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thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months

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Rainy Season

Azriel x Reader

An angsty little one shot. Azriel’s mate is tired of being at the bottom of his list of priorities.

Update: Due to popular demand, this is being made into a series!

Part 2

The air’s getting heavy and we both know why

There was a time when an evening like this brought solace to my weary soul.

Azriel’s hand wrapped around my waist, caressing my stomach, pressing soft kisses to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. His hair tickling against my sensitive skin as we hid under blankets absorbing the incessant melody of drip, drop, drip, drop and the echoing pitter patter of rain drops hitting the roof. His warmth seeping right through to the coldest depths of my soul.

I’d turn around, pressing my bare breasts against his muscled chest. Our breath hitching as his sunburst eyes of brown, amber, and gold bore into mine, his soft lips whispering promises of forever.

Say that this storm is just passing through

But Azriel wasn’t here. He hadn’t been for 6 days, 23 hours, and 50 minutes now. It would have been laughable, comparing the past to now, if it weren’t so damned sad. In the beginning there’d been long, doting love notes with risqué quips regarding his intentions upon coming home, little gifts that he couldn’t resist bringing back from his travels, and the stolen hours where he’d sneak in a visit during the intermittent downtime on his missions. As a realist, I knew that it was not sustainable long-term but relished in it as the gift it was. Newly formed, passionate love that exceeded anything I had ever imagined upon finding my cauldron-blessed mate.

As the years went on I understood when the love notes became briefs and the thoughtful gifts became pecks on the cheek as he hurried through the door to exchange his leathers for clean ones, wipe down his weapons, and rest before his next mission. But time went on, as is inevitable, and distant were the memories of stolen moments away from missions, the desperate caress of his hands roaming my body as if he couldn’t quite believe I was fully corporeal before him - needing to touch me to reassure him that this was real. Now the touches were detached, perfunctory, another task on his never-ending to-do list.

Drop after drop we’re destroying this house and eachother.

The boiling point had been simmering for a while, left on the fire with reassurances of “Things are just busy right now”, “It’ll slow down soon”, “I would stay if I could, love. You know I would. I have no choice.”

But we both knew all too well that there was always a choice. There were times when Rhys let it slip that Azriel had volunteered for missions that his other spies were perfectly suited for, times when all I wanted in the world was to be curled up and listening to the rain with my mate.

Missions became tasks with the Valkyries, “chaperoning” Cassian and Nesta, and emotionally supporting the lovely doe-eyed fawn - Elain - who was the delicate cherry blossom of spring opposite of my wild summertime storm.

It wasn’t her fault. The trauma inflicted upon her, the loss of autonomy that came with being thrown into the cauldron and having her mortality stripped away without her say. The powers she never asked for overwhelming her senses. Hell, maybe it wasn’t Azriel’s fault for responding to the traumas of his past and the need to overcompensate for every ounce of blood he’s drawn by saving anything and everything that needed rescuing.

The problem lay with the fact that where Elain is a “seer”, my ability to “sense” when things are amiss was strong and Azriel’s intentions with her were becoming blurred. Feelings of lust had become more frequent down the bond along with flutters of joy and adoration. When it began I thought maybe things would look up in our relationship - he was missing me, fisting his cock to fantasies of taking me over and over when he returned home - but he only became more distant. He’d return more often than not smelling of jasmine and honey. The strength of the scent coating him correlating with the increase in enamored feelings slipping through the bond.

Six days ago when I’d asked him to skip out on training with Cassian and Nesta and whatever it was he and Elain would do - that was when the thunder clapped and the sky opened. “I can’t just stay home and cater to you all the time. I have duties to this court. Why can’t you find a hobby to occupy your time? Nesta reads and trains with the Valkyries, Feyre paints, Elain gardens and she evens bakes! Why can’t you be more like-“

He caught himself too late, immediately reaching out to place a gentle hand on my shoulder and apologize but it was too late for that.

Please, make it stop

It wasn’t that I wasn’t a forgiving or understanding person. i appreciated his dedication to his court and family and those in need but…

“Why can’t I be more like what? You can stop mid-sentence but you already said it all.” I looked down, shaking my head as silver lined my eyes. Gods, I hate that I’m an angry crier. “You want to know why I can’t be more like Elain in your eyes, Azriel? Because I exist in your fucking blind spot! I have been helping Feyre AT the studio, volunteering at a food pantry in Velaris, and teaching self-defense classes to women and children at the park but you wouldn’t know because you never ask me what I’ve been up to while you’re gone.”

He started to speak but I wasn’t finished. “The reason I cannot be more like Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta is because I’m none of them. I am ME. And you know what? I like me. I don’t want to be anybody else.” Trying and failing miserably to hold my head high I pathetically fell to my knees, shuddering as tears of rage flowed freely.

Warmth enveloped me as Azriel knelt down to soothe my quaking form. I let him if only because I didn’t have the composure to tell him otherwise as he began pressing kisses to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I have been a terrible mate. I love all that you are- I- I’ll stop with Elain. She’s doing much better and Nuala and Cerridwen can keep an eye on her, so can Rhys and Cassian, and her sisters. It will be okay.”

That consolation attempt only drove the blade of bitterness deeper into my heart. Elain had so many in her corner and who did I have anymore? My chronically absent mate? The family I left behind to move to Velaris with Azriel? There was nobody close by.

“I think you should leave.” I sobbed out.

Azriel ignored the shaky command, continuing to hold me. Fuck - is this what it took for him to notice me? Breaking my heart so he could stitch it back up again?

“Azriel.” I stated firmly.

He met my eyes.

“You should leave.”

His look grew puzzled. “I thought you wanted me to stay - to spend time together? Please, Y/N. Let me make this better.”

“I need space. Give me one week.”

“But-“

“One. Week.”

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, head hanging low for several minutes before realizing that my decision was firm.

“I love you.” He said before heading out the door.

——————

Like clockwork as 7 days, 0 hours, and 1 minute were up, the front door to our home opened and Azriel’s footsteps padded in behind me, my gaze remaining fixated on the rain falling outside the window. A lump formed in my throat as I avoided turning to meet his gaze.

So dance one more dance and tell one more lie.

Azriel stepped around me, wordlessly extending a hand, patiently waiting as I avoided his gaze a moment longer before taking it. His shadows began humming faintly, increasing their melody and reaching a crescendo as Azriel began dancing with me through the room.

Say that you love me even if it’s not true

I let myself melt into the warmth of his chest. The thick air remained heavy upon my soul but I could have this. I could let myself enjoy this moment.

We wordlessly danced through the room in the soft glow of the fae lights.

We made our way through the hall into our shared bed that had become so neglected.

“I love you, Y/N.” he murmured as he laid me down, stripped bare underneath him.

“I love you too, Azriel.”

——————

Wish I could just say it and words were enough to keep you from being the one giving up.

The middle of the night left me restless as he lay soundly asleep beside me. My senses tugged me toward his bag that he’d discarded at the entryway. I brought out his dirty clothes from the week only to be greeted with the fresh scent of jasmine and honey.

Like the sky letting go for no reason

I packed my essentials and voyaged out into the pouring rain. Its patter on my skin washing away the salty tears streaming down my face. Following my senses to where the love was true back to my Summer Court home, my family. As free as a summer storm.

It's just the rainy season.

—————————————

A/n - I know there are plenty of Azriel x Reader and Elain fics out there. It was rainy and dreary here yesterday and this song was in my head for the first time in like 10 years so…. I wrote this.

#sarah j maas #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x elain #elain archeron #rainy season #inspired by Hunter Hayes #inspired by a song #azriel angst #angst #azriel one shot #acotar oneshot

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davidtennantgenderenvy · 4 months

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On David Tennant and Aging

So, I’ve seen a lot of posts in response to Tumblr users’ habit of affectionately calling their favorite middle aged dudes “old men”, David Tennant in particular, saying things like “clearly you’ve never met an actual old person”, “omg you talk about these guys like they’re 80”, “please be normal about people aging”, etc. And on one hand, all of these statements are objectively right and true! But as someone who’s always been really fascinated by and found a lot of beauty in getting older (which I’ve explored in some of my writing on A03 because nobody else is going to do it for me), I’d like to provide a bit more nuance on how I think this label applies to David in particular.

David, obviously, in literal terms, is not “old”, at least not to me- I don’t personally consider people old until they get past 60. 52 is middle aged, simple as that. And yet, when I see David stuck with the “old man” label, it still somehow feels weirdly right, for a number of reasons.

It annoys me so much when people say David “hasn’t aged a day since Doctor Who”, because, well…

He clearly has. A lot. He’s got forehead creases, deep crows’ feet and eyebags, and I think that post-Fourteen we’re gonna see him rocking the grey temples a LOT more. He also has the voice of an older man now, his upper range is still there but the default is much more deep and rich, with a gravelly, rumbling quality that just goes straight through you. I personally think Broadchurch was when David finally started to embrace looking his age- Alec Hardy just wouldn’t have been served by Ten’s fresh-faced boyishness.

Obviously, these are the kinds of changes you’d expect any 52-year-old man to have, but something about David just makes it all seem a bit more… intense? The expressiveness of his face combined with his almost gaunt frame makes his wrinkles very prominent, and when he works his voice to its emotional extremes, his lower register can sound positively ancient, to devastating effect.

David, I think, is someone with an old soul- I don’t think he could be as good as he is at playing ancient characters like Crowley and The Doctor if he weren’t. He has lived so many lives, given so much of himself to so many characters, often incredibly tragic ones, and I think it wears on him. David also has five kids. FIVE. Do you know how exhausting it is to be one of the hardest working actors alive and be a present, loving father to even ONE child? But David somehow does it anyway! Nowadays I see him and my heart breaks because he looks so tired, so weary and fragile. But he’s all the more beautiful for it to me because I know that that is because he is kind. He’s a deeply empathetic person who feels and lives to the absolute fullest, and that story is written so clearly on his face, along with every other story he has ever been a part of.

There’s other things about David that make the label endearingly fitting- his utter hopelessness when it comes to technology, for instance. And he’s just got that warm, wise, grandpa energy too sometimes- look at that above Fourteen picture and tell me I’m wrong!

I once showed my friend who’d only seen David in Doctor Who and Harry Potter a picture of David from Around The World in 80 Days. It was a particularly emotional scene, and his face had just the most beautiful expression of compassion and sadness, every wrinkle on full display. And she said, in a less than complimentary fashion, “he looks so old!” Which, of course, offended me quite a bit at first. But to me, referring to David as old almost feels like a badge of honor, something he’s earned by living fully and selflessly, working hard and being wise and compassionate beyond his years. I think David himself is secretly more than a little insecure about the fact that he’s getting older. There’s sadness behind every jovially self-depreciating remark he’s made about his age in the past year, particularly in comparing himself to Ncuti Gatwa. I know how much David struggles with his impostor syndrome and how people perceive him, and I can clearly see in his eyes the fear of being discarded, the anxiety he feels about if he’ll still be as loved as he was back in 2007 now that he’s closer in age to King Lear than he is to Romeo. So I hope David knows it’s a privilege to watch him grow older, to watch his soul and talents deepen with the crinkles around his eyes. If I, in my silly goofy tumblr girl-ness, call David Tennant an old man, it’s because it’s a label that suits him beautifully- even if it isn’t TECHNICALLY an accurate one yet.

#David tennant #doctor who #the tenth doctor #the fourteenth doctor #good omens #crowley #shakespeare #around the world in 80 days #phileas fogg #pro aging #growing old

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pinchofhoney · 1 year

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the last goodbye, part two

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

« part one | part two

pedro pascal x fem!reader

world count: 5.2k

warning: angst, age gap (the reader is in her mid 20s), mention of smoking, mention of drinking alcohol

summary: All men do is messing with your head.

a/n: i’m incredibly proud of myself that the first part evoked such emotions in you. i was totally not expecting this, as i wrote it at a time when i wasn’t in a good place mentally, feeling terrible after losing my pet. if you feel disappointed by the lack of gripping action, i apologize (not really). i don't want to rush things, i want their emotions to sink into your soul✨

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @wolfmoonmusic @alexxavicry @babypeapodd @domaniquessidehoe @one-sweet-gubler @danelhi @pedroholicx @rosaliedepp @phoenixinthewater @blu3flame @hummusxx @onceandfuturereader @marysucks-blog @sloanexx @nxt-zen @secretdazeobservation

As you slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, your tired eyes flickered open, gradually adjusting to the blinding brightness of the white ceiling looming above you. A deep sigh escaped your lips as you struggled to shake off the weariness that clung to your body like a heavy blanket. It was difficult to tell how many hours you had slept, but it certainly didn't feel like enough.

You shifted your weight and let out a groan as your muscles protested against the movement. The events of the past few days had been a whirlwind, leaving you drained and achy. It's funny how mental anguish can affect your body. With a sense of resignation, you rolled over onto your side, wincing at the pain that shot through your joints. Your hand fumbled around in the air until it found the offending alarm clock, blaring its obnoxious tune throughout the bedroom.

You muttered a curse under your breath as you pressed the button to silence the alarm. Despite your reluctance to start the day, you knew that you couldn't afford to linger in bed any longer. With a deep breath, you swung your legs over the edge of the mattress and forced yourself to stand up. Another day, another- You wished you could say slay, but not today. Another set of challenges to face? More likely.

As you sluggishly made your way towards the bathroom, thoughts of Pedro crept back into your mind. It had only been two weeks since he broke up with you, but it felt like an eternity. The pain was still raw and fresh, and you struggled to make sense of it all.

Every moment you had shared with him played out in your mind like a movie, and you analyzed each one, searching for some clue, some sign of what went wrong. But it was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces – there was no explanation, no clear reason why he had ended things so abruptly.

You had loved him with all your heart and trusted him like no one before, but in the end, he had shattered your heart into a million pieces, leaving you to pick up the fragments and try to put them back together. The moment Pedro said those fateful words, the trust you had built up in him crumbled to dust in the blink of an eye. And now, you found yourself spiraling into an absurd mania, constantly questioning whether anyone in your life would leave you just like he did.

The fear of being abandoned consumed you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that everyone you cared about was destined to disappear. It was a toxic mindset, but it was deeply ingrained in you since childhood and one that you couldn't seem to escape.

On the one hand, you wanted to reach out to your friends, to let out all the pain and heartbreak that you've been holding in, but at the same time, you didn't want to burden them with your problems or risk pushing them away, so instead, you buried your emotions deep inside, hiding behind a mask of indifference and detachment. It was easier that way, at least you tried to tricked yourself in believing it was. But the truth was, the pain was eating away at you from the inside out, and you didn't know how much longer you could keep up that fake smile.

There was nothing you wanted more than to go back in time, to before everything fell apart, to the days when you were happy and carefree, but you knew that wasn't possible. All you could do was try to pick up the pieces and move forward, even though it felt like an impossible task.

Your days had become a blur of schoolwork and long shifts at the movie theater. It was a grind, but it kept you busy and distracted from the pain of your shattered heart. At least, that's what you thought, again.

Despite your best efforts to move on, your mind kept drifting back to Pedro. Every time you walked by the coffee shop where you used to have your morning cup of coffee with him, you couldn't help but look inside, hoping he would be there. You even went inside a few times, ordered a coffee, and sat down, pretending to read a book or browse your phone, all while stealing glances around the room. But he was never there, and you always left feeling disappointed and foolish.

Even going to the gym in the evenings, which used to be your solace, had become a source of anxiety. You couldn't shake the feeling that everyone there knew about your breakup with Pedro and was silently judging you. As you ran on the treadmill, you felt self-conscious and exposed, as if all your flaws and vulnerabilities were on display for everyone to see.

And yet, despite all of this, you still couldn't resist the urge to go to the places where you used to go with Pedro. You found yourself walking past his favorite pizza place, just to catch a whiff of the familiar scent of marinara sauce and melted cheese. You even drove by his street once, just to see if his car was parked outside his house. You knew it was ridiculous, but you couldn't help yourself. The pain of losing him was too great, and the thought of never seeing him again was almost unbearable.

Actually saying that you will never see him again was an overstatement. Despite the heartbreak he had caused you, he was the hottest topic in entire Hollywood and beyond. His star power had skyrocketed, and his charming looks and hoarse laughter made (not only) teenage girls swoon all over the world. His photos and videos seemed to be everywhere, constantly popping up on your Instagram and Twitter feeds, taunting you with reminders of what you had lost. He was a viral sensation, and it was impossible to escape the constant barrage of Pedro's updates – a stark reminder that he was out there living his life while you were struggling to move on.

You stood in front of the mirror, studying your reflection with a heavy heart. Your once bright eyes were now surrounded by a rim of redness, and dark circles that looked like bruises appeared to have taken permanent residence beneath them. Your hair was a mess, its strands sticking out in every direction, as if it was trying to mimic the chaos you felt inside. Your skin was pale and lifeless, a far cry from its former glowing self. Just fourteen days ago, you were a different person, filled with happiness, with Pedro by your side. And now, everything was in shambles.

You shook off the memories and forced yourself to focus on the present, on getting dressed and making it to your classes on time. It was a challenge, but you tried to keep thoughts of Pedro at bay, knowing that dwelling on the past would only make the pain worse. You grabbed your bag, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the streets of Los Angeles.

As you stepped out into the blinding glare of the sun, the sounds of the bustling city enveloped you. Cars honked, people chatted, and a cool breeze caressed your face, but everything seemed distant and unimportant. You repeated to yourself the mantra to take things one step at a time, hoping that each step would lead you closer to healing the wounds Pedro had done to you.

But little did you know, he was also battling his own demons, struggling to come to terms with his actions and the hurt he had caused you. It was a cruel irony that both of you were struggling in your own ways, and neither of you knew the full extent of the other's pain.

“Pedro?” the sound of his own name snapped him out of the recesses of his head and effectively brought him down to earth. He blinked several times, trying to adjust to the bright lights shining in his direction. Looking around, he realized he was on the set of the advertisement he was working on.

The confused director approached him, placing his hands on his hips in a pretentious position. “What's going on, man?” he asked, clearly annoyed. “It's just a minute clip, all you have to say right now is to catch grandma, you have to think like grandma,” he threw his hands in the air in exasperation, then placed the fingers of one hand on the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

Pedro tried to focus on the director's words, but his mind was still clouded with thoughts of you. He couldn't believe how he had treated you a day after your first anniversary, telling you that he suddenly stopped having feelings for you and breaking your heart. The day after the anniversary, which he didn't even show up for, because he didn't have the courage to do so. To look into your smiling eyes, having in the back of his mind what he had been planning for some time. The guilt was eating him alive, and he found himself replaying the scene of your breakup in his head over and over again.

He remembered very well how your face crumpled with sadness and confusion as he told you the news. How you asked him to reconsider, to give your relationship another chance. How you cried and asked him what you had done wrong. He didn't have the answers then, and he still didn't have them now.

Pedro's heart simply sank as he realized that he had made a mistake the very next day after the breakup. He had let go of someone who loved him unconditionally, someone who had been there for him through thick and thin. And for what? Because he suddenly stopped feeling the way he used to? He couldn't even be sure if that was true. Perhaps it was just a minor crisis that he could have resolved if he had spoken to you honestly.

The director ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You know what, Pedro? Take a break. Get some fresh air and clear your head. We can't afford to waste the whole day on this stupid phone game ad. Let's reconvene in 20 minutes,” he barked, his irritation palpable. Without bothering to wait for Pedro's response, he stormed off, leaving Pedro.

His eyes flitted around the room, taking in the frustrated expressions of the crew members. They had all been waiting for him to get his lines right, but he had been too distracted to focus on the task at hand. He was wasting the time and resources of his colleagues and he felt ashamed because of that.

As the director snapped out orders to the rest of the team, Pedro swiped his hand over his tired face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath his fingertips. He let out a deep sigh, feeling drained both physically and emotionally. His mind was consumed with thoughts of what could have been, of what he had lost because of his own recklessness. He needed some space to clear his head.

Without a word, he left the building and made his way out to the back of one of the buildings in Los Angeles. The cool breeze brushed against his face, providing a much-needed respite from the chaos of the set. He let out a long breath, trying to calm himself.

It wasn't easy to pretend that everything was fine in front of everyone, because it wasn't. Every day it became harder and harder for Pedro to put on a brave face and act like he was okay. He dug out a pack of cigarettes from his blazer pocket and blindly stared into it. He quickly found the lighter in the other pocket and with his slightly shaking hand, he lit the cigarette. The familiar smell and taste of nicotine filled his senses, providing a temporary escape from the overwhelming emotions that consumed him. He leaned against the rough dirt wall of the building, the sound of the bustling city muffled in the distance. The smoke filled his lungs, choking him slightly, but he welcomed the pain, as it was a distraction from the pain in his heart.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He couldn't silence the voices in his head, telling him that he had made a huge mistake by ending things with you. The breakup had hit him harder than he ever imagined it could. He missed you so much, and the regret ate away at him with each passing day. He took another long drag of the cigarette, the tip glowing red.

Despite the comfort that the cigarette provided, Pedro knew it was a bad habit. He had managed to quit a while ago, but the stress of recent events had caused him to slip back into it. He felt guilty for indulging in it again, but at the same time, he didn't care. All he wanted was to forget his troubles, even if it was just for a little while.

Every single day during those two weeks, Pedro's thoughts were consumed by the image of him standing in front of you, while cup your face with his hands and apologizing for everything. He imagined the words he would say to you, begging for your forgiveness and hoping that you would take him back. But as much as he longed to make things right, he was too much of a coward to actually face you. He couldn't bring himself to look you in the eyes and see the disappointment he had caused, so he actively avoided all the places where he knew he could potentially run into you. The mere thought of seeing you filled him with a mix of intense longing and paralyzing fear.

He held onto the belief that you wouldn't be able to forgive him and the thought of being rejected by you was too much to him. The fear of embarrassment kept him from reaching out and trying to make amends, even though he knew deep down that he wanted nothing more than to be back in your warm embrace. The possibility of facing your disappointment and disapproval was a daunting prospect, and so he chose to continue avoiding you, hoping that time would eventually make him forget about you.

The sound of a notification coming from his phone snapped him back to reality and he opened his eyes. He fished the device out of his pants pocket and glanced at the screen, noticing a message from his friend, Oscar. He took a drag on the cigarette he had been smoking and read the message.

I was thinking about this birthday party. Do you want me to cancel the invitation for Y/N? – The Grumpy Eagle, sent at 3:14pm.

Pedro had completely forgotten about Oscar's upcoming birthday celebration, which he and his wife Elvira hosted every year. It was a small party, but it had become an annual tradition among their circle of friends. He knew that both of you had been invited long before the two of you broke up, and it was pretty obvious anyway, since he was Oscar's best friend and you had quickly become a favorite of Oscar's wife and kids.

He took another drag on his cigarette, thinking on response. Pedro wasn't sure if you would show up, but he knew that you disliked disappointing people, and skipping out on someone's birthday party would undoubtedly lead to disappointment. Even if you didn't enjoy celebrating your own birthday, you understood that it meant more to others and the happy memories associated with it.

No need to cancel the invitation, that’s fine. I’ll be fine. See you on Tuesday – Sent at 3:17pm.

He took one last puff of the cigarette before flicking it away and making his way back to the set, his mind still preoccupied with thoughts of you.

You were in your rented apartment, standing in front of your small closet and talking to your best friend over Facetime. With your back to the screen, you felt on the verge of tears as you realized you had nothing suitable to wear to Oscar's party. The phone was propped up on your bedside table, and you turned to face Xavier's amused expression on the screen.

“I'm about to go crazy,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “I can't find anything to wear.”

Xavier chuckled and lay back on his own bed, still visible on the screen. “Relax, Y/N. We'll find something. Let me see what you've got.”

You knelt down at the table and held up a few dresses for him to see. Xavier made a face at each one, shaking his head disapprovingly. Finally, he suggested a simple black dress that you had forgotten you owned.

“That's perfect,” he said, grinning at you. “You'll look amazing. Just throw on some heels and you're good to go.”

“And what are you going to wear?” you asked, taking the phone in both hands and moving it closer to your face.

Since you didn't want to go to the party alone, you decided to bring Xavier with you, even though he didn't know anyone in Pedro's inner circle, including Oscar and Elvira. The only connection Xavier had to Pedro was through you, as they had met a few times before.

He was shocked when he heard about your breakup with Pedro two weeks ago. He had always thought that you and Pedro were perfect for each other, and it came as a surprise when you told him that things had ended between you two. He remembered how happy you had seemed with Pedro, always talking about the little things he did that made you fall even more in love with him. It was hard to believe that it was all over now.

Xavier had been there for you through all the tears and heartbreak that came with the breakup. He was the only person you really talked to about what happened. He had listened to you vent about Pedro, and had even gone as far as to offer to confront him about the way he had hurt you, but you had refused, saying that it wouldn't change anything, and that you just needed time to heal.

Now, as he watched you on Facetime, he could see the sadness in your eyes. He knew that finding something to wear to this birthday party was the least of your worries.

“Oh, you know, my finest t-shirt and jeans,” he answered with a playfully tone. “Maybe I'll even splurge and wear my dress shoes instead of my sneakers.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Don't worry, I'll make sure to tuck my shirt in for the occasion.”

You laughed at Xavier's words, feeling relieved that he could make light of the situation. “Well, make sure you don't outshine me too much,” you teased. “I don't want to be upstaged by your dress shoes and tucked-in shirt.”

Xavier chuckled. “No worries, you'll be the star of the show,” he said reassuringly. “But seriously, don't stress about it. We'll have a good time no matter what.”

His words were comforting and a feeling of appreciation and thankfulness filled your heart. “Thanks, Xavier,” you said, smiling. “I really appreciate you coming with me.”

Xavier grinned. “Of course, what are friends for?” he replied. “Besides, I would do anything to see Pedro's face when he sees you in that dress. He's going to regret ever letting you go.”

You laughed, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the thought of Pedro's reaction. “I doubt he'll care,” you said, shrugging it off. “But it'll be nice to look good for myself, at least.”

Xavier shook his head. “Trust me, he'll care,” he said with a wink and then stood up from his bed, straightening his shirt. “Alright, I better get ready too. I need to iron my jeans and find my fanciest t-shirt,” he joked. “I'll pick you up at 7. See ya!” he said before ending the call, at which you smiled to yourself, feeling grateful for your friend's support.

As you and Xavier made your way to the door of Oscar's house, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on you. You clutched the gift tightly in your hand, hoping it will help you calm down. You turned to Xavier, about to voice your concerns about this evening, but he beat you to it.

“Hey, it's going to be fine,” Xavier said, sensing your unease. “We'll have a good time. And don't worry about Pedro, I'll not leave you alone even for a moment. When I go to the toilet, I'll drag you along with me,” he joked trying to boost your mood.

You let out a deep sigh. “I'm scared.”

Xavier smiled reassuringly. “I know, but we'll stick together and make the most of it,” he said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “And besides, you look amazing. Pedro's going to regret all of his life choices.”

You couldn't help but feel a little flustered at the compliment. “Thanks,” you said, feeling a little less anxious. “Okay, let's do this.”

As you approached the door, your heart rate started to increase again. You could hear the sound of laughter and chatter from inside grew louder, intensifying your apprehension. But before you could even think about turning back to Xavier's car, Elvira opened the door and greeted you warmly. “Y/N!” she called out joyfully, pulling you into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of Elvira's perfume and the comforting warmth of her hug helped ease your nerves a little bit.

“It's so good to see you,” Elvira continued. “Oscar will be so happy you came. You know damn well how much he liked you.”

You smiled gratefully at her words, while Elvira already shifted her gaze to the man standing next to you.

“And who's this handsome gentleman with you?” Elvira asked, pulling away from you and turning to Xavier.

Xavier extended his hand. “I'm Xavier. Y/N's best friend,” he introduced himself with a smile.

Elvira shook his hand. “I'm Elvira, Oscar's wife. Nice to meet you,” she said warmly.

You suddenly felt an odd need to explain why you brought a stranger to their house, even though you knew that Elvira was aware of the recent events.

“I didn't want to come alone, the last days were-” you started to explain, but Elvira quickly cut you off, sensing your discomfort.

“That's fine, Y/N. You don't need to explain yourself, we both know what happened,” Elvira said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze to encourage you. “Come on in,” she added, motioning towards the open door and stepping aside to let you both enter the house.

As you walked past her, Elvira turned her gaze to Xavier and sent him a warm smile. You couldn't help but feel grateful for her kindness and understanding, and you knew that you were in good hands for the evening.

The birthday party was in full swing, with colorful decorations hanging from the ceiling and walls, and a large cake with lit candles in the center of the room. The scent of savory and sweet treats wafted through the air, making your mouth water.

Oscar was the center of attention, greeting his guests with a big smile and warm hugs. He was surrounded by his closest friends, chatting and laughing away, and occasionally stopping to pose for a picture with them.

You, on the other hand, felt out of place in the midst of the older crowd, except for Oscar's children, who were running around and playing games. You had hoped to have a conversation with Pedro, but he avoided your gaze the entire time, which made you feel uncomfortable and self-conscious.

However, Xavier was by your side throughout the evening, keeping you company and making you laugh with his witty remarks and stories. You introduced him to some of the people at the party, and of course to Oscar, and he encouraged you to dance, which helped you loosen up and enjoy the party a little more.

As the night wore on, the guests started to leave one by one, and the house grew quieter. The children were already fast asleep, and the adults seemed to be in a mellower mood, with lighter snacks and drinks replacing the heavier ones from earlier in the evening.

You found yourself in the kitchen with Xavier, enjoying a lively conversation with Elvira and Oscar about the latest news in the city. Elvira was recounting her recent trip to Europe when Oscar suddenly interrupted her by reaching for a bottle of wine and pouring it into a set of glasses.

“Let's raise a toast to life, to good friends, and to family,” Oscar exclaimed, lifting his glass. You all joined in, clinking your glasses together, laughing and toasting to the good times. The mood had shifted from one of excitement to one of warmth and sentimentality.

As you took a sip of the wine, you noticed Pedro standing at the edge of the room, watching you with an intense gaze. His eyes bore into yours, and you felt a strange mix of discomfort and confusion. You had wanted to talk to him earlier in the evening, but he had been avoiding you, so his sudden interest now was puzzling. Feeling the need for comfort and safety, you moved closer to Xavier, feeling his arm wrap around your shoulders. You didn't know if Pedro was still watching you, but you felt better in your friend’s presence.

To your surprise, Pedro suddenly approached the four of you, inserting himself into the conversation. He started to talk about a recent article he had read in the newspaper, bringing up a topic that interested everyone. Xavier and Elvira seemed to welcome his presence, and Oscar was glad to have his longtime friend join in. However, you couldn't shake the feeling that his gaze was still fixed on you, even as he talked with the others.

As the conversation continued, Oscar and Elvira decided to check in with the guests in the living room, leaving you, Xavier, and Pedro alone in the kitchen. The silence was palpable as you all stood there, unsure of what to say or do next. Pedro finally broke the silence, turning his attention to you.

“So, Y/N, I can see that you are having fun?” he asked, his eyes still lingering on you.

You tried to hide your discomfort, forcing a smile and answering politely, “Yeah. I try to, at least.”

It was hard not to notice that Pedro wasn't completely sober – although he wasn't fully drunk either. He kept shooting unpleasant glances at Xavier every now and then and his eyes were colder than always.

Your friend seemed oblivious to Pedro's behavior, but you knew better. You could feel the tension rising in the room, and you started to feel anxious. Pedro's jealousy was palpable, and you couldn't help but wonder if he still had feelings for you, even though you weren’t a thing anymore.

Trying to diffuse the situation, you asked Pedro how his job was going, hoping to steer the conversation away from any uncomfortable topics. He answered curtly, barely giving you any information, and then turned his attention back to Xavier, sizing him up with a cold stare.

You felt your heart rate increase, sensing that things were about to get out of hand. You knew that you needed to do something, but you weren’t sure what. As you opened your mouth to speak, Pedro cut you off.

“Two weeks were enough for you to find a replacement, huh?”

His question made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Pedro's words didn't make sense to you, and you glanced over at Xavier, who looked equally confused. Pedro scoffed and clarified, “I saw you two earlier. I saw the way you look at him, Y/N. And now here you are, pretending to be just friends.”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment and anger. How dare he accuse you of something like that? The jealousy in Pedro's eyes was unmistakable, and it was clear that he didn't believe in your friendship with Xavier, even though he knew him.

Xavier stepped in, sensing the tension rising in the room, his voice calm but firm. “Pedro, let's take a deep breath and calm down for a moment. You’re tipsy, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Pedro wasn't backing down, his eyes fixed on Xavier, even though he was actually speaking to you. “I don't trust him. And I don't trust you, Y/N.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and your heart sank in your chest. You couldn't believe what Pedro was saying. How could he accuse you of being untrustworthy when he was the one who had abandoned you without any explanation? Anger and sadness boiled inside you, making it hard to even form coherent thoughts, and the tears started to gather in your eyes.

“You don’t trust me? You were the one who stood me out on the day of our anniversary. It was you who came to break up with me the next day without giving me any explanation. It was you-you…” the floodgates opened, and tears streamed down your face, mixing with the anger and frustration that you felt. You sniffed and wiped your nose with the back of your hand, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “How dare you tell me that you don't trust me?” you said, your voice shaking with emotion.

Pedro's expression softened slightly, and for a moment, you thought that he might actually apologize for his absurd behavior, but then, his gaze hardened again, and he shook his head.

“I had my reasons,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And I don't need to justify them to anyone.”

You stared at him in silence, trying to make sense of his sudden outburst. He's being unreasonable and irrational, you thought. You shook your head in disbelief and took a step back. “You know what?” you asked, staring into Pedro's eyes. “I will not talk to you. I'm not going to listen to you suddenly make me some kind of scolding because alcohol went to your head. You're a grown man, and you're acting like a kid,” you barked, your anger seeping through every syllable. You then turned your back on Pedro, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry again.

You left him, standing motionless in the kitchen with his eyes fixated on the door through in which you had just disappeared with Xavier. His heart was heavy with regret as he realized that he fucked up again. He knew that he had messed up, that he had let his jealousy and insecurities take control of his words and actions. He desperately wanted to talk to you on this party, to apologize for his behavior and make things right, but now it was too late for that. He had taken a few drinks to calm his nerves, hoping that it would help him find the courage to talk to you, but now he realized that it had only fueled his anger and made things worse. The sight of you laughing and chatting with Xavier had been the final blow, and now he was left alone with his regrets once again.

#the last goodbye #angst #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #x reader angst #daddy is a state of mind #the last of us fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #joel miller x reader #javier pena x reader

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

I'll Be Better in the Morning

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F! Reader

(Read Here on AO3)

Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2.3k Tags: Comfort fic, Hurt/Comfort, Body Dysmorphia, Fluff, Established Relationship, Soft Soap, Oneshot Warnings: TW for body image issues A/N: This is horrifically self indulgent don't look at me

Summary:

Johnny kisses you in the same way a mourning dove sings the dawn. Slow, poignant, tender and somehow remorseful. The feather light sensation of it spills across your tongue in hazy, dusky colors, wraps you within a warm, intimate embrace. You want to drown in it, fall asleep in its comfort, imbue the gentle touch of it into the worn, weary cracks of your soul.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever lain eyes on in my entire life, you know that?" He asks, and there's emotion in his voice now, threatening to crack his words.

You feel your lip tremble, eyes stinging with tears as you try to blink them away. Johnny raises a hand, links it over yours placed on his chest, fingers intertwining as he raises it up, places a kiss across your knuckles. Somehow, you know he loves that part of you too.

There's a weight settled across your shoulders.

Aching, groaning, gnawing at your thoughts. It settles across you like a shroud, blanketing your senses in hazy, muted colors and dimming the world around you. Heavy, it threatens to buckle your nerves, chafes at your restrained composure. The mere reminder of the day's events clogs the back of your throat, draws your arms a little tighter into your sides, stiffens your stance.

You're tired.

It's a hurt that's hard to quell, one that lingers even as you try vainly to ignore it. Summoned by a flash of memory, a glance into the reflection of a storefront, the bags under your eyes as you wash your face, try to regain yourself in front of your coworkers. Most days the weight is lessened, you can carry it in a pocket. Today, however, it lays low across your spine, slouches you forward as you drag it behind you, feel its gravity threaten to immerse you into sorrow.

It harmonizes with the creak of your front door as you at last arrive at home, head drooping, eyes lowered to the floor. You kick off your shoes just inside the door, frowning when they don't automatically tuck themselves neatly away. Just another thing to manage when you don't have the energy to bother.

You want to just curl in bed, forego dinner and curl under the sheets, wish away the worries of the world and hope that, come morning, all will be well again.

"Babe?"

You blink, and it's Johnny's voice that manages to penetrate the dark, chalky grey fog of your mind.

"Babe, that you?"

He's calling from the living room, and you follow the trail of his sing-song voice like finding a lantern in the smog.

"Yeah, it's me." You reply, voice heavy, not bothering to hide the weight there. "I'm home. "

You peek into the living room, taking note of the flashing advertisements on the muted TV. Yet then you arch an eyebrow when you see Johnny...on the floor? Yet then he raises himself up and you realize he's doing pushups as the commercials roll. It's a habit that tugs at your tender heart strings, summons a weary, affectionate smile to your lips as you lean on the door frame.

Johnny manages a single "Hoof-!" as he at least straightens himself, rising to a stand and rolling his shoulders. You trace them as he does, watching appreciatively as the coil of muscles rolls under his shirt before he turns to you.

Your Johnny, bright and beautiful like the sun. He grins at the mere sight of you, eyes melting with adoration. Yet he pauses when he takes stock of your form, slouched against the door frame, eyes tired.

"Bonnie?" He asks then, voice softer, more hesitant. He speaks like a child witnessing something unknown for the first time. Curious, perhaps almost afraid. "What's wrong?"

That does it. Despite your valiant effort you're helpless against that look, his brow furrowing, eyes softening in concern, lips parting with his query. Hot wet tears pool across your gaze, and the hiccup you thought you swallowed comes rising back up again in a choked sob.

You hate this.

You straighten enough to bury your face in your hands, shoulders shuddering and face warming in embarrassment. Johnny's footsteps pace towards you, his voice a soothing balm against your cracked composure.

"Hey, hey, hey." He murmurs, and his calloused hands come and settle across your shoulders. You're tipped forward, into him, cradled against his chest like you're something fragile to the touch, held with such care it only threatens to crack you further. "Shh, it's alright, gorgeous. Just breathe. I got you."

Gorgeous.

You truly sob then, and the way his tongue rolls the endearment without any effort at all, so sincere and genuine you can't help but believe him. He echoes it with no hesitation, absolute adoration of you tucked into him, his arms wrapping around you and keeping you there, safe from everything but the chaos of your own mind.

Shoulders shuddering, you let your arms fall and then wrap around his back, fingers gripping at his shirt as if that alone can ground you.

"I'm sorry." You croak. "I-I don't mean to be such a mess."

"You've nothing to apologize for." He murmurs, and you're taken even further into him, your face raised up by a hand on your nape, guiding you into the crook of his shoulder as he bends over you, forces you up on your toes to meet him.

You cry there too. It's everything about him. Safe, warm, Johnny's touch around you is pure comfort, an indulgence that leeches the sorrow away from you, clears the muddy waters of your heart. Like sunlight spilling through rain clouds, Johnny's voice hushes away the weariness, the grief and the hurt of your tired soul. Here, in his embrace, Johnny feels like home.

There's a hand in your hair as Johnny shifts on his feet. He's backpedaling, bringing you with him, and it isn't long until you're both sitting on the couch. Still pressed into his shoulder, you lean into him, one hand gripping at his shirt and the other curled around his waist.

He pulls you away from him then, hands cupping your face and uplifting him to his beloved, tender gaze.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" He asks, and you sigh into the inside of his palm, feeling like you've just dipped your bare toes into a cool, babbling brook.

"It's nothing." You murmur there, but Johnny only clucks at you.

"No, no. None of that, hen." He tells you, turning your face again to look at him. His eyes are serious for a moment, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Yet then his beautiful eyes soften with affectionate worry, and you feel them pluck at the strings of your heart as he speaks once more.

"Don't shut me out. I'm here for you, so tell me what's gotten you in such a state, aye?"

You nod at him, a slow gentle gesture that summons a pleased smile to the tight draw of his face.

"C'mere." He mumbles, and again you're pressed into him, close enough so your cheek rests on his broad chest and you're left hearing the strong, reassuring drum of his heart there.

"I just...had a bad day." You start, sniffling and swallowing a sob. "I was just getting dressed this morning, after you'd already left for the base, decided to try and wear a dress to work."

"The red one?" He asks softly, and you nod.

"I tried it on, it felt comfortable and all, b-but..." You trail off, force down the lump in your throat at the memory of you standing in front of the mirror, watching your face fall. "I just...I hated it Johnny. Couldn't stand the sight."

"Of the dress?" He asks, and there's a note of perplexity in his voice as he tries to understand.

"No." You reply, voice quieter now. Weary, broken. "Of...of me."

Like a dam broken, you shudder long and hard, tears welling once more across your gaze before you hiccup, feel your sobs run over. The weight of it all presses down onto your shoulders, slouching you forward and dragging you down, downwards into the murky waters of sadness.

"Oh hen." Johnny murmurs, and he sounds heartbroken, upset and raw at your confession. That only makes you cry harder, voice cracking in your throat as you cling to him like a mast amidst a gale. "Sweetheart."

"I can't- can't do it, Johnny." You cry, voice trembling. "I try so hard not to let it bother me but I can't stand it, I hate the way I look. I can barely look at myself in the mirror without it hurting."

Johnny holds you as you ramble between your hiccups, his hand stroking steady, smooth circles into your back. He's silent, and with your cheek pressed into his chest you can't see his expression. You try to imagine it's woeful, sad, somehow not as disappointed as your thoughts tell you.

He draws you back then, hands lifting you, and you blink as suddenly you're shifted onto his lap, his hands coming to land on your waist. You pause, swallowing your next sob as you lift your eyes, look into his face.

There's an anguish there you don't recognize, one that threatens to fracture at your already wounded heart. Face pinched, Johnny's green eyes look at you with a sadness you feel reflected back into yourself, an endless prism of grief into each other.

He leans up, and you allow the motion automatically, able to discern his movements like the tides of the ocean against your bare legs. His lips graze over yours just once, and you feel his sigh there before he descends again, a hand cupping your nape, guiding you to him.

"Gorgeous." He murmurs against the corner of your mouth, and it takes strength to not let your cries echo onto his lips.

"Johnny..." You try, voice heavy. "I-"

"Darling." He speaks then, pulling back so you can see his face, the way seriousness overrides the sadness and concern there. "Listen to me."

You do, pausing for a moment to let your eyes flicker down to your lap and then back up again.

"You are beautiful." He tells you, and his voice is sincere as his thumb strokes against your hip. "I wake up every day next to you and thank heaven I get to be the first one to see your smiling face."

He pauses, and you watch his throat bob as he tries to find the words.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever lain eyes on in my entire life, you know that?" He asks, and there's emotion in his voice now, threatening to crack his words.

"Your hair..." He begins, fingers skimming the edges of your scalp above your nape.

"Your shoulders." The hand drifts downwards, tracing across the rise of them.

"Your back." Downwards further still, you shivers as his fingers ghost across the small of your spine.

"Your hips." His palms settle on either side of you, squeezing gently for a moment before unclenching.

"Your thighs, your legs, your stomach, your chest..." He rambles on, taking a moment with each to let his hands feel over the feature, grounding you with his touch, admiring every inch of you. Then he raises himself up, lets his lips skim across yours.

"Those beautiful lips." He murmurs, and when he pulls back he's smiling.

"And there, those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes."

"I love all of them." He tells you, and there's a radiance in his smile that bleeds into you, washes away the dirt and grime and leaves you refreshed, clean and gentle in his touch.

"I love them because you're beautiful, and because I love you." He finishes at last, and when he blinks you see his own eyes are glassy with an affection that threatens to brim them with wet warmth. "I wish I could spend every day just looking at you, hen. I'm so fucking crazy about you I can hardly stand it."

You don't know what to say, lips parted and eyes wide. So, you do the only thing you think of. You lean into him, wraps your arms around his neck and press your shuddering sigh to his lips, feel him drink it down and kiss you the way you need him to. The way you deserve.

"I love you too, Johnny." You whisper, voice fragile and devoted. "I think I love you more than I can ever love myself."

He makes a sound against you, and it hums against the roof of your mouth as he draws back, braces his forehead against yours.

"That will change." He tells you softly, earnestly. "Someday you'll be able to see what I see. I promise, gorgeous."

Then he pulls back, smiles wide up at you, and that shroud of yours lifts away from your shoulders with a sigh, escapes as no more than a dissipating mist in the dawn of him.

"Let's have ourselves an evening, yeah?" He asks, tone returning to his usual affectionate playfulness. "Takeout, your choice. Settle down and watch a movie."

His hand raises to your cheek, and you can't help but smile at him, at your Johnny, the most beautiful and precious gift you've ever received.

"Will you take me to bed after, soldier?" You ask trying to sound cheeky, and when Johnny laughs it sounds like church bells on a sky blue Sunday morning.

"Hen, if I had it my way, you'd never leave my bed." He tells you, voice dipping lower, husky and dragging in his chest. You shiver a little, and it only serves to make him grin wider, bigger up at you.

His face shifts again, and the smile lowers a bit into something more concerned, but containing all the wealth of love he has to offer to you.

"We're going to figure this out, aye?" He murmurs expectantly at you, and when you give him a shy, hesitant nod the grin returns.

"That's my girl." He rumbles, dragging you down once more into his lips.

"My beautiful, beautiful, gorgeous girl."

#johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny 'soap' mactavish #john soap mactavish #cod mw22 #oneshot #my writing #my fic #reader insert

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sstormyskyess · 8 days

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a little sneak peek from my mafia price x detective reader fic (i love writing characters that are just. so tired so i'm happy to tap into that for detective reader. the poor soul.)

The words on your whiteboard are blurring together the longer you stare at them. You should really sleep, but you can’t. Not when you’re so, so close to a revelation, the long-awaited ‘aha!’ moment that’s been hiding in the recesses of your mind for months.

It must be going on a year at this point. A year's worth of turmoil as you’ve tracked down your new target and old friend, John Price. The man manages to be so elusive and still hides in plain sight at the same time. It feels as though the whole world is playing an elaborate joke on you—that, or he was avoiding you specifically. It seems like everyone knows where to find him aside from you at any and all times, and when you go searching, he’s gone like he was never there. The thought grates on your mind while you stare at all the notes and pictures pinned up to the whiteboard in front of you, taunting you.

With a deep sigh, you turn away and practically collapse onto your leather desk chair. Your hand reaches for your coffee mug, one which has been refilled three times. Maybe four? You can’t remember and you don’t care to. All you can bother to remember in your brief moment of distance between you and your work is your time with John.

You can only wonder what could have possibly gone wrong. He was one of the most disciplined men you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting—straight and narrow in every respect, always wanting to protect the weak and weary. And then, all of a sudden, he’s gone completely off the radar for years. Then, the next you hear of him is when you’re called into the state police station and his name is on the files you’re given, wanted for multiple acts of gang violence ever since he disappeared.

And that brings you to now, sulking in your office, guzzling down liters of coffee trying to keep yourself from burning out before you’re able to find the answer to all your questions.

this first part is gonna be angsty y'all 😈

#john price x reader #john price #storm's wips #storm's creations #sstormyskyess

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inheartofwinter · 3 months

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For @drarrymicrofic 's prompt "Time loop". G | 542.

Maybe I will write more later. Fingercross that I would be able to create something decent.

They say that tomorrow never comes. Draco is sure they don’t mean it like this.

He stares at the Daily Prophet, silently willing the date on it to change. The date, probably relishing in Draco's agony, remains the same. It is the same the day before, and the day before that, and the day before the day before that, and— There are too many days before that, certainly more than Draco's liking, that Draco feels foolish to hope for something different. He still hopes.

Draco throws the paper at the wall. It always says rubbish, anyway.

“You know that’s not going to help,” says Potter from behind the kitchen’s table. He is buttering a slice of toast. On the table, there are two plates of perfectly cooked English breakfast, a mug of coffee and a cup of tea. Everything is made by Potter.

“What else are you telling me to do?!” Draco snaps back. “Sit down and drink coffee?”

Potter puts down the coffee mug he just drank from a second ago. “No. The world knows you hates coffee. But you can drink tea.”

Draco grumbles but sits down at the table. He sips the tea. He has to stop himself from moaning in pleasure as the liquid warms his entire body up. It is exactly how Draco likes it.

Draco glances up and catches Potter smirking at him. Draco glares at him.

After nearly a month of being stuck with each other, Potter has come to know too much about Draco’s habits and preferences for Draco’s comfort. Draco consoles himself that the contrary is also true. Draco also learns a lot more about Potter in that short time than in the previous ten years they have shared. However, if he is honest, that fact sometimes scares Draco shitless.

“You should go shopping for grocery. I'm getting tired of English breakfast,” Potter says between bites of egg.

“I'm not. You can get your own food if you don’t like it.” Draco throws back just to be contrary.

“Maybe I should.” Potter agrees. “Come to think of it, I don’t even have to cook. I can just get take away. Do you like naan?”

This is what discomforts Draco the most. It is getting harder and harder to anger Potter. Halfway through the second week, Potter doesn’t rise to Draco’s bait anymore.

“Aren’t you a bit too comfortable with this situation?” Draco grumbles. “People would think you love it.”

All pretend relaxation falls off Potter. His posture straightens up. His face hardens. “I'm not. I would sell my soul to get out of this.”

Draco mentally curses himself. There it is, the blank, world-weary eyes Potter occasionally wear. Against Draco’s better judgement, he knows that he would dig his own heart out if it could stop Potter looking that way. Between trying to get out of the time loop and having every meal together, Draco has fallen for Harry Potter.

Once again, Draco curses whatever has put them in this situation.

“Maybe we will figure it out today.” Draco says, hoping his lame comfort would cheer Potter up just a little. “And it will be like before again.”

Potter blinks. Then, he nods, looking less depressed but also kind of odd. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

#drarry #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #time loop #pining #kind of domestic #btw it happens in Draco's kitchen

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kkl1nch0r · 4 months

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title: woes of an immortal (blade x gn!reader)

angst. this is angst guys. i was feeling emo. please don't come for my throat if your soul is shattered like mine was when I typed in the last words LOL!

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Since when did once an abomination seek and find its inner beauty?

Since when did a monster find their claws worthy and able to cradle the body of their dead love gently?

Since when did a beast, its fangs eternally stained with the slaughterous voices of its sin, bound and sliced cleanly from its vices, learn to find itself worthy of affection?

Blade was the first to be.

Once his weary eyes, deprived of desire, gazed into yours– the savage tamed by the saint– everything prior to his misery (as well the whole of his suffering) had been snuffed out. Much like the blowing out of a candle with its constant need to burn, all there was left was the stub of wax. Unhealed scars, bleeding wounds, a wailing soul.

I’ve changed, repeated the immortal abomination. I’ve changed.

You had held his cold cheek firmly and told him things you alone cannot remember– only a man who had lived so mundanely could recall the very words you had uttered.

But at the merciless hands of death, who can blame for one to forget? Even those who have lived with such purpose and ambition cannot remember every word they have spoken on their deathbed.

Your deathbed was his lap, your pillows were his trembling hands, and your last breath was just as shaking as his. Your vision faded, coming into focus to see blades ugly ass eye sigh this is shit

I bring misery, he says, his voice sounding like a cry heard from the other side of a wall. I have brought this upon you.

“Do not blame yourself,” you whisper, and he begins to cry– it's a mourning howl. He’s wailing; there are no signs of him stopping, as his tears come down upon your face like rain. A scarred, quivering hand clutches yours, and your heart breaks– as much as you wish to squeeze back reassuringly, there is no strength left in your body to reciprocate his gesture. No more energy to dispel his worries.

Blade tires himself out by crying; he lets out a choked sob, having lamented so hard his voice is broken, scattered like his essence. He had been begging for death just then; why did he wish for life now?

“Blade,” you whisper weakly, and it brings another wave of sobs. Blade doesn’t know he torments you with his sorrow. You lie in his arms helplessly as the man strangles himself with his cries.

Oh, it sounds so sad. So terrible, to know that you are about to pass on and he, immortal as he is, can do nothing about it– can do nothing about his death, nor yours, and can only watch as time flies by; to wait for a person who will never come back, nobody to answer his calls. Nobody to return to; nobody to look for in the bustling crowds of the Xianzhou.

Nobody to confide in, love, protect– Blade brings your hand to his lips– a gentle kiss placed on your knuckles as you manage a weak smile, lifting your hand to hold his cheek. He so desperately presses into your touch, tears trickling down his cheeks, barely able to hold back his grieving cries.

“You…” Swallowing thickly, you try to form a coherent sentence. “You haven’t changed.”

Not one bit? Blade asks sadly, pressing his lips against the palm of your hand. The shake of your head answers him, and Blade breathes in deeply, but it hitches, and he shakes with an effort to control his silent crying.

“Not one bit,” You reply with effort, and it's surprising how such a simple phrase seems to take the breath from you. Blade nods, and you exhale resignedly, bits of the world blurring into one. They say death is peaceful, but the man looking at you tells you otherwise.

“Remember me,” You say finally, and the last fragmented vision of Blade’s face blurs into nothing. Your body scatters, fading to ashes of what remains:

You are the ghost of a memory– sometimes Blade will see your figure standing in the midst of a parting crowd– there are times when you are there and moments when you aren’t. As Blade gazes at his empty, bloody hands, he begins to wonder if you were merely a fleeting dream.

But there is nothing he can do to change about it. And so his piercing wail reaches the sky, the rumble of thunder in the rushing of gray clouds, the rain purging the very essence of what made up just a fraction of his life.

Never has Blade felt so insignificant, as he recalls the words you had whispered once before.

I’ve changed, he’d repeat. I’ve changed.

You are just the same, you had said. When one’s life changes, the soul remains as is. You are better now– better, but just the same.

Blade kneels in the dirt.

Just the very same, Blade thinks, but without you, I feel truly different.

#honkai star rail #blade honkai star rail #hsr blade #blade x reader #blade x you #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #gender neutral reader #xianzhou luofu #xianzhou luofu hsr #hsr fanfic #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x you #jiayun's ugly writing

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amhrosina · 1 year

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Peace (Matt Murdock x Reader)

MASTERLIST // TAG LIST REQUEST FORM

A/N: This is probably my favorite request I’ve ever received! There’s just something about Matt Murdock & Taylor Swift that go together. I cried like three times writing this I JUST WANT MATT TO FEEL SAFE AND LOVED! Thank you, @messymissy for requesting! <3

Requests are open!

Request: heii!! May i request a story with Matt Murdock based on Taylor Swift's song called 'Peace'. Thank youu love 💕

Summary: A glimpse into your relationship with Matt, who believes you are too good for his love. It takes place over the course of one night, after Matt comes home with an excessive number of injuries and a newfound hatred of himself. Matt’s POV all played out over Taylor Swift's song 'Peace'.

(Warnings: HEAVY angst, Matty lets his guilt overwhelm him, sOFT!Matt Murdock, one line about smut maybe???, matt calliing reader 'petal' again because i didn't get enough of it the first time, im so sorry about this)

Our coming-of-age has come and gone Suddenly the summer, it's clear I never had the courage of my convictions As long as danger is near And it's just around the corner, darling 'Cause it lives in me No, I could never give you peace

Matt Murdock was irrevocably in love with you – this was a fact, and yet, he still had trouble wrapping his head around the idea that you could feel the same way about him. It was a terrifying idea, that someone so whole and angelic could commit themselves to him – dangerous, reckless, broken.

It was a fight he antagonized from you often, too often, these days. He thought if you could see his flaws, stare them in the face and gawk at his broken, aching soul, you’d realize your mistake in loving him. You never did, though.

His knees rested on the soft carpet. Tears stained his cheeks as he listened to your stuttering breaths. Your fingers were like ice on his skin as you pulled the mask off his head and gently set it down next to him. The mask was in one piece, but he couldn’t say the same about the rest of his outfit. The tangy scent of blood overpowered his senses, and he was having trouble focusing on where you were in the apartment.

A cold hand on his cheek had him gasping for oxygen, but he leaned into it, chasing the reprieve the chill brought him. He was on fire, skin burning with the beginning of infection. A dull ache had replaced anything he could physically feel a long time ago, and the only thing he could think of to describe the pain was a weariness of his bones. Aching, bruised, bloody, broken. He was tired, and all he wanted to do was send you away from his angry, bleeding soul.

But you knew who Matt was when you let yourself fall in love with him. You knew what loving someone like Matt meant. He focused on the pressure of your fingers poking and prodding around his body as his senses began to return to him. The ‘world on fire’ allegory that he used to describe his sight felt insubstantial when it came to you. It didn’t fit the warmth he felt when you were near, or the calm hum that would overcome his body when you ran your soft hands over his skin.

A world on fire? No, more like a warm cabin, heated by a crackling fire, soft hues of oranges and yellows painting the walls. The smell of cinnamon wafting from the kitchen, the dizzying hum of a record player in another room.

Your hands, now warmed by Matt’s scorching skin, ran light circles over his chest, pulling his brain back to reality and out of the hazy fog he had fallen into as you worked on his injuries.

He gripped your wrist, pulling your fingers to his lips. His soft kisses were apologies in their own right. I’m sorry I keep coming home bloody. I’m sorry you have to be the one to make me whole every night. I’m sorry if I’m not enough for you. I’m sorry that you have to love a monster like me, but please don’t leave me.

Your fingers swiped under his closed eyes, wiping the tears that had gathered there. The achingly gentle kisses you placed on his eyelids broke his heart. I love you. I’ll never leave you. You are my safe place, Matty.

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Your hands grip Matt’s waist as he steps into the warm stream of water. A sigh passes through his lips, and he leans into you, resting his head on your shoulder. The bottom of the tub, a usual stark white, was tinted a rusty brown color as the night’s misfortunes washed off Matt’s skin. Matt can’t see this, of course, but he can smell it, and sense the tension you hold in your shoulders.

The pattern you were drawing into his back left a harsh skittering of goose bumps in its wake. He tried not to groan at your soft touch, tried not to think about how you were too good for him, for this. The constant chaos that is Matt Murdock’s life would’ve scared anyone away, but you were still here, running your hands over his scars, new and old, and peppering gentle kisses into his shoulder.

Matt pulled you into his arms. His hands, which had been resting on your lower back, began a slow ascent along your back until he was fully wrapped in your scent. When he cradled you like this, he felt grounded, unbroken, whole. His embrace tightened, and you held him with just as much force as warm tears made their way down his face and onto your skin.

Things had been getting worse lately, and Matt was sure that he’d come home one day to find a half-empty apartment, your stuff packed up and gone, along with his heart. The guilt was eating him alive, and he wasn’t sure how he could ever face the world without you by his side. However, in moments like these, when you were so gentle and loving, he could only focus on the fact that you were here, safe in his arms.

He kissed the space above your collarbone. I’ll always protect you.

Another one, this time just below your jaw. I will never know another love like the kind you show me every night.

Another, on the corner of your lips. I love you, more than you could ever know.

A final one, on your lips. When you're around, I feel like I’m home.

And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences Sit with you in the trenches Give you my wild, give you a child Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother Is it enough?

Later, after Matt had spent over an hour ravishing you against the shower wall, and then again in the bed you shared with each other, you were lying on your side, running your fingers through Matt’s hair. He hummed when your fingers lightly scratched the top of his head.

The silence that usually overwhelmed the apartment on nights like these was both comforting and terrifying for Matt. Comforting, because it was the kind of silence that didn’t drive him absolutely crazy. When most people were silent around Matt, he had to find other noises to focus on, or else he’d be overwhelmed by the noises of the outside world, but when you were silent, he liked to listen to the steady drum of your heartbeat, a lifeline that he’s grown all too comfortable clinging to.

“Matty?” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper. It’s the first word you’ve spoken out loud since he stumbled through the front door hours earlier.

“Petal?” His voice quivered as he spoke. Nothing in your tone indicated that you were planning on leaving him, but he couldn’t help the stutter in his heartbeat when you finally spoke to him on nights like these.

But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me. Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

“You know I love you, right?”

Matt nods and swallows thickly.

“Am I telling the truth?” you asked, pressing Matt’s ear to your chest. Matt could hear your heartbeat from a mile away, sometimes more if he focused, but the intimacy of listening to your heartbeat at such close range was something he would always cherish. The steady beat of your heart told him what he was always searching for – reassurance that you loved him, that you would always love him, and that you would never leave him, even though he knew he deserved it.

Matt’s face fell, tears welling up for the third time that evening. Your arms circled around him, kissing the tears as they fell from his eyes.

“Matty, baby,” you whisper, planting a gentle kiss on his nose, “what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours? Why is tonight so bad?”

A sob fell from Matt’s mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to your arms as you tried comfort him.

“I’ll never be able to give you what you deserve. I love you so much, and I know I should let you go so you can find someone who can give you everything, but I can’t. I can’t- You’re just so- I can’t breathe when you’re near me, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Matt was close to hyperventilating, gasping in air at an alarming pace. He could tell you were shaking your head, even though he couldn’t physically see it.

“You’re an idiot, Matthew Murdock, if you think I could love anyone else the way I love you. You’re the love of my life, Matt. Why would you think I want anyone else?”

“What if I’m Daredevil for the rest of my life? What if it kills me? Where does that leave you?”

“I knew the risks when we met, Matt. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how much you try to convince me to leave. I love you, Matty. That means I love every piece of you, good or bad. It means I’m committed to you, like you are to me.”

You took a breath and brought your finger up to his lips before he could argue with you.

“Now, stop beating yourself up about this. I’m not going anywhere, and you can’t make me, you stubborn devil.”

“What if it never gets better?” Matt is whispering, and he can’t tell if he’s asking himself or you, but you respond anyways.

“Then we’ll weather the storm together, Matty. I’m yours. Forever. Always. That’s enough for me. I promise.”

Matt couldn’t help himself when he focused on your heartbeat. It was strong, but steady. You were telling the truth – and his heart ached with love as he enveloped you in his arms.

Matt knew tonight wouldn’t be the end of this self-hatred guilt trip, but for now, holding you in his arms, cradling you as you fall asleep, kissing your hair every few minutes. For now, that was enough for him, too.

End Note: I did my civic duty and voted today in the mid-term election! I hope the people who can are planning on voting too!

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @soft-emo-enby @purple-amaranthe @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @mymamalife

(@mymamalife i tagged you in this bc you mentioned the other day that you wanted to read more of my matt stuff but i can remove you from the list if you don't want to be on it!)

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heliza24 · 1 month

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Daniel, Armand, and Keats???

Ok so the incredibly grainy footage of the new teaser has me spiraling! Devils minion on screen! But even more exciting, is Armand describing himself as “easeful death”, presumably to Daniel. Ok Rolin Jones, listen up. I don’t know a ton of literature by heart by I WAS a depressed and then chronically ill teen and early twenties person, who identified maybe a little too hard with romantic poet John Keats. Some of his poems are permanently tattooed on my brain. So I see what the writers are doing here. “easeful death” is from Ode to a Nightingale. The full line is: “Darkling I listen; and, for many a time/I have been half in love with easeful Death”. I mean. Come on.

I reread the poem after watching the trailer last night, and it’s actually SUCH a clever reference. It could practically be written by Daniel about Armand. We already know the writers room is familiar with and willing to reference other classic poets (Emily Dickinson absolutely is a vampire) so I think this is 100% intentional.

The narrator of the poem is tired of the difficulties of life and is longing for death; he speaks to the nightingale as a kind of immortal figure who is free from all cares. He is able to momentarily accompany the nightingale, at least mentally, as it flies and forget all troubles, but must come back to earth by the end of the poem. It’s pretty easy to read this as Daniel talking about Armand.

In fact, the first thing the speaker longs for is not death or the nightingale, but wine to take his mental pain away.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen

And we know that Daniel was numbing himself with drugs when he first met Louis and Armand. In fact the voiceover in the trailer almost feels like a pitch to Daniel; Armand is saying “I’m better than the best drug you’ve ever had”, effectively.

The speaker is determined to forget what the lucky nightingale (or Armand) “hast never known”:

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

The nightingale doesn’t know about the trials of living and aging, just like Armand. The speaker wants to forget about the inevitable “palsy shakes” that arrive with age. which could easily be a reference to what we now diagnose as Parkinson’s Disease.

At this point in the poem, the speaker tells the nightingale that he will join him in forgetting life not with the help of “Bacchus and his pards” (wine) but with “posey” (poetry). Which makes me think of Daniel using his writing to get closer to the vampires.

The fact that the speaker calls the nightingale “Darkling”! I mean what a perfect name for Armand. In fact I think this whole section is just perfectly about a vampire if you want it to be:

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown

Armand was not born for death; he’s seen many an emperor and clown and in fact been both (leader of the coven, pretending to be Rashid). There’s also an emphasis on the nightingale’s song. I don’t know if Armand will be a musician at all in the show, but he and the coven are definitely performers.

In the last stanza, the speaker comes back to himself. He knows that he does not get to escape the burden of life for the ease of death, or at least not yet. It makes me wonder if Daniel will eventually turn down the gift at some point in the devils minion timeline. We know that he rejects Louis' mocking offer to give him the gift in the Dubai timeline.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

The last line and the confusion about whether the time spent with the nightingale is a dream or not makes me think of Daniel waking up from the dream of Polynesian Mary’s.

In summary, Rolin Jones what the fuckkkkk. I’m so so excited about this season and all the Armand/Daniel content we’re about to get.

Oh also, as a bonus, if you want to hear Ben Whishaw recite the entire poem, and you definitely do, here you go:

youtube

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #my meta #devils minion #and john keats I guess!#armandaniel #interview with the vampire amc

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anyca786 · 3 months

Text

SAFE HARBOUR

Doctor Stephen Strange x y/n

Warning: Fluff

Summary: Stephen finds comfort in your arms after a a long tiresome day.

The Sanctum Sanctorum hummed with a quiet energy, the magical wards keeping the chaos of the city at bay. Yet, for Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, the weight of the day sat heavy on his shoulders. Stepping through the portal, his cloak rippling behind him, he found his haven not in the ancient texts or mystical artifacts, but in the warmth of your embrace.

You were curled up on the plush cushions by the window, a book in your lap, the afternoon sun painting your hair with gold. As you looked up, your smile bloomed like a desert rose, banishing the shadows from his heart.

"Stephen," you breathed, your sweet voice a melody that soothed his weary soul.

He moved towards you, drawn by an invisible thread, and sank his head in your chest, his cloak pooling around you like a comforting cocoon. You instinctively reached out, your fingers tracing the lines etched on his face, maps of a life lived on the edge.

"How was your day, love?" You asked, your voice soft as a whisper.

He sighed, the sound a rumbling tremor in his chest. "Tiring," he admitted, leaning into your chest further as you threaded your fingers through his hair. "Another interdimensional squabble, a rogue spell, the usual."

You let out a chuckle, the sound tinkling like wind chimes. "The usual for the Sorcerer Supreme, I presume?"

He smiled, a ghost of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Something like that." He turned his head, nuzzling his cheek against your chest. "But it's always better when I come back to you."

You wrap your arms around him, your scent of lavender, a balm to his senses. He closed his eyes, the tension easing from his muscles, replaced by a deep sense of belonging.

"Tell me about it," you urged gently.

He did, his voice low and rumbling, weaving tales of spells cast and battles fought, of the delicate dance between order and chaos.

You listened intently, your touch a silent anchor in the storm of his day.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, you sat in comfortable silence, his head still resting on your chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of your breath a lullaby to his soul.

"You're my safe harbor, y/n," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "The calm after the storm."

You squeezed him tighter. "And you're my rock, Stephen," you replied. "The one who keeps the world safe, even when it feels like it's falling apart."

You stayed like that, a haven of peace amidst the chaos, two souls entwined, finding solace and strength in each other's arms. The weight of the world might press heavy on his shoulders, but in your embrace, he was simply Stephen, a man loved, and a love cherished. And in that quiet sanctuary, he found the strength to face another day, knowing that no matter what darkness loomed, he would always find his way back to you, his light.

#stephen strange x reader #marvel fic #tumblr #stephen strange #doctor strange #marvel

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these-written-reveries · 1 year

Text

Just You and Me

‣ Pairing: Arthur Fleck x GN!Reader

‣ Summary: You show up at Arthur’s door, struggling and in desperate need of him and his love. Don’t worry, Arthur will take good care of you.

‣ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

‣ Warnings: Emotional breakdown, heavy feelings (no specifics mentioned)

‣ Word Count: 1,363

‣ A/N: This fic is dedicated to @ajokeformur-ray and anyone else who is struggling and in need of a bit of Arthur lovin’. Allow yourself to be present in this moment, just you and him. Forget about the rest of the world. You can let it all go, at least for now. I hope you can find a little solace in this piece. ♡

Song of Inspiration: “Don’t Worry” by The 1975

‣ Have an idea for a fic you’d like me to write? Send a request here. But first, make sure to read my Request Info!

Arthur Fleck/P!Joker Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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There you stood, tired and dejected, in front of apartment 8J.

You had found yourself face-to-face with this door so many times that it was practically routine at this point. Whether it be to visit Arthur during the day, or in the evening to watch Murray, to check up on him, share leftovers, or to meet up for your weekly dates. Many times, you came to give Arthur his mail that was frequently placed into your mailbox by mistake. You lived just across from Arthur, and it had become apparent that the mail person didn’t care to actually look at the proper apartment numbers when placing mail in your boxes. You didn’t mind, in fact, you looked forward to such mistakes as it always gave you yet another reason to see your lover’s sweet face again. Who could complain about that?

This time, though, was different.

You had no mail to deliver, no leftovers, no smile, or warm greeting. You could barely muster the strength to bring your trembling hand up to knock on the old paint-chipped door. You hesitated. The last thing you wanted was to burden Arthur with more heaviness and pain. If Arthur was in your head, he would be ever so quick to shut those thoughts down. You knew this, but it didn’t stop the feelings burrowed deep within your chest; the same ones that almost stopped your hand from knocking upon the steel wall separating you from him. Your heart so ached for him. You needed him.

Three feeble knocks nearly went unnoticed by Arthur’s ears. It was late and he was immersed in his own mind, a pen in his hand as he wrote down a joke he had been mentally crafting all day onto the scribbled notebook page before him. Despite this, he still managed to be pulled from his focus enough to realize someone was at the door. The thought of it being you instantly sent his heart into an eager frenzy, his body moving out of his chair and towards the door without him even commanding it to.

He always looked forward to little visits from you. Opening the door to reveal your beautiful face and warm smile was the highlight of all his days. The two of you had a running game in which you’d show up at each other’s places with the most random of reasons as to why -all of which were highly important and definitely not just excuses to see one another.

But this time was different.

The moment Arthur opened the door, he sensed the grave importance of the situation, and so quickly did his smile disappear; the eager fluttering of his heart mutating into a throbbing pain at the sight in front of him. Your hunched shoulders, head hung low, hands trembling at your sides, hair covering your face. He didn’t need to know what your face looked like to know exactly what was going on. He knew, but oh god, did it still crush his soul to pieces when you finally did bring your teary eyes up to meet his. Despite his best efforts to say anything, do anything, he was frozen. All he could do was stare with a face overflowing with concern for his love.

It was your weary, somber voice that finally kicked him into action.

“Can I come in?” You quavered, looking up at him with desperation in your eyes. He could see so clearly. You needed him.

Arthur nodded quickly, stepping aside, and pulling the door open wider so you could enter. You looked so fragile, he felt scared to even touch you in fear of breaking you as he led you to the couch for you both to sit, hastily moving the blanket and TV remote to make room for you. Only when you were settled, did he allow himself to sit beside you.

He wanted so badly to wrap you up in his arms and shower you with loving words and kisses, but he found himself holding back from doing so. This was a delicate matter and the last thing he wanted was to make the wrong move. Instead, he chose to be ever so careful with each touch and word that he offered you, allowing you to guide the situation as to what you needed from him. Whatever it was, he would give it to you, without question. Anything to soothe the pain and suffering you were experiencing.

Gently embracing one of your shaking hands in both of his own, he glanced up at you, trying to meet your eyes, though they remained focused on your lap.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You can tell me,” he spoke tenderly and right away you felt the last bit of composure you had left completely collapse to dust.

Soon you were a mess of sobs and tears and between them, your words came spilling out, albeit a little hard to understand, but Arthur did his very best to listen intently to every one of them. Not once did he utter a single word himself, only nodded and gave your hand a little squeeze here and there. At one point, he placed a hand on your back and began rubbing soothing circles into it.

If it hadn’t been for the constant flow of tears blinding your vision, you would have noticed his face contort as different emotions filled his being. Jaw clenched, forehead wrinkled with tension, lips drawn down into a frown, tears pricking his eyes. At times, his tightly knitted brows would raise with concern in response to something you said. Other times, a spark of anger flashed in his eyes. He couldn’t help but find himself indignant at the circumstances that led you to this much suffering and he held an even greater resentment against anyone who hurt you. Whatever was so heavy on your soul filled Arthur with the most intense desire to strip it all away and take on the weight of it himself. And he would, in a heartbeat.

There was a brief moment of silence after you finished speaking as Arthur tried to collect his words. Finally, he let out a sigh, and shifted himself so that he was directly in front of you, knelt upon the green rug on the floor. Looking deeply into your eyes, he gently wiped a few stray tears from your face before speaking.

“I’m so sorry, honey. You know…it’s okay to feel that way. I think anyone would in your situation. If I could take it all away and make it better, I really would, baby.”

Holding your right hand in his left, he once again reached up to wipe your tears away, his right hand cradling your face as his thumb softly caressed your cheek. You let out a shaky breath as you relaxed into his touch. Arthur felt a small smile tug at his lips.

“I can’t make it all go away, but I can take care of you. Will you let me take care of you, please?”

He looked up at you with warm, loving eyes as he brought your right hand to his lips, placing the softest kiss atop it. You nodded your head, feeling a new wave of tears prick your eyes as your heart burst with love for the man who was literally on his knees for you, practically begging to take care of you, to make you feel better, to love you.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he cooed, his arms reaching out to you.

Arthur didn’t waste any more time as he wrapped you up tightly in his arms. You melted into his peaceful embrace, allowing him to move you both into a more comfortable position on the couch, where he finally indulged in showering you with kisses and loving whispers. He traced his fingers up and down your arms and spine; occasionally caressing your hair and face and banishing any tears that escaped your eyes with his lips.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you. Just you and me, baby,” he murmured into your ear before pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

And for the first time since you’d knocked on the door of apartment 8J, you didn’t.

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‣If you enjoyed this fic, please like, comment, and/or reblog! Doing so not only keeps my blog alive, but also lets me know what you like and how to improve!

‣ If you’d like to join the tag list for Arthur Fleck/P!Joker, or be tagged in all of my future writings, let me know by sending me an ask/message!

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x Y/N #arthur fleck fanfiction #arthur fleck fluff #arthur fleck angst #arthur fleck imagine #joker x reader #joker x Y/N #p!joker #phoenix!joker #kalistawrites

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silentmoths · 2 years

Note

*ahem* may this wayward soul request some demon zhongli spice please and thank you? the man IS named after a duke of hell after all-

( go crazy, moth, make this shit kinky )

also hi i'm sliding into your inbox again-

oh bitch you know me so fuckn well, also cheers for this ask keeping me in brainrot hell for several days-

LESSGO-

Demon Zhongli/Morax x Exorcist G/N Reader

NSFW, Ritual sex, fuck or die, Virgin Reader, corruption via sex, sadomasochism

"He is trapped within...we've tried multiple times ourselves to excorcise him but...we simply are not strong enough.." The priest before you sighs, you nod in understanding, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I've never met a demon I could not exorcise, my friend. I will see this beast off." you reassure, the kindly old priest smiles warmly at you, nodding his head.

"Be weary of the beasts wicked silver tongue, may god have mercy."

It's your turn to nod, making your way down the hall and to the heavy wooden doors leading to the room they had managed to contain the demon within, even from out here you can feel the strength of the magics used to keep him at bay...just what on earth had brought such a powerful creature to your world? The room is dark as you enter, lit only by torchlight. Before you sits a man...well, what used to be a man.. if not for the golden horns branching from his head, the dark scalera, the fangs and the long, serpentine tail, tipped with shimmering golden fur, that is.

The demon raises an eyebrow, golden eyes roaming your form, and you shudder.

"State your name, demon." You demand, his lips slowly form into a smile.

"My, my, such spunk from such a little thing...surely they must be scraping the bottom of the barrel if this is all they have left to attempt an exorcism."

you dont respond, he was goading you, you knew that. Demons did so love to try and get a rise out of their captors. if they found a weakness, they'd exploit it. you held no weakness here.

"State. your. name." You repeat again, his grin only widens.

"Zhongli."

"That is the name of the human you have posessed, demon. your real name."

he chuckles, leaning back in his chair. you're sure if it wasn't for the ritual circle drawn around him, he would have already attempted to attack you, this one was smart.

"You should know a demon does not give his name so easily, little one."

"If you want your exorcism to be swift and painless, you should."

'Zhongli' tilts his head back and laughs, cold and malicious. "Oh little thing, you've no idea who I am... how quaint.."

"you are a demon, plain and simple"

"And you are nothing more than an excorcist. you have never been anything else, I can see it in your eyes... you showed promise as a youngster and have been forced to preform these silly rituals for the public's peace of mind since....you are tired, are you not?"

"Silence-"

"You were sold off to the church as a child, you have no friends, do not know your family, the church is all you know, all you are, all you will ever be.-"

"Cease your words-"

"You have so much more potential, so much untapped power, you are who I have sought for millenia."

wait, what?

"What would a demon possibly want with an excorcist?" you shouldn't ask, you shouldn't bite, but after two decades of nothing but the same song and dance every day... 'Zhongli' smiles at you.

"In order for me to tell you, you and I must make a deal-"

"Absolutely not, a deal with a demon? and here I thought you were smart."

"You havent even heard my terms yet, I'm wounded." Said demon simpers, shooting you a glance through his fluttering eyelashes. "Besides, if you come out the victor of my little game, I will answer every question you've ever had about yourself, about your role, your place in life...surely someone of your standing would find that...agreeable?"

Your eye twitches, something about him..his voice you think...is this what the other priest had meant about his silver tongue? You watch as he slowly rises from the chair in the middle of the circle, he's tall, taller than you by atleast a head. Features sharp and...you loathe to admit it, handsome as he slowly steps towards you, the closer he steps, the brighter the sealing circle drawn along the ground glows. He could not breech it...but you could enter and exit freely if you wished. He stops before you, regarding you with those smouldering eyes. Something about them too, seemed very unlike the other demons you'd dealt with in the past. very put-together, no insanity or agression hidden behind them...in fact you couldn't read whatever emotion it was at all.

"Yes, you are very tired of this indeed...I can see it clearly on your face...every day pulled here and there to do a job you never wished to do... what harm is there in hearing my terms, little one? all you must do is endure for one hour, I will not actively attempt to kill you, if you can do that, you will be declared the winner and I will answer all your questions."

An hour? you'd dealt with rituals longer than that...you had a high pain tolerence...it sounded...doable.

'Zhongli' Holds out his hand, open and inviting.

"If you find the terms of victory agreeable, take my hand."

You stare for a moment, what horrible tortures could this demon have planned for you? endure for an hour...it was just an hour..you could last an hour against any sort of demonic torture... with a slow exhale, you reach into the circle and place your hand in his.

---- This was not what you had expected. You'd expected pain, expected claws rending your flesh...

Not to be suffocating on a demon's tongue, wicked indeed.

The moment you'd taken his hand, he'd pulled you into the circle, his other hand circling your waist as his lips collide with yours. Of all the things you'd seen and experienced in your life, physical intimacy of any kind was...not one of them.

Soon enough you were straddling his lap, his tail coming around to wrap around you, hold you to his chest as he kisses the air from your lunghs, his inhumanly long tongue working it's way into your throat.

It should be horrifying, you should be fighting back.

so why then, did it feel so...nice? Strong hands holding you, your senses being assulted and overpowered in such strange ways, you'd seen horrible things, felt fear and disgust...but this...what was this?

Whenever you have the courage to crack an eye, he's staring at you through half-lidded eyes, glowing gold in the dim light, along with the tips of his hair and his horns, it almost looked holy...almost.

You should be sputtering and gasping for air when he finally retracts his tongue, shoving him away, but your body only falls limp in his grasp.

"mmh, as I thought...you've never felt the pleasures of flesh before...how wonderful...such honest reactions.." His lips pull into a toothy grin, which only serves to make you look away. "You are exactly as I had hoped, little one...come now, we've barely even started."

He's back on you before you can respond, teeth grazing your throat as his hanss tear away at your robes, the coil of his tail tightening to prevent squirming as soon as he has acess to your exposed chest.

No one had ever touched you like this before. it was scary and overwhelming, yet another half of you, half that you didn't even know existed, ached for it. pushing yourself up into his hands, eliciting a purr from the demon, gasping rather audiably as his fingers find your nipples and give both of them a harsh pinch.

"mmhm, seem's we're a little slut for pain, is that it?" his vulgar words send your head spinning. you weren't a slut...you were holy, better than this for sure...yet you only let out a pathetic whine in response. "What's the matter, little exorcist, demon got your tongue?"

"S-silence, beast..." god you hate the way your voice cracks, you hate even more so the lewd moan that leaves your lips when he leans forward, one hand and his tail holding you steady as his head dips low to take one of your abused nipples into his mouth, his hand giving the other attention as he bites down, you feel his fangs pricking into your skin as you jolt and writhe, hands finally finding an anchor point, his horns, gripping at them tightly as your body betrays you with more wanton moaning.

You felt dizzy, sick with desire and lust. thing's you'd always been told were sinful and wrong...but why then did it feel so right? so good? you dont even resist as his hand trails from your chest and into the waistband of your underwear, prodding at your entrance curiously, all while you gasp and arch your spine, you aren't even sure if it's to get away from his touch at this point.

"you know...it occurs to me that you didn't even ask about what I get if you surrender..." 'zhongli' mumbles against your collarbone, his comment makes your brain finally switch on for a moment, he was right...you hadn't asked...and internally you try to reason that it was simply because you expected your fate to be death if you gave in...

"what...what is it you want...?"

He chuckles, slowly kissing up your neck until he's looking you in the eyes, the black scalera really highlighting just how bright his iris' were.

"I want you. I want you to be mine...you hold such impressive power...you'd make such a wonderful bride. Be mine and I would turn you and you could finally take your vengence on those who never gave you any other choice but to blindly follow a god you do not believe in."

his words leave you trembling. How? How had he already known your deepest secret? even with all you'd seen in your years being trained and worked by the church...you'd never once believed their god was real..how could he be if there were demons like this one running around?

"Surrender to me...you will never know fear or pain again...only pleasure" He pushes as he slowly works two of his fingers inside of you. your tongue feels thick in your mouth and your throat dry, so you simply clamp your teeth shut. An hour, you only had to last an hour.

'Zhongli' doesn't seem upset by this at all, even as he shifts off the chair finally, laying you out on the cool stone floor, tail unwinding from your waist just to his hand could replace it's hold, keeping you there.

Faintly you realize, that with the light of the torch illuminating him from behind, and the glow of his horns...he almost looks like he has a halo... like he could be an angel, if it werent for the hunger in his eyes.. or the blunt head of his cock rubbing against you.

"Will you submit to me?" he asks again, voice and gaze entierly too tender for your liking. this was meant to be torture to endure...and endure it you would. So you turn your gaze away, throwing an arm over your eyes, he'd never said anything about you having to watch what he was doing. Again, he doesn't seem upset or angry, the demon only chuckling as he takes his time slowly rubbing against your hole before slowly pushing inside.

You expect pain, but the sting is only superficial, even for someone as large as he is...perhaps it's something to do with the warm, tingling feeling eminating from the hand on your belly.

viriginity stolen by a demon...and not even that unwillingly given...how sinful.

The demon above you lets out a gutteral, pleasured groan as he continues to slowly thrust his cock into your belly, slow, but inevitable, steady and unfaltering even when you twist or whine, a low ache slowly curling through you, not unbearable in the least.

Finally your bodies slot together and you let out a breath you'd not realised you'd been holding. you feel...full, impossibly so, it's enough to make your toes curl as you slowly peek out from behind your arm. The demon is watching you intently, curiously as you take in your situation, eyes slowly travelling from his face, lower and lower until you finally look to the spot between your legs where you're both joined. Only then does he thrust once, deep and hard, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Just like that it's like a switch flips inside of 'Zhongli', one of his large hands grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head, his other hand gripping your hip, pulling you down onto him with each consecutive thrust of his hips, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot you'd never known existed within your body. He was so deep you could have sworn he might as well have been in your belly as you moan and cry, head thrashing from side to side as he bullies your insides so sweetly.

"Doesn't sinning feel simply wonderful?" He grunts, folding over to cage you beneath his warm body, chests pressed together, his heartbeat is erratic against your skin. "I can give you pleasure whenever you desire, simply submit to me...become mine and I will give you all you deserve, all you are owed, become mine.."

this kind of pleasure...whenever you wanted it? No more church? no more lessons and training? no more being 'pure' for a god you didn't believe in...?

"what...what could I possible provide you if I were to...submit?" you finally manage to pant, Zhongli blinks down at you, his head tilting as a fond smile pulls to his face.

"I have been searching for millenia for a companion to match my power, together we would become untouchable...no more fear or pain... All I want is you..."

"And...how can I trust you?" There was something building in your gut, a...tightness you'd never felt before as he angles his thrusts slightly, absolutely crushing one particular spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

"Morax." He whispers against your ear almost reverently, hand releasing your wrists to run through your hair "My name...My name is Morax..."

Morax...your eyes widen as the name settles into your mind...you knew that name, and it becomes apparent as to why any exorcism performed on 'Zhongli' had failed.

Morax was a demon lord, known for his human disguises, he hadn't posessed zhongli, he was zhongli.

and he had just told you his name, willingly.

Now was your chance, with his name, you could banish him, deal or not...and yet... you can't bring yourself to utter the chant, to send this one back to the pits from whence he came.

"I am yours...I submit...take me away from this place." your words are followed by a long moan as he bites into your shoulder, his hips jerking slightly, unable to keep up a steady rhythm as his arms wrap around you, pulling you up and into his lap as he falls back, back resting against the chair as he all but bounces you on his cock and gods- it felt so good to finally let go, moaning freely as that warm, tingling feeling from earlier only spreads. You only just manage to chant the words to dispell the sealing circle before that tightness in your belly finally snaps, your first ever orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire, making you scream and clench around morax's cock. "Yes...yes...Mine, mine forever, we are bound...take it, take my seed and become mine!" Morax is babbling but you don't have it in you right now to care, not when your body felt like it was on fire, the burn is bright, fritzing across your nerves as moraz lets out a growling moan, pulling you as snug into his lap as he can before spilling inside, even his seed it hot, and it sends the burning feeling up a few notches, causing you to cry out and writhe with what little strength you had left in you, but just like he had this entire time, he holds you steady until it becomes too much and you pass out, slumping against his shoulder.

Only once he's had a minute to catch his breath and admire you does he finally pull his softening cock out of you, he's dressed within seconds, carefully bundling his new bride into his arms, you would look so very lovely, draped in golden silks, sat upon hells throne with him...

He catches sight of the priest who had managed to trap him within the room as he strides from the church, cowering in fear, as he should.

For once his darling had acclimated to her new powers, he was sure they would want to return to pay respects.

#silentmoth writes #moth is not silent #silentmothasks #zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli #Zhongli x reader smut #holy shit this one was long oops

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faerytreealtars · 8 months

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⋆˙⟡♡ What is your Soul Currently Healing? ⋆˙⟡♡

Hello again, Saplings! 🌱 A new PAC today that I hope you enjoy, take a deep breath, and choose whatever images resonate with your soul and heart, Happy reading! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

There are some days, perhaps even weeks where everything just feels out of place, you can never quite place your finger on why and no matter how much you rack your brain or journal away the answer seems to always slip through your fingers like grains of sand upon a glistening beach, there is no way to find the grains that belong to you, perhaps you would have more luck finding the needle lost in the haystack.

Its on these days I personally feel our souls are going through major shifts and transformations. It’s a lot of work for a little soul to heal the hurts and mend the holes, nevermind having to function as a human in the everyday as well.

This PAC came to me in the hopes of helping those of you in this energy, to understand and perhaps give your soul more energy and love as they work through the shadows within.

I would love to hear if the message you received resonated with you, so don’t feel afraid to comment, for it makes me so happy to connect with you all! 💕

Song: I have a dream - Abba

Faery-Tale: Cinderella - “A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep...”

[ My Instagram ♡ / Personal Readings ♤ / Faery Masterlist ☆ ]

Pile 1

[Cards: Seven of Chalices, Ten of Pentacles, Eight of Wands, The Empress & King of Pentacles (rx) ]

Dear Pile one, I can sense that your soul is currently healing from a feeling of scarcity as if everything you had would disappear someday if you didn't keep a tight almost suffocating hold on it, this may have been expressed through control issues or disharmony with money (impulse buying or not spending at all) the good news is your soul is beginning to transmute this toxic energy into something fresh, for those who still feel stuck in this energy I would recommend creating lists of needs vs wants, begin to see money as more than just a tool, it is full of energy just as we are and that energy is a blank slate so project goodness on to it - see that they can bring you joy & actually take a long time to appreciate that joy, don't rely on quick adrenaline rushes to fool you into a sense of comfort. Hope all this helps!

Oracle: Peace

Even when the sky seems stormy, there will be moments of peace. Set your heart toward finding them. Always follow that stray butterfly just to see where it will lead you. A moment of reflection is what is called for at this time. If someone or some situation has riled you up to the point of not seeing clearly, it's time to not just smell the roses but to actively seek them out. By doing this, you will create a small where you can regain control of your thoughts and emotions. Peace may not last forever in our harried world, but take a lesson from this card. There is always time to fuss and bother with all the many things we have to do. But only you can carve out those mind-easing moments of peaceful contemplation. When this card appears to you ask yourself "How do I Invite more peace into my life"

Pile 2

[Cards: Two of Swords, Three of wands, Fortitude/Strength, The Tower, Queen of Wands & Eight of Swords]

Dear Pile Two,

I can sense that the energy you are currently tiring to shift revolves around feeling trapped and helpless, perhaps others have always taken control over your life leaving you no space to speak or pushing identities you know didn't fit you upon you leaving you feeling confused and out of touch with your own soul. It may even be the case where you have felt forced to mask your true self in efforts to fit and be safe around others. Your soul is tired and weary of acting like a puppet on a stage, it is time to change. Spirit is giving you the strength to tackle the challenges ahead & there will be a lot, don't be afraid to say No or step outside "Your Labels" and explore something new. Let yourself have fun & dabble in your own creativity as you make your way down this thrilling path of self-discovery!

Oracle: Offer

Our two friends have taken a moment to meet under the full moon. The soft glow lights up the forest. There is an ambiance of quiet that allows our Gentle Creature to be fully engaged in accepting the gift his young friend has offered. It may be a handful of random green things to someone else but to her, it is something she chose with great care, Her friend understands that. The gift for them is not what is in their hands but what is in the heart of the small one looking up at them. They are grateful for one another. honoring one another with their full attention is another gift. Have you given this to another recently? The present is here. Focus on the air around you and smell the scents. see the sights. Hear the sounds. If you offer yourself up to each moment as a gift, you will learn the beauty of being present in the moment - perhaps it is time to spend time on someone who needs undivided attention.

Pile 3

[Cards: Four of wands, Seven of Swords, The Hermit, King of Pentacles & The Star]

Dear ones,

I could feel your heartbreak as soon as I tapped into your energy & then the cards only further confirmed my intuition. Someone was disloyal to you, tricked & deceived you in some manner. I am sorry you had to go through that but am happy to feel you are strong enough to carry on. Even on days, you feel like hiding away you keep on fighting and for this tremendous capacity of hope you exude into the world, you will surely be blessed. Just remember its okay to feel & acknowledge the heavy emotions, we cannot transmute or alchemize them if we keep them hidden in a bottle. Still, you have done yourself so proud!

Oracle: Guide

Our Gentle Creature waits patiently holding the lantern aloft. Their job is to guide others through the foggy night. It may sometimes be a lonely job to serve as the light carrier, but it is a necessity that cannot be shirked. The hardest part of being a guide is that jot all will see or appreciate the illumination for what it is. With this card, you are being asked to be a guide or to answer the call. One way or another your journey is being redirected. Are you heading into the fog ignoring the sparkling flame? This is a time to really dig into your inner self. It can be that both these things are important after all, it is a poor guide who cannot be led. W ouldn't it be sad if this gentle creature were left to hold the lamp? Surely there is someone maybe you who can help them by carrying that sweet yellow star for a while? We all need to both guide and to be guided.

I do so hope this reading brought comfort to your soul and a little more understanding to your subconscious. Take each day as it comes and try to look for at least one silver lining in the everyday.

~Much love, Fae🔮🧚🏻‍♀

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