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ohwhataniight · 1 month

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I'm never gonna dance again - Part 2

Thank you soooo much for your likes, replies and reblogs on Part 1. They absolutely made my day! Here's the second part, these boys are killing me.

Please excuse my descriptions of ballroom dancing, I have a very faint idea of any of it.

Part 1, Part 3

I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

The second, and the third, and the fourth time they dance, John makes sure the door is locked first. It sends a pang into Sherlock’s chest, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Don’t get involved. He brushes off Mycroft’s advice with a wave of his hand that causes John to shoot him a questioning glance.

Back, back, right, close.

Sherlock is, for once, distastefully conscious of his body. The lump that has taken residence on his throat, the fist clenching tightly around his ribcage, constricting his lungs and making his heart physically hurt.

He had it coming, really. He has no right to come forward with his feelings, not now, not after two years of disappearing and wrecking John’s life. Mary had fixed him, had kept him alive for Sherlock, and the world’s only consulting detective could only feel gratitude towards her person. Sherlock has no role in this love story. He’s merely the best man, an important, nonetheless, outsider. It was only right to feel excluded, after having excluded John from his own life so detrimentally for so long.

It was to save him.

Back, back, right, close.

All these days of John leading him on the creaky floor of the 221B Baker Street apartment, witnessing his self-consciousness turn into confidence which was such a good look on him, watching John as he swiftly picked up the steps and led Sherlock steadily around, making sure he wouldn’t bump into an armchair or trip over the sword peering from underneath it.

He has been accustomed to the warmth radiating from John’s body, the sweat developing between their interlocked fingers, the feeling of John’s shirt sticking to his body, under Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock can only think of closing the distance between them, dance like John would dance with Mary, pull him close and feel his strong heart beating with fervor against his own chest. He wants to lean down and kiss him, softly, with veneration, or smashing their lips together with hunger (usually depending on the song playing at the moment).

But Sherlock knows he’s lost his chance, he knows that he’s betrayed John’s trust. And yet, all he can dream of is the feeling of John held tightly in his embrace as each of them inhales the star dust the other man is made of.

I should've known better than to cheat a friend

And waste the chance that I'd been given

So I'm never gonna dance again

The way I danced with you, oh

John has ruined dancing for him. It’s a disaster, really. Sherlock doesn’t dance on his own anymore - the hollowness of his own embrace shocks him, violently makes him realize that, come tomorrow, nothing will ever be the same again. He will never dance with John. He will watch John holding the love of his life in his arms and swaying away with steps that Sherlock taught him, that belong to Sherlock.

Oh how he wishes he could disappear again, alter his identity, dissolve into thin air or be swallowed by the open earth. The Waltz of John and Mary hasn’t finished but Sherlock cannot dance anymore. He slumps into the sofa, pulls his knees to his chest, and bursts into ugly sobs that shake his body.

Time can never mend

The careless whispers of a good friend

To the heart and mindIgnorance is kind

There's no comfort in the truth

Pain is all you'll find

It’s John’s stag night and somehow they’ve landed themselves at a gay bar. Sherlock has lost count of the drinks they’ve had, and he’s stopped caring long ago. For the timebeing, what’s important is keeping himself upright, and dealing with the inebriated urge to lean over the numerous bar tables they’ve sat at and take John in completely, press him against his body and consume him.

“Come on, let’s practice my jive,” John shouts over the loud music, standing up and dragging a stumbling Sherlock to the dancefloor by his hand. Sherlock shakes his head, trying to get a grip, but complies. Their legs start moving swiftly to the saxophone notes that John appreciates so much. Sherlock can’t believe how good John’s jive - of all dances - is already. He’s a natural dancer. It’s a pity his rigid heterosexuality has not allowed him to explore that part of himself more in the past.

Sherlock adores staring at John dancing and, as it seems, so do the other patrons of the bar who pull back and give them space on the dancefloor.

Sherlock cannot understand the hype about orgasms when dancing exists. This is what it is about, the unusual instances when Sherlock loves feeling his own body, dizzy, blood pumping, hungry for life, as his feet move to the rhythm of a jazz-swing version of Careless Whisper, taking John’s hand as their eyes meet, and this is a high like none he’s experienced before. People are cheering and clapping to the rhythm of the song. John looks exhilarated, a wide smile transforming his face, his bright blue eyes sparkling against the flashing lights in the bar, indigo, black, indigo, black, his face appearing and disappearing before Sherlock but their hands staying interwined as they spin each other around and their bodies pump with excitement in the rhythm of indigo black indigo black -

John pulls him close after a spin and they’re holding each other in a strange complex of arms around chests and legs that move rhythmically in all different directions. Smoke is encircling them and they’re breathing in frenetic unison, chests going up, down, up down, hearts struggling to meet halfway behind ribs and shirts that make it all so inconvenient.

They stay like that for what feels like ages, up, down, up, down. “You’re beautiful,” John exhales eventually, staring into Sherlock’s eyes, and Sherlock swiftly confiscates the shared breath with a deep inhale.

“And you, my dear Watson, are drunk.”

To be continued...

Part 3

#sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fanfiction #fanfiction #johnlock fic #sherlock #queer #dance!lock

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pockettwinzz · 17 days

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Healing hearts - Jake (1)

next part

warnings: cheating, rejection

please do not copy, translate or repost w/o tags. i worked very hard on this and this is all my hardwork :3. Reblogs are always welcome <3

It was a fateful day, the sky a deep, unsettling shade of purple, as if the heavens themselves were weeping for the love that was about to be lost. Yn, her heart heavy with unspoken words, found herself walking aimlessly through the crowded hallways of her college. Her gaze kept drifting to Jake, the boy she had loved for as long as she could remember. His raven-black hair, his puppy eyes, the way he smiled when he thought no one was looking. But there was something different about him today. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

As you finally mustered the courage to approach him, you noticed it; the way he avoided eye contact, the way he seemed to shrink into himself whenever you came near. Your heart sank as he finally looked up at you, his expression gave you the courage to approach him. You could feel your heart thump, beating wildly in your chest, your voice barely above a whisper, "H-hey Jake" you said, but your voice barely audible. He turned to you, his face a mixture of surprise and confusion. "Is everything okay?" he asked, genuine concern etched into his features.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable rejection. "I just wanted to tell you something... I love you, Jake. I've loved you for so long, and I just had to let you know." Your words hung in the air between them, heavy and weighted. Jake's expression shifted, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "I... I don't feel that way about you, Yn," he said gently. "I'm sorry."

The rejection hurt, but it was nothing compared to the ache you felt deep within her heart. You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. As you turned to walk away, you felt Jake's hand on your shoulder. He spun her back around, his eyes filled with an intensity you'd never seen before. "I want you to know that I care about you, Yn," he said. "A lot........ And I don't want to lose you as a friend."

His words were like a balm to her wounded soul.

"Okay," you whispered, forcing a small smile. "Okay." They stood there in the hallway, the tension between them palpable but somehow not unbearable. In that moment, Yn knew that their relationship had changed, irrevocably. And even though she would always love Jake from afar, she should be content knowing that they would still have each other, she knew that their friendship could survive this.

Time passed, and with each day that went by, Yn could see the weight of Jake's secret relationship lifting from his shoulders. He was his old self again, teasing her mercilessly about her unrequited crushes and making her laugh until her sides hurt. As the weeks went by, she found herself looking forward to spending time with him, even if it was only as friends.

One day, as they sat together at lunch, Yn couldn't help but notice the way Jake's eyes lingered on his girl across the room. His smile grew wider as he watched her, and Yn felt a pang of jealousy deep in her chest. But then she remembered the way he'd looked at her earlier that day, the way he'd touched her shoulder and assured her that he cared. And suddenly, it didn't seem to matter as much.

The following week, the rumour went into overdrive. It seemed that Jake's gf had been cheating on him with one of his friends. Yn saw the pain in his eyes as he walked the halls alone, the way he clutched at his chest when he thought no one was looking. And you knew that you had to do something.

Without thinking twice, You abandoned her lunch tray and followed him into the empty courtyard. Jake turned to you, confused, as you took his hands into yours. "Come on," you said, leading him to a nearby bench. "Let's sit." He allowed himself to be led, his expression still clouded with confusion and hurt. "I know what it's like to love someone who doesn't love you back," you began, your voice barely more than a whisper. "And I know what it's like to watch them with someone else."

Jake looked up at her, his eyes filled with tears. "How did you...?" he asked, his voice choked with emotion. "How did you know?" And as they sat there, under the unyielding gaze of the sun, Yn finally found the courage to admit the truth.

"I've always loved you, Jake....... even after you rejected, i still loved you" she said, her voice trembling. "And I think... I think I always will."

#enhypen #enha fluff #enha x reader #jake x y/n #jake x reader #jake sim #jake enhypen #jake enha #sim jaeyun #sim jake #enhypen jaeyun #enhypen jake #jake imagines #jake fluff #enha

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horizon-verizon · 1 year

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I mean... Of course, Cersei hates Robert, he routinely rapes and beat her. It wouldn’t be a problem if Robert was only a cheater, he’s a wife-beater and rapist.

*EDITED POST* (3/3/24)

I assume that you are talking about this recent REBLOG I just put up about Rhaegar, Elia, Lyanna, and Tywin.

The entire point(s) of that post was to:

point out how Rhaegar's cheating was not the cause of Elia and their kids' death.

argue against the idea he was entirely or mostly responsible and also want to say that the entire dynasty's collapse was only caused by his infidelity. That such a thing could be caused by such.

argue some people have conflated Victorian (a hyperbole) family values of fidelity or their own personal past with a bigger, interconnected political condition that was a maelstrom in Rhaegar's case. While ignoring his concerted attempts to even get rid of his own father before.

argue that some people think that somehow, just staying with Elia would have prevented her death, or that it was easy to ascertain that Aerys and Tywin and everyone else would act as they did if we were him -> as I already listed in that post.

And this is what I said about Cersei:

The text never once explains or indicates how Elia herself feels about Rhaegar or Lyanna, but we have people claiming that she was emotionally wracked by this? Maybe upset for her reputation or shocked, but we still don't know who this woman was by personality, this all the guesswork based on her heritage, her health and the arrangedness of the marriage itself. One also cannot claim that she was something like Cersei was/would be, feeling totally humiliated, jilted of a perfect and glorious life, hating Rhaegar, etc. Nothing in the text gives strong evidence of that.

She is not only hateful towards Robert because he beats and rapes her (completely justified); she hates him for treating her as second place to someone she sees as inferior to herself and someone who "stole" Rhaegar from her. BUT she is hateful toward Robert & compares him to Rhaegar specifically bc for years she has wondered what life would have been like for her if she married Rhaegar instead of this man who she thought would at least appreciate her for the qualities she's told to have/be the best for a woman...but instead gets an abusive, self-deluded man who lusts for a girl who never even liked him AND was not the idea of a "perfect" woman to Cersei, but is still her competition for male favor (a woman's political key to access to power).

(*I must bring a more nuanced point about this, though and note that aside from Robert whispering some other girl's name on their wedding night, Cersei also has had an issue with not "measuring" up to the masculinized standards of competent personhood, so Robert's revealing that he wants and continues to want Lyanna over her pokes at Cersei's deepest insecurity.

GameofThronesHistorian on TikTok notes how Cersei expected to marry Rhaegar after Tywin dumbly got her hopes up and she spent a lot of her time fantasizing about being with him and being Queen but he marries Elia, Aerys basically insults the entire house along with Tywin, and her hopes are dashed along with a bit of her pride ostensibly (nobles get a lot of their pride from their house identity). She finally gets to be Queen (the position dangled in front of her like a prize since childhood, snatched away, and now she "has" it back), but she discovers that the queenship doesn't make up for Robert's clear preference for the same girl "her" Rhaegar got himself supposedly killed for.

When Cersei married Robert she expected to finally overcome the haunting legacy both girls left behind her own insecurities & ruined hopes. When she actually gets to be Queen, she discovers that this thing she thought would "fix" everything, assure her longlasting dignity and power. and that was been long promised to her cannot make up for the slight Robert gives her and thus traps her in a marriage that quickly becomes abusive.

For someone like Cersei, who grew up hearing that she is the most beautiful person around while having almost nothing for herself other than that and later being queen as Tywin always promised to her name [bc her patriarchal society affords way less in terms of prestige, value, and recognized respect to women as it does men & boys AND makes physical features comparatively final measure of worth for girls and women], it's not that hard to see that Cersei's feelings are not baseless or totally irrational. Her already existing insecurities mushroomed into a plague that also sharpened her need to be "perfect" and counteract the feeling of never measuring up. Therefore, her classist-generated need to self-empower evolves into her stomping on others to get power and the self-satisfaction always distant from her.*)

Neither her feelings nor Catelyn's for Robert/Ned cheating on them are things one could automatically guess are the exact same as Elia's toward Rhaegar being with Lyanna. Even without the beating/raping, because they are unlikely to be similar women w/exactly the same experiences.

I say this to point out that Cersei, while definitely being a victim of domestic abuse, still has a specific personality, history before him, and expectations of herself from her class position and gender. From those expectations, an idea--and the need to constantly reaffirm that idea bc of how little room it leaves one for developing a constant sense of self apart from it--of her exceptionality. Cersei is a NLOG and very much by a social-inspired inner compulsion.

What we know about Elia apart from her having kids and being married to Rhaegar comes from Oberyn and her Martell family members. And we get barely much from there (compared to other characters) aside from how she had had her own mind (her voicing her desire against a potential match by his farting). We have her in her early/mid-teens at the Lannisters wanting to see baby Tyrion and thinking/acting like she thinks him cute and witnessing child Cersei pinch baby Tyrion's penis (which already shows us a deep resentment against male privilege at such a young age and how it turned to who her father blamed for the absence of her mother). We don't have a PoV from Oberyn, so we get a few sentences of his feelings towards her in dialogue and dialogue is not as rich as the direct inner thoughts of characters. He does not have a reflective view of who Elia was as much as current/adult Ned Stark for Lyanna (who had PoVs) because he's focused on revenge. Even Ned could have thought more about other things that showcased Lyanna's personality independent of her engagement to Robert, but Oberyn seemed much more aware of who Elia was than Ned with Lyanna.

We don't know who adult Elia really is like we do Cersei, just her position, she was sick most of the time, and that she was Dornish. We do not get her life with Rhaegar, we do not get details nor suggestions in-text of her dynamic with Rhaegar as much as we get with him & Lyanna.

In a Con, GRRM has reportedly gone on to state that Elia and Rhaegar's relationship was "complex". Does this mean that there was affection but a mutual understanding that there was no deeper romance? Does this mean that if Elia were healthier, she would want to develop one with him? Either way, would she want it to be monogamous or not? Again, she's from Dorne, she's more likely to be more okay with it being an "open" marriage AND it being known Rhaegar has a side lover as she has enjoyed more body autonomy and a stronger sense of her own political autonomy from childhood.

But while she is Dornish, after she married Rhaegar she had to live in a nonDornish court in a nonDornish region while raising children, knowing that a man versus a woman having extramarital lovers are treated very differently. [a fuller explanation by dwellordream HERE]. For her own image and social standing, would she want him to be discrete even more than if they were just minor nobles? Or is she secure in the knowledge that her kids will always inherit before any of Lyanna's bastards (would she be, how likely is this) and de-prioritize how bad Rhaegar's cheating makes her look for her own safety (she nearly died the last time she gave birth)? We simply don't know for sure, even though I believe that Elia knew about Rhaegar and Lyanna bastard and wasn't against it.

this is essentially just a reception, so you could scroll past if you need. I basically free-write these things.

The answers to all these questions for Cersei are too obvious. We have Cersei's PoVs and her interactions with multiple people with both PoVs and with none--either dead or still alive by the last published book. And we get her own PoVs to draw her motivations and psychological processes and make better, credible conclusions.

Cersei's Lannister self-defensive-exceptionalist mindset feeds into her believing herself to be the paragon of any living woman, especially paramours, and mistresses. That PLUS her own need to have something close to or the same authority and power a man could have in her world, which she buys through sex, giving up some of her agency during some sexual encounters, and making herself NLOG to (mistakenly) gain men's loyalty or at least obedience to her commands. All of which is always in flux and depends on the person. To repeat myself, she very much cares about and is emotionally dependent on her nobility, her titles, her rank, her Lannister name, etc to accrue power for herself to her own detriment and to the abuse of others, which worsens or gains justification under Robert's abuse.

On the other hand, Cersei, her whole life, has been externally defined through a sexual lens. Yes, even in childhood. Sex and reproduction. She isn't a "whore" or a "slut" for then using what people used to objectify her into a weapon or device for her own intentions when she has learned that that is a direct way of accruing others' interest in her own and her kids' advancement. Cersei, while loyal & protective to her children, also--from her own experiences with powerlessnes from her gendered value in her family and society--tends to be less patient with them and be less able to address their emotional distresses. She seems abusive towards at least Tommen. And yes, in a feudal world, one can gain much political power & resources through their kids' claims and/or positions of power -> Tommen or Joffrey were kings and she could be Queen Dowager/Mother, the highest female rank a noblewoman could have...at least how GRRM wrote Westerosi society.

This is the crux of her motives: she learned that power-as-masculine AND power = male sexual dominance. Unlike the Tyrells, who have a better grasp of using both actual soft power and hard power (mostly yhr first) to maintain social dominance, Tywin is more the silent, golden rock that intimidates you into following him. Power, she learned from her father, is less diplomatic and more forceful and fear-inspired, violent, physical, and from Robert, sexual. All traditional qualified as masculine and assigned to men, who are given the privilege to hold/lead armies and wield weapons in battles:

In medieval times a woman could not bear arms; therefore a woman could not take on a role which, even symbolically, required her to carry arms. In medieval times a woman who took on an overt military role was an aberration. Lyon, A. (2006). "The place of women in European royal succession in the middle ages."

From childhood, she absorbed this ideology and "decided" to essentially prove she was "not like the other girls." And the loss of her mother to childbirth, how her father never truly coped, would have had her rush to gain his love, and when that didn't work, to gain his respect. But she is female, so Tywin never will. She learned that being anything "feminine" is inherently "weak", and so she tried her entire life to differentiate herself from the "weak" women around her. Cersei is the ultimate NLOGs.

She gave up her sexual agency for her children (yes, the same ones who she abused at one point) to shore up defenses for their/her own position and safety, as she wouldn't in a hundred years have sex with some people willingly if it did not come with the expectation of their support, resources, etc. Class/masculinity-perceived-through-hypersexuality is to her, strength even as it puts her at a disadvantage as a woman, as she's that much more open to scandal if the odds go out of her favor and the Lannisters lose much of their power and the others' fear of them.

She imagines herself as Robert/in the male/"dominant" position (she herself imagines that position as male, the place of power she internalized as prime her whole life) when she's sexually rubbing and fingering Taena of Myr. She continues to finger her painfully despite Taena protesting in pain, thus herself becoming a sexual abuser so she can feel the power and defy Robert/men. Power that she learns directly resides in using sexual ties or performing sexual abuses. Taena also, as Cersei's "spy" on Margarey, and as one far beneath her rank, is also a person who acts as socially lower than Cersei herself, which feeds into Cersei's ego. So Cersei banks much of herself and self-worth on her class to a dangerous fault.

She has basically felt compelled to buy into that exceptionalism at full speed to compensate for her lack of power and feelings of inferiority from that lack. Cersei is rather a pretty complicated woman, while also being very simple. Her class position as aristocratic and Queen Dowager/Mother and her desire for power in the aristocratic space are directly related and inspired by her long sexual objectification. This is where gender and class intersect. Her hatred of Robert is obviously justified and comes from her long struggle to gain and keep autonomous power from men; that doesn't mean that she also doesn't eventually use her class and internalize female inferiority as her final crutch.

Cersei's personality and her abuse from others and against others are two related and unique things informing each other from her young childhood, especially evidenced by her thoughts and actions of her youth before she married Robert, how her father & those others around her treated her, and her observations of the events before Robert rebelled concerning women's abilities. Elia is, by contrast, a silent victim so it's easier to project a lot onto her the way it isn't for Cersei. Or Catelyn.

Even with the societal setup of misogyny put up against her since birth and her trying to collect power for herself, the consequences of how she does it, the carelessness of it, and the losing control of her impulses are going to be reasons for her downfall anyway.

#asoiaf asks to me #elia martell #elia martell's characterization #cersei lannister #cersei's characterization #agot comment #agot characterization #character comparison #perfect victim post #asoiaf #agot

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ichijager13 · 1 year

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Teach me how to be loved

Chapter VII

Fuck yeah, give it to me, this is Heaven, what I truly want

Pairing : Eren Jäger x reader

Characters: Eren Jäger, Annie Leonhart, Pieck Finger.

Tags: Unhealthy coping mechanism, unhealthy relationships, childhood trauma, physical and verbal abuse, self-esteem and trust issues, domestic violence, implied/ referenced cheating, and a touch of sweet, lovable, and non fuckboy Eren Jäger

This fic is brought to you by Lana Del Rey’s songs

Masterlist, AO3, Playlists: Reader’s POV, Eren’s POV

A/N: Heyllo, I would like to thank the sweet @bloompompom for helping with this chapter and for beta-reading. you are an angel ❤️

I also would like to thank you for reading and interacting with my story. I hope you are enjoying it so far.

Likes and reblogs are more than welcome

You were so invested in the kiss you didn’t hear the door click open. Not sure how but he somehow managed to insert the key and open the door without taking his lips off yours. Fortunately, he caught you before you fall.

The yelp that escaped from you earned a short laugh from him. “Stop laughing”. you frowned turning your face away from him.

“I’m sorry”. He stifled his laughter. “You’re beautiful”. He hummed cupping your face. The sudden compliment made you feel so vulnerable. At this point, you are willing to let him do anything to you.

He hopped you on his shoulder and headed straight to his bedroom. Before even your feet touched the ground, his lips were back on top of yours. His kisses have the power to make the room spin around you and your knees feel like marshmallows, just like how you remember them. Wanting more, needing more, you tilted your head and grabbed him by his shoulder, bringing him closer to you.

Still devouring your lips like a starved man, he let his hands slip under your dress. They were everywhere, following a map only he knew existed. Altering between light touches and urgently kneading and grabbing your flesh. Craving more, he undid the zipper of your dress and helped you step out of it. during all this time, your lips didn’t separate for longer than the time needed for catching your breath.

With more of you exposed to his greedy hands, he didn’t leave one spot unexplored. Big, calloused, and warm hands were felt on every inch of your skin. Following every dip, drawing every curve, and linking all your scars and moles. His hands were strong, yet the touch was delicate in a way you never imagined a human being was capable of and it made you feel lightheaded.

With trembling hands, you unclasped the first buttons of his shirt before you decided it would be better for both of you to just pull it off his head. you both paused, short and sharp breathing and dark eyes, taking your time admiring the other’s body. No matter how many times he had you like this, Eren always finds himself out of words whenever you are standing in front of him like this.

Slowly, you guided the tip of your fingers along his sculpted body. Going down, feeling the heat radiating from him and his muscles tense under your touch, you continued your journey down his torso until you reached his belt.

But before you managed to unbuckle it, he took both your hands in his and guided you to his bed. you let him lay you down before he climbed on top of you. The first peck landed on the tip of your nose, followed by some on the apple of your cheek. He then littered soft kisses along your jawline. He kissed each corner of your mouth before finally capturing your lips. this time he didn’t wait, he immediately shoved his tongue past your plump lips. the sensations caused by the way his tongue caressed yours made you press your legs together, slowly squirming. A groan left him when you slowly rocked your core back and forth against him shortly after he place his knee between your legs.

Pulling away, you tugged on his heavy lower lip with your teeth. You then guided your lips behind his ear going down to his neck and his shoulder leaving behind you a trail of wet kisses and soft bites. And finally went back to the nape; you remained there nibbling and sucking the thin skin, producing wet sounds that riled him.

Meanwhile, one of Eren’s hands was caressing your breasts.

You dipped your teeth further when he pinched your hardened bud.

His other hand held your hip still. You were so close to your demise which made you whine at the loss of the delicious friction. “Be patient”. He rasped before dipping between your legs. He hooked a finger to the waistband of your tights and pulled them down alongside your panties. Once he got rid of the last piece keeping him from feeling your slit, he scattered some open-mouthed kisses on your inner thigh before slipping two digits inside you. “Fuck”. He mumbled, making his way back to your lips. and that’s when he did it. that’s when he started fucking your mouth with his tongue. His wet muscle moved in perfect synchronization with his fingers driving you crazy and making you see the stars in the middle of his dimly lit bedroom. The sloppiness of his moves made you arc your back and produce filthy noises. The way you were reacting to his touch was making him aching for more. The sensation of your walls squishing his fingers made his mind go blank. And he knew it, he knew it was only a matter of time before he becomes more desperate than you are. And it happened, you made him lose control of himself. You made him drag his fingers out of you, unbuckle his belt, free his swollen shaft, and slam himself inside you without a warning. Knowing what led to this, you did it again. Only this time you sucked on his tongue slowly, you swiped your tongue leisurely around his and caressed it gently, just like you did with his dick the last time you had your lips wrapped around it.

Eren wasn’t very vocal, so, hearing him growling into your mouth like a wounded animal when you rolled your tongue around his, made the thin strings of sanity you had left break. You sucked one last time on his tongue before releasing it.

“Eren”. You breathed, “Yes, there”. you rolled your hips, trying to get more friction, to get him deeper.

“Are you on birth control?” He asked minutes later. “I’m, Fuck, I’m about to cum”. He howled bucking his hips harder against your center.

“Mmh, y-yes”. after a few more thrusts you felt his body tense and a warm liquid painting your walls. He continued pounding into you before falling next to you.

“Forgot to put on a condom, sorry”. He explained out of breath. “Now it’s your turn”. He followed, voice husky and filled with need as if he hasn’t just cum.

His hand made its way between your bodies. Without pulling himself from you, he started drawing slow circles on your clit. You gasped at the contact of your heated bud with his cold pad. “Sorry”. He murmured against your lips. He picked up the pace as the kiss deepened.

Feeling your climax approaching, you hocked a leg around his waist and started rocking your hips. The bliss that washed over you was like nothing you have experienced before, not even with Eren. You continued fucking yourself through your orgasm until you started feeling sore.

“Wait”. He grabbed your hipbone holding you still when you tried to pull away. “Just a little more”. He added setting the slowest tempo he found himself capable of. Your sensitive core was spasming around him, greedily sucking him in until he came for the second time inside you. He pressed a few kisses to your lips and cheeks before he dragged himself out, careful not to hurt you. “Are you alright?” He inquired.

“Yes”. you managed to replay.

“You won’t run away tomorrow morning, will you?” He asked once the fog clouded up his mind dissipated. One of his hands was messing with your hair.

“I won’t”. you replied nuzzling his neck.

“Do you pinky promise not to?” The serious tone he used dragged a corny laugh from you.

“What are you, a four-year-old kid?” You scoffed.

“Maybe”. He grabbed your jaw, making your eyes meet. “Don’t run away again”. He repeated before closing the gap between your lips. “Please”.

Your hand slowly caressed his cheek, how did you end up here, you asked yourself.

Before you could contemplate the question further, Eren’s lips working down your throat rendered your thoughts null. Defeated, you let your head fall back giving him more access. Your eyes fluttered shut, dissolving under his divine touch.

“I won’t… Ah… I promise, I won’t”. you babbled. “Eren”. You whined in protest when he interrupted what he was doing, staring at you, puzzled. “I promise I won’t run away”. You clarified taking place between his legs. He nodded watching you with hazy eyes, taking his half-erected sex in your hand. You stroked it for a couple of minutes before pressing your lips to the tip. Your hand still moving up and down lazily, you took him in your mouth. Just like earlier with his tongue, you suckled on him, taking in one inch after the other. The faint grunt that escaped from him, let you know you were doing things right. working with both your hands and mouth, you zero your eyes on him watching him grimace as you picked up the pace.

At one point, he reached his hand, caressing your cheek where his tip pocked and smiled fondly at you. the way you looked, lips stretched around him and both hands pleasuring him made him lose any sense of reality. He started moving his hips, meeting you halfway while one hand rested at the back of your head pulling you closer. You surrendered yourself to him and let him take the lead until that one abrupt buck. You felt him twitch inside your mouth before he coated your tongue with his seed. You swallowed whatever he had to offer you before you sat near him.

You studied the man lying next to you as he rode out his euphoria. Such a gorgeous man, you thought to yourself when his eyes locked gaze with you. they were burning with lust and desire, and you loved it. you loved the way he was staring up at you. you loved how he sat straight and brought you to his lap. You loved the feeling of his warm breath against your skin. And for a moment, for a split second, you wanted for this to last forever.

Feeling his lips crashing against yours, you chased away those thoughts and focused on his tongue’s movements. The kiss was feverish, messy and you never wanted it to end. You pressed your forehead against his and one hand on the back of his neck, kissing him back with the same passion. You trail your lips from his along his jaw, down his neck, and over the bump of his Adam’s apple. Dipping your teeth above his collarbone while straddling him. your grip on his neck tightened when you grabbed his shaft and lined it with your entrance.

Mouth ajar, Eren hissed, feeling himself sinking deeper than he has ever been inside you. Overwhelmed by the delicious feeling of having him this deep, you paused, trying to adjust to his presence. Moments later, you started idly moving your hips up and down.

Head falling back, eyes squeezed shut, Eren was in trans. The bites you were leaving across his shoulders, creating red spots on his tanned skin, and your nails raking down his shoulder blade, leaving scratches behind them made holding still impossible. One of his hands reached for your hipbone while the other grabbed your jaw. He brought your face closer to his as he set a new pace, guiding your hips and thrusting up. “Eren”, you moaned into his mouth, unable to form a coherent sentence.

He continued fucking up into you, feeling your walls grow tighter, announcing the approach of your climax. You were getting closer, so close, you protested when he pulled out of you out of nowhere, with a loud grunt. “Be patient”. He groaned laying you on your back before pounding back inside you. his hips rutted at a merciless rhythm, you found yourself digging your nails into his back to keep yourself from shattering and collapsing underneath him.

Your walls tightened around him when he cupped your pussy and commenced toying with your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Fuck”. He growled feeling you tense and stutter like a broken record.

Like your bodies were synchronized, you came simultaneously. After a couple of frantic jolts, he pulled himself out of you and laid beside you.

Body still trembling, you glanced at the green-eyed man facing you. A lazy smile made its way across his face making something deep inside you click. He cupped your face gently, as if he didn’t hammer himself into you a moment ago, and kissed you. unlike earlier, he took his time to savor your lips.

“Shower?” his voice was still a bit husky making you ache for more of him. instead, you nodded slowly. He left the bed and disappeared inside the bathroom. You waited until your thoughts became clear enough to follow him without stumbling into anything.

You gasped when your eyes fell on his back. It was all red and he was bleeding in some spots. “I’m sorry”. You mumbled. Confused, he stared at you. “Your back”. You pointed, and he glanced at the mirror.

A light scoff left him, “It’s alright, don’t bother yourself”. He held his hand for you to join him under the shower.

You were drying your hair when he tossed you a t-shirt. You brushed your hair and put the shirt and your panties on before joining him in bed. He scooped you closer, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. you then, rested your head on his shoulder laying next to him. He brushed the strands that fell on your face smiling. “You’re so beautiful it makes my heart skip a beat each time I look at you”. his words made, your already rosy cheeks from the events of the night and the hot shower you took, crimson. Lost for words, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, unable to fight back the ridiculous smile spreading across your lips.

His soft lips grazing your forehead was the last souvenir you registered from this night before you were down for the count.

Soon after, Eren followed.

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chattingwiththelightkeeper · 2 years

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Blocked

I normally do not start a post by tagging, in fact, I rarely tag, but I will with this one. @reflectedtruthsblog and @wickedlysexy1212 both recently replied to a post of mine by discussing how blocking in regards to 144 is on their mind and is something they have been talking about and I am sure there are many more people having conversations about this. So I want to take some time and share my thoughts on all of this. I realize this will be a long post but for me to share my thoughts, I cannot find a way to make it brief but I hope I can make my points clearly and calmly. My intent is not to inflame passions but simply express my thoughts on blocking and in my Paul Harvey voice, “The rest of the story”. I also want to say that I am only speaking for myself, so please I do want anyone here in Tumblr-land to think I am speaking on behalf of anyone. I am just sharing my thoughts in this post. I have not spoken to or with anyone about this, the following is me sharing what is on my mind.

To start with, I tried to think about what it would be like for me if I were to share something that caused me to suffer trauma, do so on the internet, and then have someone in a leadership position in a group that I used to a part of, say that 144 feels that I should not be believed because I was suffering from mental illness. I think this was the first “official” acknowledgment (I could be incorrect on it being the first) from someone close to 144 which was the post from BG1972 who said they had spoken to 144 and his view was those who were sharing their truths were suffering from mental illness, in a bad place, and needing prayers. To me, it is just unacceptable to respond with those who are sharing their truths should not be believed because they are suffering from mental illness. If it was me, I would be upset is the word that pops to mind but it would be so much more and a deeper pain than the word upset conveys.

Once again, if this were me, I would probably go on a blocking binge in an attempt to protect myself. Maybe both @reflectedtruthsblog and @wickedlysexy1212 did not like, comment, or in any way be part of any of this post (I have no idea as I am blocked), perhaps they do not even consider themselves part of “the tribe” but like many people saw a post from someone in “the tribe” that resonated and they liked and/or reblogged it. This might mean you were blocked in what I would call preemptive self-preservation based on my experience with some people associated with the 144’s group.

My experience, which I talked about in this post, happened back when I considered BG-72 a friend however that all blew up when I shared my belief that a d-type who is married and cheating should never earn a person’s submission. I argued that the community needed to call these people out because many are predators using dominance to hunt for kinky bow-chicka-wow-wow on the side or “down-low”. For me, how can someone who is supposed to lead a relationship where honesty is a cornerstone head up a partnership that has dishonesty built right in? I was shocked at how quickly members of “the tribe” as well as those around the fringes who were once friendly suddenly shunned me, fired off nasty grams, or worse. These came “anonymously” to my ask box or from a “blank” blogs. At the time I did not switch my anonymous box off (I should have done it sooner and finally did).

I received messages that ran the gamut from the typical profanity-laced tirade (you f’ing this, you f’ing that) to people saying they were going to “out” me to my employer and my personal favorite (meaning this has stuck with me, unfortunately) “you are the result of a botched broken beer bottle abortion. I hope you die fucker.” Perhaps this last one stuck because it showed the sender read some of my thoughts. After all, I love to use alliteration and I do want to share that I am pro-choice, so this did not stick because somehow it offended a belief.

What I did not know at the time when I shared my married and cheating d-type beliefs passionately (I could have/should have dialed my passion down in hindsight) was that 144 either was still or had just divorced. I did not know I was calling out the leader of this group causing some to want to tar and feather me. I remember turning to a friend and expressing shock at what was coming my way and their reply, “you know 144’s married, right?” was stunning as I had never even considered that he was because of the advice he gave about married and unfaithful folks but at that point everything made sense. Looking back, it is apparent to me now that I was not been attacked because of my view or that I strongly defended it but the abuse being thrown at me was because it was a perceived assault on this group’s leader.

So if I was a person who was in or around the tribe, found myself involved with 144, and then was going to share my truth, I would be aware of the hostility and scorn that would be heading my way and, once again, if it were me, I most certainly would use and liberally apply the block button. Especially since sharing my truth would be uncovering trauma and the nasty notes I was sure to receive would not be helpful, to put it mildly.

I do need to once again just share this friendly reminder, I am speaking just for myself and sharing my opinion. I have not spoken to anyone who has shared their truths about blocking.

So if you are wondering, what the truths that have been shared are, the incredibly oversimplified version and in my words (no one else’s) is 144 took advantage of young, new, submissives. If the s-type discovered he was married, the submissive was led to believe his wife, once again my words here was an invalid whom he was caretaking for out of duty/dedication. Not as more recently stated by 144, a wife struggling with their mental health. All the while he was doing this he was speaking out against those involved in a relationship that involved age gaps, dominants who take advantage of submissives in vulnerable spaces/places, as well those d-types who were married and being dishonest. In doing all this 144 was not only breaking the trust of those s-types who trusted him intimately, but also breaking the trust of the community he had set himself up as the leader of. Please remember this is oversimplified and expressed in my words, no one else’s.

So back to the blocking, I believe some people out in the Tumblrverse feel because those who have stepped forward to share their truths have blocked people they are being “shady” or even dishonest. Perhaps, to some, it lessens the impact of what is being shared. To that, I have to say I disagree, as I feel that much of the blocking is rooted in self-preservation, as these submissives attempt to shield themselves from the notes of condemnation and vileness they surely have received.

If I have not talked to anyone about blocking nor the possibility of despicable notes, how can I assume the submissives who have shared their truths are receiving them? Easy answer, because I have received a few because I showed support. Thus, in my mind, it is logical to assume these submissives have collected spiteful messages in their inboxes.

@reflectedtruthsblog and @wickedlysexy1212 I want to thank you for sharing your thoughts about blocking and doing so honestly and kindly. I am sure there are more people than the two of you that have been thinking about or perhaps even discussing this but appreciate you doing so in a place where I could see it because this “blocking thing” does go both ways. Many people who are part of 144’s group have chosen to block me for what I have shared about this subject. Perhaps I have failed in trying to stay somewhat even in the thoughts I have expressed but the one thing I do know is that I have only blocked those who have sent crass messages or those blogs “That Are Empty, Have No Avatar And/Or Description, Full Of Porn And/Or Politics Will Be Blocked”. The last bit in quotes has been my standard procedure for years plus it is stated in my blog’s description, therefore this is nothing new for me.

Should someone reading this be unable to see some of the posts being shared on 144, I have two thoughts on how to find them, should reading them be something important. What I think is the easiest solution, search Tumblr for 144 or whatever his new blog is. Not only will you find his posts but you should also find all of the other ones since they were always tagged, just search with the # before the blog names to scroll the hashtags. There I am sure you will discover the posts you want because they will be reblogged by someone who has not done any blocking but hashtagged the posts.

The other idea I have is to create a secondary account with a different email address. Two reasons I suggest this, first, it will allow you to see all the posts you might be blogged from, but also, if your content on Tumblr is important to you, it will allow you to “back up” your posts by reblogging your content to this separate and non-linked account should something happen to your primary blog.

I think there are a few things I should share, just because I think it is important for anyone who has read this to understand.

No one who shared their truths about 144 is a friend nor are we friendly (friendly means we occasionally chat) and until they stepped forward, bravely, I had never interacted with them. Since then there have been no conversations other than me thanking them for speaking up, them thanking me for my support, and me asking permission to write about something mentioned in one of their posts which was granted. I feel it is important to know there is no personal connection behind the thoughts I have shared on my blog other than my own beliefs. In other words, I am not sticking up for friends but rather I am standing up for strangers.

If it matters, and perhaps it may to some, I want to include a few links to my posts that relate to everything being discussed:

I have shared two posts sharing my thoughts on this in addition to this post, with those located here, for the first, and here, for the second.

In this post, I wrote about what I call “assumed relationships” and how, for me, this theory of 144 is faulty and perhaps helped him do what he did. This post is here and is the post referenced above where I asked for and received permission.

Back in 2018, I wrote about my belief that the community could do a better job of supporting those who step forward to share their truths. This post is here and will help explain why I choose to stand with strangers.

These last links get to two of the things that 144 was disingenuous with the community about, age gap relationships, and married/cheating both written before any of this came to light. My thoughts are here for age gaps and here for married and dishonest d-types.

I want to add that if someone reading this happens to be in “the tribe” or even just around the edges, it must be a complete shock that someone that was looked up to and seemed to offer such sage advice could have people come forward, share their truths which may feel to you is against all 144 professed to stand for and thus is unbelievable. Sadly, my experience tells me to believe it. In my time blogging, this is the second community leader to have the same thing happen to them. Had 144 said something other than the first to step forward was suffering a mental health crisis, gaslighting them, and then claiming the victim owed him (Per his own words, he helped them out so they owe him), and then deciding to walk away, I would not be sharing this today. Perhaps, there has been new information from his camp but since the blocking goes both ways, I am not privy to it, nor at this point am I going to invest in seeking it out. I am just going to put my head down, and continue to do my thing as I know I have shared my views as well as I know how. No matter the community, vanilla or kink, rifts, leaders behaving badly, and people disappearing happen. Groups come and they go. I do wish that everyone who admires and enjoyed the tribe can find a fit for themselves going forward in a positive, friendly, and empowering group made up of amazing people or perhaps it will morph into something better. I do not feel that everyone who is part of this group is “bad” however some bad apples did poison the tree so to speak. I also know some will choose to see what they wish and no other person’s truth will impact theirs. This too is part of life.

So I will end with something I have said before, I am writing this not because I am a saint, above reproach but due to the fact I am a flawed human who has f’d up a billion times. Some of my screw-ups make me an asshat to some (and rightfully so), yet with that said, it does not change that I believe those who pursue and choose to set themselves up as community leaders should never bully, use mental (or physical) health as a weapon, and finally if you are going to lead anything, when you extend your hand to help someone up, it should not be followed by holding out your other hand out for some sort of payment or repayment.

As with all of my writings, please see this disclaimer.

©TLK2022

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pinkprettycure · 1 year

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it does make me think of one thing which is that i know there's nothing wrong with defending your baby in these things, but i will admit i did feel little like, self conscious lol? about reblogging zacharie and vals polls to the mwdh account, because it felt like "cheating" somehow to try to give them that boost in votes, even tho like... literally logically anyone who would vote for them follows that account 😭😭😭? i really had to justify it to myself though even tho i know that's not a bad thing.

idk like it's literally just me being goofy. seeing all that did remind me of that little anxiety i had lmao

#are you telling me char broiled this burger?

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mariamariquinha · 2 years

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Bossa Nova (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader) - Four

Three | Five

Summary: Sometimes you hated the workings of your mind; it just didn't compare to how your job works.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Bad words, a bit of angst, insecurity, low self esteem, talks about cheating, talks about sexism, slight mention of violence, a pinch of flirting, mention of body parts and... I guess that’s it.

Author’s Note: YES! It happened! I’m really happy to share, it took me soooo long to write this. I don’t know if I already used this gif, but it’s him so NEVERMIND

Oh and I’m adjusting my posts given the new Tumblr’ updates, don’t worry. The light will shine and I’ll be able to be happy again!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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Los Angeles had an average population of 3.8 million. With a population growth of 0.7% a year and with one of the worst transits in the world, you could probably say that coincidences were an improbability. Hardly a high school friend would say that they saw you by chance on the street or you would find a distant relative there.

You liked these stats because they gave you security and a minimal chance of dealing with unpleasant encounters. A lot of people, a lot going on, it was more advantageous to go after celebrities in West Hollywood or Beverly Hills or on the way out of movie studios.

But you had to go to the farmers market that day - Fairfax District, it was in your neighborhood, sometimes you took advantage of paying so much for a house there. It was your father's insistence, to go there to buy fruit and, as he said, important food - accepting wasn't that hard, spending time with him was always good.

She was beautiful. A shorter, more streamlined version of Charlize Theron because despite not having the long legs, she had the smile, hair, and gaze of a woman of that caliber. You knew every possible detail about her because you did your research, in a much more difficult time when things were… different. Complicated. Aileen, that was her name. The ‘Aileen’ who traveled to Ireland every year because her family came from there. The ‘Aileen’ who had a perfect Pinterest with pictures of her apartment in Santa Monica and the time she visited a mansion in Bel Air - the only time you did that was in a case of the theft of golden statues of the Grinch. The ‘Aileen’ who turned out to be… her.

She wasn't the type to complain about the size of the kitchen window, probably because people naturally made things easier for her, more optimistic. It was easy to be like that when life privileged her in the right way. You weren’t like this. You complained about that damn window because Theodore never helped you clean the house, and from the beginning he chose a place that size, with that giant window.

When you saw her from a distance, you thought it was an illusion, that the sun was too hot and made your mind trick you somehow. It wasn't until the second glance, with narrowed eyes and your attention more focused, that you realized it was Aileen, standing at an organic food stall and looking at the products unpretentiously. It's okay, you thought, she must not even know who you are.

It was very quick, discreet, you were soon blinking a few times to distract yourself from the vision when your father returned with suggestions for an eggplant lasagna. If you looked a third time, she wouldn't be there anymore, and you could finish shopping without worrying about bumping into the woman.

Still, it was her. Out of 3.8 million people, you ended up seeing Aileen; THE Aileen, who was so much better when she was just a faceless name. Of course she wasn't a delicate, smiling woman, with all her features perfectly traced by God and who didn't get her hair tousled by the wind - if she did, it would be beautiful as in a Dior perfume campaign.

It looked silly. No, it was definitely nonsense. There was no reason to feel anything but indifference.

… Right?

-------------------------

It was kind of random, actually, like your mind took you by surprise. A bad habit crawling your skull, your brain, your mind.

First you put on your panties and bra, conventional, without any details that would make them more… elegant and attractive in a way. Black, enough to hold your breasts. You paid attention to what you saw in the reflection - your arms, thighs, belly, cleavage, face. Everything looked normal. Reasonable. You've never been one to go to the gym like crazy, even though you sometimes used your LASD credential for it, and the main reason you lost a little weight was because of the whole diet situation and all. You were healthy, functional, some would even say ‘cool’ with that tattoo on your left thigh that made your mom freak out because it was so big; this goes from your thigh to your ribs! And what does a dragon mean anyway?

Standing there, post-bath and in your most natural state, you ran your fingers through your hair, then tugged at the skin of your face as if to find something there. Turned around, stared at your ass, then the other tattoo you had on the back of your neck, hidden most of the time - there was a discreet scar on your shoulder blade, left side, that gave you memories of a time that seemed a lifetime ago.

“Theo! Theo, what are we doing?” You were laughing a little breathlessly, your hand sweaty with your fingers locked in Theodore's, who was pulling you down the sidewalk with nimble, quick steps, ready for some partially illegal atrocity.

“Relax, we're almost there. You’ll like it.” His voice was whispered, fetching, a reflection of a behavior well out of the way that was part of who he was. Terrible, sagacious, agitated.

You've always liked different things, curiosity would almost eat you up inside, especially for things no one could prove: aliens, ghosts, the Bermuda Triangle, the truth about JFK. Theodore said he liked that about you, it made you unique. That night, you escaped from a birthday party that you had a time to get back from - eleven o'clock. There was an aura of danger and adventure to it all, especially since it was almost midnight and you two should have been home by now. Eighteen years old, these things could happen.

You stopped at a 'haunted' house that was about two blocks away from the party. It was big, your typical horror movie set with dumb protagonists, but you were excited.

With an opening hole in the wire fence surrounding the place, you had to duck through the cut wire, but your clumsiness resulted in a discreet cut. You hissed. Theodore noticed and gently, right there in the weird backyard of that ghastly place, he kissed the bruise, then your cheek, then your mouth.

You got home around two. Your mom just didn't ground you for more than two days because you were packed for Berkeley - not just with your stuff, but with the memory of something you held inside your heart for as much as you could.

You stared at the bedroom door with a deep frown, the tips of yours rubbing with some delicacy against the flesh of your thighs. No, it wasn't right. It shouldn't be like that. Aileen was a fucking ghost for so long and then she… She wasn't even guilty and it was an involuntary feeling; like fingers squeezing your insides, choking, testing one of the few truly authentic things in your life. Her fingers. Theo fingers.

Felt like a fresh cut even though it was all gone so long ago, a scar that opened at the first hint of memory of those terrible times - you even hated Theodore, but you hated more the idea of standing there, in the middle of your own bedroom, with a lump in the throat and reliving a sensation that was hardly allowed to be felt. The guilt, the lack of effort, the questions about where you went wrong when it wasn't really mistakes but choices. No, it really wasn't how it was supposed to be. You should have the resilience you held on to, the wisdom to take every step rationally, to just move on and not treat Aileen like a tormentor - a symbol that aroused your envy because she took something from you.

No, you thought for the third time, rubbing the skin of your face with your palms. She didn't take anything from you. He left. He was wrong. He chose. He made you small in your form as a woman. She… participated. As a accomplice. A partner.

“It’s always about your job! I don’t need a roommate, I need a woman! An accomplice! A partner! How can I find my happiness if you can’t even be the fucking wife you’re supposed to?!”

You clenched your fists tightly and took a deep breath. The thought inevitably made you angry.

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Conference room. Important manner.

For those new to the Department, Emma's behavior could be classified as 'absent' or 'volatile', much like a divorced father who has left and only appears every two years. She had a broader view of the work, made people more comfortable but never enough to break rules, even if she didn't agree with all of them; she was a progressive. Her parents went to Woodstock and she participated in pro-turtles protests - that was her way.

The email that popped up on your computer just said that. By protocol, there was a 'meeting' written in the subject box, accompanied by a very succinct text: time, place, level of urgency. An economy of words, as if they were too rare to be spent on long informative paragraphs.You liked that about her. Still, with your acquaintance, you knew each other well enough to know that the situation required attention, so you checked your watch so you wouldn't be late; hoping that wasn't a problem.

---------------------------------

It was a problem.

A big one.

And to be quite honest, it had been a mistake for you to think that the situation with Walsh would end that day. That's what you said to Emma when you saw the agent sitting next to his supervisor, as well as Lieutenant Brixton from Internal Affairs. It was a replay of what had happened the last time the confrontation between you two got to that point and judging by the way Mathias was serious, the situation fell more on him again - at least.

“We have a strict protocol on working together between agencies, especially in cases like the one we're dealing with right now,” Brixton started from his spot at the end of the table. “As the two of you have a history of conflict, I'd like to draw attention to an episode that occurred a few weeks ago and came to my knowledge recently.”

That made you frown at Emma, who just shook her head discreetly - later, she meant.

“The reason for this meeting is to come to an agreement on how to handle the situation going forward. I've heard from agent Walsh's side, it's not my place to correct his behavior but it's my obligation to remind him that we have an integration policy that deserves to be respected, especially with regard to our female employees.”

What your boss didn't say, Brixton took advantage of it and followed the ‘protocol’ bit by bit. This included extensive speeches at the lectures they concocted about sexism in the workplace, for example. It was kind of pointless, things were still happening and you were sure the DEA followed the same bureaucracy and there you were, dealing with Mathias.

“So, agent, why don’t you tell us what happened that day?”

You? Oh, yeah. Right. What happened that day.

You blinked a few times before clearing your throat, looking at Emma, then Walsh and his supervisor. The story slipped out of your mouth easily, at least until the memory of the little confrontation taking place.

“From what it says here, was it your day off?”

“Yes. I needed to resolve a personal issue.”

“Your divorce?”

“... Yes.”

“I'm just asking to verify the situation, I don't want to embarrass you or…”

“That’s okay,” Your answer came as fast as he started his excuses. Brixton nodded, got back to his papers and you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Does Detective O'Brien have the autonomy to request your services?”

“Periodically, yes.”

“And do you know if he ever informed agent Walsh about this addition to the investigation team?”

“No.”

Mathias shifted uncomfortably in his chair, you saw it in your peripheral vision.

“Nick usually asks for her as a matter of professional affinity, they have been working together for some time and this has never interfered with the results of parallel investigations she was working on,” Emma complemented with a certain care, finding the necessity to explain her position… just because.

“We all know detective O'Brien's reputation in this regard but I warn you that it wouldn't be ideal for this to become a habit.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” She said with a nod.

“Now, agent, did the situation with agent Mathias Walsh affect you in any way? Did you feel attacked, perhaps… Morally harassed in some way?”

You had the answer to that question on the tip of your tongue, between the memory of you leaving the scene and that pathetic moment of crying in the bathroom. So you hesitated, pressed your lips together and looked at Mathias again.

“Considerably.”

“How so?”

“I believe that my personal life should not be used as an argument in the situation,” Your eyes were on Brixton again. “And as I said, I suggested that if agent Walsh was dissatisfied with the investigation process, he could address the responsible agency, not me. That’s the protocol.”

Protocol. It even sounded strange to say that out loud.

“Do you feel threatened by him?”

“No.” This answer came more assertively.

“Do you think you could continue the work eventually without major problems?”

“For me, yes,” And you increased that 'me', because you wanted to redirect the question to the said Mathias, who was always the main one bothered by everything.

“Right…” Brixton wrote something down in silence and you all waited for him just as quietly. He read a few more things, frowned, then raised his head at you while speaking. “What about detective Magalon?”

You frowned.

“What about him?”

“He witnessed what happened. Was he ever defensive, did he react in any way? Violently?”

It didn't take a genius to put things together, and even your distracted mind was able to understand what the point was; that meeting wouldn't have happened if Benny hadn't been there and if that punch had never existed. You almost believed that your well-being would make a difference.

Emma must have noticed this too because she was visibly annoyed.

“No, not at all. Everything he did was exactly as I said.”

“Riiiiight,” He repeated the word, this time saying it while writing more things down.

The conversation didn't go beyond that and after an hour, you were conditioned to see Mathias leaving the building with his supervisor with an impressive number of 0 words for you. Emma stayed behind to chat something with Brixton, so you waited in the hallway for the two of you to be alone and you started asking questions.

“I think we had good impressions today,” She said first, gesturing to the elevator nonchalantly. “But, you know, it’s always about the guys.”

“I noticed.”

“Honestly, I thought this story with Magalon was gossip, but it looks like the repercussions were pretty significant.”

“Do you know what happened between them?”

“They’re men, anything could lead into a fight,” You saw her pressing the call button with a discreet smile. “I thought you had some idea, considering your proximity to them.”

Them being Major Crimes. Huh. That shit again.

“You were the one who told me that I should be careful to maintain a professional relationship with them. Benny never was… Open, I guess. He keeps his distance.”

“It's amazing to know that you listen to me.”

You both entered the elevator, which was fortunately empty. She sighed with a defeated stance, leaning on one of the corners.

“Anyway, I think this served as a warning,” Emma said after a beat of silence and you stared dumbly at her, waiting for an elaboration. “I should have encouraged you to talk to Internal Affairs, not just scolded you. Sometimes I talk so much about female support that I forget I have the power to help in any way and… Well, having to hear that one of Nick's guys took the step was a slap in the face.”

This left you even more confused, if not perplexed.

“... What do you mean?”

“Huh?”

“By Nick’s guys. Who told the Internal Affairs about what happened?”

“Benny did. Just today, Brixton went to talk to Gina, he wanted to know…”

As much as you would have liked to know more details, no other words from her made sense or even entered your ears. There was a mix of assumptions about why Benny did that and the fact that it might be a risk to him, plus you guys only started talking for a very short time, if that was even considered a conversation. He was he. You were you. Nothing more, nothing less.

------------------------------

“Can we talk?”

It wasn't like every interaction with Benny was an issue, but suddenly you were afraid to bring it up, especially when the said issue was that. With any luck, you had managed to catch up with him before he left for the night and after a whole day of thinking, you decided to give it a try. Henderson was beside him and looked as surprised as his partner. You glanced at the two of them, not wanting to say that you preferred it to be a private conversation, but Benny understood and said he'd meet his friend at the bar - for some reason, you waited for Henderson to disappear from your sight in the parking lot after kissing his cheek goodbye. Just to be sure.

“Are you okay?”

You pursed your lips at him, raised your eyebrows and nodded, adjusting the hem of your shirt that went up with the farewell.

“Mm-hm. Yeah, I… There’s something I want to ask you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. What’s up?” He shifted from foot to foot, a bit concerned at your hushed tone.

“Brixton called me to a meeting today, he wanted to talk about what happened with Walsh that day. You know, from the liquor store,” It was a rather useless insinuation, Benny was already expressing recognition when you mentioned Brixton's name.

“Emma told you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you mad at me?”

The question took you a little by surprise - no, very much by surprise. You'd expect a more heroic reaction, something like 'I did you a favor' or something, but no. Benny looked worried.

“... No! No, I’m not, I mean…”

“I didn’t want to assume, just…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“You can tell me if you’re mad.”

“I’m not, promise.”

You two stumbled with your words for a moment, both determined to make assurances with phrases being spilled faster than your thoughts, basically. He clapped his mouth shut when you raised your hands to put an end in the babbling, obliging for the sake of giving you the word.

“It just caught me by surprise, like… You didn’t need to. I just thought it was risky for you, given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

And you didn’t know he was teasing you or demanding that you say what was implied in words, but without a shadow of a doubt there was no questioning on the way he asked. You considered not saying anything, just shrugging your shoulders and muttering a 'you know', but Benny shifted on his foot again, patiently waiting.

“You literally punched the guy in the face,” Defeated, your shoulders relaxed while you gesticulated at him. “I’m sure he made it clear to Internal Affairs.”

“He did.”

“As I said.”

“But I don't think it was a risk.”

Like in the lab, you stared at each other for a while, but he decided to break contact first with a pinch to his nose, turning his head to the side with a chuckle. That's when you realized you must have a pretty confused face; a frown, mouth partially open not knowing what to say.

“The danger was throwing the punch and this already happened. That day, I saw the way he spoke to you, how hurt you were. I know it's none of my business, and again, I apologize for that, but these things… I should have said something, defended you.”

That shouldn't have made you back down like it did. That just shouldn't. Because it wasn't like he was putting himself in an alpha male position; it sounded more like regret for just not saying something to stop Mathias.

It came from a place of care, you thought, not authority.

“You did enough,” Your voice was steady, even if a little too soft, and a smile played on your lips - maybe the first real one since you woke up. “Thanks.”

“When I said ‘gotcha’ I meant that. No worries here. Besides, this sort of thing is for princes who rescue pretty ladies and I'm really not that kind of guy. I did what I should do.”

“Oh,” You scoffed. “Okay, right.”

“What? Don’t you believe me?”

“Your analogy was… interesting.”

“An analogy is an example of things,” He twisted his mouth and shook his head. “Consider this a joke. The ones that have a basis of truth.”

“You don't strike me as the type who aspires to be a prince.”

“But I like helping pretty ladies like they do.”

Once again, that shouldn't have made you back down, but you felt your cheeks burn at the comment he made, not least because he was watching you closely, gauging your reactions. That was subtle, understated, and he didn't move to be invasive in any way. Benny waited.

“I need to go,” He pointed behind his shoulder, already taking a step away. “Before you thank me for that, lemme say your tattoo is really cool. You are really polite, at least save the thanks for someone else.”

Your… Oh. Oh.

Without saying anything, you watched the man walk to his car as if nothing had happened and discreetly raised your hand as he waved his in the distance.

“... Thanks,” Your murmured, Benny already out of the ear sight, but the meaning was well placed in your mind while your hand brushed your side, exactly in the covered area of your tattoo.

---------------------------------

No pressure tags

@cheesybadgers

@paintlavillered

@sexuallover

@nerdyreaderpapi

#benny borracho magalon #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon fic #den of thieves #den of thieves fic #maurice compte

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grapementos · 3 years

Text

redamancy

(v.) the act of loving someone in return.

a/n: the final part of the cheating triology.

kirishima and midoriya’s part.

bakugo x gn reader

warnings: cheating, panic attack (kinda), suggestive, crying

pro-hero dynamight didn't have the best rep with the press, if his exhausted pr team was anything to go by. seldom were there headlines about him without outburst or, the media's favorite little play on words, explosive following suit.

then, suddenly, his brash behavior had stopped. it was so abrupt that no one even noticed at first.

once they did, the questions came flooding in. many of them were speculations of anger management classes or something of that nature. in the end, they were all denied until the big question came:

'are you in a relationship?'

it was confirmed, and the crowd went wild. within days there were tabloids of 'pro-hero dynamight's secret lover: who could it be?'

it was innocent at first; just plain curiosity about a public figure.

but then it got deeper. talk shows got psychologists to give professional insight as to how a relationship with someone like dynamight would be.

as expected, it wasn't positive. and soon enough, everyone on the internet was bashing dynamight for being dangerous or violent, specifically towards his lover, whom they knew nothing about.

you'd rub the tension out of his shoulders at the end of the day, reminding him that he was good, no matter what the media had to say. they didn't know him like you did.

your comfort and reassurance usually calmed him down and left him grumbling, "i didn't even care anyways."

so he took the criticism. and he took the bashing, the false speculation—and he kept moving forward.

that is, until someone thought it'd be fun to make a 'top ten pro-heroes who'd cheat' blog post that went absolutely viral. it reached every corner of the internet, even getting mentioned in the news as outraged heroes demanded the website be removed.

the number one spot, the one bakugo had yearned for, was his.

but not in the way he wanted.

being ranked most likely to cheat did a number on his behavior, both in public and private. he was more distant and less explosive, which somehow spurred the press on more.

they concluded that he cleaned up his act because the blog was right and he wanted to create a better image for himself. that wasn't true at all—he was just tired.

so tired, in fact, that he proved the rumors right.

denki was draped over your couch, watching some game show on tv when you found out. the two of you had planned to hang out for a bit and watch a movie at the cinema, but nothing good was showing, so you ultimately decided to head back to your place.

your shared place. with bakugo.

you assumed it was one of his late nights since he wasn't home, so you started cooking dinner, making small talk with denki.

"so you can go swimming, then?" you quirked a brow, poking your head into the living room.

"yeah, just as long as i don't activate my quirk, you know?" denki opened his mouth to explain further, but the front door messily slammed open, beating him to it.

and there he was. bakugo katsuki.

with someone else in his arms, his face nearly being eaten as they pushed back and forth against each other.

everything stopped the moment he made eye contact with you. the kissing stopped, your brain stopped—it even felt like the tv was muted.

even worse was that his eyes held no remorse. just a little surprise, like finding your old charger after buying a new one.

"thought you were hanging out with dunce face," his voice was gruff, low and sultry as his gazed burned into you with... impatience?

"katsuki, what're you.." you mumbled out, brain still trying to process the sight before you, "why're you.."

"didn't think you'd be back already." he shrugged, gaze shifting back to the person he was with. and only then did his brows relax, lips tugging up into a smile. "now, if you'll excuse us.."

he tried to walk past you, but you shoved his chest, "what the hell are you doing?" you nearly screamed, eyes red and burning with tears.

"haven't you heard the rumors, y/n? i'm a cheater. you don't need to be with someone like me."

you saw the flash of hurt in his eyes, but even that couldn't overpower the utter devastation pooling all the way from your chest to your toes. oh, it hurt.

"kami," you whispered desperately once they were gone—in the room that you used to sleep in—head starting to swim, "kami, help me, please."

you didn't even know what you wanted him to help you with. you just wanted everything to stop.

he rushed to your side, finally snapping out of his shocked daze. his arms were around you in an instant, chin on top of your head, "you're okay, y/n, i'm here. it's okay."

you were shaking and sobbing into his shirt, grip tight on his unzipped jacket.

"it hurts. oh god, it hurts. kami, make it stop, please." you shuddered, and everything was suddenly too loud.

he held you tightly, letting you cry for what felt like hours.

and then he got you out of there.

BONUS:

the healing process was long and still incomplete. some days you still felt so empty, only able to complete the bare necessities to get through your day, but denki was by your side when he could be.

you'd since moved out of your shared home with bakugo and into a place of your own, which was a difficult adjustment. but with denki calling you twice a day—literally—you didn't have a chance to be lonely.

most nights he spent at your house, claiming it was because he loved your cooking.

you weren't dumb; denki flirted with you all the time. he was truly unashamed every time he greeted you with a 'hey, hottie', and bid you goodbye with a 'love you, sweetcheeks'.

it made you cringe, but it was denki, so you had to love him.

after a year of being closer than ever, he’d asked you on a date numerous times, receiving a playful 'no, you know i'm not ready for that.'

but, one time was special. one time was heartfelt and so genuine that you shed real tears. denki laid his heart bare for you, every ounce of emotions spilling out of him and onto your shirt.

"i know you're not ready, y/n, but i love you so much. i'll wait for you, i swear it!"

and after all those no's, you finally said yes.

i like to think that bakugo did it for you. obviously this wasn’t the right way to go about it, but he just.. kind of got so tired of being accused of something terrible. he became the monster they swore he was. and you got caught in the crossfire. also i bolded dynamight instead of bakugo because i feel like this focuses on that part of his persona. his hero-self got too wrapped up in the media. also! kirishima was originally gonna be the new lover, but i feel like it’d be too similar to the other bakugo one i wrote.

reblogs are appreciated.

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kthynes · 3 years

Text

THE MIXOLOGIST 🍸 (1/7)

part one: tequila wine

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: bartender!steve rogers x fem!reader

summary: after a rough break up you find yourself frequenting the same bar every night where you’re tended to by Steve who helps you through your heartbreak.

warnings: 18+ nsfw — MINORS DNI. This part contains: excessive alcohol consumption and the very repercussions of it, course language, mentions of heartbreak/break up/cheating (don’t condone this bit). Angst. Crude humour, bit of passive aggressiveness/self deprecating tendencies. TW the reader yacks here.

word count: 5k

authors note: this part will mostly play into the readers emotions just so you guys get a feel for it. The rest of this series will be a bit easy going and fun with lots of lessons to be learned and tribulations to overcome. But that’s life right?

Reblogs, likes and comments are encouraged! And as self explanatory as it should be, please do not copy and/or translate my works onto any other platforms. Cheers!

taglist: @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @mrs-djokovic @bookwormchick91 @lauracontisstuff @blossombela @maroonsunrise83

This series has not been beta’d so any mistakes are my own.

Here’s an unfortunate truth: By and large, humans are pretty bad at relationships. Sure, we’ve devolved into them well enough that the world somehow keeps a moving tailspin.

Life goes on, we rechance those encounters and take part in the hierarchy of social genesis — that’s how the subspecies have adapted to what Darwinian scientists root as the segmentary socio-cultural differentiation dogma. Blah, blah, blah...

But apart from the whole anthropological semantics, there’s another end to a beginning when it comes to fostering deep, personal relationships, more so romantic relationships. And that is heartbreak.

“Fuck me.” You moan under your breath, head making a near bang against the curving plexiglass bar top.

They say heartbreak is a consequence of emotional bonding. It’s a soul crushing adversary that almost every romcom thrives on.

Now, by default, it’s your turn.

“With love comes heartbreak. Am I right?” You drunkenly proclaim to a neighboring patron who wordlessly lifts his beer snout on cue. He’s reverent on hearing your troubles as his own for the fifth time in a row.

“Cheers to that, I guess.” You sardonically forfeit while doing the raw honor of slurping your shot rather than being sensible and shooting it down. You were keenly inept on feeling the burn and no one was meant to stop you.

The apocryphal Manhattan nightlife is a buzzing quandary. Somewhere on Bleecker Street, once an American Bohemia, you become a near right chauvinist. You have seven brimming tequila shots neatly lined up, four emptied and the rest dumped into a wide glass full of red wine. You spirited away your pain and made up your own concoction; tequila wine, as you called it.

Blow by blow you could only recall how ugly and despairing your life had become. Loving one man who chose to sleep with another. Men, they’d have gall and curiosity, both in spite of the other.

“You know I gave him my all.” You joust, half lidded. The no name man gives you another fleeting, uneasy smile. “Fucked him in all sorts of positions and places and then lo and behold he’s getting his dick sucked on an all inclusive business trip in Hawaii.”

“Oh c’mon!” He rambunctiously groans, not because of your existential crisis but because the Sox had defeated the Yankees in a series match. A number one crime in the big apple state. Now where were we?

“His little doe-eyed secretary, skanky as they come and barely legal I’m sure. God I should’ve known.” You pathetically fuss, soon gritty with anger that glosses over you.

Your hand slams down on the hard surface and lingers. There’s a rejoicing thought, one you replay over and over again. It doesn’t escape you when you’d been fateful enough to grovel through hours of pre-recorded footage and fun play, not to mention the lewd pictures, token messages and voice memos that left a soldering imprint for you to latch onto. Reminding you of a far less woman who was only desired in consolation.

“Who the fuck saves their nudes on a shared cloud account? Ass out, tits drawn—“ Another snarl is sent your way as you peruse, obliterated out of your mind. “She’s got great tits by the way, they sit nice and high. My fiancé, EX FIANCÉ, let me tell you, he’s a big boobs guy. Mines aren’t even contenders, they’re spread apart, almost like Admiral Akbar on a good day. What am I talking about, I should just show you. Do you wanna see ‘em?”

Your bar buddy is nearly horrified, mouth agape and possibly someone’s father and husband at that. It’s a mere attempt, a strip show that he’s saved from as you go to unbutton your top.

“Hey, hey! That's enough, you can’t do this here, alright?” Your long time friend Matt Fontucci sweeps right in uniform. He’s been tied up, bar back and working the stretch before coming to your aid. He had no idea you were coming until you showed up.

“Matty!” You squeal with your arms flailing in the air gesticating a warm, hearty welcome. The top few buttons of your blouse are left flung open, reprimanding the sweaty bartender an eyeful. “How come we never fucked?”

“Well maybe, for one, it has to do with the fact that I’m married, have been for a while now.” He cautiously studies your sagging, messy composure that comes undone to a different pulse.

“So I’m not your free pass then?” You valet, laying your chin on top of your stacked fists.

“What has gotten into you?” Matt winced right under the cowering strobe lights as both his hands brace the counter, lowering to get a better look at your bloodshot eyes.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You peer at him innocently. The corners of his mouth twitch just as he sourly ponders over your inquisition, not that he has to. But overall it pains him to see you hurt like this. It’s a new wonder.

“No.”

“Rude.” You sit up straight and vainly spare no effort to finish off your cocktail. Hand to mouth coordination is unparalleled as the alcohol starts to dribble down your chin and onto your delicate work blouse.

“What is this?” Matt yanks the glass away from your grasp to inspect the drink. He didn’t serve you tonight so clearly you had gotten your jaunty way with the wait staff who probably weren’t aware of the situation. You were coded “trouble” in a semi decent crowd. He’d now have to make sure of it.

“Hey!”

“The devil's margarita, nice.” He hums after taking an unwarranted swig and letting the taste marry in his mouth.

“Sure whatever the hell that is.” You grumble while reaching over to take back the sloshing wine glass. With dire retaliation you chug down the entire cocktail in one go. Matt growls with displeasure and you hiss loudly once the drink is polished off. “Oh look it, now the devil’s in me.”

The glass drops from above, a near jerk reaction from Matt who catches it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna end up on a stretcher.”

“I have an undiagnosed ulcer the size of Mars, I’ll live. Now how about you do me a solid and get me ‘nother shot. Just one, look away if you have to… I don’t give a shit.“ You slur and Matt squarely clenches his jaw, glaring with irreparable judgement.

Meanwhile there’s some enigmatic juxtaposition as Steve watches the unraveling back and forth. He’s distended with some concern as your body resigns and slumps halfway over the barrier, the weight of your drunkenness keeps you down for the latter being. It’s a truthful sight that he’s partway gotten used to by now. Every week there’s a new drunk. This week you were on the special.

“She’s cut.” Matt bashfully declares to his superior who’s working the beer taps and a less rowdier crowd that comes and goes.

“You know her?” Steve ponders before turning to hand a customer their bubbling pint. “Here you are.”

“Yeah she’s a… friend.” Matt drags his feet, clearly frustrated with himself.

“Hey man can I get a—“

“He’s off the clock, what can I get for you?” Steve in turn diverts the patron his way. The older gentleman, dressed in business casual, was wisecracking his inquiries that could call for trouble and cut corners.

“Do you guys do triples?”

“In the same glass? No. That’s measured past the legal limit, we only serve doubles.” Steve scratches his bearded cheek, his super soldier hearing could pick up on your gargling groans. His eyes flicker in your general direction and that’s when you peel yourself off the sticky bar top. A relieving prospect for any bartender.

“Got it. I’ll just get a whiskey neat then.” He decides.

“Coming right up.” Steve idly reaches for one of the top shelf whiskeys, then brandishing a clean lowball cocktail glass to pour a double shot of Crown in. His own choice.

“I don’t know where I put my phone and wallet…” Matt feels his back pockets, narrowly pacing the strip before stopping a short distance.

“MATT WHERE’S MY FUCKING DRINK YOU ASS?!” You boom over the surround sound causing heads to turn in your wake. You’re propped up on your knob knees that swivel in the barstool due to the lack of balance.

You were wreaking absolute havoc. Unbothered and wrongfully awry, you smolder your friend and his hot bar companion a narky ‘what now’ glare.

“What a peach. Someone better catch her.” Whiskey neat snickers, running a thumb over his bottom lip with an indescribable look.

“IF I DON’T GET MY DR-INK THIS INSTANET. I SWARE TO YOU I’LL—“

“Hey lady cool it will ya?!” The man sitting next to you has had enough of your shit. You offensively gawk at the pigheaded man who’s blotchy and just as intoxicated as you.

“Oh fuck off Lord Crumb.”

“Is she alright?” Steve asks his off duty attendant.

“Her dickhead fiancé cheated on her. So she’s never been better.” Matt rushes to undo his apron, planning his escape before slowly regressing to stop and look over his shoulder. “Why the fuck is she like this?”

Steve, using a few second count, finishes pouring the drink and then slides it to the customer who hears his order.

“Thanks boss.” The suit kraken chimes. Steve doesn’t appraise this type of man who flicks his tip at him. This is an era that made no sense to the nomad who realizes that common courtesy was masochistically excluded from the working class.

He sighs while shoving a crumpled Abe Lincoln into the communal jar, not pressing his indignation.

Today’s troubles are tomorrow’s struggles. You’d come to know that as well.

“Great, how am I supposed to leave now?” Matt looses himself while trying to get to you. A good friend with a heavy hearted conscience. “I can’t be around for this, Steve. I have to somehow get back to Lana and the baby, fuck the baby.”

Steve tries not to laugh at the young man who’s almost always taken aback by the fact that his fruitful loins made him a father.

“Yeah you should really get going man, can’t tell you how many times Lana has called the bar line. Hi there sweetheart, another refill?” Steve charms a beautiful ailing blonde who shyly approaches the till with her friend in tow.

“Yes please.” While twirling a stray lock of hair she hands him a used wine goblet. Her world consumes him as he smiles wholeheartedly.

“What is it that you’d like?”

“Can I get a Zinfandel?”

“Absolutely.” He winks at her to acquire a nice tip and to make her night while at it. “And for your friend?”

“Oh, um, just a cosmo please.” The meek brunette incites just below a hearing decibel.

“Of course.”

Matt stares at him incredulously. “OK so I’m in deep horse shit then?”

“Possibly.” Steve moves around to grab the requested wine from the cellar shelf. He examines each label and then produces a house wine to defuse.

“Why didn’t you think to tell me this earlier Steve?”

“Would you have left?” The cork lets out a pop fizzle, freely releasing the aromatic scent of the ripest black-skinned wine grape, one that would make any bartenders mouth water. The two men soon share a funny look, Matt clicks his tongue with disappointment. “What?”

“You don’t know what it's like.”

“I don't, which is why there is absolutely no reason for you to be stressed, my friend. I’m around, I’ll keep an eye out on Granny Moses over there and make sure she gets out in one piece. After all, it’s my bar, my rules.”

“Chilled or room temp darling?” Steve’s piercing blue eyes catch the swooning blonde who quirks up from her trance.

“Oh, room is perfectly fine.”

Matt snorts, rubbing his face a couple times. “You’d do that?”

“Not without a good fight.” Steve adds while topping off the young woman’s wine glass. Her slinking form studies him as he crafts his work with precision and care. “There you are, doll. Enjoy. And I’ll have your cosmo to you shortly.”

“Great thanks!” The brunette squeaks like a caught spectator.

“Go. Home, Fontucci.” Steve pauses to tell his subordinate. “I promise you’ll have a job tomorrow.”

Matt watches you zone out with waves of sadness. He feels your anguish. It doesn’t sit right with him but he reluctantly chooses to leave it at that, patting Steve on the back as he did, the apron comes swishing off his waist and wrapped in a bundle.

“That’s all I needed to hear. I’ll see you tomorrow Rogers.”

🍸

You had extended your stay well past invitation, your drunkenness still stringing you along in spurts. Throughout the night, Steve had some of his pious wait staff check up on you because he was too busy, single-handedly working the bar. Not that he wanted to.

Your phone would chime, Matt pleading with you to go home. You’d reply with emojis, immaturely blowing up his device to get a point across.

“On me." You slowly glance up at the stranger, soon like a fish out of water.

Right in front of you was god almighty himself. A tall, buff, brooding man, sporting a close garibaldi and long light brown tresses shared a softened expression as he passes you a sweaty glass that contains something more insipid and resembling closer to water.

"This better be vodka." You lament, a light sip passes your lips and confirms that it is, in fact, glacial water straight from the East river bayous. “And it’s not.”

"I'm only saving you from a hangover sweetheart." Steve reckons his usual call.

"If only you could save me from all this fucking misery." You huff into the cold brimmed high ball. He guns you another look, brows stitched together while one hand wrings the other. There’s some passing concern that intercepts his thoughts but doesn’t quite reach past his gaping mouth.

"Hey!" A stocky middle aged man calls out to the strangling barkeep.

“Don’t let me hold you up.” You grumble.

"Give me a second alright?" Steve’s voice discernibly deepens. There’s a group of howling men that begin to encroach the opposite end of the establishment, unattended as you wave off the super soldier.

"It's fine I'm going to head out soon anyways." You tell him even though your feet barely touch the ground. It's ascertaining that one wrong move could have you toppling over so you hold up a propositioning finger and signal to your overly cautious savior. "That’s if I can get my head on straight.”

You giggle out of the blue, catching yourself as you did. When was the last time you actually genuinely giggled? “I’m sorry.” You pathetically hiccup to yourself and out loud.

"Stay." He warns you. A man on command.

“Do I even know you?”

“You know Matt right?”

“Sure.”

“Then you know me. Steve.”

“Lovely.” You roll your eyes while taking another distracted sip. Steve cracks a half grin, backing away to attend his coupe.

Then came last call. You were bum numb in your seat. The evening crowd was thinning out. You had the whole aisle to yourself, barely holding on. Steve kept you at your lonesome peace, guzzling water from the tap at every opportunity. But little did he know, you were carrying a small ritzy hip flask filled with bourbon, sneaking sips in between each soundtrack that aptly relayed your angst. You could never have enough.

First it was Un-Break My Broken Heart. Sip. Then Dreaming with a Broken Heart. Swig. To finally elate your spite, Heartless was thrown in and at that you’ve drained down the rest. Your tribulations become an early 2000s orison. Beauty ain’t it?

“How are we doing?” Steve swings by, wiping his large veiny hands on a rag. He nods at a passing bus boy who gathers people as they’re soliciting chatter.

2 am never felt somber than this.

“I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing. Just prayin' to a God that I don't believe in. […] Cause when a heart breaks no it don't break even!” You belt out loud and off key with the next track that plays on loop, startling Steve who wasn’t expecting a sudden performance.

“What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?” You tilt the flask up to your lips, forgetful when you’re left with a drop. Clatter and bang. The flask gets swung and dropped, far from your reach and below you swinging feet.

“Sweetheart.” He pitifully hums as you continue.

“And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're OK? I'm falling to pieces, yeah. I'm falling to pieces.” You sing, voice cracking a smidge.

“Hey, do you mind clearing the kegs for me?” Steve dully asks his floor assistant who pipes a ‘yes boss.’ Sorry for him and sorry for you. “Thanks.”

“Great song.” You sniff, refusing to meet the handsome bartender's eye.

“The Script right?” Steve starts clearing the area for you, picking up the empty slim jim and carefully showcasing some display of understanding. Usually he’d kick people out at the first whiff, no warning, no remission. But your hurt spoke to him at a spiritual level —in ways he, himself, couldn’t explain to a monk.

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore, Stove.” You say right after he goes to put away the last glass in the dishwasher.

“Steve.”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” He chuckles.

“I’m not being funny.”

“I know you aren’t.” He bites down on his thrashing lip, his eyes boulder you a look that imitates life in its purest form. “You’ve been wronged and so here you are, entitled as can be.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Just not my call.”

“Oh fuck off.” You turn your head away, still off balance in your seat.

“Look sweetheart, you don’t need me to tell you how it is and how it’s going to be, alright? I’m just a friend owing another friend some relief.”

“Unbelievable. Matt didn’t have to put you up to this.” You snap, grasping the ledge to lean forward like a snooty school child.

“You’re telling me.” That earns Steve another eye roll and a girlish whatever.

“Wait, hold on, what is it that you think of me?” First impressions, they ought to mean something. Steve was magmatic. Beautiful bone structure, strong and supple while choosing to chop you up with every little punitive glare. You were flummoxed.

“What do I think of you?” He admonishes.

“Yeah.”

“I think that you don’t have to be at my bar, crying a nuisance to know your worth.” Steve ruminates. “And I’m not saying this for the sake of but I genuinely believe you deserve way better than what you’ve been dealt with.”

“Oh nice is this where I take off my pants for you?” Your hands fumble on the tightly wedged in button that gives no way.

“It’s your lucky night. Keep ‘em on,” Steve humors with one clean swipe of the bar counter. He’s taken by your quick wit. A woman out of his time but virtuous at most, nearly taking every crap shot with earnestness.

“Hmm, why thank you.” You pageant.

Steve holds off when a mused thought graces him. He’d surely have to know and that’s when the rag drops. “If I see you back here, will you promise me one thing?”

“Schuwaaa.” Sure. You meant sure.

“Be better. He’ll die to see it, but if you know how to live and how to move on then there’s your redemption.”

“That’s kind of a hard ask, don’t you think?” You scoff while he dashes around to quickly to put away his equipment.

“Never said it was going to be easy, love. Now c’mon let’s get you home.”

Steve doesn’t wait for a yes or a no, he simply ambles down a few steps to make a showstopping appearance. Your sight is set on his full form that prances around in a fitted, all black ensemble, stationary with the dress code. He’s a domineering man by nature and for that your head begins to spin. Closeness is a unsaid proximity.

“Ugh do I have to go?” You boldly whine up at his stature.

“Unfortunately.” He chuckles as he helps you land on your feet with known grace and delicacy. “Bars closed.”

You can’t outshine the doer. It takes you a while to forthright your bearings, the cool air whipping around as you swayed in Steve’s baggy flight jacket. His scent envelopes you like a warm, citrusy hug on fall evening.

Steve hovers over in a far corner, rocking on the balls of his feet while taking a smoke break, inhaling and exhaling quick, short puffs that were meant to provide solace.

“Your Uber should be here soon.” He tells you with a far away look. Your stomach violently lurches with insight and vengeance, everything you've consumed comes creeping up, mouth salivating in preparation like Pavlovian hound dog.

“Great long before I—“ Projectile vomit. Chunks. Red white and murky. Bits of the very questionable dinner you had slimed onto the pavement. “What is that?”

“Shit,” Steve hisses, stamping out his cigarette as you groan at the monstrosity laid out on display. “Alright hang on.”

“I don’t think I ca—blarghahaka.” New sounds chorus out of your mouth, an onomatopoeia of dreadfulness that covers you in sweat. Two warm hands keep your head still as you heave and swab globs of spit onto the cracked sidewalk. Your lungs tire out deep, burning breaths. The lining of your stomach quelled some more, churning against the gravitational pull that keeps you keening over.

“Is she throwing up?” You could hear the fazy Uber driver stick his head out the window. He sees a Picasso painting and sneers with disgust. “Oh hell nah. I can’t take her like that. Are you kidding me? I just got my interiors detailed.”

“She’s letting it all out man. You won’t even have to worry.” Steve relents with a close hand hovering the small of your back. His ghosting touch relieves you as you’re hunched over with tears pooling in your eyes. You’re stupid for this. You should’ve stayed home, cried into a tub of ice cream instead.

“Forget that. Nah, you’re going to have to find someone else. She’s a liability and not to mention sloppy as hell.”

You aggressively flip him the bird. He curses you out in Spanish, like a scorned Bronx native. There’s enough cockamamie to run its course. Steve furrows an off put frown, hoping someone would play nice.

“That’s enough.” His hand cradles the back of your sweltering neck, gripping it ever so gently. You moan, sidling his guilt upon contact. Steve gets slightly protective of you, a woman he’d met just a few hours prior to. Your life was in his hands, sinfully warm and broken beyond repair. How did you become his tyrant? And why did he feel stuck?

Words were left scarce as your eyes pulse shut. Steve, still watchful, doesn’t budge from your side. His hand softly rubs your back, soothing you from the jaws of the technicolor yawn. He drifts when you drop a squat at ground level, your joints crack agonizingly as you go to hold your head. Old age and poor alcohol tolerance served you right.

“You’re on your own, my guy. Good luck.” The snarky Uber departs with a light cackle.

Steve purses his lips, scoffs with a resounding ‘I know’ that’s way too quiet for you to pick up on. Not that you cared anyways. Who was he to you?

“Mmmm.” You groan at the putrid stench of bile that rinses your flavor palette. Agitation is kept dormant as your face crumples, a residual defect hollows your insides through constant hurdles and false alarms. Deep breaths.

Deep. Breaths.

“I read that the ‘hair of the dog’ approach always works. What do you think?” Steve sarcastically punts, hands shoved in his pockets as he passes you a crinkly eyed smile, trying to ease light into the situation.

Hair of the dog. An old wives tale. A running myth where you’d counterintuitively drink more to cure a hangover or the precipice of one.

“Oh bite me.” You spit before wobbling back up on your feet. His hand easily catches your elbow, trying to keep you steady in waiting.

“You’re all sorts of trouble aren’t you?” Steve’s eyes glimmer the second he notices the smudged mascara, patchy foundation and pouty, wet lips. Your hair, wind chapped, is a character of its own. Heartbreak, embedded your live caricature with unceasing reigns.

It’s no comparison that Steve felt sorry for you. His astuteness came from the fact that he would’ve been the same. Love came intensely for him but then went away as the years passed on. An infirmary of his life was temporary. He couldn’t rely on love or people. But because time heals everyone, he's sure you’d also get your unsaid way. Maybe even without him chuck hauling you in the middle of Greenwich where everyone else was one and all the same.

“Like the rest.” You slyly chime just as a soirée of drunken youth hoot past you both. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna try to get home.”

“Not on your own. You’re coming with me.”

“Woah stranger danger! I’m not going anywhere with you.” You garble as he’s close to dragging you by the elbow, fully capable of taking you hostage if by will.

“I promise, I’ll get you home safe.” Steve Rogers reasons, patriotic and truthful.

“Ha! Yeah right. I’ve seen Dateline mister.” He hasn’t.

“And I’ve dealt with HYDRA. What are our odds?”

“Is that like a utility plant?” Your confusion stuns him, not that you were meant to be extraterrestrial or literate. You were a plain ol’e Nashville civilian. But then there’s Steve, who doesn’t need to dwell on his past life anymore. There’s no reason for him to bring it up. So instead, he drags you around the block, maybe curbing you to your senses while getting to his car.

“So is this how you get women to come home with you?” You dredge the heels of your loafers that come in contact with the dry concrete. Being a deadweight serves you no purpose as Steve skids your tread with his quick feet and even stronger pull.

“Not just any woman.” He grunts, remote starting his Ford Mustang before ushering you into the passenger side. You barely bend to get in but then finally acquiesce when he huffs softly. For someone who’s the size of a wild bison Steve had beautiful, soul piercing blue eyes that chipped away at your resolve. He was that good. And you’d never tell him.

“Aww I must be the exception then?”

“No you’re just a pain in the ass.” The door slams right in your face. It’s endearing.

“I’m usually not like this.” You ruefully mention and he yanks the car into a deep, guttural start. Six cylinders and the monster roars for life.

“I find that hard to believe, your honor.” He reverses out, watching both ways before turning onto the main roads. The bar lights flicker, the open sign dims out. Steve tuts a silent thank you and hopes to see another day.

“Just so you know, I didn’t show up for you. We weren’t even supposed to meet.” You state matter of factly. There’s some static emitting from the radio that switches off from time to time.

“Why, were you hoping to get picked up?”

You’re quiet. “No.” Is a weak statement. Steve looks at you with disappointment, coming up at a yellow light that turns red. “No!”

“I just— I couldn’t fathom drinking alone… being alone.” You sound small, resorting to the half truth that brought you to The Grotto in the first place.

“You do realize that comes in part with your existence.” Steve mentions.

You huff and you puff, folding your arms across your chest while trying to pose up like a child asking for cookies before dinner.

“Loneliness is insufferable, Stan. Wouldn’t you rather be freed from it?”

The drive is aimless at first until you finally guide Steve down the short backroads to your two storey walk up.

“It’d be an unconditional freedom.” He sighs, knowing the comfort of his own solitude which is not accustomed to you. “We’re born alone to die alone.”

“Wow… you have it all figured out there. That’s— fucking depressing as shit. But you know what, you look like a man who’s loved a whole lot. It doesn’t escape you, so don’t make this out for me because we both know what we’ve fallen into and climbed out of. It just so happens to be that mine is made for TV and it's been critically acclaimed at that.” You telltale.

“And what about mine?” Steve inquires. The one way street leads him up a slow slope that passes the better show homes and estates.

“I’ve yet to know but I won’t care to ask. You seem like you’ve healed from whatever it is...” You muse, legs curled up, bare feet on the seat to much of Steve’s approval. “So why bother?”

That keeps Cap quiet until you point down some lane that winds around the cul du sac. You finally gesture at the far corner lot and that’s when the car comes to a stop.

Steve goes to undo his belt and you alert him.

“It’s fine. I got this chief, not my first rodeo y’know.” You confide with an air of confidence. He sighs, letting you have it your way this one time among all the other instances. “Thanks bud. You were great.”

“I’ll be giving you a five star rating on the app. You’re with Uber or Lyft? Or was it…”

“Go home.” He says it the same way Matt’s heard it; droll and weary,

“You got it!” You quirk while stumbling out of the car.

The downright theatrics of it all has Steve succumbing with light, exhausted laughter. He's bemused by you and your constant outpour. “Thanks Sterling!”

“Anytime sweetheart.” He hums while biting down on his bottom lip and jutting his jaw out with continued amusement that eyes you completely.

Steve doesn’t miss your mash of limbs digging through your purse, looking for your keys only to push through the wrong key slot. You yell another profanity and that alerts a nearby yard dog, barking for your attention.

There’s a lot going on.

Steve’s had rough nights and rough encounters. Yours was a bit timely, human and close to special. He knows you’d be around. How soon? Maybe never. He’d have to copulate on the wishful thought before steering off for another night of self submission to himself.

#steve rogers series #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #chris evans angst #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers x reader

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selfshipprompts · 2 years

Note

Hello, I've been a selfshipper for a long time, but somehow I can't find the connection to the community, what can I do to get interactions on my f/os posts? It's no fun if I run my blog just for myself like a ghost.. 😔😢

hi anon! unfortunately theres no cheat to get people to interact with your posts. being in the community over a year myself, i have definitely noticed there is a major problem with people not reblogging people's posts which is disheartening as a creator. i know unless i literally write "this is ok to reblog" on my art then it doesn't get many interactions lol and writers have it way worse so.. to be honest i do not have an answer for you, im afraid.

the easiest support system here is to make friends, and have people that genuinely care about your ships. i know i personally have gotten to a point where i dont particularly care about reaching the "community" because ive managed to make a bunch of real good friends and as long as they like my stuff then im fulfilled. i feel like that is the best way to approach any sort of fandom adjacent space.

if its followers/mutuals you're looking for, i suggest putting yourself out there. follow others, show interest in their ships, join servers, make promo posts, etc. but also i do feel like this is a two way street where if you are not supporting other people then you cannot expect to get interactions yourself, you know?

i wish you all the best. just please do not base your self worth on social media numbers. i know it feels shit when people don't interact, but you're doing great and your f/os would be very proud of you for putting yourself out there.

for anyone reading this: please remember to take a few minutes to read fics, and to take a few seconds out of your day to reblog creations you come across with a kind comment in the tags. it goes a long way. the "community" is not a community at all when it is not supportive.

#asks #long post

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eelistolvanen · 3 years

Text

Bruises that you left behind - Travis Konecny Pt.3

A/N: So since we’ve almost reached 100 notes on Part 2, I finally got the motivation to finish the next part. So thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged or commented! Let me know if you like it! Part 4 is in the works but I’d greatly appreciate some feedback :)

So here it is, there will finally be some Travis x reader interactions, so buckle up folks ;)

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of suspected cheating, no proofread (as usual)

You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

_____________________________

You were nursing the worst hangover you’ve ever had the morning after. You’d already drunk enough at the party, but after Kevin had left, once he brought you home, you’d downed a entire bottle of red wine in self pity. You weren’t really sure anymore what triggered your episode. You wanted to blame your outburst against Travis on the alcohol, but deep down you knew there was another reason, the alcohol just aided it. After all this time you were still hurt. You’d never really gotten over it.

Getting out of bed proved to be a real struggle. But after half an hour you were sitting at your kitchen island trying to eat some breakfast. The pounding headache had gotten a bit better after taking some painkillers, but was still noticeable.

For a quick moment you though the ringing in your ears reappeared, then you realised that someone had actually rang your doorbell. You could already imagine who was standing behind the door as you approached it. Not entirely ready to face one of his lectures, but you couldn’t really avoid it.

“Damn, you look a lot worse than I expected you to.” This was all you were greeted with as Nolan moved past you into your apartment.

“It’s nice to see you too, Nols.” You scoffed sarcastically.

He sat down at the kitchen island and waited for you to join him. Both of you stayed silent as Nolan let his gaze wander over the mess in your kitchen. Surprisingly, he didn’t comment on it, a quick headshake was all that you got.

“I know Haysey already told you that we didn’t know that he would show, but I just needed to tell you myself. We really didn’t know. He wasn’t even invited and I have no idea why he thought he needed to make an appearance. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You knew that he felt bad, just like Kevin. But it wasn’t their fault. And as much as you wished not to have to see him, you also knew that there always was a chance that you’d crossed paths somewhere.

“It’s fine, Nols. I’m not mad and you did nothing wrong, so no need to apologize. It should probably be me apologizing, after all I’m the one who called his girlfriend a puckbunny, so… “

Nolan chuckled at your words. “I’m pretty sure they’re not dating, so don’t be sorry. I mean, I thought it seemed to be very fitting for her but anyway… Let’s forget about that.”

You gladly accepted. The two of you hung out for another hour or so, before Nolan decided that he probably shut head over to Kelsey’s.

Sometime in the afternoon Kevin texted you and asked if you wanted to hang out in the evening. You agreed to it even though you knew that Kevin would bring up the whole Travis thing as well.

It did take Kevin surprisingly long til he brought Travis up though. And you knew that this conversation was about to come.

“He called me today.” Kevin didn’t have to name any names for you to know he was talking about him. “And he asked about you.”

You waited for him to keep going but he stayed silent.

“So?” Kevin exhaled loudly and made eye contact with you. “I just thought you wanted to know…”

“Do I?” You couldn’t stop your voice from being laced with poison. You were being rude and you knew it. Kevin never asked to be dragged into this.

“Ahh, I don’t know Y/N. Come on, I’m trying here. Well anyway, he wanted to know about you. What you were doing at the party. Why we went together. Why you’re in Philly.”

You felt irritated. Why on earth would he care. He felt. He had no right to ask Kevin about you.

“So you told him, huh?” You were being unfair, you knew you had to stop acting like a bitch towards Kev, but God you couldn’t help it.

“ No, Y/N! I didn’t. I didn’t tell him anything because I didn’t want you to get hurt-“

“You also told him that he wouldn’t show to the party.” That was low, even for you.

“For fucks sake, Y/N! He wasn’t invited, he wasn’t supposed to show up, okay? I get it, you never wanted to see him again but it’s to late now. Just don’t take your anger out on me, I did nothing wrong.”

You deserved to be called out like this. He was right after all, you had taken it out on him. And Nolan. And neither of them did anything wrong.

“So what do I do now? I mean this is the exact reason why I left that life behind. Because even though you’re my family, it also means that everything I tried to avoid is catching up to me. And I don’t know how to handle that, Kev.”

“But you can’t run away anymore, Y/N. You have to face it. And maybe talking to him would do you good. You know, talking like adults. Civilized.” He meant well but you still felt like he was accusing you.

“Civilized? So I don’t know how to talk civilized?” There was disbelief in your voice. Was he serious?

“No, you do… It’s just that swearing at him and calling him names won’t get you anywhere. That’s all I’m saying.” He was right but you still hated to hear it. There was so much pent up emotion inside you, you had to get rid of it somehow.

“I know what you mean Kev. But I can’t just forgive him…”

“And I’m not asking you to. But I know that you want to know the reason and you won’t get an answer unless you talk to him. An I know he wants to talk to you…”

He was speaking softly, quietly asking you to speak to Travis. You were walking a fine line, you knew that. But you were also painfully aware of the fact that you wouldn’t get any better unless you started to face this. Face him. And your feelings towards him.

----------------

Every turn Kevin made, made you feel more nauseous. The closer you got to him the more you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t know if I can do this Kev.” Your voice felt weak, barely above a whisper.

Kevin quickly glanced over to you in the passenger seat. A worried look flashed over his face.

“Yes you can, Y/N. At least try okay? You agreed to meet him and if it gets to much, I’m gonna be waiting in the car, okay? And I’ll keep an eye on you.”

You felt yourself relax slightly. You were still nervous but knowing that Kevin was close by, put you slightly at ease. You had to do this. For you.

Kevin parked the car in a parking space beside the sidewalk, only meters from the entrance to the park. You hadn’t been here in a while. You hadn’t been here many times anyway. A couple of times with Travis, when you were walking the dogs. It wasn’t your usual spot, which was exactly the reason why you choose it. It didn’t hold any particular memories that could hurt you. You barely even remembered what this park looked like. Kevin pulled you out of your thoughts as he put his hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N. You can do this. And I’m here, okay?” You could feel him squeeze your shoulder as you slowly nodded and got out of the car.

You saw him as soon as you walked through the entrance of the park. He had his back to you and you couldn’t see his face but you would always recognize his silhouette. You felt your heart get heavy. You started to walk towards him, fighting all the urges to turn around and run away from him as fast as you could. He hadn’t noticed you, so you could still pull out. But once you got within a 10 feet he must have heard your footsteps. He wiped around quickly and you were left wondering how this movement didn’t give him whiplash.

“Y/N. You came.” His voice was quiet and he send you a quick smile. It didn’t reach his eyes though, they were filled with sorrow. His sad smile made your heart ache.

You looked at him. For the first time in almost 2.5 years you really looked at him. You almost felt yourself taken aback at the dark rings underneath his eyes. He looked tired, exhausted even and completely worn out. In a way he looked almost the same than he used to. But in some way he also looked like a completely different person. The radiance, the light that he used to give off seemingly had vanished. His bubbliness seemed to have made space for something darker. He looked hollow, almost as if the Travis standing in front of you was a ghost of the man he used to be. To a stranger he probably would have looked completely normal. Physically he hadn’t really changed that much, but all those little things that made Travis Travis weren’t there anymore.

He had noticed your shocked expression as well as you gave him a one over.

“I look like shit, huh?” He was trying to lighten the mood, but if anything it made it worse.

“No no, you just look… different.” You knew he didn’t buy your lie, but you didn’t feel like pity him so you did what you did so well. Turn defensive.

“So your girlfriend let you go and talk to me?” Travis scoffed at your words.

“She’s not my girlfriend. And you don’t have to worry about her, you won’t see her around again.”

“I still shouldn’t have called her a puckbunny. That was low.” You genuinely felt sorry about it. Even if she was one of those girls, calling her out in front of the entire team wasn’t your proudest moment.

Travis chuckled slightly. “Nah, it’s fine.” His expression turned serious again, almost sour. “You and Hayesy, huh?”

At first you didn’t even understand what he meant. It took you a moment to regain your composure.

“What? No, we’re friends. Same as we’ve always been. Nothing more.”

At first he looked sceptical but slowly he seemed to relax. Which then sparked anger inside of you.

“It shouldn’t really be any of your concern though, I mean what do you care? You left me.”

Your emotions were bubbling inside of you. And as hard as you tried tears were scarily close to spill as you tried to choke back your pain.

He groaned loudly. “I know. I fucked up. I made a mistake. And I’m so sorry for doing this to you, Y/N.”

This was too much for you. You couldn’t hold back your emotions anymore. Tears were rolling down your cheeks.

“You just left and I’ve never heard of you since. Not even a single word. Nothing.”

“That’s not true, Y/N. I reached out to you. Afterwards. But it was too late. When I came back to our house the first time after that day, you were gone. Every trace of you had vanished. An I tried to call, but I could never get through to you. And eventually I had to accept that I lost you.”

“Don’t put this on me! What did you expect Travis? That I’d wait around in our house hoping that maybe one day you’d return? That maybe it was all just some sick joke? You left me standing on our wedding day and you don’t get to blame me for trying to pick myself up again and start fresh.”

He stayed silent for a while. The guilt seemed to consume him. He abandoned the most important thing in his life and he knew that you had every right to hate him. He had no right to ask you for forgiveness and he knew that. But that didn’t meant that he wouldn’t at least try to mend the things he broke. You could hear him inhale sharply.

“I know that I hurt you. I fucked up, big time. And I’m painfully aware of it.” Even a complete stranger would have been able to identify the pained expression on Travis’ face. He was being completely honest with you. Not that it mattered though.

“Yeah, you did. You broke me Travis, you realise that, right?” He felt like someone shot a dagger through his heart. He knew he hurt you. Badly. But hearing you say it made it real. He would never be able to forgive himself. And you wouldn’t either, Travis was sure of that.

“I know Y/N, just tell me what I can do to make it better. Please, Y/N! I want to fix this. Fix us.”

He had tears in his eyes. You could see that he wanted to touch you, hug you, comfort you but he also knew that it wasn’t his place to do so anymore. It killed you to see him like that. So broken. How ironic. Both of you broken beyond repair.

“You can’t, Travis. This isn’t something you can fix.” You paused, thinking over your next words.

“You know I wish there was a evident reason, one that I knew back then. That you had some mistress, stopped loving me or something. But… I thought everything was fine. I thought we were great. I had no indication that something went wrong between us and I think this is why it hurts so much. One day everything seemed great and the next… everything was completely shattered.”

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes. Quickly you turned around. You couldn’t do this. Standing across from him, talking to him, hearing his voice. All it did was remind you of the pain he put you through.

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He tried to reach out to you, catch your arms but you slipped out of his grip before he could get any closer. “Y/N!” But his pleads fell onto deaf ears. You’d already turned your back to him and were walking away as you heard him speak up again. It was quiet but you could hear it clear as day.

“I still love you Y/N! You have to know that. And I will never stop loving you, even if you hate me now.”

A quiet sob escaped your lips. This is why you wanted to stay as far away from his as possible. Nobody was able to hurt you like he did, even if he didn’t intent to. So you kept on walking.

When Travis left the park he caught a glimpse of you, sitting in Kevin’s car, seemingly hugging him. And although he knew that you had been honest with him when he asked you about Kevin, he couldn’t help but feel jealous. Jealous that someone else was the one comforting you now, when it used to be him who held you when you felt like you were falling apart. Jealous that someone else got to go to a Halloween party with you and dress up in stupid costumes. Jealous that someone else got to see you smile now.

Because this should have been him.

-----------

You were sitting on Nolan’s couch, trying to figure out how your life slipped from you, when you thought you had everything. You tried not to think back to that day, but every time you thought about Travis the memories just kept resurfacing. You couldn’t get his face off your mind, it almost seemed like his image had burned itself into your memory.

Someone ringing the doorbell ripped you from your thoughts.

“Are you expecting anyone?” He didn’t answer, he just gave you a quick headshake before making his way to the door. You didn’t want to eavesdrop but your curiosity took over. You felt yourself freeze as you recognized the voice at the door.

“I need to talk to you, Pat.” There was urgency in his voice, he sounded almost desperate.

You could Nolan calmly reply: “Now is not a good time, Travis.”

“But it’s important. Please.” It really must have been important, considering that Travis didn’t usually begged for someone’s attention like that.

“I.. I can’t, Teeks, I’m busy.“ You couldn’t see Nolan’s face but you could sense the uneasiness in his voice. And of course Travis had picked up on it to.

“You’re busy?... She’s here, isn’t she?” You couldn’t hear Nolan’s answer but the commotion coming from the hallway pretty much gave away that Travis knew that you were here. You could hear Nolan and Travis speaking over each other and moments later you could hear footsteps coming down the Hall. You could hear Nolan telling Travis that he needed to leave.

“I have to talk to her.” With that he appeared in the living room. “Y/N.” It was more breathed over his lips than actually spoken and it instantly send shivers down your spine.

“What are you doing here Travis?” You felt so little, sitting curled up on Nolan’s couch while he was standing in the entry of the living room.

“Can we talk? Again?” He seemed surprisingly calm. He was wearing a snapback and that yellow hoodie that you used to love so much. He used to radiate almost as much brightness as his hoodie, but now he constantly seemed as if someone dimmed his light. He looked tired, just as the other day.

“We have talked.” You tired to be as cold as possible, trying to shield you from the emotions that were rising inside of you.

“Yeah, and you ran away.” You sucked in air, trying to interject before he spoke up again but you came up empty.

“Please Y/N. And if you feel like it’s too much or you want me to leave I’ll leave, just let me at least try to explain.”

You wouldn’t get rid off him that quickly, so you took a deep breath before nodding.

You led him out of the living room towards Nolan’s bedroom. As much as you wanted Nolan by your side you knew that you needed to have this conversation in private.

Once the door was closed you looked at Travis expectantly. He seemed to be fighting for words.

“So? You wanted to talk. So talk.” You were being cold but you didn’t feel like standing in a room with Travis while the both off you stared at each other in silence. As if there wasn’t already enough tension between the two of you when you spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I-“ You interrupted him. Was he really doing this again?

“Yeah, you already said that.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“And I mean it. And you need to know that. I know that I hurt you. Badly. And there’s nothing that I regret more than walking away that day. I made a mistake and I ruined my life with it. And there’s not a day in my life where I don’t wish I could undo what I’ve done.”

“Well, you can’t Travis! Did they tell you that I tried to come after you? That I tried to track you down? Tried to find you and change your mind? Only to find out that you had packed a bag and already left the country? And then you flew to..”

Your voice broke, your eyes were teary and you felt like you could barely breathe. The guilt on his face made you feel nauseous.

“Why?! Why Travis, just tell me why you did it?” You sounded raspy, you barely recognized your own voice.

“You know why, Y/N.” “No, I don’t! You never bothered to tell me. YOU JUST LEFT, without a word!”

He took a step back in surprise, certainly not expecting this outburst from you.

“You read the letter, I didn’t know how to tell you in person.”

A humourless laugh came from your lips.

“I never read the letter. I burned it.” Your entire body was trembling now. You weren’t sure why though. Maybe you were nervous, anxious even or maybe it was the anger inside of you.

“You.. burned… the letter.” He was in such shock at your words he nearly seemed to swallow his own tongue. He stood frozen, unable to move even a single muscle. This was the last thing he expected you to admit to him.

“I just… I don’t get it, Travis! What have I ever done to you to deserve this? What did I do to you to have a reason to leave me standing at the altar?” Your voice softened, ”What happened, Trav?”

He looked like a fish out of water. He was still fighting for words, closing and opening his mouth. If you weren’t so hurt and angry you could have laughed at his expressions.

“I.. I don’t know Y/N. I just couldn’t do it.”

Anger started to rise up in your chest. God, you wanted to punch him. He’d always been a bad liar, you could smell his lies miles away.

“That’s bullshit Travis! We both know that, so stop lying to my face. You know how much I hate lying. You were able to write it in a letter but you can’t say it to my face?!” You tried to calm yourself. Take some deep breaths and steady your breathing. To no luck. Even Travis could see your trembling hands. You let out a shaky breath and kept going: “Was there someone else? Is that it?”

Your jaw clenches at that thought, you really didn’t think that Travis would ever cheat but who knows. You also didn’t think he would leave you on your wedding day but here you where. Apparently you didn’t knew him as well as you thought you did. He seemed absolutely frozen for a moment, too shocked at your accusation to answer. But his hesitation was leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, Y/N! That’s not the reason-” “So what is it then? God Travis, just tell me. What on earth could have possibly been a reason to break off our engagement? Our relationship. Years spent together and without a warning you left.” You felt yourself starting to crack, a lump started to form in your throat and you knew that you would break soon enough. “ Did you just suddenly, one day to the next, stop loving me? Did you fall out of love? Was I just not good enough for you? What happened, Travis? Why did you leave me?” You weren’t even gonna try to hold back the tears streaming down your face. You just let them all out, sobs racked your body. The anger had left your body now and made way for the endless pain you felt when thinking about that day. You completely broke down in front of him

“Y/N…”

He knew that there was nothing he could say that would ease your pain. The damage was already done. You could feel Travis trying to reach out to you, but you pushed him away. You couldn’t see the expression on him face but if you did, you’d seen the agony that mirrored yours. When you let out a sorrowful quiet cry, he couldn’t compose himself anymore. He couldn’t watch you being in this much pain. He’d never hated himself more than in this moment. He knew that he was the reason for all this pain. So he fled the room.

Nolan stormed into the room only seconds later. Wrapping his body around his, as if he was trying to keep all the broken pieces together. And for what felt like eternity he just held you like that, at least you knew that he wasn’t going to let go of you.

“I think there was someone else, Nolan.” You broke the silence first, knowing that Nolan would give you as much time as you needed. The confused look Nolan gave you now, told you that he wasn’t exactly following what you were saying.

“That’s why he left. There was someone else. That-“ Nolan interrupted you before you could get another word out.

“This can’t be. Someone would have known. He would have told someone by now. I mean, did he admit that there was someone else?”

“Not technically, but he kinda hesitated when I brought it up. And he also didn’t actively deny it, so..”

Your voice started to cut out and you could feel the lump in your throat form. You were so sure of it now that you thought about it. His hesitation, the way he deflected the question. This had to be the reason. There was nothing else that could have been the reason.

“There was someone else, I just know it.”

Part 4

#travis konecny #travis konecny imagine #travis konecny x reader #travis konency fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #My writing

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memoir-of-stars · 2 years

Text

I posted 2.473 times in 2021

85 posts created (3%)

2388 posts reblogged (97%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 28.1 posts.

I added 2.097 tags in 2021

#text post - 439 posts

#got - 394 posts

#the witcher - 213 posts

#if not queue - 203 posts

#daenerys targaryen - 179 posts

#sansa stark - 155 posts

#words to remember - 155 posts

#mental health - 137 posts

#self awareness - 113 posts

#netflix the witcher - 109 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#i think one of the main reasons i don’t believe that dark!dany will happen in the books is that there are too many plot holes in the show

My Top Posts in 2021

Remember how Daenerys freed the slaves at Astapor?

This was canon Dany for me.

This is how I will remember her. I will never accept Season 8 as the canon ending. I will never believe it.

19 notes • Posted 2021-10-31 15:10:37 GMT

Major AC Valhalla ending Spoilers under the cut

Please note: There’s a bit of negativity there, but mainly just to sum up my thoughts about the actual ending

So I finished AC Valhalla and got the ‘good’ ending, but idk somehow this doesn’t sit right with me.

Sigurd came back to England with me, but just because I gave Dag his axe and didn’t cheat with Randvi lol

I find it kinda weird tbh how criticizing Sigurd for his ruling (which I think was my duty since the well being of my clan is my top priority) or punching Basim would’ve given me the ‘bad’ ending? Especially, since Basim was basically Loki, even at that point in the story seeing that finding Odin was always his end goal.

I see it that Sigurd at the end of AC Valhalla is supposed to be Tyr rather than Sigurd himself, but still, having him around while Eivor is Jarl and can choose to be with Randvi gives me a weird feeling.

Also, I take it that Eivor, since they fought Odin and won, is still Eivor while Sigurd is Tyr and Basim is Loki?

So, at some point Basim fought Loki and Sigurd fought Tyr the same way that Eivor fought Odin, only that they lost??

And if Valka’s mother was supposed to be Freyja in the end, then what about Faravid? He had the mark as well and it was never mentioned again?

Having played other AC games I understand that supernatural stuff has always played a part in AC (I also enjoyed Eivor’s visions lots), but I feel like this was a bit over the top? It’s a great, great Viking game and I enjoyed it lots but I just feel like overall it had less to do with the actual Assassins?

I mean I loved the game, having spend hours and hours on it and will continue to do all the stuff I left undone so far, but these were just some thoughts after having played the actual ending.

Edit: I just realized that I find it strange that Basim/Loki never questioned Sigurd being Odin since Eivor is the Wolf-kissed?? Everyone even refers to them as such?

20 notes • Posted 2021-11-27 02:27:43 GMT

Jorah + Soft Spot Headcanon please 💝

I like to think that Jorah has a soft spot for Dany's dragon babies!

As Jorah once was the Lord of Bear Island and heir to House Mormont it was expected of him to have children and in my mind he also longed for a family of his own.

Since his first wife suffered three miscarriages and then eventually died following one and he never had any children with Lynesse either, he saw that dream shattered for good.

When Dany lost her own son he could feel her pain but he could also sense her unwillingness to surrender

Consider this, Jorah's face was the last thing Dany saw when she stepped into the fire and the first thing she saw after the fire had burned out.

The first thing the dragons caught sight of, besides their own mother, was Jorah as well.

Jorah knew them since they hatched and watched them grow.

He knows what they mean to Dany.

Now in a metaphorical sense the dragons symbolize Jorah's new found believe in the world and its goodness.

Jorah said it himself, that he didn’t believe in anything. He was a cynic who laughed off the idea that dragons could still exist - until he actually saw them.

For him they are the living proof that wonders can indeed happen - and they are Dany's babies after all!

Bonus: I also think that he has a soft spot for Tyrion - after all no one has yet complimented him for glowering like that!

Send me a character + a number for a headcanon!

26 notes • Posted 2021-10-27 00:32:21 GMT

Send me a character: Jorah!

Thanks for the ask! 🥰

First impression: I think when I was first introduced to his character I could feel that he was kind of a ‘fallen knight’. He regretted his past mistakes but there was little he could do about it now, so he dwelt on it and eventually found his solace in serving Dany. The scene in which he stood up to Viserys perfectly showed that despite it all he had a great idea of honor within him!

Impression now: Jorah has been loyal to the very end, he was the one who stood by Dany til the end and their relationship was the most honest and selfless one in the whole story. Especially, considering the generally dark GoT thematic. I would like to think that in the end Jorah felt that he kind of regained his knightly honor by everything he has done for Dany and also the fact the denied Longclaw showed that he truly understood the consequences of his actions and the idea of honor he held on to.

Favorite moment: His love confession to Daenerys! I mean, I feel like this was amongst the most intimate and sincere moments in the whole series and when you think about it...the fact that he only confessed to her, because he was sure he’d never ever see her again...this makes the scene bittersweet for sure.

Idea for a story: Jorah was involved in killing the Night King himself, and as a result he regained his title as the Lord of Bear Island, it is only then that Dany realized that she truly needs him by her side entirely. In the end Jorah chooses to abandon his title for his Khaleesi...but the angst hehe

Unpopular opinion: I really miss the sassy and sarcastic Jorah from the earlier Seasons. I do believe that this maybe was the result of Dany’s banishment that made him step back once more, but oh boy..how I wish we could’ve had more of sassy Jorah by the end.

Favorite relationship: Daenerys x Show!Jorah, of course!! I also really enjoyed Jorah’s relationship with Tyrion!

Favorite headcanon: I like to think that Jorah mourned Viserion’s death with Dany as he was the one who knew him since he hatched and was also the only one who truly understood the bond between Dany and her children.

Also, there was for sure a moment in which Dany saw Jorah’s scars and understood how much pain he went through and it was all because her words made him want to go on after all :’)

Send me a character and I will tell you...

27 notes • Posted 2021-03-02 22:16:46 GMT

In all honesty, the biggest trick D&D have ever pulled on us is convincing so many people that Dany and Sansa were supposed to be enemies.

30 notes • Posted 2021-04-25 01:42:33 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Dash Games #Fandom Life #Tumblr #Lmao at my longest tag #Just GoT Negativity lol

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