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luveline · 9 months

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is there any way we could get badass!reader x spencer? except he’s injured this time? how does she react?

tysm ♡ cw hospital / gunshot wounds. 1.1k

"You have to let me see him."

"It's family only," the nurse says, shrugging sympathetically.

You grit your teeth. "That's what I'm telling you, I am his family. We've been together for four months."

"Sorry. Unless you're blood related or his next of kin, I can't let you."

"Spencer's next of kin is in a sanitarium in Las Vegas. I don't understand why you can't let me see him." You're trying not to shout at her, rage trembling in your aching fingers. "I understand that it's night time, and that he was admitted alone, but he was shot, he's not sick, and I can't make him worse. Please. You have to let me see him."

When begging doesn't work, you get mean. You'd be ashamed to admit you flashed your badge if it weren't for the fact that you have no shame when it comes to Spencer. Face flushed with heat from a good twenty minutes yelling, a different nurse escorts you to Spencer's room.

"I expect my colleagues will be arriving soon," you say. "And I expect they'll be met with less resistance."

The nurse smiles at you, as fake as they come, but you don't deserve a real one. You don't care. Breaking rules and bending policies means nothing to you while Spencer's laying alone in a hospital bed.

His heart monitor beeps steadily. He's sleeping, waxy face crushed sideways into a limp pillow, his stomach a lump under the sheets where he's been wrapped. He was alone when it happened —no one, BAU or otherwise, knows who did it or why. The hospital didn't know who Spencer was until he woke up after surgery and told them himself.

And you'd been sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself (and vaguely irritated) because he didn't answer your text that morning.

It's not hard being vulnerable with Spencer. He's your widely known soft spot, and you're unashamed. But it felt like a mistake, constantly checking to see if he'd answered your text. Good morning, I know we're supposed to see each other tomorrow but do you want to come over and watch movies tonight? Let me know had felt like I'm pathetic and in love with you and my day revolves around when you're free.

None of that matters now. In fact, it's all embarrassingly small.

You creep up beside his bed and reach out tentatively. His hair falls out of his face with the barest of touches. He's had blood wiped poorly from his cheek, orangey streaks lining his jaw. His undereyes are dark like he hasn't eaten for days, his veins spider legs stark against his eyelids.

You put your hand on his cheek, rubbing it lightly. "I'm sorry it took me so long," you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

Spencer stirs, a groan rumbling from the centre of his chest.

"I thought that was you," he mumbles, his fingers brushing your elbow.

"When?" you ask.

"You were yelling."

Yeah, well. You need to be disruptive sometimes. "They wouldn't let me in." You're not a big crier, just seeing him like this, knowing he was alone and probably scared, it has tears pricking. "Spencer, I'm so sorry."

"Hey." He clears his throat, your emotion starting him into wakefulness. "Hey, don't get upset. It's okay. It bounced off of me–" You groan and he laughs, though he grabs your elbow quickly after. "Ouch. Don't make me laugh."

"I didn't say anything." You pet his face. He looks pretty even when he's in a bad way. Your chest is a pit.

"It barely touched me. They said my feminine hips saved my life."

"Stop trying to make me laugh," you say pleadingly.

Spencer holds your gaze. "Stop looking so sad and I'll stop."

"Are you hurting?" you ask. You know you sound awful, a scared tone that he's never heard from you before, and you try to tamp it down as a lone tear breaks free, streaking down your cheek. "How's your pain? I can make them give you more–"

"I know you can. I'm fine now you're here."

You lean down to kiss the tip of his pert nose. Careful, you kiss his lips, enthused when he kisses up. "I'll take care of everything," you promise.

The door opens behind you. You give Spencer a last squeeze and find Emily in the entrance with a bag pressed to her chest, her hair windblown, shocked with worry.

"Spencer," she says, rushing forward to hug him.

He's in a hospital bed and still insists on comforting her as he'd done you, arms threaded over her shoulders. "Hey. I'm fine."

"Morgan and Garcia want to be here," she assures him, standing straight. "They're trying to keep the site clean. Spencer, what the hell happened?"

You drag a chair to his bed and sit on his right. You don't take his hand, he doesn't offer it, but the longer his story goes, the closer you find yourself. "I didn't even realise they were following me," he's saying. Emily nods with Hotch on the phone, listening intently, repeating anything Hotch misses.

You know you should be strong. Brave. You should be paying attention to his every word, ready to take the rains and solve the case, serve retribution against whoever it is that thought they could hurt him, but Spencer looks so tired. You can't imagine being anywhere that isn't his side right now. A blood bag fills at his side, a catheter runs under the bed, an IV line feeding pain medication and fluids into him mottled the skin on the inside of his wrist with bruise. Sometimes you have to stay put.

Emily hugs you before she leaves. You hug back.

"If I knew getting hurt would make you accept love from your friends, I would've done it sooner," Spencer says.

"If you ever get hurt like this again, I'll never speak to you," you say, bringing his arm to your lips and pressing a kiss to the crook of his elbow.

"Sorry for scaring you."

You lay your cheek on his arm, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "That's okay. That's fine. Wasn't your fault."

Spencer drops his chin to his chest. "Do I look bad from this angle?"

"No. You look just as nice as you always do." Your throat burns with sincerity. You might cry again.

Spencer nods like he's reading something else from what you've said. It's not that you'd meant to imply a double meaning, but he must see on your face how relieved you are, and how terrified you'd been. He brings his hand to your face, ignoring his cannula, to wipe the dried tears from your lashes. "You look pretty, too," he says. "Just don't cry anymore."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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rynwritesreid · 5 months

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You belong to me| Spencer Reid

A/N: The rest of my uploads this week will be ones that have being requested, as I have a few waiting to be posted and I feel bad for the people waiting for their requests:) Jag älskar dig 🫶🏼

Summary: You and Spencer had called it quits on your “relationship” when Spencer refused to commit himself to you fully. However, Spencer didn’t realise how much he would hate seeing you flirt with somebody else. Happy ending(I promise).

Content: Smut and angst. Fem!reader. Dom!Spencer and Sub! reader. Possessive and to an extent asshole Spencer. Oral (F! receiving). Vaginal penetration. No mentions of contraception. Creampie. owning/claiming kink. overstimulation. 18+

Masterlist| Requests are open| Navigation

You stood in Spencer’s hotel room, filled with anger. Spencer had made it clear he didn’t want to be in a relationship with you, you had also seen him happily flirting with other women. So, why did he have a problem with you flirting with a man who was very clearly into you.

“Spencer, last time I checked you didn’t want to be in a relationship with me. So, you do not get to tell other men to back off when they are flirting with me.” You stated through gritted teeth.

Spencer's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he absorbed your words. His silence was heavy, thick with the tension that hung between you. The room seemed to shrink, suffocating you both in a cloud of unresolved emotions.

Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and possessiveness. "It's different, okay? I mean... I didn't think you'd actually go out and find someone else so quickly," he muttered, his gaze avoiding yours.

Anger surged within you at his audacity. "Oh, so it's all about your ego then? You want me to pine away for you while you have your fun? Newsflash, Spencer, I have needs too. I deserve to be happy."

His eyes flickered with regret before hardening again. "I never said you didn't deserve to be happy," he rebutted defensively.

Your voice dripped with sarcasm. "Right. So, when I find happiness elsewhere, you suddenly have a problem with it? Sounds like double standards to me, Spencer."

Spencer's face flushed with frustration, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "It's not about double standards," he argued, his voice growing louder. "I just... I didn't expect to feel this way. Seeing you with someone else, it hurts."

“Oh, but you didn’t think how I would feel seeing you flirting with other people. God why is everything always about you?” you sighed; frustration etched into every line on your face. Spencer's words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the tumultuous nature of your relationship.

Spencer walked over to you, his steps measured and deliberate. He reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands. The touch sent shivers down your spine, a reminder of the undeniable chemistry that had drawn you together in the first place.

“Not everything is about me. But I can’t let what’s mine flirt with somebody else.” Spencer's words hung in the air. Your breath caught in your throat as his words hung in the air, an intoxicating mixture of possessiveness and longing. The intensity of his gaze locked you in place, his touch branding your skin, igniting a flicker of desire deep within you.

“Spencer, you don’t get to say that anymore.” You tried to pull away from his grasp, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh. The pain shot through you, mingling with the remnants of anger and desire that swirled in your veins.

"I do get to say it," he growled, his voice thick with a mix of dominance and desperation. "Because no matter what we've said or done, I can't shake this feeling that you're mine."

Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the conflicting emotions swirling within you. Spencer's possessiveness was suffocating, but a part of you couldn't deny the thrill it ignited deep in your core. The intensity of his gaze held you captive, melting your resolve with every passing second.

But you refused to let him dictate your happiness any longer. With a surge of strength, you wrenched yourself free from his grip, stepping back and putting some distance between you. The pain lingered on your skin where his fingers had dug into you, a stark reminder of the toxicity that had seeped into your relationship.

"No, Spencer," you said firmly, your voice trembling but resolute. "I am not yours to claim. I deserve freedom, happiness, and someone who respects me enough to let me make my own choices."

His face contorted with a mix of anger and hurt; his breathing ragged as he struggled to regain control. "You don't understand," he spat out, his voice dripping with venom. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. You're all I think about, all I want. And you're just throwing it away for some cheap fling."

"No, Spencer," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "This is not a cheap fling. This is me reclaiming my worth and refusing to settle for less than I deserve."

"You're mine," he repeated, his voice filled with a mixture of desperation and frustration. “You’ll always be mine. You’ve just got to accept it.”

Spencer’s lips than found themselves on yours. You wanted to protest, to pull away from the kiss. But you couldn’t, this is all you ever wanted. You just wanted Spencer, and you knew you were just flirting with that officer to see if Spencer would get jealous.

The kiss was electric, a collision of passion and longing that left you breathless. Spencer's lips moved against yours with a fervour that mirrored the tumultuous emotions swirling inside both of you. As his hands roamed your body, igniting a fire that had never fully extinguished, you couldn't help but succumb to the seductive pull of his touch.

Spencer's lips curled into a predatory smile, sensing your surrender. His grip tightened even further, bordering on painful, but you found yourself oddly drawn to the discomfort, craving the mix of pleasure and pain that only he seemed capable of providing.

You melted into his touch, your body responding eagerly to his every command. The familiar dance of dominance and submission played out between you, the lines blurring as pleasure mingled with the lingering pain from his earlier grip.

Spencer pulled away from the kiss, his lips brushed against your ear as he whispered darkly, "You may think you're your own person, but deep down, you know it's different between us."

Your heart raced in your chest, conflicted, and torn between the intoxicating desire that Spencer ignited within you and the boundaries you were determined to set. His words sank deep into your subconscious, stirring a primal need to surrender to him completely.

“I’m yours Spencer, I’ll forever be yours.” The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend them, a whisper of submission that hung heavily in the air. Spencer's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and triumph, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. His hold on you tightened possessively, his fingers digging into your flesh as if marking you as his territory.

Spencer's triumphant smile sent chills down your spine, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through your veins. The possessiveness in his touch both thrilled and frightened you, but the undeniable connection between you made it difficult to resist.

Spencer’s hand found their way to your shirt, his fingers undoing the buttons slowly, revealing the vulnerable flesh beneath. His touch was both deliberate and tender, his gaze never leaving yours as he explored every inch of your exposed skin.

As the fabric fell away, exposing your bare chest to the cool air, Spencer's eyes darkened with desire. His fingers traced a path of fire along your collarbone, down your abdomen, until they reached the waistband of your pants. With a quick flick of his wrist, he unbuttoned them, his touch igniting a trail of need that burned through you.

You could feel the hunger radiating from him, a primal urge that matched your own. There was no denying the raw connection between you, no matter how toxic it may have become. It was a dance, an intoxicating game of power and surrender that neither of you could resist.

Spencer's lips found yours once again, claiming you with a ferocity that left you breathless. The kiss was a maelstrom of passion and possessiveness, fuelling the fire that raged within both of you. His hands explored every inch of your exposed skin, igniting a trail of desire that consumed you both.

As his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a fiery path in their wake, your mind struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions raging within. Sensation mingled with uncertainty; pleasure intertwined with doubt. But in that moment, none of it mattered. All that existed was the intoxicating connection between you and Spencer.

You hadn’t realised but Spencer was pushing you towards the bed, his touch guiding you with an intensity that made your heart race. The sheets beckoned, a sanctuary where the turmoil of your relationship could be momentarily forgotten. As you sank into the softness, surrendering to the desires that consumed you both, the world outside ceased to exist.

Spencer's eyes held yours, filled with a mixture of hunger and adoration. Each movement, each touch, was a delicate balance between dominance and tenderness, awakening a whirlwind of emotions within you. His hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified you, igniting a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path.

The air brimmed with anticipation as Spencer lowered himself beside you on the bed, his body radiating heat. Your souls seemed intertwined, bound by an unspoken understanding that surpassed words. His lips found your neck once again, leaving a trail of kisses that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

With a gentle touch, he traced a path down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. His lips worshipped at every inch of your skin, leaving no part untouched by his fervent desire.

As Spencer's lips trailed lower, his hands followed suit, caressing your thighs with a tender touch that made every nerve ending tingle. The anticipation built with each passing second, the air heavy with desire and the promise of unbridled pleasure.

Spencer's eyes met yours, you knew he was asking for consent, but you could sense he was asking for redemption. You hesitated for a moment, caught between the allure of surrender and the boundaries you were determined to set. The toxic history of your relationship with Spencer tugged at the edges of your mind, warning you of the potential consequences of giving in to his desires once more.

But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a glimmer of vulnerability beneath the seductive gaze. It was a plea for redemption, an unspoken promise that this time would be different. And so, with a mix of trepidation and newfound hope, you nodded, granting him the consent he sought.

Without hesitation, he lowered his head, his hot breath grazing against your sensitive flesh. His tongue delved between your folds, exploring, and tasting every inch as if committing it to memory. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, each lick and suck sending shockwaves through your body.

The intensity built with every passing second, reaching a crescendo that threatened to consume you entirely. Your fingers threaded through Spencer's hair, urging him closer, deeper. He responded with a primal growl against your skin, intensifying the sensations coursing through you. His mouth became a vortex of pleasure, his tongue expertly tracing patterns that drove you to the edge and back again.

You were lost in a symphony of ecstasy, the boundaries of pleasure and pain blurring as Spencer pushed you further towards the edge. His touch was both tender and possessive, his tongue exploring every inch of your intimate depths with a voracious hunger that left no doubt of his intentions.

The room filled with your gasps and moans; the air heavy with the scent of desire. Spencer's fingers joined in the dance, tracing maddening circles on your swollen bud, coaxing you closer to the precipice. The tension built within you, coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap.

And just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he plunged two fingers inside you, filling you completely. The sensation sent shockwaves through your body, pleasure spiraling outwards from the depths of your core. Your back arched off the bed involuntarily as he expertly curled his fingers, hitting that sweet spot that had always driven you wild.

The world faded away as pleasure engulfed you, every touch from Spencer a symphony of ecstasy that echoed through your body. The boundaries you had set were shattered in the wake of the pleasure he provided, replaced by an insatiable hunger for more. Your mind became clouded with desire as he continued his relentless assault on your senses, pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion.

Spencer's movements grew more intense, his fingers plunging deeper inside you, as if he was determined to claim every inch of your being. The room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths, mingled with his low growls of satisfaction. The intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure heightened your arousal, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.

As the waves of pleasure crashed over you, each crest stronger than the last, you surrendered completely to the intoxicating abyss. Your body writhed beneath Spencer's touch, aching for release as he skilfully brought you to the precipice of ecstasy.

The tension built within you, coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap. The room filled with your gasps and moans; the air heavy with the scent of desire. Spencer's fingers joined in the dance, tracing maddening circles on your swollen bud, coaxing you closer to the precipice. The intensity grew with every passing moment, until you were teetering on the edge of an explosive climax.

Just as you were about to tip over into blissful release, Spencer withdrew his fingers, leaving you panting, throbbing, and desperate for more. A whimper of frustration escaped your lips as he grinned wickedly above you. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of satisfaction and mischief.

"Patience," he whispered huskily, his voice dripping with promises of pleasure yet to come.

You watched as Spencer slowly shed his clothes, revealing every inch of his sculpted body. Your breath hitched at the sight, desire coursing through your veins like a wildfire. The hunger in his eyes mirrored your own, igniting a primal need that threatened to consume you both.

With a predatory grace, he prowled towards you, his gaze never leaving yours. The weight of his presence filled the room, intoxicating and overwhelming. As he reached the edge of the bed, his hands moved to grip your hips possessively, his touch searing into your skin.

"I want to taste every inch of you," Spencer growled, his voice dripping with raw desire. His words sent shivers down your spine, anticipation coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach.

His lips crashed against yours again, a fierce kiss that left no doubt of his intentions. His tongue tangled with yours in a dance as old as time, exploring and staking claim to every corner of your mouth. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady combination of desire and something deeper, something that spoke of a connection that went beyond the physical.

Spencer's hands roamed your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, as if he were memorizing every inch of you. His touch was possessive, but tender, an embodiment of the conflicting emotions that filled both your hearts.

With a deft motion, Spencer pushed himself up so that he hovered above you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. There was a hunger there, but also a vulnerability - a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, "I want to show you how much I love you." His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and the weight of past mistakes.

In that moment, you saw the truth in his eyes. His words weren't just empty promises, but a genuine declaration of love and desire. The toxic history between you and Spencer had been a tumultuous journey, filled with heartache and pain. But now, in this moment, there was a glimmer of hope, a chance for redemption.

You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to let go of the past and embrace the present. With a surge of courage, you reached up and cupped his face in your hands, pulling him closer to you. The taste of his lips ignited a fire within you, fuelling your hunger for him.

Spencer's hands roamed your body with a renewed passion, his touch setting your skin ablaze. Every caress was filled with purpose, a testament to the depths of his desire for you. You surrendered yourself completely to him, allowing him to explore every inch of your being.

As the world around you faded away, it was just the two of you locked in an intimate dance of love and lust. The room seemed to disappear as you and Spencer became lost in each other. Every touch, every kiss, was a testament to the fire that burned between you.

His hands moved over your body with a reverence that spoke of the love he had for you. With each caress, he worshipped every curve and every inch of your skin. It was as though he wanted to memorize every detail, etching it into his memory forever.

You felt adored under his touch, cherished in a way you had never experienced before. It was intoxicating, the way he made you feel desired, beautiful, and wanted. In his embrace, you found solace and passion intertwining, creating a powerful connection that surpassed mere physicality.

The heat between you grew with each passing moment, igniting a hunger that consumed every fibber of your being. Spencer's lips trailed along your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. His breath was warm against your skin as he whispered words of love and longing, his voice husky with desire. You shivered under his touch, the anticipation building to a fever pitch.

With a fluid motion, Spencer eased himself inside you, filling you completely. The connection between you was electric, a fusion of bodies and souls coming together in a moment of exquisite pleasure. His movements were deliberate and measured, each thrust taking you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Your hands clung to his back, nails digging into his skin as waves of pleasure coursed through your body. Every stroke, every collision of flesh against flesh sent shockwaves of delight rippling through your veins. The symphony of your moans and sighs mingled with his own grunts of pleasure, creating a harmony that echoed through the room.

The rhythm between you intensified, your bodies moving in perfect synchrony. You lost yourself in the dance, surrendering to the primal urge that consumed you both. The world around you ceased to exist as pleasure became your only reality.

Spencer's thrusts grew faster and more urgent, each one driving you closer to the edge of rapture. The room echoed with the sounds of your bodies colliding, a symphony of raw desire and ecstasy. The air crackled with tension as you both chased that elusive release, the anticipation building to a crescendo.

Your senses were heightened, every touch from Spencer igniting fireworks within you. His hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his devotion. You could feel the intensity in his movements, his need to bring you to the pinnacle of pleasure.

As his lips claimed yours once more, you felt that familiar coil of desire tighten within you. It was as if the whole universe had condensed into this moment, this connection between two souls hungry for each other. Spencer's name escaped your lips like a prayer, mingling with gasps and moans.

With each thrust, you soared higher, teetering on the edge of an explosive release. The intensity of Spencer's touch, combined with the overwhelming love and longing between you, sent your body into a frenzy of pleasure. The world around you blurred into a haze as your senses heightened, every nerve ending electrified.

Spencer's movements became more desperate, his thrusts reaching a fevered pace. He was so close, as were you. With each collision of your bodies, it felt like an eruption of pure bliss was just within reach.

Your eyes locked, the connection between you unbreakable. There was an unspoken understanding in that moment, a shared desire to push each other past the limits of ecstasy. You wanted to give him everything, to show him how much you loved him.

As if sensing your thoughts, Spencer's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh. His breath mingled with yours in ragged gasps as he whispered words of love and devotion against your skin.

Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the symphony of your moans and the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. The tension that had built between you was unraveled in that moment, as you both gave yourselves completely to the pleasure that surged through your bodies.

Time seemed to stand still as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. You clung to each other, lost in the intense pleasure that consumed every inch of your being. The room filled with the sounds of your cries and moans, a symphony of passion and desire.

As your climax approached, you felt a surge of warmth intertwine with the pleasure coursing through you. It wasn't just physical release anymore; it was something deeper, something that transcended the boundaries of mere pleasure. It was a connection forged in love and vulnerability, a sacred bond between two souls.

In that final moment, bliss washed over you like a tidal wave. Your bodies trembled and convulsed together, locked in an embrace that defied explanation. It was an explosion of sensation and emotion that left you breathless and sated. The world seemed to fade away as you clung to each other, riding out the aftershocks of pleasure.

As your breathing slowed and your heart rates steadied, you remained tangled in each other's arms, basking in the aftermath of your passion. This moment, this connection, felt so different from anything you had experienced before. It was more than just the physical act; it was an affirmation of your love for one another.

Spencer pressed gentle kisses against your forehead, his touch filled with tenderness and adoration. You could feel his chest rise and fall against yours, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in perfect harmony with your own. The room was filled with a blissful silence, a peaceful sanctuary created by your union.

In the tranquil aftermath, you and Spencer lay entwined, bodies still humming with the echoes of pleasure. Your fingers traced lazy patterns along his bare chest, revelling in the warmth that radiated between you. The weight of his arm draped across your waist provided a comforting reassurance, grounding you in the reality of your newfound connection.

As the room filled with hushed whispers and soft sighs, you marvelled at the journey that had led you both to this moment. The toxic history that had once plagued your relationship now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the raw love and desire that now bound you together.

Spencer shifted slightly, his lips brushing against your temple in a tender kiss. His breath danced against your skin as he whispered words of affection, promising to cherish and protect what you had created. With each gentle word, he washed away any lingering doubts or fears, replacing them with a deep sense of security and belonging.

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kunasthiast · 15 days

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My God (2)

If last night's events are already stressful as it is, today's much worse than ever. With a visit to your father's office, what could go wrong?

Oh yeah, everything!

a/n: okaaaaay, so i'm halfway Chapter 3 as of posting this one >.<

I reaaally appreciate all your notes, reblogs, & comments for the taglist – it makes my heart flutter so much & it gets me so excited to finish this story already T^T

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + angst, Yakuza AU, Enemies to Lovers Word Count: 2,877 All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

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Taglist: @cr1sta11y @idk-bro-gay @tojis-ball-sack @thepurpleempath @fangirl-332 @jijijihanji @thedondiva45

As the first light of dawn crept into your room, a small gap in the blackout curtains that you forgot to fully close last night betrayed your efforts to keep the morning at bay. Yep, definitely starting the day this bad, how else will the rest of the day be like?

“Fuck,” you exclaimed so early in the morning. Or so you thought. Grabbing your phone from your nightstand, you tapped the screen to peek the time.

9:54 AM.

With a groan, you closed and threw your phone somewhere in your room and laid down on your stomach. Face clearly being suffocated by your pillows. This life sucks.

“Why does it have to feel this way?” You said with a groan.

Flipping around, and lying on your back, you stared blankly at the ceiling. Absolutely feeling so devoid of everything in life. Your eyes are as empty as the void. It’s like everything was sucked out of you.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you walked over to the window and yanked the curtains shut, shutting out the intrusive light. The darkness offered a slight comfort from the harsh reality of the day ahead, but you knew you couldn't hide forever.

With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself to your feet and began getting ready for the day. Each movement felt like a chore, every action weighed down by the burden of disappointment and betrayal. I hate everyone already.

As you made your way downstairs, the familiar sights and sounds of your family's mansion served as a stark reminder of the life you were born into. Despite the opulence that surrounded you, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at your insides.

Walking to your father's office, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited. The door loomed ominously before you, a silent barrier between you and the truth that lay beyond.

With a heavy sigh, you told yourself, “Here goes nothing.”

Summoning all your courage, you pushed open the door and stepped inside, steeling yourself for whatever may come. Little did you know, the events of the day were about to take a turn you never saw coming.

—

“Okay, first of all? What the fuck!” You erupted, your voice dripping with anger and disbelief as you confronted your father.

His face tightened in disappointment at your choice of words, “Language, dear,” he chided, his tone laced with irritation.

Yeah, never mind all the fucking respect he deserves. Scoffing at him, you paid his scolding no mind, too consumed by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

“Might I remind you,” pacing back and forth, you continued with your voice trembling with pent-up rage, “that you promised me a lot. A fucking LOT of times! That I’m the next head, only to have you pass it over to Sukuna – who by the way isn’t even a part of our family. I’m your family, your flesh and blood, damn it! I’m not even processing this properly yet and now you’re telling me that you already got me on a fucking arranged marriage to someone from the Gojo family? Oh, fuck off, father!”

Your father remained unmoved, his expression unreadable as he calmly countered your tirade. “Honey, it’s just the way it is. Take it or leave it. And, for once, try to act like a respectable daughter,” he retorted, his words like a slap in the face, dismissing your turmoil cold-heartedly.

His indifference fueled your frustration further, and you fought to contain the seething anger threatening to boil over. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered, the weight of betrayal heavy in your chest with your fidgeting fingers.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, your father returned his attention to his book that you unfortunately cut him off from reading earlier, effectively ending the conversation. “I’m busy. Come back when you’re done with your tantrum. Now, leave.”

“I’m not gonna do as you say this time. I’m not gonna marry anyone from that fucking family,” you confidently declared with the fire still burning within you. “I’m not gonna be your fucking pawn, father. I’m leaving this family. So, deal with it.”

Fuming with indignation, you stormed out his office. And, let’s not forget, you slammed the door hard when you left.

This is not the day I’ve envisioned to have today.

—

Back in your room, the weight of the recent events bore down on you like a heavy burden, pressing against your chest with a suffocating intensity.

Yet, there are no tears threatening to fall down anytime soon, just the palpable heartache and silent screams echoing through the depths of your soul. Please, I’m too strong for this.

As a way to make yourself calmer, that can help you gather your thoughts, you decided to go to your restaurant. Yes, the restaurant your father gifted on your 18th birthday. It’s apparently his gift symbolizing his support for your aspirations outside the family’s legacy.

A bitter scoff escaped your lips, “Well, fuck legacy.” Words heavy with anger. As you made your way out your room towards the mansion’s carport, you know in yourself that you got to leave this place. “Yeah, I won’t go back home here,” you mutter to yourself as you approach your car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you revved the engine, the purr of the powerful machine echoing throughout the carport. But, as you were getting ready to live, your thoughts inevitably turned to the arranged marriage your father and the Gojo family had arranged.

Just the mere mention of this family sent shivers down your spine. Yeah, I fucking hate that family. They’ve been your family’s rival from the start. Always the territorial disputes, the dirty, underhanded tactics, and the arrogance that runs throughout every family member.

And, then there was Satoru – the one your father chose as your groom. Well, he has no choice, Satoru’s the only heir of his family, definitely of flesh and blood.

To call him attractive would be an understatement – Satoru has that magnetic, alluring charm that was impossible to ignore. Heck, he’s beautiful. With those azure eyes, fluffy white hair, and velvety voice, he’s every woman’s dream – except you. You’re not even sure why you think his hair’s fluffy!

But, all beautiful things have ugly sides. And his was a huge ass dent to his looks. He’s a fucking asshole. Clenching your jaw, you tore yourself away from your thoughts and the carport, steering yourself towards the way to your restaurant.

The drive to the restaurant made you forget everything for a moment. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. As you pulled into the parking lot, the sight of your restaurant filled you with a sense of calmness.

Stepping out into the cool embrace of the wind, you savored this feeling that offers a temporary calmness within the raging storm inside you.

“I’m so glad to be back,” you murmured to yourself.

Pushing open the door to the restaurant, you were greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling kitchen, the savory aroma of spices and herbs filling the air. Your staff, surprised by your unannounced visit, immediately greeted you with a mixture of surprise and fear. You rarely visit. Rarely.

You may own this business, but, you couldn’t really care less about the business side of these things as you’re too busy learning everything your father taught you with. And, this one’s not a part of it. Or, so you think!

He just gave this one to you when he learned you love to cook – which definitely by the way is a short occurrence in your life. You were bored, you learned how to cook, you made everything you’ve been craving for, and now you were bored, again.

But, you can’t deny the calmness that cooking brings you. It takes you out of your thoughts and just focus on prepping and cooking everything up.

Uraume, your most trusted confidante and your restaurant’s head chef, immediately approached you with a knowing look.“You’re only here when you’re stressed,” they remarked, their tone a mixture of sympathy and understanding.

You chuckled wryly as you made your way towards your office. “Yeah and today is no exception,” you replied, the weight of the previous events pressing heavily upon you. “I’ll whip something up in the kitchen. You know what to do.”

As you entered your office, you felt the sense of zen and calm wash over you. With each passing moment of taking in the familiar surrounding, the tension began to ebb away. You slipped into your chef’s jacket, your mind already buzzing with ideas for today’s creations.

Glancing at the clock, you noted the time – 11:21 AM. Perfect timing. Your restaurant is supposed to open in a few minutes, but you instituted a rule long ago: when you were here, no one is allowed to enter the kitchen, and the restaurant will be closed to the public.

A tub of orange chicken sounds nice.

—

Sukuna's luxurious penthouse was filled with the soothing sound of water coming from the shower as he emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. With a flick of his hand, he silenced the insistent ringing of his phone, its screen lighting up with a call from Uraume, his most trusted confidante.

Walking across the marble floor towards his bedroom, his thoughts drifted to you, your demeanor from last night.

He knows you’ve been expecting to become the next head. He knows how frustrated you are feeling after the announcement has been made. He just knows. And, it amuses him to see your reaction, the way you wore your emotions so openly. He’s keen on observing you.

“Cute,” he mused to himself with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Dressing himself in a black slack with an unnecessary tight black folded sleeves, definitely outlining his sexy physique, topped with a suspender, Sukuna admired his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, more like it. His demeanor exuding with such confidence, power, and authority.

Adjusting his reading glasses, his mind buzzed with what’s to come for the day – negotiate with the Naoya from the Zenin family regarding the territorial disputes, dealing with the underground firearm deliveries he missed last night – all in a day’s work for a man of his calibre.

Yet, amidst the chaos of his busy schedule, thoughts of you lingered, an unexpected distraction in his otherwise meticulously organized life.

Shaking this off, Sukuna stepped out onto the expansive balcony overlooking the city skyline. Before he could go on with his day, there was one matter that demanded his attention. Gotta see princess first.

As he reached for his car keys, Sukuna’s thoughts went back to you, a nagging reminder he couldn’t quite shake. How the fuck are you doing now. And, he can’t believe he’s this worried about you.

Brushing aside the thought for the nth time, Sukuna exited the penthouse with a confident stride, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As he was walking towards the elevator, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Glancing at the screen, a smirk tugged at his lips as he read the words: “She’s here.”

“Talk about coincidence,” he chuckled to himself.

Yeah, he can’t wait to meet you.

—

Sukuna stepped out of his sleek black car, the sharp click of his shoes against the pavement. He approached the entrance of the restaurant – which has a sign that says ‘closed’ – and his gaze fixed with a single purpose: to see you.

Pushing open the door that Uraume left unlocked for him, he stepped into the warmth of the restaurant, the savory aroma of the spices and herbs enveloped the cool air. The whole place is completely deserted with only Uraume sitting at one table.

“Where is she,” Sukuna commanded as Uraume pointed towards the kitchen as their answer.

Sukuna’s eyes swept across the room, his gaze setting on the bustling kitchen where you were too focused on. There was a flicker of intrigue in his eyes as he watched you move, completely absorbed in your culinary hobby. You once told him that it was just a hobby and it sticked to him.

As he approached to observe you, the noise of the kitchen seemed to dim. Sukuna’s presence filled the space around you. Sensing him, a prickling sensation at the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine. Can’t this day get any better?

Turning, you met his gaze head-on, your expression guarded. Yeah, still attractive. You roamed your eyes on his whole physique, with a quick glance at his folded arms that showed his defined biceps. Okay, wrong move because the fluttering pterodactyls in your stomach are back.This made you sigh and cut your gaze off him.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice tinged with a hint of irritation and skepticism. Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your boldness, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“I came to see you, princess,” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with charm. You swear even without looking at him, you can see his smug smile that you want to wipe off his face and kiss – okay, what the fuck was that?

You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious tone and breathed heavily to clear up your thoughts, choosing to focus on your cooking instead. Sukuna’s presence is a distraction you didn’t need, especially not today. To top it off, you’re not ready for another confrontation.

“I don’t have time for your games, Sukuna,” you retorted, your voice firm. “If you’re here to eat, then see yourself out.”

Sukuna chuckled at this with his hands unfolding to raise it to a low surrender pose, “I don’t have games for you, princess. You know that. Just came here to check in on you.”

“How did you even know I’m here?”

“Uraume.” Oh, yeah. Even though Uraume’s your trusted confidante, they also are Sukuna’s trusted confidante. It just works like that.

Sukuna’s response only fueled your frustration further. The pterodactyls in your stomach long gone. Of course, Uraume would rather reveal your whereabouts to him that tell you how they even got close with Sukuna. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance at that.

"I assure you, princess, I mean no harm," he reassured, his voice smooth as silk. "I simply wanted to see how you're holding up after last night.” Yeah, he’s here to gloat.

Last night. The mere mention of it sent a wave of emotions crashing over you – anger, betrayal, frustration. You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your composure in front of him.

“I’m fine. You can have the fucking title as the head of the family all you want. I’m out of this family,” you replied curtly. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism, as he leaned casually against the wall near the door.

“Why leave?” He challenged, his voice dripping with casual disdain. “You’re just proving to your father that you’re not deserving to be a head. Too weak for this shit, princess?”

“Oh, fuck off, ’Kuna. You don’t know anything,” you shot back, your tone sharp with annoyance.

Sukuna’s facade of nonchalance faltered for a moment, replaced by a feigned hurt expression. “It hurts my pride that you don’t acknowledge me that much, princess,” he said, his words clearly laced with mock sincerity.

“I can see it in your face,” he continued, his tone shifting to one of quiet intensity. “You don’t think I deserve to be the head.”

“Because you really don’t,” you retorted, your words cutting through the tension like a knife. “You’re not even blood-related to father, to us. Just a stranger who climbed up the ranks.” Yeah, you’re quite harsh on this one.

Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your brutal honesty. “Yet, a stranger better than the supposed one-and-only heir,” he quipped, his amusement evident.

Fed up with the conversation, you flipped him off.

Sukuna chuckled, his laughter filling the space between you that made your eyes roll – you swear, you almost blacked out from that eye roll.

“Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I’m just a phone call away, princess. You know and I know that I’m on your speed dial,” he said with a wink and a smug smirk yet his tone is surprisingly genuine and a bit flirtatious.

But before he could make his exit, you called out to him, the desperation evident in your voice. “Wait.”

Oh, fuck his captivating eyes. Fuck his infuriatingly sexy smirk. Fuck the way his muscles strained against his tight shirt. Fuck those damn eyeglasses that he doesn’t even have to wear because he has a clear vision! Fuck everything, it’s all too much. I just need a way out so fuck my plan, too.

Sukuna paused, turning back to fix his gaze on you with a newfound intense curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Missed me already, princess?” His lips curled into a smug grin as he spoke, a hint of amusement lacing his words.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gathered the courage to blurt out the unexpected request.

“Marry me, ‘Kuna.”

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #yakuza!au sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk #sukuna x you #au sukuna #my god #jjk x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #yakuza au #jujutsu kaisen

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anxious-witch · 4 months

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Okay, okay, fine I am doing analysis of Damon Baker's photoshoots 😂

That said, since a lot of people already analyzed Kris' and since Bojan's has less picture, I am gonna start with his. Also obviously, this is totally subjective, I am not claiming this is one true or absolutely correct analysis, just my thoughts on it.

Under the cut bc this will deff get long

So I cropped the pictures so I can analyze them separately

To start off with these two, because I think they were put like this bery purposefully. On the left, we have Bojan with his arms crossed, his expression is, the reminiscent of "The Fallen Angel" by Alexandre Cabanel (I apologize, someone else already did a comparison but I can't find it rn, feel free to tell me in the replies and I'll tag you). Bojan looks almost angry, his crossed over arms showing he is closed off and the spikes on his biceps emphasizes that. It literally feels like a warning sign. His eyes are downcast, as if he is looking down on something or someone. He is something to look at, but not touch, if you don't want to get hurt.

Then we have a smaller pictures right next to his one, that's almost exact opposite. It feels like we caught him in a momen where he was not meant to be seen. His face look tortured, like he just cried or is about to cry. His hair is messy in a way that doesn't feel like it was on purpose, but rather as if he messed it up during his inner turmoil. There is also a cigarette, which implies he is taking it to calm himself. His eyes are pointed upwards, as if he is seeking guidance from someone above him.

I feel like, for me, from storytelling perspective, these two pictures put together like this hint at Bojan's struggle with anxiety.

He is trying to appear tough and untouchable, the way he feels he has to be, but he is struggling internally. This is overall theme of the shoot, I think.

Next we have this shot of his outfit. My first thought when I saw this was "this looks oddly rugged for Bojan". And I do stand by it. The shirt is half undone, half tucked into his pants, but half outside in the back. Like he got dressed in a hurry. Like he doesn't care or perhaps doesn't have the energy to care about how he is appearing. And then, tbe belt buckle with a broken heart. I think, that's the core element in this particular picture. Especially in comparison to Kris' heart necklace. Despite the rugged clothes, there is something fragile underneath all that. His heart.

Then we have this one. And it's such a stark contrast than the previous three, I was genuinely shook. In this one, Bojan is openly vulnerable towards the camera, towards the viewer. Not looking up or down, but directly to the camera. Also the detail that @theraggedygirl11 pointed out about him wearing Damon's "safe sweater" broke me. It's almost as if he is saying, "look, this is how I am when I am allowed to be safe. This is how I am when I am not suffering".

What a contrast to the above outfit! The open shirt only poised as fake vulnerability, when a truly vulnerable Bojan isn't showing off his skin at all here, but rather his face. His emotions, all on display.

Another thing that strikes me as amazing in this particular picture (can you tell this one is my favorite?) is that his pose looks comfortable and his hair falls gently to the side, freely showing off his gray hairs, that are especially visible in black and white.

Then at last, we come to these three, all in color. Unlike Kris, who had water, Bojan has fire as his "element" in this photoshoot. Fire is passion, light, warmth. It entices you, and it's much more noticable at first. But it can also burn you. There is also a reason why we say we "burn out" as well. Bojan holding a literally lit match in his mouth is such an amazing imagery.

We all know that magic trick of a man extinguishing a match in his mouth, for the entertainment of all. Putting himself in a very vulnerable position. Lips, mouth and tongue are so soft, especially compared to fire that burns. And is that not in a way, exactly what Bojan does? He pours out his heart while he sings, leaving it to the crowd to decide if they are entertained with his preformance. And surez ither do it too, but I think we can agree he is the most on display.

The way he is looking at the camera first, as if waiting for a reaction, and then as the fire gets closer, his eyes close too, as if he is too scared to look.

Just....augh, I love the way Damon Baker showcased his personality through these and how he expressed so much through just a few pictures. Also, please feel free to add your own thoughts, I love hear other ppl's opinions on things like these

#rio rambles #joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #damon baker #rio's analysis

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its-avalon-08 · 1 month

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hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) p9

chapter 9: don't let your guard down

warnings - none at all

series masterlist

As the warmth of the coffee spread through them, so did the conversation. They delved back into their childhood, sharing forgotten memories with easy laughter. Lewis spoke of his surprise and (secretly) delight when Y/N began showing up at his and Nico's racing practice sessions, her bright personality a welcome change to their competitive intensity.

Y/N, in turn, confessed her childhood crush on him, a secret she'd harbored for years. "I used to sneak peeks at you during races," she admitted with a blush, "just waiting around with cold bottles of water and hoping you'd notice me cheering you on from the stands."

Lewis chuckled, a genuine smile warming his features. "Believe me, I noticed." He felt a warm feeling bloom in his chest

The conversation grew more serious as they touched upon the rift between Lewis and Nico. Y/N listened intently as Lewis spoke of the crushing pressure to win, the constant need to prove himself. "It's frightening. I turned into a totally different person and I wasn't able to recognize myself after everything with-with.. Nico," Lewis's voice broke towards the end truly giving away how hurt he was. He admitted his fear of commitment, not just on the track but in his personal life.

"Dating is… complicated," Lewis confessed, running a hand through his hair. "There's never enough time, and the fear of failing… it spills over into everything. I am not able to enjoy the simple things like movie nights because I'm always checking my phone to see if Toto sent me something. I forget anniversaries because I'm occupied with all the other overwhelming things."

Y/N nodded in understanding. "I totally get it," she said softly. "I had a serious relationship a few years ago with this guy called Aaron. We were together for a year but it crashed and burned because of his.. inability to stay away from his ex's bed. We just weren't right for each other. I wanted my career and he wanted someone who stayed at home and didn't travel as much. I just could never be that person for him."

A shadow crossed Lewis's face. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's okay," Y/N forced a smile. "I learned a lot from it, mostly that I deserve someone who can be honest and true."

Suddenly, a playful glint returned to her eyes. "Speaking of which, I'm actually seeing someone casually right now. It keeps the pressure off from being permanently held to someone and just allows me to have a fun time. Just to keep things interesting, you know?"

Lewis's smile faltered, a flicker of something akin to jealousy crossing his features. He quickly masked it, but Y/N caught the shift in his demeanor.

"Oh," he said, his voice a touch colder. "That's… nice. yeah, that's good."

The conversation stalled, a heavy silence settling between them. Y/N's phone buzzed insistently in her pocket. Glancing at the screen, she saw it was her brother calling. Her face paled considering she had just spent over an hour talking to Nico's rival.

"Well," she said, standing up. "This has been… nice. Unexpected, but nice. I should probably get going."

Lewis rose as well, a strange mixture of emotions swirling within him. "Yeah, of course. See you around, Y/N."

"Yeah," she echoed, feeling the awkwardness return. "Bye, Lew- Lewis." She corrected herself from muttering his nickname. Lewis noticed and he felt his heart freeze.

With a mumbled goodbye, Y/N exited the apartment, leaving Lewis alone with the lingering scent of her vanilla perfume and a tangled web of emotions. He watched her disappear down the hallway, a strange ache settling in his chest. He hadn't expected her to be seeing someone, and the realization stung more than he cared to admit.

Lewis sank back into the chair, the worn leather a stark reminder of a simpler time. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to rebuild the bridges that had been burned. But first, he had to confront his own fears, both on and off the track. As the afternoon sun streamed through the window, Lewis knew his journey to redemption had just begun.

credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs

taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 , @xoscar03 , @torossosebs , @jajouska , @lindsayjoy444 , @barcelonaloverf1life , @charli123456789

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

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urmomlikeslinotoo · 1 year

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Why Not Me— Percy Jackson

Genre: angst :DD, lovers to exes

Pairing: Percy Jackson x gn!reader

Warnings: insecurities, fighting, percy falling out of love and kinda being a shit bf??

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s note: i was just listening to washing machine heart by mitski and this came to mind so… heh :DD

You hugged yourself tightly as you breathed out heavily. The bonfire seemed cold tonight, flickering cobalt. The campers all turned to look at you one by one, concerned frowns gracing their faces as they wondered how upset could you be that your side of the fire was completely dark, almost merging in with the darkness looming over and around.

“Babe, you okay?”

Your eyes lit up at his voice, and you looked away from the flames to the boy. Your excitement extinguished when he looked at you with impatient and flitting emeralds. You cowered into yourself again and tried to think of a response, but ended up going with a small smile and nod.

He didn’t even check twice. He turned his body around completely to laugh at some story she was telling. You watched his eyes crinkle into crescents, lines folding over the other. The slight blush heating the apples of his cheeks as she laid a hand on his. She didn’t mean anything by it, it was only an innocent touch. But you knew he thought of so much from that one spark.

That one spark would soon receive more sparks and would one day turn into a raging fire. Meanwhile, your fire was already weakening as he stopped sparking it. It would die little by little, until there would be less of a sad thing to call a spark even. You knew it all, you knew it better than even he did, still you couldn’t bring yourself to put out the fire in you, still raging higher than ever. Rather, you allowed yourself to get suffocated by the smoke that choked you and intoxicated your lungs.

What would he say if you asked him about what you wanted to be when you’d grow up? Would he even remember? Maybe he’d say architecture, because that’s what she likes. What if he’d confuse you with her? He’d call you her, he’d remember her likes and dislikes, he’d remember her parents, her dad, her siblings, her friends, her enemies, her childhood, her future, her. He’d see her in you. Or worse, he wouldn’t even see you. Only her.

Who did he imagine was in his arms when he held you, safe and strong but still so fragile and lonely? Did he imagine her blonde hair strewn across his pillow, and his hand caressing her shoulder? Did he smell her scent in your neck, her lips kissing into his stark black hair? Did he even hear anything you said, or was he busy thinking about how the next day he could ignore you again and meet her and laugh with her and like her and wish she was you?

Was that it? Were you her now? Was that all he saw in you now? Because you could swear there was once a long time ago when he’d walk into the fiercest of fires for you, take the sharpest blade for you, crumble under the heaviest weight for you, die the most painful death for you, live the most depressing life for you… would he even remember any of those promises he had once made to you? Or was he already promising them to her?

What did you even fight for anymore? What was all the yelling and screaming and crying and accusing all for even? He’d call you untrustworthy and slam your door on the way out sometimes, then other days he’d yell about how controlling and selfish you were and then disappear for a few days to kiss up to you again. Was it all really worth it? To feel your heart slam repeatedly against your ribcage and crumble and crack until it would finally shatter and fall lower and lower until it couldn’t heal to perfection again?

Did it really matter that much? Him and you? Was it really you both against the world? Or was it really him and her alongside the world against you?

The crystal droplets slowly slid down your cheeks, an expression so devoid of emotion it was heart breaking, but he could not notice in his anger. It was the first time he’d done something physically dangerous. The closest thing was a glass bottle of seashells, and he’d hurled it at the wall in his rage. His shoulders heaved, harsh breaths escaping him as he tried to rein in his anger.

“So you’re accusing me of cheating this time?” When was his voice so cold and upset? When did it change from loving and carefree to tense and disappointing?

I’m not wearing my usual lipstick, I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

“No… but I’m saying that you’re too much about Annabeth nowadays. Do you even know that I hurt my ankle three days ago? Or that Travis had to drag me out of the lake because my canoe tipped over and I was still sore? Or that I got a new sword? Do you even know me anymore?”

You watched as he didn’t even regard your words, trying to think of ways to defend his sorry ass. You knew better. He was making up excuses. What a solid confirmation.

You got up, legs feeling shaky and weak but still, you did your best to act strong so you could quickly get this done and out of the way.

Baby, will you kiss me already and toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart, baby bang it up inside

“Listen… we’ve been dating for over two years, Perce. I know you better than anyone else. I know when you’re happy, or sad, or tired, or frustrated. So I know when you’re lying. Don’t try to hide it, I know you love Annabeth. I’ll accept it, and I’ll leave you so you can pursue her without the baggage of already being occupied by another person you don’t even feel anything for”

Finally, something other than rage cracked through his beautiful irises that told you wondrous stories and fascinating tales. They were oceans of depth themselves, warm and inviting. Enveloping you into its waves of serenity. Now they seemed treacherous, murderous, almost as if they wanted to drag you into their lowest and drown you , strangle you so that you couldn’t even remember what made them so enticing.

It was shock. Maybe relief somewhere behind but it made a smile break out onto your chapped lips, feeling the skin crinkle.

“Yeah… I’m breaking up with you, Percy. I think we both saw it coming for a long time now. I mean, the amount of days we fought over the days we loved were ridiculous. I want you to be free of that, Percy”

Baby, though I’ve closed my eyes, I know who you pretend I am, I know who you pretend I am

He took one step towards you, hand holding his bed frame so he wouldn’t trip. His jaw slackened as he tried to formulate words to spit out, but they died in his throat as soon as something came to him. The sight ignited the spark again, but you immediately pressed it out before something else happened to add more fuel to it.

“I hope you and Annabeth have a great life together. Unfortunately, I don’t think we can be friends any longer. I will regard you as my ally and battle companion, so I hope to see you on the field someday”

“N-No, babe-“

“Goodbye, Percy Jackson”

Maybe fire and water aren’t so different after all.

Do mi ti, why not me, why not me?

#maria’s art!#percy jackson #perseus jackson #pjo #hoo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #angst #greek mythology #pjo angst #percy jackson angst #x reader #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympian gods #annabeth chase

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weirdkpopgirl · 7 months

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Dark Hours | Mark Imagine #3

Title: Dark Hours

Genre: Angst

Warnings: mentions of past self-harm, reader has a breakdown (yay)

Word Count: 594

Author's Note: Am I crazy for writing this at midnight and posting it an hour and a half later? Yeah, especially when I have a million other things to do. This was an idea that I just really wanted to get out, and I thought it was also a good opportunity to post something for Mark. I truly hope this story comforts anyone who is going through a hard time ^ ^

P.S. I am currently working on a few fics for different 7Dream members. In the meantime, I will try my best to post small things like this when I can!

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Mark quietly entered the mostly dark bedroom, where the only light came from the distant city lights filtering through the window shades. As he switched on his lamp, he was surprised to discover that you were still awake at this hour. You lay on your side of the bed, just as you always did. But your gaze seemed distant as it fixated on the ceiling above. In Mark's eyes, you looked so beautiful, yet so burdened by the invisible chains of your mind. He longed to free you from their grasp. But he knew it wasn’t that easy.

Without a word, he slipped beneath the deep blue covers and gently tugged you closer into his embrace. The warmth emanating from his body provided a stark contrast to the chill of your skin. Mark hoped to share his warmth physically. But he also wanted to share it emotionally.

Neither of you said anything and lay beside each other in silence. Then you felt the touch of Mark’s fingers tenderly tracing the faded pink and white scars on your thigh. Despite your legs being concealed beneath the comforter, he managed to find the textured lines etched across your bare skin.

Another two minutes of silence passed before Mark sensed your body beginning to tremble. It was then that he locked eyes with you, and they were brimming with tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worried he had done something wrong.

You cringed internally as your voice quivered when you whispered, “I’m sorry for hiding this from you for so long.”

“(Y/n)...” His lips parted, but for once he was at a loss for words.

The fact that he had only learned about this secret of yours earlier this week—after being together almost a year, weighed heavily in his thoughts. To only imagine that you had been suffering for so long, without anyone to guide you was deeply troubling to him. He wished so badly that he could’ve been with you during those dark hours.

Attempting to blink away the tears, you paused before confessing, “I just... I was afraid you'd look at me differently if you knew.”

Mark’s heart broke when he heard you say this. He moved his hand to gently cup the side of your face, guiding your eyes to meet his.

“Hey, those scars don't change how I feel about you, okay?” he reassured, his words resonating with sincerity. “I love you, (Y/n), every part of you.”

Unable to suppress your emotions any longer, you sobbed into his shoulder, your tears likely staining his shirt. Mark didn't hesitate to draw you closer and gently stroke your hair as you wept.

“You’re not alone anymore, (Y/n),” he whispered, “I’ll help you heal, and we’ll get through your darkest hours together.”

Eventually, your tears slowed and your body gradually stopped shaking. Mark used his thumb to gently wipe your cheek. You’ve never felt more grateful to have someone by your side.

With his thumb, he wiped away any lingering tears, and in response, you released a heavy sigh. “I love you so much,” you whispered. You could say those words over and over again.

Mark smiled a little before leaning in for a deep, slow kiss. “I love you more than words can express.”

The two of you instinctively snuggled closer, closing any remaining distance between the two of you. In the warmth of that moment, you both found solace in each other's arms, knowing that your love would conquer any darkness that life might throw your way.

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#nct dream #nctzen #czennie #nct dream imagines #mark #mark x reader #nct dream x reader #mark imagines #nct dream angst #nct dream scenarios #mark scenarios #mark lee #kpop angst #kpop #kpop imagines

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aurumacadicus · 11 months

Text

Yes TikTok is rotting my brain again. For background purposes, Steve is Peter’s biological father, he came out of the ice way earlier and SHIELD couldn’t catch him after he ran off so he was Nomad for like... twenty years. And during those years he does fuck around. Lo and behold, Mary Parker is one of his one night stands. He only learns about it once he goes back to SHIELD and finds out that they eventually caught up with him but decided it was best to just observe rather than try to bring him in when he didn’t want to be. He decides it’s safer for Peter to stay with his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. Only when Ben dies does he reluctantly step in. Luckily, Peter is very forgiving and loves his dad even though they both know he’d much rather have his Uncle Ben still around.

Also Steve thinks pranks are funny as long as they’re the “confuse, don’t abuse” type. He thinks the abusive pranks of today are absolutely heinous.

“Mr. Stark, you know what would be so funny?” Peter asked, sitting at the kitchen counter.

“Tony,” Tony said, then sighed, setting his coffee cup down and tipping his head back. “I’m scared. This sounds like a trick.”

Peter began kicking his feet back and forth. “It’s nothing to be scared of. Just a TikTok prank.”

Tony sighed again and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “You know how your dad feels about TikTok. And pranks. And TikTok pranks.”

“It’s not anything bad,” Peter rushed to assure him. “It’s actually really sweet!”

Tony remained skeptical, picking his cup back up and taking a long, slow sip of coffee. Finally, he lowered his mug and asked, “Okay. I suppose I’ll let you tell me what the prank is before I shoot you down.”

“It’s only fair,” Peter agreed, placing his feet on the stool again. “So, basically, it’s to see how dads react when kids are rude to their moms.”

Tony blinked at him slowly, then carefully said, “If you think I’m going to let you sass Aunt May--”

“No!” Peter yelped, horrified. “Do you think I’m crazy? Steve wouldn’t have to do anything because Aunt May will kill me!”

Tony blinked again. “...Then I’m not entirely sure where this is going.”

Peter beamed at him, horror forgotten now that he knew that he and Tony were on the same page about sassing May. “I was thinking I could sass you!”

“Peter,” Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“No, you see, it’s perfect! Low stakes,” Peter explained, enthused. “You and Steve are basically married--”

“What,” Tony said.

Peter plowed over him. “And as soon as you realized I was a package deal with Steve, you really stepped up to make me feel welcome without spoiling me, too. Or, well,” he added, squinting. “You do spoil me, but not like in a way that makes me feel icky or turned me into an entitled brat.”

“Huh,” Tony tried again.

“Anyway!” Peter continued, ignoring him. “I just think it would be funny to see Steve’s reaction if I gave you attitude and told you to shut up after you asked me to do something. He gets super protective of you at the weirdest times. Besides, it’s been getting a little chummy around here and as a teenage boy I thrive on chaos.”

Tony tilted his head to squint at him skeptically. “I don’t think you have the emotional constitution to tell me to shut up with attitude.”

“It’ll be the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do,” Peter told him solemnly.

“I think this is a terrible idea,” Tony began.

“That’s not a no, I’ll get everything set up,” Peter said quickly, then bolted from the kitchen.

Tony stared after him, mouth still dropped open in shock.

.-.

Tony still thought this was a supremely bad idea, because he knew Steve’s opinions on TikTok pranks (and TikTok. And pranks in general.) and it just felt like he was going to be yelled at for being a co-conspirator. But! Peter had been right. Tony liked to spoil him. And apparently that included being a con-conspirator in a stupid TikTok prank that would probably backfire anyway because while the team joked about him and Steve being Team Mom and Dad (and even then, who was Mom and who was Dad depended on who was most apoplectic).

Tony sat down beside Steve, handing him a can of coke as he settled in with his Stark Pad. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said, cracking it open without looking up from the baseball game. It must have been the Dodgers, Tony figured. Steve was still bitter about them moving to LA, but he was also nostalgic for the old days, so sometimes he’d overlook it.

Peter poked his head into the living room. “I’m headed over to Ned’s to work on our physics project! Bye Steve! Bye Tony!”

Tony sat up a little. “Oh, wait, Peter, did you get your model from the lab?”

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’ll get it later.”

Tony noticed Steve carefully going very, very stiff beside him and chose to ignore it. “I need you to grab it before you leave. I’m doing a project that requires no clutter.”

“Sure, when I get back,” Peter huffed, heading toward the elevator.

“I need you to do it before you leave,” Tony called after him. “Otherwise I won’t be able to start--”

“God, okay, shut up!” Peter sighed loudly.

Tony opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by Steve slamming his soda on the coffee table and surging to his feet with a snarled, “What the fuck did you just say?” He stared up at Steve, mouth continuing to hang open in shock.

Peter turned to face him, apparently just as surprised. “Uh...”

“No, you were real confident saying when you thought it was just Tony answering,” Steve said, taking a step toward him. “Say it again.”

Peter was quiet for a moment, considering, before finally, with bravado only a teenager could have, he said, “Shut up.”

“Okay,” Steve answered, voice shockingly calm, and then took a very deliberate step forward.

“It’s a prank it’s a prank it’s a prank!” Tony yelped, throwing himself off the couch to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and stop him. “Stop Steve it’s a prank you cannot commit murder I will not be cleaning blood out of this carpet again!”

Steve swiveled his blank stare to him. “What do you mean a prank?”

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek, considering whether he wanted to draw Steve’s ire onto himself in the face of his blank expression. “I did object,” he tried weakly.

Peter appeared between them, planting himself in front of Tony protectively. “He did! He’s just a pushover when it comes to me because I’m your kid. So! This is really your fault.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open, but luckily the blank stare turned to an outraged glare. “What did you just say?!”

“Okay let’s go,” Tony said hastily, grabbing Peter’s shoulders and steering him toward the elevator. He heard Steve move and started shoving him instead. “Peter he’s coming hurry up oh my god.”

“I’LL TELL AUNT MAY YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!” Peter shouted defensively over his shoulder.

“I’LL TELL AUNT MAY YOU DESERVED IT!” Steve bellowed back.

Peter swerved around Tony so he could meet Steve face to face. Tony threw his hands up and just left.

#ideas #stony #superfamily #well more like pre-stony but tony is the only one who doesn't know that

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gcthvile · 5 months

Text

A shoulder to lean on

Pairing: Rei Stark x Peter Parker

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: When Rei Stark loses his beloved mother to illness, he shuts down completely - withdrawing from school, friends, and the outside world. Tormented by his grief and loss, Rei walls himself off behind closed doors, shutting even his best friend Peter Parker out of his spiral into despair.

warnings: none

When his mother first fell ill, Rei threw himself into finding a cure. He spent every waking moment in the lab, searching for anything that could help her. But as her condition deteriorated, so did his hope.

The day she slipped away was the day everything went dark. Rei stumbled home in a daze, collapsing at her bedside. He didn't move for hours, even as the medics came to take her away. His world had ended.

In the following days, FRIDAY tried to get him to eat, sleep, see others—to take care of himself. But Rei was non-responsive. He just sat numbed by grief, replying only in monosyllables.

When Peter came by that first week, worried but wanting to comfort his friend, all FRIDAY would say was that Rei wasn't accepting visitors. Peter left dejected, anxiety growing by the day with no word from Rei.

The weeks dragged on and Rei faded further. He stopped leaving his room, stopped going to classes or returning calls and texts. His father stopped by in between missions, but Rei barely acknowledged him. Numbness was his only escape from the unrelenting pain.

Tony entered Rei's darkened room without knocking, concern etched on his face. "Rei, we need to talk."

Rei didn't look up from where he sat huddled in the corner. "Go away," he muttered.

But Tony stood firm. "I can't do that, kid. It's been over a month and you're not getting any better. You have to start taking care of yourself."

"What's the point?" said Rei flatly. "Nothing matters anymore."

Tony's voice rose in frustration. "Of course it matters! Your life matters, your future - do you think your mother would want to see you wasting away like this?"

Rei flinched at the mention of his mother but still didn't look up. "Don't pretend you understand. You never loved anyone like I loved her."

"Maybe not," snapped Tony. "But I'm your father and it's killing me to see you doing this to yourself! If you don't start eating, sleeping, acting like a human again, I'll have no choice but to commit you for treatment."

That got Rei's attention. His head shot up, eyes blazing with anger through his grief. "You can't do that!"

"I can and I will if it saves your life!" countered Tony. "You're not the only one who lost her, Rei. Please, just let me help you." His voice cracked with emotion.

Rei hesitated, some of the fight draining from him at the raw concern in his father's eyes. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay. I'll...I'll try. For you." Tony sagged in relief. "Thank you. It's a start." Rei knew he had to pull himself back to functioning, even just for appearances. But internally, he still felt hollow. Going through the motions of school brought him no relief or joy.

Seeing Peter's familiar face in the crowd was almost too much. Guilt weighed on him for worrying his friend for so long with no contact. Yet he never dared to approach.

The walk through the halls to class was agonizing. Rei felt every eye on him as whispers and stares followed in his wake. He hunched into himself, hoping to disappear while also wishing for a reason to lash out.

Inside the classroom was even worse. All the familiar faces looked at him with shared sadness and unasked questions. He could practically hear their thoughts: Was he okay? What happened? How could they help?

But no one dared approach, sensing his fragile state. Good—he wasn't ready for their pity or platitudes yet. Just being there amongst them all felt oppressive, reminding him of the life he had before...before.

Rei took his seat and stared numbly at his desk, tuning out the review lecture he'd already long since learned. His gaze drifted unseeing as vacant memories played on repeat in his head: lazy afternoons in the lab with his mom, her laugh, the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners...

A sting started behind his eyes but he blinked it back furiously. No more tears—he was done with that. From then on it was just...nothing. Blessed numbness to get him through each endless day.

When the bell finally freed him, Rei rushed from the room, wanting only to be alone. To escape back into the dark sanctuary of his mind where he didn't have to feel anything anymore.

In the empty corridor, Peter stood firm, hands on his hips as Rei tried to brush past.

"Oh no you don't," said Peter fiercely. "You're not avoiding this anymore. What's going on with you?"

Rei kept walking. "Nothing. Leave me alone."

Peter grabbed his arm, spinning him around. "That's bullshit and you know it! You disappear for over a month without a word and then show up looking like a corpse? Tell me what's wrong, Rei."

Rei wrenched his arm free. "It's none of your business!"

"The hell it isn't!" cried Peter. "I care about you, you idiot! I've been worried sick!"

"Well don't bother," snapped Rei. "No one can help me, okay? Just stay out of it!"

"Not a chance," growled Peter. "Not until you talk to me. You're my best friend - please, let me in."

His voice cracked with frustration and concern, eyes begging Rei to drop his walls. Rei faltered under that earnest gaze, feeling his resolve crumble, but all he could do was snap at his friend at the moment, "It's my mom, okay?! She died, Peter. She fucking died. And I couldn't save her." Rei's voice broke on the last words as fresh tears rose.

Instantly Peter's anger dissolved into sympathy. "Oh Rei, I'm so sorry." He pulled the other boy into a hug as Rei finally lost the battle and began to sob.

He held Rei tight, letting him grieve. "You don't have to do this alone," he murmured. "I'm here for you, always."

Rei gripped the back of Peter's shirt tightly as he cried, weeks of pent up grief pouring out of him. It felt like he was drowning in sorrow, but Peter's solid presence kept him tethered.

When the sobs finally subsided, Rei pulled back just enough to wipe his damp cheeks. Peter's hands moved to rub comforting circles on his back.

"I'm sorry," Rei mumbled, raw from emotion. "For....For shutting you out or whatever."

Peter chuckled softly and shook his head. "Don't apologize. I get why you did it, but that's over now, okay? No more shutting me out."

Rei nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He felt strangely lighter now that Peter knew his burden. But the memory of his loss was still fresh.

As if sensing his need for distraction, Peter took his hand gently. "Come on, let's go get some fresh air. Think you can handle the rest of the day?"

Rei hesitated, then nodded again. With Peter by his side, maybe facing the world wouldn't be so hard.

They walked in companionable silence, hands clasped tight between them. For the first time in weeks, rays of hope broke through Rei's storm clouds. He wasn't alone—and with Peter's support, maybe he could learn to heal.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!

@jackiequick @mallowbee4 @blueboirick @meiramel @missstrawbs2001 @gaminggirlsstuff

#oc post #oc rp #oc rpg #marvel #marvel roleplay #marvel oc #marvel x oc #rei stark #rei stark x peter parker

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mingoooossii · 3 months

Text

Amnesia

Hongjoong x reader Synopsis: Hongjoong watches his love fall for someone else. Warnings: amnesia, reader gets into an accident,hurt no comfort, angst , reader kinda oblivious.abrupt timeskips and rushed ending cuz I suck at structuring. A/n: brain stuff is not accurate obviously. Don't take it seriously.

"I should probably get going." You said, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

They'd spent the day sprawled on his dorm room floor, a whirlwind of laughter, shared kisses and remnants of half eaten snacks. Hongjoong's chest tightened.

He wanted to offer to drive you home, but the melody playing in his head, the one he'd been struggling to capture for days, clawed at him. He knew this was it, his chance to finally get it down.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice betraying his reluctance. "It's getting late."

You smiled reassuringly, nodding your head. "It's okay. I'll just take a cab. So just focus on your project, okay? I know you're in the zone right now."

"Okay." he conceded, forcing a smile. "Call me when you get home, alright?"

You leaned in, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "Of course." you whispered, your voice laced with affection. Then, with a final wave, you slipped out the door, leaving the room feeling strangely empty, a strange sense of foreboding clinging onto him.

He sighed, shaking it off, focusing on the melody that now flowed freely, the guilt momentarily forgotten in the throes of creation.

Time blurred as Hongjoong dove headfirst into his production. Then, the phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen. His heart lurched as he answered, a cold dread seeping into his bones.

The voice on the other end, tight with urgency, shattered his world. "Hello, Mr...Joongie? This is the city hospital. Your partner..."

The words blurred into a cacophony of noise. You. Hospital. Accident. The details drifted in and out, his mind struggling to grasp the reality unfolding before him. He dropped the phone, the sound of its clatter barely registering as the weight of his unspoken fear crushed him.

Guilt, a suffocating wave, washed over him. He should have insisted on taking her home. He should have listened to his gut, ignored his own schedule. Every beat of his heart echoed with the unspoken words, a relentless beat of "what ifs" and "I should have's."

He scrambled to his feet, a primal urge to reach her consuming him. He threw on his jacket, the familiar melody of his unfinished song filling the room with a cruel irony.

The drive to the hospital was a blur, every passing second an eternity. He replayed their day together in his mind, every shared laugh, every touch, a painful reminder of what could be lost.

Reaching your room, he found you unconscious, pale skin stark against the white sheets. Machines beeped rhythmically, a constant reminder of the fragile thread connecting you to life.

The doctor, a gentle woman with a tired expression, entered soon after. "They're stable now." she said, her voice a beacon of hope in the storm of his emotions. "The injuries were bad but they made it time. They'll survive, don't worry."

Relief filled his chest as he sank into the chair beside you, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, cold and unresponsive. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the image of your peaceful face. "Y/n" he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "Y/n, please wake up."

He stayed by your side, holding your hand, willing you to wake up. Hours passed by, a blur of unanswered questions and gnawing fear.

Finally, when the first rays of dawn painted the sky, your eyelids fluttered open.Relief washed over him, but as your eyes focused on him, a shard of ice pierced right through his heart.

"Who…who are you?" you asked, your voice weak and unfamiliar.

Hongjoong's breath hitched in his throat as the world stilled around him. He forced a smile, his voice tight with unshed tears. "Y/n it's me, Hongjoong. Your boyfriend."

But your brow furrowed, the confusion deepening, pulling your hand back, away from his. You shook your head, voice barely a whisper. "I never met you before..."

Dread filled his being. Surely, it was a cruel joke, right? He reached for your hand, to which you responded with avoidance, a harsh sting to his heart.

At the same time, the door creaked open, the doctor entering with a grim expression. Hongjoong's head snapped towards the doctor. A professional, she could definitely fix this, right?

The doctor stopped him before he could say anything, ushering him to outside.The moment they stepped outside, he launched into a frantic explanation, his words tumbling over each other.

"We ran an MRI." the doctor began, her voice low. "There's some swelling in the hippocampus from the impact which usually leads to..."

The doctor's words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. "Amnesia." she said, her voice a low murmur. "It's best to take things slow. Don't overwhelm them. Don't force them to remember. Let them rediscover themself at their own pace."

He nodded numbly. Forcing anything could cause further harm. He peered through the window, seeing your fragile form nestled in the bed, your eyes closed.

A deep breath steadied him. He had to be strong. For you.

With a deep breath, he entered the room.

You looked up, eyes still tinged with confusion. In them, he saw a flicker of wariness, another sting.

"I… I'm sorry." he stammered, forcing a smile that felt foreign on his face. "I must have misspoken earlier. I meant boyfriend as in guy friend. Just friends. I came to check on you after I heard about the accident."

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but it was necessary. He couldn't risk causing you further distress. He sat beside you, keeping a safe distance, his gaze lingering on your face despite himself. He desperately wanted to reach out, to bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

"Oh, I see. I really misunderstood you." You chuckled lightly, your voice low. "I appreciate you being here and I'm sorry...i can't really remember anything right now."

He shook his head quickly. "No no, it's fine. It's not your fault..."

The silence that followed felt deafening. He racked his brain, desperately searching for something to say.

"I think I'll get you something to eat." he finally said, the words sounding hollow even to him. "You haven't eaten in hours, I'm sure you're hungry."

"You're right." You said, nodding, a flicker of gratitude crossing your features. "I am quite hungry. That would be nice, thank you."

He left the room, escaping the suffocating silence. Hongjoong leaned against the wall, his hand covering his face. Tears pricked at his eyes, the weight of the situation threatening to crush him. He grabbed a tray with hospital food, his heart sinking with each step back to the room.

Reaching back, he saw you scrolling through your phone, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

"These pictures…" you started, voice tinged with wonder. "We seem like really close friends."

The phone screen, a snapshot of their world, felt like a cruel taunt. Laughter from a beach trip, a goofy selfie from backstage during a concert, a picture of them intertwined under a blanket on the couch.

He forced himself to smile, a hollow echo of his usual warmth. "Yeah," he managed. "We are."

"Are you okay?" You asked, a hint of concern in your voice, noticing his expression. "You look... uncomfortable."

"I'm fine, it's just the antiseptic smell." He forced out a chuckle, placing the tray down beside you. "Eat now, it's bland but healthy. I'll buy you something delicious after you recover."

"If you say so." You nodded, smiling slightly, looking down at the food. "Fine, I'll put up with it for now."

Days turned into weeks, each visit to the hospital a journey into the unknown. He brought you flowers, books, recounted stories of their past, hoping to spark a flicker of recognition. A smile would grace your lips, but it was never directed at him, always a response to something else.

Sunlight streamed through the hospital window, casting patterns on the walls of your room. Hongjoong entered, doing a little jump at the sight of you, sat up in bed, a book in your lap, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Hongjoong!" You exclaimed, looking up after hearing the door, voice still weak but regaining its familiar lit "You're early today."

"Just finished up a session early." he replied, smiling slightly. Though, today, he wasn't alone.

"Oh, you brought someone with you," you noted, eyes shifting to the person who stood awkwardly by the door.

"Y/n, this is Chan." Hongjoong introduced, his voice light. "A friend from work."

Your eyes widened slightly as you met Chan's gaze. Your gaze lingered on Chan, taking in his easy smile and warm eyes. A blush crept up your cheeks, a reaction that sent a jolt through Hongjoong. It had been a long time since he'd seen that shy smile on your face, a smile once reserved solely for him.

"Chan, this is Y/n." Hongjoong introduced with a hint of forced cheer. "They're… a friend."

The word felt foreign, a bitter pill he had to swallow every time he visited. You oblivious to the internal storm brewing within him, offered Chan a shy smile. He, in turn, greeted you with genuine enthusiasm. "He mentioned you a couple of times. Nice to finally meet you!"

As they talked, a connection sparked between them. Chan with his easygoing nature and charm, managed to draw you out of your shell. Engaging in conversations, asking questions, your eyes sparkling with a glimmer of curiosity that had been absent before. Hongjoong watched, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him.

The pang of jealousy, sharp and unexpected pierced Hongjoong's s chest. He knew it was absurd. Chan was a friend, completely unaware of their past, yet seeing you connect with him so easily felt like a betrayal.

As the visiting hours neared their end, Chan stood up, a warm smile on his face. "It was nice talking to Y/n." he said, his voice sincere. "I wish you a speedy recovery and I'll visit again soon."

You nodded, eyes sparkling with genuine warmth, replied. "Thank you and I'll look forward to it."

Chan nodded, offering you a smile before turning to Hongjoong. "I'll call when I get back." He said, patting him in the shoulder before leaving, shooting you a one last smile over his shoulder.

The moment he left, the room fell silent, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

"He seems like a nice guy." You said, breaking the silence, a small smile adorning your face.

In return, Hongjoong offered you a weak smile, feeling suffocated by a sense of alienation.

The following week, Hongjoong arrived at the hospital, his usual greeting dying in his throat. You weren't alone. Chan sat beside you, a comfortable silence hanging between them.

"What're you doing here?." Hongjoong mumbled, his voice thick with surprise and... uneasiness. "You didn't...tell me you were coming."

"Ah, right. I kind of forgot..." Chan looked up, his smile faltering slightly, seeming apologetic. "Y/n called me, saying that they didn't want to be alone."

Hongjoong's throat tightened. Call? You called Chan? Not him? You chose to call Chan over him. Him, who knew your every scar, every dream. He felt a cold dread pool in his stomach which only worsened, his gazing landing on your interwined hands above the blanket.

The casual touch, the shy smile – it was a scene he'd dreamt of for weeks, but with the wrong person playing his part.

"Joong?"

He snapped out of his thoughts, forcing himself to look away, up at your and Chan's concerned face.

"Oh." Hongjoong managed with a forced smile, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well, that's…nice. It's nice to see you guys hangout."

He had been so focused on protecting her from the pain of lost memories. Had he inadvertently pushed her towards someone else?

His eyes flickered down again. The sight of Chan holding your hand. It felt unbearable as the realisation settled in. "I, uh, I just need to use the restroom. I'll be back in a minute." he lied, quickly making his escape.

He stood outside the bathroom door, the white tiles offering him no solace. The weight of his secret, the burden of their forgotten past, pressed down on him.

He knew he had to make a choice. Stay and watch their bond grow, a constant reminder of what he'd lost, or step back and hope that one day, when your memories returned, you might remember him, the one who loved you before the world faded to white.

#ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez oneshot #ateez imagines #kim hongjoong #hongjoong angst #ateez scenarios

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geraltofriviacollection · 1 year

Text

Paring: Geralt x Reader

Summary: Reader is thrown into the Witchers world. Will she Survive?

A /N: This is the fifth part in the series. As usual I have not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate, or copy my work without my permission. Please leave comments! ❤️

Chapter Five

My eyes open and I see I’m in a smaller room. It takes me a second to realize that I have been covered in a blanket. Confused, I lift the blanket up to see that I am stark naked underneath. I look around and see Geralt standing a few feet away talking to Vesemir. I try to move to stand. My legs wobble and are about to Collapse when Geralt slips an arm under my arms.

“Do you ever just stay put?!” He growls and pulls me against him so I can stand.

“No.” I snap at him before trying to get my legs under me. Little leg control and trying to clutch this blanket has made things infinitely more complicated. “Where is Ciri?”

“Vesemir took her to the infirmary.” My frown is the only reason I think he continued. “She’s alright, just a small bump on her head.” I sigh and sag a little and Geralt pulls me a little closer to him. “Are you alright?” He asked me.

“I’d like to know why I’m naked. I’m also a little fuzzy on the details of what happened.” I slur, leaning my head to rest on his chest.

“You’re clothes burned off when you….when you killed Eskel.” He says lifting me into his arms. I choose to worry about the first part of that later.

“I’m sorry Geralt. I… Ciri was…..It was the only way to save everyone.”

“You knew he was going to die.” He looks down at me with a blank face as he lowers me back on the bed.

“Yes.” I said softly looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Geralt.” He moves to the door.

“Me too.” He says as he walks out closing the door behind him.

I lay back down on the bed and the full realization hit me of what I’ve done. Something happened for me to be able to change the story like that. The dread fills my stomach thinking about it.

Later I watch from a far as Geralt tells her to pack it in for the day. She stays frozen for just a moment before Geralt says something and she leaves him standing there. I walk over to him as he stares after her.

Something has changed in her. A fear driven intensity that I watch eat her slowly. I see it in the way she pushes herself. Knowing I can’t do anything about it. The only thing giving me comfort is knowing Geralt pulls her back from the edge.

“You know I don’t think it would kill you to hug her.” I say standing next to him watching her walk to the great hall. Geralt simply looks down at me and grunts before walking. “That’s what you do to people you care about when they’re scared or sad. Now look call me crazy-“

“You are crazy.” He growls lowly continuing on.

“Oh! Who would have thought the great Geralt would manage a joke.” I laugh and hear the faintest puff of a laugh come from him. “As I was saying she’s a teenage girl with no living family and hasn’t had a stable place to live since the fall of Cintra. You are all she has, a bit more emotional support would be good.” I explain to him. He turns to look at me with an eyebrow raised. “Jesus this fucking place..Just give her a fucking hug! Okay?” He pauses and looks down at me.

“I’ll try.” He says and then keeps walking leaving me to stand in the cold grinning like an idiot at my tiny win.

After lunch Vesemir and I begin working on helping me use the energy. The burnouts I feel from using that much always leaves me weak and light headed. He seems to think building up stamina by practicing will help. The old man is sadistic in his training even if it is effective.

“Keep the burn steady in your hands only.” He says walking around me. Using a stick he raises my arms that starts to slip. Sweat starts to slip down my spine as my arms begin to shake. I keep the energy pulsing in my hand, but something begins to change. He says.The energy in my hands flickers. “Hold it. Don’t let it slip.” He demands. The energy begins to burn into my hands and I start to feel dizzy. I try blinking it away but it only gets worse and I start to feel lunch wanting to make a reappearance. The energy goes out and I fall back against the table.

“That was almost not terrible. You held on for a little over two hours.” He smiles. Handing me water. I shake my head at it. The thought of drinking it only makes me feel more nauseous.

“How many conversations will I have to have today about men being supportive.” I mumble. Vesemir holds back a chuckle.

“Lass my job is to make sure that when it comes time to kill monsters you don’t get yourself killed in the process.” He says cleaning up. He’s words only serve to remind me of Eskel.

“You mean like I did with Eskel?” I ask quietly. Vesemir pauses in what he’s doing to turn to me again.

“Eskel wasn’t your fault. He was…he was already gone. We couldn’t have done anything for him. You saved us.” He says placing a hand on my shoulder before. The guilt sill eats away at me even with Vesemirs words. No matter how justified I sill ended someone’s life. “Are you alright?” He says looking over me.

“I’m fine. I think I just need some air.” I say. He gives me a look of concern before I walk out to the great hall just as ciri takes her lunch and training sword out the room. Geralt standing near by fixing himself a bowl.

“You don’t belong here.” Lambert says to me as I start walking to the door. Coen tries to silence him. “She killed our brother.” He shouts I flinch at the sound. He stands making is way slowly to me.

“I’m sorry.” I tell him feeling my eyes begin to water. “It was the only wa-“ I attempt to explain.

“You could have done anything else and you chose to kill him!! That was our brother, but that didn’t matter to you.” He shouts coming closer.

“That’s enough.” Geralt’s voice calls out. “Eskel wasn’t our brother anymore. She didn’t have a choice.”

“You brought your whore here. This is your fault too!” He rages before turning back to me. “Tell me did you like it when he took his last breath?” He asks. “How about his screams when you actually killed him? Hmm? Tell me!” He screams.

“I said that’s enough.” Geralt say grabbing lambert by his collar and stepping in between us.” Anger won’t bring him back and bitterness won’t help is find what killed him.” Geralt tells him as he lets lambert go.

“Oh I know what killed him.” Lambert snarls finally his eyes glaring at me. Coen comes and pulls lambert away. I turn before anyone can see the tears in my eyes and run out the front door.

The immediate bite of the cold and stinging air helps. I leave the castle gates and walk along the wall. I slump against the side of a broken tower. The guilt of his death steals the breath from my lungs. The weight feeling unbearable, the weigh heavier than the bruxa. That was an accident of sorts. I didn’t remember that Nevillen was holding a spear. Killing Eskel was intentional. When I left Ciri I knew what I was going to do. I know he would have died anyway and things would have been worse had Geralt killed him. Knowing these things does nothing to ease the ache in my chest.

I could have tried harder to tell geralt. Warn them about Eskel and maybe given them time to find a cure of at least slow down the process. Knowing the terrible things to come and not being able to change that feel like a weight slowly crushing me. I can’t change anyone fate at the end. That makes my question if I really am here to save Ciri.

I don’t know how long I sit there in self hatred and pity. Long enough to loose what little warmth of sun there was. I make my way past the gate, seeing the fires have already been lit for the night. I stand in front of the door dreading to enter. I push the door open and enter to find the hall silent. My eyes turn to the large barrel of ale sitting there waiting for me.

The more I drink the less real this all feels. Each sip washing my guilt further me like the waves of the sea. Laying there looking at the shithole I’ve somehow called home makes a hysterical giggle burst from my lips.

“I’ve been looking for you.” A voice calls out and I hear footsteps coming closer. Soon I see geralt standing above me.

“Maybe I didn’t want to me found.” I smile lazily at him sitting up to bring the cup to my mouth. He pulls it from my hands before the cup touches my lips. I frown at him reaching for the cup as he pull it our of my reach. “I’d like that back.” I hiccup

“I think you’ve had enough.” He frowns back at me.

“Contrary to Lambert's fine opinion I am not your whore you do not pay me therefore you can’t tell me what to do. Now give that back to me.” I fumed Standing attempting to get the cup.

“No.” He replies. Gently pushing me back down.

“I could strangle you with your fucking one worded answers and all you’re stupid grunts.” I slur swaying as I stand. “I didn’t ask to be here! I was in my world comfortable not in constant fucking danger.” I ranted. “Do you know how useless I feel knowing what happens and not being able to change a fucking thing or worse changing something and then not knowing if I made something worse happen?” He never even flinches at my drunken shouts. “The only thing i did was get you and ciri hurt. I kept eskel’s death from your hands hoping I could help him and I killed him.” I choke back a sob. “He’s dead and I killed him.” I sob header as the words leave my mouth. When I start to turn away Geralt pulls me to him. In my drunken state it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening but once I do I sink into his embrace. Soon the tears stop and I feel drained and tired. I close my eyes promising to rest them for just a minute when I feel him pick me up.

“I can walk.” I say sleepily leaning my head against him. He simply grunts, except this time it brings a small smile to my face.

@sparks363 - Sorry I’m so late ❤️

#geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #butcher of blaviken #geralt of rivia smut #the witcher #witcher geralt

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deanismysavior · 2 years

Text

This really put the nail in the coffin for me:

The Mike monologue to El is NOT supposed to come across as romantic, at least, not in the sense that you would expect.

In Mike's monologue, he tells El "You can do anything! You can fly. You can move mountains. I believe that."

This is important, because this part of the monologue sounds a whole heck of a lot like the speech that Brenner gives El when she tries to leave to go save Max.

In this scene, Brenner says, "You came to me broken, and you've learned to walk again, but if you want to stop One, you'll need to do more than walk. You will need to do more than run. You will need to fly."

This is not the first time in the season that we see Mike getting paralleled with Brenner. In fact, this happens at the end of the S4E2 when Mike sees El hit Angela over the head with a rollerskate and says "What did you do?," the exact same thing Brenner said after finding El in the rainbow room surrounded by the other lab kids who were all killed.

Before we get deeper into the monologue itself, let's take a look at the note that Mike and El leave their relationship on before she leaves. We see their fight in her bedroom where El brings up that Mike never expresses love to her. El tells Mike that she doesn't belong anywhere, and that everyone looks at her "like a monster," and accuses Mike of seeing her this way too. Here he deflects the allegations and calls her "Eleven," not El. When he attempts to mend this with her, he uses the words "incredible," and "superhero" to describe El.

We've already talked about the implications that using these adjectives describes idolization rather than love, but what's more here is that he puts the same emphasis on her powers that Brenner does. By referring to her as Eleven, not El or Jane, he subliminally sends the message that he is thinking of her as an "other," and to her, this holds the connotation of an experiment since that's what the numbers signified in Brenner's lab.

It is made very evident here that we are supposed to align Mike with Dr. Brenner.

Before El leaves, in her last scene with Mike when she is being placed in the cop car, we see him say to her, "Eleven, Eleven, listen to me, okay? Eleven, will you please look at me? Everything's going to be fine. I'm going to fix this."

Not only does he repeatedly once again call her Eleven, instead of the affectionate nickname he gave her, but he specifically uses the word "fix," perfectly mirroring what Brenner says when he refers to El as "broken."

So when we then see language from the same conversation El has with Brenner come back in during Mike's love confession with the word "fly," the viewer is once again subliminally meant to associate Mike with Dr. Brenner.

What's so interesting about this confession scene is that it also heavily mirrors Mike's shared memory with Will in season 2 as he's trying to break through the Mind Flayer's possession of Will.

In this scene, we see Mike describing the first time he met Will. We see Finn give a shockingly visually similar performance to his monologue with El, but here we see Mike shedding tears, and the way in which Finn delivers these lines is not frantic or off-the-cuff, but instead the tone is quiet and the strength of the speech lies solely in the emotion behind his words. This scene comes across as much more tender and genuine, and stands in stark contrast tonally to the way we see Mike speak to El.

Here, Mike says that he "felt so alone" during that first day of kindergarten, but then he "saw [Will] on the swings, and [he was] alone too," establishing a kinship and connection with Will immediately. Mike continues by saying, "I just walked up to you, and I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend. And you said yes. You said yes. It was the best thing I've ever done."

In this monologue, we not only see that similar language is used in the Mike love confession scene in which he tells El his "life started" when he found her in the woods, but we get this interesting contrast in which Mike's words are actually able to break through to Will here, whereas when he is confessing to El, Vecna's grip tightens until she looks over at Max.

By drawing this parallel, it simultaneously codes this monologue from season 2 in a romantic light, since we are meant now to associate the scene with the "romantic" love confession in season 4, but it also discredits the genuineness of Mike's season 4 monologue as we see the stark contrast in Finn's performance. In both scenes, the stakes were high and people he cared about were in danger, so why does one read with such deep emotion while the other comes off as clichéd and inconsistent with past events?

When we combine the messages of these two parallels in Mike's monologue we are left with a rather confusing and disturbing message: that Mike and El's relationship is entagled with other parties, and here's why it's important to consider these points together:

Subliminally, El is associating Mike's words during this monologue with the way Dr. Brenner makes her feel, while Mike subliminally associates his words in contrast to the way he feels about Will.

Therefore, for El, what's getting in the way of her relationship with Mike is that he seems to see her in a similar way to how Dr. Brenner does, zeroing in on her powers, her usefulness, and her otherness.

But for Mike, what's getting in the way of his relationship with El is repression and the complicated feelings he has for Will. I've tried, for arguments sake, to find a non-romantic reasoning for this parallel, but I really don't think there is one.

If we're able to take these parallels and draw these conclusions, then the exchange that occurred within the Mileven monologue is not the romantic triumph that I think a lot of casual viewers saw it as. We are meant to feel the wrongness in this scene.

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #el hopper #stranger things #st #stranger things 4 #st4 #stranger things analysis #mikes monologue #mike wheeler i know what you are

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plisuu · 4 months

Note

Happy friday Sterling!!! last week I got some Revalas/Bull out of you, howabout some Revalas/Dorian this time? or not if you are stricken with a different inspiration. "i dunno who taught you that love comes with conditions and limitations, but mine doesn’t. not when it’s you." from the emotionally charged sentence starters.

Ooookay, man Kia you've been coming in clutch with the prompts.

This one kind of got away from me, I just started writing with a bolt of inspiration and ended up here ahahah

Here's something a bit more established for Revalas and Dorian :)

wc: 1.2k @dadrunkwriting

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Revalas swore the sound of Dorian’s ring against to bar-top was the only thing keeping him sane. Like a metronome, a steady beat against the backdrop of the busy chatter and clinking glasses and Bull shouting something behind them to a group of very drunk Chargers.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The pace was increasing, just slightly, and Revalas finally peered up from where his gaze had been fixated on the gold that glinted against dark skin, just a few shades darker than his own. It looked good on him, on Dorian’s hands. Jewelry always did, and Revalas had spent more than his fair share of time haggling with merchants and using Leliana’s contacts to get this particular ring smuggled out of Par Vollen—a yellow-gold that stood stark and bright against the more muted, deeper golds of Tevinter jewelry.

“Yes yes, I love it,” Dorian muttered, waving his hand loosely, the word a slurred assurance that he did, in fact, realize Revalas was staring at it.

“That’s not… I’m not worried about that, vhenan,” Revalas chuckled in reply, leaning over to place a kiss on Dorian’s cheek, missing, and planting one on the mage’s collarbone instead. He could feel the warmth of his drink beginning to spread through his face, to the tips of his ears, and left his forehead resting against the perfumed linens and cool skin of Dorian’s shoulder. Patchouli and sandalwood, something smoky and a little spicy, something a little musky and human… He breathed in deeply before continuing, his voice muffled by the fabric. “You don’t even have to wear it. You could hate it for all I care, I just wanted you to have something so you’re reminded of me when you’re out,” he gestured vaguely, “doing whatever it is you do.”

“I’m always reminded of you, amatus,” Dorian said, his voice sounding a little distant, a little watery, still slurred and slow. Revalas heard the soft clink of gold against glass as he reached for his drink again. “It’s rather ridiculous, really.”

“What is?” Revalas looked back up, suddenly alert, an eyebrow raised, his hand darting out to catch Dorian’s wrist before more booze could hit his tongue. “What’s so ridiculous?”

Dorian chewed his lip and looked away. Krem and Skinner had begun to sing loudly, drowning out the music they were trying to sing to. Sera’s delighted squeal cut through the ruckus and Revalas felt the slow drip of a sloshed ale soaking into his pant leg from the bar.

None of it mattered though—they may as well have been alone in the Herald’s Rest as he gently pried the drink from Dorian’s hand and interlaced their fingers.

“Ar lath— I love you,” Revalas huffed. “Talk to me. I can see the smoke coming from your ears.”

“As astute and clever as ever,” Dorian replied, still turned away. He heaved a heavy sigh. “This seems… unwise.”

“What does? How so?”

There was silence between them. The chaos of the tavern had all but fallen away as Revalas watched the gears turning quietly, his gaze piercing, knowing exactly what Dorian meant but waiting for him to piece together the words to say it himself.

Dorian finally met his gaze, brows drawn in a way that he would have never allowed were he sober.

“Emotions are so… messy,” he finally said. “I never meant to let it get this far, you know.”

“But here we are, so now what?” Revalas pressed his lips to the back of Dorian’s hand. “It’s okay to be messy, Creators know Bull and I are just as bad.”

Dorian frowned. “Yes, but—”

“But you aren’t allowed to be? Why not?”

Revalas swore he could see the words turning over in Dorian’s head, the mental gymnastics he was putting himself through to try and justify his hesitance.

“Vishante Kaffas, you Ben-Hassrath are truly the worst,” he eventually snipped. “Perceptive asses, the lot of you. Yes, fine! Let’s make Dorian confess his feelings in the middle of the tavern, what fun! Surely he wants to share his deepest fears in public, or—no, wait—let’s make it in front of an audience! Of course!”

Hs voice cracked, and he pressed his palms into the scratched wood bar, staring at it as if trying to study a reflection that wasn’t there. Revalas brushed his thumb across Dorian’s cheek, unsurprised at the wetness he found there, and pulled Dorian to face him again. Grey eyes glittered with brimming tears, and Revalas wiped them away as best he could without smudging the khol that streaked down tanned cheeks.

“Dorian. Vhenan. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yes… I…” Dorian shook his head. “I simply hate that I care so much. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it, to receive so much… attention? When I don’t even do anything, when I have so little to offer but these petty, drunken outbursts.” He slumped over, defeated. “There. You’ve pried it out of me. May I have my drink back, now, if you're satisfied?”

“Vhenan.”

The scrape of wooden stools across the floor seemed deafening in comparison to their conversation, but Revalas knew it was all drowned in the sea of late-night drunken chaos as he scooted himself closer to Dorian and pulled him into his arms. It was awkward, and likely an awkward sight, but Revalas held him tightly, as if his grip could quell his partner’s hitching, uneven breaths.

“Vhenan, you don’t need to do anything. You’re allowed to just care. Hell, it’s really not like Bull and I are any more practiced at this. We don’t even have relationships under the Qun.” He sighed, kissing the top of Dorian’s head, the styling oils tingling his lips. “I think about you constantly, and I don’t do anything but drag feelings out of you kicking and screaming, but you wouldn’t say the same about me, that I’m not allowed to care, right?”

“You shouldn’t” Dorian muttered, and Revalas hugged him harder, just uncomfortably so, so that he heard the air whoosh out of Dorian’s lungs.

“That’s stupid. You’re too smart to say stupid things like that. This isn’t conditional. There’s no rule that says any of us have to do anything.”

There was a long pause while Dorian finally hugged him back, fists clutching the back of Revalas’s shirt and face buried in his neck, until his shaking subsided and his breathing settled.

“I… I do like the ring.” he eventually said, pulling away. His eyes were puffy and red, but the shimmer of tears was replaced with a glint of his usual sarcastic mirth. “It’s rather fetching on me, don’t you think?”

Revalas kissed his hand with a smile.

“Ar lath. Yes, vhenan. Absolutely stunning. I bet you could even charm the pants off a Qunari with your fashionable jewelry alone. No one would even notice your dashing good looks.”

Dorian flashed him a smile before tipping his drink back and draining the glass.

“Ah, and don’t forget my unmatchable wit and irritable charm.”

“Oh, Creators, I don’t think I could if I tried.”

#dragon age #dorian pavus #pavellan #dadwc #my writing #dorian x lavellan #revalas lavellan #does this even make sense?#who knows!#but i like em #this is also the first time ive written dorian since 2019 djfgsksgakgdna

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multifandom-worlds · 1 year

Text

On the Roof in the Rain

Genre: Angst/fluff

Rating: General

Word count: 2291

Warnings: Mildly dysfunctional family, feelings of inadequacy

Authors Note: This also does not reflect my feelings of Tony entirely, I don't hate the man lol

Thank you to @otome-and-fanfiction for answering all my kinda stupid questions. I love you.

Tags: @lokiprompts @holdmytesseract

“I’m sorry, okay! Is that what you wanted to hear?! I’m sorry I’m such a failure of a Stark!” You yell at your brother in the presence of several others, your partner Loki included. Tony was about to open his mouth to speak before you interrupted him - he would listen to you, one way or another. “No, you don’t get to talk. You have said quite enough already. You don’t get to sit here on your high horse and accuse me of bullshit I didn’t do! You don’t get to sit here and read off every single one of my mistakes when you aren’t perfect, either!” Tears prick your eyes as you blink them away, staring at your brother. His expression never changed, and that fact shattered your already crumbling heart into pieces. “I never wanted to be an Avenger; I did it to spend more time with my big brother. It’s clear to me now the only making us related is DNA and a last name; there is no more love here.”

“Starklette..” Tony began, his tone softer than before - clearly, what you said affected him, but you didn’t stay to hear what he had to say. Tony made his choice when he started criticizing you; you were no longer his younger sister; you were just another Avenger he could manipulate and form into a female version of himself. You shake your head, tears threatening to spill over as you turn around and high-tail it out of the conference room. There was only one place you headed - somewhere Tony didn’t know you had access to; The roof.

You picked the lock on the roof access door before quietly opening it and slipping through the crack. Stepping onto the expansive roof, the wind takes away tiny bits of your anger as it blows. You walk to the edge, resting your hands on the rails as you look out over upstate New York; the hustle and bustle of the city is a welcome distraction to your reeling mind.

How could Tony do that to you…? How could he be so blatantly rude to you in front of everyone?

You watch the busy city below you quiet down ever so as night begins to fall, and with the ever-darkening sky comes rain clouds threatening to break open. You welcomed the rain whenever it chose to fall, washing your free of the guilt that was slowly taking hold in your soul. Tony was only trying to help you, make you a better, stronger Avenger. Someone who could take control of his merry band of misfits once he was gone. But you never wanted that; you told him you didn’t want to be involved; you just wanted to live with him to be close to him again.

Stand there in your quiet contemplation; the cloud opened up, showering you in a warm summer rain. You look up to the heavens, feeling the droplets of healing water splash upon your face, washing away the outer layers of grief you were feeling.

“I figured I would find you here, enjoying the rain, no less.” The sound of footsteps accompanied the oh-so-familiar voice. You smile before lowering your gaze to meet the voice's owner, watching as he strides over to you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from a God?” You question, tucking away a wet strand of hair from your face. Loki smiles at your question, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest, and holding you securely to his body. “That was quite the speech you made down there; you moved quite a number of us, your brother in particular. He was speechless for a minute after you left. Well done, my love. I’m proud of you for saying it, finally.”

You frown, hearing what Loki is saying. You never wanted to hurt him; that wasn’t your intention. You let your emotions take control. Loki, ever observant, catches your frown before his free hand finds your chin, tilting upwards slightly so he can look at your face. “You did nothing wrong, darling,” Loki began. “I’m proud of you for finally telling your brother how his actions have made you feel. You deserve to have your own life; you are not his replacement, you are your own person, and you have every right to be treated as such. Tony had no right to criticize anyone publicly like that, let alone you. I see how much of yourself you give to this team.”

Your eyes well up with fresh tears as you listen to his gentle praise, averting your eyes. “But I shouldn’t have said it in front of everyone else. I should go apologise….” Loki grips your chin gently, refocusing your attention back on him. “No, you shouldn’t go apologise for your feelings. What you said was the kick in the ass he needed to realize how he was treating you. I have tried to tell him countless times how his actions and words have affected you, but he never listened to me. I know Natasha and Wanda have also spoken to him about his treatment of you, but you saying it finally opened his eyes to how cruel he has been to you. He is the one who needs to apologize to you, my love. Not the other way around.”

Loki watches as his words, mixed with the rain, wash away the rest of the anger from your soul, only to be replaced by another emotion: inadequacy. He drops his hand from your chin before pulling you in for a hug. You wrap your arms around her torso, burying your face in the wet fabric of his shirt. His chin rests on the top of your head as you sob, all the emotions finally becoming too much for you to bear. “Let it out, my Queen; I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. You’re safe.” Loki assures you, gently rubbing your back as you cry.

After what felt like hours but was likely only a few minutes, you pulled your face away from him, wiping at your eyes. “Why am I not good enough, Loki….? Why do I always fuck up so massively every time I go with you guys…?”

Loki shook his head before silencing your words with a kiss. He effectively robs you of your ability to speak ill of the woman he loves more than anything. He pulls away before placing his finger on your lips, further silencing you. “I’m not going to allow you to speak so badly about the one I hold most dear, the one I would burn the city to smoulders to protect. My Queen, the one you so hastily labelled with ‘not being good enough’ has been led to believe by those she loves to think it true when it is far from it. You, sweetheart, are more than enough. You are not perfect, nor should you try to be. You are beautiful in your flaws. Those who expect perfection from you should first expect perfection from themselves; you’re only human; no one should expect you to be perfect, I certainly don’t. It wounds my soul when I watch you go above and beyond your limits for your brother's approval repeatedly.” Loki pauses, removing his finger from your lip before moving a strand of hair from your face.

“I love you, my darling. No language in all the realms fully articulates my feelings for you. I wake up daily, blessed with the knowledge that you picked me.”

You look up at him quizzically. “But why do you love me? Why did you pick me over the thousands of people who throw themselves at your feet?”

Loki smiles before silencing you again with his finger. “My my, you’re a curious little one, aren’t you?” he chuckles before kissing your rain-soaked forehead. “I love you because you don’t throw yourself at my feet. You don’t worship me as a God; you treat me as you would a stranger on the street, with dignity and kindness. You saw me for the person I am; you didn’t see me as a monster when everyone else did. You chose to stand beside me even after learning all that I had done, all the innocent lives taken by my order alone. You argued my case, even when everyone was against you - you stood your ground, and because of that, I am free to love you as I please. I love you because you make all my problems and heartaches disappear just by being near me. You, my darling, are everything I didn’t know I needed in my life. I didn’t realize how much of myself was missing until Tony brought you to my cell in the final effort to get me to confess. As soon as I laid eyes on you, I knew I had found my person, my soulmate. The person who makes me whole. I craved you in those early days. I craved your touch, voice, and presence in my life.”

You stare at him, heart so full you fear it may explode if he spoke anymore. “R-really?” You question, having trouble processing the fact that Loki, the God of Mischief, felt that way about a mortal like you. Loki chuckles before cupping your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss that shatters worlds, burning with hundreds of unspoken words. He breaks the kiss, allowing you to breathe again before resting his forehead against yours. “Yes, really, now can we get out of the rain, please, my sweet?” You giggle before kissing him one more time. “Yes, we may.”

One second, you were on the compound's roof in New York, drenched from head to toe; the next, you were in Loki’s spacious entranceway to his home in Asgard. “Welcome home, Master Loki and Lady Laufeyson.” One of the maids spoke as she passed the soaked couple. “Thank you. Have some clothes laid out for us in the bedroom and fetch us several towels, if you may.” Loki ordered. You were always surprised by how gentle he was with his staff. While he did give orders, he was never condescending about it. He never acted as though he was superior to them; he treated them as any boss would treat their employees.

The maid nodded as she hurried off to lay out some dry clothes for them. Loki holds out his arm for you, which you happily take. Together you walk through the home to the bedroom where two outfits lay, while simple in construction, hold a mastery of embroidery that you have not seen on Earth. Over the years of being with Loki, you became accustomed to being treated as royalty by the Asgardian people. You were Lady Laufeyson, partner of Loki Laufeyson; even if someone was opposed to you, they dared not try anything lest Loki catches word and deals with them himself.

“You look exquisite, my queen, adorned in only the finest of Asgardian wares, as you should be.” Loki smiles, pulling you onto the bed and into his awaiting arms. After a few seconds of adjusting yourself in his embrace, you finally relax. “Thank you, my love. For setting my head right.” You smile. Loki tenderly traces the curve of your cheekbone before speaking. “I know what it’s like to feel as you do. For many moons, I was living in Thor’s shadow, always trying to prove my worth to Odin and Asgard as a whole. I acted much as you do now, going above and beyond in my attempts to prove my worth to my family.” Loki pauses to gather his thoughts, approaching the topic with utmost care to not undo all that he did on that rooftop back on Earth.

“Much as you did, I lashed out. I believed only Frigga loved me. I didn’t know the love that Thor carried for me until I sat down and spoke to him, laying all my feelings out to him. I believe it is the same situation you and Tony are experiencing now. Your brother loves you, darling, of that I am sure. He speaks so highly of you when you are not present. He is often the first to jump to your defence should someone speak ill of you. I don’t know what possessed him to critique you the way he did today, and I’m sorry for not speaking up in your defence sooner. I was shocked that he would do what he did, as I believe the others were. Once you are ready to return, I believe you need to discuss it with your brother.”

You nod, taking in his words and allowing them to settle fully into your brain. ��Is he alright? Is he worried about me..?” you ask. Your question was quickly answered, “He is; however, he knows you are safe with me here in Asgard; I ensured a message got passed along to him to ease his mind regarding your whereabouts and safety.”

“As for right now, my darling,” Loki spoke low in your ear, the first inklings of sleep present in his voice. The light grows dark, leaving only the faint light of the fireplace, casting a soft, warm glow over the room. “It’s time for sleep. You had a troublesome day, and you need your rest. Come.”

Loki pulls you tighter into him, laying your head to rest upon his chest. He pulls the blankets over you, enveloping you in warmth as sleep takes hold. Loki runs his fingers through your hair, helping you drift into dreamland. The last thing you heard before succumbing to exhaustion was Loki telling you he loves you. “I love you, my Queen. Rest now; you’ve earned it.”

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

I may make a part 2 of their lives in Asgard. Maybe lol

#loki fluff #loki of asgard #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x f!reader #loki x female reader #loki x you

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lutawolf · 1 year

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TharnType Episode 4

My other reviews can be found here. In each of my posts, I find myself having to constantly explain why problematic art is necessary, but it's also about rights. If someone is allowed to tell you what is appropriate art, they are essentially telling you how to think and feel. It negates the ability to think for yourself, and I will fight tooth and nail for that.

As many of you have seen from my reviews, there are toxic things in what MAME writes, but there are good things too. A lot of important things that can be learned from even problematic art. History is filled with people who've grabbed artworks, from paintings to books and put them away, saying they were not appropriate or okay. Dictatorships that states that as a society we are incapable of censoring itself. It was someone else saying that they knew what was best for us, even though there was no harm.

That's the reason I don't have ownership and rights over my own body. Because someone else said they have the right to decide for me. That they would tell me what to do with my body because, I might not make the decision they deem correct. And before I hear comments of, body rights aren't the same as what these bls are doing. It's all about taking away a person's right to choose and think for themselves.

I'll get off my soap box and start this episode. Sorry! 😘 We start off the series with Type being shredded online by people who assume they have a right to. Never mind that they violated his space and his rights. And people are ganging up on Type despite only hearing one part of the narrative. There is a lot to take in and digest in this work, it's not one dimensional at all.

Tharn comes in looking at Type with pity, which is going to grind a victim/survivor's gears. We want your understanding, not your pity. I'm not going to tell you my story for sympathy, I don't fucking want it, I had enough of that to make me sick. Nothing will cause hackles to go up faster on a survivor than that look he is giving right there.

Why Type says is very valuable here. He says, do you hate me for what I said or are you using me as an excuse to diss homosexuals. Now think about it, Type didn't want to live with Tharn, but other than that we don't see talking shit about homosexuals. He doesn't want to associate, and he doesn't want them to touch him, but he doesn't say anything until Tharn because Tharn is in his space. He needs him out of his space because he's scare. Furthermore, he is fully aware that his hate is irrational, but he is unable to change it. Not necessarily because he doesn't want to, but because the block is so high and heavy. He sees this as his karma. Another indication that he is well aware that his hatred isn't right. MAME is trying to show that sometimes hatred has a deep seeded reason. Doesn't make that hatred right, but shouldn't we have compassion? Are all of us so guilt free and bias free that we have the right to not show compassion?

"Nosy and worry have two different meanings." Tharn is reacting to Type with kindness and it's making ripple effects. You can see it. Type recognizes it and puts up his angry wall to cover his weakness. Tharn sees through it though and grabs onto him. Type has been in days of regression and stress, so he immediately freaks. But Tharn only wants to be him to eat. Then they begin to talk and Tharn tells Type that he doesn't care what others think, he knows he is innocent. This is what breaks Type. Being seen. Tharn begs him to talk to him, but he wasn't expecting the reality of it. The way Type tells the story of his SA is very accurate. I don't know of another way of describing it. It's stark and direct while still carrying emotion. The book is actually much more descriptive, but accurately descriptive. In the book, it talks about sensory memory, which is not something that a nonvictim-survivor is going to think to describe. This is someone who knows exactly what they are talking about and, in my opinion, as someone very familiar with therapeutic writing. Is therapeutic writing. People don't want to hear your story, it hurts them, but it hurts us to keep it in.

Tharn stops him from telling anymore, and that's pretty normal too. When you care about someone, it is very difficult to listen to. When Type tells Tharn he hates him. He returns the comment with compassion. Not hate. Not how he shouldn't lump them all together. But with compassion. Why? Because Type is still hugging him as he says it. There are clear indicators that Type does not hate him or really gays, but he has hard limits that he can't handle.

Everything Type says is valid. Type is very uncomfortable with Tharn there. He just told him something personal and private, and he fears it getting out. Victims and Survivors rarely want their story out. I do it because you guys don't know who I am. I'm anon behind this computer, but in real life. Well, some do because I went to court, but I'm sure as shit not sharing my story. I don't want that pity. That's exactly what Type is worried about, but instead Tharn steps up. He didn't have to, this was an act of love.

Tharn tells Type that he tells them that he likes him. Tharn bites his lip and let's go of his angry death grip. He doesn't hit or yell at him. There is no act of aggression like before. What does this say. It says before we saw acts of homophobia from Type because he was scared. Not, there is a comfort level with Tharn to where he doesn't feel that fear anymore. "We almost tore each other heads off, but if you try to understand him. You know he is a good guy."

Tharn admits that he over pushed his boundaries with Type. Which is what exacerbated the situation with them. He forces them to admit that they touched him. The thing to take from this is Tharn does realize that he is some of the trigger here, and that Type wouldn't typically react like this. He knew they had touched him without having to ask Type. "When people hate someone or something, they don't want to be near them. But you touched him and forced him for photos. How is he wrong if he got mad? And you never asked him why he hates or fears gays." Exactly Tharn, exactly. I mean, the same could be said for Tharn, but he's learning. Sometimes, you learn the hard way.

Type explaining about the media. See, victims and survivors don't like pity for a reason. Honesty leads to honesty. Tharn is honest about liking Type. Then he backs off. Before he would have kept pushing, but now he is backing it off and just letting Type think. See the smile that Tharn gives when Type just lays down. It's a win. There is no anger or raging. He just lays down. No comfort blanket.

Type comes back to the dorm and is his normal aggressive self. Remember, though, that this is used to cover his emotions. Tharn has started to figure this out, hence the smile when Type asked why he came back early. There is now an open, honest communication there, while Type is still using a macho man attitude to hide his insecurities. He isn't lashing out and attacking. There is a release to talking about your trauma, and Tharn gave him that, then he protected him. There was already attraction, but now there are feelings. Type is naturally going to fight this, but Tharn, he understands Type now. Which makes him harder to fight. There is no anger, just compassion, caring, and love. Which is what a victim/survivor longs for.

In the book when Type asks Tharn to sleep with him and Tharn asks who will top. It's pretty accurate, too, and many of you who have read enough of my blog would recognize some things. Such as Type talking about vomiting at the idea. How many of you were even aware that was something at a lot of survivors still do, even years later? The reason why I bring this up, is because I have had so many people be like, "I never heard that MAME was a survivor." Well, it's all right there to see. She doesn't need to verbally tell you. She is telling you through her art, you just have to look.

Type Now, Tharn is one hundred percent aware that Type is not having sex with him due to owing. He knows the attraction is there. He's very politely not calling Type out on it. For Type's part, he's just lying to himself. Which is very human nature. We can clearly see whose experienced sexually and who isn't. Fyi in the book Tharn started having sex at a very early age and admits to being basically a man whore. While Type has had one high school gf.

Book Excerpt: Tharn took out a hand and stroked my back and my tight back muscles. Caressed me contentedly. I always wanted to get touched like that…

Type tells Tharn, "I'm a man, don't treat me as a woman." It's not meant to be a put down to women. It's mean as that macho cover up of, I am never weak. Don't treat me as weak. Then, them going to the doctors to get test together is one of my favorite parts. It's the way Tharn now talks to Type. It's a charming, begging, and canoodling type of way. And it works like a charm, in the way that anger and commands wouldn't work on Type. And Tharn's face, all huge smile when Type says sex only.

Did anybody pay attention to Tharn's sex story? Notice his face. He might be saying it was consensual, and maybe it doesn't haunt him like Type's does, but he regrets it whole heartily.

Techno inviting Tharn is to eat with them is so Techno. He is so shipping them hard. Tharn being thrilled that Type knows his favorite drink. The back and forth truly shows how they are perfect for each other. And can he preform his duty tonight. 🤣🤣🤣

Well, that it for this episode. Hope you guys found it insightful. 💜💜💜

#tharntype #thai bl series #bl series #luta talks tharntype #MAME #tharntype series

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