#because sometimes it still feels as raw as the day i lost him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anantaru · 4 months

Note

overprotective ex!boyfriend aventurine??? <3

cw. [ex]plicit, rough sex, toxic relationship (you cannot keep a distance from each other!!!), he's obsessed with you, ex! boyfriend au, fem! reader

let's get one thing straight out of the way.

aventurine and you were not broken up. it was merely a skimpy, little break— not worth bothering about.

at least that's how he saw it, and aventurine couldn't believe that this pointless pause was turning from a couple days to multiple weeks. precisely how you give off the idea of wanting to move on? live life but not with him in the picture?

without reserve, it turned him insane.

although luckily enough, aventurine had no plans of letting you go.

he wanted your relationship to go on forever, because you see, aventurine doesn't just love you, that certainly wasn't enough— he was undoubtedly obsessed with you, and the more you two were apart from one another, the more you craved each other.

or at least the physical aspect of it.

you cannot help it, and you know it's wrong— but there was only one person who knew your body from inside and out, who would reach for the stars in the sky in order to make you happy. aventurine wasn't the easiest person to get along with, sure, but that didn't mean you could just forget about him, not when you were still very much in love with him too.

to a higher standard, you do realize you were important to him, right? he's a little fucked up in the head and sometimes seems like he's lost his mind, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how love was supposed to feel like.

you showed him how it looked like, yes, how it felt, of course, how it moved and tasted.

at this point, you were really using each other for selfish reasons, acting like two dirty liars with two different goals.

aventurine was angel alike, calming to ones gaze— hypnotizing eyes that swerve tremors through your veins when he fixes you underneath his famished glare, or his cheeky grin that spread wide and sharpened on instinct when he catches you stare.

when it comes to the hold he had on your body, you are done for, sensed the magic-like pull resembling that of a moth to a fire, igniting your deepest desires.

"i knew you'd come back to me, sweetheart," aventurine's sugarcoated, and a little eerie whispers leisurely trickle from the tip of his tongue before running a cold shiver down your spine, "because you see baby, you always do."

"nothing can break us apart, isn't that correct?"

his thrusts were usually on the stronger side, but they held on to calculated movements of his hips trapping yours against the mattress.

his grinds and sensual thrusts ripple through your opening, rutting back and forth your sopping walls, truly restlessly, his raw skin connecting and hungrily soaking up your filthy juices.

your blistering hot cunt was designed to turn him into a mess, one that cannot get enough of you— aventurine gets drunk on the feeling of your pussy suffocating his shaft, and he's making you look at him through a doe-eyed expression when his tongue darts past his mouth to lick across your bottom lip, listlessly pulling angelic noises from you.

aventurine doesn't make love to you, such phraseology enunciated boredom to him personally.

at the same time, he fucked you with meaning— until the bed rocks violently back and forth and scratches the wooden floor as he reminds you on whom your body belonged to.

it's euphoric, salacious and wicked in the way how your snug, constricted cunt shivered around his hefty girth, his tip embedding a touch of feathers once and away your golden spots until you were crying out his darling name.

he drags further into your creamy cunt until you clench a bit, resulting in his thrusts stuttering through one, big snap forward and fuck, it's just so long, covering every spot on your walls without much thought.

and yeah, that's right, aventurine was not only confident in his skills but moved his shaft as precisely as you liked.

although now, his hips were suddenly turning slow and ponderous— you already know that he did it on purpose, probably to taunt and make you beg for him, or perhaps so he could slant forward and hypnotize your eyes with his own, buzzing gaze.

your legs were tensing hard around his waist as he angles his hips just right, setting off sparks behind your eyes when he pushes down on your bristling pussy— how magical and full you felt, it turned your brain overstimulated to the point where no left over energy in your body was able to even focus on the aftermath.

the moments that follow next, the consequences of fucking your ex boyfriend, merely days after your problematic break-up.

but that's what you wanted, right? it's what your body craves when you look at him through soused lashes, sticky mascara smeared over your eyes as his warm heaves ghost along your wet lips.

a big, twisted smirk on his face finalized this situation, your mind spiraling into the humid air upon witnessing it.

right then and there, it feels like there weren't any problems— only aventurine and you, grinding your bodies together with your heart rattling against your chest when he thrusts all the way inside of you until his balls hit your ass, his erection delving all the way forward.

how indescribably strange love was.

it can be destructive, but at the same time, it can pump the adrenaline and make your heart beat rapidly.

that was something no science could explain, honestly, an all-consuming emotion, engulfing your body and mind.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #aventurine x you #hsr drabbles #honkai star rail drabbles #aventurine drabbles #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail x y/n #honkai star rail fanfic

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

i just wanna be price’s lil housewife, is that too much to ask?

i want him to come home from a long day and just let me take care of him 🤭🥹

Comforts of Home

Pairing: John Price x F!Housewife!Reader

Synopsis: Good are the days when you wake up and John is already beside you. (18+)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Sleepy morning sex, p in v, soft dom Price? & fluff, etc.

A/N: There's absolutely nothing wrong in wanting that, Anon, I feel you. I had no idea if this was a request or not but I used it as smut practice sooo

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you woke up, the heavy arms around your waist nearly made your heart give out. Eyes wide, your unfocused gaze flickers back into consciousness onto the far wall with a violent tensing of your muscles; lids going back.

You’re about to rush from bed with a call for alarm, but the soft snores puffing against the back of your neck makes your half-risen body freeze.

A moment of clarity alights in the dim hours.

John, eyes close with a great sigh and an immediate calming of your heart, ribs raising and falling once more at a, gradually, deadening pace. You’d forgotten that your husband was more stubborn than you—and seeing that he’d slipped into your bed without waking you, it just proved your point.

A low grumble leaves lips slipping over the clutch of your shoulder, the grip along your body being tightened like you were nothing more than a teddy bear. With a small smile on your face, you’re being dragged back into an expansive chest, firm muscle forming the mattress of warm flesh and wrinkled sheets of mapped scars.

It was never in John’s nature to take advantage of you, and thus, even if you told him it was alright, the SAS Captain never woke you when he came home in the small hours of the morning.

He’d called it inconsiderate to do so—ungentlemanly—but in reality, you knew it was because the bastard liked to watch you sleep in nothing but one of his gargantuan shirts and a pair of thin underwear.

Your fatigued body presses itself farther into the Brit’s chest, feeling the rumbles of his breathing and how he conforms to you, his toned hips pushing forward into the space in between your legs. He smells like your shampoo; the wisps of his beard hair soft like silk from his oils that he knows you love.

At the very least he’d gathered enough energy last night to take a shower. How many times had you woken up because of the stench of cigar smoke and blood; dirt and dust that stung your nostrils something fierce? You’d lost count.

Oh, John…

Reaching down, your fingers dance over your husband’s firm grip, the hold unyielding unless you simply wake and ask him to move.

But you didn’t want that.

You intertwine your digits together, eyelashes fluttering over your cheeks as the earliness of the morning hits you. It was still slightly dark in the bedroom, only a fraction of the light from the sun cascading in from black-out curtains.

“Hnm,” the sound escapes you as the lead form of John lays heavily; squeezing you with a delicious roving of barely covered skin.

It was no surprise that John had gone to bed as utterly naked as the day he was born.

“Stop moving.” Lips mutter, half lost to the sound of shifting cotton and your lower body being refitted closer with a hand to your naval, pulling your arse rearward.

You blink, skin tingling and cheeks hot as a pinky brushes over the elastic of your underwear, slipping under as it once more falls stationary.

“I didn’t expect you to be back last night.” The room was usually cold without John—he was always considered the space heater out of the two of you when it came time to sleep. His much larger and rarely clothed form was never far from you and made blankets or sheets completely worthless.

You sometimes compared him to a mini sun with how much raw warmth he exuded; even told him that he should consider being a science experiment with how little it made sense.

How can someone even be this toasty?

“Came in ‘round o-three-hundred,” John says, moving with a sigh before situating his head to rest it above yours and pressing his nose to your scalp in the meantime. “The boys are fine.”

An up-tick pulls at your lip muscles. He knew how you worried about everyone on One-Four-One.

“Good.” Your backside shifts with a rotating of your pelvis, the Brit’s thigh in between your legs more comfortable if you move farther up it. A shiver slices your spine; voice goes breathy. “And you?”

John’s breath hitched, and you could feel a low roll of thunder in his breast. His grip tightens.

“Alive.”

So stoic. You roll your eyes at the brief explanation but internally enjoy the statement. Sometimes it was better to only receive the bare minimum when it comes to your husband's job. And you sigh as a growing pressure makes itself known near the base of your tailbone.

“What about my wife, then?” John’s fingers start moving below your stomach in small circles, the skin of your abdomen obeying the push and pull readily. “She do anything worthwhile when I was away?”

Fatigued cheekiness enters his tone when you shiver and bring his hand up to your mouth—laying gentle kisses on the knicks and scratches. New scrapes.

You chuckle lightly.

“Hm, I planted new flowers in the back.”

“Did you now?” John huffs, taking down a slow breath as his digits delve lower. You surrender readily to him, letting him do as he wished before jolting when his forefinger brushed your bundle of nerves. He purrs like a cat, “What kinds.”

Your husband’s watching you closely with a partially-closed eye, tired yet that gleam of awareness is still present in cerulean blue; breathing into your ear as the image of his hands inside of your panties sturs his eagerness even more. His legs shift in muted annoyance at the creeping sensation over his lower body.

He likes the way you languidly roll with him.

Fuck, how long had he wanted to do this? To come home to you—his housewife—to a home that was void of shouting and the scent of gunpowder and engine oil. A loving touch; a soft body. Being away from you was worse than torture.

His little beauty. His little wife.

When soft sighs answer him instead of words, he comes to a pause; thigh moving to give him ample space to work and spread your legs farther.

“What kinds, Love?” He teases, a smirk pulling his lips back that leaves you shaking when you sense it forming over your skin.

“S-Star Jasmine.” You whisper, opening your lower body to him as his digits go once more to bring a striking of lighting, pulse in your core growing hot as his scent overwhelms you. Eyes snap shut, constricting over nothing even as a great need screams that you shouldn’t be.

The bedroom is filled with the soft noises of hitched breaths and carefully flinching legs intertwined with covers. With every circle of John’s touch, your arousal grows; tension breeding in the sudden slickness of your cunt that pools out to coat the man’s digits.

You’d missed this.

“What else?” A hard press for a non-enunciated reward and you whine, fingers tightening over his other hand as he noses over your pulse, whispering kisses like butterfly’s wings over your rapid pulse. “Use your words.”

Your mind falters, the unknown of what John would do next leaving your neurons short-circuiting. Sure, you’d touched yourself to his voice over calls—helped gotten each other off by just the static through a phone—but having him here. Feeling you now with tender care and blown-wide eyes that darken like a storm. Yourself still clothed in a shirt and now ruined panties and your beast of a husband with nothing but a dripping erection that now digs like hot iron into the curve of your ass.

He bites a hickey into the skin below your ear and you gasp out.

“John, please, j…just,” The Brit laughs at you, deep chuckles jerking against your back before the hand you’re gripping tight leaves to curl under your breasts; trapping you to him as you squirm.

The abuse of your clit ceases and you’re forced to confront the structure of your lungs as they fight for air. A sudden patheticness fills your blood at the ache of your empty slit. Eyebrows pull in.

“John!” Behind you, the man’s hard-on ruts into you as he grunts into your neck, biceps flaring with every-other movement. He does it slowly, still tired in the early hours but unable to help himself for the very same reason. Desperately, he wanted you as a fish longs for water.

All-consuming; yielding rapture that only can be fulfilled by your malleable flesh.

The friction moves your body back and forth, mouth opening in weakened pants of soft breaths and sluggish muscles. You didn’t want to move but at the same time, the teasing leaves you yearning to be held down and left filled; only smelling like John and sweaty linen as slick bodies fuck half-asleep.

Your cheeks are burning as the sensation of being used washes over you.

“Tell me. C’mon, know you can.” John’s fast yet hushed tone accompanied by the sensation of his pre-cum slathering itself over your sensitive skin and his dick twitching was a drug. It became hard to think between those demanding instincts and hopeless attempts to form cohesive thoughts.

“I–” You force out, face screwed up, “Green Spice.”

“Attagirl.” Your panties are stretched to the side, and the thigh in your shaking legs shoves you open even wider. “Lookin’ damn good in my shirt, Sweetheart, y’know that? Eh? Bloody temptress.”

The stiff desperation of his cock makes you moan before it finds the entrance to your slit.

“Just for you.” Your voice hitches at John’s eagerness; his desperation to be joined—held in your wet clutch despite how tired you know he is. How tired you were.

The Captain works so hard; spreads his blood over the earth in defense of others with little need for reward or recognition. He came home without an expectation of you to even spoil him—the thought makes your mind sad. How could he not expect that? Hell, he spoils you by leaving a spare credit card for your every whim and want; you could ask for anything and he’d get it with no hesitation.

His wife.

Even now with his cock ready to enter your eager yet unstretched cunt, his body vibrating and breathing fast, he pauses.

Your eyes flutter open, huffing in expectation as you clench over nothing, slick falling over the mattress. You blink and look over your shoulder to find blue orbs watching you; the wrinkles around the Brit’s eyes tiny.

You hum a question, shifting your lower body to grind into John’s twitching dick, memorizing the grand size of his leaking head as your lashes flutter. The man groans and tights the hold under your breasts.

“Let me?” He pants.

A small smile forms on your sweat-slick face, fingers tight over the sheets. John lays a kiss on your cheek, so close it takes little movement as the bed creaks.

“You don’t need to ask, Love.” You chuckle, heart warm. “You’re my husband.”

The confession seems to spark something in his eyes, a smirk slashing his lips. The Captain’s pelvis moves, angling the tip until you feel the burn of an unready cunt as it causes you to mewl.

“Always gonna ask,” he grunts into your ear as your head falls back to its sideways position in concentration as your face scrunches; muscles wound. “Proper, eh?”

“Such a gentleman.” You whimper, body jerking as more of his sizable girth is swallowed down. Deep pulsing emulates inside your body, a sheen of oblivion opening between pain and a deep-seated pleasure that only John gives you. The Brit shushes you comfortingly. “Even as he’s opening me up without letting me cum on his fingers first.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” He’s shivering, feeling himself enter your heat as slowly as he’s able. “Had to have you like this. In our bed. Wearin’ my shirt. Fuckin’ hell.” John gasps, feeling you constrict around him like a vice as his abdomen bunches.

He wouldn’t last long, but neither would you. The two of you were wasted on each other, just wanting to feel the friction of skin and the sweet release of an orgasm that the both of you can share now that you were together.

The sound of him entering you was vulgar, a liquid squelching that echoes above the tight sighs and growls.

“Keep taking it, then,” John pants, forehead pressed heavily into your scalp, muttering into your hair dreamily. “Know you can. Just like that, now.”

With your mouth opening and sweat dribbling down your neck you feel him bottom out with a horrible shaking, grip almost bruising as his free hand goes to massage your clit sluggishly.

Your cunt spasms, textured walls stretched to their limit on the throws of delicious agony as veins press into silky grooves, the clutch of John’s cock-head a plug of large proportion. If you move, you’re afraid you’ll tear something.

“Erm,” the fullness sends searing heat up your vertebrae, back struggling against your husband’s chest to arch as your toes curl.

“Hush, Love.” John quickly runs circles over your bundle, “Easy, now. I’ve got you…Let me show you how much I enjoy being home with my wife, yeah.” He’s rambling—how he usually does when he’s sleepily fucking you on maybe two hours of oblivion.

Your pleasure bleeds raw, and the scrape of the man’s exiting and re-entering cock becomes a trance-like affair of passion. The bedframe hits the wall, a steady, slow, rocking of thrusts that emulate the bare affection John uses you as an example for.

Moaning, you stare blankly at the far wall, body jolting whenever he manages to strike that sweet spot and bite into your back’s flesh in unbridled adoration. He whispers the dirtiest things to you, and your lower-body flexes with each uttered sentence.

“So good to me, keepin’ this cunt all to myself.”

“Walls so tight I can feel you tryin’ to push me out, Love. Fuck.”

“Hear that, eh? Listen, b-bloody hell, listen to how wet you are for my cock.”

It brings you to a point of tears, satisfaction building to a tight knot of immobility. It was a good thing John liked doing all the work for you because although you had been meeting his thrusts quite evenly before, now you had all but lost the plot. Your thighs quiver, slit trying to tense over the man’s foreign prodding until it became apparent you’d been molded into the very shape of him like a form in the snow; flesh littered with the dew of perspiration as the scent of carnal desire swims.

“That’s right, Love.” John’s jaw is clenched, pace for a minute quickening as he feels you shifting as if possessed with feelings of overstimulation. “That’s it. So good to be home with you—home with my little housewife who ruins me.”

Your hands clench into the bedsheets; sounds of ecstasy get louder and more clipped.

“Fuck,” you gasp, repeating the curse multiple times along with John’s name. “John—” One more angled thrust and you’re left shoving your head into the pillow, great waves of precious enlightenment smashing into your chest full force until you can only recall the sensation of your husband’s strangled breaths and the feeling of his seed spilling into your womb.

Sloppy and quick ruts of varying success as his abdominals convulse in a display as old as time itself. Panting and shuttering, your body utterly falls limp.

The joined fluids of evidence ooze out to form a sticky concoction over your thighs and cunt, pubic hairs on both ends shiny with cum.

Hands spread over your breasts to grip and massage; traveling atop your quivering body as well as your achy hips. John’s thigh leaves the spread of your legs so the one can fall back to the mattress with a muffled thump and a poof of fleeing air. But his cock stays where it belongs, milky ring dribbling as every slight movement causes you to contract and him to grunt and wrench his eyes shut.

It’s sometime later that a firm set of lips is dug into your neck, fingers skating over every possible section of skin as small nips set nerves alight with sensitive sensations. You hum in appreciation at the worship of your body, sensing the hard muscle that protects you as well as the physical words before they’re spoken aloud.

“I love you.” You smile.

“I love you too, John.” Your head weakly turns, noticing the farther-risen sun beyond the curtains of the hot and sex-scented room. Finding blue eyes already staring at you from the pillow and the small smile present on mustache-hidden lips, you smirk. John chuckles, though he doesn’t know what’s in store.

“You’re letting me make you breakfast today.”

“Hm...you’ll not find me complaining.”

There really was nothing else like coming home.

TAGS||

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cybersunnie · 13 days

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18+ / MDNI cock warming; f!reader (wc 992) with PATRICK ZWEIG

There was a story about the tortoise and the hare, and Patrick Zweig was the hare.

Slow and steady wasn't exactly his style.

He was quick and impulsive. Careless and arrogant. Annoyingly—or admirably?—persistent like the suffocating heat on a hot summer day. If you spared one glance at Patrick, you'd think he was nothing but smug. And he was well aware of all of this, too. He just never cared much about what other people thought of him, to begin with.

But Patrick loved a challenge, and he sure liked taking his sweet time with you. Or, more accurately, he enjoyed making you squirm.

He'd have his cock stuffed inside your cunt, and tease you with lingering touches and chaste kisses until you caved in and begged him to fuck you. With Patrick, it was all fire and the wrong kind of love. But sometimes, when he felt a little nicer, he just wanted to be close to you, to become one with you, heartbeats linked and breathing the same breath.

And with how poorly he had been doing in his last few matches, he needed that semblance of human connection he had lost years ago.

The night was young, but Patrick was eager to have you. His hungry kisses left your lips raw, and his mouth traveled south and started to nip at your jaw, his nose digging into your cheek. Everything he did was to distract you. Distract you from the burning sensation you felt as his cock stretched you out.

"There you go, atta girl."

Patrick kept a firm grip on your hips, his thumbs caressing the skin there to soothe your nerves. You always got so flustered whenever you tried to take him. And that was because you felt all of him. The tuft of hair on his pubic bone, the veins on his cock. You'd whine, tell him that it was too much, that he was too big, as if your pussy wasn't made for him.

He liked it, though.

Because in the end, you looked so pretty, sitting on his fat cock.

You heard him groan, low and guttural, and his large hands snaked up to your ribs, stopping just beneath your breasts. His touch was electrifying—everything about him was—and it sent a slight buzz through your body. And the sight of him alone wasn't helping. Patrick's wild hair and deep green eyes and that fucking smirk he never went without. But as much as you wanted to move, you couldn't. He wouldn't allow it. Not yet.

"Fuck, look at you." Patrick slid a hand further up to cup your breast, and you wondered if he could feel your pounding heart. "I could stare at you for hours."

You raised a brow. "I hope that's not the only thing you'll be doing."

"No, no," he said softly, his gaze darting over your face while he let his other hand wander, fingers tracing up your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But it's tempting."

Patrick watched you roll your eyes, and he chuckled, grasping your hips once again and squeezing. He wished he could just keep his cock inside you all night, your cunt keeping it warm and wet and snug. But you were always too fussy to stay still for long. He supposed that was his fault—he did like spoiling you, after all.

"I have an idea."

Ideas and Patrick Zweig didn't mix well. You learned that early on when you first met him. And as you looked into his eyes, seeing the playful mischief within, you knew you were in for a treat whether you liked it or not.

He took your silence as an invitation to continue, so he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear and voice velvety, "We should do this in front of a mirror next time."

Or maybe ideas and Patrick Zweig did mix well.

Your mind started to reel, imagination running wild. But Patrick painted the picture for you like it was something he had been thinking about for a while.

"You'd have no choice but to look at yourself—to look at just how fucking pretty you are when you're like this," Patrick whispered, his voice beginning to get lost in the heat and longing. "I'd keep your legs spread nice and wide so that you can see how my dick looks stuffed inside your sweet pussy." You squirmed, but his grip tightened around your hips. A silent warning to stay still. "Maybe you'd finally understand why I do this to you every time."

He pulled away from your ear, a hand leaving your hip to caress your cheek, his touch soft despite his calloused palm. All you could do was stare at him with a tight chest. "I care about you, you know," he laughed as if to hide the sincerity behind his words. "I'm not just trying to get a quick fuck. I wanna take my time, stay close to you longer."

For once, his name tasted sweet on your tongue. "Patrick."

It was a prayer disguised as a whisper, a plea for his words to be true. And he hummed, his lips brushing yours as he uttered your name back. If this was the wrong kind of love, why did it feel so right? Why did he feel so right?

You tried to swallow down your pride. "Please."

"Please, what?" Patrick asked, but he knew what you wanted. He was connected to you. Your thoughts were his, too. "C'mon, use your words, baby."

But you couldn't bring yourself to say more, to accept defeat. You pulled your lips taut.

"No? Nothing?" He tilted his head, and his signature smirk was back. "Well, let me know when you figure it out."

And while Patrick was much like the hare, he knew he needed to take it slow and steady when it came to you. You would surrender to him sooner or later. You always did.

author's note: i have very mixed feelings abt this 😄 ANYWHO i will gladly give patrick everything he needs which is a shower and a bed

UNEDITED — 05.14.2024

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig smut #challengers #challengers smut #josh o'connor #✶ — sunnie writes challengers!#✶ — patrick zweig

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sidekick-hero · 4 months

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It's a quiet Sunday afternoon in late May, the sun streaming in through the living room windows and bathing them in its warm light.

His head is in Eddie's lap and Eddie's fingers are running through his hair in that soothing way that makes Steve feel closer to sleep than awake. Everything is soft and hazy, like a dream he never wants to wake up from.

Everything could be perfect.

Everything is perfect, really.

Everything except the voice in his head. It speaks in different tongues to better disguise itself, making it harder for Steve to get rid of it.

Sometimes it sounds like his grandfather telling him to go somewhere else to eat like a goddamn pig when Steve ate his chicken legs with his hand and got grease on himself.

Other times it's his mom telling the neighbor that Steve wasn't the brightest kid, but at least he was good at sports.

Often it is his father's voice asking him why he is such a disappointment.

On his bad days, it is Nancy's voice reminding him that his love is bullshit, that he is bullshit.

Eddie helps. Most days he makes the voices go away, or at least helps him quiet them.

But not today.

Today Steve woke up to a bad day.

That's why they canceled their plans to go to the Hopper-Byers' for a family picnic and decided to spend their Sunday on the couch instead, just the two of them.

That's why Steve is biting back the questions he's been dying to ask for hours. It's too much to ask, too raw, too needy. It would be like cutting himself open and showing Eddie the emptiness inside where a real person should be.

That's why he breaks so easily when Eddie looks down at him with a soft, adoring smile on his face and kisses the tip of Steve's nose.

Just like that. Like it's nothing. Like it's everything.

Like it's love.

"Why?" It bursts out of him like hot magma from an erupting volcano, spilling out of his mouth and leaving scorched earth in its wake.

Brown eyes widen in surprise, clearly not expecting a natural disaster in their living room.

"Why what, Stevie?" He asks, his fingers stopping their soothing ministrations, and Steve begins a tally of the casualties. That's one.

"Why are you doing this?" Steve demands, unable to contain the outburst. "Treating me like... like I'm something worth treating with so much care and gentleness? You canceled the picnic today like it's no big deal, but I know how excited you've been all week about your little campaign with the kids. Just because I'm too weak to handle a bad day. Why are you not angry? Why... why...?"

Why are you still here?

He can't say it, can't ask it, too afraid of the answer.

But Eddie hears it anyway, can see through Steve and his bullshit as if he were made of glass.

"Because I love you, Steve."

Steve hates that it sounds so simple when Eddie says it like that.

"But why?"

Steve scrambles into an upright position, can't bear to have this conversation lying down. He needs to be able to run and hide, to get away so he can lick his wounds.

Some of these thoughts must show on his face, or maybe it's just the way Eddie has learned to read him like an open book. Those dark chocolate eyes Steve loves to get lost in go impossibly soft as they take him in, and Eddie's calloused hands are so, so gentle as they grip Steve's own, as if Eddie is afraid he'll break him with one wrong move.

"There is no why, Stevie. I love you because I have to. Because there is no other way to exist in a world with you in it. No why, any more than there's a reason your hair does that floppy thing no matter how hard you try to tame it. Or why a gaggle of middle schoolers imprinted on you like ducklings, so now we're co-parenting them."

Eddie brings both of Steve's hands to his mouth and kisses them reverently before placing them on his own cheeks, silently asking Steve to hold him.

And Steve does, as if Eddie is the most precious thing he's ever held in his hands.

"Some days I felt like I wasn't even real, you know? Like I was imaginary, and if people stopped believing I was real, I would just disappear. So I invented myself every day so other people wouldn't have to. It was like who I really was was secondary to what I wanted everyone else to see. But not you. You saw me. You knew me, from the beginning. I can't really explain it any better than that. You make me real. And I love you. And there is no why, only a how. I love you like you're real too."

The voices in his head do not magically disappear, but when Steve kisses Eddie, he begins to feel like a real person, too.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 5 #love is being seen and known #my writing

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thisblogisaboutabook · 5 months

Text

The Fated Truth

Azriel x Reader

Truth-Teller’s origin story. A multi-pov oneshot.

A/N: this story came to me after listening to the songs seven, vigilante shit, it’s nice to have a friend, and my tears ricochet by taylor swift.

warnings: attempted sa, language, suggestive language, parental abuse, violence, main character death

The Angel

-Ladies always rise above -

Remove the dagger from his heart.

-Ladies know what people want-

Wipe the blood from the corner of your kohl lined eyes.

-Someone sweet-

Spit on the bastard.

-Someone kind-

Swipe at the next overgrown male.

-Someone fun-

Hit your mark, swing around, drive your dagger into the brute on your six.

“Well, shit.” you think to yourself as a group of ten overgrown bats rush toward you. Siphons glowing.

The irony isn’t lost on you that yet another thing they withheld from you would contribute in damning their very existence. A female with siphons was considered absurd and absolutely out of the question, it wasn’t your place - yet this incontrolable blast of raw killing power begged to differ.

One moment those pricks were running toward you and the next, they were ashes in the wind.

Looking at the dead females around you, pure rage boils within. Your insides could be cooked at this point for all you know. Not a single feeling but uncontrollable rage.

A gasp breaks the silence. One of the females is still alive. Running to her, her eyes filled with panic, breaths rapid and shallow. You lean down and whisper to her before unsheathing your dagger and holding it up. Her eyes widen in terror but not at you - behind you. You turn to look.

“Azri-“

The blast of power hit before you could finish saying it - your mate’s name - your final breath.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Journal

Nine year old Y/N

“I made a new friend! His name is Azriel. He’s like me! He’s two years older than me and can’t fly but he still has his wings. I wish I still had mine, we could learn to fly together. Azriel has burn scars too but his are on his hands instead of his back like mine.

He’s really quiet but it’s okay, I talk and he listens! He has shadow powers though. I don’t think I’m supposed to say this but they’re really cute! One of them followed me home from my chores today.

I have to go now. Dad is yelling. I think he’s mad again.”

11 year old Y/N

“Father hit me again last night. I got upset and my power hiccuped. I asked him for a siphon and he locked me in the cellar for asking. I have bruises that hurt really badly but I’m okay.

Azriel saw me this morning. I tried to hide the bruises but he notices everything. I cried and he listened to me. Sometimes I think he’s the only person who sees me.”

13 year old Y/N

“One of father’s friends came over two nights ago - they were drinking. I had to refill their mugs of ale and the friend grabbed me inappropriately. Father laughed. When he left the room his friend pulled me into his lap and his hand drifted below my waist. I was scared and my power flickered, throwing me backward and flipping the chair over with him in it.

The blast broke his arm and nose. I don’t feel bad.

I tried telling father what happened but he didn’t listen. He locked me in the cellar from that night until this morning.

One of Azriel’s shadows found me and picked the lock. Father either forgot he locked me away or didn’t care because he never came to check on me or give me food. I found a canteen of water on one of the shelves though.

Azriel retrieved me as soon as his shadow notified him. He took me back to Rhysand’s Mother’s cabin and she fed me. Azriel stayed by my side as I took a bath - there were even bubbles. I’ve never had a bath with bubbles before. Azriel saw my scars peaking over my towel after I climbed out of the bath and instinctively clenched his hands. I took them in my hands and kissed them. Our scars prove our strength. He tells me mine are beautiful but his are too. All of him is.

He’s my best friend.”

15 Year Old Y/N

“I spent the day with Azriel yesterday. Sometimes we sneak away and train. He teaches me self-defense maneuvers and even some Illyrian fighting techniques. My powers have been growing a lot lately too. I am still not allowed siphons though. It’s getting harder to contain but training with Azriel serves as an outlet.

I got into a fight with father again two nights ago. He threw a knife at me. I avoided it but if it hit me, it would have landed in my chest. He called me an “ungrateful whore just like my mother.” I was told that mother died in childbirth but sometimes I wonder if it’s not true.

When he locked me in the cellar this time, I let out a blast of power. It ripped a shelf off the wall and down with it came a dusty box I’d never seen before. I opened it to find a beautiful obsidian-hilted knife and a note that said:

For my beautiful babe. May the light of truth always find you, even in the darkest places. I will always love you. -Mother.

I can’t believe it was there all of this time. It broke my heart to know that she had been locked away in the cellar too. The only thing she was able to give me. She loved me. Those words meant so much. Someday I will be reunited with her in the realm beyond and she’ll share her truth with me.

Oh I almost forgot!! Azriel snuck into my room this evening and I showed him the knife. He held me while I cried tears of joy and sadness over this gift from my mother.

He’s going to train me in wielding it.”

16 Year old Y/N

Father was away on a training exercise last night so I went to a party at Rhysand’s cabin. It was fun but Morrigan was there. She’s so beautiful and I think Azriel likes her. He looks at her like she’s the brightest star in the sky.

He’s my best friend and I have loved him for a long time but sometimes, I feel an ache in my chest. Maybe I love him as more than a friend? I left the party early and trained with my hunting knife alone at our usual spot. He didn’t come looking for me.

This morning he stopped by and we practiced together. He seemed sad for a bit but I didn’t press. He tends to prefer more physical methods of expressing his feelings. He was still sullen afterward so I brought him back to my house for tea. We laid in bed together for hours. I know it’s frowned upon but it’s never gone past holding each other. He needs touch as much as I need his listening ear.

I think I’m going to ask him to spend the night.

17 year old Y/N

Yesterday was my 17th birthday. Father didn’t pay any mind to it as always. He says it’s “a reminder of what I did to my mother.” He drank himself into oblivion which left me free to leave the house. He probably never realized I left.

Sometimes I want to tell him that I know his secret - that there was more to her death than my birth but I know better. The following blow up would be catastrophic. At this point, my power has been growing so much that I think… I think I’m more of a danger to him than he is to me.

But… something big happened. Azriel took me flying. We looked at the stars and he flew me far north to see the Aurora. It was almost as beautiful as him. I may or may not have cried tears of joy.

Az playfully kissed my tears away but then something happened - what started as friendly kisses sparked a flame within me and I… I noticed a shift in his scent too. We locked eyes and he kissed my lips. Hard, fervently, like maybe he sees me as something more. We landed in a clearing under the Aurora and kissed for hours.

I love him. I love him wholeheartedly.

18 year old Y/N

Something happened last night! Az and I have spent a lot of nights together recently. Any time father is away, he comes over and we lay in bed kissing and talking for hours until his shadows inevitably lull me to sleep. But last night, I kissed his jaw and down his neck - he grabbed my wrist and growled!! Not a scary growl but a… possessive growl. He told me that if we started this, he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

So…. I kept kissing him. Lower. And Lower. And, well… the rumors about wingspan are true.

We had each other over and over all night, until Cassian and Rhys came knocking on my door looking for him.

18 Year old Y/N part two:

Father has hardly been around. He’s been visiting other camps. I’m thankful for the break from him and especially thankful for the time I’ve spent with Azriel. We’ve spent countless hours entangled with each other over the past few months. My power has been stirring a lot, it’s still growing. Training hasn’t been enough so this physical outlet between Azriel and I has been a lifeline. I can’t get enough of him. He told me he loved me - and I knew this time it was different. He truly loves me and not just as his friend. He knows that I love him too.

But things have also been trying… Morrigan has visited a few times recently and he’s still so enamored by her. Honestly, I get it. But it still hurts. Sometimes I want to say something about it but I don’t want to cause problems. There’s a rumor that she slept with Cassian a couple of years ago and things have been different between Azriel and Morrigan ever since. He broods more than ever when she’s around.

Maybe I need to fuck him senseless, until all he can think about is me.

Just kidding, but seriously.

19 Year Old Y/N

“I have a secret.

A really big, life altering secret.

Azriel is my mate. I don’t know if he knows but last night - things were really passionate, when we came together, that golden thread people talk about, it just… SNAPPED for me.

Things have been really bad with father lately and there have been more wing clippings happening. My heart hurts for the girls. I used to feel sad because I never had a chance to touch the skies (until Azriel learned to fly and carried me into them) - but to have been able to fly for so many years and lose the ability. I couldn’t imagine. Those males deserve to suffer.

Father made a comment recently saying that he gave me a ‘gift’ by cutting off and burning my wings as a child. It made me furious - my power slipped. It destroyed most of our living room furniture and half our kitchen table. I could scent the fear in him when it happened. I think if he wasn’t such a coward - he would have killed me. I have hardly seen him since.”

20 Year old Y/N

“Azriel is taking me to a formal party at another camp! I can’t wait. Rhysand’s mother even made me a dress for it. It’s the most beautiful clothing I’ve ever owned. She also added a hidden sheath for my knife.

I just finished getting ready - I feel like a shooting star. I’ve never felt so… so powerful and gorgeous. My eyes are lined with kohl and my hair is braided with silvery strands woven in.

Tonight is the night I’m telling Azriel. I’m nervous, so, so nervous, but he deserves to know that we’re mates.

Morrigan will be at the party too. I really hope I’m not making a mistake by telling him tonight. I know he still cares for her so I will wait until after the party and it’s just the two of us in the sky before telling him. Maybe he’ll take me to look at the Aurora again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The Survivor

The infamous Shadowsinger made his way to her - approaching slowly, trembling, two palms up in the air as if to placate her.

He knelt down to the female who cried out in a blood curdling scream of pain and fear.

“P-pl-please don’t!! Don’t hurt me!”

“I’m here. You are safe.” The Shadowsinger choked out.

She didn’t understand. Why would he kill that female? She was only trying to help.

“Y-yo-you ki-killed h-her.” She cried out right before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Shadowsinger

Devastation. Pure devastation threatened to rip Azriel to shreds. What the hell happened in a matter of hours?

He’d barely seen Y/N at the dance. She’d arrived to the party with all eyes on her. She held her head high, wearing her scars proudly. He couldn’t help but admire how she let them shine tonight. He’d walked in with his hand on her back his scarred skin to her scarred skin. It wasn’t a flaw at all, but a lovely match. They were beautiful together.

Tonight was the night he would ask her to move in with him. He was now making a small salary - enough to buy a little cabin for the two of them. It was time for her to get the hell away from her horrid father. He planned to take her to view the aurora that she loved so much - and present her with a special gift - her very own siphons. She was the strongest Illyrian female he knew - really she was stronger than any Illyrian he knew aside from maybe him, Rhys, and Cassian. She’d struggled with her power and the misogynistic Illyrian bastards in Windhaven refused to allow her or any female such a privilege.

He’d worked out a plan with Rhys, who convinced the smith that crafted the siphons that he was going to try his hand at wearing siphons one more time - claiming he had a new method of siphoning his power through them that would prevent shattering. While they both knew it was bullshit and the siphons would never work for Rhys - they would then gift them to Y/N without raising suspicion.

Mor was at the dance tonight. He had gone over to visit with her and shared his plans for tonight with her. She squealed and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek and a huge hug, requesting a celebratory dance. They’d gone out on the dance floor for a couple of songs and when he pulled away to steal a dance with Y/N she was gone.

He’d searched the party through when a couple of males burst through the door - yelling of a female going crazy and murdering local villagers.

Az immediately vacated the party to take down the assailant - sending another partygoer to alert Rhys and Cassian who were currently bedding a set of twins in one of the suites.

He was taken back when he landed at the site of the attack. The carnage was brutal with blood coating the snowy ground, littered in dead males and females. His heart nearly stopped when he realized, at the center of it all, there she was. Y/N holding her hunting knife over a severely injured female.

Stunned by the sight, Azriel prepared to send a wave of power out and knock the knife from her hand. Right as the power readied itself for Azriel to fire, she turned and looked at him. Her eyes met his and snap. His body jolted - a golden thread between him and the blood splattered beauty before him - the surge caused his arm to jerk and a much more powerful blast emitted from his siphons. He missed his target. For the first time in his life, he missed it. Instead of the knife, the deadly blast of power hit her.

His mate. His best friend. His equal. His eternity - ripped away in a second.

Everything after that was a blur. His only memories of those moments played on a constant reel in his head flashing images of the injured girl screaming “you killed her!!!!”, collapsing on top of Y/N’s lifeless body, screaming to the mother or any other deity that may listen - begging for her chest to rise and fall again, and then four strong hands pulling him off of her before everything went black and his brothers voice calmed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~

Days later Azriel woke up from whatever sedation Rhys had put him in. When he woke, Cassian was by his side. It was all of a minute before the memory came flooding back.

Azriel thrashed only to find he’d been restrained.

“Brother..” Cassian said firmly.

“Brother!” he yelled

Azriel’s wrists and ankles were on fire as he thrashed. He had to get to her, had to.

Finally Azriel cried out “Y/N!!! Y/N!!!!”

“My mate! Where is she!? WHERE IS SHE!?” he screamed and cried, thrashing against the restraints with all of his might.

Everything went dark again.

“Az…..” Rhys spoke softly into his mind

Azriel didn’t have the strength to scream or yell in this space of sedation. He could only whisper “where is she?”

Silence filled the void of his mind before Rhys spoke. “She’s gone, Az.”

Devastation flooded through him, filling him completely, making that one sided bond reverberate every ounce of emotion back to him.

Rhys waited patiently, sending soothing waves of darkness into his mind. Knowing Azriel well enough to wait until he was ready to send a thought back.

“Why, Rhys? Why did she do it?”

Again, that damned silence as Rhys paused.

“If I show you now, I’ll have to keep you under for longer, Az. You’re a danger to yourself right now and this… it’s heavy, brother.”

“Do it” he gritted.

Azriel’s mind became entranced in a vision. Before him a massacre. He was seeing through the eyes of a frightened female, eyes bleary from sobbing.

A large group of males had corralled several females into a circle, some as young as five or six. The males all carried sharp objects ranging from sickles and scythes to swords and axes.

A male stepped forward - Y/N’s father - who spoke:

“Females of Illyria have not served us well in many years. They forget that their purpose is to care for us, maintain our homes, and cater to our physical needs. Instead, they insult us by wasting time and energy on training - as if our protection is not enough? Young females smuggle herbs into our camps that delay their bleed so they can fly where they please, whoring around with whomever they please. These behaviors reflect negatively on all of Illyria, leaving us to appear weak to enemies.”

And then the bloodshed began. The males ran at the females, corralling them in closer and closer. Butchering wings and brutalizing any female who dared fight back. The screaming, gods awful screaming, pierced the air.

Male screams suddenly burst out - a blast of power knocking ten of them on their asses.

And there she was, in her resplendent glory.

“Hello boys.” She smirked.

Y/N’s father stepped forward. “My traitorous daughter, and dressed like a slut too. Shall we show them what happens to women who don’t obey.”

“Oh yes, ladies, my father took my wings when I was four. He burnt the stumps too. See these scars?” She turned around briefly with a wave to her back. “Someone I love helped me realize how beautiful they are, a stark reminder of what I can overcome.”

She paused, looking to the females as she addressed her father:

“So yes, father, perhaps this is the fate of disobedient females - but allow me the honor of showing YOU the fate of males who think they can steal a females power.”

-They say looks can kill and I might try-

Her piercing eyes again met her father as she threw a hand out, sending another blast of power - a death blow - turning him to ash in the wind.

Before any of the males could react, she sent another larger blast, creating an opening near the most vulnerable of the females.

“RUN! Those of you who can fight - you may stay. Those of you who are unable - there is no shame in leaving now! Seek shelter!”

The females nodded toward a teenage girl, signaling her to gather the youngest females and ran off with them. Any males that tried stopping them were turned to ash.

“Ladies, show them who we are!” Y/N cried.

-The ladies simply had enough-

They were outnumbered, so terribly outnumbered. Some females had died before Y/N arrived - bleeding out from the butchering of their wings but the few remaining females fought bravely. Because of their lack of training, the males easily overtook many of them but Y/N led them bravely, valiantly, taking them out as best as she could.

As the female numbers lessened Y/N cried out for the females to evacuate, to seek healers. The remainder of the females fled aside from two females (one of which this visions point of view was from) who appeared to have more training than the others.

Y/N looked to them giving a knowing look seemingly saying “give them hell.” They adjusted their stances into that of the most fearsome warriors, and took on the remaining males as more and more fled in.

Y/N’s power was like nothing they’d ever seen. She took down male after male.

Before she could react, two males approached from behind taking out the other female and knocking out the vision of the female whose mind Rhys had gleaned into.

As the female blacked out, the vision faded away. Silence once again filled the air for several minutes before Azriel said:

“But.. she was holding a knife over the female. I don’t understand.”

Rhys answered in a heartbreakingly soft tone

“I can show you, brother. But this will be hard to see. Are you sure?”

Azriel replied firmly, “show me.”

Rhys hesitated before continuing. But then the vision resumed as the female regained consciousness:

Her eyes were so blurry. She was hurting terribly but managed a gasp. Around her, all of the males were dead and the bodies of their fallen sisters painted the snow red. Emotion flooded through her, she couldn’t move. As her vision cleared further, she saw her. The female who fought so bravely for them.

Y/N saw her and ran over. The blood caking her braid causing panic. The trauma of this night was too much - the blood so triggering. Y/N sensed the fear and whispered “I am here. You are safe now. Look at my eyes, not around you, not at the blood on me, just my eyes.” The female tried but couldn’t look away from the blood in her hair. “I’m going to bring my knife out and cut the braid. Do not be afraid.” Y/N once again unsheathed her knife, lifting it, when loud wings flapped in. The injured female couldn’t get words out, her only signal to Y/N, a wide eyed look of panic.

Y/N turned around - breathed out “Azri-“ just as that fatal blow of power hit her.

“STOP!” Azriel cried out in his mind. It was too much.

Azriel’s body began convulsing as a mixture of rage, heartbreak, and panic flew through him. “I KILLED HER. I KILLED HER. MY MATE. MY MATE. MY MATE.”

Rhys had no choice but to send out another wave of sedation to his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next several weeks were spent in and out of sedation. Rhysand had found that Y/N’s father had been planning the attack for months, perhaps even longer. The camp was chosen for the first attack because of the party - a distraction to lessen the chances of interference from outsiders.

He planned to carry out more attacks throughout Illyria in coming months. Had it not been for Y/N, more would have happened. Her heroic actions prevented so many more losses than just the ones that were saved that night.

Azriel stayed bedridden for months - only leaving when Cassian and Rhys nagged him enough that it wasn’t worth the energy to refuse them. One day Rhys brought in a box, inside the box, Y/N’s knife and a journal. “She would have wanted you to have this.”

Azriel’s chest broke at the sight. Her mothers knife, the knife they’d spent hundreds of hours training with. He almost refused it but it felt like a piece of her. A reminder of her goodness, of the mate he lost.

That night he laid it under his pillow - an odd comfort as he read through the journal. The journal unveiling that she knew they were mates. His heart cracked further knowing that the reason she’d stepped out that night was likely to get some air after she saw him with Morrigan. “Stupid.” His inner thoughts cried out to him. How could he have been so blind?

He lay awake for half the night as he read through her journal - he sobbed for hours until his shadows finally lulled him to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Truth-Teller

“Azriel” a soft voice whispered.

“Azriel” the lovely voice whispered again.

He was dreaming.

He tried to whisper her name but couldn’t speak.

“I don’t have much time, I need you to listen.”

He again attempted to speak but no sound came. He nodded his head.

A flash of light illuminated his mind and there she was. Somehow even more beautiful than she’d been - if that were possible. Her form illuminated with an incandescent glow, face full of light - a light that only came from insurmountable joy and happiness. And behind her, behind her were stunning golden feathered wings. An angel, his angel, stood before him… with six glowing siphons.

“Azriel, please do not cry for me. I am at peace. This was always my destiny. The lovely truth of my life was that all of the pain led me to you, I found a love, a friendship, that so few experience. Every step led me to where I am now and this afterlife is beautiful. The truth of life is that fate is inevitable.”

She waved a hand and out stepped more winged females. The females who died in the attack.

“What happened was not an accident, it was fate. You could not have changed the outcome. When you sent your power out toward me and the bond snapped, my power shot through the bond into you, reflecting back to me. You only sent out a small blast, the fatal blow came from my refracted power.”

Azriel’s eyes widened at the revelation. His heart still completely shattered but the guilt slightly lessened.

“When you sealed my fate it trapped a piece of my soul in the knife. I am forever bound to Truth-Teller. When you carry truth-teller you carry a piece of my power, of me, with you. Though, I will be with you regardless, as a part of me will always rest…” she held a delicate hand to her heart, “right here.”

His mind raced. Truth-Teller. What she’d named her knife after the truth of her mother was unveiled with it.

“I must go now, Azriel.” She waved an arm again to her fellow angels. “I am the keeper of the Mother’s gate and this is my legion. This was always my destiny - this and to love you. I will keep the bastards out and someday, someday far from now, I will hold the gate open for you.

Until then, may the truth set you free my love.”

A beautiful woman resembling Y/N stepped forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her mother. The angels all nodded to Azriel in confirmation.

“My precious mate, I will love you for eternity.” Y/N whispered as she shot toward the sky - right into the most vibrant aurora he’d ever seen.

~~~~~~~~~~

Truth-Teller

500 Years Later

Azriel still thought of her every damn day, Truth-Teller never leaving his side. His North Star, the angel guiding him through life. He never told his brothers - didn’t know how to explain how that broken mating bond glowed inside him whenever his intuition failed. She’d guided him in her own way all of these years.

Leading up to the war with Hybern the tug became stronger and stronger. A warning of the strife to come.

For the first time since the night Rhys brought him her journal and Truth-Teller, she reappeared to him.

“Azriel.” Her melodic voice whispered, a sweet song serenading his soul.

“Azriel, I don’t have much time.” that honeyed voice whispered.

In the same fashion as last time, he couldn’t speak. Managing only to nod.

“I have carefully pulled the strings of fate as much as I am capable. A war is coming with a fate that I am unable to divulge. The Mother has allowed me to share just this:

“The fawn who sees carries the truth. When the time comes, you will know.”

Azriel furrowed his brows with confusion.

Y/N smiled softly, outshining any star in the sky, more captivating than the spirits of Starfall. “The truth will set you free. Do not fear loving again.”

He fought and fought, trying to speak, thrashing against the walls of his mind he was able to mutter three words to her.

“I love you.”

She placed a hand on her heart.

“I know, my love.”

Spreading those magnificent wings, she shot from his mind, the void filling with the echoes of her song.

“Until eternity reunites our souls.”

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firstkanaphans · 8 months

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I heartily concur with your interpretation of the Ray/Mew no-sex scene - it absolutely wasn't about sex, it was about Ray pleading with Mew to just give him a sign that he's actually genuine about this 'relationship' - at this point I think Ray wants to be with Sand, but as long as there's a chance Mew is being sincere about this, Ray feels bound to stay with him, not because he's in love with him, but because a) he begged for this (even though I still maintain he wouldn't have had Mew not brought it up again) and b) I don't think he has it in him to actively reject Mew (which in itself is part of the reason they don't work), so imo in this scene he's thinking 'show me something, anything, that allows me to convince myself I did the right thing playing it safe/not going after Sand' and THAT'S why he's so angry - it's not about sex, it's not about Top, it's not even about Mew not being able to love him. And it's not about him just being mad at not getting what he wants. It's about Ray realising that he's thrown away the possibility of real love for the lie that is this 'romance'. And like you said, Mew as good as confirms as much in the final convo. I appreciated Mew's maturity and honesty so much in that scene - it made me do a complete u-turn on his character. Mew realises that Ray wants out of this non-relationship just as much as he does, but he also knows that Ray will never be able to be the one to say it because of the power imbalance between them, so he does it for the both of them, which is a true act of love and friendship. I think for some ppl Ray 'choosing' Sand had to be an A or B scenario, aka Ray could have Mew but chooses Sand instead. But because Ray is a messed up raw wound seeping trauma and addiction and self-loathing and confusion it was never going to be that simple. What we get is more complicated but just as valid - Sand isn't his second option, Sand is who he WANTS to be with, Sand is who he loves, and who he WOULD be with if a) he was better equipped to recognise and understand his own feelings ('when I'm with you I'm so damn happy') and b) he didn't have such a longstanding and complicated (and unhealthily co-dependent) history with Mew. He doesn't drive off hoping to hook up with Sand because Mew turned him down. He seeks Sand out because, if we agree the Ray/Mew fight is the moment they both accept on some level their relationship is fake, then that's the moment Ray allows himself the chance to go after what his heart really wants, which is Sand. Ray doesn't have the emotional toolkit necessary to be able to articulate all this to himself, let alone to anyone else, which is why Mew very gently does it for him. But Mew being the one to break this to Ray doesn't mean Ray's feelings are any less his own. I think of it more this way: Sand is Ray's first choice, but Ray's own happiness is Ray's last choice, because on some level he doesn't believe he deserves it, and so without intervention - from Mew, from Sand - Ray would always continue to self-sabotage (as talked about in the tweet Jojo reposted a few days ago). And slightly but not entirely off topic: I also think nuance is often lost in translation - I might be wrong but I wonder if his words ('why won't you let me have it') are less...yeesh in Thai. Just part of a general thought I've been thunking about deep analysis of foreign language shows when you're reading so much into everything and yet relying on what are often serviceable at best subtitles (for which I'm still eternally grateful!) - SO MUCH can be misinterpreted by just a single word choice, and I sometimes find myself having to choose between taking subs at face value vs retranslating them in my head to what I think better suits the acting/story/characterisation. Apologies for the indecent length of this - I got carried away! Long story short: I agree with you!

Honestly, I agree with all of this and couldn't have said it better myself. I don't have much to add, but I will pull out some of my favorite lines for a TL;DR:

"At this point I think Ray wants to be with Sand, but as long as there's a chance Mew is being sincere about [their relationship], Ray feels bound to stay with him, not because he's in love with him, but because a) he begged for this...and b) I don't think he has it in him to actively reject Mew."

"So imo in this scene he's thinking 'show me something, anything, that allows me to convince myself I did the right thing playing it safe/not going after Sand' and THAT'S why he's so angry - it's not about sex, it's not about Top, it's not even about Mew not being able to love him....It's about Ray realising that he's thrown away the possibility of real love for the lie that is this 'romance.'"

"I think of it more this way: Sand is Ray's first choice, but Ray's own happiness is Ray's last choice, because on some level he doesn't believe he deserves it, and so without intervention - from Mew, from Sand - Ray would always continue to self-sabotage."

As for the question of translation accuracy, I actually did a little digging into this. The line that was translated as "Why won't you let me have it?" was literally บอกกูมาได้ป่ะว่าทำไมมึงถึงไม่ยอมให้กูเอาสักทีอ่ะ (bòk goo maa dâai bpà wâa tam-mai meung tĕung mâi yom hâi goo ao sàk tee à), which can more accurately be translated as "Can you tell me why you won't let me have it?" I know that's not a huge difference, but it turns an accusatory statement into a legitimate question. Ray's not just stomping his foot because Mew won't give him sex. He's asking for an explanation. [Insert disclaimer about me not being a native Thai speaker here.]

#only friends the series #asks #my anons are so smart 🥹#the "sand is ray’s first choice but ray’s happiness is ray’s last choice’ line goes particularly hard

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fcthots · 7 months

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Please, can you tell a little more about Jason's relationship with the love like you song? 🥺 How do you feel about the song in more detail?

💀.-

Eating my wall rn.

He just gets a glimpse of the show one day because he was saving some really young kid and, trying to comfort them, he asked if they wanted to watch anything. The kid says Steven Universe. Jason doesn’t really pay the show all that much attention, he's busy.

But he catches the scene where Amethyst screams that she never asked to be made.

He watches the show after that. He watches it for lost childhood reasons.

He hears Love Like You in the credits and immediately starts sobbing until you get home and comfort him.

Anyway, analysis time.

"I always thought I might be bad" He sees himself as a necessary evil in Gotham. Something that needs to be done. Someone has to have blood on their hands, and he's going to make sure no one else has to. But there's still blood on his hands.

"now I'm sure that it's true/ 'Cause I think you're so good/ And I'm nothing like you" To Jason, you are everything good in the world. You are the light of his life. He feels like he must be bad if you are everything good and you're polar opposites.

"Look at you go/ I just adore you/ I wish that I knew/ What makes you think I'm so special" He watches everything you do with raw adoration and awe. You are everything he's ever wanted. Sometimes he just doesn’t know what you see in him. He's a killer, a criminal, something to be feared, but you hold his face in your hands like he's something precious.

Tbh I feel like the rest is self explanatory, but I can write a fic ab it later if u want.

But the "I could even learn how to love like you" is how you love him like it's breathing. You love him like there's nothing else in the world you were meant for. Your love is pure and unconditional.

And he may be scarred and feel like his love could never be enough, doesn’t shape up to yours (lie), but fuck if he wont try for you. He'll love you with everything he has.

#made text small bc this was long and I wanted to condense it #jason todd fluff #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader fluff #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood fluff #red hood x reader fluff #red hood x you

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mrsgiovanna · 10 months

Text

Fighting Imperfections (Don Giorno x Wife!Reader)

I'm sorry, this is just me projecting. I can't remember if I posted this before, but here goes.

Word count: 1.2 k

Warnings: sad, self depreciating reader.

You sighed heavily as you walked out the last of Giorno’s guests. Normally the murmurs of how beautiful of a couple you two are would make you beam with joy, but today it annoyed you because it only amplified your insecurities. Another day… of smiling through the alternating pain and emptiness. Your cheeks hurt, but the physical pain was welcomed, it was so much easier to bear than the ache that thumped in your chest with every heartbeat- a painful reminder that you were still breathing. As the last car rounded the corner away from your luxurious home, your shoulders finally slumped and you trudged away from the door. The master bedroom was one of the few places where you felt safe enough to let your tumultuous emotions wash over you, so there you went.

You had struggled with these negative emotions for many years, losing chunks of time to this unshakeable melancholy. They were difficult to predict or counter. You had locked the door behind you, wanting to try and restore some semblance of calm to your demeanor before facing Giorno again. You threw off the gorgeous designer dress and took a shower before throwing on something soft and comfortable. You had every intention of rejoining your husband but just getting yourself through that little routine had drained whatever energy you had left. He'd be better off catching up with your shared associates though, you mused, feeling as though you wouldn't add anything valuable to their video conferences. Firmly tucked away, drawing your knees towards your chest, you allowed the floodgates to open and let everything out. Usually, a good cry would take care of some of the negative emotions, but this time, it didn't seem to work.

Intrusive thoughts about the worst scenarios plagued your mind despite trying to push them aside. You tried thinking about the good things and how much you had been blessed with but it always morphed into a scenario in which you would ultimately be left alone… so you thought about Giorno and how he makes a daily promise to never leave your side. But you had lost so much, what if he was just lying to you and you'd eventually have to deal with losing him too…

No…

You took as deep a breath as your constricted chest would allow you to and tried to focus your attention on something positive.

Giorno… you thought of him more and your heart ached for a different reason. He loved you, you knew that, but your mind had always managed to convince you that he would be better off with someone else, someone beautiful and vibrant, someone worthy of him because beneath it all you're just a broken doll. The repair is near perfect and nobody can see the fault lines where you cracked, but you feel every fracture, constantly reliving each event that put the cracks there in the first place.

You felt the bed sink on one side as a large comforting hand rubbed your back in circles before pulling back the covers you had buried yourself under.

"You know I'd end anyone who hurts you?"

"I know…"

"So what do I do when you're the one hurting yourself?"

Giorno's glassy eyes didn't leave your face, searching for an answer to his question.

You met Giorno's gaze, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and love in his eyes. His concern was evident, and it touched you deeply. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you reached out and held his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice filled with raw emotion. "I don't want to hurt myself, but sometimes it feels like I can't escape these thoughts. They consume me, and I can't help but doubt myself, doubt our love."

Giorno's grip on your hand tightened, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "You are not a broken doll, my love," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are the most beautiful and resilient person I know. I fell in love with every part of you, including the cracks. They are a part of your story, a testament to your strength."

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words resonated with you. It was moments like these that reminded you why you fell in love with him in the first place. He saw beyond your insecurities and loved you unconditionally.

"I'm trying, Giorno," you replied, your voice wavering. "I'm trying to believe in myself, in us. But sometimes it's overwhelming."

Giorno leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to go through this alone," he assured you. "I'm here for you, always. We'll face these demons together, and I'll do whatever it takes to help you heal."

Feeling his love and support envelop you, a glimmer of hope sparked within your heart. With Giorno by your side, maybe you could overcome these insecurities and find the peace you longed for.

You snuggled closer to Giorno, seeking solace in his comforting presence. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. "I love you."

Giorno smiled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. "I love you too, more than words can express," he replied, his voice laced with sincerity. "Remember, we are a team, and together, we can conquer anything."

Giorno's gaze held a mixture of tenderness and longing, mirroring the emotions swirling within you. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, seeking permission and reassurance. You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding between you palpable.

With a gentle nod, you closed the remaining distance between your lips, initiating a kiss that conveyed both vulnerability and passion. It was a kiss that spoke of shared burdens and unyielding support, a tangible connection that transcended words.

The kiss deepened, as if pouring all the love and reassurance you both felt into this single act. It was a moment of solace, a reminder that you were not alone in your struggles. Each brush of your lips conveyed a promise—a promise to heal together, to support one another, and to cherish the imperfect beauty of your shared journey.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the tenderness of the moment. The world outside your bedroom faded away, leaving only the two of you, entwined in a cocoon of love and understanding.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and yet more at peace than before, you found solace in Giorno's eyes once again. There, in the depths of his gaze, you saw unwavering devotion and a fierce determination to help you find happiness.

With a small smile, you whispered, "Thank you, Giorno. Thank you for loving me."

Giorno's voice was filled with sincerity as he replied, "Always, my love. Always."

And in that moment, you believed him. You believed in the power of love to heal and overcome and to create a future where your insecurities would no longer hold you captive. Together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, guided by the strength of your bond and the depth of your love.

As you lay in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe in his words, finding solace in the love and support he offered. The journey towards healing would be challenging, but with Giorno by your side, you knew you could face anything that came your way. In the sanctuary of his embrace, his presence soothed your troubled mind, and a moment of quiet intimacy enveloped the room. The weight of your insecurities and pain began to fade as you focused solely on the love between you, knowing that in this imperfect existence, you had found a love that was flawless.

#giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x you #giorno x y/n #giorno giovanna x y/n #don giovanna x reader #jojo x reader #jojo x you #jojo x y/n #giorno giovanna #don giovanna #giorno #don giorno #giogio #jojo's bizarre adventure #golden wind #vento aureo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba

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evilvvithin · 2 years

Text

Welcome home, soldier

Pairing: König x f!reader Summary: König comes back from a mission after a long time. You indeed missed him but he missed you way more. Words: 1,679 Warnings: This is a smut. Dirty uncensored smut, slightly dom könig, raw rough sex and such. Ofc it's also kinda cute because, you know, König, he's just being himself. Sorry not sorry. Brain.exe has stopped working.

Notes: König drives me feral and IDC. Don't tell me he is not AT LEAST slightly dom like that, in my head he likes to be in control/dom because he lacked the control of his life early in his life. He is just dom dont @ me. Oh, Im talking too much, this is jsut a dirty smut here, enjoy <3 (checked and should be proof-read)

AO3 link

Mmmm, hmmm… hmm, mmmmmm.

Humming your favorite song in mind, you placed the last plate together with others to let them dry. The feeling of satisfaction filled your whole body as your eyes danced over the room.

Hmmmmm,mm… mmmm, hmm.

All cleaned up and ready. Deep inhale, exhale… the meat! God, you almost forgot you were cooking dinner. The meat was perfect, soft on touch, and the aroma of herbs and garlic filled the whole apartment. He'll gotta come home anytime soon, you said to yourself as you checked the time again.

König was sent on a mission to foreign country and you didn't see him for a whole week, if not more. You weren’t sure at this point. Days melted together without him and you realized how empty and boring your life was without his presence. Sometimes you worked with him, but this time they didn’t really need your programming skills. You cursed in your mind, knowing it was König himself who made sure you stay home.

The door creaked when you were lost in your thoughts, staring at the meat being cooked with an empty look on your face.

“Woo-” you screamed, “almost burnt my hand, silly!”

Large arms wrapped around your torso tightly, König murmured something into your hair and inhaled the scent deeply.

“Du hast mir gefehlt,” he whispered and without any warning pulled you up, carrying you towards the bedroom.

“I… I missed you too, honey, but there’s dinner still being cooked!”

He growled impatiently and let go off you, gently placing you back down. You felt the warm print of his hard member on your back still, even when he wasn’t touching you anymore. Oh, I missed YOU too for sure , you bit your lip and rushed back to the oven. The meat was done, side dish as well. Everything nice and ready, you turned off the fire.

“Hungry?” You asked him over your shoulder but no reply came. Thinking he probably didn’t hear you as sometimes he got lost in his own thoughts and was overthinking a lot, you asked again: “Dinner’s ready!”

In the middle of grabbing plates, König’s hand wrapped around your wrist to stop you. You put the plates down and looked at him, waiting to hear what he wanted. Pulling you closer to him by your wrist, his other hand slid under your shirt and rubbed the skin on your back and sides.

“What about a sweet dessert first,” he smirked and dug his fingertips into your flesh. “Couldn’t wait to… feel you.”

You only moaned in reply at his words, he knew how to make you melt too well. Pushing your own body onto his, lips connected in a long hungry kiss, König kept walking backwards to where he was originally headed - the bedroom, until he reached the edge of the bed. Expecting him to fall down so you can crawl all over him, you bumped into him instead as he stayed standing straight. You knew you couldn’t just push him and make him fall, it’d be like trying to move a house with bare hands. When the two of you finally broke the kiss, you gave him a confused look. You were hungry for some more of his lips,but why are we still standing up like this?

Feeling like you’ve said your thoughts out loud rather than just in your head, he grabbed your shoulders firmly and pushed you onto the bed. Face buried down the mattress, you coughed as you didn't expect it but König was right behind you, rolling you around and weighing you down. Usually you’d let him know he’s too heavy to just rest his weight on top of you, but you didn’t care this time. You wanted to feel him so close, you missed his touch. His touch, his presence, his strength… You craved all of it so much now. Parting your legs apart, he slid his hand behind your pants and sighed happily.

“Keine Unterwäsche…” he grinned amused. “Been expecting an important guest?” His voice was so raspy it sent shivers down your spine.

Rubbing his palm over your already aroused area, he made it impossible for you to form a simple sentence as your mind was blank, only filled with him and your lust for him.

“Very… very important… guest,” you moaned in reply and moved against his hand as much as you could.

Your hands trailed down his body, feeling every muscle of his tensing under them, till you reached the edge of his shirt and attempted to pull it up. He hissed and grabbed your hands, pulling them back above your head and holding them down. It was nothing hard to keep both your hands in place for him, his hands were large.

More moans escaped your lips as he pressed his palm against your clit and rubbed it. Your pussy was throbbing for attention, wet more than enough for him already.

Seeing you whimper and break under him, his bulge grew even more and he slid one of his fingers into your hole.

“Fuck…” you let out, feeling his finger find its way to irritate your pleasure point. “I need you, König.”

Hearing your soft voice crack with pleasure like that, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Getting himself up on his knees, he removed yours and his pants and threw them somewhere to the side. Everything else you were wearing joined them on the floor soon after. His body was heated up, almost burning against your skin. With your hands now free, you immediately used them to pull him close to you, pushing down onto his hips.

“Impatient?” He rubbed his length all over your pussy, making you almost scream out loud from frustration.

“You’ve been away the whole week, please…”

Your needy tone of voice was driving him crazy, his cock twitched with excitement. He needed you as much as you needed him. Pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance, he traced his hands up your arms and grabbed your wrists, gently pulling them down into the mattress.

“Just lay back, love.”

You closed your eyes, not fighting your way out of his grasp on your wrists anymore. You trusted him fully afterall. He could do anything to you and you wouldn’t complain, you’d just ask for more if anything. He’d never hurt you, not even if you begged him to. Focusing on his lips, tongue, sucking on your neck, you felt his cock sliding inside you slowly. He went slow, but as deep as he could. You felt his tip pressing against your cervix before he pulled out again slowly.

“You are so ready for me already,” he whispered onto your neck.

You were throbbing for him, needy, screaming internally. Your insides were heating, ready to welcome whatever he had in mind. He knew it, he knew there’s no need to take it slowly as usual because of his size. His hand, squeezing the flesh of your ass and thighs till now, cupped your boobs and pressed down on your chest. He wanted you to stay in place, not move. He wanted you to stay under him, take his cock.

Moving up his head to look you in the eyes, he suddenly slammed his cock into you powerfully. You yelped out, moaned, something in between. You were drowning in pleasure, his hand grabbing your chin and pulling your head backwards for better access to your neck. He left marks there, marks that you were his. Marks that brought you both soft pain and pleasure. He wasn’t holding back this time, not slowing down his rhythm. His thrusts were only quicker, sloppier, his breath burning the skin on your neck more and more. The bedroom, vibrating under the moans of you two. Soaked mattress under you. His grip on your wrists becoming sweatier and sweatier.

After a while, he freed your hands so he could move his arm under your neck and grasp your hair. He slowed his thrusts, making them intense and deep while brushing and pulling your hair.

“You feel so good,” he barely caught his breath between moans.

“I love you too…” you moaned in reply.

Your hands dug into his back, pulling him down towards you in rhythm. You wanted more of him. All of him. He grunted as you were more likely leaving scratches on his back, but it was only arousing him at the moment, making him plunge your pussy up even more.

Your legs, curled around his ass, sliding down his waist all limp just as he made his last thrusts and your insides were filled with his warm cum. Your arms flopped down next to you down the mattress, your eyes unable to focus on him anymore. He thrusted into you a few more times before collapsing on top of you, kicking the air out of your lungs.

“You are so perfect, Schatz.” He murmured and gave your cheek a kiss.

“Missed you so much, love,” you smiled and found your way to his lips. “A week is too long.”

You might’ve been satisfied, but you were always hungry for his kisses and so was he. You felt squished under him, but the need to be skin on skin as close as possible to him was stronger.

Finally breaking the kiss, you asked: “So, still hungry?”

“For your cooking, always.”

Grabbing your clothes off the ground, you noticed a small shiny thing poking out of his jean’s pocket. Little Eiffel tower.

“What’s this?” You asked and pulled it out fully.

“Just… just a little gift for you.” He replied and took his shirt from you, pulling it over his head.

Of course, you laughed in your mind. Him and his little gifts all the time.

“France? Paris? God…” you whined, “ ah, you know how much I wanted to visit those!”

He didn’t want to hear about this. He didn’t want you to join his mission, not one of those where you could’ve got harmed.

“Maybe next time, Schatz. Now, now I’m hungry.”

#x reader #könig #call of duty #könig x reader #könig mw2 #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod könig #call of duty x reader #könig x you #mari.fic

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punchdrunkdoc · 16 days

Text

Part 3, Chapter 19

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness? Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 4 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

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PART 3

Chapter 19

Calina slid the vial of blood across the table to Yelena. The other Widow looked at it, looked back at Calina, and raised an eyebrow. “But I didn’t get you anything.”

Calina rolled her eyes. “Very funny. I need you to give this to Melina for testing.”

“Why?”

“Its from a new victim of the pheromone drug. We think the formula has changed.” Calina didn’t want to admit that it was her blood sample, taken the night she’d been dosed. After the bath had warmed her up - and after Matt had warmed her in other ways - she’d asked him to grab the well-stocked first aid kit from his apartment. Then, perched on her couch and clad in nothing but his shirt, she’d drawn a vial of blood from her arm.

She wanted answers.

She needed them.

It was personal now.

Before, she’d been invested in the hunt for whoever was manufacturing this drug mainly because it was so important to Matt. And because she empathised with the victims who’d been stripped of their reason and control by an outside force.

But she more than empathised now. She’d lived through it.

The grief. The pain. The heart wrenching emptiness of losing Matt.

And the anger of knowing that it was a lie. She’d been manipulated - tortured with falsehoods and fantasies - through a trick of her own neurochemistry.

And that really pissed her off.

But she couldn’t explain all that to Yelena. She was still too…raw. Matt’s death may have been a lie, but her reaction to it had been very real. And just thinking about it threatened to reduce her to tears again.

Yelena nodded. “No problem.” She pocketed the small vial of blood then relaxed into her chair and tipped her head back, closing her eyes to enjoy the slight breeze in the air. They were seated at a small table outside a cafe across from Central Park and it was a beautiful spring day. And Yelena looked so…relaxed. Which was not a word Calina usually associated with her sister.

“Are you used to it yet?” she asked.

“Used to what?” Yelena answered, her eyes still closed.

“Life. Freedom. Getting to decide the course of your day - even if it’s just to grab coffee with a friend.”

“Who says you’re my friend?” Yelena mumbled, the slight curve of her lips giving away the joke.

Calina laughed and kicked the other woman under the table. “Yelena!”

Yelena finally opened her eyes and shrugged. “No. I’m not used to it.”

“Well, its only been 6 weeks. Give it time.”

“It’s not that.” Yelena lowered her voice and turned serious. “There are still Widows out there, Calina, and they still need to be freed. Until every last one is woken up from the serum, I can’t start this new ‘life’.” She made air quotes as she said the last work, her chunky silver rings glinting in the sunlight.

Calina dipped her head and stirred her coffee, the familiar guilt rising. Once again, she’d been selfish - she’d ignored her obligation to her sisters and had lost herself in her relationship with Matt. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have asked how that was going. And I should be helping you.”

Yelena waved her off. “If we’re stuck and need your help, we will call. But we’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard sometimes. Tracking them down is becoming more and more challenging, and seeing their reaction when they wake is always difficult…but its worth it. It feels like I’m doing what I’m meant to be doing. And when all of this mess is finally cleared up, then I’ll make a good life for myself.”

“Speaking of clearing up messes, have you heard from Natasha recently? Is she still on the run?”

“Yes,” Yelena growled. “It’s been two years, and still they hunt her across the planet. Calling her a traitor.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yelena shrugged, her eyes downcast as she stirred her coffee. “She calls sometimes, to check in. To let me know she’s okay. But she doesn’t want to risk jeopardising the Widows’ freedom - my freedom - by visiting.”

“I’m sorry,” Calina repeated, knowing the words were inadequate. Natasha meant so much to Yelena, but the two women had barely had a chance to reconnect and mend the rift in their relationship before they were separated again.

Yelena shrugged again. “It is what it is. But enough about that. What about you? Have you figured out what you’re meant to do with this new life of yours?”

“Ugh,” Calina groaned and slid down in her seat. “No. I have no clue.”

“You’ve always liked books, what about being a librarian?”

It was Calina’s turn to shrug. “I thought about it. But I want to do something that helps people more directly - like Matt with his law firm.”

“Become a lawyer, then.”

“No. It’s too…confining, working in that kind of system.”

“What about…self defence trainer. Put your skills to good use teaching others how to fight.”

Calina laughed. “We didn’t exactly learn in the most conventional way - I wouldn’t know how to train someone without using Red Room tactics.”

“And that would get you thrown in jail over here.”

“Exactly.”

At that moment, a dog walker jogged passed the cafe with a pack of dogs surrounding her, all of them strapped to her belt by brightly coloured leashes. Yelena tracked her as she crossed the street to enter the park, a slightly wistful look in her eyes. “Maybe you’re overthinking it,” she said. “Just do what makes you happy.”

“Would that make you happy?” Calina responded. “Looking after a bunch of dogs?”

“Not a bunch of them. Just one.”

“You want a dog. Like, a pet?” Calina could hear the surprise in her voice, but it wasn’t really a shock. She’d always known Yelena was a caretaker - and once she finished taking care of all the Widows across the world, she would need to focus that energy elsewhere.

“Yeah,” Yelena said. “In Ohio, the neighbours next door to us had a German Shepherd. She was big and strong and looked scary, but her name was ‘Princess’ and she was the sweetest thing. Nat and I would play with her in the garden all the time…” She trailed off, looking into the distance as if lost in a memory.

“I always forget that you had a life before the Red Room. I used to be so jealous of that - before they brainwashed those kinds of emotions out of us.”

“It would have been easier if I’d been brought to the Red Room as a baby, like you. At least then I wouldn’t have known what I was missing.”

“Yeah, I remember you being so…angry…all the time. And you would take it out on us during practice.”

Yelena winced. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry. We were all dealt a shit hand. And fighting you made us all better - it probably kept us alive and in the program. And what you’ve done to free us all - to keep freeing other Widows - it’s amazing, Yelena. I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for that.”

Yelena shrugged. “I was just doing what was right.”

“But not everyone would have. You had your freedom. You were out. And you risked it all, to come back and save us. Even though you had no loyalty to us - not really. We weren’t raised to be loyal, or develop bonds, or friendships. But you still came back. So thank you.”

Yelena squirmed in her chair, looking uncomfortable. “Alright, alright. Enough.”

Calina had never seen this side of her sister before. She was used to Yelena, the no-nonsense leader. She was used to Yelena, the hard-ass fighter. She was even getting used to off-duty Yelena, who painted her nails blue and wore mismatched prints and fur coats. But this awkward and embarrassed Yelena was brand new.

And she couldn’t help but tease her. She reached across the table, took her hand and gave her a sincere, serious look. “You’re a hero, Yelena Belova. An inspiration to all of us.”

Yelena frowned, looking even more discomforted. Then she saw through Calina’s act. She yanked her hand back, and laughed. “Fuck off.”

Calina smiled. “I couldn’t resist. I finally found your one weakness: compliments.”

Yelena laughed again, the deep husky cackle sounding so carefree. “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

“No you won’t,” Calina grinned. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Never. You’re a pain in the ass, Balashova.”

“And that’s why you love me.”

———

Matt was distracted. Again.

Calina had set up a workspace in the conference room, and had spent the last couple of weeks diligently researching the pheromone case.

Karen liked the new arrangement, as it freed her up to concentrate on investigating some of their paid cases. Foggy liked it for the same reason - and because Calina always volunteered to grab them food at lunchtime.

Calina was enjoying the sense of purpose it gave her. She’d told him just that the other night at Fogwell’s. “I think I need the structure,” she’d said, dodging his left hook. They’d both been gloved up, and had sparred in the ring for a good half an hour - neither hitting hard enough to injure, but enjoying the adrenaline rush of the fight anyway.

“I thought that’s what put you off working in the coffee shop - it was too rigid for you,” he’d responded, jumping to avoid her attempted sweep of his ankles.

“It was. I can’t do a 9-to-5 job. But I need something to get me out of the apartment each day. A routine…but one I can control.”

“So you want to be self-employed, basically. Freelance.”

“Yeah.”

Trying to figure out Calina’s future career was a common theme to their conversations these day, and they were gradually whittling down her options. But in the meantime, she wanted to focus her time on solving the pheromone case.

Because she had a real and personal stake in it now.

She’d been doggedly reviewing and cross-referencing the mountain of financial information they’d managed to accrue on their main suspects - the men behind the companies that had purchased the main ingredient of the drug: Arsonium bromide.

Matt understood her drive. And he was grateful for her help. He also liked coming in to work with her each morning, and having lunch with her in the middle of the day.

It was just a tad…distracting.

Her scent was now a constant presence, and it’s intensity just seemed to grow and grow with every moment. It layered every surface and saturated every room…but its effect on him never seemed to dull. It was still the same potent stimulant it had always been - since that very first night he’d scented Calina on their rooftop.

The little sounds she made throughout the day were just as hard to tune out - the rustle of her clothes as she shifted in her seat. The tap of her heeled boots as she walked from the conference room table to the printer near Karen’s office. The gentle scrape of her teeth over her lower lip when she bit it in concentration. The soft sigh as another lead failed to pan out…

He was just too aware of her. Every minute of the day, his senses were conscious of her - even when he was trying to concentrate on his work or speak to a client. A small part of him was always tuned to her frequency. And he didn’t know if it was a side effect of their long separation, or if it would always be like this with her. This perpetual…wanting.

They’d given up on his ridiculous ‘going slow’ idea. Every night was now spent in her bed, and most of those nights were spent touching her and kissing her and making love to her. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough-

“Matt!”

He jerked his head up at the sound of Karen’s voice. Judging by the volume and degree of irritation, she’d been calling his name for a while.

“Sorry, I spaced out,” he replied. “What’s up?”

“Calina has something.”

Matt pressed pause on the transcript he was failing to listen to, pulled his headphone from his ear, and followed Karen to the conference room. He nodded to Foggy, who was already seated around the table, and he paused for a moment to take in Calina’s non-verbal greeting - one she was probably completely unaware of.

It was a kind of biological acknowledgement of his presence. A combination of a slight spike in her temperature, a jump in her heart rate, and a cocktail of chemicals suddenly rushing through her veins, thick with endorphins and dopamine and a whole host of unknown hormones. It was difficult to describe to himself - let alone someone without his heightened senses - so he’d never mentioned it to Calina. He also didn’t want to make her self-conscious about it.

Because he never wanted it to go away.

It was like being warmed by the rays of the sun on a frosty day. Like the relief of resting your head on a soft pillow at the end of a long, hard night. Comfort and affection and a feeling of coming home, mixed with a subtle undercurrent of desire.

It was intoxicating. Addictive. And a relief to know he wasn’t the only one so physically affected by the other’s presence.

“Hey,” she said, offering him a more traditional greeting.

“Hey,” he replied, taking the seat next to Foggy. “What’ve you found?”

“Our bad guy.”

He sat up straight, shocked. “Are you serious?”

“Really?” Karen said at the same time.

Calina took a deep breath. “I think so. It’ll need confirmation…but I think so.”

“So who is it?” Foggy asked.

“Landon Cross. Founder and CEO of Cross Corp.”

Karen frowned. “I don’t recognise that name from the list of Arsonium bromide purchasers.”

“That’s because it wasn’t on it. But you’ll recognise the name Midworld Industries.”

“Yeah, it rings a bell.” Karen opened her battered notebook and started searching through the scrawled pages. “Here it is - Midworld Industries - an independent pharmaceutical R&D company. They were apparently researching the potential use of Arsonium as a ‘nanocarrier for intracellular oncology therapeutics’, whatever that means. But we eliminated them early on - the papertrail checked out and they actually stopped purchasing the chemical last year.”

Calina nodded. “That’s because they found a way to manufacture a synthetic mimic.”

“How the hell did you work that out?” Foggy asked.

“It was thanks to Melina, the Black Widow chemist. She analysed my- a new sample we recently got hold of.”

Matt winced at Calina’s near slip-up. She didn’t want the team to know about her experience with the pheromone. Part of her was embarrassed that she’d managed to get dosed - even though he’d told her that was ridiculous. She was also sick of being viewed as a victim. Foggy and Karen knew about the way she was raised, the mind control serum, the coma…and she didn’t want them to pity her for yet one more episode of trauma.

Which he also said was ridiculous. His friends thought she was amazing.

“I can’t get over how…normal…she is,” Karen had remarked a few days ago, watching from the window as Calina jogged down the street to collect their lunch order.

“What do you mean?” Matt had asked. He could think of a lot of adjectives to describe Calina, but ‘normal’ was nowhere near the top of his list. She still seemed so new to the world. The smallest things would sometimes trip her up, like not knowing what a 401K was, or how to make a bowl of cereal.

“Just…with everything she’s been through, she seems so unaffected. So…nice. As if she really was just a college grad from Illinois, or whatever her cover story was. If it was me, I’d be so angry at the world.”

“You’ve gone through your fair share of trauma, too.”

“Yeah, and I was angry at the world for a long time. I closed myself off from everyone - right up until I met you guys, really. But Calina…she’s embraced this new life so effortlessly.”

Matt wouldn’t call it effortless - he saw how much she struggled sometimes. With her nightmares. Her guilt about her past. Her doubts about her innate goodness. Her uncertainty over her future. But he’d never share that with his friends. He liked the way they saw her - because it echoed how he saw her:

Strong. Determined.

Miraculous.

He just wished Calina saw herself that way.

“Okay, so this new analysis proves the compound is synthetic,” Foggy said. “What does that have to do with this Landon Cross guy?”

“Melina determined that the only way to synthesise Arsonium Bromide in large enough quantities to be useful was with a carbon framework printer, a piece of cutting edge technology. So I traced the companies that recently purchased one of those devices.”

“Couldn’t have been that many,” Karen commented.

“No. Only three, in fact. And when I looked closer at the financials of one of the companies - EnGene, I saw a name I recognised.”

“Midworld Industries?” Foggy guessed.

“No. Sato Holdings, a conglomerate based in Tokyo.”

“I need diagrams and a slide show to keep track of this.”

Calina smiled at Foggy’s joke. “Okay, I’ll cut to the chase. Midworld and EnGene, through multiple layers of shell corporations, are both owned by Sato Holdings. But Sato holdings doesn’t exist. Its a sham company created by-”

“Landon Cross,” Matt said, putting it together.

“Bingo. It’s a good sham - clever enough to fool US Inland Revenue, but if you can read Japanese, and know where to look, the ruse falls apart.”

“It still seems…tenuous,” Karen remarked.

Calina nodded. “It definitely needs confirmation, but my instincts say it’s him. I know bad guys - I know the way they operate, and how they try to hide. But there’s always a stench that clings to them, and I can smell it on Cross.”

“Okay,” Karen said, collecting her notes and getting to her feet, “I’ll start digging into Cross.”

“And we’ll head to the Courthouse,” Foggy said. “We have that hearing at 4, Matt.”

Matt nodded. “I remember. I’ll just be a minute.” When the other two left, Matt pulled Calina into his arms, and kissed her, a soft brush of his lips against hers. “You’re amazing. Have I told you that today?”

She shrugged. “It was just a bit of research.”

Matt reached out and touched the stack of papers on the table. “Judging by the thickness of this pile, it was more than just a ‘bit’. And how much of this is in Japanese?”

She laughed. “Only about a third.”

He shook his head and kissed her again. “Like I said - amazing.”

“All I did was get us a name - a direction to look. Proving Landon is behind all this, and figuring out how to stop him-”

“Is a problem for tomorrow. Take the win today.”

She cocked her head. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Matt Murdock?”

“This is the new-and-improved, optimistic version.”

“Hmmm, he might take some getting used to.”

“I guess we’ll have to spend more time together then.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

“I like a challenge.”

She laughed again, soft and low, and leaned into his third kiss.

A kiss that was soon interrupted by a wry voice behind him. “I hate to break up this disgustingly sappy display, but I need a favour.”

“Hello, Jessica,“ Matt replied, turning to face the figure in the doorway. “What do you need?”

“I need to borrow your girlfriend.”

————–

Chapter 20

Tag list: @hollandorks @stilldreaming666 @sio-ina-bottle @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy @chezagnes

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

#daredevil #daredevil fic #tabula rasa #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x original female character #matt murdock #marvel's daredevil #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x oc

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after-witch · 8 months

Text

smiling man imagine...

notes: reader is pregnant, folklore stuff

Oh, to be an overburdened young widow--husband lost in his life in a tragic accident, you see--who is tasked with taking care of his elderly mother and his previously orphaned nieces and the chickens and a cow who barely gives milk and the baby in your belly that you don't tell anyone about--

Who must alone bear the weight of bringing in an income to pay the landlord, feed everyone, feed the animals, while also caring for the children and the house and chickens and sweet but bordering-on-burdensome cow.

And it's rough and tough and you find yourself in agony nights, your hands red and raw, back straining, headaches pulsing, stomach secretly growing, barely able to catch a wink of sleep before your dead husband's mother cries out in need, before the children whimper in their nightmares, before it's morning and the cow is bellowing and the children are hungry and you have to get the fire going and so much more besides.

But one morning you walk into your job (itself a backbreaking thing, on top of your work at home) and you're handed a slip with half a day's wages and told they no longer need you.

And there's no work. Not in this town. You might bring in a little bit taking in laundry (would your hands survive it?) but not enough to survive on. But you can't move, you don't have the money and how would you ever find a house or lodging for your motley crew (soon to be one more) with no money? You couldn't. You can't. You won't.

Instead of heading home as you ought to do, you take a walk in the woods, woods that you played in so carelessly as a child, unaware of what life had in store for you.

You find your favorite childhood spot--a large flat rock near a creek perfect for sitting, where flowers bloom pretty and sometimes animals sneak about and the sound of the water relaxes you.

And for the first time in so long, you weep. Openly. Harshly. You weep until there are no more tears, you think, but somehow they still don't stop. Maybe the tears are from your child, wringing out emotions tucked deep inside you, waiting to spring out when they do.

What are you going to do? How are you going to live? How will you support yourself, the family, the child that is coming?

You can't. There's no way out of this. And that's what keeps the sobs coming, keeps the endless tears flowing. It makes you stutter out words helplessly, stupidly. You ask for your husband, then retract it--another mouth to feed. You ask for your own mother, long dead, but what good would it do? And then you ask for someone, anyone, you just need help, you just need help.

And from nowhere--truly, nowhere, as there were no footsteps crunching the leaves or branches, no whisper of breath--someone stands in front of you.

A man. Simply dressed. Fair-haired. A polite smile on his face.

Where did he come from? Nowhere. Who is he? No one you know.

He simply appeared. He simply is.

And the first thing he does is hold out a handkerchief, embroidered in script you don't recognize. You take it (politeness and the desire to wipe away the hot mess on your face working together) and thank him with an embarrassed softness and the heat in your face is from the impropriety of it all as much as the tears.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, this man, who came from nowhere and ought not to be here. "I'm not usually in such a state."

He smiles and turns his head a little, looking you over. And there's unease in you, but not for the normal reason--a man staring at you in the middle of the woods, alone. No. There's unease because you feel like this man knows you and has known you since the day you were born and he might know you long after.

You swallow and go to leave, and he holds up a hand.

"I do believe you called me," he says.

"I didn't." You didn't. You called for your husband. Your mother. And for...

"You said you needed help," he answers, simply, the smile on his face. "I can do that."

You can't help but scoff. "I'm not buying any snake oil."

He raises his eyebrows, just a little, then spreads his hands wide, as if to say--Nothing in his hands, nothing at all, no ma'am.

"No snakeoil here," and is there amusement in his voice?

"Tell me," he says, in a voice that makes you want to lean forward and tell him everything about you, "what it is you want most in the world." Maybe you do lean forward. "And I can give it you."

There is a pause, and it might be long or short but you can't tell.

"For a price, of course. A reasonable one," he adds, in a way that makes you think that it is not so reasonable.

And... maybe you're too tired, too weary, too bone-exhausted to think about what you're doing. To pay attention to that ugly sensation in your gut that tells you that you ought to run away in the opposite direction.

Because all you do is straighten up and think about the hungry mouths and the rent due and the child soon to be born, and ask him:

"What price?"

And he just smiles, smiles, smiles.

#smiling man #afterwitch writes #just need a lil smiling man today #sighhhh #awful awful bastard

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dylansslutt · 9 months

Text

back to me/ r.c

authors note: hiii my lovelies, how have y’all been?? :)) i have been super busy and honestly my mindspace for awhile was just not there lol, so i took my break. slowly have i realized on here y’all have gone through a following of my transition as a person and a writer. for i write from experience and truth even though everythings fiction...

anywhore my new thing is star wars atm totally in awe with everything so this may or may not caught some ideas up in it....

summary// you were dating rafe, the boy chosen to fall

warnings// abuse, mention of murder, rafe lol also this is toxic

you were walking down the side of the road, the sadness filled within your heart. everything was lost, rafe was out of control. after dating for a year you’d think you know a person.

till you found out the truth.

it first started with the drug abuse. watching his character slowly change into someone you barely knew; especially the fights between his family. yet when sarah and john b went missing at sea, things changed with everyone.

he was accused of murder, and you so blindly trusted him. thinking not rafe... not possible. he would do a lot but murder?

you were hung up with rafe through it all, sometimes he did feel sad. most of the time he acted like she didn’t exist or that he cared, until she and john b came back.

that’s when everything slowly began to change for the worse. he said he was stepping up, going to be a bigger man. some rant about his family status being more serious. sarah gets back and things slowly start to be revealed.

after one night, you escaped out the room leaving behind a passed out rafe. sarah met you face to face, before she pulls you in her room. her desperate plea to her case; you finally opening up about your side of things.

now supposedly rafe shot sarah, is in on stealing the gold and even has gone off the fucking walls. this led you into a three day depression room sinkhole.

until now where you are walking down the streets, tears streaming down your cheeks. this was a walk to clear your mind, after all you have been hiding from. stupid idea. the sun set so now it was street lights leading your way.

a car passes by and you ignore it, wiping your tears. not paying attention your foot slips, body slipping forward. the feeling of your ankle twist makes your hiss, as your hands and knees were scraped up.

“fuckin’ great.” you mumble to yourself, tired of this day. a heavy sigh escapes your lips as you push yourself up, noticing the blood along your knee. your back pocket starts vibrating.

pulling out your phone, trying to avoid the harsh feeling along your palm. rafe cameron’s caller id appears across the screen. hesitating as you bite your lip, you wanted to hit the red button. you wanted to decline it.

“hello?” your voice wasn’t exactly happy but it wasn’t just with him. your knee was bleeding while only your left hand really held scrapes. your ankle was sore but you knew not broken. as you didn’t hear a response, you focus in hearing rafe’s tense breathing over the phone.

“where are you? what’s wrong?” his questions make you roll your eyes. “i am no where, and nothing i-i am fine.” you hate the way he knows you, even after all this shit. it hurt because you were still in love with someone who has headed down a path extremely dangerous.

he scoffs, “tell me where you are, i’ll come get you.” you shake your head even though he couldn’t see that. “no! i mean no rafe, not right now. i need, i need-”

his voice cuts me off, sounding desperate almost. “don’t do that shit to me y/n, don’t tell me you need space.”

your lips tremble, “rafe i don’t know what to do.” the confession was raw, pure, innocent.

you truly were defeated by your feelings and the fact of things. he went quiet for a moment before he lowers his voice. “let us talk, please?” he pauses for a moment.

“ let me come get you, i know you y/n. something has happened.” you almost wanted to laugh. “nothing has happened beside everything else that’s so obvious.” your voice cracks softly towards the end, making you want to curse yourself.

“y/n, tell me where you are.”

“i-” a defeated sigh escapes you, glancing around you notice a street sign. “i am on lotus street, i-i was walking and i tripped and fell.”

you swore you heard him mumble something, “okay. i’m on the way. call me if anything happens.”

you hang up, hobbling to sit along side the road. choosing some bricks to sit on. you didn’t even have a bag, but you see a nice big leaf on a tree nearby. getting up once more, heading over to it. you pull off a few leaves, the branch sways as you walk away.

sitting back down, you sniffle softly as you wipe the blood trailing down your leg. biting your lip as you wipe around your knee as well.

less than ten minutes, the familiar truck lights are seen coming down. you sit up straighter, lifting your hand up to block some of the light. he pulls up beside you before parking it on the side of the rode.

he gets out rushing around the vehicle. you stand up quickly, nose contorting in pain, forgetting about your ankle in the moment. he steps closer but your hand flies up instinctively. he stops in his tracks, eyes meeting yours with a wild look.

“y/n.”

you shake your head at him, “you’ve lied to me rafe!” everything has been building up and now seeing him.

“who told you that? sarah?” he tilts his head and you stare at him in pure awe. his reaction was just pure dumb and it angers you. “wh-what? it’s not about that rafe. you lied! you did things... you are changing.”

your eyes trail on how his shirt was damp and he had a bruise near his jaw. “those fuckin’ pogues are turning you against me! bet they’re telling you all sorts of lies, huh?”

“i don’t know who you are anymore rafe!” you wince as you step back.” th-the things you’ve done... the things you plan to do.” you sob out, and he takes in your appearance. how your fall was, how you were in pain. emotionally and physically.

“just get in the truck y/n. we can talk about this somewhere else.” he tries to persuade you, but your head shakes for a moment. without a beat your hand clutches your chest, as if it would give some relief. to the weight that felt like it was crushing you inside out. as you were sure your heart was breaking.

he wasn’t the person you knew anymore.

”oh my god, rafe. you almost killed your fuckin’ sister, you were accused of murdering pet-” he rushes forward pointing at you. his one hand wraps around your biceps, jerking you slightly.

“don’t you ever say that shit again.” his finger now digging in your cheek, makes you scared. shoving his chest, watching him stumble back surprised for a moment.

your chest heaves up and down, moving away from the bricks you were once sitting on. staring him fully on as tears blur your vision.

“you could come back!” your voice cracks as you plea with him. “you can come back, come back with me.” please choose this, please choose to do things different.

he shakes his head, “you know i can’t do that.”

your heart sinks, lips trembling. “why is that, rafe?” please don’t say it. you plead with yourself even though your stomach felt sick.

“we got the gold, i can’t- i gotta’ go with my dad!” he shakes and you stare at him in horror. the final realization hitting, everything made your mind swirl.

“rafe...” you look at him and tears stream down your face. you hated this. you hated him. you hated yourself. for not being able to help but want his embrace to comfort you in this.

“you can do right, we can do right. we can figure this all out okay?” you try to ease on him, but his eyes glare into yours.

“we could figure this all out, rafe. you can come back to me, before all this shit. be the old us? right?” he looks away from you, making your heart drop. “right rafe? you love me right? we can do right, give the gold back. get away from here!”

now his attention is back to you. “did sarah or the pogues put you up to this?” he almost laughs and you shake your head desperately. “no! rafe i love you!”

you step closer to him, slowly due to your ankle. “rafe, this is insane. it’s gone too far with barry before a-and this now?”

he shakes his head, “do you trust me y/n?” you wanted desperately to say yes. to forget everything, run away from the problems but you hesitated.

his eyes go cold, “let me take you back home?” he makes it a question but it was more of a demand. you felt defeated, stranded in a forest with no compass.

“wait.” you freeze hesitant of it all. coming more to your senses.

he stops at the sound of your voice, turning to face you. “people who get in your way...” you trail off almost hesitant to say it. “they don’t end up well.”

his head cocks to the side, “what do you mean by that y/n? you think i would hurt you?”

“you didn’t say you loved me back.” the truth made you step back from him. “i’m going to call someone else to get me, rafe.”

“i love you, y/n. don’t you see? the goal involves you, i’ll always protect you!” he steps closer and you shake your head. your throat hurt from keeping the tears at bay, but as he gets the look of realization. the tears slide down your cheek.

“i don’t think i can trust you anymore rafe. you are going down a path that i-i don’t think i can follow.” your hand trembles as he glowers at you. “y/n... don’t turn away from me too.”

your hands shakes as it comes up to your face for a moment, covering your mouth of the sob that escapes. the emotion in both your eyes was readable, from anyones point of view.

“i love you rafe... please.” the desperate plea from your lips. you looking stupid begging for an unchangeable man, too well change.

your phone lights up with sarahs name popping up, catching rafe’s attention. “liar!” he moves in a haste, snatching the phone. “no wait r-”

he tosses it off into the grass somewhere, before snatching you up. he shoves you against the truck, the truck was off. the street light was farther down and it was dark. you two were in the dark.

his hands wrap around your throat, your hands clawing at his hands. “r-afe.” you manage to choke out, as you start seeing spots. eyes rolling back he drops you backing up.

you start coughing heavily, as the air starts to fill your lungs again. “oh my god.” it barely registers as you grip your throat desperately, as if it could ease the pain. “y/n,y/n... i am so sorry.”

as you look back up at him, the view of the fading light barely shows his face. yet you made out the look on his. he didn’t look exactly sorry. he just didn’t look like the rafe you knew at all.

“yo-you just...” it hurt to speak, but what you didn’t notice was when you fell. you hit your head, leaving your forehead dripping blood down your right cheeks. your hands touch the spot, making you wince as your eyes try to focus.

the sight of your fingertips covered in blood makes your stomach churn. feeling lightheaded and unable to catch your breathe.

you desperately call out, “rafe...” he stares down at the wound in need of attention. one he caused in rage. “i’m scared.”

spots fill your vision and everything starts to fade. the last thing you felt was rafe scooping you up.

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe x y/n #obx rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe fluff #obx fic #obx #outerbanks rafe #outerbanks fic #outerbanks x reader #outerbanks imagine

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blainesebastian · 10 months

Text

diving deep

words: 1,609 ship: austin butler x reader summary: austin and reader work on the same film together where reader has trouble coming down from an emotional scene on set warnings: mentions of familial loss notes: while i am taking requests, i am pretty much just writing where / when i feel inspired, hope ya’ll enjoy :) masterlist is here (along with ccg masterlist linked at the top) tag list: @killerqueenfan, @austinbutlermischief , @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

One thing that you’ve particularly enjoyed about acting is that you feel like you can step into different versions of yourself—maybe versions that would never see the light of day if it weren’t for a particular film or character you’re attempting to bring to life. It’s been one of your favorite experiences because nothing is the same twice. You suppose that should be fairly obvious, but you also know that a lot of people have the same methods when it comes to acting.

For yourself, you’re always trying to tap into something different, a new part of yourself. That can come with outstanding results and equally as many consequences.

You’ve always been one to feel your emotions deeply and you realize it’s helped you gain a lot of track record with your films. Your characters become very real to you because you tie those emotions to them—you realize there’s a double-edged sword to doing this. Those emotional ties can quickly become weights that are capable of dragging you to the bottom of the ocean if you’re not careful. Because you dive so deep to access raw emotions, sometimes it’s hard to come back up for air, to disconnect yourself when the scene is yelled cut.

It's been manageable depending on what the scene needs, what the film wants, what type of character you have until, well, recently. You’re not gonna lie and say these past few days on set haven’t been difficult.

You’ve been lucky enough to land a role in an upcoming drama-romance film with Austin Butler, playing alongside him as your characters grow, change and eventually become romantically entangled. Unsurprisingly, falling in love with Austin is easy—he’s so wonderful to work with. He’s been kind, thoughtful, persistent, and reliable. He’s dependable in reading lines and practicing and he’s always willing to brainstorm how to take on scenes together. He’s really a castmate’s dream…and still so early in his career. It’s nice to know that stardom doesn’t go to everyone’s heads—he’s as every bit lovely as you’ve heard.

It’s this scene that’s been really giving you trouble. You’re not reaching deep enough; you can tell with how the lines are playing out. You’ve gotten great notes from the director, Max, you’re mostly just annoyed with yourself that you’re not pushing it in the direction you want it to go.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Austin tells you over coffee before you head to shoot. “You’re givin’ everything you can.”

You’re not and that’s the problem. Sure, the scene has been turning out fine—but you don’t want ‘just fine’, you want excellence, you want feeling. You know there’s compelling dialogue but you don’t want that to be the source of emotion.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and center yourself as you settle into the diner booth that this scene takes place in. Regardless of how you feel about it? you’re certain that this is probably the last time you’re going to run through these lines. They’ve got workable footage and despite you wanting to make this ‘perfect’, a film has a schedule to keep.

Austin gives you a soft smile once you fix your gaze on him, playfully nudging your ankle underneath the table. A wordless relax. You give him a twitch of your lips in return, before allowing yourself to sink.

In this scene, you’ve just lost your father to some shady dealings at his work, though you’re not sure what exactly happened. Austin’s character works at the same place and you’re begging to somehow get into his office to try and get some answers. There’s loss and grief and heartache and love and you’re trying to manage all those at once as your eyes gather tears.

Focus, concentrate, lines.

“Please,” You say—your character is not above begging but she doesn’t want to have to, “No one will tell me what happened, I just need to be around his things? Find some closure.”

If Austin’s character was teetering on the edge before, he’s definitely not now. His face swims with empathy, his hand slipping across the table to settle on yours, “Alright.”

A few more lines are exchanged, Max yells cut and Austin smiles as he comes up to the table. He leans his palms on the surface, giving both of you a onceover before nodding, “Definitely more emotion this time around but I think it works great for the lines and relationship already built up between the characters.”

Your instincts had been right, and God, while you know it shouldn’t feel so good to be validated? It does. Grabbing a napkin from the dispenser on the table, you wipe your face, giving Max a watery smile.

“Thanks Max,” You begin to maneuver yourself out of the booth, “I just need a minute.”

“Yeah,” He nods, “Take all the time you need.”

There are still a few tears slipping down your cheeks as you make your way out of set, your hands shaking as you try to ground yourself in reality. This is the consequence of diving deep, of reaching down inside yourself for core memories that will produce honest emotions. You just have to back out of it, slowly.

You close your eyes, leaning your shoulder against the outside of the set building, taking a deep breath in through your nose. You hear people come and go around you, working their typical jobs on set, except then someone hovers. Distantly, you know exactly who it is without opening your eyes.

“I’m alright,” You tell Austin quickly and yet your voice catches, as if to give you away.

Austin shakes his head as you open your eyes, tilt your chin up to look at him, “I wasn’t gonna ask—just wanted to know if I could get you anythin’.”

And that’s…that’s so nice without being overly pushy and you hate that one emotion just topples into the other. A soft laugh that wants to come out of your chest ends up sounding like a strangled cry and God, this is so embarrassing. Your cheeks dot pink and you shake your head, running your hands along your face,

“God, I’m sorry,” You sniffle.

“I’ve been there,” Austin smiles softly, leaning his shoulder against the set building as well. His hand moves to smooth over your shoulder, squeezing, “Difficult to come down from.”

Of course he understands and despite feeling that painful lump in the back of your throat, that actually does help. You shake your head, pushing your hair over your shoulder. You knew what you were doing when you pulled a scab off a healing wound, raw nerve endings now bright and sharp in your chest.

“I uh—I lost my grandfather last year,” And you have no idea why you’re telling him this, like you need to explain why you can’t get your shit together. “We were close and I guess I never really—” You let out a shaky breath, shrugging your shoulder, saying ‘got over it’ doesn’t feel right.

“Let myself feel it.” Maybe it was stupid to use that as emotional leverage, even though it registered the reactions you wanted.

Austin doesn’t try to guilt you or say that he understands, even though you know that loss is very much a universal concept. Instead, he lifts his hand to brush a tear track from your cheek, “I’m sure he’d be very proud of you.”

It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you don’t think you realized how much you needed to hear it until that very moment. A solitary tear slips down your cheek even though you’re smiling and Austin lets out a soft, affectionate noise.

“Come here.” He whispers, taking a step forward and wrapping his arms around you.

You find yourself letting out a breath of relief, eyes fluttering closed, nose and lips pressed to his shoulder. Not only has Austin been an incredible support system as a fellow actor but also a really good friend—someone you can lean on and talk to. You hope he knows you’re always available the same way.

You take a moment to breathe him in, the sandalwood of his cologne mixing with something distinctly him, comforting in a way that you can’t quite describe.

“Thank you.” The words are a bit muffled against his shoulder but you think he hears it; he squeezes you before pulling back.

“C’mon,” Austin says, motioning towards the tents in the distance, “Lets get some breakfast.” Doesn’t matter that it’s like, seven at night, but you kind of love that. “Think the next scene we’re shooting is where we’re fightin’—sure you won’t have to dig too deep for that one.”

A soft laugh escapes your chest and you shake your head, straightening your shoulders as you begin to walk with him, “Pretty sure the script says that I slap you.”

“Did you want to practice that, or?”

You grin, already feeling a lot better. You’re not sure he’s right though—from what you remember about the script orders, “Think a kissing scene is next, by the way.”

Austin purses his lips, “So you want to practice for that?”

You playfully smack his chest with the back of your hand even though you’re smiling (and thinking about kissing him).

“Just checking.” Austin winks and slips into the food tent to grab two plates, beginning to pile them high with breakfast items.

You feel that same flush heat the back of your neck and cheeks all over again for a different reason. At least you won’t have to dive deep in order to find affection and attraction for your upcoming scenes.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #mccall writes things #got your ccg request anon #will begin working on it tomorrow hopefully?

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melonteee · 4 months

Note

May I recommend some One Piece fics? One of them has me clawing the walls and wanting to write ten billion fics about all the OP women _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): and the other fundamentally changed me as a human being.

The former is a Robin centred fic and the latter is a Sanji centred fic. If you have read these before, sorry if I’m just parroting what you’ve already read! Also please feel no pressure to read these, I just wanted to share with a fellow OP enjoyer :DDD

Sanji Fic: Custom of the Sea - 17K: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39516201?view_adult=true

So this one really, REALLY explores Sanji’s duties as a chef and how far he’d be willing to go to ensure that his crew won’t starve (if you know what the title of the fic means then you’re halfway there) and there are heavy warnings at the start of the fic that I won’t repeat but I will state that the fic is tagged with “angst with a happy ending” so a heaping helping of optimism is needed whilst reading!

(I did not read the tags thoroughly though I still enjoyed the fic, but please don’t be as silly as me)

I love when a One Piece fic explores the connections between the Straw Hats (some more than others, cough ZORO cough) and I especially love the flashbacks we get with Chef Zeff— I will never be able to stop thinking about them and clutching at my chest like I’m trying to ease an unseen weight (the burden, oh the burden of loving a fictional blond man).

I love how Sanji is written, how we get to see him reduced to his base components, how as he thins with each day we see what becomes transparent beneath all the layers; who he truly is when stripped down to the bone.

^ tryhard

There is also a scene that is so reverent; so intimate; so raw that it feels like a violation to intrude upon such a private moment and a discourtesy that it isn’t being analysed and examined by every literature study or professor alive. Wow it fucks me up that this fic only has 8K hits. The author also writes some good ZoSan fics if that’s also something you’d like :))

Robin Fic: What is and What could never be - 58K (unfinished as far as I’m aware): https://archiveofourown.org/works/42768912/chapters/107441889

Robin. Has. A child.

[incoherent wailing about motherhood, unconditional love, the fear of loving someone and letting them love you back, love you thought you lost but has endured all along]

I haven’t even finished it yet nor am I even anywhere close in the timeline in which the fic takes place but I already know it’s one of my favourite fics I’ve read, and has made me realised that I have overlooked the OP women in the most egregious manner possible.

I absolutely adore your OP character analysis videos, and having your big brain analysis sitting in the back of my mind while reading this fic has made me appreciate and enjoy this fic tenfold.

Nico Robin I love you in a way that heals me and hurts me.

I am also a tremendous sucker for Frobin (the author wrote smut for this fic which 😳) but I also adore her relationships with Chopper, Nami and Luffy which absolutely enamoured me and has scorched my brain, leaving a permanent mark. Also extremely cruel and wicked that this fic only has 8K hits.

Anyway I wrote all of this at 1am, so if I sound mad it’s because I am. Thanks for creating hilarious and extremely insightful analysis videos, I’ve been watching your channel since the MHA character design video (I still burst out laughing thinking about Todoroki’s design sometimes) and I always look forward to new vids :D

Thank you for these but I can’t promise I’ll read them haha, I don’t tend to read too many fics but I appreciate the thought. I know you didn’t do it here but I also ask to please not send me smut fics or anything since I’m not an nsfw account and also a stranger to you guys 😅

And thank you so much for enjoying my content! ❤️

#ask #melonask

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hope-to-hell · 1 year

Text

Home (the cure for what ails ya). Eddie x Venom. Post-Venom 2018. Smut, stretching metaphor past its breaking point. Our boy is alive, sure, but he’s had a rough time and would really, really like to go home. Trouble is, where’s “home” when he feels like he’s numb and drifting?

——

There’s this moment between lightning and thunder when it’s like all the air has been sucked from the world; it’s a void, a vacuum, a little peek into the far reaches of space. Eddie knows the thunder is coming, can feel it shivering the air before it happens, but he doesn’t quite believe it, not in his deepest self. He can feel the empty space between light and sound but it’s not until thunder rattles the windows and thuds through him from heart to guts that he really gets it.

What’s there to believe?

Dunno. The majesty of nature, all that shit. It feels—

It feels like being separated, like the moment when he was suddenly all alone and he knew, he knew, that Venom had pulled up stakes and left him— fuck— burning away in wispy trails and if it weren’t for all the fire he could compare it to ink in water, but there was fire, and then the empty gut-punch void, and then silence.

Their reunion isn’t like the movies, when the battle-torn hero appears just at the moment when all hope seems lost. It’s at the end of a days-long nothingness where Eddie’s sponged and bandaged, his blood drawn six times a day, until he’s all bruises and blown veins and goddamnit, I just want to go home. And he goes the fuck home— or at least to his apartment; home is an alien concept now with the way his heart still feels like it’s in free fall— he chokes down a dull beige meal and waits for something to happen.

Hey.

There’s that shuddering thud of his heart beating against something— no, in time with something— but he’s waiting to decide if he dares hope, because if he breaks any further there’ll be no way to put the pieces back together. He counts the seconds and tries so fucking hard not to expect anything, but come on. It’s Eddie. He’s always been all-in, jumping without a plan for the landing; he needs and wants so badly and his guts are tied in knots.

Hey.

Can’t. Can’t do it. It’s spilling over, catching at him and pulling him open til he’s raw; it’s rumbling against his nerves and twining around his veins—

Hey—

In the storm there’s a void that light has touched but sound has yet to follow; there’s no way. No fucking way. He’s losing it— lost it— left it in the bay with shriveled ash and fire that fell in petals from the sky; thunder catches up to lightning and rattles his heart, punches all the breath from his lungs, sends his pulse up through the roof and it can’t be, it can’t, he tried to bury those days and if this is just his lonely mind playing tricks he’s gonna—

Eddie.

Oh.

Sometimes thunder roars loud enough to shatter windows, raining shards of glass on the street below. Sometimes it whispers, barely audible but still felt in the blood. It’s primal, rough, inexorable; it simply is, no matter how far away.

This is a moment that shouldn’t be happening; it’s impossible. He’s— Venom is— was—gone, and if he could just make himself believe it— this can’t possibly be happening, and yet—and yet there’s that kernel of hope that he couldn’t quite crush. And in this impossible moment, he blooms outward in trails of slick blackness, all his bone and sinew covered and caressed and oh fuck, he missed this.

Missed you, he doesn’t say; the words rattle through him but there’s no outlet, not now, not til this settles down to embers. Needed— need you. It’s the most nakedly honest he’s been in forever, and it’s tearing silent through him but all he can say is a spit-soaked you—

Me.

And that’s all there is to say. It’s so sappy, so ripped-bodices-heaving-bosoms-romance-novel cliche, but it is what it is and for Eddie it’s a shattered window falling back up into its frame; he can feel Venom sliding night-black through his veins and across his skin. There’s nothing like it, not even fucking; it lights him up and he is home, you are—

We are home. Now let me take care of us.

Eddie’s yes is all tangled up, lost in his own thick wet oh god oh fuck please now but it is there, reverberating all through him with a deep and rasping echo. With shadows flowing sweetly all through him, he lets Venom take the reins; in the blink of an eye he is stripped bare. His clothes are falling all around in shreds and it doesn’t matter. He could be naked in the street and still he would give himself entirely to this. And so there’s Eddie, arms out and head back, body bowed far enough that on an ordinary day he’d crash to the floor but this is not an ordinary day and so he is held aloft; he is weightless; he is

Mine.

All his almost-words are soaked in brine, in seawater and copper and the thought bursts into being: the water was cold, yes, but he knows the Bay and he should’ve been bound up tight with the chill of it, should’ve been hypothermic at least, but— when you can’t do anything else, you’ve just gotta live. Right? And he’s shutting up because now he knows; his blood was pumping hot and their limbs were moving there in the water and now they are here: renewed and needful and oh fuck there are tendrils tugging at the corner of his mouth and stroking over his tongue and ok. Ok. Shutting up now.

There’s no relaxing into this, not quite, not with need singing through his veins and twitching his hips into the air; there is only the feel of Venom strung all through him, staking his claim with a silk-smooth projection wrapped around Eddie’s cock, another winding up into his ass until he finds something that makes them howl; it’s over far too soon and yet it doesn’t end. Very good. More. Again.

Again? Wait, what, I—

It’s good. We liked it. We want more.

What a fucking time for Eddie to be getting all misty-eyed over a goddamn pronoun. He could say it’s from the projection pulsing thickly on his tongue or the aftershocks that roll all through him; he could say it’s from the feeling of being stretched open and blanketed by Venom all at once. He could say it, and it would be true, but it wouldn’t be the whole story.

We like this. We want

We want

Loss is a hole, a void, an endless fall without a landing. It’s a golden ring locked away in a drawer. It’s rain dimpling the water on the Bay, and all the little fish that mistake it for a meal. It’s a wound that never heals, but only stings a little less with time. It’s bad takeout and worse beer and it’s being shoved into the background so fast that it’s trailing sparks across his vision. He’s floating, the room gone fuzzy at the edges; he’s so fucking close, and all it takes to send him flying is the soft wet slide of the projection withdrawing from his mouth only to brush against his lips.

Ready? Here we go.

Sound surges into the space behind the lightning and rips through Eddie’s veins; it’s taking him apart from the inside and all he can do is feel it. He’s really, truly full now, every cell seeming to pulse at once and it’s too much, too much; he’s hurled over the edge and he is falling

but

he is caught, held tight; he is jelly-limbed and panting and he is

home.

#tom hardy #eddie brock #venom #eddie x venom #symbrock #symbrock fic #symbrock smut #eddie x venom fic #eddie x venom smut #my fic

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