#MAYBE BECAUSE OF YOUR OBSESSING DISORDER. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

httpsleclerc · 6 months

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⭐︎always an angel, never a god⭐︎

platonic!Sebastian Vettel x platonic!redbull!driver reader

in which redbull!driver!reader's idol takes notice of her eating disorder.

cw: eating disorders, loneliness, angst, some overall sadness, a small mention of Pierre being a dick to the reader, the reader feels inadequate and that she doesn't belong

w/c - 1.9k words

based on this request !

Since making your Formula 1 debut at the start of the 2016 season, you had made quite name for yourself. You had signed for Red Bull at the age of 19 and were the first female to do so - however, your career was not all sunshine and rainbows. Being a woman in a male dominated sport was not all that it was cracked up to be - You were told to smile and nod in response to any hateful or spiteful comments you received, both online and in person; You were told how you paled in comparison to your male teammate - despite you consistently outperforming him or performing at the same level, you were directly behind him in the drivers championship table, so you didn't quite understand how you could be worse than him.

You could ignore those comments easily enough, they just didn't like you because you were good enough to be in the position you were in, they were just jealous that they weren't. You couldn't however, ignore the comments made about your body. At first you ignored them the best that you could, but soon you found their words swirling around your head as you sat down to eat dinner, and you would no longer be hungry, but motivated to head to the gym for a late night workout. You had been 19 years old when you first thought that maybe, just maybe, you could be struggling with an eating disorder - the idea quickly left your head as you got older and the comments slowly stopped about your body and what you ate, so maybe you were doing something right finally.

You didn't bother with many of the other drivers other than max, the rest of them were all too worried about what would be said about them in the media if they were caught talking to you - talking to you risked cheating rumours, which some of their tumultuous relationships wouldn't survive. The only other driver to take a bit of an interest in you, was your idol, Sebastian Vettel - Who you had spent many Sundays in your childhood watching in front of the TV, telling yourself that one day you would race with him. You wished you could have warned younger you how hard things would be, but she already knew - the constant teasing from the boys you karted with had been enough to make your mom and dad want to pull you from the sport all together, but they couldn't find it in themselves to take your dream away from you. Sebastian could only imagine how isolated you felt in your dream career, he noticed the way that your podiums were rarely, if ever celebrated, how you never appeared to be invited out afterwards, always heading back to your hotel, alone with your trophy. He also took notice of how if you were invited out for dinner, you would always decline politely, explaining that your trainer would kill you if you went off of your meal plan - But Sebastian knew who your trainer was, they were by no means particularly strict with you and would understand if you wanted to have a treat one night.

Sebastian knew the reality of your situation all too well, in a sport like formula 1 with such an emphasis on physical fitness, he knew of the eating disorder culture within the sport - and it pained him to see his favourite young driver fall victim to the aforementioned culture. It also angered him to know that it was not all the fault of the sport, but of the media too and their constant obsession with you and everything you did. Deciding that he couldn't watch you fall deeper and deeper into the throws of an eating disorder any longer, Sebastian decided that he would gently approach you about it - He thought he had a good enough relationship with you for you to not suspect anything in his intentions; Since you had joined the sport and he had noticed the isolation you were subjected to, Sebastian had taken on almost a father-like role in your life, since you were so far away from your own family.

But, since you were a girl, Sebastian thought it would be best to consult his wife, Hanna first - Just to be cautious, he didn't want to upset you, never.

"Be honest with her Sebastian, and let her know that you're there to listen," Hanna advised him over the phone, none of his daughters had as much life experience as you did, so in terms of this in being a father, he was not at all prepared. "She might not open up to you right away, but let her know that you'll be there for her when or if she is, she'll appreciate it." Sebastian sighed sadly at the thought of you suffering silently, on your own.

"Thank you, Hanna," He said to his wife, appreciative of how to at least let the young girl he had essentially adopted know that he would be there for her should she ever want to open up on her clear problem.

"Let me know how it goes, okay?" Hanna too, was worried about the young girl that her husband had spoken so highly of. Her heart broke for the young girl, seeing how ruthlessly the press and media tore the woman down, and how she could clearly never defend herself without being portrayed as unstable or emotional. "You're doing the right thing, Seb. I love you."

"Yeah, I love you too," He told her, hanging up after as he let out a deep sigh, gathering his thoughts on how he was going to go about this. He knew he could be straight with you, it was apparent in your attitude towards the media that you were never coddled; but he also knew that you were not the person the media painted you out to be, that you were quiet and reserved, that growing up you had a rabbit called Pierre, which you thought would have made you a friend in ones Pierre Gasly, but it only made the aforementioned driver laugh at you - That story in particular infuriated Seb. Collecting his thoughts, he made his way out of his hotel room and over to yours, which was across and 3 doors down from his own - knocking on your door once, twice, and then a third time. He was ready to knock for a third time, when-

"Oh, hi Sebastian," You greeted the older German standing at your door. Your heart started pounding, this was how your short lived friendships all ended - they'd come to your hotel room, tell you they couldn't be seen with you anymore because of how it was affecting their relationship, and that was it. But Sebastian was your idol, you weren't sure you could handle losing his friendship, not after how you had opened up about so much to him.

"Hi, can we talk?" You noted the concern in his voice, furrowing your brows as you nodded and stepped to the side, allowing him to step into your hotel room. Sebastian gave you a small smile as he turned to look at you, taking in how your t-shirt hung off of your frame, emphasising the amount of weight you had lost. "Is everything okay?"

This was not how this conversation normally went. There was never any concern for your feelings or how you'd take this.

"Um," He could see the confusion on your face. "Yeah, I um, yeah, I'm fine. What's going on, Seb?" You asked him, tilting your head as he sat down on your bed. You tentatively sat beside him, weary of what he was trying to go about here.

"I just noticed that you've lost a lot of weight recently," Oh God. He knows. "And I'm just concerned about you - I know how they talk about you...everywhere and I just want you to know that even if you're not ready right now, that I'm here to listen to you anytime you need to talk." Sebastian explained to you, watching as tears bubbled in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

"I don't feel like I have control over anything, Sebastian," You cried, breaking down into tears in front of the man you called your hero. He frowned deeply, in the 5 years he had driven with you, you had never cried, not once - not in front of him, at least. "It's just...I can't seem to do anything write ever. Everything I do on the track, good or bad, its always made out like I'm a bad person or a bitch. I beat Max and everyone calls me a wannabe or a show off, I come second to Max and suddenly second place is the first to lose and I don't deserve my seat. I can't fucking win ever," You ranted, letting out an occasional sob as Sebastian put a comforting hand on your back. "But, I have control over how I look so at first I thought it was fine because I was only doing it to shut up the media but I couldn't stop and now I feel sick any time I try and eat."

His heart broke for you as you sobbed, realising that your problem had had such prominence in your life years before he had even noticed. He was however, thankful you had opened up to him.

"Thank you, for telling me that, that was really brave," He told you softly, smiling gently as you wiped your eyes dry of the tears that fell from them. "I need you to know, that you, more than anyone deserve your seat in Formula 1, you worked so hard for so long, and there's so many drivers on the grid that only have their seats because of their parents or who they know, but you worked for your seat and you have so much talent. Like you said, you beat Max," You sniffled as Sebastian spoke to you, almost feeling your heart healing as you heard your idol speak so highly of you. "I know you feel like you have no control over what they say, and to be honest with you, you don't. And it is much easier said than done, but you have to ignore them, if you give them what they want, you let them win, and you of all people, would hate to see that happen, I imagine." He said, smiling upon hearing you laugh quietly.

"Thank you, Sebastian," You said, smiling at him as you looked at Sebastian. "It really means a lot," Sebastian gently held your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he saw you smile for what felt like the first time in forever. "Aside from Max, you're the only one who's actually treated me like I actually belong here."

"You do belong here, and I will tell you that every day until you believe me."

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #sebastian vettel x reader #Sebastian Vettel x platonic!reader #platonic fanfiction #x reader #f1 x you #formula one x reader #f1 fluff #angst #tw disordered eating #sebastian vettel #Sebastian Vettel x reader angst #Sebastian Vettel x reader fluff

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diveinyouastro · 13 days

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♤Another astrological observations♤

Ps: i am still learning and astrology is a forever learning subject. It may or may not be relatable. :)

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•° solar return observations °•

Solar return 7th house- the sign in your 7th house of your solar return will probably be the one to backbitch/backstab you👀. For eg- having Sagittarius descendant, people with sag sun or prominent sag placements are likely going to do you very wrong. 😊🪰

SR Uranus in 1st- an apparent change in the appearance of the individual. Dying their hair, a haircut, change in the makeup looks, joining the gym, having skincare routine, etc.🦄😋

SR Jupiter in the 12th- spiritual enlightenment🧞‍♂️. Could be the time youre very sensitive to the energies of the people. Seeing spirits frequently👻. (Hack- wear black tourmaline for the shield against negative energies). This is the time when everything will be clear to you, the intentions of the people, their traits, their habits, their trauma🤠 (your's aswell).👽

SR moon in the 6th- sensitive to other people's words, their criticism, etc. Take care of your health at this time please. Eating disorder. Very moody. Might eat spicy food alot. 🥲

SR neptune in the 11th- the friends, peers, acquaintances you have, you'll be getting to know about them more clearly👀 in negative way ofcourse, Alot of deceiving, lying, manipulation, taking behind your back, cheating, blah blah blah.😗🪓🩸

SR Saturn in the 11th- yes you ARE GOING TO LOSE FRIENDS, even the closest friend you have🙃. I honestly LOVE Saturn whatever house it's in because it fucking slaps you so hard that you begin to see everyfuckingthing very clearly🤪😶‍🌫️. Its going to be hard for you but dont worry youre better of with little to no friends than lying poopies.💩💝

SR venus in the 1st- you're going to be every 2nd person's crush, like literally fr. You're guna appear more ethereal and soft to the other person, maybe innocent too which will make the other person wAnT tO pRoTeCt YoU aT aLL cOsT🥺 because to them you're vulnerable to the world😐😐😐😐.

SR mars in the 3rd- alot of fights with your siblings/ cousins/ childhood friends. Way of communication may be direct, more straight forward, could even be a little cruel ehe🤭. Probably guna put people in their fucking place. Humbling down people alot.💅

SR aquarius ascendant- very detached from the emotions. Its like giving yourself 5 minutes to feel everything then after that, stop feeling completely until the next year. ORRR.... you could be in your feelings for the 1st or last 6 months then the rest of the year? Nonchalant🧘(could be opposite).Your mood for the year: 'eehh'😐 'Okhay'😐 'Yeah'😐 'Mhm'😐 'No'😐 'Don't'😐 'Shut up'😐 'Can you leave me alone'😐 'Youre so annoying'😐 'Can you stop'😐 'Omg youre a fucking fe/male'😐. Might be the year you'll question your sexuality.

SR lilith in the 4th- watch your closest ones/ own family turn against you just cuz you stood up against their negativity and manipulation. Oof!! 😍😍😍THE BEST YEAR EVERRR!!!🥳🤯💋 Sarcasm intented. Theyre going to spread false rumors about you. Play victim card in the situations they create. Its like creating a problem for you to solve.🧍🏻‍♀️🧍‍♂️🗣

SR venus in the 5th- will attract ALOT of love interests👀🔥🧲 but since its a 5th house, it wont be long lasting. For girls: this placement can make guys crazily obsessed with you for monthsss beware as they can note down your every move (3 of my friends had this and the guys ended up following them home, it was scary). For guys: this can make girls want to be with you just bcz everyone wants you, youre the center of everyone's attention (cheating could be involved too👀)

SR Sun/mars/pluto in the 6th- take care of your health because; sun: can make you vulnerable to the evil eyes which could lead you to falling sick frequently🪰🧿. Mars: your anger, impulsiveness, all the othet martian feelings, can make you sick as well, so beware of your surroundings and your mental health🎭. Pluto: the jealousy with this can turn physical real quick✂️. And all three: JUST. TAKE. CARE. 😀 🫠

SR moon in the 7th- sweeeeettttt cravings will ⬆️⬆️. Feeling very joyful for no reason🌞. Feeling 'Butterfly in the stomach' frequently🦋. Lovesick🐕‍🦺.

SR mercury in the 5th- you could hear from a friend that a lot of "certain someone's" like you😊. Love to talk about your interests and hobbies. Involvement in frequent get-togethers, random friends meet💁🏻‍♀️.

SR saturn in the 8th- might deal with your own fears. Could be a triggering year for you🧘.

SR nn in the 9th/12th- frequent travels🗺. Might overthink alot about the world and the life (a lot of what's, why's, who's, how's, etc).

Wherever SR Jupiter is, you're expanding that. Like for eg- 5th house: your interests, might pursue your hobbies, or if you already are, lets say an artist, youll expand your art, the type of drawings you make. 2nd house: your business. Money. Self esteem. Confidence. 11th house: your friend circle, electronics, etc.

SR saturn/neptune in the 8th- out of nowhere setbacks, betrayal, cheating, etc are possible. BUT you WILL receive a news about CERTAIN SOMEONE which will make you question them🤫. Or youll get to know some f-ed up family secrets😗.

SR Scorpio ascendant- watch people getting intimated💁🏻‍♀️. You're guna hear rumorssss about youuu👀🤫. Random guys/girls approaching you with the intention of "hUmBLiNg YoU dOwN" 🗣💩 (ykwim).

SR venus in the 7th- randomly, out of nowhere, falling for someone veryyyy haaarrrdd🕳🚶🏻‍♀️.This usually happens within 3-5 months after your birthday.

Whereas... 😗

SR neptune/saturn in the 7th- showing you why you shouldn't have😊. (If i were you i wouldn't give them a 2nd chance, many people don't deserve it🧘. Pay attention if its their "traits" or "company" either way, you shouldn't forgive them because "traits" are self explanatory, they wont ever change, and if its the "company" affecting them then its guna be tiring for you and trust me you wouldn't want a person who is gullible🧍🏻‍♀️).

SR Uranus anywhere- sudden. Anything sudden. For the better or the worse🎭. Out of nowhere. Unexpected👀. The ex you didn't see? Here s/he comes💩. Job offer🌞. Oldest friend contacting you🏌‍♂️.realization about career path. Your personality, your looks. Family dynamics. Home, etc.

SR lilith/neptune in the 1st/5th/7th/8th/10th/11th- people be copying youuuu i seeee👀. Your secret enemies wanting to be you👀. Copying your style, outfit, skincare. Haircare, haircut, your hobbies, even your career path🤾‍♀️. Amd they'll still have the audacity to TELL YOU how you should be doing *insert what you're good at* 🧍🏻‍♀️🧍‍♂️like?????. Jealousy runs deeeppp 😶‍🌫️.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Thank you for reading :) <3

#astrology observations #astro notes #astro community #astro placements #astrology placements #solar return #solar return observations #astrology notes

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patscorner · 29 days

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FAMILY DINNER PART2

Summary: Chris joins your family for dinner for the first time and it does not go as planned

Tw: Swearing, physical altercation, mentions of blood, verbal arguing, panic attack mentions of alcohol use, mentions of ed, lmk if I missed something

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The rest of the dinner was just as awkward as you'd thought it'd be. You can't really come back from your father implying you and your boyfriend just fucked in the bathroom of your childhood home, at the first family 'reunion' in 2 years.

So there you sat, eating your food in silence, waiting -no- begging, that someone cut the tension.

And finally someone does. And as they say, careful what you wish for.

"How many plates have you had, dear?" Your mom asked, looking up from her plate. You look back at her, before glancing at your plate and back to at her again.

"This is my second." You say, mouth full of food. You were thankful that people took your mother's talking as an invitation to also continue their conversations.

"Maybe we should slow down, you know? Save room for dessert, which you clearly don't need." She smiles, as if what she said was the best piece of advice she'd ever given anyone.

Her comments always bothered you, no matter how much you were told to ignore them. But when it came to your weight, it hurt the most. The comments were the worst in high school, as you were a little heavier than the average petite high schooler. But it was never as serious as your mom made it. So when you were a sophomore in high school, you developed an eating disorder, where you couldn't eat even if you tried, where you spent hours crying in front of the mirror, wishing you were skinnier to fit your mother's impossible expectations.

You fought that battle for years, 3 years to be exact. Your mom couldn't help because she saw nothing wrong with what you were doing. She would say, 'It's worth it.' And when you're young, you tend to believe everything your parents say because they'd 'never hurt you.' So after you moved out, Chris helped you get help, and you won your long and cruel battle. Obviously, you still have your days and your moments, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be. Not with your new family. People who actually cared.

"S'cuse me?" You say, your voice laced with agitation.

"Well, honey, you don't want to get fat again, do you?" She said, shoveling broccoli into her mouth.

You had stopped chewing completely, making sure you heard her correctly. You looked over at Chris, who was looking at your mom with his jaw clenched. You look back at your mom and out your hand on Chris's thigh as to tell him to relax.

You felt him put his hand over yours and squeeze, a symbol of reassurance.

You sit back in your seat, looking at your plate in defeat. Guess you were done for the night. But your dad wasn't. In fact, your dad was drunk.

"Oh, honey, leave her alone. She's not nearly as huge as she used to be." He slurred, taking another sip from his beer.

"Okay, this isn't neces-" you start, only to be cut off by your parents. Shocker.

"What do you mean? I mean, look at her, David. She's just as big as she was in high school." You mom says gesturing to you.

Your heart dropped, anger and embarrassment filling your veins. "What the fuck, mom?!" You cry out. "Not only is that something you shouldn't say about people, especially your fucking kid, but I'm also right in front of you. At least have some decency to shit-talk me in private." You remove your hand from your boyfriends lap.

Your mom looks at you in shock, and your dad squints at you. "Woah, woah, relax dear. It's not only your fault. You can't help it." She said, reaching for your hand.

You pull your hand away, a look of disgust covering your face. "I don't want to hear that, mom, why's my weight always been a big fucking obsession of yours?" You snap. You feel Chris's hand on your thigh, which you push off quickly. Usually, when you're angry, the last thing you wanted was to be touched.

"It's not my fault. You were huge. I was trying to help you. Nobody wants a pig as their bride, y/n." She spits. Her words feel like daggers, stabbing into your heart.

"You weren't trying to help. You were doing this for yourself. You never cared about it. You only did it because it made you look good to have skinny, petite children. I'm not you or any of them." You gesture to you siblings. The conversations had stopped by now, all of them watching as you and your parents bickered. Embarrassing. "You're a selfish bitch, who never cared about anybody else but herself a-"

"Hey! You watch how you speak to your mother!" Your dad stands up, and instinctively, so did you and your siblings. James and Peter were the first up, while Julia walked over and made sure Maya wasn't in the room.

Nick, Matt, and Chris all stood up too, but they weren't sure what to do, which you would've found funny, but considering the circumstances...

"Let's all relax, okay." Peter attempts to butt in. He's always been so soft-spoken, but if he needs to, he'll beat the shit outta someone. You knew what he was capable of. You'd seen it when your first boyfriend cheated on you.

Your dad directed his attention to Peter. "You shut the fuck up. You have no room to speak because you're a sorry excuse for a son." He drunkenly pointed at Peter.

"You're talking. You can't even see straight half the time, let alone be eligible to give advice." James, your younger brother spits.

Ah, you'd taught him well.

"You watch your mouth before I knock you the fuck out." Your dad spits, and that seems to shut James up. It breaks your heart knowing your father hadn't changed, and when you left, probably laid hands on your younger siblings. And it appears as though Peter's heart broke, too.

Peter stepped closer to your dad, with the same face of anger you'd seem many times before. "You hit them too, Dad? After what you promised!?" He said, his voice raised.

It was all too much. There are too many memories, too many flashbacks. There are too many similarities of past events.

"O-okay, Peter, relax." You attempt, knowing how fast this could escalate. You hold Chris's hand and squeeze tightly.

"Yeah, listen to the pig, Peter." Your father gritted his teeth.

"With all due respect, sir, I'm gonna need you to stop calling your daughter a pig." You hear an unexpected voice. Chris.

Your dad whips his head, staring at Chris with his eyebrows raised, unimpressed. Little did he know, Chris played hockey, and his brothers, who wouldn't hesitate to jump in, also played hockey.

"Chri-" You start.

"No, no, I'd like to hear what he has to say." Your father mocks.

"No! No, please let's just sto-" you get cut off again.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, Y/N." Your dad yells, taking very quick steps to you.

Chris stood in front of you, Peter and James behind your father.

"Move." He growled at Chris.

Chris sucked his teeth, with fake disappointment on his face. "Sorry, can't do that one, sir."

Your dad huffed, allowing Chris to smell every sip of alcohol he'd drunk. "Move." He stated again.

Chris shook his head. "That's my daughter! Get the fuck out of the way, tough guy."

Chris cocked his head. "Really, because based off what I've seen, you sure don't talk to her like it." He spoke, his voice calm, but stern.

That was it. Your dad snapped. He swung his fist, hitting Chris in the nose. "Dad! What the fuck!" You say.

You watch as Chris doubles over, holding his nose, followed by yelling from everyone in the room. You can't understand anything, but you do know that your dad's got his hands around your collar and is holding you close to his face.

You feel the tears start to fall as the scent of alcohol burns your nose. "You're a little bitch, letting this puny excuse of a man speak to me like that."

"Let her go, dad!" James screamed, followed by Peter's yelling.

You look over and make eye contact with your mom. She stood there, arms crossed, not a single expression on her face. She just let it happen.

Your dad shook you. "LOOK AT ME." He shouted in your face. You closed your eyes, as tears began to fall.

"CHRIS NO!" Nick yells. That's all you hear before you dropped. You didn't realize he was choking you until he let go. You look up and see Chris on top of your dad, landing blows like he if were in a hockey game. Your dad got a few heavy punches in, too, as you expected.

Chris had a bloody nose, a bloody lip, and crimson knuckles. Blood stained his big hands, and you couldn't tell if it was his or your father's.

Matt and Nick finally managed to push Chris out of the house, leaving you and your family. Your dad was still screaming drunk profanities, while James made sure you were okay. Peter and your mom held your dad back from chasing your boyfriend.

You had walked out of the dining room and went to sit on the stairs. Tears streamed down your face as you felt yourself slip into a familiar but unfamiliar trance. You were completely unaware of your surroundings at this point, so lost in your brain that the rest of your body was just frozen.

You don't know how long you are disassociating for, but you heard muffled shouting until you didn't. The yelling was replaced with ringing, something your brain did as a coping mechanism, mostly when you were young and hiding with your siblings in the bathroom while your dad trashed your home.

"-aby, can you take a deep breath from me?" You look up, but your vision is blurred, and you can't make out who's speaking - or anything for that matter.

You blink slowly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It usually took you a while to come back to reality during these moments.

"Can someone get her a cup of water?" You hear the voice again, and despite your yearning to speak, you can't get any words out. Your mouth opens, and you try to speak, but it comes out more of a choked whine.

"Shh, I know, sweetheart, it's okay." Chris wipes the tears coming for your cheeks. Your pupils were enlarged, and your eyes were open, but you couldn't see.

"Thank you." Chris muttered as Matt handed him a cup of ice water. "Here, baby." He put his hands in the icy water, shaking them, so his hands are damp. He took your hands, which had a death grip on your hoodie, and rubbed his cold fingers over your knuckles.

You focused on the feeling of his frigid fingers and you felt yourself coming back to reality.

You blink quickly as more tears fall. "Aw ma, don't cry, it's okay, sweetheart." Chris coos, placing his hands on your hips, rubbing his thumbs on the bone.

His attempts to ground you are successful, as your eyes finally focus on his eyes. "Hey, hey, you coming back to me, baby?" Chris asks, his voice soothingly attempting to comfort you.

You nod absent-mindedly, relief flooding your body as you come back to reality.

You take in your surroundings for the first time in what felt like forever. You're sat on the stairs, your hands shaking from the adrenaline flowing through your veins.

You finally make eye contact with Chris, his eyes full of love and worry. He's got a bruise on the side of his face, a busted lip, and blood falling from his nose, smeared on his upper lip.

"Chris..." you say, cupping his face, rubbing his cheeks down to his lip, frowning when he winced. "Baby..."

He pulls away, chuckling lightly. "It's fine, baby, I'm okay. I just wanted to make sure you were safe." He squeezed your hips in reassurance.

"I'm okay." You say. But then your mind screams at you. "Fuck, where's Maya... an-and, James. Oh, fuck, what about Julia and Pet-" your cut off by Chris's lips on yours. You sigh into the kiss, your hands trailing down his neck.

He pulls away and smiles sadly. "Thank you." You whisper, looking down. "Anytime, baby. I'm so sorry. God, I'm so fucking sorry." He said, leaning his forehead on yours.

You shake your head. "It's okay, he's a fucking asshole." Chris kisses your cheek. "Let's get outta here? I made a little bit of a mess."

You raise your eyebrows. "A little?" Chris kisses his teeth and scoffs.

You smile and kiss his cheek. "Anybody would've done it, Chris. It's okay, really." You speak softly.

Chris smiles and helps you up. "Let's go home." He leads you down the stairs and reaches for the door.

But it opens before he can open it.

"Oh my god."

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(Man, I wonder who that is)

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brilium · 7 months

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❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3

Masterlist

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❥ DAY 2. Voyeurism! with Mikasa Ackerman

Summary. Your organized roommate hates your messy ways to live but, a little mistake with the closet door might lead her to break those walls on her.

Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of Y/N, all characters are adults, smut, fingering, masturbation (f. recieving), pillow riding, slight corruption kink i guess?

Word count. 2,236.

Author's note. I'm posting it so late i'm sorry:( I had it prepared but i was so busy all day:(((

MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Mikasa always tries to keep her side of the dorm all clean and tidy, maybe with some socks here and there but she has some firm boundaries after being an only child all her life.

Her skincare is carefully placed in a small tray in a corner of the bathroom, always trying to not splash out too much water and her bed has to be strictly done just after cleaning her face to change into the clothes she prepared previously the night before.

Is not that her parents weren’t really strict, she was actually very organized since she was a child.

Meanwhile, her roommate was…

Not the total opposite, but there was a considerable difference between their lifestyles.

If Mikasa is the kind of girl who wakes up early to get ready in time, you’re the kind who goes to sleep when her alarm is about to ring in half an hour because you pulled another all nighter working on assignments.

When she brings her clean laundry smelling like lavanda to fold it, the first thing she sees when she opens the door is you swearing between your teeths because you accidentally dropped an oil paint on your bed sheets… Again.

She doesn’t hate you, you both actually get along pretty well. But there’s a small hint of annoyance every time she’s calmly reading on her bed and you open the door in your jumpsuit stained with paint of every color, it is in the small dried drops on your face what makes her entire body chill like she just saw a giant spider coming through the door.

In one of her psychology classes she learned about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and she’s starting to think that she’s getting that thanks to her Arts Major roommate.

One day, while you are probably in class, she’s checking her jackets in the closet if she left one of her favorite lipsticks on the bags. The closet of the dorm need a little maintenance because you both always complain about how it always stucks when you try to open it, so when she gets on the tips of her toes to look inside because the door is not sliding more to the side, her foot slips and makes her fall inside and the door violently slips to close with a “click”.

“No, wait!” Her fingers try to get through the border between the door and the frame to slide it, but it’s even harder from inside without anything to grab it and pull. She tries to scratch it and pull but nothing works.

She sighs resigned and looks on the bags of her jeans to grab her phone but there’s nothing. The soft sound of her ringtone coming from her bed calls her attention, causing her to rest her forehead in the rails of the closet as she whines.

Finally, after trying all to open the door and failing in the try, she sits uncomfortably on the floor hugging her knees around the jackets and shoes that you both save inside. There’s even a shirt of yours on the floor beside her. Mikasa takes a look at it to, obviously, find stains of paint.

She grabs it to look at it but the sound of the dorm door opening startles her.

She calls you out for help but the music blasting through your headphones isn’t helping. Mikasa raises her hands into fists to hit the closet and get your attention, but her movements get interrupted by the surprise of seeing how you lift that baggy shirt above your head and toss it somewhere around the dorm.

By living in the same dorm, you both are used to seeing each other in underwear, so she is not surprised at the sight of you undressing. It’s the fact that you chose to not wear any bra today, so your bare tits are displaying right in front of her eyes.

Mikasa has seen herself naked a lot of times, but there's something on how your breasts are slightly different to hers.

They seem so soft and the way they bounce everytime you move around is so hypnotizing, it’s until Mikasa blinks when she notices how her eyeballs are starting to get dry from staring so much.

Her cheeks get red immediately and tries to shake the thought away in embarrassment when you disconnect the headphones, bringing her back to reality.

It’s now, she has to hit the closet now to get your attention and you’ll finally put something on to cover yourself.

Don’t you think that someone might see you through the window?

Or someone inside the closet?

But, Mikasa keeps still when she observes in detail how you also get rid of your leggings.

She has to cover her mouth with her hands to hide her gasp.

You’re facing your back to the closet, so she can see perfectly how your ass bends over in her direction, showing how good that cream color lace lingerie grabs tightly to your cheeks.

No, no, she can’t be enjoying this. That's gross.

Her breathing is getting heavier as she tries to ignore the wet spot forming in her clean underwear.

If she calls for help now, she’ll have to admit that she kept watching you get naked without saying anything. What would you think about her?

By being roommates, that would make everything awkward. Mikasa just a bit annoyed by your messy ways, but you she actually believes that you are really nice.

And, right now Mikasa's hard breathing doesn’t show any sign of annoyance with your dirty clothes spreaded on the floor.

You lie nonchalantly in your bed just like that, scrolling through something on your phone while Mikasa hides her face between her knees trying to think of a coherent excuse to call for your help without making it weird.

But, surely, you know how to make it weirder.

Some lewd sounds start to come out softly from outside the closet like a far echo.

At first, Mikasa doesn’t notice it, thinking that it’s just some movie that you’re watching. But when the bed sheets move constantly and there’s a small sound of clapping sounding slightly far, she raises her head to look and find the last thing she wanted to see after getting turned on by just seeing your body.

"F-Fuck…!" You muffle softly.

Your body is moving around on your bed caused by the constant rubbing of your two fingers around your clothed core while the other hand keeps the phone beside you with your eyes locked firmly at it, just like she was before looking at you.

The high volume of the video playing in your phone resonates fully, letting the girl hidden in your closet get a clear idea of what is happening outside.

The way that your chest goes up and down so heavy with those perked nipples, attracts her total attention.

With a crunching guilt waving through her body, her hand travels down her body to start rubbing up and down softly her fingers through her panties. Mikasa doesn’t want to do this, she’s not okay with the idea of touching herself to the sight of someone enjoying their own intimacy.

But the sound of your soft whimpers combined with the dirty loud moans of the girl in the video that you’re watching are just pushing her so hard to the edge of breaking her firm morals.

The struggle of how you try to keep rubbing yourself down there and interleaving it with squeezing your tits, tents her to call out your name.

But not with the intention of stopping this, she wants to help you down there; with her fingers, with her mouth, she needs to do something about what you’re causing in her.

Mikasa never thought of being attracted to girls, but when she shyly watched something to touch herself from time to time, she constantly found herself enjoying the clips where she could see the face of the girl almost crying of pleasure.

And you look so good giving yourself all those pleasure.

The way you have to shout your eyes when you put the panties aside to slide in and out your finger and let out a shaky moan causes Mikasa to tremble in her uncomfortable position, mirroring your action and sliding slowly her finger inside, she has to bite her lip to hide her own moan, trying to do it slowly so you won’t hear the wet sound of her pussy clenching to her finger.

“This is so wrong” Is the only single thought in Mikasa’s mind, but that isn’t stopping her from sliding another finger and arching her back in response.

She should cover her mouth with her free hand to at least stop torturing her poor lip, but that hand is a little bussy lifting her sweater and pulling her bra down to start pinching softly her nipples and squeezing her breast.

How would it feel to hug you like this? Your tits grinding against each other, the hard nipples rubbing and making it feel so much more sensitive.

You stop fingering yourself with shaky movements to open the drawer almost violently. Mikasa startles, scared of the sudden ramble, turning to you confused as to why you stopped.

The drawer turns into a bigger mess when you look around for your vibrator with lipstick shape, making you swear on the low when you click the small button on it and noticing that the battery is dead.

“Fuck it” You throw it inside annoyed with yourself for forgetting to charge it. Your mind works quickly because of the hard need to release and you have to grab one of the pillows in the corner of your bed to put it between your legs, causing you to shiver and whimper softly when your soaked entrance touches it slightly. "Fuuuuck…! Just like that"

You’re now again facing your back to the closet, giving your cute stalker a good view of your ass going front and backwards riding the pillow.

Mikasa has to stop squeezing her breasts and cover her mouth in surprise to realize the reason why you just never let her use that pillow when you both do movie nights, insisting that that pillow is too uncomfortable and you’ll throw it in the garbage soon.

But you don’t seem so uncomfortable as you ride it so insistently, grabbing your sheets with hard fists and moaning so sweetly against your bed.

This is it. This is Mikasa’s limit, she puts inside another finger without any issue due to how wet she is now, actually, she’s really close right now.

Her moans are getting so hard to cover and her hand finds the shirt of yours that she was criticizing just before you arrived, her first instinct is to put it above her mouth to cover the moans and that’s just a worse decision to hide her sounds.

That shirt still has that sweet scent of yours, that scent of your lavanda soap combined with the smell of the oil paint it’s just making her push her fingers inside so much more rougher.

Your moans get harder as you ride the pillow, the soaked spot on the fabric getting bigger when you feel the climax hitting you, causing you to grind your hips harder against the sweet border of the pillow as the orgasm hits, finishing with letting out the fantasy playing right now in your mind through moans.

“Fuck! Mikasa… You move so good!”

That sentence makes her eyes open wide as the orgasm hits her too, the fast movement of her fingers on her wet folds is not hiding anymore the wet sound of her juices coming out when she also mumbles your name against the shirt covering her mouth.

Her body is still trembling and her cheeks are completely red hoping that your after orgasm tiredness didn’t let you hear her. She wants to enjoy how good that orgasm felt, even alone or with someone, she has never come this hard.

She has closed her eyes to rest a little, unfortunately, the closet door sliding harshly to the side and exposing her to you. You’re still naked, with slightly glossed thighs from how wet you got touching yourself is turning her on again. How low is she falling today?

But, when you girn widely at the sigh of your clean and tidy roommate all fucked out on the closet floor, with those big tits exposed and her wet fingers resting on her thigh. You get on your knees beside her to grab her chin and make her look at you with those sleepy eyes and swollen lower lip.

“How cute a roommate I have. Do you think that I didn't hear your whimpers?"

Mikasa stops breathing instantly, but you caress her chin.

"Come on, let's get on your bed now. Mine is a mess".

Mikasa is the kind of girl who always keeps all her stuff in their place.

Even herself, avoiding bad decisions and not knowing how you make it to survive everyday being that mess.

That hot mess kissing her so sweetly that she feels like she might cum again right now, finally feeling how your tits feel against hers. And loving it.

So, when she nods repeatedly against your lips. She feels like this is the first day she might have to get a little out of the routine.

🏷️@softlilpeachxx

#aot smut #attack on titan smut #snk x reader #snk smut #attack on titan x reader #mikasa smut #mikasa ackerman smut #aot x reader #mikasa x reader #mikasa x you #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #brilium

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merakiui · 6 months

Text

crow & goat in courtship.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, coercion, religious symbolism/imagery, mentions of pregnancy, implied breeding kink, obsession, alcohol/intoxication, slight codependency, non-consensual touching/groping, au in which you attend classes at nbc instead of nrc under rollo's supervision note - the crow is always on call.

i. “but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death” (james 1:14-15).

Rollo answers on the third ring.

He always does—claims it’s polite to answer after three chimes just as it’s right to knock thrice before entering a residence. He’s stubborn in his ways, a crow bound by routine, only ever doing things in threes. Habitual to a fault, strictly so. You are similar in that regard; you find solace in the familiarity of predictable patterns. The relief that stems from knowing what will come next—in being prepared for all manner of events even if you haven’t yet reached the first.

But then you also like fun, and the best sort of fun is often had with a disregard for habit. Disorder and spontaneity. Throwing all caution to the wind. Trusting in the arms of the crow who will catch you, the carefree goat, when you fall.

“Good evening,” he mutters into the phone, his voice sounding so close despite the distance between you and him. “It’s rather late. Is there a specific reason you’re calling?”

“Rollo! Hey! Hiii,” you drawl, grinning like a fool. You stagger through the door into the chilly, starless night, your heels slipping on cracked, frozen pavement. “Whoa!” You stumble against the railing with a carefree giggle. “Almost lost my footing!”

There’s a stalling silence on his end. And then, with a deep inhale, he asks evenly, “Have you gone out?”

“Mm. Yeah. Went out to celebrate with some friends.”

“Some friends?”

“Like one or two…or a whole house full of ’em.”

“(Name).”

“What?” When he doesn’t reply, you laugh. Not because it’s humorous or embarrassing, but to merely fill the silent gap. “What? Roro, you’re sho stern. Don’t lecture me!”

“So you’ve been drinking.”

“What?! No!” With an offended scoff, you shake your head even though he’s not here to witness it. “You know NBC’s no-booze rule. I’m not gonna get caught—won’t get caught.”

“You slurred your speech and called me ‘Roro’—both in the same sentence, mind you.”

“So what? Rollo, Roro. Tomato, potato.”

“It’s to-may-to, to-mah-to. And—” he exhales an exhausted breath— “Never mind. That’s besides the point. Why, pray tell, have you called me at midnight?”

“Why’re you up at midnight?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Not fair! I asked first!”

“Not quite.” There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks next. “If I were to visit your room right now—knock on the door and wait there—would you let me in?”

“Yeaaah,” you start to say, only to catch yourself halfway in the trap. “No!”

“No?”

“No…thank you. No visitors tonight. S’late and I gotta study for tomorrow’s exam.”

“And a party will somehow aid in that endeavor? (Name), you do realize you’ve spun one too many lies and now you’re woefully entangled.”

“Less poetry and more picking me up.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about.”

“Rollo, please be nice,” you whine, your lips twisting into a pout. “S’cold and I didn’t bring a jacket and I’m kinda-maybe-sorta a little…”

“A little…?” he encourages, and you can just envision that self-satisfied smirk of his.

“A little-drunk-but-also-not-really-drunk-but-also-totally-drunk,” you hastily admit in a string of syllables. Snowfall swirls around you, and you grasp the bannister to prevent yourself from falling over. “Oh, it’s snowing.”

“I can see perfectly clear from my window. Beautiful, is it not?”

“So stop being an obtuse dick and come get me before I freeze!”

“Should that come to pass, you may just rival the Righteous Judge at the entrance. I’ll be sure to polish you every month.”

“I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna poison your coffee and watch you drink it, and then we’ll see who’s stiffer than a statue. It’ll be you—in death, y’know!”

“Will you now?”

“If you don’t pick me up, yeah!”

There’s the distinct sound of shuffling. You hear crisp pages turning and then a book closing before the rustling of fabrics invades your keen ears. You picture your responsible friend pacing around his room as he dresses himself for the weather.

“Very well,” he says after a moment, ever the composed gentleman. “Send me the address.”

“You’re the best. Love you lots. Thank you! Thank you!” You press your lips together to mimic obnoxious kissing sounds, which elicits a huff of amusement from him. “It’s not a far walk. Promise.”

“Stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there shortly. And don’t go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You do realize sneaking out is against the rules, yes?”

“Aaand here comes the lecture. Gimme a break. Can’t a girl celebrate her birthday in peace?”

You drag your hand over your mouth and wipe sticky wine residue away. In the process, you smear black lipstick. Dark like night, like a crow’s inky feathers, it leaves your once-flawless appearance in disarray.

“There are much better ways to celebrate. Did I not say I’d take you into town this weekend and we could celebrate then?”

“That’s so far from now.”

“It’s three days away, (Name).”

“Still too far.”

“Don’t expect me to provide cover if you get caught.”

“And you can just leave campus whenever you please?”

“This is different.”

“Yeah?” You giggle into the speaker, warm and fuzzy and endlessly entertained. It’s enough of a distraction to keep winter from seeping into your marrow. “How so?”

“This is official Student Council business.”

“Really?” you ask with an impressed whistle.

“Indeed. On account of my being President, it’s only natural I punish students who conduct themselves poorly. Shall we review your list of infractions and decide on a suitable penalty together?”

“I’d rather we not.”

“Oh, but I insist. Perhaps our discussion and the cold will sober you and teach you a valuable lesson about integrity.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you lower onto the step to await his arrival. The icy stone digs harshly into your rear, which is hardly covered by your too-short dress. It’s definitely not fingertip length or weather-appropriate. You shiver and stuff your hand into the pocket of your cropped sweater. You should take shelter inside, where it’s plenty cozy and inviting, but your inflated pride disagrees. Retreating to the warmth after you’ve already bid farewell would be foolish. At least, that’s what the alcohol in your system is telling you.

So the goat endures the cold, for it knows that that is all that awaits it as the crow closes in.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an academic criminal. Get on with it, President Flamme.”

“Let’s see. You’ve disobeyed campus curfew, snuck out on a school night, attended a party when your grades could use improvement, neglected your studies, drank carelessly, called the one person who can and will punish you for this and the aforementioned…”

The sound of crunching snow pierces the air then, and you look up in time to see Rollo approaching. He’s dressed in a long woolen overcoat with a scarf twined around his throat and a hat pulled down over his ears. He smirks at you from where he stands on the pavement, cutting the call and sliding his phone into his pocket. Tilting his head at you, he pulls another coat from under his arm and offers it to you.

“And you’re dressed for your death.”

“Okay, that one’s personal.”

Rolling your eyes, you rise on unsteady legs. He meets you at the stairs, climbing two of them to help you into the coat. It’s an embrace more welcoming than that of a lover’s, so soft and comfortable that it immediately rejuvenates your weary skeleton. It smells like Rollo, too—like coffee and weathered pages in an old book. You hum your approval, snuggling into the fluffy fabric. He’s plopping his hat on your head next, tugging it so far down that you almost slip on the slick stoop. Like he always has, ever since he first met you, he catches you.

“Hello to you, too.”

You blink back at him. “Yeah, thanks. I owe you.”

“Let me see your hands.”

He takes them in his, runs his thumbs over the tops, and then procures mittens from his pockets. You watch him slide both over your hands, rubbing them together briefly to generate heat at a faster rate. Your body sways, gaze unfocused. He’s just about to unwind his scarf from his shoulders when you reach out to stop him.

“I’m good. This is enough.”

“You’ll catch your death—”

“And you won’t in just a coat and scarf? At least let me give you your hat back.”

He shakes his head, holding his hand up in objection. “You’ve been out in this weather longer. It’s only fair. But, really, did you have to wait out here? Couldn’t you have gone inside?”

“My pride’s on the line.”

Rollo’s unamused stare cuts through you. “You won’t have much pride left if you’re encased in ice.”

“Then we’d best get moving. Campus awaits!”

You wrap your arm around him, clinging out of instinct. Rollo peers at the proximity, his lips upturned in a covert half-smile, and his arm snakes slowly around your waist in return. You don’t notice this, for you’re too busy dragging your feet through the snow while he acts as a helpful crutch, stable in a way you just aren’t. Not right now, at least.

But then the goat is never stable enough to survive the inevitable—the swift, sacrificial blade that befalls and beheads, leaving gory spatters to run red and visceral in the wake of the end.

You’ve never known, and you never will. How could you when he’s been nothing but cordial? A clean slate. Admirable guidance. A helpful friend. Your only friend.

The crow descends in three knocks. He lets himself in regardless of whether you wish to have him as a guest. He is unwanted and feared, the very foundation of death and destruction, and he has set his beady eyes on you—the goat.

It’s common knowledge that you cannot pray away the crow. He persists, as always, quiet even when his wings beat against his sleek, feathered body like the loudest war drums. And the caw—the dreadful caw! It’s a most disturbing cry, one that pierces through the dark like jarring slivers of light in shadow. Or a butcher’s blade through flesh, sawing through sinew to get to brilliant bone beneath. The hoarse call of Death’s crows—they circle in a murder, swooping down to meet you as harbingers of malevolence.

Rollo has always strived to lead a virtuous existence defined by a rigidly righteous moral compass. In the gloomy pits of misery and hatred, where he festers in a bundle of tar-colored feathers, he does not hope for sunshine. He no longer knows the uplifting ebullience of life’s greatest miracles. Because there is no miracle in death or tragedy. Because there is no happiness to be found in a doomed hand, every card showcasing Death and its many forms. Not for him. Never for him.

But then, amidst the despair and despondency, each all-consuming, a goat fell into his lap.

A divine offering to the crow, who is so far from divinity himself, can only mean one thing. It is neither conciliatory nor a reward.

It is a sacrifice.

But then the City of Flowers adores its goats—reveres them for all that they are. Goats are cherished, not sacrificed. But to drag a nameless, magicless goat from the grounds of its far-off, inconceivable pasture—is that not the cruelest form of sacrifice? To drop this goat into the equitable embrace of the crow—is that not the sweetest gift? Generous yet unfair. Plucked right from the folds of another heaven.

The mortal coil can be callous, which is precisely why the crow is permitted to exist in impartiality. Death does not care for who you were in life and who you will be in the next, and the crow only ever oversees finales. Never beginnings. Much like a deity does not care for what good you can do if you do not first adore them in copious adequacy.

The crow carries with him a most fearsome knell—the chime of judgment, to be delivered right on time like an execution staged for noon.

All throughout life, you can plan for the crow and all that he shall deliver, and still you will never be fully prepared to greet him. He brings misfortune bundled in baskets woven from the bones of sacrifices past. In holy scripture, it is the goat who is punished most often—who is slaughtered at the altar, who is arranged as peace to quell the torrential fury of the deity, who is made to suffer at the hands of those hoping to avoid damnation or godly wrath, who is meant to shoulder the blame when no one else wants to. Favors have been bought with the blood of the goat, its head nestled amidst verdant grasses, pure forevermore even when it is dyed carmine. It appeases and pleases.

So it’s just—religiously so—that the crow takes the goat for himself, strips it bare, and proves to the prying eyes in heaven that the greatest sin is more than lustful temptation.

For the crow—for Rollo—the heaviest sin, a vile, cursed burden from his very first breath—it is existence itself.

And only the blood of a pure goat can wash away such filth—can cleanse what has been rotting within. The goat can make a garden out of the crow—bring life and love to its barren insides regardless of however fleeting its presence may be. It is within this garden—within the softest, fertile soil—where the crow shall sow the most special seeds.

You cross the bridge with Rollo, your laughter filling the cloudy sky as you recall all manner of amusing stories from the past few hours. Drinking games paired with drunken gossip. Delicious wines and snacks. A party with an energy so lively it could rival the city’s annual festivals. Even though he doesn’t seem outwardly pleased to hear any of it, he listens well and occasionally stops to steady you before you can topple over the railing into the water below. Your heels clack against smooth, frosted stone, and the wind whips at your face, each snowflake biting and vicious. Noble Bell’s vast campus waits just beyond the wrought iron gate, standing proud and backdropped by the night.

“You think anyone’s up?” you ask, curling your fingers into his arm as he guides you through.

Rollo eases the gate shut. “They might if they hear you. It would be best to keep quiet.”

You pantomime zipping your lips and discarding a nonexistent key. He quirks a small smile at that and then hurries you along. Nights are always peaceful at Noble Bell. The halls are desolate and quiet, devoid of all signs of student life. Your and Rollo’s shoes click in unison as you walk through the hall and past the courtyard. You gaze at the arched openings, counting each one as they become fainter with the growing distance.

Your breath materializes in front of you when you sigh. “I’m so sleepy. I wanna go to bed for a thousand years.”

“You’ll miss your exam if you do that,” he chides, tutting. “And every other exam that will follow.”

“That’s the point!” Your voice bounces off the walls, returning to you in a reverberating echo. Cringing under Rollo’s disapproving glower, you speak softer. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Just how much have you had to drink? You can hardly walk straight without leaning on me for support.” He narrows his eyes, his lecherous gaze crawling down to your bare legs. “Not that I mind…”

His words don’t reach you, for they’re swallowed in a howling gale as it sweeps across the courtyard. You spy the dormitories then, each one looking more like gingerbread covered in confectioners’ sugar instead of buildings dusted with snow. Your eyelids droop while you cross the distance to reach your designated building, your every movement feeling slower than molten molasses, and by the time you’re actually inside the dorm—Rollo’s shushed you more than once—you’re yearning for the warmth of your bed.

So it’s bewildering when, rather than your own room, you stop at Rollo’s instead.

He opens the door and steps inside with you in tow. You keep your mouth shut, too tipsy to think coherently. After he clicks the lamp on, which leaves the room awash in soft shades of amber, he shrugs his coat off, draping it over a nearby chair. You drag yourself over to his bed and flop down, squeezing your eyes shut to block out both the light and your spinning surroundings. Rollo doesn’t say anything, but you hear him shuffling about his room, crossing to close and lock the door before walking back towards you. The mattress dips under his weight, and you feel nimble fingers working to undo the buttons on your coat.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask, cracking your eyes open just as he’s pulling the coat from your person.

Rollo folds it neatly and sets it aside. “You’re practically melting into my bed already. It would be quite the undertaking to make the walk back to your room at this hour.”

“So considerate,” you tease, grinning up at him. Sleep stretches your expression into something dazed, and you yawn loudly. “Then I’m gonna sleep here. Wake me up before class.”

You almost drift off, but those frigid fingers are moving to tug you out of your sweater next. They crawl across your bare shoulders like a spider on a web.

“You really are something,” he marvels, glancing at your body sprawled beneath him. “To brave the cold in such thin material…”

“Stupid choice. I know.”

“It appears we’re in agreement.”

“Shut up,” you snap back with a weak laugh. “You’re no better, showing up so cozy and then giving everything to me.”

Rollo memorizes the way the form-fitting dress hugs your figure. He inhales a shaky breath and brings his hands back to his sides. Your chest is right here. So close. So frustratingly close.

He can’t indulge. He really shouldn’t. It’s unbecoming to show such unfair favorability when he’s meant to remain impartial. Death should not lust for the beauty of life because it only knows endings—or the beginnings of ghostly eternity. The crow should not allow himself to be swept up in tumultuous temptation.

And the goat is the only friend he’s known—the only one who understands the crow, if only by a few meager slivers. But someday the goat will know.

Rollo swallows his inhibitions, beating his urges away with a stick. He’s not one for rash decisions; he’s meticulous and thoughtful. He would never take such a risk—would never nosedive into a crude confession. He’s plotted it in his diary, but it’s never come to fruition. He restrains himself because he must. Because it’s the polite and proper thing to do when caught up in courtship. Because if he opens his torso and allows you to poke around inside, you’ll find that he is not the friend you’ve known for all these months.

He is a fiend, devilishly so, wearing the hide of a goat to put the real one at ease.

Warring with rationality, he slides away from you and intends to recover at his desk. He’ll scrawl all of the things he wishes to do to you in there and that will be enough. That will help clear his head of the intoxicating fog that settles whenever he’s with you in private. But then he’s reaching to untie the canopy draped over his bed, each corner undone within seconds. The sheer curtains fall in thin layers, confining the both of you to this island in the middle of a barren sea. It’s darker in here, dimly lit by the faint glow of the lamp outside.

You blink up at him, owlish.

“You…” He stops himself, shakes his head, and turns away. Hastily, he fishes his handkerchief from his pocket. With this enclosed propinquity, he can smell your perfume. It’s spiced and flowery—alluring and adorable all at once—and it assaults both his nose and mind. “You should sleep. It’s late.”

This is for the best. The crow is only meant to look after the goat, remain unaffected even in the face of lustful, fateful sacrifice.

But you’re here. You’re splayed like a spill, perfectly imperfect, and your shoulders are a canvas coveting kisses. He clutches his handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist.

“Mm, okay. Night…”

“Yes… Yes, good night,” he mumbles, lowering his handkerchief. He swallows thickly.

This is for the best.

But even though he thinks this, his arm is stretching out. Closer. Closer. So close, until his hand is hovering just above your chest. He’s so close.

When will he ever have another chance as fortuitous as this?

His hand closes around your breast and he squeezes it experimentally. It’s soft when his fingers dig in gently, depressing with the pressure of his digits. Rollo’s green hues flick to your face. Your eyes are shut, and soft snores slip from your parted lips. He glimpses your chest again and, with the utmost care, slides your dress down to free your breasts. They’re mostly bare, save for the heart-shaped pasties covering your nipples. Rollo heaves a disbelieving sigh.

“Promiscuous,” he mutters, plucking the edge of the first adhesive and peeling it away to reveal the perky nipple beneath. You look so soft, so clean, so pure… What was he even worried about? No one’s had you before. He’s sure of it.

He’s about to remove the other heart when your voice freezes him.

“What…are you doing?”

He holds your gaze. It’s tense for a moment, unspoken accusations brewing between the both of you.

“A massage,” he blurts, but there isn’t a hint of haste in his tone. He suspected this outcome when he chose to traverse the line of right and wrong—and ultimately sided with the former. Because to him it’s right, even if it’s wrong. He knows what will soon follow: disgust and detestation.

Instead, you giggle. It’s sleepy and silly-sounding, but it’s also light and lively.

You catch his hand in yours and drag it back to your chest. “If you wanted to touch, just ask,” you murmur, your words slurring. “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

You’re not just perfect and pure. You’re everything.

Yes, it’s the alcohol blurring your brain and the intimacy of being trapped in a quiet, comfortable space such as this one that allows you to desire him. Would it be the same if you were sober? He can’t quite say, but he doesn’t wish to know. This is enough. This is paradise.

He kneads slow, steady motions into your breast, and you watch from where you’re lying on the bed. His other hand slithers between your legs to search for your clothed clit. Your breath hitches just as his fingers brush it, and he presses in, rubbing with his index. Your arm falls over your face, and your chest rises with every breath.

“How does it feel?” he asks, rolling your nipple between chilly digits.

“Not enough,” you bemoan, curling your fingers into a fist. “S’not enough…”

“How fascinating. I suppose cheap wine truly does turn you into a pute.”

“No… Was definitely expensive. The fancy kind.”

“Was it now?” He circles your clit, predatory and shark-like, his eyes alight with glee. “You say that, but look at the state it’s left you in. Utterly disheveled.”

“That’s because of—” you gasp, your voice rising in pitch— “because of you…”

His heart hammers in his chest, a resounding, pounding melody.

The City of Flowers treasures its goats, and the crow loves his fiercely even though he shouldn’t.

“Did you enjoy drinking yourself foolish and indulging in debauchery?” His fingers dance along your inner thigh, hooking around the hem of your underwear. “Was it a fun celebration?”

You lower your arm to glare halfheartedly at him. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“More so disappointed, mon chou chou,” he coos, sugary, sickeningly sweet. “Someone could have taken advantage of you. Someone could have tainted you with magic.” His lip curls up into a nasty sneer. It lingers for a moment before fading into something calm. He gazes at you, oddly tender. “That didn’t happen, though, yes?”

You shake your head and flinch when he drags your panties down. Dewy strings of your slick come away with it, and you shudder at your newfound nudity. He hums approvingly and drags his finger through the wet patch staining your panties. Driven by libertine compulsion, he stretches viscous strands of your essence between two fingers.

Your eyes find his deceitful greens once more. Silence sparks between the both of you, quickly broken by your exhalation. Rollo kneels before you, taking in the sight of you as your face wavers through the stages of consideration. Upon arriving at your conclusion, you sit up slightly and shuck your dress over your head. And then you’re lying back, shaking your panties from off your ankle, and wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him in closer.

You grin, coquettish. “Why not search for yourself if you’re so worried, Mr. Student Council President?”

There’s no turning back. Not that he ever would. Not when the goat’s given him the signal. The blade doesn’t fall, but he does.

And this is better than dreams and erotica. This is real.

He surges forward to fit his lips against yours. Sloppy and inexperienced, he molds himself to your body. You tug him against you, your hands working to undress him. Clothes and shoes are cast aside between open-mouthed kisses, torn off half-buttoned and ripped away from soles. You breathe him in, gasping into his mouth. Translucent strings of saliva connect your mouths when you part, soon broken when you lean in for a chaste peck.

“You’re okay,” he says, the words practically bleeding onto your own tongue with how close he is. “Still as pure as the day I first met you.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“The best thing.”

His third and fourth fingers prod at the depths of your pussy, pressing inwards. Shallow at first. He watches your face unblinkingly, burning every pleasured contortion into his brain, and slides his thumb along your clit. Your breathing staggers, coming in quick huffs, and you grab at the bedsheets to steady yourself. Rollo works you open on those fingers, curling and scissoring in equal measure. The slick squelches join in the salacious symphony you’re currently producing. Every sigh and groan come together in perfect harmony. You’re a heavenly harp, and he’s plucking your strings like an expert musician.

“Tonight is unforgivable,” he adds, and you blink through blissful tears to view him. “Folly is the worst distraction.”

“Then be stupid with me,” you joke, running your hands over his shoulders. He’s so cold. “Warm yourself with me.”

And he will because he’s always wanted to. He’s desired it. Craved it. Coveted it. Thought of nothing else for days and days, each delusion so cyclical it often felt tangible.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, sliding his other hand up your hip and towards your rib. He traces the path of where it lies beneath layers of flesh before pressing down to feel it. “So beautiful…”

Your hand glides into his, fingers twining like silken thread around a spool. A lopsided smile lifts your lips, and you preen under him. “Yeah? Am I really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about the obvious…” Your walls hug his fingers tighter then, and a shiver electrifies your nerves. He hums again, quite pleased. “Oh, did you like that?”

“I did. Very much.”

Lashes fluttering against your cheekbones, your head thrown back in ecstasy ever-mounting, you render him ensorcelled. Like a prized Renaissance nude, a goat laid to sacrifice in the crow’s nest, you are beatific. Divinely so.

“Allow me to reiterate then.” He hastens his pace, pumping his fingers relentlessly. You tamp down a shameless moan. “You’re exquisitely beddable. A work of art. Enchanting. Une belle femme.”

You’re nearing the edge—very gradually, but not quite—and so it’s devastating when he slips his fingers out, each one thoroughly coated in you. They shimmer in the dim light, reminding you of where they had previously been.

“Put it back in,” you beg with wide, glossy eyes. “C’mon… Please don’t stop now. Was so close. So close and—”

Your complaints are curbed when you follow his hand as it moves to wrap around his half-hard cock. He strokes himself thrice, using your slick as lube, until his cock is curving up against his stomach. You stare at him; he stares right back.

And then you realize he intends to go all the way.

“Wait, Rol…lo… S’not my safe day,” you say, shifting away. Whether impatiently or anxiously, he can’t tell, but he can certainly guess. Your world spins once, a dizzying blur, before it promptly clears. In the very center of your vision, as he’s always been, Rollo remains. “S’not safe…”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with levity. “I know.”

He’s kept track, dutiful like always.

You attempt to crawl out from under him, but he stops you. Your stomach churns.

“I’ll pull out in time,” he promises, rubbing soothing circles into your plush hips.

Even with the alcohol still buzzing through your system, you aren’t convinced. “N-No, really, we should stop here…”

“You’ll feel so good. Come now, aren’t we nearly there already?”

Rollo lifts your legs onto his shoulders. You squirm with more determination this time, but his fingers dig into your thighs. With a startled squeak, you sink into the mattress, cowed into submission.

“We… We can’t.”

“Why not?” The smooth, soft head of his cock prods curiously at your pussy.

You chew your lip, admitting in a meek tone, “I… I could get p-pregnant…”

“Pregnant,” he parrots, tasting the word as if it’s a delicacy he has yet to sample. His cock twitches. “Pregnant…”

“So… So that’s why…”

“Do you not want children?”

“I… Well… Now is kinda…”

He presses onwards, sinking in slowly. Your breath hitches; your heart stumbles. The intrusion is not entirely unwanted, for your slick, snug walls cling to his shape, and you almost give in to bodily inclination. But it doesn’t feel right. You’re scared. No matter how naturally your body reacts, you don’t want this.

“Rollo, wait—”

“It would be a wonderful thing—to see you rounded with my children.” Rollo props himself on either side of you, his body pinned to yours in sinful, sweaty connection. He exhales a deep breath, restraining himself as he pushes deeper. Patience is a virtue, after all. Your expression tightens with discomfort, and so he peppers your face with placatory kisses. “To see you grow in and—mmh—out of the most flattering maternity wear. To behold every change that blesses this beautiful body of yours… To see you swell with my love, filthy as it may be. Ah, but pregnancy is just as messy… Nevertheless, it shall be a special bond for us—a sacred vow, if you will. We are connected here—” he punctuates this point by slotting the rest of his length inside, and your legs involuntarily close around him to keep him there— “and soon here when life develops within.”

One hand splays across your stomach to pat it with fondness. You choke on your helpless whimper when he rocks his hips once, experimenting with the movement. It’s awkward, but it reminds you that he’s inside. So close to your womb that in just a few more thrusts he might—

“No… No, please… Rollo, you have to—oh—have to pull out. Please pull out. Don’t wanna get pregnant…”

“Oh, but you would be so beautiful.” He breathes you in, savoring sex and floral fragrance. “If I’m allowed one miracle—just one for all the anguish I’ve endured—let it be this.”

You know not of what anguish he speaks, for he’s never verbalized it, but even so it can’t possibly be so agonizing that it would warrant such invasion.

The vise-like hold your velvety walls have on his cock is deliciously addictive. He groans while he ruts into you, his eyelids fluttering. He could be animalistic and cruel in his movements—ravish you as if the world is faced with annihilation and this is his final hour—but instead he settles for exploratory leisure. His hand fits into yours and he squeezes it gently. A feeble protest builds in your throat and so he swallows it with a hungry kiss, his mouth molding against yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders when he draws back and slides in again, filling you deeper than before. You breathe between kisses, panting and licking into his mouth in even intervals. He does much the same, anchored to you in a way that is both temporary and yet so permanent.

The world narrows down to this single sliver of space, enclosed in a canopy. And in it, laid bare and fertile, the goat is sacrificed to the crow. Death cannot reach either one here. There is only the promise of new life, thrust upon the goat all at once.

You don’t have the willpower to object, for you’ve already found yourself entrapped, so instead you cry. Tears track down your cheeks; your mascara runs with it. Ruined. So, too, is your pitch-black lipstick, smeared along the edges of your lips and printed onto Rollo’s porcelain skin.

Rollo’s hips stutter to a halt and he holds you against him when he spills thick and hot inside. Nothing is wasted; it’s all emptied deep within. If you’re lucky, it won’t take. But if some mischievous fertility goddess has cursed you, you’ll wake nauseous in the coming weeks.

If you have anything worth praying for, it’s the former.

The both of you are panting in the aftermath, but only one is coming down from his glorious high. You remain unsatisfied, your peak not yet breached. Rollo rolls his hips once more for good measure before easing out. You crumple into the wrinkled sheets, frigid and still as a statue. Carved empty and hollow, yet stuffed with sin.

The crow has come. Though this time the gift of tragedy is something between boon and curse.

— — —

The curtains are drawn to let in sunlight. It filters in through frosted glass, each pane stamped with snow, and it blinds you the moment you try to open your eyes. You twist and turn in bed, feeling heavy with hangover. A splitting ache cracks your head in half, and you groan loudly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hiss, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “This sucks…”

You force yourself to wake after two more minutes of rolling around. Groaning once more, you sit up in bed. The canopy has been tied back in place, and when you glance sidelong at Rollo’s desk you notice something. A glass of water and a plate are waiting for you, seeming more enticing by the second. You throw the covers off, realize you’re nude seconds later, and promptly snatch them back. They’re wrapped around you like a comforting cloak. You stagger out of bed to check the contents. Two croissants, a single orange, a dollop of strawberry marmalade, and two tablets are arranged on the plate.

Hangover medicine, you realize, lifting one up to scrutinize it.

You peer around the room. It’s empty. And then you see the clock. It’s a little past noon.

“Oh,” you mumble, lowering into the chair. You clutch the blanket closer. “Rollo must be in class.”

Amidst the piercing migraine, which you quickly resolve by throwing your head back to swallow both tablets in a single gulp of water, two things occur to you. You’re in Rollo’s room. Naked. In Rollo’s room. Surely you must have spent the night after you returned from the party. Why are you naked?

But more importantly…

“Shit! My exam!” The excitement doesn’t help your current state, and you slouch in your seat, even more exhausted than before. “I completely missed it… Rollo’s gonna kill me.”

You scrub the sleep from your eyes and reach for a croissant, content with giving up. You don’t want to endure the walk of shame from Rollo’s room to yours. If anyone were to catch you, they’d certainly be left wondering.

As you nibble on the croissant, admiring the way Rollo’s arranged the contents of his room, you spot the edge of something beneath the plate. Perplexed, you push it aside to reveal a note. Penned in Rollo’s effortlessly pretty script, it reads:

I’ll forgive your transgression just this once if you’ll forgive mine. For now, get some rest. I’ve left breakfast here. Stay for however long you’d like.

You scowl at his attempt of ‘breakfast,’ and your stomach rumbles in dissatisfaction.

“Right?” you say to your stomach, clicking your tongue. “If anything, this is hardly a snack.”

But you’re grateful for his efforts. He cares. He always has. From the very first day you found yourself in this world, he cared.

While you peel the orange, pondering foggy recollections of last night, you begin to realize just how sticky you feel. As if someone’s slobbered all over you and left it to dry. The feeling persists between your thighs.

You pause momentarily, overcome with an uncanny sense of panic as you piece the puzzle together. The still-forming picture does not look good.

“Shit…” you whisper, haunted with a fragmented timeline. “What the hell did we do last night?”

You know. The deep, dark part of your brain knows, but you don’t want to confront it. Because Rollo wouldn’t, right? He couldn’t. He’s always done what’s best for you, so he wouldn’t.

Right?

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamm #yandere rollo flamme x reader #yandere rollo flamm x reader #yandere rollo #yandere rollo x reader #n/sfw #tw: dubcon

643 notes · View notes

arieswritez · 5 days

Text

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 3

chapter 2

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; you don't know how long i could stare into your picture and wish that it was me i guess it's different 'cause you love him but i've got an interactive sick and twisted imagination and that's gotta count for something - not allowed (tv girl)

you'd found a boy that made your heart go thump thump, thump. and you knew very well how the rest of that story usually went.

your love was encompassing. asphyxiating and obsessive. and in the very first moment the two of you interacted, you knew, this could be it.

you didn't blame yourself.

you couldn't blame yourself.

blame the love stories.

the disney movies with the princes and the magic mirrors. breaking curses with true love's kiss. much like the fabricated sugary fantasies, your potential life with him unfolded before your eyes.

he could be the one.

true love's forever kiss.

you imagined it all.

movie theater dates, awkward parental meetings, proposals, a home, kids, pets. arguments. therapy, even. pushing through at the end. death. rebirth. trying it all over again in the next life.

all you had to do was get him to stick around.

you had to make him understand that you could be his true love kiss, too.

you had to be perfect.

. . there was just one miniscule problem.

the boy so happened be on the same baseball team as mark.

it's the way the two of you had met.

despite the fact that you were supposed to be there for mark: your eyes were . . elsewhere. your eyes - then your focus - had gravitated towards him even before the first pitch. and you found yourself blushing as you watched him stretch: holding his baseball bat over his head.

you'd made it your only goal to attempt to extract as much information about it from mark as discretely as you could. and frankly, you should've known mark would be able to read you like the back of his hand.

because he found out what you were trying to do embarrassingly quickly.

and he was just as quick to shut it down.

you hadn't noticed the boy before. not really. but since the baseball game, he seemed to be everywhere. and you were excited to find that he was the new addition to mark's friend group. you knew this because you saw him and mark sitting together during lunch.

which meant they were at least acquaintances.

so imagine your shock when you came to find out. . mark didn't like him.

everything about him seemed to rub mark the wrong way. mark would clam up the moment you mentioned your boy. he'd change the subject. or his mood would just straight up sour. he'd go quiet and avoidant. and when you kept pushing, he finally snapped.

your boy was stupid.

your boy was shallow.

"don't say i didn't warn you." mark would mumble.

but warning you wasn’t enough.

your boy barely looked at you.

and you weren't sure if it was in part because of the way you acted. . the way you looked. maybe he was so out of your league that he'd completely removed you from his radar.

you'd watch him from across hallways and excitement would swell in your chest when you found that you'd be walking in opposite directions.

you'd see him coming.

he'd see you.

time would slow as you walked past him.

your heart rate would pick up.

but his eyes would remain forward and time would pick back up again as soon as you were past each other.

all it'd leave you with was the bitter taste of rejection in your mouth and a deep ache of anxiety bubbling in your stomach.

the only thing that sobered you up were the dizzying possibilities.

he hadn't seen you. he hadn't noticed the effort you'd put in.

but eventually, he would.

you don't know what it was that grabbed his attention.

mark was vehemently against introducing you two.

you were at a loss until you realized that you'd just have to try harder.

whenever mark left for the bathroom, you'd made it a mission to swipe mark's phone during study sessions. you'd go through his socials and send yourself screenshots of both his follower count and who he was following.

it was a long tedious progress but eventually, you'd found your boy's account.

thankfully, it was public. which meant the the decoy accounts you'd made to snoop just in case he was private turned out to be a waste of time.

you looked through his followers and did your homework on anyone he showed a particular interest in. you'd even made a list of the usernames of the people who’s posts he interacted with the most.

and soon you became a master of disguise.

you studied them top to bottom.

those that went to the same school were far easier to emulate.

you copied their mannerisms, the way they styled their hair, you changed the cadence of your voice, the way you rolled your r’s. your clothing grew tighter and your slouch was now an exaggerated upbeat gallop as you chased after the object your new affection, hoping one day he'd notice.

. . and the exact moment he looked into your eyes and did a double take. . you did one, too.

it was completely out of surprise before you caught yourself and continued to saunter away from him with butterflies in your stomach: flapping their wings so violently it felt like you'd be swept away.

his attention was the most excitement you'd felt. . in a long time.

and you knew you'd do anything to retain it.

it was a sickly sweet feeling: syrupy, sticky. clogging your vascular system to the point your head swelled. the lack of oxygen only heightened your fantasies.

the attention was addictive and so, so good you found yourself chasing that high all the time. going to extreme lengths to get his attention. even if they’d end up embarrassing you after.

you never allowed yourself to wallow in the feeling of dread that settled in your stomach when you did everything in your power to get his attention, though.

specially whenever it made a smile stretch across his face.

whatever you did faded into the background.

it was all worth it in the end.

something was wrong with mark.

and he needed to get to the root of the problem fast.

he was looking at you. . differently.

he talked to his dad.

nolan had said something about the changing moods having to do with his powers. how being intense and passionate was just in his blood.

he talked to his mom about it. albeit in a more discrete way. he'd never be able to live it down if she'd found out you were making him behave a certain way.

she'd just chalked it up to it being puberty.

mark didn't know who to believe.

he just wanted to stop thinking about you.

his nerves were shot to shit whenever you were near.

senses heightened: you were a fog blanketing his brain until your voice carried with it a technicolor vision.

he could smell you coming like a damn blood hound.

he could hear your pulse while sitting next to you.

something was wrong with mark.

he knew it when his teeth ached when you'd stretched your neck: raised your arms over your head and let out a little sound of pain and discomfort.

something was wrong with mark.

when the day's turned warm and wet. . and your clothing became more revealing.

he could see more of you.

freckles and moles, blemishes and scars, he hadn't noticed before.

he'd follow sweat drops rolling down your skin.

smooth. soft.

he'd held you, once.

when was the last time?

something was wrong with mark.

he'd lay awake at night staring up at the ceiling.

thinking about how you'd looked while you concentrated on a book. while you looked down at your phone. while you listened to music: smiling when a song you liked came on.

your little humming. . but not singing.

never singing.

mark noticed you'd stopped singing in front of him when he started to make fun of you for it.

that, too, was how mark knew something was wrong with him.

the way your moods would shift like tides under a crescent moon whenever he'd said something excited him. he felt pleasure - a violent zap of electricity shooting up and down his spice - watching your eyes light up or darken when he'd say something to you.

about you.

i like your hair today.

light.

you talk so goddamn much.

dark.

i missed you.

light.

your stories take fucking forever.

dark.

something was wrong with him when he found his own mood depended on fantasizing on how he'd make you feel that day.

if he was in a bad mood, seeing you in one, too, was a sure-fire way to make his day a whole lot better.

something was wrong with mark.

when he'd have to smother the sounds he made while imagining you -

something was wrong with him. . when red, hot anger consumed him when one of his friends made a smart quip about your body.

when he couldn't just laugh it off anymore.

something was wrong with mark.

. . or so he thought.

because he'd later find out. .

. . no.

something was wrong with you.

all of a sudden: mark was the one double texting.

triple texting.

mark was the one asking if he could hang out. . and when the fuck did he ever need permission?

mark was the one seeking you out.

something was wrong with you.

and he needed to get to root of the problem.

he picked his brain apart in an attempt to figure out what it was. you couldn't be under any stress. you looked fine. better than fine.

you looked happy.

fucking elated.

to the point where mark couldn't affect your moods anymore.

mark wanted to know what the fuck you were so happy about.

why the fuck you were so happy when he was falling apart at the seams. when his world was crashing down.

and there you were, completely fucking oblivious.

mark had always been curious.

and so, he went to see you.

the two of you were in your room.

you'd excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

and mark started looking.

you were predictable.

he knew where you kept your journal. despite how many times he'd found it and read it aloud - holding it above his head whenever you tried to snatch it away - he'd always managed to figure out your next hiding place.

it was easier that way.

he pretended he didn't know where it was.

you pretended to have some privacy.

he pretended not to know every single, minute, insignificant detail of your life.

of your thoughts.

thank fuck you were still so naive.

thank fuck for dairies.

he'd found it in a box under your bed.

and after flipping to the page with the freshest set of ink. . he'd found out what your problem was.

you'd found a boy who'd made your heart go

thump.

155 notes · View notes

cameronspecial · 2 months

Note

rafe x ocd reader. Maybe there at the mall and something’s happens inside of one of the stores, rafe brings her to the fitting rooms to calm her down .

Death By Clothes Rack

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x OCD!Reader

Warnings: OCD Compulsion and Obsessions

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K

Masterlist

Rafe didn’t truly understand what OCD was until he met her, like most of society, he thought it was just something that made people annoyingly tidy. Meeting Y/N gave him a better comprehension of what anxiety disorder is. It is much more than what the media portrays and Rafe knows this because of his first-hand experience of seeing how distressing the obsessions and compulsion can be for his girlfriend. His fingers are laced with hers as they walk through the boutique. Y/N is looking for a dress for one of Rafe’s work events. She finds a classy black dress and goes to try it on in the changing room. Upon seeing it doesn’t compliment her in the manner she wants, she returns it to the wooden hanger and walks back to the rack with Rafe in tow. She mindlessly places it onto the bar and begins to walk away, but stops when she spots something that gets her obsessive thought train going. The dress she just returned to the wrack is facing the wrong direction and not in the right spot size-wise.

What if someone’s feelings are hurt because they thought they were trying on one size, but it is another so it doesn’t fit them? What if someone cuts their hand on the paper tag sticking out of the dress? Another error the girl has made. What if someone accidentally pulls too hard to fix her mistake and the whole rack comes down on them? These things could happen and it would be all her fault if they do. She has to make sure it doesn’t happen. Her first order of business is to remove the dress she put back and fix the direction it hangs, then she finds the section for its size and places it between two of its brethren. She notices the unequal distance between the hangers, which begins the urge to rectify the problem. Metal grinds against metal as she moves the hangers half an inch apart from each other. Her breathing quickens once she realizes there isn’t enough space for all the clothes to be spaced evenly. Rafe notices the internal struggle in her mind, knowing she is debating how to get everything the perfect way she wants it. To get it in a way that no one would get hurt. He hovers his hand over her right shoulder because he knows when she goes through her compulsive cycle that she doesn’t like to be touched, yet he still wants her to feel comfort from its presence.

“Darling, can you come with me please?” he begs, holding his hand out to her. Her hand freezes on top of the next hanger, “I- I- I can’t. I need to fix it. It needs to be fixed. Someone can get hurt.” Rafe nods in understanding. He lifts a finger to beckon over a sales associate. “What can I help you with, Sir?” He gives her a tight-lipped smile, “I was wondering if you can look over this rack and make sure no one touches it until we get back. My girlfriend is worried that something will happen if they touch it.” The associate tilts her head at the strange request but immediately agrees to do as asked when Rafe flashes her his black Amex card. He turns toward Y/N, “Darling, this nice lady is going to watch over the rack for us. Now, will you come with me?” Even with her back facing him, he can tell the gears are turning in her head before spinning around to look at her boyfriend. “Okay.” Her hand laces with his and he leads her to one of the changing rooms. He pulls the curtain across the bar to give them privacy. He hesitates to place his hands on both of her shoulders, silently asking for permission to touch her. She bobs her head. He can feel her shoulders relax at the contact.

Her feet bring her closer to him and she rests her face against his chest. His mouth dips to her ear, “Tell me what’s going on through your head.” “I’m so so scared someone is going to get hurt because of something that I did,” she cries, tears beginning to pool in the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to be the cause of anyone's suffering.” Rafe’s hold tightens around her, “I know you don’t, I know. I promise you, Darling, that it is unlikely for someone to get hurt because the hangers are wrong.”

“But it’s not impossible though. What if something does happen?”

"I’ll be honest. I don’t know what would happen if it did. I do know though that if it did that you didn’t mean to and that’s okay because accidents happen sometimes.”

“They do.”

“How about this? You trust that the sales associates know how to properly hang the items in their stores, right?”

“Yes.”

“So how about we ask one to fix it for us and we can know that it was done properly. Would that help?”

He feels her breathing start to even out and this reassures him that he is helping. “Can we please do that?” she whispers. He runs his fingers through her hair, “Of course, Darling. Let’s go.” So the couple goes back out to the floor and gives their request to the sales associate. They watch as she removes each hanger, handing it over to Rafe to hold while she arranges everything. Once she is finished, Rafe asks Y/N to wait for him in the car. Y/N complies with his invitation, needing a break from being out in public. He turns to the associate he learns is named Kira. “Thank you so much for the help, Kira. My girlfriend has OCD, so sometimes she gets stuck in a compulsive cycle that can just get worse. I really appreciate you being so understanding and helping us. You get a commission, correct?” he verifies. Kira nods, “It was really no trouble going through all that. I could tell something was wrong and I’m glad I could help. To answer your question, I do work on commission.” “Perfect. I’m going to make some calls to a women’s shelter and ask them to send over the size clothes they need. Would you be able to pick stuff out for them? You can get them as much as they need,” he offers. Kira grins, “I would love to help you do that.” “Great, I’ll be in contact then,” he confirms before leaving the store.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

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3hks · 4 months

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How to Create a Unique Character

As authors, we should want our characters to stand out, to be unique, and to have an everlasting impression on our readers! However, there are simply too many other characters out there to make our creations one-of-a-kind. But in this post, I'll give you some ideas and tips you can use to create a memorable character!

What really sticks out about your character? Appearance wise, it's admittedly easier if your character has some truly unique features, such as heterochromatic eyes, scars, different hair color(s), accessories, etc. If your character doesn't have anything too distinctive about them, then pick out some of their most important traits and embellish them! Notice that I said important, the features that matter to your character should matter to the reader. And finally, if your character is simply just average, then state that. Take time to really describe your characters and the respective parts of them!

What about their backstory? Honestly, a backstory can do a lot! They can change the readers' perspectives on the character and provide reasoning for their actions. With that being said, a backstory can really stick to the audience, so let your imagination run wild with their past! Naturally, you should decide on what influence their background had on them and build a story around that. Does your character live in an orphanage? What type of orphanage is it? What did they learn from it? For quite some writers, their main characters are orphans, but how did they become one? I'm going to be honest here, it's rather common for authors to have their protagonist watch their parents die, and have their motives built around that. Don't just settle for something bland! If they have been through some sort of traumatic experience, depending on the situation, I suggest involving that character, make them a part of what they went through, more than a simple bystander. Maybe they could've helped, but didn't, and that regret was what changed them! If you want your character to have an impression on your audience, the backstory is a part of the foundation for that!

What about their emotions? For a mentally healthy character, this is a pretty obvious answer: they are perfectly cognizant of their feelings and accept them. However, I suspect that most of you won't create a mentally healthy character, and that might work to your advantage! Think about how they would deal with these three feelings: sadness, anger, and stress. Does it differ from a "normal" person? Then at some point, include your character battling one (or more) of the emotions they find it difficult to deal with! How they respond will stick out to the readers!

What about their mental stability? Does your character have some sort of mental health disorder? These don't have to be flat-out depression, but can include OCD, mysophobia, (more commonly known as germophobia) anxiety, ADHD, etc. A disorder or obsession will definitely make your character stand out, but make sure to do some research on the topic! Mental health is no joke; some people may actually have the disorder, and falsified facts could really be offensive.

And lastly, what about their own, private problems? For example, a character's significant other has been distracted with work, and doesn't pay much attention to the former character. Thus, they feel abandoned and not prioritized. How does the character fight to overcome those feelings? How a character feels in specific events can reach out to the reader because they find it relatable!

These are some things to consider when creating a unique character! Every little part counts!

Happy writing~

3hks ^^

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #writing advice #writing inspo #creative writing #how to create a unique character #unique character #how to make a character stand out

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xpao-bearx · 1 year

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"Like A Virgin"

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader/Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Read Part 1 HERE

Read Part 3 HERE

Read Part 4 HERE

NOTES: Y'ALL the way my jaw literally DROPPED when not even H A L F a minute after I posted the first part, you guys were already exploding my notifs which I wasn't expecting AT ALL I swear Oscar Isaac's really got us sluts in a chokehold O_o

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU!!! 😭❤️❤️❤️ This is truly wonderful and encourages me a lot, especially since this is my first ever Moon Knight fic AND the first time a story of mine blew up this much! This is also great cuz I've been terribly sick, but of course ✨️priorities✨️ I gotta shower our Moon Boys with some much deserved lovin' and it's just so fucking nice to see that it's paying off! \(^o^)/ I was so happy and inspired that I couldn't resist and just HAD to write this second part ASAP!

Dissociative identity disorder is also briefly mentioned here and if I made any mistakes, then I apologize and please kindly correct me. And I feel like the ending may be a bit rushed, but it's the best my tiny brain could think of!

I'll shut up now and I'm very proud and excited to present... PART 2!!! 🥳 And if you'd like to be tagged for any of the next parts, feel free to tell me!

Also Marc does something very asshole-y here oop

TAGS: @autismsupermusicalassassin @ungracefularchimedes @pimosworld @ababynova @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @anapnovo-blog @am-3-thyst @harrys-tittie @zukoisbabee @wiltedwonderland

Part 2: You made me feel I've nothing to hide

After work, instead of heading home, you rushed straight to the nearest boutique to buy yourself a new dress for tomorrow night. The butterflies in your stomach were doing somersaults and you felt as if you could spontaneously burst into song like in those cheesy musicals your former college roommate was so obsessed with.

You knew the employees were all looking at you oddly as you constantly giggled to yourself like some lovesick schoolgirl while you perused through endless racks of the latest fashion. Of course you knew you were acting ridiculous--crazy--but wasn't that what attraction or, dare you say, love did to you?

Besides, you wanted tomorrow to go perfectly. In your eyes, Steven Grant was already perfect--perfectly imperfect or imperfectly perfect, you didn't know or care which was which. You just knew that you liked him. A lot.

And it relieved and pleased you to the moon and back that he actually felt the same! So, who cares what anyone else thought?

You just hoped that after tomorrow, Steven would like you enough to go on another date. And another. Then another...

Maybe you were looking--wishing--too far into the future, but you swore you could almost hear wedding bells chiming in the distance.

God, is this what happens after being a total virgin for twenty-something years? There was absolutely nothing wrong with being a virgin, but your insecurity bugged you. What if you weren't at all what Steven expected?

But another part of you, a positive ray of sunshine, clobbered all your doubts. For once, you were going to be brave! You were going to take a leap of faith! You were going to control your life!

Because, in the end...it was worth it. Steven was worth it. Sure, you've experienced various crushes throughout your life, but not like this. Not with Steven. This felt more...serious. Adult.

It felt as if right from the get-go crossing fates with "Steven with a V", your life was about to change--for the better.

Of course you were afraid, and yet you've also never been more sure of something in your entire existence. You've been waiting this long and you're glad you did, and now you were ready to jump head first (and head over heels) into whatever adventure was in store for you--with Steven.

You then squealed excitedly when you spotted the perfect dress, ignoring the judgmental stares other customers shot you as you hurriedly grabbed it like a child in a toy store.

Yes, tomorrow was going to be a dream come true.

♡•••🌙•••♡

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes early. It was totally embarrassing how eager you were, but you couldn't help yourself. Though at least with how early you were, you snagged a good table overlooking the restaurant's beautiful back garden strung with fairy lights and you can have some time to calm down before Steven came.

And you looked stunning. Your hair tumbled down in elegant waves, light makeup adoring your face and donning the contact lenses you rarely used. And the dress you bought fit like a glove; it was the shortest dress you now owned, stopping around your thighs. It was baby blue and had an off-the-shoulder style with some frills, and it hugged your figure just right.

You felt very self-conscious. You've always fancied clothes like this, but never actually had the guts to wear them--until now. Did it really suit you? But you couldn't deny that you were happy and, truly, isn't that all that mattered?

"Shall I get you started, ma'am?" A waitress snapped you back to reality and you shook your head.

"Not yet, thank you. I'm still waiting for my...date." The word made you blush furiously, as if sharing a dirty little secret.

The waitress smiled and nodded, leaving you by yourself once more as you sighed wistfully.

You took out your phone from your purse, checking the time. 6:45 p.m. Alright, not too long now. And you double checked that the address you texted Steven was correct, which it is.

You settled back in your chair, peering over the garden and giggling softly.

"I'm right here for you, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

"It's about time, innit?" Steven murmured, glancing over anxiously at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time. It was already eight p.m., a whole hour past your meeting time (not to mention he arrived embarrassingly early). And he was just informed by one of the servers that the restaurant was closing in thirty minutes, to which a pitiful look was also casted to him.

"It's not 'about time', Steven. It's late." Marc gruffly pointed out, Steven seeing Marc's reflection glaring back at him from the shiny silver flower vase set in the middle of the table. "Face it: she's NOT coming."

"Don't you dare say that." Steven's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a certain edge to it that one would normally not hear from the soft man. "Y/N would never do that. Not her. She's just running late, I'm sure. Traffic and all."

"Oh, please, we both know that even the traffic here doesn't take this long." Marc scoffed. "Stop kidding yourself, Steven. She's. NOT. Coming."

Steven frowned, and with a shaky hand he pulled out his phone. He should've called you since way earlier. It was the logical thing to do, after all. But he was...scared. Scared that, maybe, a terrifying maybe, Marc was right.

He found your number and called you, pressing his phone to his ear as it began to ring. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until you finally picked up, voice groggy.

"Hello..?"

"Y/N..." Steven heaved a relieved exhale. "Hey, uh, I'm at the restaurant. Guess you got stuck in traffic?" He chuckled halfheartedly.

A long, dreadful pause. And then:

"Fucking EXCUSE me?"

Steven's eyes widened, having never heard you swear before. He was just about to ask what was wrong when you continued without skipping a beat.

"Are you playing with me, Steven? Is this what it is?!" You definitely sounded angry, but he didn't miss the faint sniffles coming from you. Shit, were you crying? What the hell was happening?

"How can you be such a...such a DICK?!" You shouted, causing him to jerk his phone a few inches away from his ear. "I fucking waited for you like a total idiot until closing time, you prick! You never showed and you never answered my calls! What the fuck can you POSSIBLY gain from toying with me, huh?!"

"W-Wait, I don't understand!" Steven was nearly hyperventilating, all the colour draining from his face and his mind running a mile a minute. "I-I'm here! Right now! D-Didn't we agree? Friday night, seven p.m.?"

You were dead silent. Steven was going to check if the call was still connected when you beat him to it.

"Steven... It's Sunday."

Steven froze. Then his eyes landed on Marc's reflection, refusing to meet his gaze and it clicked.

"Y/N." Steven said slowly, steadily, despite feeling like crying himself. His eyes were still on Marc, cold and pissed. "Please. I promise I have an explanation. I just... God, can we meet? Y/N, please, I'll come to you."

"No need." Tears threatened to spill from Steven's despondent eyes at your flat response, before you suddenly added: "I'll come to you. You said you were at the restaurant, right? Stay there."

You ended the call, and Steven flared at Marc--no longer caring if other people perceived him as a lunatic fighting with himself.

"Why the fuck would you do that, Marc?"

"Steven..." Marc struggled to find the right words, and the asshole actually had the audacity to look ashamed. "Listen, she's nothing but a distraction--"

"You always think you know better, yeah?" Steven laughed humourlessly. "A distraction? YOU stop kidding yourself, Marc. This is not just your life, but mine. And it's about fucking time you stop being such a selfish bastard!"

"Um, sir?" Steven winced, greeted by a baffled waiter. "We'll be closing soon, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave if you're not ordering anything."

Humiliated and repeatedly babbling apologies, Steven abruptly sprang out of his chair and dashed outside. He sighed deeply and collapsed listlessly on the ground, finally allowing the tears to fall.

He vaguely heard footsteps approaching until he saw a pair of worn bunny slippers in front of him. His eyes heavily dragged upwards, finding you staring back at him with an unreadable expression and breaths coming out in ragged pants.

"Y/N!" Steven jumped up, surprised you actually came despite the way he--the way Marc--treated you. Your bloodshot eyes and the dried tears on your cheeks only made him feel even shittier, much more fucked up than any beating he suffers on a mission.

Because at least with those, he can be confident that he and the boys would win no matter the challenge. But with you?

He had everything to lose.

Your hair was a total mess; glasses slightly crooked and you were in your pyjamas, a matching set of a purple tank top and shorts with stars and moons. The only thing you had covering you was a purple silk robe, drawing it closer to your chilly body as your eyes narrowed at Steven.

You should be mad at him, and you were. Still, despite everything, you hopped on to the first bus you saw and scrambled the rest of the way here as fast as you could.

But now that you were here...what in Khonshu's name were you going to do? You could scream at him with all the pain you haven't had the pleasure to release like you did on the phone, but you'd just be wasting your breath. Then again, he wasn't lying. He really is here. And it confused you more than anything.

And seeing him like this, looking so...sad. Well, it made you sad. Him miserably clenching onto a heart shaped chocolate box, fat globs of tears cascading down his cheeks as he gawked at you with his pretty doe brown eyes.

You raised your hand, and Steven shut his eyes as he braced himself for the slap he very much deserved--only to be met with your soft palm, wiping away his tears tenderly.

"Explain to me, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

The travel to Steven's apartment was spent in deafening silence, but it brought upon a strange sort of comfort. Unconsciously, you hugged Steven's black jacket that he had offered you earlier even closer to your much smaller frame. It soothed your nerves, being completely enveloped in his smell; fresh soap with a hint of musky cologne.

Once you reached his unit, you couldn't help but smile. It was just so...Steven. It was a bit messy, but a good kind of messy. You didn't really know how to describe it, but it warmed your heart especially when you saw a giant fish tank with only one goldfish.

"Cuppa tea?" Steven asked to which you shook your head, facing him fully.

"No. I'm a 'get over it' kinda girl so whatever your explanation is, I'd rather we just nip it in the bud." You huffed before you halted, biting your lip. "Oh, uh, sorry... Of course, if you wanna have tea, you can. It's your home, after all."

Steven laughed, his first real laugh that entire day. "Are you always this nice to blokes you should be mad at?"

"Only if they are really into Egyptology and have beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous curls." You rolled your eyes though you couldn't suppress your grin before you cleared your throat, getting a hold of your stupid giddy self. "Now, explain."

Steven's demeanour instantly shifted, serious now and quite uneasy. But he nodded and gestured towards the couch. You walked over and plopped down, Steven sitting next to you and keeping a respectful couple inches between the two of you.

He looked down at the ground, carefully considering his words before meeting your gaze solemnly. "Have you ever heard of dissociative identity disorder?" You nodded, previously learning about it in Psychology class and researching about it due to personal interest. "That's...what I have. I'm an alter within a system, and there are two others--Marc Spector and Jake Lockley."

"Am I correct to assume that when you asked me out...it wasn't actually you?"

Steven blinked, rather startled that you were taking this so well. "Yes. Jake was the one who asked you out."

"Was he also the one who didn't show up for the date?"

"No, that would be Marc." He grumbled. "And listen, I'm truly sorry about him. He's a right twit. It may not have been me who didn't show up, but that absolutely doesn't excuse the hurt it caused you. I am so, so sorry, Y/N."

Your brows furrowed, mulling over this new revelation. But...you believed him, especially when it explained all those times you secretly caught Steven muttering incoherently to himself or staring at his reflection and quietly reacting to something. You were curious about more, of course, but Steven didn't have any reason to lie about such a serious matter. And if he was lying, there were plenty of other things he could say. But the way he acted, and just the look in his eyes--he knew the risks of opening up to you, but he did it anyway.

You clasped his hands in yours, sighing. "I know I look calm right now, but trust me, I'm freaking the fuck out." You chuckled, and Steven felt safe enough to join you. "But... I trust you, Steven. And I believe you. Tell me one thing, though. Are you...into me? Like, at all?"

"Of course I am!" He replied in a flash, making you both pause before erupting into easy laughter. "Why would you even have to ask that, love?"

"It's just... Well, if Jake was the one who asked me out, it made me wonder if you really did like me." You mumbled, looking away.

Steven gently grasped your chin, tipping your face back towards him. "I've liked you since the day we met, Y/N. In your pink skirt and the cute little pigtails you had." He smiled, eyes so amorous and gleaming with sincerity. "Truth is, I've wanted to ask you out since forever. I'm just not as...forward as Jake is."

"And that's fine. But hey, we gotta thank him 'cause Lord knows I'd just spiral into a panic attack if I ever made the first move." You chuckled. But it gradually died down as Steven continued to stare at you, and you never thought you would ever have someone look at you the way Steven did; as if you were precious treasure hidden within a sacred tomb.

Slowly, ever so slowly, your body started moving of its own accord. You were leaning closer, closer, closer--a mere breath away from his lips before he piped up.

"I'm also Khonshu's Avatar!"

"Say what?"

"Um, well, you see--" He stammered, mentally slapping himself.

'Don't say anything, Steven.' Marc warned, and it took all of Marc's willpower not to seize control and actually slap Steven.

But it was too late now. Steven already said too much, but he wanted to be honest with you. Utterly so. And since you wanted to nip this in the bud, now was the best time more than anything.

"Erm... You've seen the news, yeah?" He didn't grant you the chance to respond as he rambled. "Masked vigilantes... Moon Knight and Mr. Knight? They're actually...Marc and I."

"Steven, this is--"

"I'll show you, Y/N. I'll summon the suit."

"Summon the soup? What is happening--"

Steven stood up, and a split second later there was a whirl of white. And sure enough, there was none other than one half of the mysterious heroes you've been seeing a lot on the news recently; his glowing white eyes locked with yours, crisp ivory suit and batons clutched tightly in his hands.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in--"

"Handsome..." You blurted out before you can restrain yourself.

"Huh?" Steven blushed underneath the mask, and you were the same as your cheeks tinted crimson. Then you rose from the couch, closing the gap between you two and removing his mask.

His curls stuck every which way and his eyes were as wide as the full moon, making you giggle. "You're so handsome, Steven. And yeah, this is a fucking lot to take in. To be honest, a part of me is still wondering if this is all just a dream." You reached up, caressing the side of his face sweetly and smiling. "But...thank you. Thank you for being honest with me."

His batons dropped to the floor, trembling hands hesitantly settling on your hips. You noticed his Adam's apple bob as he looked down at you, tears once again glistening in his eyes. Happiness, relief, adoration--how can so many exhilarating emotions crash over him all at once?

"Can I be more honest?" He whispered, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed deeply into your eyes. "I...want you to stay with me."

Your cheeks hurt from how impossibly wide your smile has stretched, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose with yours.

"I'm staying whether you like it or not, Steven with a V."

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alicerosejensen · 17 days

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I love your page so much omg. I‘m literally obsessed with your work😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Also I have this imagination in my mind going on about how Leon would try to help his girlfriend from recovering from her mental health issues since she’s always helping him. I was recently thinking about how he would react finding her not moving on the bathroom floor and trying to bring her back! I rewatched American horror stories and the scene with tate and violet in the first season episode 6 (ig?) is always in my head. I‘m still recovering from my past and my unhealthy habits and tbh recovery never felt better.

If this is too much for you or triggering please ignore this.🫶🏼❤️

I had a terrible period in my life when I was a few steps away from doing something like this in my life and unfortunately this shit often comes out. I'm not sure that such texts help me work through my psychological traumas, which were, in fact, inflicted on me and continue to be inflicted by close people who do not consider me a person, but at least such works help me to vent my pain, which I cannot permanently bury in myself.

I have been postponing this request for a long time because I was probably waiting for the right moment to write this text.

There are mentions of suicide, psychological trauma, severe self-doubt and anxiety, so if this is not acceptable to you, then please just block it.

Perhaps there is a similarity with my previous texts, but I am writing this with strong emotions now that I am trying to cope with it again.

the text is chaotic, I repeat, written while I was under the influence of strong heavy emotions. Maybe I'll delete it later, when my brain gets back to normal a little bit.

If a songbird doesn't sing well, they wring its neck.

Maybe it was the costs of Leon's profession and the result of his constant missions, after which something human is gradually dying in him despite the constant struggle to save everyone. Raccoon City was supposed to teach, if not to survive, then make him begin to understand that some are doomed to die.

Leon Kennedy was taught not to offend, but to protect the weak, especially weak women. But it is difficult to calm the flow of disordered thoughts and put aside the fear that has seized him in order to clamp bloody wrists and apply something to them to stop the blood. Leon knew many strong women: Ada was perhaps the first among them, he did not know either her past or her real name, only the present that pushed their foreheads against each other; Claire, a fighting friend of misfortune that he met in that ill-fated city; Ashley, who turned from a baby eagle into a proud eagle; Angela Miller and others…

Your strength dissolves in the water, coloring it scarlet while your heart stubbornly still beats, let the rhythm noticeably shorten.

In truth, over the past few months it became clear that this was the only way out. When even your loved ones considered you an expired product and did not hesitate to remember this and remind you every time. In the end, their words turned into an obsessive worm that settled in your head, slowly day after day, month after month, devouring you and the circumstances seemed to be not in your favor. Instead of support, you somehow faced reproach, as if the universe was screaming that you were an wrong person, nature's mistake who had no right to live.

Escape attempts were doomed to failure. At first you tried to suppress it in yourself, helping Leon, because, in your opinion, he was the only one who had the right to complain about life, although he did not do this in front of you, because everyone said that you had no problems: you have everything limbs, there are no fatal diseases, all loved ones are healthy and there is a roof over your head, as if this is enough to not fall for nonsense and not walk around forever with a sad face.

This was the last time you shared your experiences. You didn’t even bother telling Leon, but everything inside was torn from constant pain. The feeling was as if you were being beaten by two extremes that led you to the edge of an abyss where you ultimately voluntarily jumped.

no, you really loved him, it was just other people’s words and your own speculation that convinced you, despite your strong relationship with him, that Leon would find someone better, someone more confident in himself, someone who would not be you because you had already missed the chance for a good life because it moved too slowly. Ultimately, a couple of sips of alcohol with sleeping pills and a sharp blade in his hands simply promised to correct the mistake in the form of you with your own hands.

You didn't have the courage to do it any other way.

But you really didn’t think that if you could try to open up to your loved one, you would meet support and not condemnation. Perhaps in a mad world he would be the only one who would heal your wounds as you healed him in your time. Leon clenched his teeth, feeling tears flowing down cheeks, seeing these crimson stains, when he pulled your body out of the bath, holding you close to him, repeating “I’m holding you. It's allright"

He so carefully laid you on his lap, managing to pull out a first aid kit and then bandages to tightly, albeit carelessly, wrap them around your wrist in order to somehow stop the bleeding. At least you were still breathing, thereby giving him hope that everything could still be fixed. the darkness and emptiness came to life, calling in a whisper to dissolve into eternal silence where there is no pain or condemnation. Your body will be in a grave under a gray stone, while the remains of your soul will float like a small grain of sand in infinity.

For Leon, everything happens in a fog; he tried more than once to save people, but he had no right to lose in this battle, even if you yourself surrendered to death. Shaking his head, brushing away the tears, he wrapped your body in a large terry towel, kissed your temple and picked you up, trying to somehow warm you, pressing you closer to him. the ability to provide first aid in the field and pull suicides out of the other world is not the same thing. Leon would have thanked God if he had believed in him, convinced that blood loss was the least of the evils that you had caused yourself, until he saw the remains of some substance at the bottom of the glass that stood on the table along with an almost full bottle of alcohol.

You really didn't give him a chance.

The ambulance took several minutes, which seemed like an eternity. In fact, Leon wasn't sure if it was worth trying to make you vomit when you'd already lost so much blood that it was already seeping through the bandages. Surely you would need a transfusion and Leon is ready to give you all his blood if only you would wake up. Holding his breath, he carefully looked at your chest, watching whether you were breathing and fortunately, your heart was still beating, slowly, but it was still fighting for life.

He stroked you on the head, kissed you, promised that he would take you somewhere else, quiet, where no one would dare to offend you, even if it was your family. You could have just asked him for help, just cuddled up to him and he would have protected you from other people’s attacks, but you preferred to remain silent. Kennedy was tired of waiting for the medical staff to let him in, although relatives should be allowed to see the patient first, but the position of a government agent sometimes had its advantages, and they concerned not only the high salary. When he was let in to you, it seemed to him that you had become half your size while you were lying on the bed, curled up under the blanket. It didn’t work out to pull off a beautiful suicide, which meant that soon angry relatives would come here with new sweat of bile especially for you. They won’t care about your feelings, but Leon sat down next to you, trying not to intrude too much into the space in which you imprisoned yourself, as if this blanket cocoon could be a separate world where you could hide. He spoke to you carefully, hating himself for not being able to understand in time what was wrong with your behavior; perhaps if he had been more attentive to you, the incident could have been avoided. You would see a psychotherapist, take a course of medication, and your environment would definitely be taken care of.

You cry, not letting him come to you, hating how you weren't just left to die and how much you hate this world. Hysteria after hysteria, nervous breakdown after nervous breakdown, in the hospital you repeatedly tried to commit suicide, but the attentive staff managed to prevent this before you inflicted fatal injuries on yourself, and if after some time Leon still managed to carefully break through your armor, then your loved ones This did not concern relatives in principle. You only allowed one person to visit you while you were undergoing psychological treatment and you behaved calmer and calmer, listening to the velvety words that soon all this would be behind you.

“We’ll go home soon,” Leon smiled, gently holding your hand and kissing your forehead, just glad that you’re alive, that you’re breathing and that your psycho-emotional state is slowly but improving. “You know, I have a surprise for you, I think you’ll like it when we get home.”

Soon what happened will become another nightmare in his life, a blessing with a good ending, but for the sake of this happy ending, Kennedy is ready to descend into hell at least every day.

You nod at him and smile a little, fearing that the gift is some kind of party on the occasion of your discharge. In fact, the last thing you want is to see someone’s faces, especially those who diligently hammered into your head how insignificant you are. Why do you even hope that the doctor will postpone your discharge, but the plans for your further treatment were completely different.

On the other hand, after taking antidepressants and psychological help in a special medical institution, how many men are ready to stay with their girlfriends who have been there for several months? For Leon, it seems this was not a significant problem, or he simply carefully did not show it. However, there were no parties, no calls, you simply returned now to his home where there were new interior items. it became somehow more comfortable... but something else surprised you.

Puppy. A small puppy of a couple of months old ran towards you and Leon to meet both of them, but stopped and began sniffing your shoes, while something thawed in your heart.

“Animals seem to help us well, They feel when we feel bad, it seems to me a good idea to get us a little companion,” Leon said quietly, stroking your back while you were busy with the puppy, rejoicing at the little living soul who will love you with the same pure and devoted love.

Ultimately it should have a happy ending too. Leon is ready to go to great lengths so that his beloved songbird starts smiling and singing happy songs again, even if it is necessary to remove other birds from her family who sleep and see how to pluck all her wings again.

You and he also have a chance for a happy ending.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy resident evil #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #resident evil leon

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turbulentscrawl · 4 months

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I love ur Frederick Headcanons!! Can we please get some sfw and nsfw hcs for him??

Happy holidays ;)

SFW

-Frederick is one of those partners who isn’t around a lot. He’s often wholly consumed by music and spends long hours sat at the piano. He keeps a private music room and is strict about people coming in when he’s working. He needs focus. He struggles with prioritizing anything over his music, especially when he’s obsessed with perfecting a particular song. This will a life-long struggle for Frederick, but it is something he’s willing to make an effort towards correcting when he’s in love.

-Refer to his general headcanons post for specifics about his disorders; he requires a lot of grace and accommodation in a relationship. It’s almost certain that you’ll be putting more emotional labor into the relationship because Frederick has to put so much into just regulating himself. He’s easily overwhelmed, and has an avoidant attachment style due to his communication skills breaking down when he’s frantic enough. The best advice I can give is to establish a plan of action with Frederick that you can use on his worst days to help him.

-He’s not a “fun” or “spontaneous” socialite. He’s tired of changing who he is for social settings, of pushing his looks and playing sweet to gain favor. He still has to sometimes…which is why he doesn’t like when his partner suggests activities that would also require it. He doesn’t even want to have get-togethers with your friends, though he is willing to meet them after you’ve been together for a while. He’s not keen on spending a lot of time with them, mind you, mostly because it reminds him that he doesn’t have anyone in his side of things to introduce you to.

-In line with the above, with the exception of performances and networking, Frederick is a homebodied introvert. His date night ideas are often set on your property. A picnic in your garden, maybe? Stargazing? When he has the funds, he likes to hire a private chef to come prepare a nice dinner for you both. He’ll occasionally invite you into his music room to play for you, as well. Any song you’d like! Even if he doesn’t like it. You’re always the first to hear his new songs, and he often dedicates new ones to you.

-Frederick isn’t a bad housemate to have, which is fortunate since he’s there so much. Because he was disowned by his family, he’s had to develop some skills people of his birth typically don’t. He helps with the chores, cleans, and is a fair cook. He still occasionally needs help with little things, but those are few and far between. He yearns to go back to the days of not having to do these things himself.

-Frederick likes when you give him the option of being the dominant partner. That is, he likes when you look to him for decision-making. He does his best to be fair and consider both your opinions, if they differ, and he feels that you deferring to him like that means you have faith in his judgement. This goes for little things too, like just asking him to order for you when you’re out for dinner.

NSFW

-Some of you may hate me for this…but I look at this man and think “foot fetish.” He’s certainly not a pervert about it, but you’ll notice over time that he compliments your shoes a lot (especially heels) and admires any pedicures you show off just a little too intensely. You’re in luck if you like a good foot massage because that’s a go-to foreplay for him. He’s not going to complain about some shapely legs, either.

-Frederick has a very slight oral fixation, too. He’s down for a bit food play as long as it’s not something too difficult to clean up, and he enjoys giving oral. He has a habit of humming songs while going down on his partner; he says it helps him keep a steady rhythm, but honestly who cares because the vibrations from that feel amazing.

-Aside from those, Frederick is pretty vanilla. Due partially to the amount of stress his mental illness causes, he’s not in the mood for sex as often as others. When he is in the mood, he’s more of a “make love” kinda guy. He likes to have romance, to set the mood. Foreplay tends to be several hours long with plenty of sweet flirting, gentle touches, and any other means of building anticipation. He’s not rough in the bedroom at all, and prefers simple, face-to-face positions like missionary.

-He’s always going to have some underlying fears of being used for his looks, so he prefers to be in charge in the bedroom. If you want him to submit to you, he can be convinced, but he needs a lot of reassurance as aftercare or else he’ll silently grow paranoid. (This is also why he’s such a romantic in the bedroom. He needs obvious reminders that love is involved in this act and not just lust.)

-Frederick loses track of time a lot and is used to isolating, but spending a longer period away from him is a sure-fire way to make him desperate for you. You’re going to be gone for a month to visit family? Well, no worries, he’ll be fine…until the last three days. Then, like a switch is flipped, he’s a man starved to the brink of death for his love.

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #frederick kreiburg x reader #idv composer #spicy content #turbulentscrawl

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thatsexcpisces · 2 years

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Astrology observations pt.5

- I’ve noticed that many of the people who have an alcohol addiction or drink A LOT when they go out, are Pisces moons

- people with Saturn in the 2nd house may have felt that they always had the less fortunate family when it came to money and way of living, and admired other richer families for being able to afford things they wanted (may have had trauma regarding poverty)

- Lilith in 3h/9h people may have felt insecure when it comes to an academic setting or situation meaning they probably felt dumber than others or afraid to express their true opinions. They may have had teachers or siblings who tried to make them feel stupid or treated them badly.

- Taurus moons have very complicated relationships with food. Some of my friends have this placement and they can go from having a serious eating disorder and struggling to eat anything to later overeating, always bringing food with them, always making sure they eat well, etc

- i feel like the sign in your 5th house shows your opinion on wanting children or how you would treat your children in the future. Ex: Taurus/cancer in the 5th house people may want to nurture and care for their child and look forward to having one. Sagittarius in the 5h may prefer their freedom and don’t really plan on having kids that early on.

- Pluto-Venus aspect people really bring out the scorpion energy in relationships imo. They can go to extremes with their possessiveness and jealousy over someone they love and can sometimes even feel that they love so deeply and no one matches their energy or others don’t care as much as they do.

- On that note, Having 8h synastry with someone is SO FUCKING INTENSE. Especially if one of you has your moon in the other person’s 8h. The moon person feels more imo and they’re the one that gets easily obsessed over the other person and stalks the hell out of them/watches their every move. I feel like it then takes the house person more time for their obsession to grow and to realize how much they need/love the moon person.

- This is a weird observation but Cancer risings have moments where they just randomly talk in a baby voice for no reason lol (unironically or ironically)

- If you have mars trine/square/sextile Pluto you’re def the hottest person in the room

- I feel like gemini men are more “pick-me” and brag more than Leo men. Like they just love talking about themselves lol

- People are so naturally attracted to sun-jupiter aspects and Leo rising people. Like they just draw people in and make friends so easily. They just have some sort of energy to them where they could be sitting in a room and people come up and talk to them automatically.

- Mars in 4h people easily get upset and annoyed by people in their household

- Individuals w Moon in the 8h May inherit mental illness from their mother or their mother could already have some sort of a mental illness that made their life very difficult

- Women with their ascendant in square or opposition to Lilith could likely be hated on by other females or women are naturally jealous and envious of them because they possess such a raw and sexually attractive energy

- Virgo moons 🤝 giving people their unsolicited opinion when no one ever asked them for it

- Venus in Capricorns will remember the smallest and I mean the TINIEST details about you If they’ve ever liked you. Even if they got over their crush on you, you 2 could be having a normal conversation and they will mention the most detailed thing about you that you didn’t even remember about yourself. It’s scary

- Libra mercuries on the other hand, actually have trouble remembering most details. They might forget things like your birthday here and there but the most ironic thing is Libra placements pick and choose something specific you did to remember and maybe even hold a grudge on, and you’ll never have a clue as of what it is.

- Mars in Gemini are so funny when they’re upset. They have the best insults and roasts which gives them no shame in absolutely destroying you with words

- A developed Capricorn woman’s confidence is the equivalent of an Aries man’s confidence (so they’re really loud and proud)

- Don’t ever fuck with someone who has Neptune or Jupiter in their 12th house cause the universe will be BREATHING down your back for anything bad you do to them

- Idk why everyone says all Aquarius are introverted and antisocial when tbh they’re some of the most confident, laid-back, and extroverted people you’ll ever meet. Many of the Aquarius I’ve met always tell me they’ll never miss an opportunity to go out and are very social

#astrology #astrology observations #zodiac #zodiac signs #capricorn #gemini #leo #taurus #aries #aquarius #astrotips #astrology notes #venus #pisces #neptune #synastry #synastry observations #virgo #horoscope

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tvseries-writings · 8 months

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Hard choices, hard life

Carina Deluca x Maya Bishop x reader

TW: depression, suicide attempt, obsessive compulsive disorder, pills

At the very sweet age of fourteen, you were diagnosed with depression, right after Diane, your psychologist at the time, diagnosed you with what you still call your cruel companion, a little disorder that was actually slowly killing you from the inside out until just a few minutes ago. In fact, you have nothing to lose now. In fact, a few Tolep, Zoloft, and Xanax will knock you out in a few moments - very few - if only you have the courage to throw them in your stomach right now.

Even though you have nothing left to lose, there are two people you could never hurt, and the mere thought of hurting them makes you sick. Maya and Carina, damn them, have gotten inside you and torn down your walls like no one else ever could. And now, in the utter desperation that drives you to the "extreme act," you should feel guilty, and yet you don't. Maybe it's the pills, or maybe it's the sense of freedom you're feeling that's clouding all your other thoughts and feelings.

Carina was the first to notice your OCD, only a month into your relationship. Although you never tried to hide it from either of your girls, there were rituals that they never had a chance to see, such as touching the faucet knob three times before you could open it, checking three times to make sure that all the car doors were closed, or putting on your seat belt three times before you were sure that you had finally buckled it properly and that this would not result in a potential and very likely fatal accident involving your two girls. In short, Carina had discovered all of this by carefully observing your habits, and after discussing it with Maya, the two of them had confronted you. That evening was anything but pleasant.

As for the depression, they noticed it over time, with the bad days and the dull eyes that worried them so much that they practically forced you to go to weekly sessions with your child psychologist, Diane, who of course immediately put you back on medication on the advice of a psychiatrist Carina knew. In the early days, whenever you were down, it was hard for me to leave you alone, and even though they tried to hide it, you always noticed. Always. It was only after a year and a few months that her fear began to subside. When you think about it, you almost laugh; right now, that fear of a possible impulsive and fatal act on your part would probably be your salvation. Not that you would want that, of course. Or maybe...no, you don't want to be saved. You have hit rock bottom; the decision is already made and the plan is already in place.

Most likely, Carina will be the one to find you, right? She is the first to return to your apartment after work, to the small but comfortable apartment you have been calling home for more than four years—to that little place of paradise where all problems disappear, or at least, they seem to. But, as it turns out, they never completely disappear; otherwise, you would not be in this situation. You close your eyes and lean your head against the bathroom wall; the cold marble tiles send a chill up your spine as you stare at what you clutch in your right hand—a handful of pills that you have been preparing for months now. Many people say suicide is an impulsive act, but for a person with OCD? Nothing is impulsive, not even suicide. Everything is meticulously calculated and planned. You have been planning this day for months—at least three, if I am not mistaken. Of course, it's always three. After all, multiples of three are your favorites, aren't they?

Throughout your life, you have had to make hard choices, but this is by far the most selfish. You are aware of it; you know that Maya and Carina will suffer as they never have; you know it because if either of them died in any way, especially in this way, you would never, ever be able to go on living with such emptiness inside.

A trembling breath escapes your lips; you cannot back out, not now, not when you are so close to the goal. You owe it to yourself, you owe it to them and the burden you are to the world. It sounds self-centered on your part but you don't give a shit anymore. You're tired of thinking about others, how they're going to feel, what you have to say to keep them from feeling bad...you're tired, of everything. You thought you could live for them but you were wrong. But maybe, if you really have to be honest with yourself you probably never wanted to go all the way. After all, a person who does not want to be saved is very difficult to help. When therapy doesn't work, you change, but you didn't say anything; you kept smiling again and again until, today, in the last three months, you let the rock you had tied to your ankle drag you to the bottom. It is no one's fault but your own. You're more than aware of it but it's so hard to keep going, it's so fucking hard that you get sick to your stomach just thinking that, in case you don't take these damn pills tonight, you'll be forced to face the world out there once again. No, you can't do it, you can't. Yet, Carina's look at Andrew's death and the Italian's despair and Maya's heartbroken look and her self-destruction after Dean's death...No! You can't think and you don't have to think about them, about the pain you will cause them and from which they can never move on. You can already see Maya, her head in her hands, sitting on the couch on which so many nights you have spent together, blaming herself for not seeing the signs, for not noticing your clouds; you can already see Carina's tears and hear her screams muffled by the sound of the siren of the truck of the 19’s Station.

A small and elusive tear slips down your cheek, sliding down your chin before falling on the letter you hold in your left hand. The usual "it's not your fault, you have to move on, I love you" letter You're such a hypocrite; you're fucking disgusting. If only you could swallow those pills without thinking about the two of them.

The sound of your phone ringing echoes through the bathroom, startling you so much that the pills you were holding tightly in your hand scatter on the floor.

You pick up the pills, letting your phone ring. Again and again, until, finally, it stops and goes to voicemail.

"Hey Bambina, I forgot my keys. I know, I know, you and Maya are always telling me that if it wasn't because I have it attached, I'd be able to lose my mind too, but can you do me a favor? Leave the keys on the door because I'm parking right now and I don't want to ring the doorbell or Max will glare and the neighbors will complain."

A small laugh escapes the Italian's lips as she greets you with an "I love you." God, how you love that laugh.

And, just as Max has heard the voice of his favorite mistress, he joins you in the bathroom and starts sniffing the pills on the floor. You open your eyes wide, awakening from your trance-like state, and shoo him away ungently before quickly picking up all the pills. You hold them in your hand, clutching them as if they were the most important thing in the world, and hide them in your pants pocket.

Panic grips your chest as you realize that all your plans are blown and you will now have to start over. You mentally repeat to yourself if you have performed all your rituals: if you have touched the doorknob three times, given Max the kibble by placing it three at a time in the bowl before putting it down, washed your hands for twelve seconds three times after eating, you have done nothing wrong, yet fate has screwed you over, so you must have done something wrong; there is no other way, not for your brain at least. After all, it's hard to reason rationally with OCD.

You don't even realize that you have opened the front door for Carina as you feel that, slowly, your panic attack is taking you deeper. It's one you haven't had in a long time. Your heart almost seems to explode in your chest. You put your hand on it, feeling the force with which it beats against your rib cage. You're so focused on the simple act of breathing that you don't notice Max scratching at your leg to try to get your attention, nor the door opening. Carina enters the apartment, and the smile on her face quickly fades as she sees Max whimper against your leg and your chest rise and fall all too quickly.

Carina lets her bag slide to the ground before letting herself fall to her knees in front of you. Her eyes scrutinize you with concern, trying to figure out how long you have been in this state or whether you hurt yourself unconsciously during the panic attack.

"Bambina, look at me." Carina takes your face in her hands, stroking your cheeks gently. "Hey, hey, eyes on me. You need to breathe, okay? Breathe love."

You feel the warmth of her hands on your cheeks, but although you see her lips moving, you don't actually feel anything. The only sound you can hear is that of your heart practically exploding.

You pull away from his touch, and your breathing becomes even faster. His voice comes muffled to your ears.

"No, no, no, hey, hey, eyes on me. Y/n...love, you need to breathe. It's okay; I'm here with you; you're not alone. Bambina breathe."

The urgency in Carina's voice makes you barely look up, but your panic attack doesn't stop; in fact, it keeps getting worse. Carina runs a hand through her hair, thinking about what to do and coming up with the only possible solution.

"I'm going to pick you up now, okay? I'm sorry, Bambina, but I have to; it's for your own good."

The doctor takes you in her arms despite your protests, carries you into the bathroom, and puts you in the shower before opening the cold jet by entering with you and holding you tightly in her arms so you don't fall out.

The cold jet hits you with the same brutality as that of a high-speed train. You gasp, trying to pull away, but Carina won't let you. She holds you close to her as you come completely out of your panic attack—not until about fifteen minutes under the cold jet, though.

"Here they are, the eyes I love so much," Carina whispers softly against your temple, leaving you a kiss and then covering you with a towel, trying to get you dry as quickly as possible. You let Carina undress you, put on clean, dry clothes, and then begin drying your hair with such a gentle amount of gentleness that it almost makes you cry.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch the bathroom, thinking about how that night should have been different, especially for your girls. Your eyes widen when you see the letter you carelessly abandoned on the bathroom floor, reminding you that Carina might very well read the letter if she only noticed it. That simple and seemingly innocuous thought almost gives you another panic attack.

You jerk up, not thinking straight, not thinking that this strange behavior of yours will draw Carina's attention to you any more than it already did with your panic attack. You bend down, under the confused gaze of the Italian doctor, and pick up the letter, then flush it down the toilet. Your hands tremble as you do so, and Carina notices.

The doctor picks up your wet clothes from the floor and is about to throw them into the dirty, striped laundry basket that Maya was so insistent that you keep in the bathroom, but she does not. Her fingers graze a small bulge in the right pocket of your shorts. The Italian frowns, not recognizing, through her density, the thing to which that small bump is due. So she just sticks her hand in the pocket, and you are far too devolved and paranoid about the letter to notice what she is doing; in fact, you don't even try to stop her. When Carina pulls her hand out of her pocket, your heart leaps and almost seems to stop. The cold water has succeeded in bringing you out of your panic attack but has failed to completely dissolve the pills, much to your misfortune. Carina holds that shapeless, disgusting slop in her hands; it takes her a few seconds to realize it's pills. And though she wants to deny it to herself, it takes her even less time to realize what you were about to do.

"Please tell me this is not what I think. Please y/n."

You don't have the courage to answer her; who would have any? You feel so stupid right now. Carina starts sobbing, sitting on the floor. You lean your back against the wall and shake your head over and over again, clutching your hair in the fingers of your left hand as if to convince yourself that this is not real. When you do not answer, Carina gets her answer; silence is tacit consent, and you both know this very well.

You kneel in front of your girlfriend; you take her hands in yours, gently stroking her knuckles.

"Car, car, look at me. It's okay, I'm here.”

She shakes her head, reaching out to you and holding you in her arms. As she traps you in her grip, she cannot control the sobs that shake her body.

"I'm so sorry I didn't notice; I'm so sorry, my love..."

"Car, don't say that, please. It's not your fault or Maya's fault; everything is just too much sometimes, often, almost always. And I love you so much, but I can't take it. I don't see any other solution, Carina."

Your voice breaks as you say this; as bad as it is to admit, you feel relieved. You have felt this thought oppressing your chest for so long, and now that you have revealed it, you finally feel free of the unbearable boulder you have been forced to bear for months.

Carina remains silent, merely holding you tightly to her and stroking your hair. She hides her face in the space between your shoulder and jaw, inhaling deeply of your scent. The Italian trembles only at the thought that she could no longer have snuggled into your warm embrace if you had done what you intended to do more than an hour ago. With a shuddering breath and without letting go of you, Carina slips her own phone out of the pocket of the tight-fitting Levis jeans that you and Maya both approved of after an intense staring session focused on the beautiful backside of your beloved girlfriend.

"Y/n, I know you'd like to do that, but we can't pretend it's not happening. I'd be safer getting you admitted."Carina freezes when she feels your body stiffen in her arms and your breathing become shorter. "But I don't want you to do anything that doesn't make you feel comfortable, so this is completely your decision. Of course, if you're going to stay at home, we'll have to set some rules here."

Carina whispers in your ear, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes and brush a strand of unruly hair away from your face.

"Whatever you choose, we both know that Maya must be aware of everything you are feeling and happening to you; she better than anyone can understand what you are feeling, Bambina."

Carina watches you carefully, and when you open your mouth to protest and to tell her that you don't want to give them any additional weight and that Maya already has a lot to do with her role at the station, she stops you immediately, shaking her head firmly.

"No, this will not be questioned. I will call her now and tell her to go home because we need her. Our jobs are not more important than yours; don't ever think that."

The doctor leaves a kiss on your temple before getting up and leaving the bathroom to make the call. She doesn't close the door; the terror and knot in her stomach she feels at even the thought of leaving you alone won't let her. She is terrified that your mind will get the better of you, especially after today, after a few moments when you were about to commit madness.

The phone call is brief and coincidental; Carina doesn't say too much, just talking about the panic attack. She doesn't want Maya to drive home with the same fear she is feeling right now. As soon as the call ends and Maya assures you of her return to your apartment in less than a quarter of an hour, Carina's arms encircle your sides again, and your embrace squeezes you just as it did moments before. She definitely has no intention of letting you go.

A little sneeze on your part makes you both gasp and realize that your hair is still partially wet. Although you insist on drying it yourself, Carina won't let you; she is more than happy to do it for you, and right now she needs to be with you as long as possible. Before you know it, Max is waving goodbye to his favorite mistress as well as his lieutenant.

"Hi, boy, where are your moms?" Maya smiles, patting the small German shepherd puppy on the head before heading toward the only lit room. The sight that greets Maya as soon as she enters your bedroom is what makes her dream at night: Carina with her arms around your hips, holding you close, wearing only a white shirt and black lace underwear, spooning you from behind.

"Hey, I'm home. What happened, baby?"

You feel the mattress lower as soon as Maya sits down on it. The blonde firefighter strokes your arm gently and smiles at you. She is worried about you but tries to hide it as best as she can. Of course, both you and Carina notice; the blonde cannot hide anything from you after all these years.

You remain silent, avoiding answering that very difficult question. You are actually very tired and ashamed, not daring to look up and look at one of the loves of your life as you confess to her that missed act.

Carina leaves you a kiss on the temple before leaving her grip on you, though with great effort. You watch her get out of bed and drag Maya out of the room, knocking on the door.

When the light fails so much that you can't even draw the contours of the candlestick over your head, you release the breath you've held up until that moment. You're sorry; you're embarrassed, of course, but not for the reason that your girls might think... no, don't be ashamed to have tried and to want to try; I hate you for not having succeeded. You are so angry with yourself; you are more than aware of the fact that that feeling of freedom you experienced before will never return, not with the burden that now oppresses your chest for the bitterness of being discovered and of not having completed what should have been done instead.

Silent tears dig your zigoms before ending up on the sides of the pillow; bed covers rise and fall at the same time as your chest. For a moment, just for a moment, you close your eyes and tell yourself that all this has never happened, that Carina has not found the pills, and that you have succeeded in your attempt to eliminate yourself once for all from the face of the planet. But when the light that returns to embrace the room and the light of the door that is again opened make you open your eyes, the dream disappears in the same way that an oasis in the desert turns out to be only a hallucination, nothing more.

You're watching Maya. Her eyes are glossy, her lips are rosy, and she can't stand still, moving her weight from one foot to the other. Carina returns to the same position in which you were before the arrival of the other girl and as soon as she does it, the relief of the Italian being close again and of your warm skin in contact with her makes her relax immediately. It feels like the moment she left the room, she stopped breathing, and now, finally, she can do it again.

Maya lies in front of you, leans her forehead against yours, and gently caresses your face.

"I would like to take away the feeling of emptiness that you are feeling right now," her whispering words resonate in the room as you are wrapped in the heat emanating from both their bodies. "I wish to be able to do so because I know this burden my love, and it is not something I would ever want to see in you, in either of you two."

Some tears tear her cheeks, but Maya dries them quickly, not because she doesn't want to be weak but because she is well aware that you need all her support right now. She'll cry later, when your eyes are closed in a sweet sleep, and she'll be sure you're still here, with her, with them.

“I don’t want you to pursue the clouds like I did y/n; clouds can seem beautiful, sweet, and soft, but remember that it’s clouds that carry the stormy, my love, and we can’t lose our sun because I’m afraid that clouds would swallow us up without your light.”

The firefighter caresses your face with the same care and delicacy with which someone handle a brush on a candid white canvas.

Carina is just clinging to you; the knot in her throat prevents her from speaking, but even if you don't have the strength to tell him right now, the confidence that his arms around you give you is more than enough.

A long-held whimper shakes your chest, and your girls tighten you a little stronger, anchoring you to reality and not letting you escape and fly into your shady and irrational mind. You let go to a freeing cry, to whispers and weeping that, though necessary, break the hearts of your soulmates. And they let you blow up; they hold you back; they whisper sweet words followed by small, delicate kisses in your hair, cuddling you like you were a baby in a belt that's desperate as soon as she's born.

It takes more than ten minutes before you can calm down. Carina massages your back, softening the pain of the continuous whispers that have shaken your bones as Maya keeps kissing away your tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I don’t think I can do it without help it’s all too much." You take a break; everything you’re saying is hard to deal with, but say it out loud. Well, that’s a whole other story. “Rituals are killing me; I’m not doing anything without thinking that something might go wrong, that you two might die because I am wrong about some stupid passage of the fucking and-”

"Hey, hey, it's all right. It's going to be all right; we'll be here at every step, Bella. We don't leave you alone; you're not alone, and you'll never be. We won't let you think of reaching the clouds again, okay? Never again, baby."“Your pain is our pain; your suffering is our suffering, until the end." Carina strings you even more, extending her hand towards Maya to tell her to do the same, and there, in their arms, it seems to you that you are away from all the problems of the world. You just feel like a number in an infinity of numbers; you feel like a thread in a lawn and there's something incredibly reassuring about being just a thread, because a thread is not responsible for all the evils in the world. (Cit. ZeroCalcare)

Thank you for reading! Was it hard to write? Yes, but it is also extremely liberating. I hope it will help some of you. Ah, and of course, have a great day!

P.s: sorry, it’s a very long fic

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#wlw #maya x carina x reader #station 19 #carina deluca x reader #maya bishop #maya bishop x reader #carina deluca #firefighter #tw depressing stuff #tw selfhate #carina x maya

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