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#i felt like such a burden all because my efforts have never mattered only the results i get so if i get bad results it's all worthless
theemporium · 1 day
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hi cece congrats on 10k! what an amazing accomplishment! can i request a 💜violet fluff with luke hughes for this prompt please: "Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved."
ps the cocktail celebration is so fun and unique i love it!
thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
53. "Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved."
.
Sometimes, it was easy to forget what different worlds you and Luke came from.
Family was everything he knew growing up. There wasn’t a day in his life that he doubted his parents or his brothers wouldn’t have his back, wouldn’t stand by his side, wouldn’t be there for him if he asked. Despite the petty fights and dramatic tantrums, the Hughes family were a tight-knit, loving family who only wanted to see each other thrive. They wanted the best for each other. They loved each other unconditionally. They were what people imagined—what people dreamed of—when they thought of family.
You couldn’t say the same for yourself.
It wasn’t like you grew up in a bad or horrible household, it just felt like you had to earn the right to be there. Because yes, you had food on your plate and a roof over your head and got gifts on your birthday. But you didn’t receive any of those things without being told how much effort it took to give you those things, to be constantly reminded how much of a burden you were, to constantly feel like things would be easier if you weren’t there. 
Because yes, your achievements were celebrated and you knew you were loved. But it was conditional. The happiness and love and affection came with a price. It constantly felt like you were in a competition, and no matter how much you did, you could never win. It felt like an uphill battle that never ended. 
And it was something Luke could never quite comprehend. Not that you wanted him to ever know. But sometimes, it still took him by surprise. 
You tried to avoid phone calls as best as you could. They were usually draining and long-winded, and it wasn’t a situation you always wanted to put yourself in. But you were riding the high of feeling happy and proud of yourself, of your own achievements.
And, like always, you convinced yourself it wouldn’t be that bad this time round. 
But it was. It always fucking was.
A happy, quick phone call turned into an hour-long lecture about how you don’t call home enough, how you wouldn’t be where you were without them, how you were ungrateful and greedy and still not good enough. 
You had mentally checked out by the time Luke wandered into the room, his brows furrowed in confusion when he didn’t hear you call back out as he arrived. He only heard snippets of the berating voice over the phone before he stepped in, making up some trivial excuse that you doubted your parents believed before he hung up. 
You couldn’t even bring yourself to say ‘thank you’ as he climbed into the bed next to you, saying nothing as he wound his arms around your body and hauled you onto his chest until almost every inch of you was pressed against him.
“I just wanted to tell them the good news,” you eventually spoke, your voice a little croaky and your words accompanied by sniffles. “I thought they’d be happy but—”
His arms tightened around you. 
“M’sorry,” you murmured, letting out a breath as you tried to sit up a little. “You just came back from practice, you do not need to hear about my issues when you’re probably tired—”
“Hey,” Luke interrupted, his lips turned downwards and his expression mimicking one of a kicked puppy. “Please never apologise for wanting to be loved or appreciated.”
You let out a shaky breath, feeling the emotions get caught up in your throat.
“I love you,” Luke said, so firmly that there wasn’t even any room for the doubting voices in your head to question him. “And I am so fucking proud of you, baby. Always. You always have me.”
“I love you too,” you whispered because it was all you could bring yourself to say at that moment before you laid your head down on his chest, basking in the feeling of Luke’s arms tightening around you.
.
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charmedreincarnation · 5 months
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When I say that this journey is real, and our struggles are not in vain, I am shouting it from the rooftops. A month ago, I woke up with my dream life. Obsessed with the "void state", I woke up one day being the same person but with an entirely new life. All because I chose it.
Your efforts aren't going unnoticed. The universe is always on your side. You are the universe. It's been a month, and I still feel overwhelmed with joy and wonder every single day.
I was once poor and battling depression, a reality many can relate to. But we found the law because we knew we deserved more. You can be ordinary, flawed, even unkind, but you can choose to transform and have it all. And I did just that. My parents, who were illegal immigrants working underpaid jobs, are now wealthy and respected figures. My last name alone garners recognition, and I am a socialite earning money just by being me.
I used to live in an attic infested with cockroaches. Now, I reside in a four-story mansion, complete with exotic cars, house help, cooks, drivers - all treated and compensated fairly. We also own three other houses across the United States.
I was once insecure, severely underweight, and bullied. Today, not only am I stunningly beautiful, but I am also praised for my fashion sense. I was once a dull person, but now I am radiant with positivity.
I attended an underfunded school where I was bullied, and teachers lacked resources to intervene. Now, I study at a prestigious private school that assures my entry into an Ivy League university. Finally, I am respected and appreciated.
I was lonely and uninteresting. Now, I am vibrant with a close-knit group of friends and a man who seems straight out of a Wattpad story. He's perfect, and he's mine.
This transformation happened overnight. And I've been on this journey since 2020. But how??? I surrendered to my imagination!
The void was overwhelming, but now I can easily navigate it. I was tired of giving my power away. So, I gave in to myself, to my dreams. I knew I deserved it. Even if I didn't believe it at times, I made the choice. If you desire something, it's already yours. It's done.
I didn't have a list or anything of my desires, just a vision of happiness. I didn't know what it looked like, but I knew how it felt. Now, I embody that feeling every day. My life is a series of plot twists. It's not perfect, but my worst days now are what I once prayed for. That old life? POOF It's gone. All I have is now, and I'm living it to the fullest.
My advice?
Stop seeking proof. If you're looking for proof, you'll never manifest your dreams because the only thing that needs to change is self. Doubt is a reflection of your disbelief in yourself. When I surrendered to my imagination, it didn't matter who was lying or telling the truth, because I had my truth. The burden of proof lies within you. It's called the law of assumption. You might harbor some doubt, but you must have faith like the devout. They believe without proof. You can too! We all can! Believe in yourself, and the universe will conspire in your favor!!!!
I agree! Your words resonated with me a lot. Faith, particularly self-faith, is such an important tool in shaping our realities. The ability to trust ourselves, our desires, and our potential is essential in manifesting our dream life, and it’s only so beautiful to slowly see yourself give yourself all your trust when you’ve never even liked yourself.
You're spot on about the issue of seeking confirmation from others. It's an unnecessary hurdle that we give ourselves but it’s human nature. Our truths and dreams should not be validated by anyone else but us. As you said, why should it matter if someone lied or told the truth? We are the creators of our own lives and thus, the only validation we need comes from within.
And I wholeheartedly agree with your point about deservingness. We don't have to earn our desires or prove ourselves worthy of them. If we want something, that desire alone makes us deserving of it.
More importantly I am very proud and happy for you !!!! You’re a testament of what our own imagination can do for us and I hope you only keep getting happier and happier <3!!!!
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stxrvel · 2 months
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i don't wanna live forever (1)
summary: reader couldn't stop having deaths in her life ever since the Supersoldier serum came into her life. no matter how hard she tried to stay sane, it seemed that life didn't want to give her a break. until, one afternoon, she learned that one of her old friends was alive… (you guys know im bad at summaries, but please give this one a chance)
pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader
words: +4.5k
warnings: angst, major character deaths, canon deaths¿?, bad words, english is not my first language! thoughts of revenge and death, this is like an introductory chapter, so the buckyxreader interaction is low, but it'll get better, i promise!
note: holy fuck guys. i just spent like five hours writing and editing this and i fucking love it. its been a while since ive been this proud of a work, im actually scare the emotion will disappear, but i really want to rejoice in this one. i wanted to write something a little different from my usuals, maybe a little common in the fanfiction world, but i started and i simply could not stop (or maybe just approach this bucky fic from another perspective). so this is the first part and i'll try with all my heart to keep this going because it was fucking insane, at least for me. i really hope you all like this as much as i do! feel free to leave any comment! thanks always for all the support!! see you next time <3
part 2 ; part 3 ; part 4
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When you went into the Supersoldier serum project with Steve, you thought you were going to change the world. Of course, at that time when technology was relatively new any invention felt like the beginning of a new era. That's how it was all sold to you and it was how you expected everything to turn out… Until you realized that it was all really a waste of effort and time.
They were just propaganda for war. Not to stop it, to promote it. To motivate it.
You tried, on several occasions, not to think too much about it. You tried to stay out of it as Steve sometimes asked you to, even though even he didn't want to, as Bucky asked you to when you lay on his shoulder to cry in the little time you had free between trips. It was a great burden of guilt and helplessness.
Until you and Steve, with the almost imposed help of Peggy and Howard, rescued Bucky from the evil hands of Johann Schmidt and his nefarious organization, HYDRA, that, unbeknownst to you, would haunt you for a long time to come. It was only after that, after spending several sleepless days on edge thinking about what might be happening to Bucky, that you and Steve were finally able to go out and contribute something. Destroy HYDRA and the Red Skull's plans.
Of course, you realized that not everything could go right when, the one mission you couldn't attend, Bucky didn't return. And then Steve didn't come back either.
“Do you think this will ever end?” you had asked Bucky the day before his last mission.
“Of course it will,” he had answered without hesitation, moonlight illuminating his clear eyes, squeezing your hand as if it was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. “And after that we can begin to live as it should be.”
But there was no after that, because you never recovered from losing him. From losing them both.
“Are you okay?” Peggy approached, in the middle of the afternoon when the sun was streaming through the stained glass windows of the church, illuminating the spot where Steve's empty coffin had been, because they didn't even find his body. They didn't even think there was any of it left.
You barely moved your head to acknowledge her presence, moving the prayer slip they had recited throughout the mass between your hands. Your eyes were crystallized, in tears that no longer even made the effort to flow, because you had already spent too many days and nights crying. Peggy had been on the other side of the church, sitting next to Howard while the priest spoke, because you had refused to be near them in those moments. You didn't want to be near them.
“As well as one can be,” you slurred, finding that it had been a long time since you'd last used your voice for anything other than cursing and crying disconsolately.
The people had already left, probably an hour or more ago. The empty coffin had already been brought out, all the flower arrangements had been picked up, and the priest was preparing for the evening mass. You knew you had to leave, you knew Peggy and Howard were there waiting for you, but you felt stuck at that moment. You didn't want to leave, you didn't want to get ahead, you didn't want that life if it had to be this cruel.
You heard Peggy's sigh, before she took a seat next to you, a short distance away, averting her gaze to look at Christ on the cross.
You didn't know if you were selfish to be so closed off to your friends at this moments, because they must be grieving as much as you were, but you didn't know how to deal with the future possibilities. Bucky and Steve, great men and soldiers, one even with enhanced abilities, had not been able to make it through the punishment of war. What if Peggy and Howard were the same? What if they too had the cruel fate of dying at the hands of injustice? Could you deal with that? With everyone gone?
Maybe you could open up to them a little more because if not, who else? Turning away from them was not going to ensure their survival in this hate-filled society. Maybe you could protect them, like you couldn't protect Steve and Bucky. Maybe you could make a difference, because you had the chance to.
“You know,” Peggy spoke again, rearranging herself on the bench and crossing her legs, “Steve always knew this was how it would end.”
Her wistful, mournful, fragile voice sent a shiver through your body. Peggy didn't consider herself someone to show herself vulnerable in front of others no matter how close they were, even in those things that hurt her the most, in those things that affected her personally and made her eyes water instantly, she always tended to shut down. And at that moment you didn't dare interrupt her because you knew it would probably be the only time she would talk about Steve in a long time.
“Sometimes we'd talk, between tour trips, and he would tell me that wasn't what he wanted to do, even when he had to convince you otherwise,” her clasped hands would occasionally squeeze between words, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears. “He didn't know if he'd made the right decision.”
You could almost picture him, backstage at the foot of the stairs with that notebook he carried everywhere and wouldn't let go, Peggy at his side nostalgic, as helpless as the others. It reminded you of the times you'd had similar conversations with Bucky, desperate to find a purpose, a way through so much fog.
“The first time I saw him so sure of himself was when he asked us to help them look for Bucky,” she mumbled his name, as if trying not to scare you away by saying it too loudly. “Ever since then it seemed like he'd found that spark…”
“Until Bucky died,” you whispered, the words cutting through the cold and silence, Peggy shifting on the bench contritely.
“He lost something of himself from that day on, it wasn't hard to tell. The next time I heard him so sure after spending days lost, it was on that call from the plane.”
Peggy paused, raising her hand to cover her mouth as her voice faltered. You turned to look at her, wishing you could rip the pain from her soul and leave it in yours. She was trying to contain her emotions, breathing deeply, and in that moment you wondered what life might be like from now on, with the specter of grief following you around, waiting for the next time the dead knocked on your doors, unexpectedly, without allowing you to say goodbye.
“He had told me he wouldn't die in peace until he could get it all over with. And he took it all with him. And I hated him so much for it…” Peggy sobbed, her labored breathing standing out between words. She kept looking straight ahead at the stained glass windows, the expression on her face hard and scowling despite having tears rolling down her cheeks, as if she were trying to blame something for what had happened. Her reproachful eyes fixed on the Christ.
Her wails echoed through the walls of the church, the father on the dais sending them a look of sorrow. He had offered you water, thirty minutes after everyone at Steve's wake had left, when they kept walking, and you stood there.
Another empty casket.
“Ladies,” Howard's voice reached your ears amidst all the physical and emotional numbness. You could barely notice Peggy wiping under her eyes with the pocket square that was surely part of Howard's suit, as she took breaths to get up. “We should go now.”
You heard him walk, his slow, careful steps stopping just behind you. There, on his feet with his chest tight, he rested a hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze in support. He knew it was the most you would allow him at a time like this, deciding not to pass up the opportunity to let you know he was there. You sighed, feeling a heaviness take over your body as you stood up.
“Yeah, let's go.”
The next few months passed in a blur. Maybe too fast, maybe too slow, you weren't sure anymore.
Peggy continued to work at the Strategic Science Reserve for a couple of years, calling you from time to time to help her with some jobs. You kept a low profile, practically a fugitive from the state, while trying to live a halfway normal life in Europe. A lot of it thanks to Howard really.
Life had become a rather monotonous routine when you stopped getting so many calls from Peggy and Howard several years later. You knew they were fine, but not being able to return to the country filled you with anguish every day. And trying to lead a normal life became too complicated when you looked in the mirror and it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in that capsule of Dr. Erskine's with Steve.
Until Peggy called one day asking you to come back. She told you that it was safe, that there would be no state officials waiting for you at the airport, but even if that had been the situation, you wouldn't have hesitated for a second to buy the first plane ticket and fly to see them again. To Howard and Peggy, to melt into an embrace, longing for the lost years.
You had thought that contributing to the fight in World War II had earned you a ticket to at least be recognized in the military, but all you gained was the government with their mad scientists looking for you to try to recreate the Supersoldier serum. Peggy didn't want to risk you and Howard gave you no choice by giving you a plane ticket to Finland with your bags packed.
You wasted many years not being by their side, unable to keep the promise you had made them in your head to be close by to protect them, to watch over their safety.
But when you left the airport there was only Peggy, and maybe that should've told you everything.
Her hair already looked gray, the effects of gravity and time present on her face. You hated to think that you shouldn't have looked any different from the way she saw you last time when she waved you off at that same airport. Her warm gaze was the same, raising her arms with held back tears to encircle you in a big hug. She tried hard not to sob against your shoulder, you felt the choppy movement of her breath against your chest.
She looked so different and the same at the same time.
You walked to her car a moment later, her trying to carry your suitcase and you telling her you were perfectly fine carrying it on your own. Amidst a smile, she walked into the driver's door and you frowned as you saw the empty passenger seat.
“Where's Howard?” you spoke as you sat down, after stowing the huge suitcase in the trunk of the car. The way you moved to buckle up, you didn't notice the way Peggy froze in place, her hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that her breath hitched from the effort.
“We're going to see him,” was all she said, but she was very good at hiding that something was wrong. Only for a little while.
During the trip, even though you tried to ask things about them, about what they had been doing during this time, you didn't miss the way her shoulders were tense or her eyes very alert. Something bad had happened and Peggy was trying to hide it from you.
When she pulled up in front of a church, you already knew what had happened without her answering a single one of your questions.
Howard had died.
You two had sat next to Howard's son Tony, his spitting image, in complete silence as the prayers went on. At that moment you didn't know what had happened, hoping it had been a quiet and peaceful death, because you didn't know if you would be able to endure another violent death.
Peggy gave you all the details when the mass was over, after the coffin was taken away, and you hadn't felt such fury in so many years. Not since the deaths of Bucky and Steve had that adrenaline rush of anger returned to run through your body as violently as it did at that moment, when Peggy told you that he had been murdered along with his wife. All to steal some prototypes of Dr. Erskine's serum. The damned serums with which everything had started.
This time there was a body in the coffin, but there was also a culprit. Someone to point the finger at and take it out on for years of anguish and pain.
You were at Peggy's house, staying for a few days, when she told you that wasn't all.
Peggy had a suspicion that HYDRA hadn't disappeared when Steve crashed that plane into the ice. Her suspicions generated panic in you, because Bucky and Steve had died for that, now apparently Howard, only for it all to have been for nothing. The feeling of carnage that ran through your whole head made you nauseous, years of helplessness and pain pent up in such a small body had to find its way out somehow.
“It was a man, according to the information I've been able to gather,” Peggy spoke, taking a seat across from you in the dining room of her living room, after pouring you a glass of lemonade. “He didn't die from the crash. He had a concussion. He was hit in the head. His wife died from asphyxiation.”
“Does Tony know?”
“No,” Peggy shook her head quickly, one hand over her heart as if the mere thought caused her physical pain. “It didn't even occur to me to tell him something like that.”
“And he was looking for the serum,” you recalled, a bitter feeling planted in the back of your throat, the memories of the disastrous times during the war coming back into your head like a blinding flash.
“He took them. We don't know who he is or who he works for, but whoever they are, they must have been following us for a long time to know about them.”
“You mean years,” you arched an eyebrow, your fingers touching the cool exterior of the glass seeking some reassurance.
“Possibly. That project isn't recent,” Peggy nodded, drinking her lemonade with a grimace. You stared at the liquid almost finished from her glass, a wrinkle forming between your brows with each passing second and you kept wondering why.
“But what the fuck was going through that asshole's head?” you spat angrily. Rage at already the amount of lives that serum had taken with it and at Howard's recklessness. Rage at the reaper who seemed to be following in their footsteps for some reason, rage at that damn man and whoever his damn boss was.
“It was the only option, Y/N,” Peggy turned her gaze, meeting your eyes with a strange glint.
“What do you mean?” you were almost afraid to ask, your friend's gaze suddenly turning evasive. You watched her run her fingernails over the glass of the tumbler, lost for a moment in thought. The way her shoulders slumped forward in defeat caused a pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. Peggy shouldn't be going through these things at this point in life.
“Howard was working with the Pentagon, as a contractor or something. They had found you. Howard felt cornered and they made him sign an agreement.”
With your incredulous look on her face, Peggy didn't dare look back at you for a few seconds. So much had happened since you had left and it seemed that you had only been told about the things you weren't going to care about so much. But if you had known that you wouldn't have cared much about giving some of the state officials their comeuppance. You would've liked Howard to trust you enough to tell you, not live in as much fear behind his back as the last few years must've been. You didn't like the way Peggy's lips curved downward, as if she, too, would've preferred to make another decision had she known this was how it was going to end.
“Howard assured them that he could recreate the serum, and told them he would as long as they left you alone.”
“Fucking asshole…” you closed your eyes, scrubbing your face with your hands. The rough skin of your hands rubbed against the delicate skin of your face, years of combat and mistreatment foreseeing a harshness that reminded you every day of what you'd had to go through to get to that moment.
“I only found out about it after it happened. I didn't see it for like a whole week,” Peggy shook her head slightly, her eyes glistening in the pain of the memories. You shook your head hard, a more violent reaction than you could have anticipated.
“That stupid… stupid asshole! What the fuck made him think I couldn't defend myself?”
“He was trying to do the right thing,” Peggy finally searched your eyes, meeting the red rims that told her you were holding back too hard breaking in front of her, only using that pain mixed with rage to keep you sane.
“And look how that turned out!”
Peggy stretched her hand across the table, with a pleading look asking you to lower your voice, averting her gaze to the hallway. You followed her gaze, for a second forgetting where you were, forgetting that her family was with you behind the doors where you were plunged into darkness. It was past midnight.
You took a second to calm yourself, trying to drown out the uncontrolled emotions and taking deep breaths to calm your fluttering heart.
“And if what you theorize is true…” you regretted the moment those words left your mouth; you didn't even want to finish the sentence.
“Do you think it is?”
“I don't want to,” you shook your head instantly, closing your eyes, the thought sounding illogical inside your head. Your hands on your chest trying to contain the storm of feelings that was making chaos inside your head. “That would mean that everything we did, everything Bucky, Steve and Howard did and sacrificed, was in vain. It will all have been in vain.”
You spent several weeks with that thought in your head, working hand in hand with Peggy, and the organization you barely knew as SHIELD, to track down the whereabouts of the killer of Tony's parents and the one responsible because the Supersoldier's serums were, surely, in the wrong hands.
And yes, it was many years of fruitless missions and dead ends, with you running every field mission and Peggy calling the shots from the New York facility. Every time you felt close to discovering something, it seemed that the enemy rejoiced in your failures and still couldn't understand how they were always three steps ahead.
However, you had to leave the missions when Peggy became ill.
The silent, lethal Alzheimer's.
During the first months in the hospital, she still recognized you. She also recognized her husband and children. But after the first year, she frowned every time her children walked through the door. After a year and a half, her husband had to remind her that they had been married for about forty years.
After two years, she was still only remembering you, Howard, Steve and Bucky. Her whole life during her time in the army was all you talked about, sometimes you would tell her how much more time had passed than she remembered and always, without fail, she would ask you how much you had done in Europe for so long by yourself.
She cried every time she remembered Howard's death. She cried every time she remembered her children. Out of her mouth came a thousand apologies that no one would accept, because there was nothing anyone could do to prevent what had to happen. You wished she had been a serum test subject instead of you.
For several years, missions to find Tony's parents killer were sporadic because you spent more time around Peggy than at the SHIELD facility. She was the only thing you had left of everything you'd ever had, of when you held the world in your hands. She was the last thing keeping you tethered to that reality, keeping madness from flooding your reason. How could you have so many years ahead of you when that was all you had to live for? A life full of the dead, full of pain and suffering. What kind of karma were you paying for?
You were leaving the SHIELD facility, after another failed mission, when Nick Fury stopped you in front of the exit. You almost rolled your eyes right under his watchful gaze, tired of having to meet him anywhere, and exhausted from his comments about this vengeance project or whatever he wanted you to be a part of.
You still didn't know how, being such an exemplary agent, Coulson had fallen into his nets.
“Miss L/N,” the man stopped you with his words, his hands behind his back and a tense stance that caught your attention.
“Fury,” you nodded in his direction, hoping he'd be quick because you were running late for your weekly visit with Peggy. “Do you need anything?”
“I'd like you to come with me somewhere,” Fury approached tentatively, his one eye fixed on your wary expression, which shifted to boredom the moment you thought you knew what he wanted.
“If this is about that project, I've told you a thousand times-”
“No,” he interrupted you, moving forward and removing his hands from behind his back. “It's not related to that. I really want you to come with me.”
“You look agitated, but I need-”
“I'll take you to see Peggy myself after this.”
You didn't like that he knew your routine, even though you weren't doing enough to hide it from the other agents. But Fury looked nervous, even though he was hiding it very well, trying to keep his cool as he looked for ways to convince you.
You figured it wouldn't be a big deal for you to go off the deep end for once. After all, Peggy never remembered you were going to see her.
You set off in Fury's armored vans, not quite sure where you were going, but sure that it was urgent, because he had taken it upon himself to let his driver know that you had to get there as soon as possible.
You took that time on the trip to come up with a new strategy for the next mission because what you were doing up to that point wasn't working and you felt too close to throwing in the towel, figuratively speaking. You could spend years following a ghost, but you wouldn't give up on finding Howard and Maria's killer.
Before the car pulled up to one of SHIELD's secret sections, they passed the giant, imposing Stark Tower. You never saw Tony again after that time at his parents' funeral, not even during his visits to Peggy because you always made it a point not to cross him. You didn't think you'd be able to look him in the eye while you knew his parents had been killed without being able to tell him. You had promised Peggy in her lucid moments that you wouldn't tell him anything until you could find the culprit. You didn't want to initiate that pain if it had to be kept repressed, as yours once was, and probably still is. You had learned, some time after the funeral, that he was living with Edwin Jarvis, and you were glad to know that he would have good companionship to keep him company in such hard times.
Fury, a handful of agents and you entered the vans through the entrance to what appeared to be the parking lot of an old warehouse. Upon entering, the first thing you noticed was the number of armed agents that seemed to be guarding the place, not at all discreet to how SHIELD used to do things. You weren't sure if Peggy would authorize something like that, but you couldn't question the Director's decisions. It wasn't your place.
“What's going on here?” you frowned, watching as every meter there was another agent and another agent. You got out of the car without waiting for an answer from Fury, moving directly toward the entrance where most of the agents were concentrated. You barely noticed their looks in contradiction, running their eyes over you and then over the man trying to catch up to you, dubious as to whether or not they should move. “Move.”
“Wait,” Fury's voice stopped the command in the agents, who turned back to look at you as you sent Fury a confused look.
“What's all this mystery, Nicholas?” the man startled almost discreetly at your tone of voice, the agents stirring uncomfortably, but kept the serene expression that was getting on your nerves. “What the fuck did you do?”
“We got a call from the Arctic.”
“From the Arctic?”
You tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck instantly stood up, your body alerting you to something your mind still couldn't comprehend. You felt like a deer face to face with a predator, expecting the worst.
“The Colonel informed us of something that might interest us,” Fury's cryptic voice echoed in your ears, drowning out the flicker of uncertainty vibrating from your head to your toes. “They found a plane.”
You didn't even answer him. Your heart began to pound wildly, cornered, ready to have your head bitten off. The tension in your shoulders intensified, with the involuntary movement of your hands as you broke into a cold sweat. The mere implication of his words caused an emptiness in your stomach, a sense of longing and fear you hadn't felt before.
You looked at Fury, trying to find in his gaze the gleam of a lie, but there was nothing there but assurance. There was nothing but recognition and understanding in his gaze, but that didn't make the emptiness in your stomach and the tight chest go away. It didn't make the feeling of being outside your body go away.
You barely remembered to move in the direction of the door, the agents instantly moving out of your way, pushing it so hard that one of them flew out. You moved your eyes around every corner of the room, the cream-colored walls generating a great repulsion in you. And there, in the midst of all the confusion and the storm, a confused and disgruntled face looked back at you. A face you never thought you would see again.
Steve Rogers was standing a few feet away from you, barely comprehending what was happening around him and instantly recognizing you. Your chest compressed once again, the tears you held back for so many years even in your loneliness making their own way into your eyes, endangering to end that mask you wore everywhere you went.
Steve was actually there, looking back at you with his eyes shining in recognition. You didn't know if he was as surprised as you were to react or you looked so bad that he didn't know if he should approach you or not. You just knew it was him, it really was him right there in front of you. He wasn't dead. Steve wasn't dead. He was alive. Ah, he was so alive.
The broken sob that suddenly left you was loud enough to make your friend shed his stupefaction and stride over to where you were. You barely managed to cover your face, between sobs, wails and disbelief, feeling your knees give out, surrendering to the weight of the pain, when his strong arms grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor. Preventing your fall, as you had wished so many times before.
You cried against his shoulder, when feeling him against your body you knew there was no doubt it was true. You moved your hands away from your face, wrapping them around his waist as tightly and lovingly as you hadn't hugged anyone in so long. Surely the last time you hugged someone like that was when you saw Peggy on your way back from Europe.
Steve wasn't far behind, his arms around your shoulders just as tightly, his chin against the crown of your head, moving from side to side trying to hold back the loud sobs that shook your body.
You couldn't believe it, but it was true, he was right in front of you.
Steve was alive. He had come back to your side. You didn't even want to ask why.
And there was nothing else you could think about for the rest of your life.
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4dkellysworld · 8 months
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When suffering happens
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When unpleasant things happen in life, in an effort to understand it and find peace, we (our egos) often either try to find reason and understand why something happened/is so or immediately jump to conclusions and label it, often linking it to our identity like "oh it's because I am _____" or "it's because I did/thought/felt _____ which caused this, I shouldn't have done that!" or "This always happens to me ugh!!!" yet I find this habit ends up causing more harm than good and it is this self-identification that then ends up causing further spiralling and a pattern of similar events later in the future.
M: Detach yourself from all that makes your mind restless. Renounce all that disturbs its peace. If you want peace, deserve it. Q: Surely everybody deserves peace. M: Those only deserve it, who don't disturb it. Q: In what way do I disturb peace? M: By being a slave to your desires and fears. Q: Even when they are justified? M: Emotional reactions, born of ignorance or inadvertence, are never justified. Seek a clear mind and a clean heart. All you need is to keep quietly alert, enquiring into the real nature of yourself. This is the only way to peace. Chapter 8: The Self Stands Beyond Mind - I Am That, Nisargadatta Maharaj
Leave poor Vanessa alone and stop assigning her the responsibility and accountability of everything that the dream shows. The entire dream is all an expression of the Infinite Being, not hers (the ego) which she is just one more creation of. And it doesn't have to be your (the Self's/I AM's) dream anymore when you stop identifying with it.
This is why it's so important to let go of our ego, to let go of the unpleasant thoughts with indifference, reject any claim over them and detach any association with your I AM (the Self's identity) rather than intellectuallise what happened with the mind. You can cut it off and break the cycle right there.
Understanding this was truly the turning point that launched me into earnest and honest study of 4dbarbie's teachings and by extension, Lester Levenson and Nisargadatta Maharaj's teachings. I was just so sick of going through the same shit, being stuck in the trenches and going nowhere. At some point you're going to get so fed up that you just want to give it all up and not care about anything anymore.
The thing about nothing though is that it's the only thing that can take the shape of everything. 1
Isn't it so much more freeing to just say "fuck it all, it doesn't make sense and I don't care to think about it anymore. This isn't mine", let it go and move on?
Imagine you see a random couple out in public fighting about all their relationship problems openly. What goes through your head when that happens? For me, I go "phew yikes, I'm glad that's not me. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Not my problem", feel a sense of relief and gratefulness that it's not my burden to bear and move on with my day.
When nonsensical or unpleasant things happen in your life, treat it the same way you do when nonsensical or unpleasant things happen in your sleeping dreams for they are both I AM's imaginary creations. Just let it go, detach it from Self and move on - no matter what happens, it is not yours.
Important distinction: I am not saying to physically ignore your body and ego's needs, do what needs to be done but you (the Self) do not have to identify with it, you do not have to claim it as yours. You know it's not you and you are just observing everything, unaffected.
"When the mind is quiet, we come to know ourselves as the pure witness. We withdraw from the experience and its experiencer and stand apart in pure awareness, which is between and beyond the two. The personality, based on self-identification, on imagining oneself to be something: 'I am this, I am that', continues, but only as a part of the objective world. Its identification with the witness snaps." Chapter 6: Meditation - I Am That, Nisargadatta Maharaj
Stop trying to find reason as you are only further sustaining its reality by doing that.
"By resisting evil, you merely strengthen it." Chapter 72: What is Pure, Unalloyed, Unattached is Real - I Am That, Nisargadatta Maharaj "You may try to trace how a thing happens, but you cannot find out why a thing is as it is. A thing is as it is, because the universe is as it is". Chapter 4: Real World is Beyond The Mind - I Am That, Nisargadatta Maharaj
Just let it go. Letting go is what gives ultimate peace and freedom.
Not yours, remember? Repeat. Not yours. You won't lose your mind, you'll only lose your misery. See this world and the body as not real first. What is true is only what I AM is identified with, right now this body which is not in that TV show (your desired reality). Correct this first by letting go of thinking it's you 2
Just let go of the ego, that’s how simple it is.
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readershewrites · 9 months
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show me what mercy feels like
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As someone who struggles deeply with body image and self-talk, I wrote this to fulfil my longing to be seen and be treated with fierce love. Deeply inspired by the works of @kneelingshadowsalome​. Specifically “Love Is A Heavy Weapon”, her sequel to “Man-Sized”, and her recent drabble also dealing with body image.
Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x f!OC
Tags: Explicit sex, light LIGHT choking I guess, passionate sex, body image, mirror sex, tongue-licking, a smidge of knife-play, a waft of dom Simon
Trigger Warnings: OC is struggling with body dysmorphia/body image
She’s used to these feelings. They’ve come and gone intermittently through her life - beginning in teenagehood and lasting until now, so she’s become accustomed to the routine. Rumination, despair, rebirth. The endless cycle, never triggered by the same thing, never predictable.
This week is about the fourth or so day of these feelings. Her jeans feel different, her shirts and blouses feel different, and it’s not so disastrous as to enact any drastic change yet she feels burdened by the weight of the feelings and disheartened by the oncoming storm.
Loving herself has always been a conscious effort, and like most people there are dips and troughs as well as highs. Often the highs are brought with or by her lover, Simon. She was on her way to self-acceptance and self-compassion when he stepped into her life, and proceeded to shove her face-first into a sea of love and feeling so deep she felt like she had never been alive before him.
Simon loves her well, and she is sure of that.
But her feelings towards herself are distinct, and today she really can’t shake her sadness no matter how much she is in need of it.
This morning she stands a moment longer in front of the mirror, dismayed by what she sees. Her heart constricts when she thinks of the beautiful woman she walked by the evening before, resplendent in velvet and dripping contentment. She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye before it can fully form, and quickly looks away.
She opens the bathroom door and there is Simon, sitting on the side of the bed, knees parted widely and hands resting on his thick thighs. His dark, observant eyes are already watching her when she raises her eyes, and the moment their gazes meet she is undone.
Her eyebrows pinch as the hot sting of tears burns her eyes, and Simon sucks a deep breath in. He sits still, hands betraying tension in the fingers pressed firmly against his knees, and only releases his grip when she dives into his body.
She doesn’t really sob, but the ache is deep and well rooted in her soul.
“Talk to me.” Simon’s gravelly voice rumbles through her last defenses and she trembles slightly as a few tears slip down her face.
She presses herself harder into him, and he receives it all.
“I just-... I just can’t bear the way I look sometimes. I don’t like the way I look, I don’t understand the way I look, and I’m tired of fighting to keep positive about it.” She squeezes her eyes firmly shut as the exhaustion hits her.
“I don’t want to accept my body as it is. I don’t care about gratitude and compassion and all that stuff and yeah I know it’s right and good and all that stuff but I hate that I have to put the work in to like a body that doesn’t look good. I just hate it so much! I hate that I look like this.”
Her voice shakes terribly and her nose is clogged up with snot and emotion, but Simon is steadfast. This is what she loves about him - he asks for all that she thinks and is never critical of how cruel she can be.
“I don’t want other people to tell me I look good because I don’t believe them and I never have and I worry that I never will. I worry that people are lying when they say I look nice and I hate that I can never take a compliment and I hate that I’m too insecure to be gracious and above all I hate that I look like this!”
Simon readjusts his grip on her, one thick arm wrapped tightly around her torso and the other fiercely clutching her head to his chest.
“I don’t want to have to consider what colours suit me, what stupid body type I am, what glasses or haircut or– or– or what length my dresses should be. I just want to wear what other people wear and look like they do.”
She’s done, and she has a headache. She has aired her grievances and shown him her valley of sorrow, but in the wake feels defeated and tired.
Nevertheless, the cycle is familiar to her and she knows Simon will be there. He is her lighthouse when she is at sea.
She lifts her head from his neck and sees his shimmering, pained eyes staring back at her. Wordless and strong, he draws her into a kiss full of intent with his dry, warm palm resting firmly at the base of her throat.
“Go to work,” he murmurs, eyes tracing over the shape of her lips. She wills herself to stay still though she feels nude under his stare. “We will recalibrate tonight.”
She gives him a nod, throat still under loving hostage, and pulls away.
-
As she pulls open the front door and toes her shoes off, she meditates over how the day has gone. She had tried not to let her mood affect her work, but had nevertheless been more withdrawn than usual. She was grateful for having two excellent friends at work who knew her propensity for turning inwards and were kind and warm but not intrusive.
Padding steadily to the bedroom, she feels the familiar mix of nervousness and anticipation waiting for her.
“Recalibration” is to Simon a sort of potent mixture of sex and therapy. Every time she has a wobbly moment he takes her apart piece by piece and guides her into the recesses of feeling that she is afraid of. He shows her that they may be her demons but that they exist in a corner of fear and loneliness that he won’t let her get lost in.
Even so, even after all the times he has done this with her, she is afraid.
But she trusts him to guide her ahead with his sober seriousness and unflinching determination to love her.
She opens the bedroom door and there he is, sitting in the same position as this morning but facing the door.
She looks to the wall opposite their bed and sees that he’s moved the large gilded mirror that normally resides above their fireplace to rest against the wall. From the angle she’s at she can’t quite see the reflection, but knowing how directly she will see her nakedness sparks a kindling of stress in her.
“Come ‘ere.”
Simon beckons her with his hand and her feet move without her even knowing it.
He reaches for her once she is in his space and lifts her so that she is straddling his wide hips.
“Si–”
He hushes her with a squeeze of her thigh. “How do you tell me you’re okay?”
Her mouth dries and her underwear grows damp. “Two taps.”
“And your safeword?”
“Apple.”
Simon’s hand travels from her thigh to the crease where it meets her hip.
“Are you ready?”
She nods firmly, gaze still locked on him.
“Good girl. I love you.”
Her eyes prick with tears and the sight of her wet eyes, Simon’s own turn hard.
Her cunt clenches at the way he regards her now. Soft, sympathetic Simon is gone. This version of him is determined, relentless, and dominating.
“I’m going to take your clothes off,” he says, finally dropping his eyes to her chest where her nipples have pebbled to hard, sensitive points.
He releases her thigh and methodically unbuttons her blouse, taking it off and dropping it to the ground as his focus turns to her singlet. He draws a calloused finger along the line of her throat, traces the mole he loves to bite, and slowly drags it down to circle her right nipple.
She releases her breath - not having realised she was holding it - and watches the seriousness of his brow as he leans close and licks the light shape of her hard nipple over her bra and shirt.
At first he’s gentle, kissing it and licking it as though it were the first time, but then his arms are at her back and pushing her into him and all of a sudden he is biting ravenously at her nipple and wetting her tank top and holy fuck she can feel his saliva through the thick cotton of her bra.
Her heart is thundering at her chest and she desperately wants to feel his tongue on the skin of her breast, but the rule is that tonight is for Simon to enjoy her body so she allows it to continue, all the while aware of the growing warmth and wetness of her crotch.’
Pulling back ever so briefly, Simon is breathing hard and releases an arm from its grip around her to pull the strap off of her right shoulder and gently pulls her breast out. She looks down and he is staring right at her, staring staring staring as he takes her nipple between his teeth and rolls it.
She can’t help the whine that leaves her lips, and the moan that shatters the air when he pushes a small amount of spit just over her nipple and then closes his mouth over it and sucks.
Her cheeks are hot and her heart is pounding furiously and Simon still hasn’t broken his penetrating stare. He reaches for the other strap with his other hand and pulls it down and her left breast is engulfed by his hot hand and she begins to rock over his crotch as he continues with the agonisingly slow pace of his suckling.
She registers distantly that he is hard, but focuses on burning the image of him at her chest into her brain.
A moment passes, and Simon reaches behind him. She looks and he has a combat knife in his hand, and brings them to the front of her shirt. The cool blade glides lightly against her skin and they both watch in fascination as her skin erupts in goosebumps.
Hand confidently gripping the handle, Simon turns the blade to lie flat against her skin and slides it under her bra and the bunched up top. He pulls the knife towards his own chest, then turns the blade and slides it up and down only a few times until the material gives way and her chest is exposed and they can both watch her breasts move up and down from the thrill.
She complies as Simon peels the cut cloth from her body, lifting her arms obediently, then settles her hand in his thick, rough hair.
Simon lifts her slightly so that she is holding her own weight above him, and curves his right knuckle as though he is holding a pen. Then he presses his hand against her crotch, adds pressure and languidly strokes back and forth against her.
She leans forward to kiss him, but he pulls away with a grunt.
“Tongue out.”
She sticks it out, panting slowly but deeply. Simon’s eyes twinkle darkly as he leans forward to lick her tongue with his, and she just about ascends to heaven.
He brings her back down with a shockingly firm hand clutching her throat, and she blinks furiously at him, tongue still out and heart racing wildly.
Simon ignores her surprise and licks her tongue twice more before leaning in, enclosing his mouth over her tongue and sucking hard.
She squeals at the sensation and her thighs quiver dramatically.
He chuckles lowly and she is - for a brief moment - embarrassed, but is distracted by him unbuttoning her jeans.
“Take these off,” he says, “then get down in front of the mirror.”
She clumsily shuffles off his lap, looking longingly at the bulge in his pants, but obeys.
She wriggles out of her jeans and slides her underwear off, but stops short of turning to the mirror. Simon watches her carefully in the middle of taking off his own clothes, thick and scarred chest moving in motion with his breath. She stays facing him even as he takes his own trousers and pants off, his juicy cock bouncing, pink and wet.
“Love.”
Lowering her gaze, she turns to the mirror and kneels. She doesn’t want to see herself. Then, she leans forwards onto her hands and stares right at the rug under her palms. Seeing, but also not seeing the pattern she had chosen for their room.
Simon’s hands settle on her shoulders then bring her back to her knees and she meets his burning gaze in the mirror with difficulty.
His erection is pressing hotly against her back, but she’s not sure anymore whether the goosebumps are from arousal or discomfort. She stubbornly locks eyes with him and thinks, I don’t want to look at this.
Simon’s nostrils flare and there’s just a beat of silence before his big hands flex and then his right hand settles haphazardly over a breast and the other at her belly and then they both grab, hard.
The action takes her breath away and her eyes blow wide before he growls lowly, “I want to always be able to grab handfuls of you.”
With a firm knee he nudges hers apart and pushes his forwards until her crotch is sitting back against his thigh.
Like the good girl she is, she begins to rock, and Simon grunts approvingly. The hand at her belly relaxes, only to reposition slightly and grab her tummy again. The hand at her chest slides to pinch her nipple and yep she is definitely back at full arousal and can’t help the wail that leaves her when he yet again opens his mouth to let warm glob of spit drip down her chest.
He tucks his head into her neck and bites down firmly before using his hand to smear his spit along the skin of her breast.
“I want to always be able to bite you.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a sob of want.
He uses his hands to push her down harder against his knee. She tries desperately to angle her hips so that something will touch her clit, but he holds her steady. This is just the beginning.
“I want you sticky and wet and naked.”
He abruptly releases her and she lets out a sharp yelp and catches herself with her palms before she can face-plant. She finds him smirking at her in the mirror. Mouth twisted and teasing but eyes knowing and warm.
Back on your knees.
Behind her Simon pumps his pulsing cock with his right hand, reaching down slightly to collect her juices and then smearing the warm wetness over his cock and even down to his balls.
She lowers herself slightly by bending her elbows so she can watch the delicious scene. Her bear of a man. Palming himself over her spread legs. The thrill that she gets from watching him stare at her puffy and ripe cunt is the definition of addiction.
He leans forward slightly and guides the head to her opening, and she sighs in relief. Simon is silent, but the sweat beading at his forehead and the shine of his chest reveals the strain on him.
He pushes in slowly, drawing it out to the point where she wants to scream. She lets out a weak whine and rests her head on the ground.
“No.”
A hand fists her hair and pulls back on it. She gasps as her head is wrenched back so that she is once again staring at her own blown pupils, wet chest and red face.
“You’re gonna watch today,” Simon says, buried to the hilt but also totally still, “Don’t care if ya watch me or yourself, but don’t even fuckin’ think of taking those beautiful eyes off the mirror, ‘kay love?”
“Okay”, she chokes out.
“Mmph.”
Pleased, he pulls out slowly and then pushes back in.
She can feel his cock all the way up in her throat. Each measured thrust punches the breath from her lungs stops time for just a second before he grants her peace and pulls out.
But the pace he sets can’t be called peace at all. In fact, he isn’t even quicking at all.
“Si,” she says, fingertips turning white as she grips the carpet.
“Si,” she chants as he smiles and tightens his fist in her hair.
“Si,” she sobs as he runs a covetous hand down her sweaty back.
“Please…”
“Don’t think so,” he laughs, relishing in his power.
“Fuckin’ hell love,” he says, “wish you could see the view I’ve got ‘ere.”
She closes her eyes at the sweet torture just for a moment–
SMACK!
She shrieks and clenches down furiously on his hot cock.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet you’re creamin’ on me. Fuuuuuuck, darlin’.”
The tremor in her belly spreads to her thighs, and she can’t bear that he’s talking such sweet words when he won’t. let. her. come!
A dark chuckle bounces from Simon and reaches her burning ears. Her looks up wetly at her lover and cries quietly as he slips out from her completely.
Simon ignores her tears and pulls her torso up and against his chest. They’re breathing heavily and out of sync, and both of them are shaking slightly from the tension of a drawn-out fuck.
Simon then manoeuvres his right leg so that his foot is planted on the carpet and his knee is facing the mirror, then he drags her shaking right leg to drape over his and nestles her close to him. She can feel his pubic hair pressing against her ass and the right side of her body is slightly compacted by the position, but she knows this is going to be a delicious experience.
He wraps his left arm around her body and waits for her to dig her hands into his muscular forearm for support. It’s a challenging position as they’re both balancing their weight on their left sides, and he’s got her right leg propped up on his, but they both can’t resist watching the way it spreads her cunt wide open.
He especially eagerly watches the way her juices slide down her left thigh. He dips a hand to catch the drip and sucks loudly at his fingers.
“Put me in.” He commands.
She enthusiastically complies and he allows her to tilt forward slightly until he notches in at the right angle and slides smoothly into her tight cunt.
His right hand smooths lovingly over her thigh as his eyes bores into hers.
“Here we go love.” He warns, and then begins their carnal dance.
He pulls his fat cock from her walls and then generously shoves it back in, watching as her thighs flex and the cries begin yet again.
She is clawing at his forearm, unable to stop watching his beautiful manhood make use of her the only way she wants to be used.
Distantly she looks at the rolls of flesh on her right side and is momentarily distracted and disturbed by the observation, but, as astute as ever, Simon notices immediately and his lustful, loving monologue begins.
“Look at you, fuckin’ hating yourself like that.”
He slams his hips into her with extra frustration.
She weeps.
“This body was made to love like this, can’t you see?”
His right hand grazes over her clit and she yells out in pleasure and frustration when he moves away.
“No one else can take me like this.”
His hand grabs her jaw so their mirror-gaze breaks and she has her neck twisted to look up and behind at him.
The proximity forces her to flutter around him, and Simon ups the pace.
“I fuckin’ love you. You know that?”
“I luh–”
“Uh-uh” he commands, and she shuts her mouth. “I’m talking.”
Her eyes leak tears and her cheeks are just as wet as her cunt. Small squeaks come out her mouth at every push of his hips.
“You make my life.” He grunts, mashing his lips against hers. She warbles against his mouth and her entire body clenches.
Simon wrenches his head from hers and then forces her back to face the mirror. The speed is more frenzied, and there’s no containing her volume now.
“Ah–ah—-hah!... Si! Yes!”
He grabs her right hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads her down to her clit. He ensures that both their hands are touching her engorged, sensitive nub and begins to furiously work it.
“Uh- yes!” 
“Fuckin’ sick of you hating yourself like you don’t have me wrapped around your finger.”
“Ohhhh! Uh–uh—uhh— yessss please Simon,” she sobs, crying and crying but still looking directly at him, “Please. Please!”
“You don’t know how much I want you always.” He huffs, pace manic. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore.
“I want to be in you all the time. This cunt is heaven.”
She’s close, and he’s right behind her.
Refusing to lose control, Simon lowers them to the carpet as carefully as he can manage. Her breasts and his arm are pressed against the rough jute material and he waits a moment to release her right leg to the ground and allows her to shift her left to a more comfortable sprawl.
This fucked iteration of the froggy position is tight on her legs and more than a tad uncomfortable, but at this rate she’d rather die than complain.
He brings their intertwined hands back to her clit, brushing lightly against it to test her readiness and at her cry of please please don’t stop Simon licks his lips and resumes his relentless drilling.
“Your body is my endless heaven. You are my dream. You are my dream.”
He repeats the second time with fluttering eyes and she cries unabashedly into the carpet, mouth open and drool and tears and sweat dripping onto the floor.
“I’m coming! Si I’m coming I’m co--”
Her scream almost drowns him out, but she feels his words against her neck anyway.
“You make me want things. A fuckin’ baby, your belly huge and tits full of milk and fuckin’ soft everywhere.”
The mental image is so horrifyingly clear in his head that Simon is hurtled into his own orgasm, his speech ripped in half by a loud moan. His grunting accompanies hers as she bucks and wails and thrashes beneath him, milking him to the point of near-madness.
Her left ear is ringing and the ache in her hips is more than a little painful, but by the time their highs are over she’s a mess underneath him, and sobbing openly into the carpet. This has been by far the most visceral ‘recalibration’ they’ve ever had, and her heartache has more than been met by intimacy and affection.
She feels such grief and sadness but the feelings are crushed by waves of love so fierce she can’t do anything but weep.
Above her, Simon shifts and smooths a hand down her sweaty back.
“Shhhh,” he whispers against her sweaty head. He repeats it over and over as she expels her anguish and is overcome with lust, adoration, feeling.
“I’m here. I’m here.”
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caramel-maveeato · 4 months
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ᴀ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ'ꜱ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀꜰꜰᴇɪɴᴇ ♡˚₊。。。
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❧❤ SYNOPSIS: pre-exam stress… (same) ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x GN!reader ♡ Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort ♡ TW: implications of stress, overworking, anxiety, slight cursing, crying. ♡ word count: 1.3k
Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n.
English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.
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Another all-nighter. 
Papers and half-finished cups of coffee cluttered on your desk, too-brightened laptop's screen amplified the urge you have to collapse. 
Studying was never your weakness. Most of the time, you were always able to ace any tests or quizzes perfectly with the proper amount of effort. But recently, all things appeared to be pointing a spear at you and whatever tasks failed miserably when they reached your hands. Everything merely fueled the raw chaos of strain and frustration you put yourself through. 
“What the fuck is this supposed to mean?”
Neatly printed words wobbled into a mess when your gaze scanned through them, suddenly the language you’ve known by heart sounded like some incomprehensible nonsense, entering this ear and leaving through the other ear. At this point, you didn’t even remember what your last name was; the only thing that repeated itself in your head was how disastrously you were going to fuck this upcoming exam up. 
Pathetic.
You glanced at the clock, your vision blurry at the number it showcased. It wasn’t the weariness that clouded your eyesight, but a layer of fog had ragingly obscured it. 
This isn’t the time to cry, all of these stupid crammings have already dragged you through hell and back. But under the influence of pent-up stress and exhaustion, aggravation kept gushing out from your tired eyes like downpours no matter how hard you fought it back.
No game was played, yet you still felt like a loser, sobbing helplessly at your desk in the dead of night.  
Caught in the whirling tempest of your vulnerabilities, your guards dismantled completely, rendering the abrupt sound of your door open powerless to distract you.
“Love…”
Like a soothing note of a melody or a lifeline thrown into the abyss, you instantly recognized this voice among the piteous snuffles you were unloosing. And the next thing you knew, the owner of that voice had slightly spun your chair around so that you both directly met.
“Mun.” The face of your beloved muddled through your tears, so as a reflex, you forcefully wiped them away to see him clearer: “Sorry, I didn’t mean to act like this… it’s just…”
“Shh, it’s alright, why are you apologizing?” So Mun crouched down in front of you, one hand on your thigh and the other brushed against your tear-stained cheek. His touch approached you like an anchor in the void, solacing the burning trails your tears left behind.
You didn’t know why you apologized either, but it felt like the only right thing to say at the moment. Not wanting to push your already-overwhelmed mind, So Mun ignored a worried sigh he unconsciously let out and enveloped your hand in his, carefully unfolding your anxious grip: “Why didn’t you call me if you’re tired?”
Apart from his extraordinary counter abilities, So Mun must’ve possessed some kind of sixth sense because how on earth did he catch you like this in the middle of the night? But apart from the bitter taste of guilt and shame you drown yourself in, there was no other reason you should be complaining about his presence: “It’s already 2 a.m., and I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Love… what are you talking about?” So Mun’s heart shattered just from the sound of your broken sniffles. His loving gaze carried the weight of shared despair, defining a wordless language that spoke volumes: “You’re never a burden to me. If anything, I should be feeling like a burden for not being able to help you.” 
You shook your head. Half-dried tears once again woke up at their agitation, drenching the tip of your boyfriend’s fingers upon hearing he blamed himself for your breakdown: “No, don’t say that… How are you supposed to—”
“Alright, alright, my bad. I shouldn’t have said that.” So Mun cupped your face, whispering through a reassuring kiss he planted on your lips: “Neither of us is a burden, we’ve got each other, yeah?”
Prompting a reluctant nod from you, his calloused fingertips lovingly consoled the dull, duskened crescents beneath your tired eyes. There wasn’t much he could do, yet he didn’t want to stop trying either: “If so, is there anything I can do for you, sweetheart?”
Silence fell for a split second before you carefully extended your arms, and So Mun spared no time in granting your wish. 
The outer world proceeded at a furious pace. Yet, as soon as you sank into the inviting comfort of his embrace, everything seemed to cease. 
“There we go.” His protective embrace wove a shield that concealed you from exterior chaos, the barrier of defense you constructed for days disintegrated and you surrendered all of the remaining tension, finally handing over the bottled-up exhaustion as you sobbed into his chest: “It’s all good now, baby. I’ve got you.”
Encountered by the familiar strokes on your back, you couldn’t help but press yourself further into the tranquility you’d been missing ever since the weight of responsibilities overgrew, instinctively muttering his name like a prayer song: “So Mun-ah…”
“Yes, I’m here, your So Mun is here.” Every caress of his mended the torn edges of your frayed emotions. You reflexively snuggled up to him while your boyfriend kept kissing your ear and whispering words of comfort, knowing how badly you needed to hear them: “It’s going to be fine, you know you’re doing so great, right? I’m proud of you, baby, so so proud.”
The hug was only broken when you slowly drew away first, otherwise he would’ve had no issue holding you forever. A stain of your tears stood visible on his shirt, bedewing the fabric while simultaneously sprinkling your cheeks with embarrassment: “Sorry, I ruined your shirt.” 
“You’re so silly, stop apologizing.” So Mun pinched your cheek playfully before laying another kiss on your forehead: “Let’s go to sleep, shall we?” 
You know damn well that, aside from the comfort of your boyfriend, sleep is the second most essential thing you need right now. However, work came first; you couldn’t risk blowing this final test which determined whether or not you'd pass the class. The sound of your voice appeared barely louder than a worn-out whistle of the wind, physically and emotionally aching from tremendous overwork: “I can’t. I’m not done studying yet.”
A pout settled on So Mun’s face as worry draped itself over the warm color of his irises. Seeing stress etched lines of anxiety on your face was never a sight of his favor, but he couldn’t bring himself to persuade you to quit since you’ve made it clear how important this exam was to you. Plus, he was endlessly proud of how hard you were working, and he was sure that this profound effort would wonderfully pay off.  
So, with a sigh, your boyfriend patted your head gently: “Just a little bit more, okay? I’ll stay with you.”
You nodded against your boyfriend's hand, grinning. The brilliance of your smile never waned, sending tiny swings into his chest like chaotic ripples on the surface of a pond. And so he gave in to what his heart told him, cradling your face in between his palms once more and peppering delicate kisses all over you. 
Shared touches of laughter penetrated through the eerie shadows of nightfall, and suddenly midnight itself no longer felt cold. 
Finishing the last kiss on your lips, So Mun carefully spun your chair back to the desk, grabbing one of your half-drunk cups that caught his attention: “Coffee at night is a no, but I guess today is an exception for you. I’ll go refill this and be back.”
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[Tag List]✿⌦ @slytherinshua (feel free to notify me if you want to be on the tag list)
Dedicated to every So Mun simp out there but explicitly to students because finals are coming and i (we) am dying. WE GOT THIS PEOPLE💪😭!! (also this is like a sorry gift for the angsty fic i know it wasn't that angsty but)
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soobadnoonecanstopher · 8 months
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Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 7.
Pairing: You x Baekhyun
Rating: M
Word Count: 7.4K
Warnings: Gentle angst, Some tension and some romance between two adults with an unspecified age difference between them, an English story that uses the word Noona for lack of another word in English that carries the same feeling, if you don’t like this, then don’t read this story.
Author‘s note: remember all those years ago I said I’d write a Baekhyun x Noona fic? This is that fic.
Inspired by the Ray LaMontagne songs Can I Stay and Hold You in my Arms
Tag List: @andimoon @his-mochi-cheeks
Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
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There is nothing that soothes the human spirit quite like love.
And there is nothing that tests a delicate newborn relationship quite like being so unimaginably busy that all of your time and energy is funneled into just surviving a particularly tumultuous work day. There was simply nothing left after you were done. There was no spare time to even think, let alone entertain the idea of having even a moment to look into the eyes of the man you loved.
This was crunch time. This was the final stretch. You had been running nonstop since you walked into your office and your phone started ringing and very likely had already been ringing long before you even opened that door.
There had been some issues. There had been some fires to extinguish, some egos to stroke, and on the other side, some to soothe. Someone had made a mistake, someone else was crying, someone else had left something critical out and something else was corrupted and had to be rebuilt from the ground up with a staggering and impossible twelve hours to do it. Everything and anything that wasn’t work had to wait. You moved on autopilot. Somehow your brain knew exactly how to split this up so that the work got done. You delegated and you instructed and you knew this would work. You knew this had to work because the alternative was simply unacceptable. You could hear it in your voice as you instructed your team and their serious faces told you that they would also give it their all for the sake of this project's success. They knew that all of the efforts and blood, sweat, tears, and sleepless nights they had put forth up until this point would all be for nothing if at the very end of it, if at the last possible second everything went up in flames today.
There were several moments throughout the day when your mind sharpened in the middle of some soul suckingly heavy burden when you would look for him. The moments were short and fleeting, but when you looked for him, he was there. You just wanted to look into his eyes. You wanted a millisecond of comfort from them. You only wanted a small smile that could reassure you that this would pass, that this would be over soon if you only held on for a little bit. Those moments would be enough. You could withstand it.
He was just as busy as you were. Hell, he was the only reason why you were surviving this right now. Your heart ached to see the furrow of his brows or the rough hand rubbing over the back of his own neck to loosen some of his tension. He was running nonstop. You wished you could handle it all but you also felt so incredibly thankful that he was here with you.
It was always like this. Of course there would be unexpected things that went wrong, but many of these things that you were dealing with today could have been planned for. Most of this shit was predictable. It wasn’t like they were new to these kinds of projects. Why so many people in this industry left the most time sensitive and crucial tasks to the last minute you would never be able to make peace with but that didn't much matter when you were in the thick of it and your ass was on the line just as much as theirs was.
It wasn’t that you couldn’t get your part done. It was how incredibly avoidable all of this added stress could have been. You felt your temper flaring as you responded to the latest request that you push your already stressed out team even harder to clean up someone else’s mess. Even as you clearly recognized what this was. Some manager from some other department thought you seemed like a soft enough target that could be bullied or pushed around simply because you were a woman or because you walked around with that perfectly pleasant fake smile permanently attached to your face because you simply could not stomach the backlash from the alternative; people calling you a bitch because you were strong willed and no-nonsense and good at your job; people saying you were cold or an ice queen or probably just needed to get laid.
Clearly the last one couldn't be it because you’d just had the best sex of your life last night and you were still pissed off by today’s particular flavor of bullshit.
Your office door hadn’t been closed once. You hadn’t had a moment when you could just catch your breath, or even have a sip of the coffee that had grown cold on your desk. You didn’t have a second to close your eyes and cover your tired eyes with your hands and regroup your overtaxed emotions, there simply wasn’t any time for it. There were too many people fighting their own struggles that were relying on you to be the rock. People filed in and out like worker bees and you’d long since removed your shoes and your coat, pushed up your sleeves and got into the thick of it yourself. Your lungs worked to pull air into your body and oxygenate your blood and you were thankful that your heart kept beating without you having to think about it because you simply could not think about anything else. There was nothing in you left. You felt spread thin. You felt the gaps inside of your soul as you were stretched in six different places at once and occasionally and only when you could feel the darkness and the blackness that rimmed the edges of your vision beginning to grow and close up more of the light, there would be something to pull at you softly. Something tender and something healing and it was him. It was always him.
It would be a warm and discrete hand on your back, rubbing two or three circles into you. It would be a bump of a warm shoulder that leaned up against your own. It would be soft brown eyes that caught hold of your own flighty ones and he would pull his lips into a circle and motion with a single hand below his chin as if he were pulling something invisible down and out of himself. He would exhale an exaggeratedly slowed down breath, urging you to do the same. Telling you to breathe out slowly. Begging for your cooperation. When you would do it, you’d be rewarded with a microscopic wink and a smile. You were pretty sure this man was saving your life. And then on your desk there had been something small and tasty, wrapped in clear plastic cellophane with the words ‘eat me’ written on a sticky note on top of it and you had absentmindedly unwrapped it and eaten it, rewarded with another wink and a smile just when you did as he asked.
It had been hours of this. Your day had long ago turned into night time and you found yourself, impossibly, still at work. There had been a gradual but definite shift in the air as one by one, impossible tasks had been checked off. The progress had been astounding. You told them as much as the final check mark landed on the office whiteboard and the audible sighs of relief sounded out. You thanked them all from the bottom of your heart. You meant every word and one by one you were greeted with their tired smiling faces as they gave you their thanks for the work and the guidance and the war-like defensive you had taken to show each and every one of them that you had their back even despite mistakes or shortcomings, you would not let them be trampled on, all the while you concealed the black smudged footprints left behind on your own back as you took the brunt of it for them with a manic smile pushed onto your face and an undetectable to anyone but yourself, tremble in the hands that you gripped together so tightly behind your back.
But it was too much this time.
Everyone had to leave. Even - and especially your Assistant Baekhyun, who had stayed the longest of all; who lingered close beside you with a well concealed worried expression deep down inside his eyes despite the passive and pleasant smile on his face. Especially Baekhyun; who you had to practically push out the door, had gone. He had told you about some family dinner tomorrow. You used this as your fuel as you pushed. Something else too that he was committed to, you reminded him again and you insisted. He would be busy all day and you would hopefully be sleeping all day but he definitely had to go.
And he had gone.
A small flame of relief was burning inside of your chest. It wavered and flickered with the guilt over the desperation with which you had pushed him away.
As the final farewell sounded out and the noise and the din grew softer until you found yourself standing alone in front of the small sofa you kept in your office you could feel the stress and the worry that had been so all consuming finally beginning to leave your tired body and you knew it had been too much this time.
You weren’t sure if you’d be able to sleep at all either, despite how much you needed to but as the office lights were turned off and the last person had long ago left you could feel the weight of the force of gravity pulling hard at your arms.
It had been too much this time. You struggled to settle your chest and all the heavy breathing and rapid beating inside there. You made an effort to relax your jaw and with it you exhaled a slow breath through your mouth and you closed your eyes up. But, despite all of your efforts at reeling it in and calming your body, you could still feel a fire-like burning sensation cresting behind your closed eyelids. It was strong and it was relentless; that burning. Your eyelids trembled and they shivered against it and you squeezed tighter but still they quivered; refusing to stay still; refusing to stay quiet and that burning built and it crested until it reached a tipping point.
The first hot tears spilled over your lash line and they fell straight down. You saw the wet drop soak into the rug below your feet. All at once it came. Your breathing was ragged and your chest shook as you gasped in through the quiet sobs that overcame you in the dark silence of this room.
You were alone now. You could have this moment of terrible, awful weakness. You had allowed yourself so few of them in your life.
So you cried.
You cried for the stress of it all. You cried for the unimaginable struggle it was to stay on top of it all. You cried for the delicate line you had to walk as a woman in male dominated world. You cried because you had to smile all the fucking time whether or not you even wanted to smile at them. You cried for the others who didn’t have a strong sense of right and wrong who let themselves become doormats or who did not have the influence and the power to stand up for themselves and you cried until you had nothing left inside of you to cry about.
You cried until your crying changed. You recognized the dramatics and you cried feeling exactly as ridiculous about yourself right now as you were acting. You cried because you had a headache, and your feet hurt and your nose was stuffed up so you couldn't even breathe right and your stomach hurt and you were hungry goddammit.
You cried because you had thrown away two perfectly good dumplings at lunch two days ago because at the time you didn’t want to have to run two more miles on the treadmill to make up for the calories and why were you so obsessed with calories anyway? Stupid society putting you into a box and telling you that you had to look a certain way. Stupid wardrobe with your tight skirts and high heels that hurt and those delicious dumplings wasted and for what? You cried until you were numb and your makeup had been all washed away and there was nothing left to do but wash your face with cool water and press your cool fingertips over your eyes to help with the swelling.
Your eyelids were sore and your nose was red and stuffy but you could feel the relief of this. You knew sometimes it just had to come out of you and there was nothing quite like a good cry to reset your soul. As you walked through the office with your belongings in hand you could see everything around you with a brand new clarity, even despite the puffy eyelids.
You would stop for some dumplings for dinner on the way home. There was a 24-hour spot near the bus stop that had some great ones and you would eat the entire order this time. You would stuff yourself with so many dumplings until you were positively sick of them and then you would roll into your bed and you would sleep and sleep and you would dream of his pretty face and his soft lips and his long fingers and you wouldn’t wake up early tomorrow, you pulled your cell phone out to make a point of turning off every single alarm that was set. You even flippantly swore you would not look at your work cell phone once! Okay maybe only once or twice, let’s be real. You knew when you were being too much.
Your dinner was hot and delicious. The beer you had with it paired perfectly with the dramatic romance movie you found that had just started on your tv and you settled into your sofa letting your mind wander as the couple on screen shared their first passionate kiss. The man of this story was pretty handsy, but honestly the woman had been sending all of the right signals his way. What kind of rating did this have? You watched with bated breath and wide surprised eyes as the two of them, unable to deny their feelings of lust any longer, gave in to their most carnal desires — and right there at work. They were at the office! You felt weirdly exposed watching this. While it was tastefully shot and there wasn’t even much nudity, there was definitely something extremely forbidden about the way he leaned against her on the desk, pushed her skirt up and pushed his hips between her parted knees. Your skin was flushed and hot to the touch.
You had to turn it off. The layout of the office, the desk they hungrily consumed each other on and even the window with city view looked eerily similar to your own office. You’d already made a mistake in watching as much as you had. The last thing you needed to test your self control while working in the same office with your secret boyfriend, public personal assistant, was the image of pulling him down into you by his necktie for a steamy kiss or worse, of him greedily shoving your skirt up and pushing his hips between your thighs; taking you right then and there on your desk with your blinds closed and only a single lock on your office door to keep you from both being exposed.
Something was wrong with you. Clearly you had been a woman who had neglected her own personal needs for far too long. You were overtired and heavily influenced right now and it was probably best for everybody if you just went to bed.
The vibe in your bed was just as troublesome. He occupied your thoughts so entirely you wondered how anyone managed to get any sleep at all once they’d fallen in love.
A buzz on your cellphone pulled your hands down from your own lips where you swore you could still feel the memory of his kisses and you found waiting for you a text message from your very own ‘Assistant Byun’, as you had saved him in your phone on his first day.
‘Noona, did you get home safely?’
It was the simple kind of message that made you smile and you were quick with a reply letting him know that yes you were already home in your bed.
‘Did you eat?’
He was fretting and fawning over you like he did and you slipped into your photo gallery to send him the picture you’d snapped of your delicious dumplings that brought you all of the fresh and juicy happiness and delicious pleasure that only carbohydrates could bring.
‘I ate them all ^^’
You showed him proudly and you giggled into your hands to see the flood of sweet and silly emojis he sent in response.
You were still giggling when your phone started to ring and it took you only one second to recognize that this was a video phone call. Your bird lamp was illuminating your bare face and you hoped your eyes wouldn't still be swollen enough for him to notice.
When you pushed the button to answer you were instantly rewarded with his beauty. His warm brown eyes and his bright smile greeted you and you could tell that he was sitting somewhere that was well lit as he held the phone far enough away from his face so that you could see him well. It felt like a drug. You’d been so busy and so wrapped up in other things today that you had actually missed him, despite having been with his ultra professional work persona all day. You missed his lovely face and the way he looked at you and smiled with you and flirted with you.
You could see the preview of your own face in the corner of your phone screen and you winced at just how exhausted you looked. It made you want to turn away. You didn’t have any makeup on and you could clearly see how flushed your cheeks and nose still were from the crying. Your eyes were puffy and it made you look very tired and Baekhyun was watching your face from his screen as his smile sagged just a little bit and he leaned forward, clearly sitting up straighter in alarm.
You should not have answered the call. You should have made up some excuse like you were too tired for a chat, or you were about to jump in the shower, or you were about to dig a huge hole and bury yourself in the dirt. Of course he would see it and he would know.
“Baby,” his soft voice called out. It sounded just like disappointment. His brows furrowed and he licked his lips and bit down on the bottom one, holding his tongue, keeping whatever he was going to say after that to himself. You heard the concern all over his voice and it made you bite down on your lips as you looked away from the screen to blink your eyes quickly, willing from the small bit of returning emotions you felt threatening to just go away.
You pulled a smile to your face and he watched you with his forehead leaned onto his hand propped on an elbow. On his lips was a deep frown.
“I’m fine. I really am,” you whispered and forced the smile up higher so it touched your eyes too. He didn’t say anything but his eyes watched your face much too closely, no doubt coming to all sorts of conclusions on his own. You felt the wetness in your eyes again and you rolled your eyes around to spread the moisture, pleading with yourself that you wouldn't cry again. You’d had enough.
“You cried alone…after I left. When I was gone,” his statement was a whisper that made you close your eyes up. “I should not have left you.”
You were just so very tired and seeing that look on his face made you want to soothe his worries and whatever misplaced guilt you saw in his eyes. None of this, absolutely none of it, had anything to do with him. If anything, he had saved you countless times today.
You had to reassure him as best you could, so you gave in to the concerns and you opened your lips to speak calmly and clearly. You had to let him know that you were fine.
“I’m okay now. I did cry a little. Today was a lot and I felt much better after I ate.”
“I’m coming over,” he said abruptly, with his voice hitching in his throat as he suddenly sat up straighter. He said it so firmly and quite irrationally that it pulled a small chuckle out of you. The man was impossibly adorable.
“Baekhyun, you are not coming over. You have that family thing tomorrow and I am going to sleep.”
You heard an audible hmph from him and the video jostled as if he threw himself back down in his chair in a huff.
“I’ll stay on the phone with you until you sleep then.” His pout was very much visible on his face and his voice he spoke out his idea of a compromise. In reality it sounded like heaven. You shrugged as if you were giving into him and you let the natural smile form on your face as you laid your head down on your pillow, allowing just enough light to fall onto your face so the video was still visible to him.
You could see movement on his side. Your idle curiosity about what his home looked like had you watching the background as he seemed to be moving through one room and entering a darker space. You longed to see it in person. You were so curious about how he lived. You heard a soft click in here and there was a dim light that shone on his face now. He had a table lamp too, but you doubted it was as awesome as yours was.
“Let me see your lamp,” you couldn't help yourself. You heard his laughter and he turned the phone to face something bright and ultra modern looking. It was abstract with shapes like hexagons and it looked more like a piece of expensive modern art than any regular old table lamp. You gasped out loud covering your mouth. It was so cool. It probably cost way more than your bird.
“I like your bird lamp,” he said up close to his phone and you rolled your eyes at his attempt and sighed out loud. His lamp was so cool. You wondered if he had that modern style throughout his home and your eyes glanced around your room at the mishmash of bright colors and cutesy things that you selected not quite for their cohesion as a whole but simply because they brought you joy. One such corner in particular with the chair that you loved paired with a fluffy bubblegum pink ottoman that some might call ridiculous if they were just a little bit closed minded. It was your reading nook. Not that you had any time to read, but it was bright and bursting with color and potential and it was your favorite spot. You’d taken Maximalism to a whole other level here.
“Liar.” You said deep into your pout and he laughed out loud again.
“I like your bird. I like your pirate horse. I like your bedroom and I like whatever you have going on in that one specific corner of your bedroom. I like you. I like everything about you,” he said and you met his eyes as he laid his head down on a crisp white pillow case and turned his face toward the light source so you could see him clearly, just as you had done for him. If you allowed your mind to drift a little bit, it almost felt like he was here beside you. You could so easily look into his face and see the way his eyes blinked slowly and you could hear the way his breathing softened and evened out.
“He’s not a pirate. He was injured on the job and is waiting on a big fat worker’s compensation check to pay for his glass eye.” You could feel the sleepiness turning your imagination into overdrive and the sound of his laughter rang out making your phone speakers buzz as he threw his head back; your silly backstory for the painting that hung on your living room wall sending him into giggles.
“The grip you have on me is insane,” he said when his laughter calmed down and he looked deep into your eyes.
You watched him and he watched you until both of your eyelids began to sag and your blinks grew longer and longer.
“When can I see you again?” His words were slowing down. His eyes looked as heavy as yours felt. Your tongue felt thick and loose inside of your mouth and you could feel the sleep tickling up along your spine. You knew he saw you all day today and you knew that wasn’t what he was asking. You felt the same way deep in the middle of your stomach.
“I missed you today,” you said out loud what you had been thinking since you saw his face on your phone. “I missed you so much.”
He opened his eyes and a tiny smile crept in.
“I’m coming over,” he said again, this time in a dreamlike sleepy voice, not at all moving his head from his soft pillow. The thought made you hum out an appreciative sound and your lips pulled into a smile that sagged on your lips because of how sleepy you felt.
He inhaled a deep breath and his lips parted again, “I could hold you in my arms,” his dreamy words slipped across your pillow and planted delicate kisses on your closed eyelids and you could only hum again as he inhaled to speak once more, “I could hold you forever.”
His sweet whispered words danced behind your eyelids and carried you into your dreams where you met with him and his broad shoulders and strong arms. Where you danced with him and he held you and you melted and dissolved like butter in his unimaginable warmth.
Your Sunday had a late start.
The stress from yesterday's long day had taken a toll on your body and just as you had wanted to, you actually managed to sleep in. Your phone had a few messages waiting. A few work things, nothing urgent and nothing critical and two sweet messages from your boyfriend.
Your boyfriend — this word still filled you with butterflies just to think it. One of the messages was a short and sweet goodnight message with a heart emoji beside it, and the other was a picture he sent you of his smiling face standing in front of what looked like a forest with lots of lush greens trees in the background and in the far background sat some sort of building nestled within the trees. It looked a bit like a school out in the countryside. You wondered what on earth he was doing out there when there were things like cozy warm beds and hot coffee to be had at home.
You typed out a curious response, asking him what he was actually up to and you set your phone down for the time being so you could focus on getting your weekly chores finished. Boring stuff like laundry and changing your bed sheets. Taking out the trash and recycling and sweeping and mopping your floor, all the while listening to music, although at a much lower volume that you usually would use, in case your phone made any sounds.
Your day was satisfyingly productive and you’d reached the point in your day-off schedule that was dedicated entirely to you. You had soaked in your bathtub, you’d shaved and lotioned every bit of your skin that needed attention. You’d done your nails, all of them this time! You’d plucked and preened and got so caught up on your own little spa day that it soon transcended from just maintenance care to something a little more fun. You had styled your hair and did just a little bit of day-off makeup too, went a bit overboard with the good products that were expensive but you felt pretty this way. You browsed through your closet for something that felt nice and looked nice on your skin and your mind drifted to the mess you had been last night. Your face winced to remember the way he had looked at you then, at basically the lowest you could get. Why hadn’t you looked like this when he called you for that video call?
This wouldn't do. He had sent you a selfie just a few hours earlier, you could get away with one selfie to him, just some sort of redemption, to save face and maybe undo the most recent image he had of you in his head from last night. You went into your bathroom where the lightning was good and you lifted your phone camera up, snapping a few poses, liking a few more than others, you struggled with the decision.
Was his photo gallery also full of rejects or was the man as naturally beautiful and photogenic as he was smart and capable?
You held your breath and closed your eyes and you hit send and the phone did its thing as it took away your tiny gift and delivered it somewhere inside his phone which likely buzzed against his thigh inside of his pocket. In your head you counted down the seconds of silence, of which there were many.
You were still holding your breath when your phone buzzed happily in your hand and you swiped quickly to open his response.
It was nonsense. Just some jumble of letters and numbers and some symbols too. It brought a smile to your face in an instant and somehow this reaction from him felt even better than if he had actually responded to you with words.
Before you had a chance to say anything else, another message came through.
‘You made me drop my phone’
The elation was overwhelming. Such a small response from him had filled your chest with so much delight. This feeling was really like nothing else you’d experienced. You had to bite down on your lip to keep the smile somewhat under control.
Soon after the message appeared you saw a tiny heart appear in the upper corner of the picture you had sent him as he reacted to it and your own heart leapt up into your throat when your phone was ringing.
He was calling you. So suddenly?
You thought a few text messages at most would be exchanged. You hadn’t expected him to be available for a phone call. Whatever it was that he was doing it had seemed like it would take up all of his afternoon.
You answered with a cautious greeting and there was the smallest pause on the line before you heard his voice.
“Noona,” he wasn’t speaking at full volume and your ears picked up a bit of chatter in the room where he was. The voices were many and they sounded young. He was around children, it seemed. “My kids want to talk to you.”
You had no idea what was going on.
“Baekhyun, what kids? What is happening?”
The small voices you heard were rowdy and they were all worked up about something. You heard a few shouts behind him, some questions that you couldn't quite make out all of the words for.
“Miss!” A small voice was shouting and it sounded closer than the others. “Are you our teacher’s girlfriend?”
“You’re pretty! Are you going to get married?” A different tiny voice shouted from slightly farther away.
“Miss! What is your name?” There were a few more questions that you could make out. “Why did he put a heart on your picture?”, “Do you have a dog?”, “What is your favorite video game?”, and perhaps the one that made you smile the most was the voice that started this all and sounded like it might belong to the perpetrator holding the phone in his hands, “Miss, have you ever seen a real ninja, not on TV but in real life?”
You answered the ones you could answer as quickly as they were thrown at you.
Yes. Thank you. I don't know. Umm, I don't know that either. No I don't have a dog but I want one. Umm, I’m very good at Mario Kart. No, I’ve never seen a ninja. Have you seen one?
Clearly these kids were conducting their own very thorough investigation of you right now and they had some very clear metrics by which they judged their teacher’s girlfriends by.
You were laughing now and you could hear the struggle as Baekhyun’s voice spoke over their tiny excited hollers and he tried to rein them in.
“Beni, how would she see a ninja? They’re ninjas, that’s the point, you don't see them!” Baekhyun’s voice sounded over-excited and exasperated now and based on how far away he sounded he was not the person who was holding his own phone.
You heard a few thumps, some sounds of the phone being jostled about and your screen suddenly lit up as the audio call was switched over to a video call. It was a tiny boy’s face and he was peering down at you with a bright smile that was missing just a few teeth. A few more faces came into the frame and you smiled and waved at them and they all giggled excitedly to see you.
The phone was turned around and you could see a somewhat flustered Baekhyun standing with his hands on his hips in front of a stand up piano. It definitely seemed to be some sort of a school, or maybe a group home. The more you looked, the more dated and run down the walls behind him looked; the more this seemed like not an ordinary school. A memory was coming back to you, yesterday when you discussed his weekend plans and he had mentioned some place he went every week to volunteer. This must be that place; a school or it being a Sunday, probably the place where these children lived permanently and Baekhyun was obviously holding some sort of class for them. Something fun; art maybe, or music. Whatever it was, they obviously loved him there and were deeply invested in getting to the bottom of exactly who you were and what your connection to their dear teacher was. Deep down inside, you really hoped that you passed their strict tests.
“Okay, okay, you saw her and you talked to her. Now give me back the phone or we won't do the song.”
You recognized a hostage negotiation when you saw one. This man had clearly lost control of the small group of boys and was desperately trying to get the upper hand again.
“Song? I want to hear the song too!” You shouted on into the phone and the children all cheered excitedly in agreement.
“Yes! Yes, do the song,” they all yelled.
The phone was relinquished and you could see Baekhyun’s eyes reaching out to yours through the phone with a quick whisper “I’ll put you next to the piano,” as you had a new view of the keys of this piano and his slim fingers reaching out to touch the keys. You could see just the bottom half of his face and behind him, all seated on the floor with their excited faces watching enraptured were about six little boys with bright expectant smiles on their faces.
“Do you want me to sing it, or are you going to sing it?” He was asking them in a bright and cheerful voice.
“You sing it! You sing it!” They all clamored and to your absolute astonishment Baekhyun’s fingers touched the keys of this piano and the most amazingly beautiful melody began to play out. He made it look effortless and the results were so gorgeous you had to cover your open mouth with your hands to keep the shock from your face. He played like he had been playing piano his entire life.
The introduction to the song had reached a point for him to begin singing and Baekhyun inhaled a breath as he began. It was a light song, something soft and pretty, but what struck you immediately was his voice. It was shockingly good. He sounded like a professional and the more he sang the more you found yourself drawn into this man. You had to admit, the more he sang the more starstruck you felt watching him do it. The kids had a similar reaction and when the song reached its climax and he threw his head back and expertly belted out the most beautiful sustained high note complete with beautiful vibrato on the sustained note that you felt it tickle along your spine and bring along with it rows of goosebumps that traveled over your skin to hear it something so breathtakingly beautiful come out of this man.
How? How was he real? Could he really do this the whole time you had known him? Was there anything this man could not do?
You wondered if there was any bottom to this. When you thought you couldn't fall for him any further, a trap door would open up below your feet and you’d go tumbling another hundred meters.
He was done with his song and you were clapping and cheering just as enthusiastically as the kids were. He’d picked up the phone and his brown eyes found yours for a few whispered words. He was speaking very fast and his mouth was so close to his phone microphone that his whispers crackled in your phone’s speakers.
“Noona, the class is almost over, I have to go but I’ll call you later. Also you need to understand that I would kick your ass so bad at Mario Kart. K — I love you. Bye bye~.” He drew out the last word and the call abruptly ended leaving you stunned, still laughing, and feeling very much enamored with this man who had abruptly exploded into your life one day and taken hold of you by the heart, sunk his long fingers in very, very deeply, and absolute refused to let you go.
The interaction with him seemed to linger inside of you and you found yourself dazed as you wandered around your apartment, unsure of where to go next. You’d never quite felt so lost before. You spent most of your life with a well curated agenda and a plan. A schedule even for your days off, everything you did had a purpose that was carefully selected and chosen with some goal in mind.
But how on earth could you possibly tackle this feeling? You wanted to see him. You wanted to be near him and be close to him and you wanted to do the things he was doing with him and you wanted to breathe the same air he was breathing. It was maddening.
You no longer had a sense of what time it was. You’d wandered for too long when you finally came-to plopped down your sofa with the tv remote in your hand as you flipped through programs that didn’t have any the right feelings to draw you in.
You felt desperate like a caged tiger the longer you stayed here. You glanced at the clock in some useless attempt to orient yourself and to find your own mind again and you found that it was later than you expected it to be. Would he be done with his drive home yet? Would he be calling you soon as he promised so quickly the last time you’d spoken to him?
Maybe you needed a hobby. This was getting ridiculous.
Just a few more hours and you could get in bed and just a few more sleep hours after that and you could get up and get dressed in your sexiest business professional number and you could go into work and you could see him again.
Is this how addicts felt as they waited for their next fix?
A buzz on your phone brought you out of it.
It was Assistant Byun. It was your greatest weakness and he was the very powerful and addictive drug you’d been craving.
‘When can I see you again?’
It was straight to the point. It mirrored the exact same feeling you had been dealing with for the past few hours. No pleasantries. No ‘Noonas’ or cutesy emojis. No ‘how are yous’ or ‘are you busys’ or similarly cheap filler talk.
You looked down at his message and your hands clumsily struggled to type out a response.
He was faster than you were.
‘I need to see you again’
You had to steady your hands to type. You felt no hesitation with your next words. Of course he should. Of course he had to. You also needed him.
‘come over’
The warm flush that started in your cheeks spread over you slowly. It crept like a shadow moved and it was a thorough and a deep feeling as it spread. You felt the heat under your chin as it traveled down your neck, bringing with it that slow buzzing that made your breathing just a little shaky and unsteady. The saliva pooled inside of your mouth, just under your tongue at the thought of him being so overcome with the very same desire that you felt inside of you, it made the need that much more pronounced in you
Ten seconds passed and you sat with your eyes closed listening to the silence of your home and the silence of your phone without any sort of new message from him. When the sound did ring it out it came from an unexpected place and you lifted your head in quiet shock to hear your doorbell ringing a mere ten seconds after you had told him to come over.
‘I’m already here,’ the cheeky response from him belatedly buzzed in your hand, just after the doorbell rang and you were on your feet in a second, without any regard for how desperate you must look, because you were. You no longer cared if he knew it.
You pushed yourself to move through the space that separated the two of you and you rushed to unlock the door that separated you from him and when you pulled that door you caught the sight of his pretty face as he stood there at your doorway, leaning a shoulder against the edge and he was looking at you with a that breathtaking smile on his face, one hand pushed into his pocket. When he saw you the smile sagged and when he saw you his face changed. And with a slow and deliberate agonizing pull of his dark eyes, he ran them up the entire length of your body before setting them down devastatingly deep inside of your eyes and there was no longer any breath left in your body that could fight the dizziness you felt under his gaze.
Inside of his eyes a flame was ablaze and you, and you, and every single bit of you, was burning.
[To be Continued]
Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
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actualbampot · 3 months
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Anxiety
For all you neurospicy folk that are struggling this Christmas. Have my anxiety baby, because I needed to write anything to distract me from panic-vomiting all over the train I was on.
TW: Anxious Disorder, Panic Attack
Pairing: Ruby Rose/Cinder Fall
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“What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing.” Ruby said too quickly. Cinder looked even more unconvinced, watching her carefully. Ruby felt herself heating up and not in any way nice, a sickly flush of color from her cheeks making everything feel stifling and clammy.
“I'm fine,” she breathed a little hard, and whatever else Cinder noticed had the woman on her feet immediately. It wasn't until Cinder had taken one of her hands did Ruby realize how much it was trembling. 
Much to her surprise, Cinder guided her to the seat she'd just occupied, still warm with the heat of her body.
“Far from it, I think.” Cinder touched her face, thumb sliding over clammy skin. The repetition of the movement was oddly grounding, distracting Ruby away from the dread and dizziness making her feel nauseous, if only for a moment. “You're quite pale.”
“Yea,” Ruby gasped the word like she'd been holding it in her chest, but it was all she could manage when the tremble in her hands didn't let up, referring up over her shoulders, into her chest. All she could think about.
“Look at me, darling.” She managed to, only with the caress of Cinder's hand guiding her. She wasn't annoyed, or impatient, the creases on her brow of concern. “Don't think, just breathe.”
“I'm trying,” Ruby hiccuped, but it was getting so hard, until she couldn't stop thinking about how she *couldn't* breathe right and it was making her panic-
Cinder took one of her hands, guiding it to rest on her own chest, fingertips touching her clavicle and sweaty palm resting right over her heartbeat. It was true and steady, and Ruby could swear she felt heat swell on each of Cinders deep inhales.
Her hand was held there, cheek still cradled and before long Ruby was following the rise and fall of Cinder's breast, breathing together with her. She screwed her eyes tight, shutting out any distractions and focusing on that simple binary.
“You're alright, dear. Nǐ hěn ānquán.”
“Could- Can you-” Ruby started, but it was hard to sort her thoughts, to figure out how to ask with any eloquence. In the end she could only manage to blurt the request: “Could you keep talking like that to me? In Mistralian?”
The repetition, the constant of unchanging movement between Cinder's chest and stroking thumb kept Ruby balanced on a thin wire, where any deviation might tip her. She needed to hear the soft, cooing drawl of Cinder's voice, even though Ruby couldn't focus on the words. 
Watching how much Ruby struggled, the older woman did not wish to burden her any further. 
“Zhè shì zhànshí de,” Phrases melding together in sound, the highs and lows of Cinder's voice never broke a warm whisper, “Huì guòqù de.”
They remained like that long enough for Cinder to shift out of a kneel, onto both of her knees in front of Ruby. For her, the nausea and hot flushes were incessant, as was the effort to swallow down each one until she was quietly begging for reprieve. 
There was no magic cure, no pill Ruby could take that would ease the vicious dread and churning nausea making her convulse.
Minutes dragged into hours, moments of progress upsurged by the panicked need to dry wretch in Cinder's bathroom. After half a dozen trips of guiding a Ruby too exhausted and fragile to navigate there herself, the older woman allowed them to slip to the bathroom floor, sparing the younger woman from the sting of cold tile and pulling her weight into her lap. In doing so, her caress never left Ruby's face, just as Ruby's hand clung to Cinder's chest all-the-more desperate. 
“It won't go away.” Ruby whimpered as she tipped bonelessly into Cinder's body, burying her face into the side of the woman's neck. “Just want it to stop.”
“Wǒ zhīdào, but it will,” came Cinder's soft, lilted whisper, cooing quietly, "I’ve got you.”
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coneyislandbabey · 10 months
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all your sickness, i can suck it up. -> e.roundtree
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WARNINGS: alcohol and maybe some cursing?
SYNOPSIS: The push and pull between you and Eddie Roundtree was never-ending. No matter how hard you tried to push him away, you always came back together.  word count: 1,573
NOTES: This is part (6/8) of the Beast of Burden series! Part five can be found here. I hope y'all enjoy! Series is almost done now...
Los Angeles, 1974 
Somehow, the news of Camila’s pregnancy didn’t surprise you at all. The way she and Billy had been going, they were either going to be together ‘til death and raise a small army of unnervingly attractive babies together, or else they were going to crash and burn in the flames of the most damaging breakup known to man. It was going to be the first one, you guessed. 
The timing was shit, of course, considering all of you were getting ready to head out on tour very soon. But with Billy’s lifestyle, was there ever going to be a good time? Probably not, you thought, which is why you were wholeheartedly into their middle of the night wedding plan. You knew Billy was trying to be a good dad already, in his fucked up, disjointed kind of way. He was trying to set up a real family for this baby to be born into, even if he would be leaving Camila all alone right after they got hitched. You respected the effort. 
You put on one of your nicest dresses, a beautiful thing of deep green silk and beaded details that fell to midcalf and moved like water on your body. Camila had done a wonderful job turning the backyard into a beautiful backdrop for the wedding. If you were a stranger, you might have even thought that some planning had gone into all of this, that the matrimonial couple had chosen to have a nocturnal backyard wedding because it’s what they wanted, not because of extenuating circumstances. 
You downed a glass of champagne and a half before the vows were said, and your alcohol consumption only grew, quickly and steadily, after that. An hour later you were standing with your back against the house, thoroughly drunk and pouting as you watched Billy waltz Camila around the makeshift dance floor, happy giggles dropping like bubbles from her perfect mouth. 
An ache had settled in your chest the minute that they had announced their pregnancy, and it had only grown in intensity throughout the night. For a long time, you couldn’t quite put your finger on what was causing it, but the picturesque tableau in front of you made everything clear. 
You were jealous. 
Billy and Camila had the one thing you had wanted for so long and felt like you would never be able to have. They had their happiness with each other, and they could put it on display for all the world to see. There was nothing stopping them from being together, nothing in the way of them finding a home within each other. And they were married now, in a perfectly imperfect little ceremony celebrating with their closest friends-turned-family, preparing for a life as a unit together. 
You wanted to have that more than anything, and you wanted it with Eddie. You could picture your perfect life so vividly, one where you could call Eddie your own and be happy with him without worrying about any kind of consequences, but it was like all of it was on the other side of a solid wall of soundproof glass.  The kind of glass that you could hit with a baseball bat over and over, but would never break. Would never let you in. Not as long as you wanted your respect, your fame, your art. 
“Hey, you alright over here?” Eddie, seemingly materializing right out of your drunken daydream, was standing next to you, a slightly worried look on his face. 
“Eddie,” you grinned, voice coming out far louder than you had planned on. Eddie laughed, taking in your clearly hammered state. 
“You know, it’s kind of bad form to get so fucking drunk at a wedding,” he noted, amusement filling his eyes. 
“Oh, please,” you waved a hand dismissively. “I can get as drunk as I want in my own backyard, wedding or not, thank you very much.” 
“And who am I to argue with that logic,” he responded, holding his hands up in mock surrender. 
“Exactly,” you nodded approvingly. “Care to dance with me, Mr. Roundtree?” 
“I’d love to,” he smiled, offering you a hand like a proper gentleman. You took it, and he led you over to the makeshift dance floor. He pulled you towards him, his hands going securely to your waist as yours wound loosely around his neck. The two of you easily found the rhythm, swaying back and forth along with the song. 
You lost yourself in the familiar scent of Eddie’s cologne, spicy and a little green, like the Pennsylvania forests as summer turned to autumn. You stared up at him unabashedly with love-filled eyes, taking in every feature of his face. 
“What are you lookin’ at, darling?” he asked, staring back at you with the same affection. You felt the corners of your mouth lift into an involuntary smile at the mere sound of his voice. 
“Jus’ you,” you hummed, tilting your head to look at him from a slightly different angle. The lanterns that Camila had hung in the trees cast a warm, yellow glow across the yard, and it touched every bit of Eddie with gold. 
“Like what you see?” he asked, grin turning cheeky. 
“Mm, I always do.” Your heart snagged at the red flush that overtook his face at your words. You caught sight of Camila and Billy dancing behind Eddie, and the pout returned to your face before you could tamp it down. 
“What’s going on with you tonight, (y/n/n)?” Eddie asked, a frown on his face to match your own. “You can talk to me, you know that.” 
You sighed, embarrassed to realize that there were tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You sighed, trying to gather yourself as much as you could through the haze of booze. You didn’t want Eddie to see you cry. Not on a night that was supposed to be nothing but celebration. 
“It’s just– I see them,” you started, tilting your head towards the happy couple. “I see them, and I wish it could be us.”
You watched Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise, confusion coloring his features, and you pressed on before he could respond, intent on explaining exactly what you meant. 
“I want us to be able to just be happy, Eddie. I wish there was nothing else complicating things. I want us to be able to be together and everyone to know it and that to just be that, you know? I want… I want us to go through life together as a unit, and it’s breaking my heart right now that we can’t,” your voice was rough with emotion by the end of your explanation, unshed tears swimming in your eyes as you lifted your head to look at Eddie. You wished that you weren’t too drunk to lie. You wished you had the wherewithal to tuck all of these emotions neatly away where no one could see them, not even him. You wished that you could reach up and kiss him and maybe feel a little peace. 
Eddie brought one hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb dragging gently back and forth across your skin, and you leaned into the comfort of his touch. 
“I want that, too,” he said softly, and your heart clenched at the undertone of pain in his voice. 
“I’m sorry for all of this,” you said. A tear escaped your eye, and Eddie brushed it away with heartbreaking tenderness. “If I was different, we–” 
“I would never want you to be different,” Eddie cut in firmly. “I love you because of every single thing that makes up who you are, and I wouldn’t change any of it. I want you to achieve everything you desire, and I would never want you to desire less than you do.”
You smiled at his words, shaking your head fondly. Never in your life did you imagine being loved with the ferocity that Eddie loved you with. Loved despite everything, loved because of everything. Loved in every manner, in every version, in every world. 
“I never imagined something as wonderful as you could exist, Edwin,” you said earnestly. “And I’m still sorry that I’m the one standing in the way of us having all of this.” 
“I’m not sorry about it,” Eddie shrugged. “I get the honor of watching you achieve your dreams. And while you’re out there achieving everything you’ve ever wanted, I’ll wait for you until we can have this, too.”
“I can’t ask you to wait for me,” you said, eyebrows drawing in at the thought. Who knew how life would go? Who knew how many years would go by before the opportunity presented itself? 
“You didn’t ask me to, angel. But I’m not capable of anything else,” Eddie said. “I love you, and that’s not going away. It’s been how many years already? You’re just stuck with me now.”
You laughed, your head dropping against his broad chest. 
“I promise it won’t always be like this. One day it’ll pass, all my anxieties, all the possible consequences. Then we’ll have all this, too.” 
“I know,” Eddie nodded. “There’s no other choice for us, I don’t think. You and I are just a fact of life.” 
A fact of life. You liked that. Eddie being tied to you in some overarching, cosmic way was about the only thing in life that made sense.
tag list: @eonnyx @celestialstar111 @whataloadofmalarkey @sapphiclm @spidermanenthusist @mannstarkey @luvrgirl555 @toyourloves @thefemininemystiquee @treblebeth @how2besalty @vyctorya @neptunes-curse @littlehoneyfreak @itsjustmikii @fallingwallsh
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magmagicstyle · 1 year
Text
WHEN I WAS YOUR MAN (A)
(PART TWO (A) OF THE OTHER WOMAN (“SO I CAN HAVE YOU BACK” SERIES))
⚠️WARNING⚠️: I mean… not really, maybe some violence because vampires need to eat and that… I guess sadness and long-ass descriptions also count?
A/N: I'm back, bitches... love you all. Will post other updates sooner than later, I promise... Also... are we starting to look at a "The Boy Is Mine" type of situation...?
PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4
Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now Our song on the radio but it don't sound the same When our friends talk about you, all it does is just tear me down 'Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name
You could feel your lungs burning while you moved, the bodies around you were jumping and dancing like there was no tomorrow. You could hear their heartbeats and the way they smelled made you understand how horny they were. Fucking humans are so simple, so predictable. Every time you saw them you knew that they were thinking of money, sex, or anything related to greed and themselves. Maybe in the past, you would say that vampires were different, but after knowing love and realising that you would never have it, you understood that those simple emotions that humanity had were only amplified when someone turned into a vampire. So you had no hope whatsoever.
A couple of guys were eyeing you while they talked about themselves. You smiled in their direction while approaching them. You knew they were wishing to get one thing and one thing only… You also desired one thing, but that was totally different from what they wanted. Still, before you were able to approach them like you were planning to do you felt a hand grabbing your arm. 
If it was a normal human you would be able to pull yourself free without any type of effort but as soon as you tried you noticed how the grab was as hard as iron, almost crushing your skin with rough but almost perfect fingers. You looked at your side and noticed how golden irises were looking at you.
“Who…?” You started to ask while looking at the brunette vampire with a confused expression on your face, red eyes trying to find any sign of recognition. You tried to ignore the fact that he looked quite shocked by your appearance. After all, you didn’t really know him so it wasn’t like it would matter in a few moments.
“Look, I know they are jerks and probably deserve a good punishment but you can’t do that…” He started while looking at you with worry in his eyes. Still, behind that worry, you could see the clear judgement of someone who believed to be better than you.  
You smiled while looking at him with a condescending smile, “Well, I’m quite sure that whatever I was planning to do, isn’t really your business.” 
Since it was clear that this being wasn’t a normal human, you decided to use your strength to pull your arm away from his grip. Thanks to the fact that you had started to drink human blood after a couple of months of leaving Clarisse, you were a bit stronger than the other vampire. Maybe not having your mate around was quite good for you, you lied to yourself like you didn’t whimper and sob into your pillow every morning and day while you pretended to sleep and pretended that knowing that he didn’t care about you didn’t hurt like hell. 
“It is my business if the mate of my father is thinking of feeding by using some humans…” The brunette said while looking at you, grabbing your arm again and pulling you close so he could move you to a corner of the club.
“So you are Edward…” Now that you have been looking at him for a few seconds, it was quite evident. If you had to be honest, even at the beginning of your interaction with him, it wasn’t so hard to make the connections. 
The other vampire talked about your mate, and when you were with Carlisle… when you thought that you weren’t a burden and something to be put on with, he talked about his children, about different details of them and how they were one of the best things in his life. Of course, since you heard that and you thought that he was going to introduce you at some point (spoiler alert, he didn’t), you made sure of learning everything. So every little detail of them, of their hobbies, of the things they liked or disliked, all of it was stored in a little part of your brain that at some point was dedicated to the idea of being like a parent figure for them. Of course, after a while of being told that it was too soon to be introduced to the children, that part of you started to crumble and die, just like your own hopes of being loved.
“How did you…?” Edward said but then winced while touching his head, looking quite surprised when he saw you. 
“I guess you are asking yourself why can’t you read my mind…” You made a pause while noticing how he was confused by your words. “It’s useless, you won’t be able to do it… unless I want you to do it…” You explained while looking at the other vampire's eyes. At this point, you guessed you had to thank the world for your gift. 
After all, you were like a mirror, and since there were different types of mirrors, your gift worked the same way, changing depending on what you wanted to do with the other vampire's special feature. Right now you were working like a normal mirror, making sure that Edward could only see his own thoughts if he tried to concentrate his gift on your mind. Going against the other vampire’s gift made you a little bit tired, especially since you didn’t have to do that when you were with Carlisle, but thanks to your new family, you were able to practice more with your gift and achieve that the tiresome feeling wouldn’t be too strong nor last too long. 
“Didn’t your father teach you that you can’t do that? You need to respect people’s private matters…” You crossed your arms while looking at the brunette with a strong expression on your face. In return, Edward looked at you with confusion written all over his face.  
“It isn’t like I can control it… it just happens…” He made a pause. “That doesn’t matter now… what matters is that you come with me” Edward looked almost like a man on a mission. Sadly, he was no man, and certainly, he wasn’t on a mission. If only he thought about how it made you feel, how hurtful and horrible it was to have him in front of you. To even think about how you could have met him a few months ago, to have a real relationship of friendship or even mentorship with him. After all, your gifts could work quite nicely together. 
“Yeah, well… that won’t happen, kiddo…” You let out a sigh, even if you didn’t need to breathe, it just… helped you feel more centred, calm and alert. You wanted to be alert, and pay attention to everything. After all, even if you knew that you were stronger than Edward, you had no idea of what was he going to do just so he could take you with him. “I can’t really go with the Cullens now, after all… a Volturi won’t leave the guard unless is absolutely necessary… and a social visit isn’t what our kings could consider important.” 
It all just sounds like ooh, ooh, ooh, hoo Mm, too young, too dumb to realize That I should have bought you flowers And held your hand Should have gave you all my hours When I had the chance Take you to every party 'cause all you wanted to do was dance Now my baby's dancing But she's dancing with another man
How could you explain this? It wasn’t like someone was going to ask you questions about your motives but still, how?
When you arrived at the Volturi castle, you didn’t expect the welcoming feeling that filled your chest. After all, you’d never been there before, so it didn’t make any sense for you to feel something like family or anything similar. Still, it did. It was almost like you were meant to be there. It almost felt like being in this castle and meeting the vampires inside was something that you were born to do at some point. It was confusing and unexpected, but you weren’t against it. God knew -if there was a God somewhere since unlike Carlisle and most of his family, the idea of God and the whole omnipresence of him wasn’t so obvious to you- that you needed the warm feeling that was surrounding you at that moment. 
In the most normal pace you could follow, avoiding standing out from all the humans around you, you walked inside the castle with the rest of the tourists that were going to be part of the tour that always ended up in a nice meal. Of course, they didn’t know that they were the meal but, you couldn’t bring yourself to be sorry for them. After all, it wasn’t like the humans you met before felt sorry for you or even some type of sympathy. The only thing that made you stop for a bit before resuming your walk was the fact that some tourists had children with them, and seeing the small people walking around, looking at everything with sweet innocent eyes and just enjoying what was going to be their last experience on earth, well, the picture was heartbreaking. You didn’t really wish for children, which was convenient since you knew you would never have them, but still, you didn’t hate them. Children, unlike adults, were innocent souls in the middle of the hate and filth that their parents throw around to anything that was weaker than them. Children were forgiving and loving, so the idea of them dying at the hands of your peers, even if you knew that it was a necessary evil since there couldn’t be any witnesses… Well, it was painful for your heart.  Still, you didn’t plan to stop the kings nor defy them, after all, you were just a visitor trying to find somewhere that would want you by their side. 
As soon as you got closer to the throne room a woman in heels and looking quite nervous approached you. She was clearly human, the smell was so clear that it was almost painful. Still, you decided to follow her game and let her talk, pretending that her words mattered something to you. Then you decided to take off your sunglasses, looking for a reaction, just for curiosity. Well, you got one, she went instantly quiet, looking scared before starting to apologise to you. Your red eyes, which could be considered a new development after leaving your mate and his wife, followed her actions while noticing how some guards were walking towards you. You lifted your hands a little bit, showing that you weren’t coming to their house to cause any problems. 
One of the guards, the smaller of the two that were approaching you decided to grab you by the shoulder while pulling you closer to a chamber close to the throne room. Considering that you were the invader in their home, you decided to follow their lead, accepting their rough way of handling your body. This didn’t mean that you were happy with it, but you weren’t willing to cause any type of trouble, especially since you were going to request something quite big from your kings. 
A few hours passed, the smell of blood making you notice that they were almost done with the feeding time. You looked at your nails, before turning towards the door. It wasn’t going to be too soon, but you knew that after cleaning, the guards that showed you this room were going to come back and walk you to another room where you would be able to talk with the kings. You leaned against the window in the room and when you saw the gorgeous sunset, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It wasn’t because you were out of breath. After all, you didn’t even breathe. But the sunset made you think of the afternoons in Carlisle’s arms. The soft and almost caring caresses that he provided your body. 
You were about to open the window but the sound of the door opening made you look at it. The two guards from before were walking towards you, but behind them, there was another guard. He was tall, head full of black hair that looked quite soft and fluffy. He had the typical perfection of a vampire, but unlike most of your kind, he looked warm, and if you dared, even caring. He seemed to be maybe 35, but you knew better than that. A strong jawline and wide shoulders. He felt like a greek god. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him. He looked at you, almost in a trance while following your features and before any of you could stop it, the two of you were touching your faces. 
“Who…?” You started but felt that you couldn’t even finish the question. How could you? Carlisle was supposed to be the one for you, the only one for you… But suddenly you were looking at this vampire and you were seeing how he actually saw you. You felt so precious and loved and this wasn’t far from what you were planning to ask your kings but at the same time you weren’t sure if you were ready for it to happen at the exact second you arrived in Volterra. You wanted to be taken into their home, maybe as a minor guard for some months before making your request and trying to find another vampire willing to bond with you, just to fill the void that you knew Chelsea would create when she decided to lose the bond between you and Carlisle. But now, you were there, in their home and thrown in front of a vampire that seemed to share a bond with you, a bond that made your mate bond seem weak and even useless.
“I don’t…” The vampire touching you said, and you couldn’t help but shiver, not because of him, but because your brain seemed to go hardwire at the same exact second he spoke to you. His voice, deep, rich, touched your skin and it felt like the golden silk that your father had brought when you were human, touch so delicate and caring as if you were the most precious jewel in the world. 
“Nikolas, we have to go with the kings” One of the guards guided you to the room where you were at the moment interrupted. If you were fair, it seemed that he didn’t want to interrupt the whole meeting, but at the same time, you knew that they had a job. So when Nikolas -you were going to save his name for later, wanting to feel it roll off your tongue and see his reaction to it- started to growl with anger, you grabbed his hand and just, looked at his eyes. 
“He’s right… I asked for a meeting with them… I won’t make them wait for more than what is necessary” You said and then nodded towards the two guards. “We’ll follow you now, thank you for coming for me” At your words, they looked a bit surprised but then nodded, turning around and starting to walk towards -you supposed- the throne room.  Nikolas didn’t walk behind you like he was supposed to but by your side. The whole walk, he was looking at you with so much attention, almost as if he was trying to memorise your features. 
Demetri and Felix -who seemed to be together more often than not, from what you learned along their names on the way to the throne room- stood up in front of the doors and knocked a couple of times before looking at you briefly. It was like they were asking you if you were ready to meet your kings, but you were, this was the reason you came here, to be accepted, loved and if they were willing to give you the gift, to be free from the pain of being trapped in a bond with an unwilling partner gave you. 
My pride, my ego, my needs, and my selfish ways Caused a good strong woman like you to walk out my life Now I never, never get to clean up the mess I made, oh And that haunts me every time I close my eyes
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chicknstripz · 11 months
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omg what about “Can you play with my hair?” with Hunter 🥺
∘₊✧ [[ Chronic ]] ✧₊∘
Synopsis|| Hunter helps the reader deal with both her pain and her internalised guilt. Word Count || 1073 Tags || Chronic Pain, Dealing with pain, Guilt, Acts of Service, Fluff, Feels, Fem!Reader, References to reader's hair length
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Sometimes, just sometimes, you wished you were normal.
The low ache that greeted you as you woke was familiar, expected even, the hours of sleeping on a hard mattress having ravaged your poor body. The low pillow was no better, the twinge of pain as you turned to one side making you inhale a breath. You knew that if you stayed like this it’d get worse, the ‘bed rest’ further stiffening your form until the smallest movement became impossible, but moving? Well that seemed an insurmountable peak on mornings like this, the incessant throb making you slam your eyes shut.
“Another pain flare cyar’ika?”
There was no hiding your pain from the man who shared your bed. Not only was he a soldier, familiar with the lingering pain that could follow an injury, but he was familiar with you - his months of experience telling him you were having a bad morning. Stars. You hated that Hunter to deal with this, hated that he was stuck with someone like you! You knew it was stupid to think such things, that he loved you for all that you were - including your health struggles, but the guilt was so strong sometimes you couldn’t help but feel like a burden.
“Yes”
He placed his palm between your shoulder blades, the barely there contact making your heart skip a beat. Stars! When did he learn the exact level of pressure you could tolerate? It felt like he’d known forever, the slow sweep of his palm spreading warmth across your aching back.
“I’ll get the medpack.”
You tried your best to make a grab for him, the dull ache elevating to a sharp stabbing sensation as you pulled at tense muscles.
“Please don’t.”
“But you’re in pain”
“We’re low on supplies as it is, please don’t waste any on me.”
You could cut the silence with a knife, his pained expression just about killing you as you turned your head toward him.
“What’s this really about Mesh’la?”
The endearment melts your heart, cracks the guilt just enough that you can whisper your worries to the morning air.
“I --- don’t want to be a burden.”
His hand drifts upward, tracing the line of your spine. He applies just enough pressure to ease the ache in your muscles, the radiant heat of pain replaced by the soothing heat of his touch.
“Your needs will never be a burden my love, no matter how complex they become.”
You scoff despite yourself, the sickly feeling of despondency settling low in your gut.
“You deserve better then to care --”
“Isn’t that for me to decide?”
He trails off, the sting of his voice soothed by the palm of his hand. He’s not angry. Can never be angry. He knows everyone deals with pain differently, has seen how hard it can hit Echo despite his best efforts to remind his vod that he’s a highly capable soldier. He also knows it’s hard to watch people who don’t live with pain go about their lives, to watch the other couples as they dance from place to place with barely a care in the world. But it isn’t what he wants! He wants this! For better, worse, and everything in between, his exhale slows as he curls his thumb into the hollow beneath your ear.
“I don’t mean to be harsh with you, but I hate watching you beat yourself up over something you can’t control. You’re everything I ever wanted. Strong, capable, beautiful, caring -- the mere thought that you might end our relationship because society labels you as less able? It terrifies me --”
He swallows hard, the sound audible despite the low hum of the engines.
“--you’re the only thing that keeps me going sometimes.”
The confession hits hard, the ache in your shoulders replaced by the hollow ache in your heart. You’d been so caught up in how you felt about your pain, your guilt, that you hadn’t thought about how it might affect others. It takes all your effort to turn, the mere action of lifting yourself on one arm taking more than usual, but it’s worth it to look him in the eye - the rich depths of his brown eyes warming you from the inside out.
“Oh Hunter, why didn’t you tell me.”
“Seems you’re not the only one who has trouble articulating your feelings.”
You laugh, grateful for the support of his muscular arm as he laces it beneath you.
“Big words for this time of the morning.” 
He gives you one of his famous looks of displeasure, the light that danced across his eyes, the only thing that gives away his hidden amusement. Dry humor had become the backbone of your relationship, the teasing back and forth allowing you to explore your feelings for one another. It was, perhaps, your favorite thing about this relationship, followed closely by his deep need to keep the smile on your face.
“Then perhaps I should show you how I feel instead”
The kiss is slow and lazy, a heady sealing of your lips that takes your breath away. You imagine that he can hear the frantic beat of your heart as he gathers you to his chest, and can feel the warm buzz that coats your frayed nerves with soothing heat. The way his fingers tremble against the back of your neck only adds to the sensation, his touch-starved nature slipping through as he peppers revenant kisses from the corner of your lips to the shell of your ear.
“Now, Is there anything else I can do to make you feel good ner karta?”
“Can you play with my hair?”
“Your wish is my command.”
Time slows as he cards his fingers into your hair, the sensation of his fingernails trailing along your scalp drawing a pleased moan from your lips. This was, perhaps, your most treasured of intimacies. The quiet sound of his breath in your ears, the thrum of his heart against your chest, and the rhythmic flow of his fingers allowed you to relax - to be you again - to pack the pain into a box so that you can go about your day in relative peace.
“Hunter?”
“Hmmm?”
“Thank you.”
He chuckles, the sound echoing in his chest as he presses a kiss to your neck.
“You don’t need to thank me, just feel good.”
And you do, you do, your morning so much better now your sweet partner has chased your fears away.
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hollisartsblog · 8 months
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Sorry for the long post, I just felt like I needed to get it out, if you want to read I'd be happy, if not, it's okay!
reading for the first time after almost 5 years what I used to write and think about late at night, and now I feel like doing it again, trying to find the right words.
I wanna talk about being in the moment as an artist, appreciating what you do, and not giving a fuck. (and loving ur young self)
I spent my teenage years drawing and posting here, so I had a lot to read tonight and to think about.
have u ever experienced that strange feeling, where you are like "wow. I was actually so beautiful and smart, who could have ever hated me?"
I was a completely different person, and maybe I miss that little girl, and maybe I hate her even a little. now, I'm not here to talk like I'm in a psychoanalyst's deckchair, of course. but I'm here, to resume the beautiful, however embarrassing in my opinion, habit of writing my most intimate thoughts (shareable, of course) that cross my mind at night, because maybe they can help someone, because we are never alone. just as they helped you years ago, just as it has helped me re-reading them now after all this time. I've had some crazy years. I was young, I was passionate and genuinely free to do whatever I wanted. I had friends, I had just sold a self-published book, I had "fans", I was "successful", I had good grades, I had a girlfriend, yet I wasn't happy. I know it sounds like the usual sweet story about happiness and self-satisfaction, but I don't think so (and even if it was, well, here we are ;) ) I didn't realize how necessary EVERYTHING that was happening to me was.
artists have a huge difficulty accepting that sometimes we have to look inside and accept that we have to constantly learn, instead we are always in a hurry to be perfect, to get likes, to earn, but that's not how it goes. I was literally 16 and already thinking about this, thinking I must be good enough to please everyone.
spoiler: you can never do that.
as I said years ago, our eyes are not the right eyes to judge us.
appreciate the compliments, don't dismiss them with an embarrassed smile. appreciate the effort and hours put into a work even if it is bad for you. hug your self when after a bad day you still have the courage to do what you love. being an artist is beautiful, but a huge burden, especially for us. remember that when our insecurities take over, we are not lucid.
yes, that drawing u posted that got 8 likes made 8 people feel something. how amazing is that?
yes, it will be fine, that text you wrote will be something new in someone's eyes, it won't be something read and re-read to make it perfect. you will amaze and make someone fall in love with what u did.
internet is an amazing place, and sometimes it's not. I got myself into a really bad place because I was too immature and too impatient to immediately be the artist I always felt I was, but NO ONE is after you with a clock ticking away time.
you really think someone care about how much time does it take you to get to your goal? why should it matter? I'm not going to list every single successful person who actually made it and tell you "look! they were poor now they are rich, so u can do it!". i'm telling you to always love the process; I would've punched myself in the face, I hated when adults told me this phrase, but it's true: everything pass. you are not gonna be like this forever. you are gonna love what you do one day, and love life because life takes but gives.
(tw: mental health) I spent years between psychologists and suicidal thoughts, I was never enough, and my art not only made me feel miserable, but it was one of the first reason I fell into depression. it always reminded me how plain, boring, and uninspired I was.
there was never anything that was right in what I did, every comment and every ask you sent me had no weight for me, they meant nothing because I didn't I believed in myself, yet I should have tasted it. now I reread them crying, not believing what I read. I was talented, man, I was full of ideas, I was amazing. I lost that spark, because of fear, of waiting for the right moment. i sabotaged myself because i was afraid of judgement, of pressure, when i had love around me, everywhere.
now I'm in Florence, far from home, studying in a private academy of animation and digital art. would I ever have thought that? absolutely no. I deserve it? Yes. because I, like you artists, have grown, we have learned, and I'll tell you this once and for all: do not give up. things are really getting better. now I'm not saying that because I magically healed and I love my art all of the sudden (unfortunately, I still really struggle) but please don't look at likes, followers. you're good, just because you love what you do, literally that's all that matters. I took a long break, now 2 years, because, as much as I didn't want to admit it, I was starting to hate what I was doing, it had become an obligation, a simple circle to mark before going to sleep on the to-do list. to alone.
16 years old. and it wasn't right.
love what you do, take breaks, post without checking a thousand times, show your work, accept compliments. you have created something, and that is enough.
look at you past as an amazing book you just read, the satisfaction coming from all the pages you already read and learnt from, now you are a different person thanks to them. look at you future with the same excitement when you still have a lot of those pages to read.
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Snippet from my Lancewain (Gawain- The Green Knight / Lancelot - The Weeping Monk, Cursed on Netflix) fic because its a slow burn and I'm impatient and I can't get the first chapter right bfhsbbsnajjshjjsba
Unedited first draft but I wanted to get it ouuutttt;
Gawain, speaking alone to Lancelot
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"I'll be here to fight with you, no matter what, Lance."
"I don't understand."
"There's nothing to understand. You have my aid whether you like it or not."
"Aiding me is folly. I..." Lancelot paused, sighing before wrinkling his lip to quietly continue, "It's a burden you sho-"
Gawain cut him off abruptly.
"Not to me." He knew well enough that Lancelot had nearly said 'I'm', and too did he know that the warrior definitely FELT like a burden. How, why... Gawain could kid himself that he didn't know, but if he was being completely honest... ever since his spine had been broken he had also felt the deep pain of feeling this way. By Arawn, he'd do all in his power to stop Lancelot suffering this too. Gawain pulled the Ash Fey's balled fists into his own hands, coaxing them open gently. Lancelot looked up at him then, a mournful, sorrowful look in his grey blue eyes. It was a look Gawain remembered well, the same one he'd given oh so long ago when they had first really spoken back in Brother Salt's torture tent.
"Never to me, Lancelot. Not if it's you." Gawain said, softly, tilting his head in what he hoped was a kind way, flashing him a returning look with as much warmth and care as he could muster. Lancelot's eyes flicked away almost nervously. The sorrow seemed to have tempered to sadness now though, and he seemed distracted by some internal conflict again raging in his mind.
"You show me such kindness, Gawain, why?"
"Why show you kindness?"
"And aid, and help. And care, you've fought for me, Hell, Gawain, you've nearly died for me more times than I can count, I need to- I need to know, Why?"
"Because you're worth all of that and far more to me." Gawain replied, carefully.
"Why."
"Does it astound you to know you have friends, Lancelot? People who care about you? People who don't want to see you hurt?"
From the look on his face- yes, yes it absolutely did.
"We care for you, Lancelot. That is why."
"How can you care for someone so damned?"
"Because you're not damned, and you never bloody were!" Gawain hissed, he just couldn't help the anger that hardened his tone, and he only partially regretted it when Lancelot immediately flinched, fists balling again. The man's reaction jarred him to his core, but he recognised the thoughts swimming behind his azure eyes were not from fear of his anger, but the voices of his past, tormenting him.
"It's their lies again, swarming through your mind like... like biting ants!" He continued, and Lancelot's gaze flicked up to his own for just a second. Gawain's anger seeped from him almost as quickly as it had come, and he softened his voice just a little when he spoke again.
"By the Gods, they never leave you alone, do they?"
Lancelot didn't reply, but the troubled expression didn't waver, the eyes looked away once more. Gawain gently unballed his fists again, held his hand firmly. He could feel the Ash Man's pulse near his wrist, fast, but strong. It likely matched his own.
"You are worthy of being cared for."
Lancelot scoffed.
"You are worthy of being loved."
He did not scoff that time, but Gawain feared if the man clenched his jaw any harder he might actually break it, or at least be spitting out teeth next he spoke. If he spoke again today, anyway... In the time since the Red Paladin's encampment Lancelot had been speaking more openly, albeit reluctantly, gradually, and with no small effort on Gawain's part. The distinct possibility still remained that the Ash Man had already used up his daily quota of words. Gawain realised quickly that he found this fact disheartening. He honestly enjoyed speaking with Lancelot, treasured the conversations he had managed to wrangle from the Ash Man, and his quietly observant, intelligent outlook was interesting to hear. More than that, he just... liked hearing the man speak. He had noticed too that Lancelot's voice often betrayed what his words and carefully masked expressions did not.
Now, Lancelot appeared to have shut down entirely, expression blank, body rigid and alert, eyes averted lest they leak any of the emotion the man had been brutally conditioned to hide. Gawain felt his own pang of emotion- something almost akin to greif- at the idea that even now, Lancelot was hiding, retreating from him. He wanted to clasp his hands over his jaw and force him to look at him, to trust him, beg him to accept his statements but the stubborn ox would never allow it... or worse, Lancelot would accept his statements just to appease Gawain, without meaning a single thing he'd said...
"You don't get to decide either way." Gawain told him, softly. Lancelot's eyes did not move from where they bored holes into the ground near their feet.
"It's for the people around you to do that." Gawain stated with a heavy sigh. It was a long, quick breath, clearing his lungs like he could breathe out the tangled mess of emotions that was his own mind at present. Slowly he got to his feet, careful to let go of Lancelot's hands softly before he grimaced for just a moment at the familiar stabbing pain in his back.
He opened his eyes to see that the moment he had winced had the ex-Monk immediately leaned up, hands outstretched like he was ready to catch him if he fell. Lancelot seemed to grow embarrassed, he coughed and looked away again, lowering his arms hesitantly.
Gawain couldn't help the smile, or the blossom of warmth in his chest. He trusted Lancelot to catch him every time he fell, and Gods, if he wasn't tempted to let himself fall just so the man would hold him... Stop it. Focus. Pull Lancelot out of his funk and stop getting bogged down in your fantasies...
"Now. Up you get. We can mope out here all we like, or, we can go and hunt dinner," Gawain flashed him a smile, offered him a hand "I know which I'd prefer. You coming?"
It was almost comical how many expressions managed to cross Lancelot's face in such a short succession. He shrugged a single shoulder and stood, dipping his head in acceptance without another word.
The two headed into the evening forest in a calm, companionable silence.
-Or "Gawain admits he's in love with Lancelot and Lancelot refuses to believe it".
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willkatfanfromasia · 10 months
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A Matter of Chance - 8
Aditha thought he’s been feeling a lot of guilt lately. His presence only causing problems for her, her injury and so on....
He had just calmed her and laid her down to rest. He admired her peaceful slumbering form when guilt struck him again.
This time though, it was because he was shamelessly admiring an injured patient. Her face was still as soft and glowing as before. If anything, passing years only refined her.
Her sweet eyes whose expressions were only understood by him.
The pouty full lips that he’d earned to caress since boyhood.
Her legs, that he touched to check for injuries, had grown stronger with hardwork while her skin remained soft.
This day seems to have messed his morals more than any war.
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“Anna (older brother), how can you take her side? How could you leave your own sister and support that orphan?” Kundavai raged.
Aditha immediately froze. The retort he had prepared wasn't uttered. He could only think about comforting her now
He very well understood how Kundavai’s last word would impact Nandini.
Soon enough, the person in question immediately fled out of the courtyard with him hot on her heels.
Her feet carried her across the temple pond, the grasslands and into the woods. The woods were her only refuge – even her beloved Krishna temple she had to share sometimes.
She slumped against the thick tree bark and waited to catch her breath. She sat down and rested her head against the bark as her tears silently flowed.
“Why did mother leave me? Was I truly so great a burden?”
“Why would God punish me thus?”
“Why did they tell me about my birth?”
As she bitterly perused these questions, she felt a gentle arm rest upon her own and pat her knee.
She didn't want apologies on behalf of his sister or cajoling about how she's better off than others. The boy seemed to understand.
He moved closer to make her lean on him as she wept.
---------------
Nandini woke up again, feeling just as sore as before. Every attempt to move only hurt her muscles more. Yet she felt a little less miserable, as warm hands lovingly supported her efforts.
Her groggy eyes adjusted to the lantern light and saw a smiling face. “Ah well, better this one than some stranger” she thought.
“Thank goodness you've risen. I’ve made supper” Aditha proudly said, pointing towards bowls of wild berries, millets cooked with spices and tamarind, charred vegetables and a pitcher full of buttermilk.
She blinked twice at the feast before her. She was reminded of the dinners she shared with her foster family before their exile.
Her mind quickly readied a taunt about princes and their cooking knowledge, but she swallowed it as her stomach grumbled.
Aditha placed a plate below her hands and poured water over them. They both sat on the floor next to each other. They closed their eyes in prayer before they tucked in.
Nandini was famished and couldn't be bothered to hide her appetite.
“Huh! I certainly don't eat like the elegant noblewomen his family wishes for him to marry- if it scares him - then so be it! he was never worth the trouble” she tried to convince herself.
Aditha gleefully relished the sight of her tucking in and inwardly praised himself.
“You seem to like what I’ve made. I’m glad” he said cheekily
“Yes” was her only answer before she continued munching happily.
“Remember the tamarind rice served as prasadam when we were younger? It was your favourite, right?”
This elicited a smile from Nandini “Yes, I worked all day in the temple. I’d wake up at the break of dawn, bathe in the temple pond before praying and doing chores at the temple throughout the day and retire after dinner. My only respite was in the evenings, where I’d eat tamarind rice by the pond” she reminisced fondly.
Aditha was relieved at the change in mood “Pious though you were, you’d still use your influence to sneak me some extras of the prasadam! Only because I was your dearest friend, right?” he teased
She huffed impatiently “you were one of my few friends who didn’t judge my birth. Besides, I only felt sorry for you! You’d always look so weary after your sword fighting lesson”
Aditha knew the depth of her affection but didn’t want to push it. A mere word from him and the priests would’ve delivered pots of prasadam to the palace!
“Well, they say happy patients recover quicker and what better joy than good food” he said and served more onto her plantain leaf, receiving a glare in return.
Nandini was unnerved by how peaceful she felt. Aching body, sprained ankle and back, mental unrest due to seeing a former lover- all seemed to be little hurdles now. And it was the very same man whose presence she hated until this noon, that was easing her circumstance.
He had cared for her the whole day, completely devoting himself to her comfort and even stopped his romantic overtures.
Aditha gently moved her onto the mattress and changed her bandages. He gently applied a new layer of herbal paste before tying the knot.
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It's fluff o' clock coz I felt like it 🙈
@vidhurvrika @nspwriteups @thatacademic @thelekhikawrites @whippersnappersbookworm @hollogramhallucination @chiyaanvikram @love-ps1ff @ragkee @kovaipaavai @nashibirne @babayagahunt @dr-scribbler @yehsahihai @nirmohi-premika @vibishalakshman @sowlspace
And all else !
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was bored at work today, wrote some drabbels at the request of and for friends. ( Hawks x OC/ Kakashi x OC / Dabi x OC / Shibi X OC / Kakashi x Zabuza / Fatgum x OC / Kakashi x OC returns)
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Kin & Shibi - Write about your ship celebrating their anniversary. for @qettleqorn
Before you get married, you are usually assaulted with an onslaught of well meaning advice about what the hardest part of marriage might be. Shibi feels like he got an especially high amount of that “good” advice because he was bringing a true outsider into the family. Everything from “she will get fat” (as if that mattered) to “she will just run away with a younger man” (what could he do about such a thing? Never get married?).
But none of them mentioned the truly hardest part about marriage, the fight he saw himself confronted with every year like some real annoying fly that would only come out in summer and then never stop following him around.
What to buy your spouse for your wedding anniversary? That- truly, was the hardest thing about marriage that nobody ever told you about.
As if looking for presents wasn’t already difficult enough, Shibi also managed to get a wife that he can’t buy jewelry for. Well, he probably could buy jewelry for her, but not only does she have already massive amounts of it, but she can also make them herself. Probably better than other stores could. Either way, this option was always out for him.
Year after year, he scraped by with some present or other. A rare species he found or modified to look especially beautiful, a big dinner, a new dress, decoration for the hair, more gem stones for the store, such things. It always put so much stress on him and he never felt it was good enough.
Now, after 15 years of this, he feels completely burned out on ideas. And the anniversary day is right there staring at him on his calendar. His mind is completely blank. There is nothing there. He is empty.
He could always ask Kin to just not gift anything for the anniversary. If they’d agree not to gift each other, he’d be free of his burden. But unfortunately Kin was always a rather good gift giver and would probably not agree, or agree on a “You don’t have to buy me anything, I’ll buy something for you though” basis, which would be no good.
Agony. Pain.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” his eldest son shrugs with his shoulders. “I don’t think mom expects much.” Shibi should know better than to ask teenagers for advice.
“I get my wife flowers too, so you can buy jewelry as well.” Shibi stares at Inochi, no way that guy buys his wife, who owns a flower shop, flowers for their anniversary. “You are so lazy.” Shibi walks away.
“She doesn’t like that sort of romantic stuff,” Shikaku puts his head to the side. “We usually just spent time away with Shikamaru either being with his grandparents or just on his own.” Shibi makes a sour face. What kind of present is “hanging out”? He walks away. Time to give up. His friends are no good either.
Yet, time keeps moving on, as cruel as that may be and the morning of the anniversary Shibi is non the wiser. There is no way he can let Kin know that he has nothing for her this time, that despite his best efforts he came home empty. The only thing he can do is distract her well enough that she won’t notice.
From morning until evening he is there for her at every moment. Making breakfast, helping her in the store, buying her lunch at the café in town she likes. When she askes to see the bug farm he takes her there, to that colourful species she likes. He carries the shopping bags as the sun sets and prepares dinner for the family in the evening. All through out, Kin doesn’t mention the anniversary a single time. His mission is a full success.
Night rolls around and both of them sit next to each other on the couch in their living room, when Kin turns her head and says: “I feel a little bad, despite my best efforts, I could not think of a gift for you for today.”
Shibi feels the sweat at his neck. So she has not forgotten. “Well, I – I’m glad”, he humms. “I couldn’t think of one either.”
Kin blinks: “What do you mean? You gave me one!?”
He blinks back: “No, I didn’t! What should I have given you?”
She laughs, the most beautiful sound in the world. “You spent the entire day with me! That was my gift I thought.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek. “It was the greatest gift too.”
Ah, Shibi thinks, that’s what Shikaku meant.
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jaijaitbinks · 1 year
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HC that Saitama was very neglected since young and he doesn't really realize the severity of it until he is very sick and Genos is taking care of him and Saitama doesn't understand why Genos is taking care of him and slips out that he would have to go buy his own meds when sick and Genos is just shocked by that because why wouldnt his parents help him, and Saitama just cant answer. Throughout the days he becomes very grateful of Genos helping him and is glad he doesnt have to do this alone.
I'm so sorry i kept procrastinating on this Ive been stuck in my own brainrots and only now got back to answering asks/submissions 😭
BUT, I'm here, I've read it. And ow.
Saitama being genuinely clueless as to why Genos is helping, too. Like, it's not that kind of confusion that's just mutated insecurities, or the kind where he doesn't know why Genos would put in the effort. It's the kind where he genuinely doesn't know why it's such an issue. He doesn't understand why a 5, maybe 6, year-old little 'Tama walking half a mile to the nearest pharmacy to get cold medicine and (sometimes) painkillers using what little money he could scavenge around the house, while he was ill is such an issue. I mean, he got his medicine in the end, right? What does it matter that he struggled to walk that far back then? Or that sometimes he couldn't afford all of it, so he would get just the bare minimum? Or that, in most cases, these things happened during the winter or fall?
Of course, he doesn't tell Genos any of those stories, just mentions how it usually went. Walk to the pharmacy, get the meds, come back home. He knew the borg would have the robo-equivalent of a heart attack if he told him any of the more detailed, downright concerning tales of his med adventures. But when Genos asks why his parents never helped, he's at a genuine loss, because why would they have? It's not like it was their responsibility to take care of him like that. Besides, he was capable of doing things on his own. That's what he's always been taught (in some indirect way. His parents never told him things like that straightforwardly, so he just had to figure them out eventually).
Again, he doesn't say anything outloud. Doesn't see a need to. He doesn't say anything at all, really. Just shrugs.
Genos isn't having any of that, so for the next few days, he is smothering him in not only intense affection and care, but also in blankets and pillows. Wet towels for when his body feels to hot, his heating hands and arms (sometimes entire body) when he's feeling too cold. He makes soups and teas with a spoonful of honey in each cup (he immediately implemented them in when Saitama shared the knowledge that honey helps a lot with coughs). During the moments, sometimes even days, where Saitama was particularly delirious, he would stay right by his side, only separating to make him food, then coming back to cuddle him. He was patient with all his weird little questions or his bouts of intense clinginess.
There were times where Saitama would insist he was fine, he could do it on his own. He felt spoiled from start to finish, from catching the sickness to recovery, and it made him feel weird—useless and a burden. But Genos always assured him that he was neither.
When he recovered (a lot faster than he ever had before), he still felt weird about it. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't appreciate it all. Or that it didn't feel nice to be cared about so much.
He thanks Genos, but Genos just tells him that there was not thanks to be given. He'd help him, care for him, in a heartbeat.
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