#mixed emotion prompts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adrift-in-thyme · 11 months

Note

Hello! If you are still accepting fic requests... I saw your "Legend is a sympathetic crier" post and it grabbed hold of my brain. Could you try a fic of that with Legend/Fable or Legend & Sky? Either one would be fun, I think!

Hi! Thanks so much for the prompt!!

I really wanted to write this with Legend/Fable but I don’t feel confident writing Fable as a main character just yet (I’ve seriously gotta play the games Legend’s in so I can write those two). But I went with Sky instead! I hope you like it!

Fic under the cut (can also be read on Ao3)

———————————-

Wild’s latest memory is one of his worst.

At least, Legend thinks it is. He isn’t usually around for the aftermath of these kinds of things. Warriors or Time are always quick to usher the group away as soon as that faraway look comes into the champion’s eyes. But today the memory had come and gone with uncharacteristic speed, and there had been no time for an escape.

Legend hadn’t minded too much at first. He’s handled worse things than the reminiscing of an amnesiac, after all. But that was before Wild had crumpled, falling to his knees with his hands pressed to his face. That was before the wailing had begun.

Even now, that an eternity has passed, the sounds of anguish still split the air. Twilight has drawn the champion into his arms, but his shoulder does little to muffle his heartbroken cries. And with each passing second Legend’s chest constricts further.

A lump situates itself painfully in his throat and he struggles to breathe past it. He won’t cry–he can’t—not here. Yet, the tears are coming anyway, burning his eyes and trickling down his cheeks.

He balls his hands into fists, fingernails digging into flesh. Even the stinging pain does nothing to keep back the emotions rising within him. And they’re not his own, not even close—for goodness sake, he doesn’t even know what the memory was about—but they come anyway, strong and suffocating. He fights not to crumble beneath their weight.

Still, the sobs wrack Wild’s body and still, he stands frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes from the sight.

Somewhere off to his side Time leads the others away, saying something about privacy. Somewhere even nearer Wind laments their helplessness. But Legend hears them as though they’re miles away.

When Wild speaks, however, he hears the anguished words plainly.

“I forgot her. How could I forget her?”

He doesn’t know who this mystery girl is (though he may have a terrible, terrifying inkling), but it doesn’t matter. The statement on top of everything else is just too much.

It takes everything he has to walk away instead of running.

Putting some distance between himself and the others helps a bit. As soon as he’s out of earshot, the emotions begin to subside and the tears along with them. But the mere thought of the champion–of how he’d looked and sounded–brings them roaring back.

Legend kicks viciously at a small pebble, sending it flying.

It was only a matter of time before this happened–before someone started bawling their eyes out and he just had to follow suit. But it’s stupid, horribly so. He isn’t the one who should be crying. He’s the one who should be standing strong, keeping his walls up, and letting no one, not a single person, see how the pain of others affects him.

He reaches a small cliff and, with a sigh, flops down onto it. It’s a dismal sort of day though, overhung with rain clouds and fog, and within a second of sitting down his tunic has sopped up half of Hyrule’s water supply. Cursing, he leaps back to his feet.

Wonderful. Even nature is trying to make him cry. Or scream. At this point, he feels more inclined to go that route.

Instead, he settles for glaring into the mist. It doesn’t provide any satisfaction, but it’s something.

Anger is better than sorrow any day.

“Legend?”

He jumps at the sound and whirls, reaching for his sword. Sky holds up a hand to stop him.

“It’s just me.”

Legend lets out an annoyed huff, sheathing his weapon. His thoughts are scattered now like seeds born on the wings of the wind.

“Yeah, I can see that now. Mind not sneaking up on me next time?”

Sky chuckles. “Sorry, I thought you’d hear me. I’m not usually all that stealthy.”

He comes to stand beside him, following the direction of Legend’s gaze from moments before.

“You were deep in thought though. I called you three times before you noticed I was standing there.”

Legend shifts, uncomfortably.

Three times? That’s a first. He’s usually much more attentive, often to a fault. “Bunny hearing” Fable jokingly calls it, and he can’t help thinking she’s onto something. Few sounds slip his notice.

“Well, what’re you doing here?” He asks, sitting down on the moist grass. Wetness be damned, he’s too tired to remain standing.

Sweet Hylia, why do emotions have to be so exhausting?

“Shouldn’t you be back there—” He jerks a thumb behind him— “comforting the person who’s actively breaking down?”

Sky settles down by his side and folds his hands in his lap.

“I can’t help Wild,” he says, quietly. “The fewer people around him right now, the better. Twilight and Time are with him and that’s enough.”

That’s good, Legend supposes. The champion is closer to the two heroes than he is to anyone else in their party. Still, he wishes something more could be done.

Well…what he wishes is that he could snap his fingers and all pain would just disappear—from him, from those he calls friends. That would be easier, much easier than sitting here and dealing with the whole lot of it.

…or watching it tear someone down into a sobbing, mess.

Hylia help him, his own problems are more than enough without him having to go and absorb everyone else’s. It’s like being a chu, oozing about, taking on any element they encounter, and spewing it out indiscriminately.

“It’s difficult watching something like that.”

Legend turns slightly so he can see the Skyloftian’s face. There’s something he can’t quite make out in his gaze, an emotion he thinks he should know yet can’t place.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Sky continues, almost as though reassuring himself. “But our hero’s spirits want so badly to take it all away. It just doesn’t sit right, leaving him with such a heavy burden.”

He meets Legend’s eyes now, a small, sad smile lifting his lips. “Especially when it feels like that burden has become yours.”

The tears spring back with a vengeance and Legend turns away quickly to avoid Sky catching sight of them. Not that it matters. He knows what the Skyloftian is doing, and he knows what it means. He saw him crying back there, he must have.

He slumps despite himself, curling in with his shoulders hunched. He feels very much like he did when Twilight and Sky saw him in his bunny form, caught in the trap of vulnerability and hating every second of it.

“I know it’s not my burden,” he mutters, testily. “I just…I can’t help it.”

Plucking a blade of grass he begins ripping it viciously into thin strands.

“It happens every damn time.”

Sky nods and there is a kind of comprehension in the movement. Somehow, it makes Legend feel worse.

First the tears, now an uncharacteristic outpouring of his heart. What on earth is wrong with him?

“It’s not a weakness you know.”

Legend gives a derisive snort. “I don’t see how it couldn’t be.”

“You’re such a kind, sensitive soul,” his uncle told him once, fondness in his eyes. But kindness and sensitivity are blatant invitations for hurt. That much has been drilled into his skull.

For a long moment, there is only suffocating silence. Then, Sky scoots closer. He’s warm, far more than the dreary chill of the wind or the bone-aching wet hanging in the air and seeping into his tunic. Still, Legend stiffens.

“I know it feels that way sometimes,” the Skyloftian continues. “But it’s what makes us heroes.”

Legend side eyes him. “Crying our eyes out makes us heroes?”

Sky chuckles. “Well, maybe not that specifically. You know what I mean, though.”

Legend sighs. He does, despite not really wanting to accept it.

“If only dealing with emotions was as easy as saving Hyrule,” he says, wryly, in a half-hearted attempt at bringing some humor into the conversation.

Sky’s face falls slightly. “Yeah…if only.” Then, he smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway, I guess the bunny form makes more sense now.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Legend snaps, sending him a scowl.

“It’s just like the rancher said, you’ve got a soft, little bunny heart.”

“Hey, now! You’ve got no right!”

Sky laughs, completely unperturbed by Legend’s pout. And even the veteran has to admit the sound makes the air feel lighter. At the very least, it’s better than the sound of sobs.

“Oh!” The Skyloftian suddenly jolts, reaching into his pouch. “That reminds me. I have something for you.” He presses a small, wrapped object into Legend’s palm. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you, but I couldn’t find a good time. I guess now is as good as ever.”

Legend peers down at it, curiosity peeking. But before he can begin freeing it from the handkerchief that envelopes it, Sky rises.

“Well, I’m gonna head back. Open that whenever you want to. There’s no rush.”

“Okay,” Legend replies, slowly. He watches with narrowed eyes as the Skyloftian turns and starts in the opposite direction. If he wasn’t suspicious before, he certainly is now.

Nevertheless, he makes himself wait until Sky is out of sight to peel away the wrapping. And then he freezes, breath catching at the sight within.

It’s a tiny, ornate carving of a rabbit.

It stands on its hind legs, so alert and lifelike Legend half expects to see it twitch its nose. Gently, almost cautiously, he runs a finger over its little head, feeling the smoothness of the wood.

Something wet and warm drops onto the back of his hand, and he realizes with a streak of frustration that he’s crying again. Cursing Sky, he swipes at his eyes. There’s no stopping it now that it’s begun, however. In the end, he’s forced to let the sobs rip through him.

And as the tears pour down faster than he can wipe them away, he closes his fist around the precious object and clutches it to his chest.

#thanks again for the prompt :)#I was actually meaning to write something about that post #so this was the perfect opportunity to get to do that #also in case anyone’s wondering #yeah I made wild remember his sister #I know I’m cruel #trin writes #lu legend #lu sky #linkeduniverse #wolfwarden #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #*throws my sky and legend are highly empathetic and absorb everyone’s emotions headcanons into the mix*#I’ve got so many projection hcs for these boys it’s unreal

109 notes · View notes

xfindingtrouble · 1 year

Note

• five times thanked: ( five times the receiver thanked, or felt gratitude towards, the sender ) or • five times hugged: ( five times the receiver hugged the sender ) to percy! whichever you prefer uwu

Finding his place in this motley crew had been easier than Percy had expected. He was used to being an outlier of sorts, it had always been the case. Even before all of life's unpleasantness, he had always felt like he was on the outside looking in. but the charm of vox machina was that they were all freaks, in their respective rights. it made Percy feel dangerously at home, but it kept them at their side & at their table. He had decided to linger on the edge of the evening, remaining at the table they had all started drinking at.

most of vox machina had dispersed & were pursuing their own goals for the evening... but not keyleth. no, she was nursing her drink carefully at percy's side. it had been awkward at first, but it was a shared nature. A few drinks were plenty to foster some warmth between them. new familiarity was planted in the metaphorical flowerbed of their friendship & each passing drink seemed to water it.

Percy drank a bit more than Keyleth, he noticed... but it was definitely for the best, he muses. by the end of the night, percy had laughed so hard that he was sure his ribs would hurt for days. it was a rarity for him, a true gift. he embraces the smile that had lingered upon his features for most of the evening, drawing keyleth into an awkward but sincere hug.

" you have no idea how badly I needed this. " he pats her shoulder three times before realizing that perhaps this hug had been too long. he wasn't sure, as his personal space usually remained generally unbreached... But he doesn't think she minds, " thank you. "

ii.

it was bizarre in the best of ways. it was like a dream to have a home again, temporary as it may be. Every member of vox machina was beginning to settle in & understand the merits of living in Greyskull Keep. percy had tended mostly to his workshop, thrilled to have his own space to work again. when he was younger, he may have been a bit testier about sharing his space. he had to be, else his horde of siblings would disturb his things. it was something he missed, though he would never be able to admit it. but with that nostalgia came familiarity... he liked when the others joined him here, in his element.

Percy had other places to go when he needed to be entirely alone. in fact, it was usually better not to be left to his own devices. he came up with some terrifying ideas without others to mitigate his moral compass. but anxiety aside, it was also good to have others around when he hit a creative wall. no one here really knew much about gears or physics, but they would usually let him talk at them long enough to work out any problems in his process... which was precisely what was going on right now. Percy knew that Keyleth was probably only catching every other sentence as he over-explains his ideas, but he is thankful to have her as an achor to funnel his thoughts into.

he was tinkering, playing with different ideas of how to make the most efficient lightning arrow. but he was threatened with a creative block on the horizon. it was admittedly helpful to have someone with an innate understanding of the elements ast his side while spewing ideas, tossing them back & forth. It almost felt like they were speaking different languages, though they were figuring it out as they went along. when keyleth mentions an alloy that attracts lightning, it causes a gun to go off in percy's mind.

if it can attract lightning, could it be used in tandem with any of keyleth's abilities? he can see it now, vex loosing an arrow in some poor fool's chest & keyleth reigning lightning down upon them. it's a passing idea, for now, but they could work on it with time... which for the first time in a long time, percy felt like he might have. he jumps at keyleth in an excited hug, temporarily forgetting the layer of sweat & soot he maintained when he worked.

" You're a genius, Keyleth. " It's hard to contain his excitement, not that he would while working, " thank you! "

iii.

" What you did back there was incredible. " Percy speaks only after a long silence. It hangs between them, like a thick smoke he wants nothing more than to swat away... but it isn't so simple. Each breath is a reminder of how easily it can be taken from them, how temporary their peace could be. It was difficult not to be scared... Percy still wondered if he could smell burning flesh on the air, unable to shake the ghostly feeling of acid eating away at his skin. His wounds were long healed, as were those of the refugees they had gotten to Whitestone, but it wasn't the sort of thing he could forget. Especially with the responsibility of dealing with this problem falling upon their shoulders.

It was terrifying to think that they were what stood between the world & a firey demise. percy knew Vox Machina would not have been his first choice for ' world saving heroes ' but with keyleth, he had faith. despite the carnage, she was relentless. she was good. they had done all they could in emon & though it could never be enough.... it was what they could accomplish. thanks to keyleth they had managed to save a few dozen people. it wasn't much, but it was something. those people may survive to see the end of this because of her & there was a surreal amazement in the feat.

percy finally breaks, drawing her into a tight embrace. A deep breath passes through his lungs as he feels the silence begin to fall over them again. He holds her a little tighter now, dragging his voice from the depths of his chest, " You saved people. we all get to live another day because of you. Thank you. "

iv.

staying in whitestone was amazing. it was something percy had once thought he had lost, permanently. he had reclaimed his old room but with it came old memories. terrible memories, that he often faced late into the night. he felt foolish, like a child, when he couldn't contain his feelings... he had snuck off to the kitchens, looking for comfort in the ways of fruit. He wasn't one for sugary sweets, most of the time & fruit was usually a sensory delight. It was plenty to ground him, comfort him.

Percy had done his best to sneak through the halls of whitestone without being noticed by any guards who may question his midnight motives. When he finally slips into the nearly-empty kitchen, he is surprised to see a candle already lit. Keyleth stands at one of the counters, peeling an orange very carefully. He watches her for a few moments, wondering if she will notice him. She seems consumed by her task, or very tired, he cannot tell which.... But Percy breaks the near-perfect silence with a quick, " boo!"

When keyleth realizes she's not alone, she nearly jumps out of her skin. The two of them had been at odds recently... but that did not change Keyleth's status in Percy's heart. percy can't stop the wave of reassurance he feels when they meet eyes, knowing that he was not alone when the world felt so strange. Percy cannot help but crack a smile at the dramatic reaction, reassuring her with a soft " It's only me. "

Percy raises his hands in a faux-surrender to emphasize the lack of threat. she instinctively splits her orange, offering the other half to percy. He hugs her instinctively, rather than trying to find the words to express the relief that washes over him.

" Thank you, Keyleth. " Maybe he sounds as tired as she looks, but for now the weight is secondary. Percy is sure to remove every lingering thread of pith on his orange. Together, they talk about their days. Their relationships. Their dreams. It turns out to be a much better night than Percy would have ever anticipated.

the warmth in his chest simmers, bleeding into his stomach, arms, legs, leaving them all weightless & heavy all at once. they had both been drinking for most of the night, heavily. it was a rare indulgence, to know that they had nothing to do in the morning, nobody to be. perhaps that is why they are both so deep into their drinks, effectively trashed. they sit in a booth, their backs against the wall as they exchange teary sentiments & debate whether or not they are going to be sick.

keyleth is more prone to emotional displays, but even percy is moved this night. he doesn't fight the urge to throw his arm around her shoulder, drawing her into an affectionate half-hug as they raise their mugs in celebration of continued survival. percy doesn't fight the onslaught of laughter that bursts from his stomach when the act nearly throws off keyleth's balance entirely. He would prefer if she didn't fall onto the floor tonight, but if she did he would be there to pick her right up.

" oh keyleth, I don't know who I would be without you. " his words did not always come so easily, but enough wine was plenty to loosen his tongue. perhaps survival was making him sentimental, he muses.

Percy pulls the scarf from his lapel, offering it to keyleth, who proceeds to ( very loudly ) blow her nose in between relentless sobs. It's hard not to get swept up in the emotions of the evening, endeared in earnest. His own chest is tight & maybe there are a few tears in his eyes. Percy pats her shoulder three times before releasing her, treading in his own fondness now," thank you. for being there, for everything you do, for being my best friend. "

to that, he drinks.

#tempestsmantle #ch. percival de rolo #answered ( comment cards. )#simply going insane at 4am tonight #i tried to mix the prompts #and now i have Emotions

11 notes · View notes

silhouettecrow · 9 months

Text

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 227

Adjective: Adamant

Noun: Flood

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Adamant: refusing to be persuaded or to change one's mind

Flood: an overflowing of a large amount of water beyond its normal confines, especially over what is normally dry land; the biblical flood brought by God upon the earth because of the wickedness of the human race (Gen. 6 ff.); the inflow of the tide; (literary) a river, stream, or sea; an outpouring of tears or emotion; a very large quantity of people or things that appear or need to be dealt with; short for floodlight

#im rather late again #my reason this time is that my girlfriend and i just finished watching good omens seasons 2 tonight #my emotions are a fucking wreck right now #(talk about 'adamant' 'flood's am i right?)#anyway this prompt has a lot of options due to 'flood's definitions #however i likely will stick with the first one #that mixed with 'adamant' makes it sound so forceful and dangerous #and exploring the ferocity of nature is something im interesting in doing with my poetry #so i will probably go that route #thanks for reading #writing #writer #creative writing #writing prompt #writeblr #trying to be a writeblr at least

2 notes · View notes

tripixilater · 1 year

Text

A: "Why are you so pissy at me? I was just asking about your day?!"

B: "Why would someone like you care? Nobody ever cares, so just shut the fuck up, and leave me the fuck alone"

A: "Wow, such flowery words for such a sparkling personality"

B: "..."

A: "W-Wait, no, s-sorry, I-I didn't-"

B: "Pfft..."

A: "I-I... did you just laugh at me?"

B: "Maybe, just didn't expect someone like you to say stuff like that"

A: "W-What's that supposed to mean?!"

B: "God, you really are annoying..."

A: "Gah! I don't know why I even try to put up with you..."

A would storm off in a fit, seemingly getting heated with B, but the thought still remains in their head... Why has A continued to put up with B? Why hasn't A gave up on B? Maybe there's something to it, but at least one of them is finally warming up to the other, albeit a little slow, but they're trying

B: "Finally... God, they're such a dork..."

#ship dynamics #writing ideas #writing prompt #mixed emotions #or something

3 notes · View notes

kitharion · 2 years

Text

Tagged by @neoncomets 🥰

Relationship Satus: Polyam with a long-term nesting partner! Covid kinda killed the ‘cule but that’s okay

Favorite Color: tbh the older I get the less I have particular colors I’m really drawn to… right now it’s pastel pink/dusty rose and dark wood grain. Maybe silver?

Favorite Food: spaghetti my beloved. Also this shepherds pie I just took out of the oven

Song stuck in my head: I’ve been on a Quiet Company kick, so various lines from the We All Are Where We Belong album. Currently it’s “I hope you love me when you know me well” from the track “Are You A Mirror (…Or A Window?)”

Last thing I googled: “naan dough recipe” I’ve been watching a lot of The Great British Bake Off and they made yeast-free naan for the technical and I had a hankering. Remembered three recipes in that my nesting partner used to make industrial sized naan batches and probably already has one lol

Time: 17:17 on 10 June 2022. I’m procrastinating getting ready for work.

Dream trip: literally any. I want to travel so badly. Unfortunately there is both a global pandemic and also I’m poor. Top of the list though are a backpacking trip around the ring of Kerry in Ireland, and probably a trip to Harajuku Japan and/or Guangzhou City, China because I’ve been on a fashion kick

Something I want: for my cat to stop trying to sharpen his claws on my dining chairs and for my house to be clean. Both are attainable if I can work on them.

I will tag @sophisticat42 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @aiyaria @cleverclara @knowtrueliving 💕

#honestly I have mixed emotions about the first prompt here so like #my dear friends please feel free to skip any of these #or the whole thing!#whatever the mood is today

3 notes · View notes

soulprompts · 7 months

Text

REASONS TO CUP A FACE. ( A PROMPT LIST. )

with the help of some very talented and amazing friends, i present to you an unexpected, very spontaneous meme list based on the beautiful art of cupping someone's face! there's a mix of romantic and platonic here, and even a few that defy the boundaries of normal relationship dynamics! i hope you enjoy! as always; DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST NOR CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN!

[KISS]: sender cups the receivers face in their hands before drawing them closer for a kiss.

[CHECK]: after an unexpectedly violent situation, sender frantically rushes to check if the receiver is okay, cupping their face to look closer.

[CLEAN]: sender affectionately wipes a smudge of sauce from the corner of the receiver's mouth, cupping their face in the process.

[LIFT]: sender gently cups the receiver's face and lifts their chin so the receiver is looking up at them.

[COMFORT]: sender cups a distressed receiver's face in their hands and steadies them by resting their foreheads together.

[ATTENTION]: during an important conversation, the sender takes the receiver's face in their hands and firmly directs their focus on them.

[MAKE-UP]: while applying make-up on the receiver's face, the sender cups their face in order to keep them still.

[PRIDE]: after the receiver succeeds in a remarkable achievement, the sender cups their face and tilts their foreheads together to express how proud they are of them.

[WHISPER]: in order to have a private, hushed conversation with the receiver, the sender cups their face and draws them close to make sure they can be heard.

[HAIR]: in the process of pushing the receiver's hair back from their face, the sender lets their hand rest against the receiver's cheek a moment longer.

[GROUND]: during a moment of intense emotional stress, the sender gently takes the receiver's face in their hands to ground them until they're calmer again.

[WONDER]: unable to comprehend how incredible the receiver is, the sender decides to simply cup their face in their hands and marvel at them instead.

[LAST LOOK]: before going into a situation that may result in their death, the sender takes a moment to cup the unaware receiver's face in their hand, just to take a final look of admiration at them before they go.

[SACRIFICE]: the sender cups the receiver's face tenderly to distract them, right before shoving them out of the way (to safety) and facing an attack alone in order to buy the receiver enough time to escape.

[BELIEF]: in a moment where the receiver is lacking in self-confidence, the sender cups their face tenderly and professes their faith in the receiver's abilities.

[DISBELIEF]: after the receiver has done something completely unexpected (and reckless) the stunned sender cups their face in their hands while trying to get them to explain why the hell they did it.

[BETRAYAL]: trying to keep the receiver calm before the big reveal, the sender cups their face gently to keep them steady, and then reveals that they're the villain.

[WOUND]: after the receiver has been wounded, the sender tries to keep them calm and conscious by cupping their face in their hands and talking to them to keep them focused.

[INJURY]: after having been badly wounded themselves, the sender tries to reassure the frantic receiver by cupping their face and comforting them.

[RAMSAY]: after the receiver commits a culinary crime, the sender presses two slices of bread against either side of their face, cupping their face to hold the bread in place, and calls them an idiot sandwich.

#roleplay meme #ask meme #sentence starters #rp meme #writing prompts #roleplay prompts #rp prompt

5K notes · View notes

its3nvy · 5 months

Note

Hello I was wondering if you could do a Billy the kid imagine where he gets really jealous of the reader and another guy and like drags her away or something. The rest is up to you

Possessive Billy the Kid

Summary: In order to get Billy to admit his feelings for you, you attempt to make it jealous.

Tags/warnings: mdni (18+), possessive!Billy, porn with no plot, angst, size kink, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink

Note : Gotta be honest not my favorite work of mine, but I hope you guys enjoy!! (Also, don't forget to like, comment & reblog) :D

tags: f!reader, smut

word count: 2.5k

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You were aware of Billy's infatuation with you. You weren’t blind to his gaze; you weren’t deaf to his words. It's undeniable that Billy was deeply in love with you, though he stubbornly denied it.

Billy's hesitancy to act on his emotions was largely fueled by the wounds of past relationships. He'd been hurt before, and those scars had left him cautious and wary of opening up again.

You've caught on to this, and it's what led you to your current predicament—flirting shamelessly with Luke. The idea was simple: You make him jealous to the point where you'll provoke a reaction, prompting him to confront the feelings he's been holding back.

You glance across the room at Billy, displeased with the unfolding scene between you and Luke. The room is dimly lit, adorned with rustic wooden furniture and low-hanging lanterns that cast a warm, intimate glow.

Ever since Luke entered the picture, his overconfident demeanor has irked everyone. Flirting with Luke was a sure way to get under Billy's skin.

“So, what do you say, hon’? Want to continue this conversation in my bedroom?” Luke flashes you what he clearly thinks is a charming smile.

Billy locks eyes with you, a silent exchange of challenges unfolding. Your eyebrow raises in defiance, met with Billy's stoic expression. A smirk plays on your lips, inviting the storm that brews in Billy's furrowed brows. Heightening the tension, you stand on your tiptoes and lean over the bar, your hand finding its place on Luke's bicep. You whisper something unintelligible into his ear, a secret shared in the midst of the growing chaos.

Luke's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and as he turns to look at you, a mix of shock and excitement gleams in his eyes. The room crackles with unspoken emotions as the atmosphere thickens with anticipation.

Billy's neck turns crimson as anger courses through his veins, catching the subtle shift in Luke's expression. It's the final straw, the breaking point that fractures whatever fragile equilibrium remained between Billy and you. A strange blend of dread and anticipation stirs within you as you watch Billy move decisively toward you, his face contorted with fury.

Sensing the impending confrontation, you back away from Luke, pretending to mull over his proposition. As Billy approaches, you let the tension build.

In a whirlwind of emotion, Billy shoves Luke forcefully against the bar, causing glasses to crash to the floor in a symphony of shattered fragments. He keeps him there by seizing him by the collar with a violent urgency, trapping him amidst the debris of the broken glasses.

A cold steel barrel emerges from Billy's hand, pressing menacingly under Luke's chin the ominous click of him charging it resonating in the tense atmosphere.

"You don’t fucking look at her again," Billy's voice is a low growl, each word heavy with an undercurrent of unspoken turmoil. His intense glare pierces through Luke, a fiery testament to the tumultuous emotions churning within him.

In the charged pause that follows, you find your voice, your words cutting through the tense air. "Billy, enough," you plead, the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders. "Let him go."

For a moment, Billy's grip on Luke tightens, his eyes locking onto yours with a stubborn resolve. Then, with a reluctant exhale, he releases Luke, who stumbles back, visibly shaken.

As he turned your way, you gripped the edge of the bar nervously. He stalked towards you until he stood right in front of you, the sheer size difference making you look up to meet his eyes. The storm in his gaze was evident, and you couldn't help but steal a glance at his lips.

The hand that moments ago wielded a weapon now reaches for your face, holding it with a surprising gentleness—a stark contrast to the aggression in his eyes. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that carries the weight of unresolved emotions and the turmoil that has been building between you.

Billy’s lips on yours is everything you hoped it would be: euphoric. His lips feel pillowy against yours, albeit slightly chapped. The force of his lips connecting with yours is gentle enough not to hurt you but aggressive enough to tell you he wants you. His teeth gently pulling your bottom lip between his makes you weak in the knees, and you can’t help but gasp.

Your arms quickly snake around his neck, eyes fluttering shut. You let him keep control of the kiss—you’d tortured him enough—and only pull away when you desperately need to breathe.

As your lips disconnect, he rests his forehead against your own.

"I've fucking had it," he said, his tone carrying an undercurrent of frustration. The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you find yourself locked in a silent exchange, a plea for an explanation lingering on your lips.

Billy, fueled by an intensity you hadn't seen before, grasped your arm, his grip forceful and unyielding. You stumbled along in protest, a mix of surprise and curiosity painting your face.

He doesn't speak, but his eyes tell a story of pent-up emotions, of things unsaid and feelings unexplored. The atmosphere is heavy with the weight of unspoken words as he leads you down the corridor, away from the prying eyes of the gathering crowd.

"Where are we going, Billy?" you finally manage to ask, your voice echoing through the quiet hallway.

He doesn't respond, his jaw clenched, and his gaze fixed ahead. The tension between you is palpable, the air thick with anticipation.

As you reach his room, he pushes the door open, revealing a space that feels both intimate and charged. The room is dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls, and the air is heavy with the scent of anticipation.

"Billy, what are-", His lips crashed to yours, hungry and hot and demanding, stealing your breath in a heated rush. He lifted his hand, gently cradling your jaw as he kissed you. With a subtle tilt of your head, the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding into your mouth. A low groan rumbled in his chest as you melted in his arms, giving into him with a moan of pure want.

He pressed his body to yours, caging you in his arms and trapping you between him and the wall. In response, you surged forward, reaching up and clasping his face in your hands. Your fingers rasped against his stubble, digging into his skin. A low growl escaped him, intensifying the heat in your belly. He pressed harder into you, his cock forming a firm ridge against your thigh.

He broke the kiss, panting harshly, tipping you head back so he could look deep into her eyes.

You were barely able to form the words, desire swimming so thickly in your veins you could feel nothing else. “Billy, Please-.”

He groaned, a deep and visceral sound of relief and release. His thumb traced a gentle circle on her cheek in a brief moment of tenderness, but his desire for you was too strong to be placid and mellow right now.

“Turn around,” was all that left his lips.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, surprised by his sudden statement.

“You listening to me, doll?” There was that damned smirk again. “I need you to turn around for me.”

“Why is that?” God, you loved messing with him.

In a swift motion, he spun you around, your chest colliding with the wall, pinned against it. His grip on your hips tightened, a silent proclamation of his control as the atmosphere crackled with the intensity of unspoken words.

“Enough playing, doll,” he spoke against your ear. “You want me to make you mine?”

His fingers delicately traced along the fabric of your bodice, gently pulling it down to reveal your breasts. A soft exclamation escaped him as he pressed sweet kisses to the nape of your neck, his hands tenderly caressing and exploring the newfound intimacy between you.

“I’m gonna show you how no one else can satisfy you.”

Your head was whirling. Your eyes closed at his words, drinking them in like a shot of expensive liquor. “All you’ll be able to think about is me. You want that?”, he whispered against your ear as his free hand hiked your skirts up, and traveled upwards. You gasp when you feel his cool fingers press up against your clit, then travel slightly downwards where your wetness was beginning to leak from.

“Gotta talk to me, doll,” he cooed as a finger danced along your clothed slit, soaking in just how wet you were. “Need to hear how good you feel.”

He watched the way your lips fell open in the sweetest O shape at him pushing your panties to the side and sliding his calloused finger across your clit. You sighed at the break from pleasure as his fingers left your clit. You were breathing heavy, head spinning as he slid his index finger inside of you.

“Billy,” you whined, hand wrapping around his wrist as he pumped his finger agonizingly slowly.

“Hmm?”, he hummed. “Want another? I bet you can take it.” Your chest was rising and falling faster than before as you dug your nails into the skin of his forearm when he slid his finger out and added another.

“That’s it,” he pushed them into you with a delicious curl. “That’s a good girl.”

“Shit,” you hissed as he pumped harder, making sure his palm bumped against your puffy clit. “Fuck, Billy.”

“You’re close already?”, his words filled your thoughts. You nodded dumbly, mouth open and panting. Heat washed over you, pushing you closer to the edge of coming undone for him. Honestly it felt embarrassing how fast he had you melting his just his hands. You were shameless though. Throwing away any dignity just to chase the high he was about to give you. Just as the cord tightened and your body tensed, he withdrew his hand with an adoring smile hidden under his mask.

“Oh you’re so-,“ you struggled to get out. “So fucking cruel.”

The look you gave him over your shoulder was deadly. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked teasing,” he smirked and you knew it from the way his eyes stared down at you.

‘C’mere, doll,’ he tore the buttons from your skirt, freeing you from any garment you wore that went with them.

“I’m gonna need you to bend over for me, baby,” he voiced as he began undoing his own pants. You groaned, shuffling your feet backwards and keeping your chest to the wall.

“That’s it,” he kissed you along your jaw and hissed as he began to pump himself slowly. “Good girl.”

You bit at your lip, holding in the moan when he placed the tip of his heavy cock against your slit and began rubbing up and down as he slowly started to press inside of you. Your squirm, his other hand coming to your hip to keep you still. Slowly, he pushes inside.

“Fuck doll, you’re taking me so well,” he hissed, gripping your ass to spread you open even more.

“Billy,” you whined, “too much.”

“You can do it,” he pushed further, splitting you open with a delicious ache. “Relax for me.”

“That’s it,” he groaned, moving his hips slowly. “So proud of you,” his praise made your cheeks burn. You both pant as he starts to bottom out, feeling him deep, pressed tightly against your cervix. Pausing for a moment, he gently kissed you, giving you the sweetest reassurance as you adjusted. His actions were tender, creating a gentle moment amid the heated passion.

Billy drew his hips back, brushing against that delicious spot on the way before almost pulling completely out and slamming hard back into you. His grip was sure to leave bruises on your hips, but he found that he had little concern about it as he watched your eyes roll back. With how he was handling you, he'd wondered if you'd mark him up the same if he asked you - it would only be fair, and he would be more than happy to wear any branding that you'd put on him. But for now, he'd put his on you.

“Good,” he growled. “So fucking good.”

His thrusts were relentless. Ensuring you felt every inch of his thick cock when he fucked you. You yelped as the tip brushed against your cervix, earning a hiss from him when you tightened around him. Wet slaps filled the air as he pounded you faster, determined to fill every inch of you that he could.

He watched the way your mouth hung open but no noise could even leave this sweet lips of yours, not when he fucked you this good.

“You’re mine,” his other hand reached to the front of you, tugging on your puffy clit. You moaned in response but that wasn’t what he wanted.

“Go on,” he growled in your ear. “Go on. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“Billy-“ You felt like you could cry. “Please-“ Every word was cut short by his thrusts deeper into you. You were so close your mind was racing.

“I’m - fuck - I’m yours,” you moaned. “Belong to you.”

He reached for your hands, pulling them behind your back and pinning them against you to use to fuck you harder. He yanked you back on his cock at the same time he thrusted forward too many times to count before the inside of your thighs ran slick. Your vision grew into a blur with each thrust as your brain became fuzzy, your stomach tightened as you grew closer to your climax.

It only took a second for your wails to turn into sharp gasps, your trembling body going taut as all the tension he'd built inside you snapped. It felt like bliss, it felt like a high from a drug you’d just taken for the first time. You came with a scream as he continued to fuck you. In and out, in and out, it was about all your mind could process as your body zipped and sparked like it had been hit by a thunderstorm.

"Fuck, I love the sounds you make when you come undone, doll." he mumbled. "So beautiful..." A few more dizzying pumps and you felt him pull out of you with a moan.

“Fuck.” He mumbled to himself, slipping his free arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

“You did so good for me, baby.” He praised between pants against your shoulder. “Don’t think I’m ever gonna let you go now.” You smiled, as he peppered you with kisses.

"I'd be surprised if the entire fucking town didn't hear us", you managed to breathe out. Billy simply grinned. "Good. Maybe now everyone will know to keep their fucking hands off."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

#billy the kid #billy the kid smut #billy the kid x reader #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #william bonney #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #not my gif

2K notes · View notes

zhongrin · 1 month

Note

psssst Rin idea ehehe.... imagine having a remote control vibrator and alhaitham has the remote :))) that's it that's all bye //runs

crys.

...... must you send this while i'm on my period hauhdwhjfshdakhd

cw. minors dni, fem!reader, afab!reader, vibrator, self-indulgent shit bc i'm 1) in pain, 2) horny, and 3) just because i can. tldr; this is crys' fault /silly /lh

al haitham has your cycle memorized. it may sound like a useless thing to dedicate one of his brain cells for, but in his opinion, it really isn't. the common theories of the female hormones factors a lot into your mood and emotions, hence it makes a good tool to interpret your actions and outlines a specific guideline for him to act accordingly to make sure he continues to prove himself a suitable partner for you.

but sometimes, the man couldn't resist but just to tease you a bit.

and you look adorable in his eyes, all flushed and pouty like this.

"what's wrong? i thought someone said she wanted to 'get all the chores done before my uterus throws a tantrum for not getting to house a fetus'?" he asked, a little too nonchalantly, as he pressed buttons on the washing machine with one hand, the other sneaking into his pocket to play with the intensity of the little toy fitting snugly between your puffy folds.

"you're evil," you somehow managed to choke out, knees trembling as you held onto the edges of the sink, having to pause from cleaning the dishes at the heightened vibrations, "evil."

"that's not what you said last night with your legs wrapped around my w-"

"al haitham!!!"

"we're at home and kaveh's out to survey a project. i see no reasons for you to act unnecessarily demure."

you grumbled and muttered under your breath as you tried to wash the soap suds off the plates. a chuckle left your boyfriend's lips, and you feel a momentary relief when the buzz between your legs lessened into a hum.

key word here being 'momentary'.

you continued on ー wiping the plates dry, setting them onto the drying rack… as you reached out to open the cupboard drawer, the devil whispering in your beloved's ears seemed to have won the silent battle within his mind, for the bullet-shaped contraption seemed to increase in intensity with every seconds that passed. higher. higher. higher.

"h-haith- oh- fuck-" the quiver in your voice was palpable; arms steadying yourself onto the counter in a hurry. you were sure the dampness would have shown over your shorts by now; he'd been playing with that remote all morning, and it was driving you nuts.

perhaps it was that very desperation that prompted you to turn towards him with a pair of pleading eyes. perhaps it was your hormones going haywire that made you latch onto him and whine like a bunny in heat, your hands roaming across broad muscles, hips canting towards the growing bulge beneath those grey sweatpants.

oh, you really, truly look adorable when you were insatiably horny, he thought.

"…. fine. consider it my duty to finish the chores later," lush greens zeroes on the trickle of slick slipping down your thigh, the swipe of his tongue across his lips unconscious yet felt like added desire into your already heated loins.

"for now, i suppose your duty is to be thoroughly spoiled by me."

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #al haitham x reader #al haitham #rin writes #minors dni #rin answers #rin is having tea with: crys 🧡

727 notes · View notes

modifieduchiha · 9 months

Text

25 Mixed Emotion Sentence Starters

♡ I LOVE TO READ PEOPLES CREATIVE WRITING. PLEASE @ ME, message me, AND/OR USE THE TAG #TeesPrompts ! I will read it and probably reblog it ! ♡

Directory Request Guidelines Blog Etiquette Buy me a Ko-Fi?

"You make me feel weak."

"You promised you wouldn’t forget me."

"I don’t have anyone else."

"I thought you still loved me."

"You never cared that you broke my heart."

"It was never supposed to end this way."

"Did I ever really matter to you?"

"I wish you were dead."

"You left me."

"I don’t know you anymore."

"You promised."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I told you not to get too close to me."

"From the day we met , I knew i’d hurt you eventually."

"I’m mainly sorry that somewhere along the way , I started to care about you."

"I did it because I had to , not because I ever wanted to."

"You should’ve walked away when you had the chance."

"Why did you lie to me?"

"You are not fine."

"Promise me you’ll stay."

"My life is my own to ruin."

"Did you really have to be that honest?"

"Fine. You’ll never see me again , okay?"

"I gave you everything I had."

"I’m done. We’re done."

#writing prompts #dialogue prompts #prompt list #writeblr #writing ideas #teesprompts #otp prompts #otp prompt challenge #creative prompts #creative prompts for writing #sentence starters #sentence starter prompt #writerscommunity #writers on ao3 #writers on tumblr #angst prompts #mixed emotions #mixed emotion prompts

660 notes · View notes

olorielmoonshadow · 2 years

Text

Writing aesthetic artwork from a lit mag colour prompt

Recently, on Twitter, engaging with literature magazines, londemere lit was hosting a prompt that I wrote to. As part of the prompt, we were invited to post our writing aesthetic + drink at caffe + the last line of a love letter we would write, and in return we would get a 5 colour palette. Here is how it looked Prompt I knew right away that if I get a reply, I am going to use the colours…

View On WordPress

#aesthetic #Art #art prompt #collage #digital #emotions #inspiration #londemere lit #Magazines and E-zines #mixed media #twitter

1 note · View note

helen-with-an-a · 1 month

Text

I need to be perfect

Hi. So I kinda don't like this, but I kinda do at the same time, and I wasn't quite sure how to end it. It was also a really good request so I might use the prompt again in another way. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Barca Femeni x Reader ; Alexia Putellas x Reader (Platonic)

Description: R needs to be perfect and doesn't know how to stop.

Word Count: 2.4k

“When I say ‘jump’, you say ‘how high, coach?’ Got it?” The overweight, middle-aged man with an awful comb-over had shouted to you when you were just 9 years old. His methods were basically abuse, but he produced superstars. And that is what you were going to be. A superstar. It didn’t help that you already had perfectionist tendencies, and your parents were pushy – always expecting brilliance. No, not even brilliance. The best, you had to be the best. Perfect. Flawless. Faultless. Textbook. There was no other choice.

It was no surprise that Barca had come knocking when you were barely 16. You had mixed emotions: elation that Barcelona wanted you, happiness that you could leave the cruel atmosphere you lived in, fear that you weren’t as good as they may have thought, and nervousness that you needed the horrendous conditions to thrive.

Again. More. That wasn’t good enough. You’re not trying. You need to be better. Again. Again. Again.

You had seen the media asking how Barcelona could have signed a 16-year-old rising young talent from a lower league club. The world expected you to be great, Barca expected you to be great, and your parents expected you to be great.

But you didn’t feel great. Not at first. You had turned up to pre-season and noticed how far behind you were from your teammates. You hadn’t considered that it was because they were almost double your age and had been at the club or other high-level ones for years. You were struggling slightly to get the drills – Catalan was the preferred language, and you were still barely competent in Spanish. When the season started, you weren’t used as a sub very much, making your debut in November about 85 minutes into the match. You didn’t get your first start of the season until February. You had gone from being the best in the team at your old club to being a mere blip on the team sheet.

You are useless. You can’t even make it as a sub? You are a waste of time and money. All the effort we spent on you.

Your parents weren’t helping the situation. You already had the voice in your head telling you you weren’t good enough, and the constant barrage of texts, voicemails, and phone calls after another match where you weren’t used was starting to get to you.

So, you started to push yourself. After a season of being on the sidelines too much, you knew you needed to start working harder. You didn’t realise that Jonatan had been hoping to use this first year to let you get accustomed to Spain, the style of play and build your fitness. At first, it was nothing major. You stayed late a few days a week to work on drills, set pieces and technical skills. But then it was staying late every day you had training. And then coming in early. And then you began to run to training, leaving your bags in the locker room overnight for you to go and get changed. And then you began to run back from training, too. And then you added extra at-home workouts (nothing too crazy in the beginning; mainly yoga that turned into Pilates, which turned into an additional 2 hours of bodyweight exercises). For some strange reason, you had been allowed to live by yourself. You think that it was because so many of the girls lived nearby. Ingrid and Mapi lived in the same building as you. Lucy lived on the same road as you, as did Keira, Ona and Aitana. Alexia lived less than a ten-minute walk away, and you were within easy driving distance of everyone else. But because you lived alone, no one noticed how much you were putting your body through, even on your days off and mid-season breaks.

But the hard work was paying off. You started the next season well; pre-season had gone fantastically, and your name appeared on the Starting XI for the first match of the season. It stayed there throughout the year. You had also broken into a constant starter for your national team.

Again. Again. Again. Be better. Do better. Worthless. Poor. Again. Again

You couldn’t see a problem with it. You were fast, strong, technical, good, and great. You were going on two years at Barca, thriving, and playing your best football. You were barely 18, yet you had already been nominated for the Ballon d’Or. Everything was brilliant football-wise. You had to keep going. You couldn’t stop.

Do better. Awful. Again. Be better. Shocking. Rubbish. Useless. Horrible. Again

It was your day off after an intense few weeks when the truth came crashing to the ground. The Champions League had started up again, and a series of away games took place in a short space of time. It was hard with long days away from the comfort of your own home, and your daily routine was not helping the situation. Everyone could tell you weren’t ok – but they assumed it was from the travel. Lucy had picked up a cold or something, Keira was tired, Aitana and Pina were a little achy, and Alexia and Frido were more vigilant over the needs of their bodies. Everyone was exhausted. But you had to keep going. You couldn’t stop.

In your constant pressure to improve, you failed to notice Alexia’s troubled stares, Marta’s questioning looks, Patri’s concerned glances, and Irene’s worried gazes. They knew how hard you pushed yourself … almost. They knew you stayed every day after training, and they were a little concerned. But they didn’t know the extent of it. Not in the slightest.

It was El Clasico. Real Madrid vs Barcelona. A historic rivalry. You wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep until May, but that wasn’t an option. Everything was fine. You were on the score sheet, winning and playing great football. And then Athenea slid in for a tackle, catching you on your ankle in precisely the wrong spot. You tried (successfully) not to cry, but you couldn’t help the pained gasp that escaped your mouth. Alexia had been by your side instantly, ushering the medics over and holding you in place with her Captain’s stare.

“It’s your ankle, sí?” Alexia knew it was a matter of time before an injury came for you. If only she had stepped in sooner and helped you from overworking yourself. She helped you to your feet and walked you to the dugout.

“What? No! Ale, I’m fine. See,” You stood on your sore foot to prove your point. It hurt like nothing else you’d experienced, but it was fine; you just needed to walk it off.

“No, you sit the rest of this game out, get re-assessed back home and then we see if you can play.” She said with a note of finality as you huffed, turning around and walking off before you could comment.

Terrible. Awful. Be better. Dreadful. Terrible. Hopeless. Incompetent.

You knew it was silly. Your ankle was not ok, but you needed to train. It had been 2 days since El Clasico, and you were forced not to train yesterday, but it had been a travel day, so there wasn’t much you could do. It would be fine; you had trained on injuries before. You had waited until you knew the team would be out on the pitch as you snuck into the gym. Your ankle was heavily taped, but that was fine. You could put some pressure on it – that was all you needed.

You were determined to get at least a little run in. Just a gentle jog, really, barely above walking. Just a quick 5km. Nothing too crazy. You couldn’t afford to stop training, not after everything you have worked for. With your face in a determined expression and the idiocy of a terrified teenager, you got to work. You started on the bike. The movement was a little painful, but it raised your heart rate and got blood flowing. As you moved across the equipment, the door to the gym flew open.

“Qué crees que estás haciendo?” Alexia roared, making you jump out of your skin. Your first thought was that you hadn’t spent enough time on the bike, that she was angry at you for not working hard enough. For stopping. For taking a breather. “You are injured! Why the fuck are you not resting?” Alexia stormed over to you – she seemed angry. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her eyes were dark and stormy, and her mouth was a hard line. She was angry at you. Why was she telling you to rest? Rest? You couldn’t rest. You had to be better. Keep working harder. Push yourself to be the best.

“I …” You couldn’t answer her, you couldn’t make her angrier. You couldn’t disappoint her. “I’m sorry. I just needed some water. I’m starting again in a minute.” You rushed to get your explanation to her. She needed to know you weren’t stopping. You were just moving to a different exercise. You weren’t slacking.

“Again? What have you done already?” She wasn’t calming down. If anything, you were making her angry. With the lack of sleep, the mental exhaustion, the injury, it was becoming too much for you. Tears clouded your vision, Alexia becoming foggy as you tried to stop the emotions from bubbling up.

“I was just moving from the bike. I’ll start running now. I’m sorry. I’m not stopping, I promise.” You were a mess as you moved to start the treadmill.

Alexia stopped to look at you. Really, look at you. Your tired eyes, your dark circles and your sickly skin. The fatigue was evident in the way you stood; your body seemed too heavy for you to hold up. You also looked terrified. She couldn’t work out why, though. Yes, she was angry. A trainer had come into the medical room wondering who had cleared you for exercise. Alexia knew no one had done so; they had told her after the match that it would be 2 weeks or so before you could rejoin training at any level (after the string of injuries, the medical staff were also over-cautious in their assessments of minor injuries). So, she knew you were doing this against their advice. And that made her mad; it was one thing to push yourself in training despite coaches telling you not to overdo it but another to actively go against medical advice. But looking at you, she knew you hadn't asked for medical clearance. You were just a scared little girl.

“No, Chiquita. No, running.” Alexia was a lot calmer now, seeing your lip wobble and your eyes blink rapidly—clearly holding back tears.

“I have to. I can’t stop. I need to be better.” You whispered, ashamed of your perceived weaknesses.

“Cariño,” she cooed, reaching out to you. You flinched, not used to kind touches. Any touches you had received from coaches or captains were ones that would push you into running more, doing more drills, and practicing more set pieces. “Pequeña. You’re injured. You need to rest, mi amor.”

“I can’t rest. I need to train. I need to be better, do better.”

“No, Chiquita. You don’t. You need rest; you need to get well again.” Alexia stepped forward. She could see the war raging in your head – the desire to stop but the need to keep going. “Cariño?” Her kindness made you break. You launched yourself at her, arms wrapping around her neck as you cried into her. “Oh, amor. You’re ok. Está bien. Todo está bien. Prometo. Usted puede parar.” You sobbed into her shoulder, tears dampening her shirt as you howled. Everything was too much. You hurt, you needed to sleep, you wanted to stop, and yet you couldn’t. The voice in your head told you to keep going. Your parents and old coaches told you you weren’t allowed to stop. It was far, far, far too much for you.

“Neña, deep breaths. In … and out … vamos … in … and out.” Alexia instructed as you were becoming hysterical. She made her breaths exaggerated, slow and obvious, helping you to match hers. “Bien hecho, pequeña,” she pressed gentle kisses to your head as she eventually slowed down. “Y/N, I am not angry at you; no one is. But I need to know why you are in here and not at home resting.” Alexia implored, her hazel eyes looking directly at yours.

“I can’t stop,” you said meekly, slightly ashamed of your outburst.

“No entiendo. You can’t stop what?” She spoke slowly, like you would to a child or a scared animal.

“I can’t stop training. I need to be better. I need to do more,” you said, getting agitated—at her lack of understanding or at yourself. You weren’t quite sure.

“Amor, why do you need to be better?” Alexia was truly at a loss. You were so talented; you didn’t need to be better.

“Because everyone says so. They say so.” You looked so fragile and nervous, eyes darting around the room, your fingers twisting around each other.

“Who is ‘they’?”

“My parents … my old coaches.”

“Chiquita, listen to me. You do not need to be better. You are more than enough. You are so, so talented. You work so hard. But pushing yourself will not be good for you, the team, or anyone else. You need to rest, slow down, and allow your body to heal.”

With Alexia’s kind questioning, she soon got to the bottom of everything. You had told her about the harshness you had experienced from a young age, the disappointment and anger your parents had expressed during your first season at Barcelona, and the voice in your head telling you to keep pushing. She knew you had a way to go, but with gentle reminders and constant check-ins, you learnt how to quieten the voices. Training became easier, your home was no longer a place to get more workouts in, and you finally stopped listening to the devils in your life and started paying attention to the angels.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And that was all they could hope for.

I hope you enjoyed it. It was kinda short and I don't know if I really like the ending but yeh.

#barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #fc barcelona #woso blurbs #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #woso fluff #woso oneshot #woso #womens football #woso angst

592 notes · View notes

sinnah8 · 11 months

Text

If universes aligned

pairing: Miguel o hara x Spidergirl!reader

Prompt: Miguel falling for Spidergirl!reader and being a complete simp for her whenever she is around him

a/n: I got this request from alathan13 ty! I added a bit of a twist. send me some requests!!!

Masterlist | ask

Miguel was stuck in a different dimension because of Lyla. The prototype for the watch worked but she couldn't get him back. So he decided to find a Spiderman and that's when he met Y/n Spider girl.

He couldn't stop thinking about Y/n once he came back after being with her for a month and getting to know her. Miguel knew he had to find a way to confess his feelings to her, even though the odds seemed against him.

One day, as fate would have it, Miguel managed to track down a dimensional rift that led him to y/n universe. Determined to seize the opportunity, he mustered up all his courage and entered the portal.

Emerging in a world unfamiliar to him, Miguel found himself in the heart of the city where y/n patrolled. He awaited her arrival As soon as she appeared Miguel's heart skipped a beat.

"Y/n!" he called out, his voice filled with a mix of anticipation and hope.

Y/n paused mid-air, looking around to locate the source of the voice. Her gaze fell upon Miguel, and recognition flickered in her eyes. Descending gracefully, she landed in front of him.

"Miguel? What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

Taking a deep breath, Miguel gathered his thoughts. "Y/n, I traveled across dimensions to be with you. The first time I saw you, I knew there was something special about you. Your strength, your bravery, and your unwavering commitment to justice... they've touched me in a way I can't describe."

Y/n studied him intently, her masked eyes revealing a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Miguel, this is unexpected. We come from different worlds, different realities. How can this be?"

Miguel's eyes met hers "I don't have all the answers, Y/n. But what I do know is the connection I feel towards you. I've fallen for you, and I can't ignore these emotions any longer. You inspire me to be a better person, to fight for what's right. I want to be by your side, no matter the challenges we may face."

y/n remained silent for a moment. "Miguel, this is a lot to take in. Our lives are intertwined with dangers. But I can't deny how I feel about you, even across dimensions. there's a reason our paths have crossed."

Hope surged through Miguel as he heard her words made him feel seen and understood. Y/n raised her hand to his cheek and kissed him on the lips knowing what she was doing was wrong but she didn't care.

#spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o hara #2099 #2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #marvel #marvel fan fiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderverse #spiderman 2099 fanfiction #2099 fanfic #into the spider verse

2K notes · View notes

prythianpages · 2 months

Text

Wanna Be Yours | Part Two

Rhysand x Reader | Rhysand is absolutely smitten with you and you appear to be blind from it.

This is a part two to this. You can find the masterlist to keep track of future parts here.

warnings: none

a/n: I use a prompt from the lovely @thepromptswhisperer . you can find the post here. I bolded & italicized the dialogue I used from it.

The secrets that Rhysand holds in his heart are harder to hide than he thought. He can’t help it. His heartbeat is at its peak whenever you speak or simply look his way. The weight of his confession persists, akin to an inconsolable ache nestled in his chest, right above the delicate golden thread that intimately connects his soul to yours.

Three months have passed since that night—the night when he found himself grappling with delirium, induced by the venom coursing through his veins. It was the result of a miscalculated move when patrolling the Night Court’s borders. His injuries, though not fatal, seemed insurmountable due to the poison's cruel deception that night. In a panic, he insisted on seeing you and only you. If he were to face oblivion, he wanted you to be the last person he saw.

The poison, however, proved powerless against your skill. You healed him and brought him back from the brink. "I think I might be in love with you," were the words he had uttered to you and though he was lucid, he meant them. Wholeheartedly.

And now, there's no uncertainty. He is in love with you. The Cauldron may have destined you two together but Rhysand is beyond doubt that he would love you, bond or no bond. You’re beautiful, sweet and kind. Everything he could ever dream of, and dream of you he has done. A lot.

Rhysand wonders if you dream of him too. If you think about him as much as he thinks about you. He wished he had been there to see your reaction when opening his gift but you had been busy all day. It sparked a worry in him that you were being overworked. Then, his own duties got in the way, leaving him with no choice but to leave it at your door. You had greeted him the following morning when you went to check up on him. The smile you graced him with in appreciation for the gift was as golden and glorious as the sun itself. One he wants more of.

You have him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know…

“Whiskey for your thoughts?”

Dragging himself away from the labyrinth of his thoughts, Rhysand brings himself back to the sitting room of his house. He accepts the glass of golden brown liquid from Cassian with gratitude, leaning back into the soft cushion of his chair.

“I miss her.”

Azriel’s shadows seem to flicker with a knowing gleam. He doesn’t have to ask to know who Rhysand is referring to. “It’s only been a couple of days.”

“A couple days too long,” Rhysand replies with a sigh, prompting a chuckle from Cassian. As he swirls the liquid in his glass, mirroring the stirring emotions within him, his usually composed facade begins to waver. “She’s my mate.”

“We know,” Cassian grins, though it’s the first time Rhysand has said it. A quick exchange of glances with Azriel makes Cassian shrink back sheepishly, putting on a surprised expression. “Sorry, I mean. What??”

Rhysand glances between Azriel and Cassian. “You know?”

Cassian and Azriel exchange another guilty glance before Azriel turns to Rhysand. “We suspected,” he replies.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know. We also heard your confession–ow!” Cassian's words were cut short as he shot Azriel a glare, rubbing his arm.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his eyes. He takes a sip of his drink, the corners of his lips lifting into a wry smile. "How is it that you two heard, but she didn’t?" he asks, his tone taking on a solemn note.

“I invited her to dinner and you know what she did?” Rhysand doesn’t wait for his brothers to reply to continue. “She brought Madja and another healer with her. Thought it was a group dinner. I bought her flowers and she handed them out to her patients. Thought I had given them to the infirmary, not her. I asked her to join me for a coffee but she said she was busy and I do believe her–there’s been a nasty flu going around. By the Cauldron, is she even taking care of herself? Maybe, I should pretend to be sick just to get her to see me…”

Rhysand downs the remainder of his drink, the burn in his throat paling in comparison to the burning he feels for you. Turning to Azriel, his eyes sparkle with determination.

“Hit me.”

Azriel chokes on his drink and Cassian grimaces as droplets land on his arm. “What?”

“C’mon. I’m sure you’ve been longing for it, especially after I sent you to parole the Illyrian camps last week,” Rhysand says with a smirk. He then angles his head, giving Azriel perfect access. He taps his jaw. “Hit me. Hard. So that I don’t heal as quickly.”

“Why aren’t you asking me?” Cassian asks, tone on the brink of offense. “I can give you a nasty black eye!”

Rhysand is about to reply when a shiver runs through the air. The room then falls into silence. Rhysand feels something teasing at the edges of his senses. His eyes, aglow with the ethereal light of night, narrow. There’s an unsettling disturbance within the rhythmic pulse of his court. An intruder.

Azriel’s shadows pick up on the stirrings of Rhysand’s instincts. He’s rising from his seat, ready to take on the uninvited presence. However, Rhysand, swifter than a fleeting shadow, vanishes into the embrace of the dark night before Azriel can.

There’s a knock on your door and you pull your gaze away from the gold trinket box Rhysand gifted you. Carefully placing it back onto your nightstand, you make your way toward the door. Madja, your mentor, is on the other side. She holds a faelight in the palm of her hand that highlights the gentle contours of her face. The small smile on her lips speaks volumes and you don’t have to ask why she’s coming for you in the late hour. Still, you can’t help but voice your curiosity as she guides you to the foyer of the infirmary.

“What is it this time?”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.”

You smile in greeting to the Shadowsinger who is waiting for you. He nods his head at you and without a word, offers his arm. Madja calls out words of encouragement to you.

Azriel’s shadows wrap around you both and winnow you to Rhysand’s private residence. A beautiful and vast estate nestled in the heart of Velaris. He guides you to Rhysand’s room, though you know your way around well. As your hand reaches for his bedroom’s door, Azriel’s voice stops you.

“I must warn you…he’s in a mood.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, echoing Madja’s words from earlier. It’s more to reassure yourself than him. Azriel only smiles at you in response.

Rhysand’s room is spacious–a sanctuary of regal splendor. Its walls are bathed in a deep shade reminiscent of midnight and adorned with tapestries of celestial landscapes. Everything about the room reflects the refined taste and mystical elegance of its inhabitant and what a mystery he is to you. The High Lord of the Night Court is the most powerful in Prythian history. To many, he is careless and as cold as the winds from the Illyrian mountains.

Only those dear to him know the truth of his nature. You still can’t wrap your head around as to why he chose to let you see the man behind the mask. Perhaps, it’s all attributed to your power but with Madja living here, you don’t quite understand the need for two healers in Velaris.

“Daybreak.”

Rhysand looks like a dream.

He stands under the gracefully arched openings of his balcony. Wispy curtains sway with the gentle night breeze, carrying with them the intoxicating fragrance of citrus and sea that caresses your senses. As moonlight spills into the room, it bathes him in a stellar glow, causing his membranous wings to dance in magnificent midnight hues. You can’t help but wonder which is more beautiful–the breathtaking view of the Court of Dreams from his balcony or him.

A stifled sound from Rhysand pulls you out of your trance, blinking away a gentle intrusion you felt in your mind.

“I have a name, you know,” you remind him.

“I know.” Though his back is to you, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

He turns to face you and you pick up on the telltale signs of subtle surrender in the slump of his shoulders. His wings vanish and your eyes trace down to his chest, where he cradles a feebly wrapped arm. A subdued darkness stains the light bandage. As your eyes lift back up to his face, his lips press together into a fine line.

“Come,” you say as you motion for him to sit. With a casual flick of your wrist, your first aid kit materializes from the pocket realm, settling gracefully onto his desk. “May I?”

Rhysand promptly slips his shirt off before extending his injured arm to you with a nod. You arch a brow. “You didn’t have to take off your shirt.”

“It’s warm here,” he protests, though a mischievous glint dances in those violet eyes of his. He leans back into his desk chair, manspreading those glorious sweat clad thighs of his. “Feel free to admire me, darling,” he smirks at you and you force yourself to look away only to catch his biceps tensing with purpose.

“You’re blushing.” He muses, his eyes tracing every nuance of your reaction.

“Yeah, so? Never seen anyone fall for your charm before?” You retort, feigning nonchalance. Internally, you’re cursing the way your blush deepens and the way your stomach flutters at the sound of his laughter. It’s deep and alluring, wrapping around you like a sweet melody. You’d think after months of knowing him, you’d be immune to his shameless flirting.

Focus, you remind yourself as you do your best to ignore the playful smirk that continues to grace his luscious lips. So much for Azriel’s claim of Rhysand being in a mood. Whatever had soured his temper must’ve gone away, you think. Despite his injury, he looks perfectly fine to you.

You gently grasp his forearm and begin to unwrap the bandage carefully. The scent of antiseptic mingles with the warm, earthy undertones of his skin. Up close, the flush of his cheeks become more pronounced and the thin sheet of sweat glistens on his tattooed chest. Your keen eyes immediately pick up on the black ink trickling from the small wounds on his arm. Recognition dawns in your eyes.

“These are puncture wounds from a Puca.”

“Very astute of you, darling.”

A furrow appears on your brow as curiosity mingles with bewilderment. You can't fathom how a Puca, a dangerous creature that roams throughout Prythian, managed to get this close to someone as powerful and even more dangerous as Rhysand.

“What did it appear to you as?”

Rhysand's demeanor undergoes a shift. A-ha, there is that sour mood you had been expecting. Something akin to embarrassment flickers in the depths of his violet eyes. He instinctively pulls his arm back, but you tighten your hold, silently demanding an explanation.

"They say that a Puca uses your own desires to lure you and then eat you," you remark, your tone a mix of caution and concern.

Rhysand, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, hums thoughtfully. "Is that so?"

You drop your gaze as your hands fall into the familiar rhythm of tending to his injuries. “Azriel said you were in a mood so whatever it appeared to you as, must’ve been something for it to get you this go—“

“You.”

Confusion clouds your expression, and your glowing hands still. "What?"

You can feel the warmth of his gaze, a sharp intensity that lingers on you. "It appeared as you."

A moment of silence stretches between you two. The corner of Rhysand’s lips quirk up, the silver fleck of his violet irises sparkling with a mix of amusement and something more elusive. His gaze holds yours and there’s the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath his charismatic exterior. One you don’t catch.

"You flatter me," you finally say with a soft laugh, not believing him for one bit.

And all Rhysand can do is look at you in bewildered wonder as your hands continue to move with deliberate care. He needs to try harder.

Days later…

Come back home.

Those three words stare back at you. Haunting and persistent. "Home," you quietly muse to yourself. Dawn is your home. Or so you once believed.

A home is meant to be a sanctuary. A place of safety. A place of comfort. Over time, it transformed from your sweet haven into a source of distress. But if Dawn is no longer your home, then what is?

Is it the Night Court? You don't feel suffocated with high expectations here. The nights may be dark, but the stars shine their brightest here. They watch over you, listening to your silent whispers. There is a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows, almost like a sense of belonging.

You crumple the letter, the tangible weight of memories folding with it. Time is healing, you remind yourself. With a heavy sigh, you turn back to the stack of books and paperwork on your desk. Yesterday had been a slow day in the clinic so Madja asked for you to accompany her while she bought supplies. She treated you to a nice dinner afterwards. It was a much needed break but now, you found yourself behind in your studies and patient’s charts.

With a glance toward your desk candle, you use your powers to light it up. Leaning forward slightly, you fix your gaze on your first report with a strong determination to finish the stack by the end of your shift. No distra–

A knock echoes through the slightly ajar door.

Your office door is deliberately left open, a practice maintained for moments just like this - in case a patient requires urgent attention. While there’s a room in the clinic set up with rows of cots and medical equipment, your office provides an additional space for those seeking a more private examination.

"Hello, daybreak.”

Rhysand strides in, his easy confidence filling the small space of your office. You glance up only momentarily before returning your attention to the task at hand, responding with a dry humor that matches his tone.

"Hello, High Lord. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Rhysand tilts his head, his gaze lingering on you. Moving with quiet elegance, he walks past the examination table and approaches your desk instead. His attention is immediately drawn to a book resting on top of one of the many stacks. A poetry book, he recognizes, adorned with a delicate cobalt blue ribbon.

“What’s this?”

“A gift from Azriel,” you reply casually and miss the way his face twists at the nonchalance of your tone.

Rhysand blinks at you. “A what?”

“A book. That Azriel got. For me.” You repeat, deliberately slower this time.

Rhysand heard you perfectly well the first time. His eyebrows knit together as he gazes at the book, a storm brewing in his expressive eyes. If looks could scorch, the innocent book would be reduced to a pile of ashes. Your birthday is months away and Solstice was weeks ago.

“I’m hurt.”

You look up, keen eyes glancing over his form again. “You don’t look hurt.”

Undeterred, he saunters closer, swiping a deliberate finger across the papers on your desk. "Come on, surely you can spare a moment for a poor High Lord in deep pain."

You inspect his outstretched hand, where a barely visible mark is displayed on his pointer finger. "It's a papercut," you deadpan.

“It hurts.”

"It's already healed."

Rhysand dramatically lets out a deep sigh and you suppress the urge to smile. The sound of a bell ringing–a sign that someone is in need of help–has you rising from your seat. You walk toward Rhysand, who continues to brood. Holding his gaze, you bring his hand to your mouth and press a light kiss right over where the papercut had been.

“There.” You say, giving his hand a squeeze. “Feel better now?”

Every nerve in his body tingles with excitement, and there's a giddy flutter in his stomach. “Much better,” Rhysand breathes with a grin, savoring your touch.

He doesn’t allow your hand to drop, brushing it over his cheek instead and holding it there with his own. If you can’t see the flush to his cheeks, then surely you must be able to feel its warmth.

“How can I ever repay you?”

“You’re already paying me,” you remind him with a soft exhale, a laugh almost. The sound is music to Rhysand's ears and all his heart wants to do is dance to its rhythm. He realizes he can’t let this moment slip. Not when he finally has your full attention and a golden opportunity to seek more of it.

“You can come with me to the Midnight Eclipse ball.”

“Midnight Eclipse ball,” you repeat, your voice laced with intrigue, and Rhysand can't help but admire the way your eyes gleam with curiosity. “What is that?”

“Come with me and find out,” Rhysand replies, his eyes sparkling at you. He leans in closer, captivated by the softness of your gaze, and with a smile, he boldly adds, “As my date.”

“Your date?” you ask, your breath catching slightly.

Rhysand only hums in reply, taking pleasure in the way his cheek presses further against your hand as he does so. The look he gives you is almost pleading as he gazes down at you.

“Okay,” you finally say after a moment of silence with a small smile of your own. “I’ll join you. When is it?”

Rhysand beams down at you, his eyes filled with warmth and anticipation. Shifting his face in your hold, he presses a gentle kiss against the palm of your hand and now it is you who is overcome with a giddy flutter in your stomach. Rhysand, normally attuned to your every shift in expression, is too caught up in surprise to take note of it.

“Next Saturday,” he replies, holding your gaze.

The bell rings again, the sound prompting Rhysand to reluctantly let go of your hand. You give him an apologetic smile as you turn toward your desk, grabbing a couple of supplies. “I’ll see you next Saturday.”

You excuse yourself, walking around him to exit your office. Rhysand follows but chooses to lean against your doorframe, watching as you rush toward the infirmary.

“Don’t forget, it’s a date!” Rhysand calls after you, putting emphasis on the word ‘date.’

“Yes, I got it!” You reply, giving him a thumbs up before disappearing around the corner.

Rhysand smiles to himself. Though Saturday is almost five days away, he doesn’t mind the wait. Not when you just agreed to be his date. He looks down at the hand you kissed, closing it into a fist, overwhelmed with the giddy excitement building up inside him. You’re so utterly endearing. He brings his fist close to his mouth, suppressing the urge to bite it as he swoons over the thought of having you as his date for the Midnight Eclipse ball.

Reality begins to set in and his smile widens into a grin. Now, he has to plan the ball he literally just made up…

a/n: tbh, I don't know how I feel about this part. I feel like I set up expectations too high for myself because I really loved how the first part turned out and this part is kinda meh to me. anyway, I hope you still enjoyed this. I'm looking forward to writing the other part(s) as those include scenes I've had in my head for weeeeeeks lol. (You'll finally learn the little secret or two reader is hiding in the next part...any guesses? )I estimate only like 1-2 parts left, depending on how long the next part is.

tagging: @minnieoo , @phoenixgurl030, @nebarious, @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #rhys wby au

552 notes · View notes

sundimus · 2 years

Note

Hollow is a bottom

You are absolutely correct anon and thank you for the random ask

#literally im expecting a specific ask bc of summer santa event stuff #and so the mix of emotions i got upon opening my ask box expecting that and reading this instead #they were all positive. and also befuddling #what prompted this may i ask

0 notes

thebearer · 10 months

Text

where there's smoke |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: carmen's been busy at work, and you miss him. high stress mixed with heightened emotions leads to a fight.

contains: angst, a fight (they make up at the end dw). language, mean-ish carmen, mean-ish reader, alludes to smut very briefly at the end. minors dni 18+

“What time will you be home tonight?” You asked, knees pulled to your chest in the bed, watching Carmen slip on his shirt, bustling around your shared bedroom.

“Uh, probably not until late tonight. Sorry, baby.” Carmen muttered, but he didn’t sound sorry. He sounded… distracted. He had been for a while, early mornings and long nights at the restaurant, busy building and perfecting the menu. You understood it, knew he had to do it, but, fuck, if you didn’t miss Carmen. It was lonely without him.

“Oh,” You didn’t mean to sound so small, so disappointed.

Carmen turned, eyes flashing to you at the first sign of upset. “Why? Did we have plans?” He cringed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, ‘m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to say it like that. That was douchey. I just… My mind has been all over the place, baby, I just-”

“-We didn’t have plans.” You said, looking down at the comforter. You’d brought it from your old apartment when you moved in, since Carmen’s was a thin quilt that barely covered him let alone the both of you.

Carmen’s shoulders relaxed. “I just… I dunno. I was hoping I’d get to see you tonight.” You muttered. You knew you sounded clingy and desperate, and fuck you’d swore you’d never be that girl. Yet here you were. “I just miss you, Carmy.”

“I know.” Carmen nodded slowly. “I know, and I’m sorry, baby. I just really have to finish perfecting this menu.”

“I know, Carmen, but you can’t take one night?” You asked, head tilting towards him. “I never see you anymore.”

“You could come down for family.” Carmen countered, his voice had the faint twinge of an edge, cutting and a little exasperated.

“Carmen,” You looked at him, unimpressed. “I meant while you’re not working. I just want to spend some time with you.”

“Then come down to family and spend it with me.” Carmen huffed lightly. “I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

“Are you- You’re not being serious.” You scoffed. “Don’t know what else to do-” Your voice raised, trilling to a dangerous octave that had Carmen’s eyes shutting.

“Please.” Carmen held up a hand. “I-I don’t wanna do this with you right now, ok? I have a lot of shit going on-”

“Oh, you always have a lot of shit going on.” You spat, rolling your eyes at him. “It’s always something, Carmen, I swear to God. If it isn’t the menu, then it’s installing something new, or-or it’s events, or something! God, it’s always something!”

“Yeah, yeah, it is.” Carmen snapped, jaw flexing through the mirror to look at you. “That’s kinda the territory of owning a business, baby.”

“That’s bullshit.” You snapped. “That’s bullshit and you know it is. A lot of people own businesses and they still make time for what matters.” The room was still after you said it, an eerie stillness that had Carmen uneasy, stomach twisting with nerves.

When he didn’t reply, your heart stopped, plummeting into the pit of your stomach. “Am-Am I not important to you?” You croaked through a tight throat.

“What? Fuck, no, no, you are. Don’t-Don’t even start that shit with me, ok? You fucking know you are.” You know I love you. It was unspoken, but you heard it, the sentiment easing your worries for a moment.

“Then why don’t you act like it?” You snapped, lips pressed together. “Why don’t you want to spend time with me?”

“I do.” Carmen grit, throwing his head back gently. “Look, can we talk tonight? I really have to go.”

“Of course you do.” You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the hurt in your tone. Tossing the comforter off you, the soft blanket fell in front of Carmen, his eyes tracking your storm off to the bathroom.

“Baby, c’mon, I didn’t mean it like-”

“Just fucking go, Carmen!” You sneered. “I’ve already wasted enough of your time, clearly.” He didn’t miss the flash of hurt across your face, brief, before you slammed the door shut, shaking the house.

Carmen didn’t want to leave you, he hated when you fought, always leaving him feeling guilty and sick and anxious. He was already reaching for his spirits with shaky hands, feeling his phone buzz- Sydney or Richie or Tina or someone calling asking him where he was.

Running a shaking hand through his hair, Carmen grabbed his keys, stopping hesitantly outside the door. He could hear the steady stream of the faucet hitting the porcelain of the sink from the other side. “I love you.” He muttered, and while he didn’t expect you to reply, it still hurt to not hear it back.

“Oh, this is your new place, Chef?” Marcus grinned, following Carmen into the apartment, the smell of whatever candle you had burning enveloping his senses.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s, uh, it’s our place.” Carmen nodded, placing his keys in the small, green trinket bowl. Carmen laughed lightly, nodding towards it. “She did most of the decorating, as you can tell.”

“It looks nice though.” Sydney chimed, clutching the bottle of wine behind Marcus. “Very cozy and homey and… aesthetic.”

“Aesthetic?” Richie snorted, brow raised. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means I had a plan going into decorating.” You appeared from the hallway, a basket of laundry on your hip. “I didn’t just tack up the Hooters’ girl calendar on the wall and call it decor.”

Richie rolled his eyes at you, shutting the door behind him. “Whatever. I had a picture too.”

You scoffed, setting the basket down in the hallway. Carmen grimaced slightly. “Hi, baby.” He greeted, lips brushing over your cheek. “I, uh, we’re gonna try a new dish.”

“Oh?” You quipped, brow raised challengingly. “In my kitchen I just cleaned.” Carmen flinched, eyes cutting in a warning at you. “Why didn’t you do it at the restaurant?”

“We didn’t have everything we needed.” Carmen replied, a flick in his tone that he hoped you caught on to. One that warned you to settle down. He wasn’t looking for a fight or any ounce of the attitude you’d had lately.

“Hm,” You hummed, lips pursed. “Wish you would’ve told me before people came over.” You sneered behind a toothy smile that looked more like a threat than a convincing welcome. “I would have put on some actual clothes.”

“Oh, c’mon, sweetheart. It’s just us.” Richie grinned. Even his goofy demeanor didn’t relax you, eyes cutting towards him in a chilling glare.

“It was a last minute thing, baby, c’mon.” Carmen begged, eyes pleading with you softly. “Don’t do this right now.” He muttered, a soft huff of a request that had your blood boiling, itching with a blinding rage that could only be directed at him.

“Don’t let me bother you.” You snapped, leaning down to snatch the basket back on your hip, eyes boring fiercely into Carmen’s blue ones. You stomped towards the bedroom, shutting the door so hard the walls shook.

Carmen burned with embarrassment, sure his neck and cheeks were rising with flush. Richie whistled lowly. “Cousin, what did you do, huh?” He snickered. “She is pissed.”

“She’s not pissed.” Carmen snapped, running a hand through his curls. “She’s just… fuck, I don’t know, alright? She’s on me about spendin’ time with her and-and… I don’t even fuckin’ know.”

“I mean…” Sydney swayed awkwardly, sliding the bottle of wine on the counter. “That’s a valid thing to be mad about. Not spending time with her. That’s not, like, a crazy thing to be mad about.”

“We live together.” Carmen sighed, exasperatedly. The same fight unfolding in front of him, just with a different person he was arguing his case to this time. “You know what- don’t answer that, alright? Just-Just… let’s make this dish, ok?”

You could hear the low mummering outside your door, down the hall. You fisted the shirt- Carmen’s shirt- angrily, frowning at it like if you glared hard enough, it might just burst into flames. It didn’t, so you opted to throw it towards the side of his bed. You were a mad woman, possessed and furious, that anger only bristling more and more every time you could hear his voice, commanding and joking with his friends outside the door. Oh, it infuriated you. Now he was bringing work home, quite literally to your house.

You couldn’t let your mind race like this, you wouldn’t. You knew if you let it stew, you’d be storming in there, screaming at Carmen and causing a scene in front of his friends. A version of you from the past would have, the same insecure and needy girl you were before you knew Carmen, when you were still chasing affection from a boy who rejected you for sport- who did it to hurt you purposefully.

Instead, you took a breath, turning on the TV to some reality show that would keep you distracted.

“Hey, baby,” Carmen’s soft voice followed the rasp on the door, pushing it open gently. The hallway light spilled in, his head following with soft eyes. “We have dinner ready if you want any. If you wanna be my taste tester.” There was a playful softness in his voice that made your heart lurch. Made you want to sob.

“I’m not hungry.” You answered instead, jaw locking to keep the threat of tears from spilling out of your chest.

Carmen’s face fell. “C’mon, don’t be like that.” He cooed, stepping into the room fully. He could see the way your lip wobbled when you spoke to him like that, sweet and coddling when you were so mad at him. “Come out here with me. Come try this, please? I wanna spend time with you, baby. Like you asked-”

“-I meant alone time, Carmen.” You hissed, your voice a tad louder than it should have been.

Carmen flinched, looking over his shoulder at the open door. He hoped your remark didn’t carry down the hall to the others. “I’ll send them home in a little bit. After we taste this, alright? Please?”

You nearly caved. You wanted to. Wanted to let him sway you, put his hand on your hip and pull you into his side. Wanted him to cup his hand under your chin, fingertips barely brushing your jaw while he gave you that first test, blue eyes dazzling with excitement while he waited for your praise- you always gave him praise.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to give in. Pride and your heart hurt, sensitive from feeling discarded, from the fights, from the frustration. You pressed your lips together, turning back to the TV. “I’m not hungry.” You snapped, cold.

Carmen’s own face fell, heart sinking in his chest. “Ok.” He nodded. He watched you for a moment, the way you refused to look at him, sullen and pouty- so mean. Something flipped, a switch inside him that had his own jaw clenching. “Heard.” He bit, closing the door rather firmly, heavy steps down the hallway to the kitchen.

“I came home to spend time with you-”

“-No, you didn’t! You came home to fucking work!” You roared back. You and Carmen’s voices had been a building crescendo from the moment he came into the bedroom. His staff was gone, leaving just the two of you in the tension-filled apartment.

“How is that not spending time with you?” Carmen’s voice boomed, reaching that final point in his tone- the point of no return. No chance of composure, no he was furious. Vein protruding, eyes bulging, kind of furious. “How?”

“How?” You gawked back, a tight knuckled grip on the throw pillow.

“Yeah, how? Tell me fuckin’ how that makes any sorta fuckin’ sense!” Carmen threw his arms out. “I would’ve stayed at the goddam restaurant-”

“Maybe you should have.” You sneered, eyes narrowing at him. “You bring all those people here-”

“-Those people-”

“-Yeah, Carmy, those people, and you say we’re spending time together.” You grit, teeth barred and angry. “I wanted to spend time with you. Just you.”

Carmen’s jaw locked, running a hand down his face. “So you had to be so mean? So fuckin’ rude? That’s my family, my friends-”

“And what am I?” You smacked the bed with an open palm, the echo a cutting silence between you two. Carmen froze, angry but still, watching you. Your jaw clenched, lips pressing together to keep your emotion in, furious and hurt.

“I just wanted to spend time with you. You’ve been at the fucking restaurant all the time, and-and…” I miss you. What you didn’t say.

Carmen’s arms crossed over his chest, jaw flexing. “Yeah, well, maybe I shoulda stayed there tonight.”

The gasp that left you was soft, deflated with hurt. Your throat burned with the threat of tears, lip wobbling, nails digging into the cushion of the pillow still in your hands. “Get out!” You roared, pointing to the door. “Get the fuck out, Carmen! Fuck you!”

“And go where, huh? This is my apartment too!”

“Go back to your fucking restaurant! I don’t fucking care! Just go! I don’t want you anywhere fucking near me, you piece of shit!” Your chest heaved, nose running with the threat of tears that you tried to hold back.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere this is my fuckin’ apartment, too!” Carmen roared, voice so loud it rattled the pictures on the bedside- framed photos of the two of you.

“Fine.” You snapped, lips pressing together furiously. You snatched your pillow from your side, yanking your charger out of the wall, before turning and flinging the throw pillow at Carmen furiously.

“The fuck are you-”

“- I don’t want to be anywhere near you.” You snapped, tears leaking from the corner of your eyes that you tried to hide. “You want to be away from me? Fine. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight because I don’t want to even look at your fucking face right now.”

Carmen watched in slow motion, the slamming of the bedroom door, which did shake the entire frame- your neighbors were going to be furious. The low creak of the couch, the one you’d bought when you moved in. You’d been so happy when you found it, a pretty little sectional from a discount store that you’d been positively giddy about. He and Richie and Marcus carried it up the two flights of stairs for you, and you’d squealed when he got it in the living room, arms thrown around him, peppering kisses into his cheek.

God, Carmen would do anything to feel like that again. Instead of the piece of shit he felt like now, hands shaking with rage or nerves or everything. His stomach turned, lurching, mouth filling with spit that he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. Oh, he felt sick. Repulsed at himself, at what he said, how he said it- to you.

“Fuck!” Carmen’s voice made you jump, echoed and angry from down the hall.

You curled further into yourself, pulling the throw blanket over your mouth to try and muffle your own sobs. Keep the sounds of despair in your chest, away from him. Your own chest aching, burning with emotions and hurt.

You weren’t sure when you’d dozed off, chest still hiccuping with shaky sobs post-cry. Carmen’s footsteps startled you, soft- well, as soft as he could be against the hardwood floors creaking under his weight. Your eyes fluttered open, burning and blurry when you rubbed them, making out his figure above you, blankets and pillows huddled in his hands.

“What?” You snapped, voice groggy with sleep and tears but the malice was still there.

“Can’t sleep.” Carmen grunted. He hadn’t been able to sleep, not in that bed, not without you. Not knowing that you were hurt and angry and alone down the hall. Not knowing it was his fault. He spent the majority of the night leaning over the toilet, sobbing and heaving, wracked with a painful guilt.

“You’re not sleeping in here. I meant it, Carmen, I don’t want to be near you.” You sneered, hoping he couldn’t see your tear stained cheeks in the illuminated light of the moon.

“’m sleepin’ on the floor.” Carmen muttered, walking on the other side of the coffee table away from you. He groaned, spreading the blanket on the ground, plopping his pillow on top of it with a muted thud. “Can’t fuckin’ sleep without you, y’know that.” It was a soft admission, one that had your heart warming lightly, dulling the ache.

You didn’t say anything else, turning towards the cushions and away from him, hearing Carmen settle on the other side of the room. “I just wanna say one thing, and I’ll leave you alone. I know you’re mad at me, don’t blame you.” Carmen’s voice cut through the silence of the apartment. “But I’m sorry. I’m really fuckin’ sorry for-for it all.” His voice hitched, a crack that had your own chest swelling with tears again.

“I shouldn’t have ever yelled like that, or-or said that.” Carmen pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling, his chest from tightening even more. “And it’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, or mean t’not. It’s just… I get so into things sometimes, and-and it’s like if I don’t finish it, I feel like everything is just wrong.”

You didn’t reply. You weren’t sure what to even say. You knew Carmen was tightly wound, a perfectionist convinced that the slightest slip would leave his world crumbling. If he wasn’t ahead, he was wrong- it was how he was wired.

“That’s not fair t’you and I know- I know that.” You could hear the staggered breathing in Carmen’s voice, his chest tightening and hands shaking.

“Carmen,” You pushed up on your arms to look over the couch at him.

“It’s not fair to you, and I’m sorry, and-and I’ll call Syd in the morning and tell her to cover the day-”

“Carmen.” Your voice cut his rambling off, his chest rising and falling sharply, you could see the silhouette of the night. “It’s ok.”

Carmen laughed, humorless and watery, hands covering his face. “It’s not ok, it’s not fucking ok.” His breathing hitched, a strangled sob that had you wincing. “I-I’m a fucking dick.”

“No,” You said easily, calmly. “I mean, yeah, you were earlier, but you’re not as, like, a whole a fucking dick.”

Carmen sighed softly, lighter this time. “I shouldn’t’ve talked to you like that.” He admitted quietly, staring at the ceiling. “Shouldn’t’ve screamed at you either.”

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have either.” You admitted, looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

“You don’t have to-”

“-Yeah, I do, Carmy. I was wrong too. Both of us were.” You said firmly. He didn’t reply, simply swallowing around the growing lump in his throat. “And I’m really fucking sorry about that.”

“It’s ok.” Carmen whispered, his head lolling over to the side to look at you. “I’m sorry for being a dick, and-and not spendin’ enough time with you, and all the other stuff.”

“It’s ok.” You nodded, looking at him carefully, taking in his wet lashes, shaking hands. “Do you want to… Let’s go to bed.”

“I’ll stay in here, and you can go in the-”

“-No, Carmen.” You shook your head. “Come to bed with me, please.” You asked gently, sweetly. A complete turn around from before, screaming yells that left your voice hoarse traded in for soft words.

“Ok.” Carmen whispered, sitting up in the dark quiet of your living room.

You helped him gather the comforter, dragging it down the hall and slinging it over the bed, the two of you sliding under it. Carmen’s hands on your waist, your back, grabbing at your leg pulling you closer and closer until you were flush against his skin, nose pressed into your scalp. Trembling hands, running down your back. Whispered apologies and soothing words under the sheets.

Tomorrow, he’d spend the day with you. He’d take you to State Street, let you drag him through the aisles of a store aimlessly, holding your baskets and coffee while you shopped. He’d take you out somewhere nice, though you’d tell him you’d rather him just cook for you- it was always better. You’d hang the mirror in the living room together, and you’d thank him by riding him on the couch.

But that would be tomorrow. For now, it was the two of you, under the sheets clinging to each other, trying to make it better.

2K notes · View notes