mind conjured images of you writhing beneath him.
Something he would never acknowledge out loud. He would rather gouge out his eyes than ever admit to being attracted to a Lannister. The panic he saw in your light orbs stirred something within him.
Guilt twists in his gut as tears begin to stream down your face. A small part of him wants to set you free but the memory of his sister dying in his arms was enough to drown out those thoughts.
Everything he did was for her.
For his revenge on the man who took his sister.
Even if that meant condemning an innocent woman to death.
He was the Viper after all. And his venom was poisonous.
Part one
Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories @musings-of-a-rose @untitledarea @your-voice-is-mellifluous @majestyjade @avengersfan
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sinligh · 10 months
Text
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I woke up hyperaware of every inch of my body. A bone must be missing, a tooth or two my hair feels like an extension of the pillow that i hide my dreams underneath
And my head is too heavy with the weight of everything I said i will think about later…
Childhood, adolescence, adulthood
It all overlaps sometimes, and I worry that my childhood is all I’m going to grow up to live and relive.
I worry that it’s a punishment,
Like Prometheus; that I’ll spend my nights picking at it trying to cleanse myself from all that a young version of me wasn’t strong enough to process
only to wake up and realize I’m carrying it between my ribs again.
To be pregnant with another girl that will relive my life like I’m reliving my mothers.
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I’m overthinking again
Stages of life like gates to the many graveyard’s that I have built inside me.
A sanctuary
A place of residence to all the feelings i had no time to over analyze.
I digged my phone from underneath the pillow, something must be said..
A phantom of the words that are trying to escape is at hands reach..
An Aura. A migraine.
Its 04:51 am. The sun didn’t rise yet, why am I awake again?
Thoughts are fighting each other for a way out, like a newborn waiting to be called by a name, any would be fine; as long as it gets acknowledgment.
On my way to the bathroom, i stumbled upon keywords
Some that I believe i missed the night before..
When anxiety was eating another pathway for itself. A way out, out of my brain
Necrosis.
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I spent the past couple of months studying all that can go wrong in a woman’s body.
Starting from puberty highlighting child bearing period and ending with menopause.
It’s all prewritten
And I get mad with rage because improvisations are treated like a sin that can never be forgiven.
I watched women bleeding incomplete lives from between their legs, that without shedding a tear.
We’re used to that, aren’t we ?
Bleeding.
And incomplete lives.
Distant dreams of motherhood bleeding classic tragedies into an ink jar
to be hand written as another passage in the wrenching history of all the fabricated religious books that swore by women.
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•••
•Quotes: Blythe Baird/ Paul Guest/Molly McCully Brown/ Uma Thurman/ Sylvia Plath/ Joel Coen/ Emily Rose Cole
•Original context: Sinligh
•Art reference:
1.painting by Domenico Induno. 2. Painting by Henry Asencio. 3.painting by graham dean. 4. Art by Patricia Cronin. 5. Art by Amelie, Maison d'art. 6. Spirit Body Consciousness by Byron Tik. 7. Painting by Francesca Strino 8. Charles-August Mengin (detail)
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Note
Hellooo!! I was wondering if you could do a poly! Optimus Prime x Fem! Human! Reader x poly! Megatron where the reader has ADHD thankss♡♡
I hope I respectfully honored your request. And I hope you enjoyed my work. Since no continuity was specified, I'm making it open to individual interpretation :3
Under Pressure
Optimus x Megatron x Female Human Reader POLY
Word Count: 900
Warnings: None
It had been a rather stressful day for (Y/N). At work, your boss had unexpectedly sprung a group presentation project that he had assigned you to without consulting you. To make matters worse, there was a very tight timeline the project had to be completed by, on top of the other work projects you already had on your desk. It honestly felt like your boss wanted to watch you have a mental breakdown. After this bombshell, you spent the rest of your shift struggling to come up with any ideas for your portion of the project, and you felt a migraine creep up as you struggled to focus. After feeling burnt out mentally, you clocked out at the end of your long shift and couldn’t leave your workplace faster. 
As you stepped into the employee parking lot, a familiar semi-truck was waiting for you in the guest-parking section. You stepped onto the bar side step and climbed your way inside of the cab, quietly sitting in the passenger-side seat. After a few seconds of silence, Optimus spoke up “How was work today?” You paused a moment before responding hesitantly, “It… could’ve been a better shift.” Optimus was concerned by your response, but he could tell (Y/N) probably didn’t want to share details quite yet, so he wouldn’t press the issue for now. “I see. Would you like to listen to music on the drive home? You can choose whatever station you prefer,” his tone was gentle as he concealed his growing worry. You leaned towards the center console and tuned the radio to your favorite station, hoping the music would ease some of your stress, “Thanks, Optimus.” 
The rest of the drive was marked by silence as neither (Y/N) nor Optimus said a word. Eventually, Optimus would pull into a small and secluded base before coming to a stop. The passenger-side door opened, and as you began to climb down from the cab Optimus couldn’t help but speak. “(Y/N), if there’s anything ever on your mind, know I am always ready to lend an audio receptor,” he spoke softly, as if afraid he might scare you off. You paused for a moment before smiling quaintly, “Again, thank you Optimus but I’m okay, I promise you.” You stepped off of the cab and headed inside the base. Shortly afterwards, Optimus transformed out of his alt mode and slowly followed after you, being unable to shake the feeling you were ‘not’ actually okay. 
You made your way inside the base, you typed a code into the private quarters you shared with Optimus and Megatron. The doors opened for you, and you immediately went towards a large couch and collapsed on the thick cushions. As you attempt to calm your mind, a large servo gently presses on your shoulder. As you glance up you see none other than Megatron looking down upon you with a coy smile, “If it isn’t my stunning rose, beautiful as her thorns are sharp. How was your day?” Despite the pressure and stress you felt, Megatron’s cute pet names for you never ceased to make you blush. “Today was— it… honestly was terrible” you frowned, unable to fake how you truly felt. 
Hearing this, Megatron’s smile slowly faded and he knelt down before you, his gaze locked onto yours. “Did someone harm you? If so, they will surely pay for offending my rose…” His ruby optics narrowed and burned with anger. Not wanting any more stress, you quickly grasped his servo, “No, no— Please just… Don’t.” Megatron paused at your words and relaxed his frame, albeit confused. At this moment, Optimus made his way into your shared chambers, carrying a human-sized mug of tea in his servos on a tiny, human-sized tray and drawing Megatron’s attention. “I didn’t mean to bother you, (Y/N), but I could tell on our drive here that you were distressed, so I thought some tea might help,” he spoke softly as he handed the mug to (Y/N). 
You smiled up at Optimus as you took the mug of tea, wondering as to how he managed to prepare a human-sized portion of tea in a human-sized mug, “You’re too sweet… Both of you.” As you glanced at both Megatron and Optimus, they sat on either side of you on the massive Cybertronian-sized couch that had been custom-made. Megatron fluffed up a human-sized pillow you had purchased and laid it against your back before softly wrapping a servo around your right shoulder, “We are here to listen to you, (Y/N). And decimate your manager if you permit us to.” Optimus briefly shot dagger at Megatron, clearly disagreeing with any form of unnecessary violence as usual. “I’m certain Megatron means to state that both of us are here to support you and comfort you in whatever way you require. And that you should know you are the most valuable, talented, capable, and beautiful being in the entire universe.” Optimus wrapped his servo around your left shoulder and leaned closer to you, his signature soft smile across his faceplate as he gazed down at you. 
Despite the pressure and stress of the day, you could find some respite and comfort in the arms of lovers. And certainly, they would be more than willing to assist you in relieving your workplace endeavors….
- Thank You, I hope you enjoyed this fluff :3
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nerdpoe · 10 months
Text
TWINcognito mode Part 3(Tim and Danny Pretend to be Twins AU) (But are they still pretending at this point lmfao)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, AO3
“Ah, I should let you know in case it comes back to bite me in the ass; the clone couldn’t grow a soul, so Ra’s made a deal with a demon and essentially kidnapped me from the afterlife to put in this body.”
Tim paused, cereal halfway to his mouth, and stared.
“Oh. Is…is there a chance of you leaving or being kicked out of your body or something?” His voice only shook a little, betraying how that was a possibility he did not want to consider.
Danny shook his head, shoveling the same cereal brand in his mouth.
“Nah, the body is bonded with my soul at this point; it is actually my body now,” Danny explained, using his spoon as a pointer, “But I had a few titles in the afterlife, so someone may try to summon me. If I randomly disappear in an eery, unexplainable fog, that’s why. I’ll find my way back though.”
Tim’s hand finished its journey and he took his time chewing the cereal.
“So we need a tracker, is what I’m hearing.”
“Probably, yeah.”
~~~~~~
John Constantine was in Gotham.
Bruce hated that sentence in its entirety.
Unfortunately, he needed Constantine’s input on his most recent…villain. He loathed to call Condiment Man a villain, but the idiot had managed to accidentally curse himself, and now everything his condiments touched was aging at a rapid rate.
It was a fairly standard meeting, all told, when Tim-no; Tim knew to be in the BatCave in uniform when they had company, and Bruce was almost 95% certain that Danny had never once joined him on patrol-Danny walked down the stairs.
John turned to look and Bruce, without thinking, lunged forward and slapped a hand over his eyes.
“Masks!” Bruce hissed, nodding towards where they kept the spares. Danny ignored him though, stopping at the bottom of the stair to gawk at Constantine.
“What the fresh hell am I looking at?” Danny asked, horror and disgust on his face as he leaned away.
“Wow. Nice to meet you too, mate.” 
“Don’t talk to me.”
“Don’t insult my lovely little face.”
“Seriously, you’re disgusting. How do you live like this?”
“D-Janus!” Bruce cut in, catching Danny’s attention. Janus was a good middle ground; Danny would absolutely respond to it, and as the name of a god it was strange enough to be a codename. “Is this important?”
Danny slowly held out the phone in his hand, eyes never leaving Constantine.
“Red Robin said you weren’t answering your phone, he needs an answer now or he’s storming the human trafficking gang without backup.”
Bruce would have loved to massage the growing migraine away, but his hands were occupied forcing Constantine to stay in place and covering his eyes.
“Okay, I’ll look over his messages. Tell him not to move forward without confirmation. If you’re not going to cover your face, you have to leave. We have company, you know the rules.”
Danny wrinkled his nose and turned around.
“As long as I don’t have to be in the same room as the person who thought it was a good idea to essentially scalp himself and bleed all over the place.”
“Oh love, I’m sure that no matter how ugly I look I’m bloody roses compared to you.”
“I said don’t talk to me!” Danny shouted, disappearing from view as he left.
“You have lovely children, Batman.” Constantine drawled.
Bruce walked away from the magic-user to address the messages that Tim had apparently been sending him, quickly arranging for Red Hood to assist at the last second.
“My apologies; one of my children is…not into vigilante-ism. He can forget the rules.” Bruce bit out, switching back to the Condiment Man case.
Constantine hummed, still looking up the stairs.
“So, how’d your kid get the ability to see souls?”
“Classified.”
Bruce had no idea. He wasn’t about to let Constantine know that, though.
~~~~~~
Alfred was not a fool.
Something was up, and it had to do with Master Tim.
It had been a month, and he was running out of patience waiting for Tim to tell him what was wrong. It had gotten to coffee cake levels of desperation; as in Alfred was baking a coffee cake to bribe Master Tim into telling someone, anyone if he wasn’t comfortable with Alfred, what was going on.
“Hey Alfred. Oh, cake!” Master Tim said behind him, reaching out to snag some of the batter.
Alfred deftly turned the spare wooden spoon on him for his efforts.
“Master T-!”
“Hey Danny, what’s-oh, cake!” Master Tim’s voice said from his left.
Alfred paused.
Alfred took a deep breath.
Alfred looked behind him, and then to his left.
They were nearly identical. Their hair was styled a bit different, one was wilder than the other, and Master…Danny slouched a bit more, but ultimately if one did not know that there were two of them, they could switch and no one would be the wiser.
…No one had been the wiser.
Alfred thought back to the research he’d seen Master Bruce had been doing so desperately in the BatCave. He’d always hid the files before Alfred could read them, but he had caught the vigilante muttering about Time Streams and irreversible changes.
Alfred was almost completely certain that prior to Master Bruce coming back, Master Tim had never had a twin.
From said twins point of view, things would be per usual. It would be rather rude to admit that he didn’t remember the lad at all. But what could he do? He genuinely did not.
He would have to have a little talk with Master Bruce regarding updating him when there were such additions to the family.
“...Unfortunately, Master Danny, I made this cake with Master Tim in mind. I was unaware of your own preferences; If you have any, however, I would be glad to hear them.”
Master Danny smiled brightly, and-yes; there was another difference between the two of them. Master Danny was a bit freer with his emotions than Master Tim. It would be best to catalog them now, to prevent something like mistaking one for the other.
“I’m actually a big fudge fan,” the family’s newest member admitted, trying to sneak another taste of cake batter.
Alfred took the wooden spoon to the offending hand again.
New or not, he was no exception to the rules.
It was better to rip the bandaid off, so to speak, rather than say or do something offensive that he did not remember from Master Danny’s past.
“Now, I understand that you are Master Tim’s twin? I fear I cannot recall you, my sincerest apologies. Might I ask that you inform me of any food allergies and general likes and dislikes?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t. Remember me, that is. I’m a clone, but we decided to be twins.”
Alfred paused in his stirring.
Then he smiled; he knew where this was going. He’d known Master Tim long enough to know of the lad’s wicked streak.
“I take it this is a secret, then?”
“Told you he was the best,” Master Tim intoned, licking espresso powder off of his finger. The little devil had used his newfound twin as a distraction!
Master Danny laughed, causing Alfred to look over just in time to see him licking a piece of batter off of his finger.
The scallywags. 
~~~~~~
The kid in front of him was oblivious to anyone watching him. He had opted for sitting on a bench at the local park, facing the seriously polluted pond. He had a capri sun juice pack in one hand and his phone in the other, and the holds for the leashes attached to the Hyenas lounging on him were wrapped around his ankle.
Oh yeah.
This wasn’t Timberly.
This was all Dann..er…ino?
Huh.
He’d have to work on that.
Well, that was why he wasn’t in uniform or wearing a mask; he was here to explain why he hadn’t been shitting on the Imposter as much as he had been the Replacement.
“Hey,” Jason said, dropping down from the tree and standing directly behind the Imposter’s Imposter.
“Fuck!” Said the Imposter, dropping both his capri sun and phone.
“I just need to clear some things,” Jason drawled, walking around to Danny’s front and then standing there awkwardly.
He’d thought about what he was going to say, he swore he had, but it was just…shitty. How the fuck did he explain that he’d forgotten a person’s entire existence?
Danny just stared at him, ignoring the hyenas licking his face.
“Tim’s fucking annoying,” damn, he was starting off strong with this, apparently. Danny looked largely unimpressed. “No, I mean. He’s a know it all, thinks that refusing self-care is cool, and is just so painfully awkward it makes me want to carve out my eyeballs. So. That’s why I give him shit.”
“And you also slit his throat,” Danny added helpfully.
Jason scowled.
“What, like I’m the only one who’s slit a family member's throat? He isn’t special.”
Danny opened and closed his mouth, before finally just turning his face into the fur of one of the hyenas and letting out a muffled scream.
“Anyways-”
“No, go back. Who else got their throat slit?”
Jason sighed and tugged down his shirt collar, revealing his own scar.
“The Old Man gave it to me, happy?”
Danny did not look happy. Danny looked the opposite of happy.
Danny’s eyes had started glowing a lazarus green.
“Was this deliberate?”
Well shit. There was a difference right there; Tim could sound for all the world like he was being threatening, but Danny could accomplish sounding outright terrifying.
“No; he was aiming to clip me and I managed to get shoved into it.”
The lazarus green faded, leaving a yet again unimpressed teenager.
“Oh, so it’s not similar at all. You were just an idiot.”
Oh look, more lazarus green, but this time from Jason!
“Okay, so we have our issues. The point; is I don’t remember my issues with you.”
“Wait, what?”
The green receded and Jason shoved his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but Danny.
“I…don’t remember you. At all. I don’t know if I treated you with the same level of contempt, or if we were on good terms. I don’t know. So. We’re gonna have to start fresh, and I’m gonna have to learn who you are now as opposed to who your records say you were.” Every word felt like it was being pulled through his teeth.
He didn’t want to see the kid’s face. He didn’t want to know what someone looked like when they were told that their family didn’t fucking know who they were.
“Hold that thought, I have to tell them you were the first. Tim thought you wouldn’t be, but I told him that assholes are just the right amount of brutally honest the world needs.”
What?
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Danny finished typing on the phone and looked back at Jason.
“Naturally, you wouldn’t remember me. I’m a clone, I didn’t exist until like three months ago, and Tim and I decided to proceed as twins. We were just messing with everyone and we were about to call it, but Barbara’s price for helping us with the paper trail was forcing the Bat’s to admit they don’t know something.” Danny shrugged, with a ‘what can ya do’ air about him.
Jason felt his mouth opening and closing.
“Oh.”
Danny nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, oh. I still fully intend to cause you grief.”
Fucker.
“No plans to enact vengeance on Timberly’s behalf for said throat slitting thing?”
Danny shook his head, leaning back.
“That’s Tim’s revenge, and he’ll get to that, trust me. That’s already in motion. I’m just here to fuck with you.”
He was going to fit right in; he was just as insufferable as Tim.
“Fine. I guess we’ll get to know each other through me beating the shit out of you, just like I kicked the crap out of your twin.”
The little shit snickered at him. Snickered!
“Good luck. Hey, Dick! Jason broke my phone!”
Jason spun around, arms up in preparation to protect his face from another punch.
There was no one there.
When he turned around, there was no one on the bench either. When he looked around, he saw Danny wave at him as he walked through the fence and took the hyenas with him.
Jason swore.
Density shifting. Of course.
“So that’s how you fucking moved me around the forest.”
Yeah, Jason wasn't saying shit to the Old Man.
He would just sit back and enjoy the show.
~~~~~~
Dick wasn’t sure how to make up for forgetting a person's entire existence. Was it forgetting if that person had previously not existed?
From Danny’s perspective it would be forgetting, so Dick would go with that.
He had come prepared; since he didn’t know what Danny liked, he had bought three pizzas with various weird toppings and one with just pepperoni, had grocery bags full of snack foods, had another grocery bag with various energy drinks, and was full of excitement at getting to know the kid.
But when he arrived at the door to the penthouse, it was already open. In fact, it was held in place by what appeared to be Tim’s briefcase from where it was haphazardly thrown. The smoke alarms were going off inside, and Dick rushed in to see what was going on.
One of the twins was in a large, oversized NASA hoodie and was standing on top of the counter, desperately swinging a towel at the angry, screaming smoke detector. The other one was in an Armani business suit and shoving a flaming pan into the sink in an attempt to drown it in water. The stove bore a few scorch marks, but was otherwise fine.
“How do you not know how to cook fish?!”
“I’ve never done it before and then I don’t know, it started smoking and I freaked out!”
“So you turned up the heat?!”
“I turned the dial the wrong way is what I did, it was an accident!”
“...I can’t leave you unsupervised in the kitchen. I can’t leave you-shit I have a date with Bernard in like an hour…listen, if I tell you to just order takeout, whatever you want and however much you want using my card, will you stay out of the kitchen?”
Danny, because that was who hoodie-twin had to be, stuttered in indignation, and Dick decided to make his presence known.
He cleared his throat and stepped forward, holding up his many treats.
The boys stared at him like he was an alien.
“I may have a solution to this,” Dick started, walking forward to rest his burdens at Danny’s feet on the counter, “It’s called ‘I haven’t hung out with Danny in a really long time, and maybe we should do that’.”
Tim sighed, leaning against the counter.
“Can you keep him out of the kitchen?”
“I am not that bad.”
“This is the fourth time this week you set off the fire alarms, and I’m ready to pay Jason cold hard cash to force you to learn how to fend for yourself.”
Dick frowned, glancing between the two of them.
“Can’t you teach him? From what I remember you’re actually a pretty phenomenal cook.”
Danny jumped off the counter, lightly floating to the ground as he shrugged.
“Tim’s also a vigilante on top of being the CEO of one of the world's biggest tech companies; which means he’s got no time.”
Tim, on the other hand, made a face and shook his head.
“I don’t normally cook, like Danny said; no time. I wasn’t joking about Jason, by the way.”
Danny just made a very big put-upon sigh and meandered around Dick and to the pizza.
“So what’s the plan tonight, Dick?”
“Well, I-”
“Because ever since we’ve been introduced, we’ve literally never hung out.”
What?
What?
What had past version of him from Danny’s memories been doing?
Fine. His past self was an asshole and it was his loss, it just meant that Dick could be upfront and ask what Danny liked without being suspicious.
“That was stupid. I was stupid. Let’s hang out.” The sentence was disjointed with how much rage Dick was directing at his past self, and the knowledge that he couldn't actually do anything about it.
Danny and Tim traded looks, communicating between themselves in a way that Dick couldn’t read.
“Do you have anything else to say?” Tim asked, his face cleanly wiped of any expression.
Dick frowned, shaking his head. He didn’t care that Danny had apparently been previously ostracized, he didn’t care that he couldn’t remember it; he was going to fix it.
Tim slapped a hand on Danny’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly before walking towards his room.
Danny grinned. 
It was a feral thing, and some part of Dick was a little afraid.
“If that’s all you have to say then, I think it’s time to get started.”
~~~~~~
Damian found himself in a conundrum.
He had been carefully observing Timothy and Daniel, noting how they behaved and their differences, and was almost certain that he could easily tell them apart. 
Honestly, they were so obviously different that he was ashamed to admit he had ever considered one to be the other.
Timothy would never tuck him in, and during that training exercise months ago he was certain it had been Daniel tucking him in. Timothy would never resort to a childish nickname to rile Damian’s ire, but Daniel had no such qualms. Timothy would never resort to puns in front of Damian, but Daniel used them all the time.
But most damning of all?
Daniel would have a cup of coffee, but he gravitated more towards juice. Daniel refused to help with any cases, and would cite that his brain wasn’t in the Detective Mindset. Daniel leaned more towards vegetarianism with occasional meat products, but only sometimes.
They were two completely different people, and Damian had stained his honor as his Father’s blood son by not recognizing that immediately.
Currently, Daniel was sitting across from him in the Manor Library, swiping through something on the tablet in his lap. There was a glass of apple juice next to him, a plate of fudge on the side table, and…yes, Damian could see it now.
Or rather, not see it.
The neckline of Daniel’s hoodie was pulled down, and it revealed a neck free of scars.
How had he ever mistaken one buffoon for the other?
His mannerisms towards Damian tended to be on the more friendly side compared to his twin. Damian took this to mean that the one he had stabbed had, in fact, been Timothy, not Daniel.
Their previous relationship appeared to lean more towards typical sibling antagonism, if the few moments of comfort Daniel offered in the shadows were any indication.
It was this realization that made Damian pause.
Daniel did not seem to seek vengeance for Timothy, and while Damian could attribute that to cowardice, he knew without doubt that it was because he fully trusted his twin to enact any justice that Timothy felt needed to be served.
Which meant that his relationship with Daniel was…surprisingly free of bloodshed.
Nor did Daniel put him on a pedestal, excusing his actions and coddling him.
To Daniel, Damian was just…Damian. El-witwaat. His little brother, to whom he had a duty to annoy.
His plan to include Daniel by convincing him that they never forgot him was all well and good in theory, but Damian did not know how to interact with a sibling that did not hold a grudge against him or only see what they thought he could be, rather than what he was.
“Something wrong, el-witwaat?” Daniel asked, not looking away from his tablet. The name did not bring about the rage that Damian was expecting; just the same emotions that flashed through him when Richard called him ‘Dami’.
Yes, if it had been Timothy that small degree of warmth would not have been present. Grudging respect, maybe, but not any form of warmth. The warmth in the tone, Damian thought, made the difference between accepting the absurd nickname and stabbing Daniel in the eye.
“I find myself wondering what hero name you will choose, now that you have returned from your mission,” Damian replied rigidly, wondering if this would be yet another contender for Father’s mantle.
Daniel just let out a short bark of laughter before presumably choking on his own spit.
“No, no no no, no more vigilante-ism for me,” Daniel answered after he had managed to calm down, “I’m done with it unless it’s a world-ending threat and all hands are needed.”
Damian was confused. 
“But you have powers. Generally, metas with powers such as yours find themselves taking up a moniker and-”
“-But statistically speaking, how many metas exist that you’ve never heard of?” Daniel interrupted, going back to his reclined position sideways on his chair.
Damian did not know.
“Listen, being in the League of Assassins, even just to get information, was…well. You and Jason would know better than anyone in this family. And Tim, but he’s not ready to talk about that yet. It…” Daniel trailed off, and Damian was suddenly very aware that he was probably going to hear something that was not in the mission report.
“I…did not get all the information I was supposed to. I got caught.”
“And you’re still alive?” Damian hissed, finding himself leaning forward without any intention to do so.
“I’m my brother's identical twin, Damian. I’m not the detective he is, I’m not even the same person he is, but Ra’s didn’t see it like that. He just saw Tim 2.0.” Daniel shifted, presumably to get more comfortable.
Damian read between the lines.
His grandfather had captured and more than likely attempted to brainwash Daniel.
“Your first interaction with us after getting back was at the brunch,” Damian speculated, ignoring Daniel’s surprised look, “But you came back to Gotham before that, did you not?”
Daniel smiled at him. Another difference, Timothy would never do such a thing, but it was similar to his twin in how tired of a smile it was.
“Tim had to set my head straight for a bit before I could come see you all, yeah. I’m seeing a therapist, don’t worry; we’re making sure to do everything possible to make sure I don’t relapse.”
Damian nodded. 
Looked down at the book in his lap.
Then nodded again.
Unlike Timothy, Daniel appeared to take his personal mental wellbeing seriously. Obviously he would take the steps required to ensure he could recover.
From what Damian had managed to gather, Daniel was clearly the superior twin, after all.
Daniel heaved out a massive sigh and floated up to a standing position, directly in front of Damian.
“Come on, let’s go look at BatCow; it’s around time to feed her anyways,” Daniel stated, motioning towards the clock, “I’ll muck out the stable if you do the feeding her part?”
Yes; Daniel was the superior twin.
So why did he look guilty?
~~~~~~
Bruce paused at the threshold to Tim’s old room. Well. Tim and Daniel’s old room. And what had past him been thinking, to force them to share a room when he had so many open?
“-I don’t know, Tim, I just feel guilty about lying.”
Lying? What was Danny lying about?
“Danny, please tell me where what you told the little demon was a lie.”
“I…the getting caught part?”
“Oh, so you were there of your own volition?”
“No! You know I wasn’t-”
“And then you chose to get brainwashed into being a slave?”
“Tim you’re being deliberately obtuse-”
“They’re yes or no questions, Danny. It’s your trauma, how you choose to share it is your business.”
The room behind the door fell quiet, and unfortunately gave Bruce time to think.
Danny had been brainwashed?
He needed to look at the facts.
He still hadn’t been added to the Bird of Prey roster, despite what Barbara had claimed. There were many reasons for that happening, but the biggest one would be if he was either too injured to go in the field or retiring.
Danny had been on a deep cover mission in the League of Assassins, the mission report from which was surprisingly sparse and jumpy. As if whoever was writing it was trying to remember something they’d been forced to forget. The League was run by Ra’s, who had an unhealthy fixation on Tim.
Danny was Tim’s identical twin, for all that they were very different.
The word ‘slave’ bounced around his head and echoed in his ears; it was not a title he wanted any of his children to have, remembered or not.
It was easy to figure out from there, and Bruce was rather overcome by the sudden need to see both Tim and Danny.
The scene awaiting him in their bedroom was…sweet.
Danny was lying sideways on the bed, his head resting on Tim’s leg as he scrolled his tablet, and Tim was leaning against the headboard, presumably working on a casefile on his laptop. They both turned their heads to stare at Bruce when he walked in, looking rather like owls.
‘Slave’ slowly faded from his ears, but stayed in the back of his mind.
He’d deal with Ra’s when the time came.
But at present, both of his sons were safe.
“Danny, Tim. I was just…checking in. Is everything alright?” Curse his inability to make meaningful conversation when it wasn’t a life or death situation.
They glanced at each other and shrugged.
Then Danny hauled himself out of the bed and walked over to Bruce.
Bruce tried not to let too much excitement show on his face.
“Actually B, I was wondering if I could have some input on choosing a major?”
Ah, so Danny really was retiring.
Thank god, at least one of his kids would be out of the direct line of fire.
“Sure Danny,” Bruce agreed, moving out of the way so they could go to his office, “Whatever you need. Like your own room, maybe.”
Danny paused, halfway out the door, and slowly turned to look at Bruce like he’d grown a second head.
“Bruce…this is my room. Tim moved out, remember?”
Behind them, he heard Tim choke on something.
Bruce couldn’t bring himself to check on the twin behind him, however, due to the intense mortification he was feeling.
Danny wasn’t emancipated?
Danny was still legally a dependent in the eyes of the law?!
Had Bruce kicked him out of his own house?!
Bruce leaned against the doorframe, feeling rather faint, and re-evaluated his life choices while simultaneously cursing his past version of himself.
“Uh, so…maybe we should wait on the college thing until you’ve slept, huh?”
Tim was wheezing behind him. 
Bruce deserved that laughter. He deserved a punch to the face, honestly.
He’d kicked a minor out of his home, he was no better than-
“B?”
“No. No, your education is important to me.” Bruce ground out, draping a heavy arm around Danny’s shoulders and steering him to his office.
He would make this right.
He had to make this right.
~~~~~~
Some unlucky fucker was knocking on Jason’s door at ass-o-clock in the morning, and they were gonna pay.
He hadn’t bought out the entire building just to be woken up by fucking salespeople, of all things.
Gun in hand and green in his eyes, Jason tore open the front door and-that was Danny. Tim’s twin, for all that Jason could not see him as anything else.
He was standing on Jason’s doorstep, a large hoodie draped over his skinny-ass frame, and looking up at him expectantly.
And Jason was standing in his doorway in his underwear like a moron.
“Uh,” Jason started, unsure of what to make of the situation.
Danny handed over an envelope full of what looked like money.
“Tim wants to pay you fifty thousand per lesson to teach me how to cook.”
…Well. Shit.
He still wasn’t sure where he stood with the little test tube twin, but money was money, and it wasn’t like teaching someone how to do something as simple as cook was hard.
Fifteen minutes into his first lesson and Jason retracted that statement.
Fifty thousand was not enough.
His ruined Hexclad pans sat smoking in the sink as a testament to Danny fucking Drake-Wayne’s failures.
The reason for his ruined kitchenware was sitting on the kitchen floor, looking stunned and staring at the probably third-degree burn he’d definitely have to go to the hospital for.
He was upping his price, and Tim was buying him new pans.
@terzatheunderscorerima @darkbiscuitvoidstudent @akikkobara @reach-for-the-horizon @bitter-coffeecup @moodycow210 @kisatamao @thefantasmarex @fisher-with-the-morbs @jaguarthecat @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @moonshell25 @tundra1029
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http-paprika · 7 months
Text
Together, Inhospitable | Simon Riley 1 Bug Like an Angel
masterlist / next
summery the rest of the 141 had gone out to celebrate, except for simon who shed his mask for the night. unbeknownst to him, christina was still there.
pairing simon “ghost” riley x christina "red" perez / wc 1087 / warnings mentions of death, alcoholism, and swearing
note today is my actual birthday, and nothing is more of a gift than sad, mitski induced angst. enjoy.
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"amateur mistake, you can take it from me" mitski
The sun had dipped below the horizon and daggered mountains, leaving the sky navy with too much light for the stars to shine, but too dark to be daytime. Simon sat back in his plastic chair, a single brown glass bottle of beer looking back at him from the outdoor table, he watched a bug fly around the rim, catching flight before he could move and catch it in his calloused hands. His gaze rose with the bug, following it to the outdoor light where the small insect rested with other winged bugs. Still watching, he grasped the bottle and raised it to his mouth, resting on sun-dried lips and allowing the sour liquid to scorch his throat as Simon swallowed.
He was alone tonight, the rest of his team had gone out drinking and celebrating but with a migraine and bitter mood, Simon chose to stay back. Allowing himself a drink and shedding the mask, for the few hours he had to himself, he let the warm summer air touch his skin. A sudden gust of wind sliced through the porch, causing the blond hair to stand on his neck. Simon rested a hand on his chin, feeling the growing stubble of facial hair that he’d have to shave soon, he hated the way it made him look, cursing as it reminded him of his father.
Suddenly the glass bottle in his hand stung, like a phantom cut against his rough palms. It dropped out of his grasp, shattering on the tiled floor as the door behind him clicked open. Out of instinct, he snatched the neck of the broken bottle as he turned to the sudden intruder, Simon’s shoulders falling when he realized it was his teammate.
“Jesus, Red. I thought you left with the others to go celebrate.” He gruffly says, bending down to try and clean up the dark glass, the remaining liquid seeping into his shoe.
“I don’t drink.” She was surprised to see him on the porch, thinking she’d been alone in the house. Christina was also surprised to see him without his skull mask, only having seen him without it once after she accidentally entered his office uninvited. “I’ll grab a bag and towel.”
Simon wanted to disappear, he didn’t like the way Christina looked at him before she stepped back inside to grab supplies to clean the mess he’d made. He wasn’t as comfortable as Simon around his team, safety was in the caricature that was Ghost. Where he was just a man behind a mask.
“Here.” She hands him an old dishcloth and begins to carefully pick up the glass shards, not questioning the mess at all. It was his luck that Red had been the one to stay at the base as opposed to Soap or any of the others, she was quiet and didn’t question why Simon hadn’t joined the team. Only speaking when she saw a good reason too.
“Thanks, Red.” They quickly clean up the mess, before Simon returns to his chair and she stays standing, picking at her lips.
“Do you want me to leave?” Christina finally asks, breaking their silence.
“No, you can stay.” She takes the seat across from him, pulling her knees to her chest. Simon studied her, remembering that she was a decade younger than him. Yet they’d always had some unspoken understanding, a knowing look behind their eyes. Some part of their hidden pasts that tethered them together. “I thought you used to drink.”
“No, I’ve been sober since basic training.” She tells him, allowing him to briefly pick at her brain. In return, she asks why he stayed home from the celebration their teammates were participating in. “You’ve never stayed back before.”
“Massive fuckin’ headache.” Simon grumbles, had she always looked so tired? Were her shoulders always so bony under her shirt? On the field, she’d always been intimidating enough, coming across as a good soldier who never seemed to be afraid. But here, she seemed so timid and faltering under Simon’s gaze. “Can I ask why you don’t drink?”
“You can ask, I might not answer,” Christina responds, looking up at the light as if she were one of the insects searching for the sun. Aching to fly away, fly into the bright sun, and disappear in its warmth.
“So why don’t you?” He asks, unsure if Simon actually wanted to know the truth. If finding the reason behind the haunting look in her eyes was worth it, but he couldn’t imagine it was any worse than anything else he’d experienced. But Simon knew it could still come as a shock, whatever the reason.
“My father drank himself to death. His liver gave out, he died at his favorite bar.” She closed her eyes, the lids stained a purple color begging for rest she’ll never receive. Heavy bags underneath resulting from a line of work a woman like her shouldn’t have been in, Simon decided. “And I wouldn’t be like him.”
“Ah.” Simon thought of his own father, who as a child he wished would drink himself away. Now, he tried not to even think of the man, trying to ignore his father was like trying to ignore a sore in Simon’s mouth. It always came back and ruined his mind and mood. “Well, I’m not sure how much it’s worth. But from what I’ve seen, you’re a better woman than most people I’ve known.”
Her eyes roll open, looking at him with an almost distant crystalized gaze. Where their eyes met, that invisible string was tugged, pulling at Simon’s throat as he stared at Christina, almost longingly, wanting to say her name. Simon’s hands almost ached to reach out and hold hers. To speak and comfort her as Red’s eyes grew watery. But he withheld the urge and thankfully so as they could hear the rest of their team returning, with Soap drunkenly singing some song he’d heard at the bar. The moment died as Simon pulled his balaclava back on, falling back into the comfort of being Ghost. Christina uncurled herself, stretching out her shoulders and back to give her added height and hardening her face.
There was a cold distance set up between them as drunken Soap stumbled into the light propped up by Gaz and Price who were evidently tipsy as they loudly exchanged greetings with their two sober teammates. Soap in particular was loud, looking between Res and Ghost before announcing his opinion. “Oh, so that’s why you stayed home, Ghost. Had a fucking date planned.”
ending note this has been edited from the original to fit the Together, Inhospitable series. only minor changes though, nothing major.
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zuureborn · 2 months
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AlHaitham HCs!!
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Pre Kaveh-roommate era, normal hcs :) slight cw for angst
He’s not a very good cook. He can make his own meals, but they always seem to fall flat. Like how there’s always that “okay” version of the dish you make in Genshin, between “delicious” and “nearly inedible”; AlHaitham’s dishes always fall under that category. He considers cooking almost like a chore, something he has to do. He doesn’t see it as an art form, like most other people, nor does he treat it like one. Food must be made so it can be eaten, and it must be eaten so one’s body can function and grow. There’s nothing more to it.
He also has very muted tastebuds. Not to the point of disability, but he can’t seem to taste flavors on his tongue. The texture of the dish matters more to him than taste. He doesn’t like watery dishes and soups, because they don’t have a good, solid texture for him to enjoy.
He wears his headphones even when he’s alone in his house. Not only is he used to them on his head, but it helps him to ignore the empty space. If he can’t hear the silence, then it must not be silent.
They help him hear as well, unsurprisingly. His grandmother commissioned them for him years ago, when he admitted to his hearing being impaired from time to time. As he grew older, his hearing got worse. Not completely gone, yet, but he would rather not take his chances. Every few months, he gets maintenance on them from a Ksharewar graduate.
If Haitham has his headphones off in a place too quiet, with no background noise, his ears begin to ring. That ringing crescendos to a deafening high-pitched whistle, screaming in his ears. It gives him a headache, a massive one. Sometimes, there is the sensation of walls closing in around him, even if the place he is in is wide and spacious. He’s researched this before, but has yet to find out what it is…
He gets splitting headaches, migraines sometimes too. Some often occur from this extreme silence, others occur randomly. It’s another irritating thing about his body that he can’t figure out.
He does everything right: exercises daily, eats three square meals with snacks in between, gets at least seven hours of sleep each night. He doesn’t overwork himself (almost to a fault) and he’s never stressed. So why isn’t his body acting like it’s supposed to…?
He’s checked it out at the Bimarstan before. They told him it must be a lack of rest, and gave him some pain killers. And, like a good patient, he didn’t question it. (Even though he should have).
He described to them chest pains too, and they called it acid reflux and sent him on his way.
Haitham keeps a small shrine dedicated to his parents and grandmother in the corner of his room. He had heard about such alters being set up for loved ones in Natlan and Inazuma from his studies, and felt compelled to make one for his own family. It felt odd to him, setting it up. He has no skill in decoration, so the shrine is very…bare-bones. He has a small dish that used to be his grandmother’s and pictures of each person set up in small frames. Tea light candles are perched on the edges, far away from the paper. A bookmark, and an old, pressed Sumeru Rose. But other than that…nothing.
Haitham graduated from the Akademiya alone.
He loves sweets and fruit hard candies. Often times he’ll keep a small container of Zaytun peach tablets on his person, for when he feels peckish, or sad, or just bored. No one knows this about him though. Some assume he prefers bitter tastes because of his reputation. Most don’t care to think about what kind of candy Haitham consumes. The candies also help him with his taste; sweet, sweet things break through this odd barrier, and it offers him a bit of relief.
He sleeps with five blankets (so me core). A sheet, two weighted blankets with a softer one between them, and a quilt on top of it all. It’s a slightly…suffocating arrangement. But he likes to feel as if he were protected on all sides.
His house is surprisingly messy. For someone as calculating as AlHaitham, there are clothes and towels strewn over his bedroom, dirty dishes in the sink and piling on the living room table. The carpet looks in dire need of a wash, he’s never actually cleaned out his fridge or cupboards, and he’s given up on using his closet or drawers. The clothes he wears have a 86% chance to be taken straight from the dryer or washing machine.
The only untouched place is the door to his “study” that remains closed.
He uses 3-in-one shampoo, conditioner, body wash. It smells like musk and nothingness. I’m not sorry.
He’s very…literal. Everything he does is done for a purpose. Food is eaten to sustain the body. Beds are made to be slept in energize the mind. Showers are taken to cleanse the body of physical residue. It’s almost as if he’s unable to do anything for pleasure besides read.
He’s lonely.
Extremely lonely.
He doesn’t know how to cure it, this loneliness. How to keep one around long enough to actually hold a normal conversation. He despises small talk, such pleasantries are often just questions to be answered according to a script, rather than actual inquiry about one’s wellbeing. He finds debates to be much more entertaining and interesting; no fluff or deceit, just cut to the chase, a conversation influence by opinion.
Haitham doesnt get to engage in debate often anymore.
It’s quiet and cold, in this house, and it’s unbearable.
The deafening silence headaches come more frequently.
He’s run out of pain killers.
He’s forgotten to get groceries, so he throws some ingredients into a pot and mixes them up with rice.
It’s not very good.
He put his sheets and quilt in the wash, so he curls up beneath the weighted blankets and stares across the room, at the shrine which holds his entire family.
The chest pains come back.
He fumbles around for some melatonin, draws one of the last gummies from the box and chews it slowly. Savors it, like one of his candy capsules.
It tastes like Sunsettia. Or, no, is that apple? Perhaps it was Bulle fruit, from Fontaine…
He makes a note to himself to schedule another appointment with an otolaryngologist. He can’t have two senses out of function.
He falls asleep before his mind has time to conjure up sadness.
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hawkinshighdropout · 2 years
Text
Masterlist.
Key: ❀ - Fluff ✰ - Smut ☾ - Angst
❀ - Our Lips Are Sealed. Eddie comes into the music store you work at to purchase the new Metallica record, but he’s a few dollars short so you let him off the hook.
❀ - Hideout Hangout. Tuesday Night, Eight O'clock rolls around, and you’re on your way to see Corroded Coffin in concert at The Hideout. You promised Eddie you’d be there, was it worth the trip downtown? Spoiler Alert: It was.
❀ - Welcome to Hellfire, Kid. You’re the new kid in school and have no one to hangout with during lunch hour, Eddie comes and seemingly saves the day with his group of doe eyed misfits!
❀ - Fairies Wear Boots. Eddie has major heart eyes over the new kid in school and he can’t help but feel like a hopeless little puppy at the mere sight of you. As one of the few people in Hawkins that dressed how he did, you had his heart at first sight.
❀ - I Wanna Dance With Somebody. It's getting late but you and Eddie are hanging out and listening to music from the hood of his van, one particular playlist comes on and it opens up the door to a whole new side of your story.
❀ - Two Worlds Collide. You and Eddie strike up an unlikely friendship, built on the foundations a little white lie, are things going to unveil and fall apart, or will he overlook the slight dishonesty in favour of something more?
❀ - Painting Flowers. Hellfire have been invading your art space for a year now, causing you to behind on major deadlines. Will you hiding their most prized possession get them to behave? (Platonic Pairing)
❀ - Skyway Avenue. Eddie has totally fallen for the new metalhead in school and is taking every opportunity to hangout with you and get to know you. He takes you on a guided tour of Hawkins to show you around your new home.
❀ - My Boy. Eddie is desperate for you to attend his band practise, but unfortunately you have a shift at your job, he begs repeatedly but you have to decline. A few pouts and a lot of sweet treats later, will you be able to make it up to him?
❀ - Waiting for The Snake. Eddie has a crush on the girl who works in the pet store, you, so he visits daily just to admire you and try and work up the courage to strike up a conversation with you. You’ve noticed him around and take the chance to surprise him, and well? He’s definitely surprised!
❀ - Everything I Ask For. It's your time of the month and you are in agony, so your boyfriend Eddie does his best to comfort you and take the pain away. Fluff ensues.
❀ - We Get High. Eddie has smoked as long as you knew him, but you had never given it a shot, the curiosity gets the better of you and you ask to try a hit of his blunt.
❀ - What Took You So Long? Eddie is once again falling behind on his classes, his friend and your younger brother Dustin offers to tutor him to get his grades up. Only problem is, you are back in town and Eddie has had a massive crush on you for years, so it's hard to focus when you're around him...
❀ - Stuck With You. You and Eddie decide that you want to get matching tattoos, but as you are both low on cash you opt for doing stick and pokes in his trailer instead.
❀ - Hold Onto Me. You are having a tough day and struggling with being overstimulated during lunch hour, your boyfriend Eddie can sense that you are at your limit and takes you away from the situation to allow you to decompress.
❀ - Happy Halloween, Nerds! Eddie loves Halloween, yet his boyfriend Steve isn't a fan in the slightest, but with a lot of convincing? Eddie manages to bribe Steve to dress up and go trick or treating with their daughter, Rose. Spooky/fluffy things ensue.
❀/✰ - All Within My Hands. You get chronic migraines, they’ve happened for years and it’s only getting worse. Nothing makes you feel any better, so Eddie offers himself up as a form of distraction from the pain… Finger fucking!
❀/☾ - Please Don't Judas Me. Chrissy wants what she can’t have, Eddie. Your best friend and long-term boyfriend. Things are growing tense in the group as you are slowly being replaced by his new best friend. Only problem? He’s clueless.
❀/☾ - Today Your Love, Tomorrow The World. Your mental health has been getting bad again, worse than usual at least, and Eddie comes home at the end of the day to try and take some of the weight off of your shoulders.
☾ - Come Hell or High Water. You and Eddie come up with “Dare Cards” that can be redeemed at any point before graduation, but you only get three each. What will each of those cards be used for? Find out…
☾ - Beautiful Remains. Six months pass since the doomsday with Vecna, your boyfriend Eddie has become more recluse and you feel that you are losing him. What will it take to get him to trust you? To believe you still love him, scars and all.
☾ - You Will Be Found. You're new to Hawkins High and you're getting bullied by Jason and his band of assholes, Eddie finds you locked up in a storage closet and decides to scoop you under his metaphorical wings and keep you safe.
☾ - The Strays. You and Eddie had been on good terms, you were one of the few students in Hawkins High that respected him and befriended him, one day Jason says something a little too far, and you have to intervene. (Platonic Pairing)
☾ - Free Now. Your ex boyfriend Billy has been harassing you ever since the breakup and he just won’t take “no” for an answer. You have spent every day since then alone and sad, Eddie intervenes in your time of need and it caused a lot of unwanted attention.
☾ - The Weigh Down. You are working on overdrive at all times, pushing yourself beyond your limits as keeping busy was the only way you could keep those negative thoughts at bay. It all comes crashing down around you when another panic attack hits, your boyfriend Eddie tries to sail you through the storm.
✰ - Knock Knock. Eddie wants to try something new in bed, he wants you to try anal. You two were open to experimenting, but… Under one condition. You only agree to let him do that if he lets you peg him to make it even. Surprisingly? He agrees! 18+ ONLY!
✰ - Finish What Ya Started. You let Eddie try anal as that's something he's been fantasising about, but to make it even you declare you get to peg him. The weekend rolls around, Wayne is outta town and you two make use of the empty trailer by pegging Eddie. 18+ ONLY!
Eddie Munson x Reader WIP List! :)
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salembutnotthecat · 29 days
Text
Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Twenty-Seven
@monthofsick | day twenty-seven: head [ache | pain | injury]
i feel like for as much as i mentioned how novak gets migraines (and how novak has seizured with his migraines), i havent really written a fic about novak having a migraine
tw emeto, migraine, hypersensitivity/overstimulation, seizure (at the end)
*author note: novak’s migraine/seizure relationship is based off my own irl experiences
As the sun rose over the sprawling football field, Novak found himself amidst the hustle and bustle of another day at Mavericks Stadium. Dressed in his customary coaching attire, he stood tall, a figure of authority amidst the sea of players clad in their team colors. Novak loved his team. He loved them when he played, and loved them differently now that he moved to coaching.
Today, however, the promise of a routine practice session was swiftly overshadowed by an ominous sensation creeping into Novak's consciousness. A flicker of light danced at the edge of his vision, like a warning sign. Novak had grown accustomed to these debilitating headaches, each one a relentless assault on his senses. It was always his vision before the pain. Then the pain. Then the fatigue. Then the nausea. Then, maybe the seizure.
As the minutes ticked by, the aura intensified, casting an eerie glow over the field. Novak's temples throbbed in rhythm with the pounding of his heart, his vision blurred by shimmering distortions. Every sound, every movement seemed amplified, a cacophony threatening to engulf him.
At a water break, he took a double dose of migraine medicine. But it had already been an hour before he knew it and the medicine was doing fuck all to help.
Novak gritted his teeth, swallowing down the bitter taste of frustration along with the ineffective medication. He knew all too well the futility of trying to stave off the inevitable onslaught of pain. It was a battle he fought time and time again, a battle he knew he couldn't win, but one he refused to surrender without a fight.
With a weary sigh, Novak forced himself back into the fray, his movements growing more sluggish with each passing moment. The players, engrossed in their drills, remained oblivious to their coach's silent struggle, their shouts and cheers a distant echo in Novak's throbbing ears.
As practice wore on, Novak's world began to narrow, his focus narrowing to a single, all-consuming thought: endure. Endure the pain, endure the nausea, endure the relentless assault on his senses until the final whistle blew and he could retreat to the sanctuary of solitude.
But even as he pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, Novak knew that this was not just about enduring the physical torment. It was about proving to himself, to his team, that he was more than just a victim of circumstance. He was a warrior, a survivor, determined to overcome whatever obstacles stood in his path.
And so, with every ounce of strength he could muster, Novak pressed on, his body screaming in protest with every step.
-
As Novak trudged through the door of his modest home, the weight of the day's exertions bore down upon him like a leaden shroud. The migraine, once a distant specter, now consumed his every thought, a relentless torment that refused to be ignored.
Yuliya greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes betraying a flicker of concern as she took in his haggard appearance. Beside her, Elya bounced with youthful exuberance, her laughter filling the air like a ray of sunshine amidst the gathering storm.
"Hi, Daddy!" Elya chirped, her voice tinged with excitement. "We're making cookies! Do you want to help?"
Novak forced a smile, her joy was a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him, but it made him happy.
"Of course, sweetheart," he replied, his voice strained with effort. "I'd love to."
As he joined them in the kitchen, Novak's senses were assaulted by a barrage of sights, sounds, and smells, each one magnified to agonizing proportions by the relentless onslaught of his migraine. The clatter of utensils, the sizzle of butter in the pan, the cloying scent of vanilla—all threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to maintain his composure.
Yuliya, ever perceptive, watched him closely, her brow furrowing with concern as she noted the telltale signs of his distress.
"Novak," she said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "You're shaking. Why don't you go lie down for a bit? Elya and I can handle things here."
Novak opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden wave of nausea washed over him, leaving him weak and trembling. With a defeated sigh, he nodded, allowing Yuliya to guide him to the sanctuary of their bedroom. He didn't realize it, not at first, but Yuliya was right. He was in so much pain he was shaking.
"Daddy?" Elya asked, "Are you okay?"
Novak forced a reassuring smile, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest. "I'm fine, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "Just a little tired, that's all."
But Elya wasn't convinced. The furrow of concern deepened on her young brow as she watched her father with wide, worried eyes. "But you look sick, Daddy," she insisted, her voice tinged with fear.
Novak's heart ached at the sight of his daughter's distress, the weight of his own suffering compounded by the knowledge that he was causing her undue worry. With a shaky hand, he reached out, brushing a lock of hair away from her face.
"I promise, sweetheart, I'll be okay," he whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Sometimes Daddy's head just hurts a little, but it'll get better soon, I promise."
Elya nodded, though the uncertainty lingered in her gaze. She trusted her father implicitly, but she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her young heart.
Yuliya, ever the voice of reason, intervened once more, her gentle touch a soothing presence amidst the turmoil. "Why don't you finish up the cookies with me, sweetheart?" she suggested, her tone light and playful. "I bet Daddy will feel better once they're ready to eat."
Elya brightened at the prospect, the worry melting away from her features like morning mist beneath the sun. With a final glance at her father, she skipped off to join Yuliya in the kitchen, her laughter a welcome respite from the oppressive silence that had settled over the room.
Alone in the dimly lit bedroom, Novak allowed himself a moment of weakness, the weight of his pain pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket.He laid back, anxiously grabbing the bedsheets.
With a weary sigh, Novak closed his eyes, surrendering to the embrace of sleep as the world faded away around him, if only for a fleeting moment of respite amidst the chaos of his pain. For though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, he knew that as long as he had the love of his family, he would always find the strength to carry on.
-
As Novak stirred from his fitful slumber, a wave of agony washed over him, dragging him back into consciousness with a cruel, relentless force. Every nerve in his body seemed to scream in protest, his senses overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of pain.
Blinking against the harsh glare of the bedside lamp, Novak struggled to orient himself, his mind fogged by a haze of nausea and dizziness. Beside him, Yuliya sat in silent vigil, her fingers absentmindedly weaving through his hair as she read her book. This happened nightly. It was so normal. Novak always fell asleep before Yuliya. He was constantly exhausted, and his girlfriend was much like his daughter, constantly full of energy.
But instead of comfort, Novak found only torment in her touch. Each gentle stroke sent shockwaves of pain reverberating through his skull, his hypersensitive nerves recoiling from the slightest contact as though it were a branding iron against his skin. Her hand stopped, she must've gotten invested in the part of the book she was reading, but her small hand felt like bricks pressing against his head, making it hurt worse. He tried to tough it out for Yuliya's sake. But when she started running her fingers through his hair again, he couldn't take it.
"Yuliya," he gasped, his voice raw with agony. "Please... I can't..."
Yuliya's movements faltered, her eyes widening in alarm as she registered the anguish etched upon Novak's features. With a trembling hand, she withdrew, her touch hovering uncertainly in the air as she struggled to comprehend the depths of his suffering.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with remorse. "I didn't realize..."
But Novak shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips despite the pain. "It's not your fault," he rasped, his words a mere whisper against the oppressive silence of the room. "It's just... everything hurts."
And indeed it did. With each passing moment, the migraine tightened its grip upon Novak's body, a vice-like hold that left him gasping for breath. The nausea churned in the pit of his stomach, threatening to engulf him in a tidal wave of sickness.
"Did you take anything?" Yuliya questioned.
Novak forced himself to nod. Even that was killer. It always was.
"It did fuck all to help." Novak said through clenched teeth.
Yuliya sighed sadly, "That always happens to you. Especially after that game."
As the night wore on, Novak's torment intensified with each passing moment, the relentless onslaught of pain merciless in its ferocity. His head throbbed with a rhythm all its own, a relentless drumbeat that echoed through every fiber of his being, drowning out all other sensation.
With each shallow breath, Novak felt as though he were drowning in a sea of agony, his senses overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his affliction.
Every sound, every movement seemed magnified to excruciating proportions, a cacophony of torment that threatened to drive him to the brink of madness. The gentle rustle of the sheets against his skin felt like sandpaper against raw flesh, the soft hum of the air conditioner a shrill scream in the darkness. His own clothes felt like they were burning his skin. Everything felt so bad.
And through it all, Novak remained hyperaware of the world around him, his senses heightened to a painful degree. The cool touch of the pillow beneath his head sent shivers of agony down his spine, the faint scent of lavender, the spray Yuliya kept in her nightstand for specifically this reason, in the air a sickly-sweet reminder of the normalcy he could no longer grasp. When his headaches started, or when his anxiety was winning out those moments he felt alone enough to allow himself to deal with it. Yuliya put some of the spray on her hands and run her hands through his hair. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it didn't.
Beside him, Yuliya watched in silent anguish, her heart heavy with the weight of his suffering. She longed to offer comfort, to ease the burden that bore down upon him like a mountain of lead, but she knew that there was little she could do in the face of such relentless agony.
And then, just when Novak thought he could endure no more, the nausea struck with a vengeance, twisting his stomach into knots and leaving him gasping for breath. With a choked cry, he stumbled from the bed, his vision swimming with dizziness as he raced to the bathroom.
Barely making it to the toilet in time, Novak doubled over in a fit of dry heaves, his body wracked with spasms of pain. Each convulsion sent shockwaves of agony coursing through him, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of his suffering.
And as he lay there on the cold tile floor, his world reduced to a blur of pain and nausea, Novak couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could take this.
The bathroom walls seemed to close in around Novak, their stark white surfaces pressing in on him. Every tile, every crack in the grout, seemed to taunt him with their pristine perfection, a stark contrast to the chaos that raged within his own body.
The harsh fluorescent light overhead flickered and buzzed. Each flicker sent a jolt of pain lancing through Novak's skull, his hypersensitive nerves recoiling from the assault with a vengeance.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of bile and desperation. Each breath was a battle, a struggle against the suffocating weight of his own suffering.
The pain was intense. And every wave of pain made him vomit again. Every wave of vomit caused more pain. And the cycle felt like it went on forever.
Novak was hyperaware of the taste in his mouth. The acidic bitterness. The faint taste of the green tea he drank at practice before the headache happened, he never drank coffee. He was sure it would hurt and taste a lot worse if he did.
With a trembling hand, Novak reached out, gripping the edge of the porcelain sink with white-knuckled fingers. The cool touch of the ceramic offered a fleeting respite from the searing pain that consumed him. He shut off the light, hoping that maybe, just maybe, that would help. The migraine, relentless in its fury, showed no mercy, its tendrils creeping ever deeper into the recesses of his mind.
He leaned against the wall, sliding down, eventually laying down on the cold tile.
as he lay there on the cold tile floor, his body wracked with spasms of pain, Novak couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could endure. At the very least, how much more he could take before he had to suffer a seizure from the sheer overstimulation of everything.
Honestly, for as much as the seizures hurt, Novak was hoping one would happen sooner, rather than later. As he ran his hands over his face, the sensation feeling as though his face was coming off from the simple act of running his hands over his skin. But usually, seizures meant the migraine would let up. Like hitting the peak of a mountain and sliding straight down.
With each passing moment, Novak's desperation grew, his body a battleground where pain and exhaustion waged a relentless war. He clung to the fragile hope that relief would come, but with each agonizing second, that hope dimmed like a dying ember in the darkness.
Fumbling with the locket around his neck, Novak sought solace in the familiar weight of the pendant against his chest. It was a small comfort, but comforting nonetheless.
And then the door creaked open, revealing Yuliya's worried face peering into the dimly lit room. Her eyes widened in alarm as she took in the sight of Novak lying on the floor, his body trembling with the effort of his fight against the migraine.
"Novak," she breathed, her voice thick with concern. "Are you okay?"
Novak managed a weak nod, though the effort sent sparks of pain dancing behind his eyes.
"I'm trying," he whispered hoarsely, his words barely audible above the pounding of his own heartbeat.
Yuliya stepped into the room, her presence a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos. She knelt beside Novak, her touch gentle as she brushed a lock of hair away from his sweat-drenched brow. It was brief, she knew it would hurt him if she kept it up, but she couldn't help herself.
Both Novak and Yuliya's watches emitted a soft beep. Yuliya checked it, Novak didn't, Novak knew. Novak was at high risk of a seizure, the culmination of his body's desperate struggle against the onslaught of the migraine. This always happened when they got this bad.
A surge of panic gripped Yuliya's heart, but mingled with that fear was a strange sense of relief. For as much as the seizures hurt, Yuliya knew that for Novak, they also signaled the beginning of the end of the migraine, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.
Yuliya reached, nudging Novak in such a way his body would reflexively lay on his side.
"It's going to be okay," she murmured, though whether it was meant for Novak or herself, she couldn't say. For a moment, Novak ran his fingers over his locket. But then, his hands stopped. Yuliya knew.
As Novak's body tensed with the onset of the seizure, a wave of helplessness washed over Yuliya, her heart aching at the sight of his suffering. She had seen it before, this cruel dance of agony and relief, and yet each time it struck, it felt like a fresh wound reopening in her soul.
Novak's muscles contracted with painful intensity, his limbs contorting in spasms of uncontrollable movement. It was a terrifying sight, one that never failed to fill Yuliya with a sense of dread, despite the knowledge that it was a necessary evil in Novak's battle against the migraine. Seizures were so normal, now, for Novak. And yet, they never stopped scaring her.
But even as she watched in silent anguish, Yuliya found solace in the knowledge that this too shall pass. For as the minutes stretched into eternity, the tension in Novak's body began to ebb, his muscles gradually relaxing as the seizure ran its course.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Novak lay still, his body limp and exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his pallid skin. Beside him, Yuliya let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of hair away from his face.
"It's over," she whispered, her voice thick with relief. "You're going to be okay."
Novak forced himself to nod.
"You're going to be okay," Yuliya said, rubbing Novak's shoulder. "It's over."
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