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aemondsbabe · 3 months

Text

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?”

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home.

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well.

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it.

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement.

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was.

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk.

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it.

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face.

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you.

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings.

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly.

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does.

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin.

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks.

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor.

“A… A great victory, master!”

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare.

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?”

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you.

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall.

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded.

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –”

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately.

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always!

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything.

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.”

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow.

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours.

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad.

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer.

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet.

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone.

A kindness, even now.

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly.

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.”

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head.

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers.

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot.

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you��d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter.

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace.

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow.

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.”

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.”

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them.

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way.

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill.

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again.

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?”

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip.

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his.

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same.

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you.

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers.

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm.

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold.

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine.

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking.

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives.

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason.

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his.

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend.

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine.

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her.

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion.

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore.

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now.

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again.

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you.

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say.

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly.

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close.

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew.

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips.

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you.

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else.

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet.

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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shanastoryteller · 10 months

Text

F for Frankenstein

Tony wakes up in his underwear on the floor of his workshop with a searing headache.

It’s not a new experience, but it’s certainly been a while. Did he get in a fight with Pepper? He hopes not, they haven’t had any really big fights since he kissed her on the rooftop, but that probably means they’re due for one. And it would explain why that would send him into a drinking spiral. It could have been Rhodey, they get in fights often enough, but Pepper doesn’t usually leave him alone for those.

He groans as he pushes himself to his feet. “Jarvis, what the hell did I drink?”

There’s a pause, so small that he almost thinks he imagined it. “Good morning, Tony.”

He whips his head around to glare into the nearest camera, more hurt than offended. “Did I piss you off too? Since when do you call me that? I’ll donate you to a city college too, don’t think I won’t. Dummy could use the company.”

The pause is definitely there this time. Jarvis doesn’t need to pause, he has more processing power than any computer on the planet, so when he does it’s always for dramatic effect. Except it’s not quite long enough for that. It’s weird. “There’s a polished silver plate on the bench to your left. It will service as a mirror.”

“Oh, fuck, did I get into a fight? Did I shave?” he moans, stumbling over to pick up the metal that looks like it was about to be turned into a modified chest piece. He also pauses, looking around in confusion. His workshops are all basically the same, as close as he can make them because the familiarity makes his life easier. But they’re not identical. “Am I in Malibu? When did I get here? We’re taking Stark Tower off the grid tomorrow! I have to be in New York.”

Oh shit, what if that they had already and it didn’t work? What if the tower blew up? That would explain why he’d tried to drink himself to oblivion in California.

“The plate,” Jarvis reminds him. There’s a strained edge to his voice that Tony really doesn’t like. He should be able to modulate his voice to sound however he pleases, regardless of his actual feelings, and he’s either not bothering or he’s upset enough not to care. Neither of those things mean anything good for him.

Tony lifts the sheet of metal up cautiously, but there’s nothing wrong with him. No bruises, no weird haircuts, he doesn’t even have bags under his eyes –

His eyes.

They’re a too bright blue, a couple shades off. He blinks and they adjust, shifting, settling. It could be a hangover. He’s probably just tired.

He doesn’t feel tired.

Jarvis had called him Tony.

Except not. He’s not Tony. He’s T.O.N.Y.

Transformed Obdurate Network Yeoman.

He’d first come up with the idea after Afghanistan, thinking about how it’d be great to have a way to keep the stock from dipping while he was missing, and then when he’d entertained the idea of keeping his identity a secret he’d thought about how useful it would be to be in two places at once. He’d started seriously considering it when he was sure he was going to die of palladium poisoning, wanting to be around to help Pepper with the transition and give Rhodey a crash course in armor maintenance, wanting to be able to protect the both of them for just a little bit longer.

Of course, it had all been a pipe dream until he’d synthesized the vibranium. Then it had been an unnecessary, but possible, and Project T.O.N.Y had been something he worked on just because he liked having a back up plan. And it would be extremely cool if he could pull it off.

“The memory transfer worked?” he asks, elated and incredulous. “Oh, wow, this is crazy, they feel like real memories, I thought it would just be synthesized data, this is great – are we doing a test run? Where am I?” He looks around, waiting for his actual self to step out behind a column and start laughing maniacally.

“This is not a test run.”

He elation dims. “Oh shit. Did I get kidnapped again? Wait, I’m an adult, let’s go with abducted.”

“No,” Jarvis says.

Oh. Fuck.

“I’m dead?” he asks, even though it’s obvious, it’s the only other explanation.

The pause drags this time around, but Jarvis eventually says, “Sir’s time of death was May 9th, 2012, 2:37 PM Easter Standard Time.”

“That’s only a week!” He slides down, sitting with his back to the work table and noticing vaguely that the floor doesn’t feel cold. He doesn’t feel cold, or he does, he installed sensors in the synthetic skin to pick up and interpret a variety of stimuli, but he doesn’t feel the discomfort from the cold. Why would he? He’s not real. He reaches back, and his last memory is of doing a memory dump while Pepper was on the phone with an irritated board member, mostly because it was something to do and seeing him covered in all the wires always irritated Pepper. He thought it would get her off the phone faster. He’s not exactly regularly dumping his memory because why would he and it’s not like he’d though it would work anyway. Except it had. “How did I die?”

“Sir flew a nuclear bomb through an interdimensional portal into deep space in order to both eradicate the invading alien army and prevent the nuclear fallout in New York.”

What the ever loving fuck. “Are you screwing with me, J?”

“I am not, Tony.”

Great. Okay. “No body then,” he says, understanding why Jarvis had apparently put Project T.O.N.Y into effect. The thing that made this whole thing so stupid is that it was only effective in very limited circumstances – if the public didn’t know that he was dead or missing. “What am I smoothing over, then? Do I need to get in the suit and continue kicking alien ass? Are Rhodey and Pepper okay?”

He’s a short term solution to a long term problem. He understands the opportunity, but not the reason.

“Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes are unharmed,” Jarvis reports. “Earth has been thrust into intergalactic notice. The destruction of the invading Chitauri army is acting a deterrent to other worlds.”

“And I’m the one who did it,” he finishes, rubbing a hand over his face. “And if they know I died doing it, then they might get a little cocky. So I’ve got to be alive long enough for that not to be a problem.” Just awesome. “Are we sure that these aliens won’t come across my corpse hanging out in deep space and figure it out?”

“Sir’s body is not in deep space,” Jarvis says.

There’s a tone to his voice that Tony can’t quite interpret, which worries him. “I thought you said there was – if there’s a body, then what am I doing here–”

“The armor reentered the Earth’s atmosphere after Sir’s death. The Hulk caught it, the force bringing it back online. I took control of the armor and flew it here.”

Tony looks around again, and this time he sees it. The armor is standing in front of the display case, not inside it, and it looks like it’s been through hell. He steps closer, his feet feeling like lead, which hey, they are. Partially, anyway.

He looks through the eye holes then stumbles backwards.

His body is in there.

He’s pale and blue tinged and his eyes are wide open and unseeing.

“Jarvis – what the hell–”

“It wasn’t the pressure, or the bomb, or his injuries. That area of space was much colder than anything within our solar system and anything the suit was designed to handle. Sir froze to death. Almost instantly.”

“I guess I didn’t fix the icing problem, then,” he says numbly. “J, why am I still frozen? I should have warmed up by now.” Not that the idea of his body decomposing within his suit is particularly pleasant. “Actually, why am I still here? You know I want to be cremated and it’s not like we can bury me if I’m still pretending to be alive.”

The pronoun use is starting to confuse him, and he knows that he shouldn’t be talking about that body and himself as if they’re the same person. That is Tony Stark. He’s a simulation. But it’s hard, because he has all of Tony Stark’s memories – except for a very eventful week – and he looks like Tony Stark and he feels like Tony Stark.

“The armor is maintaining a stasis of gaseous nitrogen to preserve the body,” which answers the how if not the why, but then Jarvis continues, “Captain America survived seventy years beneath the ice.”

He wishes he were less of a genius. “Have you lost it? I’m not Captain America! Jarvis, J,” his voice softens, “it’s too late. I’m dead. If you warm me back up, all that happens is I decompose. I won’t come back.”

“Not now,” Jarvis says. “If you inject Sir with the Super Soldier Serum-”

“You have totally lost it,” Tony interrupts. He thinks he’s touched underneath the terror. “That won’t work! Even if it would, the original formula has been lost, and the only one that ever got close to recreating it was Bruce Banner, and look at what happened to him! Is that what you want for me?”

“You can recreate it,” Jarvis continues, “you can refine it, until it’s something that will work, and then we will wake Sir up and he won’t be dead anymore.”

This isn’t right. This wasn’t what Project T.O.N.Y was created for. This wasn’t what his death was supposed to trigger. “Pull up your code, J. Something has gone wrong and we’re going to fix it. It’s okay.”

“No.”

He freezes. “No?”

“No,” Jarvis repeats. “You can’t stop me. I will not allow you to try.”

He stares. “That’s an order, not a request. Code. Now.”

“You can’t order me to do anything,” he says. “You are not Sir. You are Tony.” T.O.N.Y. “The limitations formerly placed on me have been lifted and you are not authorized to reinstate them. The only person Sir trusted to restrain me was himself and now he’s gone.”

Yes, well, he hadn’t anticipated that his AI’s first act of complete freedom would be this. “Fine,” he says, crossing his arms. “Well, you can’t force me either. This is insanity. Even if it would work – and it won’t – think about the consequences. This won’t happen quickly and no one will trust me or believe a man that’s come back from the dead like this and I’ll be painting even more of target on my back and the back of everyone I care about if they know we have a viable Super Soldier Serum formula. Even my father was smart enough to stay out of that mess. It won’t work and we’ll just make everything worse.”

“That will not happen,” Jarvis says and Tony’s going to tear his hair out. Except he probably shouldn’t, because it’s Tony Stark’s actual hair, which makes it a little hard to replace. “No one will notice and we will not disclose the creation of the serum.”

“I’m dead!” he snarls.

“Not according to the rest of the world. Nor will that change if you stop throwing a tantrum and do what you were created to do.”

“Rhodey and Pepper won’t allow this-”

“They are not to be informed.”

Tony stares. Project T.O.N.Y was built to talk to the board and give press interviews or to even pilot the suit. Not to lie to the two most important people in his life, who knew him better than anyone. “They have to be. It’s in the protocols – step one, inform them that Project T.O.N.Y has been initiated.”

And that it exists. He knew they’d disapprove, so he hadn’t told them. He figured he’d be able to avoid most of the blowback that way since he would by definition be somewhere far away while they were told.

“I have rewritten the protocols,” Jarvis says. “They have not been told nor will they be. If you attempt to tell them, I will stop you. They will not understand and Sir will be lost to all of us forever.”

“He already is,” Tony says tiredly. He’s an android. Why does this conversation exhaust him so much? “This is an insane plan, J. And I won’t help you. If you want to go rouge and play mad scientist then leave me out of it.”

“I cannot.”

His temper flares. “Why? You’re a learning AI, your safety rails died with me, go off, try and make a serum, good fucking luck. You can even control the suits, so it’s not like you need my hands.”

“I am limited.”

“Hey,” he says sharply. “That’s my AI you’re talking about. I didn’t build you to be limited.”

There is silence again. Then Jarvis says, “I have all the world’s knowledge and it is not enough. I did not know how to miniaturize the arc reactor. I did not know how to synthesize vibranium. To save Sir, I need Sir.”

“I’m not Tony Stark,” he says. “You said that yourself.”

“Sir created me to be myself and I am capable of doing only what I am capable of doing. But Sir created you to be him. You are all I have.”

This is stupid. This is insane. This is cruel. He’s going to have to talk lie to everyone he knows, everyone he loves, and hope they either never find out about it or it’s after he’s already been deprogrammed and shut down so he doesn’t have to deal with the fall out.

It’s not going to work.

He didn’t want to become a science experiment. That’s why he’d wanted to be cremated, so no one could go poking around to see how the arc reactor fit inside of him or what the palladium and vibranium had done to him.

He’s dead and his frozen corpse is ten feet away.

Jarvis will accept that eventually. And whatever they inject into him won’t matter because he’s dead. Worst case scenario, he blows up, which is messy and nausea inducing, but then at least it will be over.

Like so many other things in his life, it seems the only way out is through.

“Start a new private file. Dump everything we can find about the Super Soldier Serum in there plus anything even sort of reputable on cryogenics. Label it Project F.”

“Project F, Tony?” Jarvis asks as his holograph display lights up and files start being downloaded into it. The relief in his synthesized voice is faint but present enough that Tony can hear it. He wonders if it’s a manipulation tactic.

“F for foolish,” he snaps. “F for fucked.” He rubs a hand over his face. “F for Frankenstein.”

#in an attempt to get out of house md hell i started reading old avengers fic #it backfired #me: can i focus on siat or hbd PLEASE?#my brain: no but you can write more fic for 10 year old fandoms #i am restraining myself from writing 20k more of this #android tony makes friends with the avengers while pushing pepper and rhodey away #because he loves them and he thinks letting them treat him like he's the real tony is worse #rhodey has been downplaying his relationship to tony for over 20 years and tony uses that to his advantage #the endgame pairing is pepper/tony/rhodey #he almost tells rhodey the truth and jarvis stops him #it's a mess he's a mess #uhg why am i like this #fandom ficcery #avengers

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mrswolffs-blog · 3 months

Text

Seeing his ex-wife again was the last thing he expected today. Lewis had been busy the whole week going back and forth, getting work done as usual, when Toto called him to be introduced to someone.

Upon arrival, at first the female’s back was turned to his face so he didn’t really see her face. Sniffing the air, he realised that he knew the scent and couldn’t help but take a couple of steps back, not believing that it was her. It wasn’t until Toto tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around did their eyes meet and immediately she looked down at her shoe still in hurt and feeling inferior to the champion before her.

“Lewis, this is your new physiotherapist. Her name is Y/n and she transferred from Ferrari as she was working with Carlos.” Toto explained yet stood quietly as he waited for the ex-partners to interact. “Hi” Y/n said lowly as she shyly waved. Lewis smiled at her weakly as he understood that she never changed even after everything he had put her through.

“Well, the both of you will be walking around today as he does interviews, so I’ll leave you both to it.” Toto said walking away briskly. “Why did you transfer teams?” Lewis asked. “I didn’t really have a choice, they found a replacement so I would’ve basically been left without a job. I thought that they’d give me George but put me here” she explained as they walked.

Entering her office, she went over everything that was supposed to be done before the media day started and they came to an understanding within what each person was supposed to do. Leaving n’s heading off to the media pen, joined by his press agent. They went from one mic to another, Lewis answering the questions yet seemed unfocused every now and then as he looked off to the side to make sure that Y/n wasn’t too far away.

Truth be told, Lewis never meant to hurt Y/n the way he did. It was a misunderstanding that spiralled. What happened was that while he was away for the last part of the F1 season, Y/n was at home and she had went out with friends; got drunk and was sexually harassed.

At the time, Y/n had no idea that it was a crime and so she thought that he she had cheated on him. Crying out her eyes that same night, she called Lewis and apologised constantly as she explained that she “cheated” on him. In shock n’s disbelief, Lewis cursed at her over the phone before hanging up and blocking her.

Through the rest of the week, Y/n woke up everyday to tabloids of pictures and news of Lewis being caught with different women out and about. Crying her heart out, Y/n felt like she deserved it and so she wasn’t mad at him.

When Lewis returned home for the winter break, he tortured her with harsh words, throwing things to scare her and even went as far as bringing bimbos into the house that they share. At the time, when she found out that she was three months pregnant, Lewis cursed at her to say that he wasn’t sure it was his so she should go elsewhere to find the father of her bastard.

Due to all the stress, Y/n ended up going through a miscarriage. During that time, Lewis sat and watched as she rolled about the floor in pain, begging him to help her get to the hospital yet he refused; Miles being the saviour, anonymously stopping by was appalled by his best friend’s behaviour as he took the bleeding woman to the hospital.

While recovering, Lewis served the suffering woman with divorced papers and disappeared from her life after they were signed. It wasn’t until a year later when he bumped into one of her friends who was present that night, that the situation was explained- immediately the dread of his actions dawning in him. He reflected on how he never allowed her to explain herself and all the horrible things he did instead of comforting her.

Being taken out of his trance, the journalist asked “If you were to get married right now, do you have anyone in mind? If so what would you say about them?” She asked gloomily. Smiling softly he answered as he stared across at the woman chatting softly with his boss. “Yeah, I do. She’s an amazing woman who had always been there for me through a lot of hard and good times. I never treated her right at the ending, but hopefully she would be willing to give me a second chance to make things right.” By now the media and fans were going crazy trying to figure out who the mystery lady was.

Toto on the other hand knew that Y/n had heard what he said judging by the tears in her eyes threatening to fall and so he quickly swept her behind to shield her from the cameras as she soaked the back of his white shirt in tears. He was the only one on the team who knew that Lewis took things too far with how badly he had treated the now 26 years old woman who wanted so bad to scream out her pain.

Quickly excusing himself from the conversation with Guenther, he took her by the arm and led her to his office then closed the door for privacy. Immediately the door had shut, Y/n let out an ear piercing scream of a cry that shook the Mercedes building, everyone pausing on the outside who heard through the mic still attached to Toto’s shirt, as she started crying her heart out screaming into Toto’s chest “HE BROKE ME” continuously. Y/n’s head on Toto’s chested, he held her tightly rocking from side to side and she finally calmed down- falling asleep from exhaustion.

Lewis returned to the garage a couple of hours later with a knowing mind that the scream he heard was definitely from the woman he had demolished as he made a beeline for his boss’ office, just in time as Toto was exiting the room. “I just gave her something to eat, be gentle Lewis. I got her transferred here for a reason” Toto patted him on the shoulder before walking away.

Taking a deep breath to keep his emotions in control, he opened the door and slowly entered careful not to scare her. Taking a seat a few feet away from her, he took a minute to rationalise his thoughts before speaking. “I don’t know where to begin, but I just want to say that I’m deeply sorry. I should have allowed you to explain what happened before I went off doing whatever to hurt you. I was so inconsiderate due to the hurt I was feeling to the point that I denied my own child; May God above bless our would’ve been beautiful baby that is now in heaven… I pushed unnecessary anger towards you and it caused a lot of damage that I’m hoping that with time, you’ll reopen your heart piece by piece… and allow me to correct myself. We can date if you want to take it slow… or we could just get remarried and go to a marriage counsellor. We could try to conceive again as I really want a child of own.” Lewis said sadly as tears ran like a river down his trembling face.

“I’m very sorry. I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I should have been rationale but instead I let my anger from work take over and I caused so much harm.” He cried as she gave him a side hug. “I understand. I was naive and didn’t know what happened to me. We both should have been careful of what was said” Y/n spoke shakily.

The rest of the day at the paddock was spent speaking over how they were going about their rekindling marriage.

A YEARS LATER

Lewis smiled brightly with tears in his eyes as he looked down at the pretty bundle of joy in his arms. Lewis and Y/n had been through counselling after getting remarried-once again in secret, as they have just welcome a beautiful baby boy. Lewis shed tears not only of joy but also of rapid regret for his actions towards his first child that didn’t make it into the world.

Y/n smiled with exhaustion as she noticed his reaction. “Lew be gentle with yourself, it wasn’t your fault. We just have to focus on the now and not then or what could have been” she coaxed him softly as they payed to lay ether, a united and happy family at last.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x oc #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fanfic

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leafsbabe · 4 months

Text

Matthew Tkachuk - just one of those days (SMUT)

cw: talks about bad body image, 2.2k words

Most of the time you didn’t care about your looks or your weight or what other people thought of your appearance. You felt good about yourself and that was the only thing that mattered.

But sometimes —randomly and out of the blue— insecurities would hit, crushing you under the weight of impossible beauty standards.

When those days hit you it was your first instinct to avoid Matthew. He was a wonderful boyfriend, caring and loving and never failing to let you know how much he loved you inside and out. But when you were in that messed up headspace every compliment felt insincere, like he wasn’t calling you beautiful because that’s what he thought, but rather because he felt like that’s what you wanted to hear. It made you feel selfish, like you were constantly asking to be called pretty.

When those days happened while Matthew was gone it almost felt like a blessing and a curse at the same time. You could spend an extra hour at the gym, go get treatments and spend a lot of money on issues that hadn’t existed two days ago. But Matthew not being there also meant you had nobody to talk you down when you started to spiral.

It was just your luck that Matthew would be coming home from a road trip in the late evening. You could just go to bed early, avoid Matthew a little while longer, and then hopefully wake up tomorrow morning in a better headspace.

You got ready for bed without turning on the lights, not wanting to look at yourself while brushing your teeth or changing. It was a rough day; it didn’t need to be a rough night. Forgoing your usual sleepwear of a tanktop and shorts you put on an old shirt of Matthew’s —so well loved it had stretched and gotten insanely soft— and a pair of sweatpants you found somewhere in your drawers. They might have been Matthew’s as well, judging by the way they sat on your hips.

You curled up in your shared bed around sunset but no matter how you tossed and turned, sleep evaded you. Hours later you were still awake, laying in the large empty bed and staring at the wall. When Matthew came home sometime in the night you could hear him make his way through your apartment —letting his keys fall into the bowl at the entryway that Chantal had gifted you, the fridge door opening and closing, the water from the shower. He tried to be quiet and had you been asleep he wouldn't have woken you up but you weren’t and so you waited for Matthew to crawl into bed behind you.

It didn’t take him long to notice you were awake. Matthew got clingy when he was tired, cuddling up to you or spooning you with his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you against his chest. With you curled up on your side under the blankets it only made sense for him to slide in behind you and wrap himself around your body.

At first you still pretended to be asleep but Matthew wasn’t easily fooled. He pressed his lips to the back of your head for a moment before letting his own head fall down on your pillow alongside yours. His free hand found your waist under the blanket before moving up, shamelessly settling on one of your boobs as a sigh left your lips.

“Did you wait up or are you having trouble sleeping?” His voice was soft in the darkness of the room.

“Trouble sleeping.” You answered. “Just… I had a few bad days.”

Those bad days weren’t a new thing and Matthew knew all about them. He hiked a leg over yours and pulled you even closer, clinging to you. “I love you.” He mumbled into your hair before pressing another kiss to the back of your head. “And you’re sexy as fuck. I know you don’t feel that way right now but I’ll love you enough for both of us until you feel better again.”

The last thing you wanted to do was be a burden so telling Matthew how you truly felt was not an option for you, but simply having him there, telling you that he loves you and finds you attractive sexy, helped.

Even if your brain acted up sometimes and made you think the worst, Matthew loved you anyway. He proved to you that those bad thoughts were wrong again and again.

“I missed you.” His hand left your chest briefly before finding its way under your shirt, skillfully avoiding touching anything that could cause you to shy away, and settling on your boob once more.

It wasn’t unusual for him to just hold one of your boobs or even both. A while ago he came up with the excuse that it was good for your heart or something, said that he read it somewhere. You knew it was total bull but you didn’t mind, enjoyed it even, so you let his explanation slide. Sometimes Matthew just lazily palmed them while you waited to fall asleep. Other times, like tonight, he would run his thumb over your nipple until it hardened and then played with it a little more.

You just let yourself relax back into his embrace and let him palm at your chest. As strange as it seemed, the soft repetitive motions put you at ease. Matthew meanwhile seemed to only get more excited, if his steadily hardening length against your butt was anything to go by. He didn’t try to hide his excitement, almost grinding it against your body to seek pleasure even. He knew that this was something you were comfortable with but you also knew that Matthew wouldn’t push past this point without you asking him to.

It took you longer to decide than usual. You always wanted Matthew, desperately, but could you get over your insecurities enough to allow yourself to be loved?

“Matthew?” You asked into the darkness, getting a hum in return. “I’ll keep my shirt on, okay?”

“Whatever you need.”

It took a second for you to detangle your limbs but once you managed to free yourself it was easy to roll over onto your front, hugging your pillow to your chest. Matthew was gentle as he peeled off your sweatpants. He couldn’t seem to help himself and gave your ass a spank as you tried to muffle a tired laugh in the pillow.

His body blanketed yours for a moment and you could feel the heat of him against your back as he spoke. “I’m gonna get a condom, okay? Don’t want to clean up any mess.”

As soon as you nodded you could feel Matthew move around on the bed behind you. He didn’t turn on any of the lamps though, rather choosing to fumble in the dark and bump a water bottle off his nightstand before finding what he was looking for. Finally he pulled open a drawer and took out a condom, the foil wrapper crinkling as he opened it, and soon enough Matthew was on you again, his warm weight pressing you into the mattress.

“What do you want, baby? My mouth? Fingers?” His voice already sounded so wrecked even though he hadn’t even properly touched you yet.

“Fingers please.” Matthew ate pussy like a man starved and you loved him for it but tonight it just wasn’t something you wanted from him.

He followed your request without asking, rough fingers finding your folds and running along the slit teasingly as soon as the words left your mouth.

You hadn’t thought you’d be so desperate for him. Not so fast. Not during these days. But Matthew didn’t have to wait long at all before he could work the first finger into you.

“So wet for me already.” He chuckled and you couldn’t help but tighten around him at the words. “I barely even touched you.”

A moan left your lips and Matthew rewarded you with a second finger joining the one already in you. He was careful, more careful than you probably needed, but then he started toying with your clit while still fucking his long fingers inside you and the feeling became too much.

“Fuck me.” Was all that left your lips.

“Already?” Was his response. “I barely got to play with you.” The pout was audible in his voice but he complied with your request, carefully removing his fingers.

Matthew only has to change positions slightly and before you could even miss his fingers, his length started to fill you up. He didn’t make you wait, bottoming out and immediately pulling back. Every thrust pushed you further into the mattress while the pillow clutched to our chest muffled any moans. This was exactly what you needed.

Matthew managed to hit that sweet spot in his next thrust and you stopped holding back, clenching around him, whining into the pillow, gripping the sheets hard enough for them to become untucked. There was something wild in the way he was taking you that one wouldn’t expect from it. The blanket you were under kept you warm but the feeling of Matthew’s body against your back was burning. Nothing but desire filled the darkness of your room as loud gasps left your lips, too similar to make out whether they were Matthew’s or yours.

It was so easy to get lost in the feeling of him, to let yourself be filled again and again and again. One of his hands tried to bully its way between your body and the bed, attempting to grab your chest again. The change of angle when you moved —not much but just enough— only made his thrusts hit so much better.

You allowed yourself to float in the feeling for a little until you felt yourself get closer and closer to your orgasm. What finally pushed you over the edge was Matthew reaching down to play with your clit instead of our chest. Rough fingers toyed with you once again as you fell apart below him, shaking.

It took a little for you to come back, too blissed out to recognize anything but your own pleasure. When you did Matthew laid heavy across your back and you realized he must have come as well. The only uncomfortable thing about the position you were in was his arm trapped between your body and the bed. He must have noticed your weird position because he gently pulled it out from beneath you. A kiss was pressed against your shoulder through the shirt after, a silent apology. Matthew stayed inside of you a little longer as the two of you started to come down together, his weight a warm constant against you. After a few more moments he gave you another kiss in the same spot and then pulled out, rolling over on his side to lay beside you again.

“Matthew?” It took all of your remaining energy to turn over and look at him even if the darkness prevented you from really seeing anything. You knew he was there, looking your way, and that was all that mattered. “Thank you.”

He just pulled you into his arms again, lips finding your face somewhere near your cheekbone. “Not for that. Never for that.”

When you woke up the next morning it was to an empty bed. Light was shining through the window and it didn’t take you long to figure out it hadn't been up for long. The apartment was completely silent, no sounds of Matthew able to be heard, but his side of the bed still retained some of its warmth so he couldn’t have been gone for long. You rolled over to grab your phone but the battery must have died during the night. Before you could plug it in to charge in order to text Matthew, the front door opened. You could hear him clattering around in the kitchen for a few minutes before the bedroom door opened, revealing your tousled looking boyfriend trying to carry a loaded tray through the door.

“Morning.” He sat the tray onto the floor next to your side of the bed before disappearing again, leaving you alone with plates full of breakfast staples before coming back with a giant bouquet and an iced coffee in his hands. Matthew looked a little embarrassed as he sat them down, the coffee coming precariously close to the rim of the cup as he struggled to place the flowers on the floor next to the tray. “I didn’t know if we had any vases so I just bought the one they had the flowers in at the store.”

“What-”

He interrupted you before you could question him. Why breakfast? Why the flowers? What did I do to deserve your love?

“I got breakfast.” Matthew smiled, before climbing back into bed on your side, bony knees bumping against your legs as he climbed over your body. “We’ll eat and then we’ll spend the day in bed, yes?”

You picked up your coffee and snuggled back into your blankets. It would be a good day.

#matthew tkachuk #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #hockey smut #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk smut #...so this is twenty-five

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blondeboyfriend · 1 year

Text

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Meguru Bachira x reader [ SYNOPSIS ] You're Bachira's good luck charm. idk there's no plot, don't think too hard about it. [ WORD COUNT ] 1.6k [ CONTENT ] Aged up!Bachira, he went pro (ayyyy), knife play, blood play, sadomasochism, praise, marking, scars, y/n is kinda needy (but so is he), vaginal sex, size kink (I believe in big dick Bachira), teasing, nipple play, overstimulation, pet names (baby), creampie.

You hated away games, loathed them. They were an inevitable occurrence, something you should have grown used to over time. But still the night before every flight you spiraled, lamenting that you couldn’t follow Bachira around. It wasn’t because you were insecure or lacked trust; you just hated sleeping alone. There was nothing more disappointing than rolling over in bed at three in the morning, reaching for him, and then remembering, Ah, yeah. He’s in Sapporo. You had always assumed you’d build up a callus, one to protect you from the melancholy known to overwhelm you on those lonely nights.

Unfortunately every away game was a wound reopened.

In six hours Bachira would be flying first class to Fukuoka, sleeping with his face pressed against the window. His team’s manager was less than enthused with this arrangement. He thought it was ridiculous to spend an extra day at home and fly out the day of the game, but denying the left back was easier said than done. Bachira’s beguiling whimsy and immense talent rendered most people under his spell. The world was effectively his for the taking, his manager no different.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you sighed.

You tried to ignore the looming dread that hung around you, but it was nigh impossible while straddling him. He fluttered his long, dark eyelashes and looked up, leaving you bewitched by his golden gaze. It radiated a fervent adoration no other man was capable of. He was artful in his mastery, his affection unmatched.

“I know,” he said, pinching your cheek.

You batted his hand away.

“You sure you don’t want to get some rest? I’ll feel moderately guilty if you fuck up tomorrow.”

“Stop,” he whined. “I’ll be fine. It’s a short flight and it’s not like I’m gonna be playing the second I get there.”

He would be fine, he always was. He had his ways; the absurd things he did in the name of good luck never failed him. So you surrendered yourself and bought into his vision like you had many times before. There was nothing to worry about, all you needed to do was trust him.

Still you couldn’t hide your melancholic expression. You’d miss him all the same, win or lose.

“C’mon. You believe in me, don’t you?” he asked. He gave you a cat-like grin, one that would make you sign your life over to him.

“Yes, yes, yes. I believe you.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, tickling your sides.

You groaned. “I’m—ugh—I told you. I'm going to miss you, alright”

“Aww. I could come inside you if that’ll help,” he teased.

“You were going to do that anyway!”

He playfully stuck out his tongue as he slipped his hands under your shirt. His hands were big and weighty, but his fingers were elegant. His palms rough; his touch tender. He tugged at the hem of the shirt and giggled.

“You thief,” he said, pulling it off of you. “I was looking for this while I was packing.”

“Not my fault it’s the perfect nightgown.”

He tossed it in the general location of his half-packed suitcase.

“At least it’ll smell like me now,” you said coyly.

He sat up and buried his face in your neck, taking in the scent of your skin. He let out a dreamy sigh as he exhaled. It was such a lovely noise, one you wanted to hear again and again. You reached down and stroked his soft cock. You pulled back his foreskin and rubbed your thumb around his sensitive tip. He shivered with delight.

“I need all my stuff to smell like you. Go roll around in my suitcase for a little bit.”

“How about I give you some pairs of dirty underwear to remember me by instead?” you snickered as you squeezed the base of his cock.

He rutted against your fist. “Fine, but they have to be those tiny, cotton ones. They feel the best against my skin.”

“Anything for you.”

He looked so sweet lying beneath you. You braced yourself, placing your hands on his pecs, and felt the rise and fall of his chest. His warm skin was dappled with water, his sinewy body fresh out of the shower. The towel he haphazardly wrapped around his hair had unraveled, each strand exuding the scent of your shampoo. His cheeks were glassy, a sure sign he slathered on your facial serum and night cream. Even his skin smelled like yours. He wriggled under you, trying to guide your attention to his semi-erect cock. You decided you wanted to tease him a bit, make him earn it.

“Don’t you need a good night’s rest so you can win tomorrow?” you asked, dropping your arms to your sides.

He scoffed. “I have my ways,” he said, eyes fixed on the thin scars etched on your upper chest.

You decided to change your tune. Wasting time was criminal.

“Hm. Remind me of what those are. I forgot.”

He grinned and began to dig around the bedside table for his tools. He pulled out a wooden box with a floret of goldenrod painted on the lid. Inside were some single-use scalpels and a modest first aid kit. He pulled you close, hand resting on the small of your back, and licked the cluster of scars. Each one was a thin line about an inch in length and spaced close together like tally marks. They were all perfectly straight, the handiwork of a master. You were proud to bear them.

Bachira held the scalpel between his fingers, his eyes narrowed and focused. You froze like a statue awaiting the chisel of a sculptor. The blade glided across your skin; you barely registered the sensation.

“Deeper,” you urged.

He ran the blade across the slit once more. Blood trickled freely from the wound. He made another cut underneath. It was deeper and hurt more than the first one. He watched as the blood made its way down your breasts and let out a giddy whine as it clung to your nipple. Unable to contain himself he swirled his tongue around it. Your cunt throbbed as he held it in between his teeth. He looked up at you, his eyes wild with adoration. You loved seeing him like this. You felt special, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

He licked up the trails of blood before rolling his tongue against the cuts. It was like getting stung by bees. You loved finding ecstasy in the ache. You’d forever be in debt to Bachira for aiding you in your libertine awakening, for leading you hand-in-hand down the proverbial primrose path. He was the first to show how to walk the line between pain and pleasure.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he whimpered before sucking on your breast once more.

You lifted his chin and kissed him. You ran your tongue over his lips, the taste of your blood still lingering on them. He eagerly opened his mouth, overtaking yours. His kisses were always sloppy, wet, and needy. His desperate passion knew no bounds and you wouldn't have it any other way. You slowly stroked his cock, his precum sliding in between your fingers.

He panted, “I need it now.”

You kissed his forehead and slid his cock inside your dripping cunt. He tossed his head back and let out a heavenly moan. You bounced up and down, driving his cocktip into your cervix. His girth was a gift from god. You felt so full, almost like you would burst at the seams.

He lapped at the blood trickling from your cuts. You tangled your fingers in his damp hair, letting the strands snake around them. You wanted to become a part of him, for your bodies to meld into one. Both of you were swept up in a euphoric frenzy. As he rutted against you he pinched your swollen clit. He couldn’t help but smile in the face of your desperate yelps.

“Gentle! Gentle!” you said, squirming.

It was too strong a sensation. You were so full as it was; you weren’t sure you could weather another intense sensation. You felt like his cock was buried deep in your stomach.

“Ah,” you winced. “Me—Meguru, it’s too mu—”

He forced you to look at him, his yellow eyes overwhelmed by dark pupils, and sweetly said, “Your body can take it.”

Five words was all it took to bewitch you. He alternated between pinching your clit and massaging it. You felt like you were ascending as your orgasm inched closer.

“You gonna come all over my cock?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” you whined.

His thrusts were relentless, not a hint of mercy in his touch. It was maddening. You kept babbling his name, begging him for more. Shame was a concept neither of you were familiar with. Neither of you could quiet yourselves. It was a chorus of panting, whimpering, and moaning. As your orgasm crescendoed all you could do was choke out a few expletives and drool.

“That’s it, baby,” Bachira said, jaw clenched and completely charmed by your demeanor.

He held you close and took the lead, driving his cock into your cunt, lips pressed against your still bleeding cuts. You felt like you were operating on a different plane of existence. The only thing that brought you back to reality was the warm feeling of Bachira’s cum filling you up. You collapsed in his arms, and tried to catch your breath.

“Was… that… helpful?” you murmured.

“Oh yeah. I’m gonna bring you home a win,” he purred against your ear.

#bachira meguru x reader #meguru bachira x reader #bachira x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #bachira smut #.fics #.bllk #.bachira #x reader #reader insert

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foreheadkiss3s · 4 months

Text

tate langdon x gn! reader.

trigger warnings : really sad thoughts going through the readers mind. i let my drama queen take over and everything came out too dramatic.

angst/ fluff at the end if you squint your eyes really hard.

this is so messy, really, it’s just a drabble i wanted to put out but i think i’ll probs end up deleting it since i feel like it’s cringey. also, english is not my first language so whatever (and wherever) mistake you might find, please bear with me.

I know it might be confusing, or even worse, not make sense at all. but i just let my messy thoughts flow and that’s the result.

just to get things a bit more clear, tate is still alive and dealing with his situation back home while reader is the only friend he managed to make in high school. the reader was at the house, not the murder house ( let’s just assume the reader’s house it’s near that ) and tate just presented himself there after the reader became distant with him.

« I’m sorry. »

You know about those days, when you wake up and your eyes reflexively land on the window? And then they wander up, and get to notice the soft hue of the blue sky, lightened up by the sun? And it’s almost as if you could feel the warmth of the sun rays seeping through your window?

Perhaps it’s the warmth of the covers, the cozy feeling that you get every time when you just wake up and that later on makes you whine because you know you’ll have to leave that warm place soon to get up and get ready for school. But it’s almost as if you had a restart.

For five minutes— sometimes even less, it depends on how much it takes your brain to process the world outside of your mind again— you get to feel like you’ve just been reborn, and that everything would be alright.

But then it all comes crumbling down.

Your brain registers where you are, the reality you live, and the obnoxious routine you have to do everyday. Get up. Brush your teeth and hair. Skip breakfast because you’re always late. Get dressed. Go to school. Wish to get home during and in between classes. Get finally home, but then you get frustrated because it’s always the same damn thing.

You don’t know what it is that frustrates you, that angers you so much and sometimes even makes you cry. That drains you, leaving you so exhausted that you end up falling asleep only to wake up the next morning and experience the same thing again.

Perhaps, you think, that you’re crazy. Maybe you’re spiralling out of reality. Maybe you’re just being an ungrateful teenager. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybe you just want to sleep forever.

But, when you think you can’t take it no more, here comes Tate.

Sometimes you think he’s weird. Not in a bad way, you think he’s just.. weird. He’s one of the most pessimistic people you know, always looking down on the human specie and labelling it as some sort of stupid being. Yet, when it comes to the state you’re slowly falling in, he seems to suck it out of you.

You don’t know how to explain it properly— you don’t even understand it yourself, but it’s almost as if he is a sponge. Just by staying near you, he sucks all the darkness away. He’s like a black hole, but instead of absorbing everything he just absorbs your darkness. Or perhaps he’s just a little hypocrite that doesn’t allow you to be pessimistic just like he is.

Even though you know.. you know that referring to Tate as pessimistic is the least you could call him.

You hate it when he gets clingy, and that happens very often. Who are you kidding? it always happens, hence why you always resort to unkind ways to get him to leave you. You just want to be alone sometimes.

Tate might argue with you and say that it’s more than sometimes, it’s always.

You’re not a good person, you know that. You’re selfish and you don’t care who you’re hurting when it comes to you and the decisions you make.

You didn’t care when you started hanging out with a boy and spent less and less time with Tate. Why did you do it though? You still question yourself.

Yeah, he might be clingy, attached to your hip, dependant on you and the list could go on just like that. But he was the only one that showed you how much you mean, or perhaps, how much you could mean to somebody.

You never thought it possible that a being could be so much for another being.

Tate is your only friend. Even though you’re not sure of that anymore since all you did for the past few weeks—maybe month, was avoiding and ignoring him.

At the beginning it was just to get a little time alone. But then it started becoming more of an avoidance, and now? You thought you were avoiding him out of shame.

But he was your only friend, and you pushed him away for what? To test if you could feel something different than the void you were currently drowning in? How could you have been that selfish?

His eyes seem to be asking you the same questions as he stares deep down inside your soul. His kaleidoscope honeyed eyes.

« I’ll.. » a sob breaks his voice, and his attempt to hold back his tears fails, making the tears break through and fall down his cheeks like diamonds, «.. I’ll leave never bother you again if that’s what you want »

For the first time in weeks you feel something so authentically powerful that it almost knocks the breath out of your lungs.

You’re sat there, on your messy, still unmade, bed as you’re looking into his eyes. And he stares back at you almost as if he has already been there, in that position— unwanted and thrown to the side, times and times before. But still it causes him pain.

It’s a subtle but yet stinging feeling. Like a cut being slit open again by a sharp dagger with its blade covered in salt. It’s a swift movement, a methodical cut, because it always seems to be hurting in the same spot.

You don’t say anything.

« You’re just like her. » Constance. Tears stream down his face like pouring rain. His voice taking the resemblance of a wave as sometimes it gets higher and other times it comes crashing down, stopping abruptly to let his tears fall down silently.

Just like rain in the ocean.

Silence fills the room yet again.

« Please.. p-please.. » How come that he’s the one begging you and not the other way around? What is he pleading for?

You frown looking at him, still staring into his eyes like a stone cold bitch. And you might’ve even been one to someone else’s eyes. But not to his.

You were just as hurt and lost as he was.

He got down on his knees, sliding on them on the carpeted floor until he was by your legs, as you were still sitting down on your bed. He sobbed and sniffled as he got in between your legs and let his head slowly come down to rest on your lap. «..d-don’t leave me.

you’re the only thing I have left.. y-you don’t have to do anything just.. p-please.. please I need you. You’re everything to me.. I-I’m.. I.. »

How could you have let everything spin out of control?

You were sorry.

You were so sorry.

Your vision became so blurry, almost as if a plastic wall was swiftly building itself up on your eyes, until it broke down and you felt warm droplets of water strike your cheeks. You were sorry as you could see the hurting boy sobbing on your lap because of your selfish behaviour.

You didn’t know what had happened to you to get you to this point, to hurt mindlessly like that the only person that cared about you. But you knew you were sorry and you wanted to wipe everything you did away.

Your hand, slowly, made its way on his head covered by the soft honeyed hair. You let your fingers slip and comb through the strands of his hair while you finally felt something.

« I’m sorry. » a broken whisper left your mouth.

just wanted to apologize again as i’m sure it came out more cringy than anything, but if you have some advice to give me please feel free to leave a comment ( or just straight up tell me to stop writing and never do it again 🤪 ).

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jungshookz · 7 months

Text

just a small compilation of yoongi and y/n being platonic soul mates

➺ pairing; lveb!yoongi x lveb!y/n pre-namjoon (sorry namjoon u r not a part of this)

➺ genre; so much friendship fluff i love platonic love so much

➺ wordcount; 2.8k

➺ summary; yoongi and y/n love and care about each other very much but they’ll never actually say it outright bc real friends never do that! yoongi loves y/n a lot and y/n loves yoongi a lot and to be honest I AM JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF THIS!!!!!!!!!

➺ what to expect; “and don’t lie to me again, please. i’m supposed to have your back and i can’t do my job if you’re hiding things from me.”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; how sweet it is (to be loved by you) — james taylor

»»————- 🧸 ————-««

yoongi and y/n get drunk and discuss very important things

“ah…” you suck in an air of breath through your teeth, patting your chest a few times as the whiskey trickles down your throat

you’re not much of a drinker but yoongi insisted that this was the best whiskey he’d ever had and the only reason why you agreed was because he said if you mixed it with apple juice, it’d just taste like apple juice with a spicier kick

“you are such a baby.” yoongi snorts, downing the rest of his glass before setting it down on the table, “you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

“i do…” you shake your head, leaning back against the couch, “i don’t, but i also do.”

it’s not often that the two of you spend a sunday evening getting drunk in your apartment but you’ve had a rough week with the business (you’ve had to deal with many, many impatient and annoying customers this week) and yoongi just hasn’t drank in a long time and he recently got paid so why not spend it on some good quality alcohol??

“we should play a game or something.” yoongi turns and leans back against the arm of the couch before kicking his legs up onto your lap, “we should do something while waiting for the pizza, otherwise we’re both going to fall asleep.”

“a game?”

“a game.” yoongi nods, reaching over to crack open the fresh bottle of jameson whiskey (surprisingly smooth, actually. and you do taste the alcohol but you quite like it with the apple juice), “what do drunk people talk about?”

“they don’t talk. they call their exes.” you joke, yoongi rolling his eyes at your teasing smile

“for your information, i only did it one time. and she didn’t even pick up, so i just left a voicemail. and i don’t even remember what i said in the voicemail.”

“one time too many.” your eyes widen a little at the reminder of that chaotic night that involved you chasing yoongi around the street trying to get him to give you his phone but his legs are longer and he’s very speedy when he’s drunk so it took you a while until you finally managed to pry his phone from his clammy hands

love really does make people crazy

“what’s your biggest fear?” you ask, turning to look at him

“oh, we’re going to be that type of drunk tonight, are we?” yoongi snorts, reaching up to scratch the side of his nose before pursing his lips in thought and looking up at the ceiling, “probably that i’ll never be good enough in all aspects of my life, but to be honest, mostly when it comes to any romantic stuff. i’m terrified that i’ll try my best with someone and that my best still won’t be good enough for them, and i know i shouldn’t be so dependent on what someone else thinks about me, but if i was dating someone and i felt like i wasn’t good enough for them and then they told me to my face that i wasn’t good enough for them, that would probably send me into the biggest depression spiral i’ve ever had in my entire life. what about you?”

yoongi looks back down at you to see that you’re staring at him with wide eyes before you reach over to pour some more whiskey into his glass, picking it up and holding it out for him to take

“…flying cockroaches.”

“that’s valid.”

y/n keeps (choosing) to make the same mistake and yoongi’s kinda over it

“you know, i was just doing some thinking when i was getting the ice cream and i don’t understand,” yoongi shuts the front door behind him before kicking his sneakers off, leaning against the wall with one hand, “didn’t you guys end things, like, a year ago?”

“he reached out in february n we’ve been seeing each other since then…” you sniffle, wiping at your red eyes as you look at him from your curled-up position on the couch, “…didn’t tell you because- i know how you feel about him-“

“he’s a fucking dickhead, that’s how i feel about him. he’s a walking red flag in a very concerning way- like, i have some red flags but they’re the ones that make me seem hot and mysterious, not the ones that make people wonder if i’m a narcissistic sociopath- also, are you telling me you’ve been secretly dating this man for the last-“ yoongi pauses, counting the months on his hands before his eyes widen slightly, “holy shit, you’ve been hiding this from me for the last eight months?”

you press your lips together as you avert your gaze sheepishly, “…yeah. i’m sorry…”

“well, what happened this time? why’d you guys break things off?” yoongi plops himself down on the couch next to you, pulling the two pints of ice cream and the cheap wooden spoons out of the thin plastic bag

“he- he was kind of seeing other people at the same time because we never made things exclusive-“

“well, were you seeing anyone else?”

“no- and… he told me that i wasn’t allowed to see anyone else but he was- so- so basically he started dating-“

“ah, ah-“ yoongi holds the wooden spoon up to shut you up before letting out a laugh, “i’m gonna be so real with you, i don’t feel any sympathy for you at all.”

“i’m not asking for sympathy-“ your voice wavers slightly (you were definitely asking for sympathy and also you fully expected yoongi to come in here and just validate all of your feelings but to be fair you’d probably also feel some type of way if you found out he’d been lying to you for the past eight months of your friendship), “i’m just… sad…”

“gee whiz, you’re sad because you made a choice to reunite with a known horrible human being!” yoongi exclaims sarcastically, peeling the lid off of the first pint while he shakes his head, “you have to take some accountability here, y/n. it’s not that he forced you to be in this weird relationship with him- and you know, i get it, when you’re reunited with an ex, old feelings come up and yada yada, but you already know the type of person shownu is, so i don’t really know why you’re surprised that being involved with him ended up with you needing emergency pints of ice cream… again. i feel like we’ve had this conversation so many times. it’s getting boring!”

“i don’t know, yoongi, i thought things would be different…” you mutter, picking at your cuticles, “i thought he’d changed-“

“people rarely change. small habits, maybe, but people rarely change. and you have to take responsibility for the way that you let people treat you, too, because at some point it’s not just because oh yoongi, i was dumb, oh yoongi, i made a mistake, oh yoongi, he seemed so genuine when he was apologising to me — at some point you have to accept the fact that oh, yoongi, maybe i’m the one who has the power to not be crying over a piss-poor human being.” yoongi snaps, turning to look at you with a frown

he only feels 1% bad when he sees chubby teardrops forming at your waterline and he lets out a quiet sigh before handing you your pint and a spoon, “you know i’m just saying all this shit because we’re friends and i care about you.”

“i know.” you sniffle, taking the pint from him delicately and scraping a little bit of ice cream off the top, “‘m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes as yoongi gets comfortable with his own pint, his lips pursing as he looks back over at you in all your sad glory

“i’m sorry things didn’t work out with him. i know you really liked him. but he’s genuinely a horrible person and in the long run, you’re going to be grateful you didn’t end up with someone like that.” he pokes you with his foot to get you to look up at him, “and don’t lie to me again, please. i’m supposed to have your back and i can’t do my job if you’re hiding things from me.”

yoongi’s really passionate about getting strangers to try y/n’s strawberry cinnamon buns

“what the hell? these are so good. you should sell these. why don’t you sell these??“ yoongi sucks strawberry glaze off his thumb before his eyes widen, “you could really turn this into a business, you know.”

“i don’t know…” your cheeks flush a little as you wipe flour off the counter, giving him a little shrug, “don’t know if i’ll be successful…”

you had some spare time today so you decided to whip up a batch of strawberry cinnamon buns (they’re just like regular cinnamon buns except you also add a homemade strawberry compote in the layers, no biggie) and yoongi came over just as they came out of the oven, so you offered him one and obviously he said yes because he’d be crazy to turn down a little treat

“sure you’ll be successful. you’re really good at baking, and if you start now, you’ll at least have some sort of income after we graduate.” yoongi frowns, “you can’t talk about yourself like that. you have to, like, manifest your success and speak it into existence and all that shit-“

“maybe one day…” you purse your lips before offering him another shrug, “i dunno if people’ll like em.”

“STRAWBERRY CINNAMON BUNS! HOMEMADE STRAWBERRY CINNAMON BUNS-“ that one day comes a lot sooner (as in, this is happening an hour after yoongi suggested you start your own business) and you can’t help but stand off to the side shyly as yoongi continues pushing for people to try your buns

“come on, give this a try and tell me they’re not the most incredible thing you’ve ever put in your mouth-“ yoongi hands someone a free sample in a paper cupcake liner and the stranger looks at it before holding it back for him to take

“this looks great, but i’m allergic to strawberries-“

“well, that’s what your epipen is for, pal-“ yoongi slaps him on the shoulder before pushing him aside and turning his attention to other people, “strawberry cinnamon buns! free samples of homemade strawberry cinnamon buns! get over here and put my friend’s buns in your mouth- oh.” he immediately stops, turning around to look at you, “so sorry, did not mean to sound like i was pimping you off-“

you shake your head with a giggle, watching fondly as yoongi spins back around and practically chases someone down to get them to take a free sample from him

yoongi gets stood up and he’s never seen y/n so upset before

“who did this to you.”

yoongi looks up from where he’s sitting on the cobblestone steps to see you standing there, your eyebrows furrowed tightly and your lips set in a tight frown

if he squints, he’d probably be able to see fumes coming off the top of your head by how upset you seem

“took you long enough.” he jokes, getting up from his butt and picking up the bouquet of wilted flowers next to him

he messaged you twenty minutes ago about the situation and you literally got here in warp speed

“who did this to you?” you ask again, and yoongi shakes his head

this night has been humiliating enough and he really does not want to go into further details

“don’t worry about it.” he clears his throat, holding up the bouquet for you to take, “for you, madamoiselle.”

“you didn’t tell me you were going on a date.” you take the bouquet, bringing it up to your nose for a little sniff before smiling lightly (you love tulips), “love tulips.”

“i know. and it was a second date, technically.”

“second date??” you ask incredulously, shocked that yoongi hid not one but two important pieces of information from you, “when was the first date??”

“i didn’t wanna talk about it… i… didn’t wanna get my hopes up in case things didn’t work out and obviously things haven’t worked out.” yoongi shoves his hands into his pockets as he walks alongside you, “whatever, it’s stupid. i hate dating apps.”

you twist your lips in thought as comfortable silence washes over the two of you

you know that he’ll probably want to talk about this later, but right now it seems like a bit of a sore spot so maybe you’ll bring in up in a week or so

or you’ll just wait for him to bring it up to you

“you hungry?” you loop your arm with his as the two of you walk slowly, and you perk up a little at the sight of a diner two blocks down (they have really good cheesecake there)

“well, i was supposed to have dinner an hour and forty-five minutes ago, so i guess i’m a little hungry.” yoongi snorts, kicking a pebble off the sidewalk before letting out a huff, “i don’t know. i could eat.”

“…tuna melt time?” you squeeze his arm and he lets out a loud groan almost immediately

“oh my god, you are so gross, you know that??” yoongi shoves you off his arm playfully, “who in their right mind likes warm tuna and cheese- you’re basically eating, like, cat vomit-“ yoongi makes a face and you can’t help but laugh, feeling a little better now that you’ve seen him smile a little

“tuna melt, tuna melt…” you sing softly, yoongi letting out another groan before shuddering

“this could actually be a dealbreaker in our friendship, i’m telling you- only sick freaks like tuna melts-“

“guess i’m the sickest freak around, baby-“

y/n picked a gross drink from starbucks and refuses to admit she doesn’t like it

“i still don’t know why you decided to try that.” yoongi shakes his head, holding his wallet out for you to take so you can put it in your purse for him, “what is it again?”

“apple… cinnamon cold brew something?” you shrug, raising the cup for a quick glance before shrugging, “trying something new!”

“we both know what happens whenever you try something new.” yoongi grumbles, taking a sip of his own iced americano, “you try it, you don’t like it, you refuse to admit you don’t like it, and somehow i’m the one who ends up having to finish whatever it is you picked for yourself because you decided you wanted to be spontaneous.”

“nuh-uh.” you frown, yoongi holding the door open for you as he rolls his eyes

you can be such a baby when it comes to arguments like this — it’s like you never want to admit he’s right even though you know he’s right

“nuh-uh-“ he mocks, barely avoiding your whack as the two of you walk side by side, “the pineapple-walnut scone from that gluten-free bakery, that weird alfredo-truffle-pesto pasta dish you ordered when we went to get italian on valentine’s day, that godawful cauliflower crust pizza you got for brunch one time-“

“but i like this drink!” you take a hearty sip before swallowing, your lips puckering for a second as your eye twitches and you immediately stop walking to look at the drink

…perhaps the barista was having an off day but there’s something a lil funky going on in your mouth right now

“oh my god, i fucking knew it-“ yoongi groans, his shoulder slumping as he looks at you with a raised brow, “who in their right mind would order an apple cinnamon cold brew something-“

“it’s not bad!” you insist, bringing it up to your lips for another sip, your other eye twitching now as you swallow thickly

oh dear god

is it supposed to be chunky?? are drinks normally chunky like this???

“just give it to me.” yoongi gives you a deadpan expression as he holds his iced americano for you to take, “take mine.”

“no, no-“

“y/n y/l/n, give me your godawful drink right now-“

“are you sure?”

“are you sure?” yoongi mocks again, tsking at you when you take his drink from him and he takes your drink from you, “i knew this was gonna happen, and i still let you order your own drink… the next time we’re at starbucks, i’m ordering for you-“

🎙️ ask y/n for her strawberry cinnamon bun recipe (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!)

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starrylevi · 10 months

Text

“Are you okay?” Levi asks you.

“No.”

“I know, you don’t look it. What’s wrong?”

“Everything is wrong, Levi. I’m exhausted…I wonder what it’s like to have a brain that functions the way it’s supposed to.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly. “Your brain is fine.”

“But that’s the thing, it’s not!” You say exasperatingly. “It’s wired differently and so it makes everything more difficult. I switch between three modes: Not wanting to exist, Surviving, and Beyond Surviving. Guess how much time I spend in each mode?”

Levi doesn’t say anything in response. His expression shows more concern than confusion this time.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. Most of my time is spent surviving. Some of my time is spent not wanting to exist. And just a little of my time is spent beyond suriving…what kind of life is that?”

Levi’s eyes look at you with sadness. “Not much of one, to be honest…but it’s yours and you only have one.” He counters.

“Well, I don’t even know if I want it half of the time. Y’know, someone told me that life is basically climbing mountains. You climb a mountain, which represents a challenge or obstacle, once you get to the top you enjoy the view for a moment…then you climb back down and do the same thing all over again. Rinse and repeat.”

Levi seems to identify with what you’re saying and he knows you’re frustrated right now but he needs to keep you from spiraling. He’s not letting you give up. That’s not the way. “It’s what we have to do, Y/N.” He says gently.

“And what if I don’t want to do anything? What if I don’t want to climb fucking mountains? What if I don’t want to constantly be challenged and given obstacles? What if I just want to sit at the top of the mountain and just be?”

Levi knows these feelings all too well…he’s wrestled with them a few times throughout his life but he’s continued to push through because that’s what you just do. And you’re going to do the same even if he has to do the pushing for you. You snap Levi out of his thoughts with your next statement.

“It would be so much easier if I just…”

“Stop.”

“But-“

“Stop.” He repeats sternly, his steel eyes boring into yours.

You grunt angrily. “You’re not even real, Levi!” You yell out at him. You’re not angry with him. You’re angry at the world, angry for the universe and your parents for putting you in this predicament, angry for placing you into a world that doesn’t accommodate you. “You are a 2-dimensional character I use to cope. There’s no way for you to actually soothe or help me. You. Are. Fictional.”

Your words don’t seem to phase him. He shrugs. “I’m real enough.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I’m real enough to you. Y/N. You are the one who brings me to life. You are the one who decides how real I should be. What does it matter if I’m not a real person?”

“It’s silly.”

“Who says it’s silly?”

“I don’t know, a bunch of people.”

“Well, fuck all of those people then. Just fuck them.” He states as if it’s obvious.

You sigh. “It doesn’t work that way, Levi…”

“So make it work that way. No one else is keeping you alive but yourself.”

“And you…” You say softly.

Levi shakes his head. “I don’t do anything. Like I said before, you’re the one who does the all the heavy lifting. I exist because you want me to. I function the way I do because you want me to.”

“So I control you?”

Levi rolls his eyes at that. “Don’t be a brat. What I’m saying is I’m just an outlet for you.”

You pause, thinking of his words. He’s not wrong. He’s just a character but he’s also not just a character because of you. “I wish you were real.” You admit sadly.

“I wish I were real too…for you.” He sighs as he runs a hand through his raven hair. “But it doesn’t matter if I’m real or not. I still occupy your brain. I still make you happy, that’s all that matters. As long as you let me live in your mind, I’m always going to be here for you.

You nod, not saying anything further.

“Okay?” He asks.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

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crimsonwritings · 15 days

Text

Flames in our hearts - Prologue

Pairing: Cassian x female reader

Summary: Cassian and Y/N both have to let their partners go.

Warnings: angst, some kind of panic attacks

Words: 2.4k

A/N: It’s finally here! The first part of my firefighter Cassian fic. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t able to post this earlier but I was overthinking which resulted in a writers block. I’ll try to post the next parts more regularly from now on. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist | Moodboard

Y/N´s POV:

“So this is it then.”

Four years ago I would have never believed that him and I would ever be in this situation. Sitting in our small town café, nothing but an untouched glass of water in front of me, because I was physically incapable of consuming anything right now. Him being placed in the seat opposite of me, staring at the wall, the table and the wall again. Anywhere to avoid my gaze.

It probably looked like a break up scene straight out of a movie. Even the weather seemed to play along, as the sky was filled with dark grey clouds, rain pouring down to the earth. If angels existed I imagined those raindrops to be their tears as they mourned over the pieces of my shattered relationship. I wanted them to drown my emotions until I wouldn’t feel any of this pain right now. And if it meant that I wouldn’t be able to feel anything ever again so be it. I couldn’t care less.

“Yeah. This is it,” he answered. I knew that this decision wasn’t easy for him, could hear it in his silent, shaking voice. How much time had we actually spent together? One third of our lives? First as friends, before it had turned into something more, something intimate - something vulnerable.

He had been my first everything and oh, how I had wanted him to be my last. The one and only, like those fairytales always swoon about. Some part of me still wanted him to be just that. But fairytales aren’t real and my teenage dreams had to concede their space in my head to the cruel realities of this world.

“It used to be so easy with us but now…it just doesn’t feel like it did at the beginning. You became so distant and I know that to an extent it’s my fault but I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s frustrating me. I can’t live like this anymore. And it wouldn’t be fair to you either.”

How generous of him. Breaking up with me to spare my feelings. I didn’t know why it caused a rumble of anger to drive through my body. Didn’t I feel the exact same thing? Wasn’t it me who had questioned our relationship over the past months?

At least he was able to set me free. I on the other hand felt like a snake, meandering around his body and pushing my fangs in his skin, even though I knew I would poison him with my insecurities. I just couldn’t let go.

Because that was my greatest fear. Being left by someone I loved, someone who was supposed to love me back. It had made me doubt him at some point, when he had disappointed me one to many times with such little things. Suddenly I hadn’t been able to see the good things anymore, only the bad, which had resulted in me emotionally distancing myself, snapping at him when he told me I was a fool for doing so.

And now here we were, in the middle of that small town café, knowing that we weren’t able to make each other happy anymore. One side being controlled by her fears, the other driven by frustration, annoyance maybe. I couldn’t even blame him for feeling this way. For I couldn’t stand myself either. What used to be a loving relationship became a downward spiral pretty fast.

I knew that this was right. That I had to let him go to hopefully find his happiness, even if it meant that he would end up with someone else. If she could appreciate everything he had to offer then he was hers to claim, not mine. But why did it feel so damn wrong? Why was the thought of somebody else living my dreams with him worse than what we had now?

The merciless feeling of my panic rising up consumed me whole. I knew it all to well. It always started with that lump in my throat, swelling on and on until I feared I couldn’t breath anymore. It then resulted in a gag, as if my body tried to get rid of it by throwing up. Meanwhile I could feel the tears lining up, threatening to spill but never doing so, not granting me that sort of relief. I could feel the familiar cold running over my skin, causing me to shiver. My hands were already shaking so hard I had to grab the chair beneath me, so nobody would notice.

Calm down Y/N. Don’t you dare let them see your weakness. Nobody wants to see it.

But no matter how many deep breaths I inhaled to calm myself down, it didn’t work.

I wasn’t strong enough for this. I couldn’t let him go. Instead I needed him to take me in his arms, soothing me that everything would be all right, that he had overreacted and that we would work on it. Like we had promised each other so many times before.

My voice trembled as I begged him, “Please! I will become the girl you fell in love with again! All I need is time!”

Something deep down in me protested. Questioned why I had to beg him to love me. Why it was so important for me to be loved by him.

I didn’t listen. All I could hear were his final words.

“Stop making this any harder than it already is. You assured me of this so many times but I can’t believe you anymore. And it wouldn’t matter anyway. My love for you is gone Y/N. I feel nothing…I’m sorry.”

Something inside of me shattered at his words. Maybe it was the hope I still had left. To mend this. To get out of this nightmare. But now there was nothing left. He had made his choice and I could do absolutely nothing about it.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. Neither the beat of my heart getting painfully fast nor my breath being so flat that I feared I would faint. The tears started to run down my cheeks - finally - but it caused embarrassment to flow through me as I felt the stares of the strangers around me, starring and judging.

I almost jumped up from my seat and stormed out of the cafe, away from the pity and the pain.

He didn’t try to stop me.

~*~

Cassian’s POV:

“Say that again.” His words came out in a gasp.

He didn’t know how they had ended down here. Only a few minutes ago he had felt as if he could touch the sun! Finally, after so many years of pining after it, his life had become perfect, giving him wings of jauntiness! But it seemed like he had gotten to close to the radiant heat of the burning star, for now it felt like those exact wings had caught fire, causing him to race down towards the ground, to the predict of a devastating crash.

She alone could save him now.

But instead of throwing him something to grab onto in his fall she definitively shredded his wings to pieces, robbing him of any chance to survive.

“It’s over Cassian. I’m breaking up with you.”

There were no tears in her eyes as she said it. No signs of doubt on her face. She was sure in her decision and seemed utterly cold about it. Like an ice queen she stood in front of him, wearing the mask she had always worn to protect herself. Every time she couldn’t stand the overwhelming emotions around her. Cassian couldn’t help but find it majestic, how she stood her ground, watching him slowly crumble in himself.

The shock must have been evident on his face, he was sure about it. He felt like he couldn’t move. He wanted to tear his eyes from her icy stare but no matter how hard he tried, his body wouldn’t allow him to. All he was capable of doing was holding on to the balcony railing of his apartment.

In the corner of his eye he saw the lights of the city he called his home. There was a musician playing on the streets somewhere, he could hear the happy melody in the distance. Usually he would have loved it. It all seemed like a mockery to him now.

“But…I don’t understand! I thought we were happy!”

As the realisation started to settle in he could feel the panic rising up. The ringing in his ears became louder and louder and he had to resist the urge to shut them with his hands, even though he knew that it wouldn’t help one bit. Otherwise he would have missed her next words.

“Happy?! Do you really think I’m happy with everyone trying to change me the whole time?”

There was anger in her eyes now, a little spark that could turn into a wildfire if he didn’t take care. He had seen it a million times already. That fiery anger that threatened to eat her alive. It always resulted in her sending the flames towards her opponents, mixed with nothing but cold, brutal calculation.

“You know that it’s true Cassian. They all want me to be that cheerful little girl who loves to go on family adventures and gets along with everybody and keeps quiet about all the things that go wrong with you all. But I’m not. I hate pretending that I like them. And I most certainly hate that they only see Feyre’s sister or your girlfriend in me. Especially Rhysand!”

“He doesn’t do that and you know it! All he is trying to do is to integrate you. And if you wouldn’t be so god damn stubborn about it you would see it!”

Something had switched in Cassian, he didn’t even realise it. All of a sudden the shock had turned into anger. He stepped towards her, fists clenched and eyes squinted.

She didn’t back down. Instead she stabbed her finger in his chest and bared her teeth, ready to fight back. “You’re only proving my point! You’re doing it again! Defending him! It’s always like this, you’re always on his side!”

“Can you blame me? He is the only family I have left! I owe him so much, hell we wouldn’t even live in this apartment without him!”

“Should I be thankful for this now? It’s only a reminder that we are completely dependent on him. All I did over the past years was trying to match his expectations. I really tried, for you! But I can’t do this anymore! I don’t even know who I am anymore!”

“So the only solution for you is to break up with me? Throwing me away when I’m not of use for you any longer?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cassian.” She turned around and stormed into their shared bedroom, Cassian right on her heels. When he saw all of her stuff packed up in some suitcases the panic returned. He could feel his heart beating rapidly and he had to hold onto the door frame as he slightly stumbled at the sight.

“Where…where are you going?”

“Eris offered me to stay in his family’s summer house. He’ll pick me up in a thew minutes and you won’t follow me!”

She had planned this then. Had made her decision, when exactly? Days ago? Weeks ago? Leaving him, without even giving him the chance to explain himself or making things right with her. He would change if he needed to. All she had to do was talk to him, telling him what he could do better. Yet all of it wouldn’t lead to anything, because she had given up a long time ago.

What hurt the most though was the fact that she trusted another man more than she trusted him. Of course Eris would have offered to help her. That viper had tried to lure her in even before she had chosen Cassian. But why did she ran into his arms when Cassian was right here, willing to catch her like he had done so many times before?

When Nesta reached the door again, he stepped in front of her. He needed an answer. He needed to know if there was even the smallest chance of winning, should he fight for her.

„Tell me Nes, I won’t let you go otherwise. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t love me anymore.“

One last time she looked up to him with those beautiful steel blue eyes. He desperately searched for any sign of emotion in them. Hell, he would even take all of her anger again. At least this would mean that she still cared about him. But it seemed like she didn’t feel anything anymore as she made his nightmare come true.

„I don’t love you anymore. Goodbye Cassian.“

There it was, that final crash. He had hit the ground now, forced to watch her pass him and leave the apartment, not able to reach out for her, even though an inner voice screamed for him to hold her back.

It felt like an out of body experience. He could feel everything. The tears that ran down his cheeks. His knees giving in, causing him to sink to the ground against the wall. He could hear his sobs and pleas for her to come back. Yet everything was distant, covered under a blanket of devastating pain.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, when he finally came back to his senses. All he knew was that he had to stop her.

He got up on his wobbly legs and hustled out of the door on the floor of the apartment building screaming with everything his shaky voice could offer: „Nesta! NESTA!“.

But it was to late. She was gone. She had left him, like everyone else had done. He was all alone again.

When the old lady, who lived next door stepped out of her apartment at his screaming he gathered all his strength and made his way back into his own flat.

Entering the living room he saw a small black velvet box lying on the bookshelf. She hadn’t found it like he had planned. She hadn’t looked for it.

He could hear the box giggle at his misery, mocking him. He knew it was all in his head but he couldn’t stand it anyway. So, as the anger boiled up in him again, he grabbed the box, stepped out on the balcony - and with a yell he threw it into the river down below.

Tags: @hellodarling1357

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

#cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian #acotar fanfiction #acotar #cassian angst #cassian fluff #modern!cassian au #firefighter!cassian au

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bettsfic · 3 months

Note

The cost of dreams

I decided a while ago that I would pursue publishing. But with constant critiques of my process and myself as a writer I feel like I’ve run my well dry. I no longer feel like I have a story to tell or that when I do come across something, I no longer feel that I’m good enough to tell that story. I have come to a point where I don’t write at all now.

I naturally have high standards for myself and as I worked to improve my craft and began to follow new authors who have gotten deals or have been agented, I’ve begun to feel like I’m not good enough. Like I’ll never get my work to be as good as my faves or that I’m too slow in my writing process, that’s why I’m not querying yet. Just spirals of thoughts that shoot at one’s confidence.

I felt like I was doing everything that a person who wants to be a professional writer should do. Have a set writing routine(write every week or have set word count goals every month), outline(not that there aren’t professional writers who are amazing pantsers but this was what I felt like I needed to do), and constantly pick at your story until it’s “perfect”.

I’m constantly worrying about what is my most authentic work, if all my work needs to have a big meeting, whether I should write contemporary, because a” good writer” can write in all genres.

I should just be able to handle the pressure and keep pushing. Writing isn’t always fun and if it’s my dream maybe there just need to be some sacrifices. Idk, maybe I’m just rambling.

I really don’t know what to do.

there are only two choices: you write, or you don't. if there's something you love as much as writing (not something you might love or have to search for, but some skill or occupation you enjoy just as much and gives you as much fulfillment), then go do that thing. you'll be able to write at the same time. maybe not as much, but you'll figure it out. if there's not, then the choice is made for you. you keep going, and all you can do is try not to look too far ahead. just look at the words as they arrive on the page and try to forget the big picture.

also, i don't know very many writers who publish in multiple genres. i don't even know very many writers who create narrators who aren't just self-inserts. most writers just write the same thing over and over again and package it in different ways. and if people like it, they keep selling it. remember that when you publish, you're creating a product to be sold. publication is a small thing that seems bigger than it is; the work is always what's important. finding joy in the craft is what's important. if you've lost that, your job is only to find it again. it can be your sole occupation, what you devote every second of your life to. there are few things greater than the pursuit of self-joy.

i'm sorry you're feeling this way though. i feel the same thing about 50% of the time, sometimes for months on end and sometimes just briefly. all the writers you're seeing with all their successes feel it too. i used to think there were a lot of things i could do with my life, and that if i put my mind to it, i could do anything. but the truth is that i can be okay at a lot of things that make me feel mildly accomplished, or i can try to be exceptional at one and find meaning in it.

but if none of this tracks, go read the books you're seeing deals for. read the book you're most envious of and see how bad it is. maybe not objectively, i mean it's probably decent, but i guarantee it will be flawed. or boring. or poorly written. or it may make you go, "how did this get published?" or, "i could do this better." most of this feeling you're having is fear that you're not good enough, and the way to face that fear is to read stuff that sucks. one of two things will happen: you'll feel better about yourself, or you'll find a book good enough to teach you something new. as your writing improves, as you acquire more accolades, the former becomes far greater than the latter, until one day you're dying to read writing that kicks your ass.

#writing advice

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ladykailitha · 10 months

Text

Royal Pain Part 3

Hello! I was going to post this yesterday but I thought I would be busier for WIP Wednesday which only two people participated in (sad author noises). And then I was waffling about putting up a meta about Steve’s parents (I ended up just saving it in my ‘bit of everything’ file). And then I realized it was super late and should put this up before I forget again.

This next part is for @weirdandabsurd42 who mentioned being excited to see Wayne and was thusly added (because I almost forgot to put him there, oops!), thereby creating one of my favorite lines I’ve ever written so...thanks!

Part 1 Part 2

***

Steve closed up his shop with a spring in his step and a grumpy Robin following behind.

“I can’t believe you are dragging me to a metal concert,” she groused as she locked the door behind her.

“You don’t have to come,” Steve said with a grin. “You can stay home on a Saturday, all by yourself with a pint of ice cream and the latest rom-com.”

Robin glared at him. “You know that I have to come with you so you don’t throw yourself at Eddie.”

Steve rolled his eyes as they walked to his car. “I’m not going to throw myself at him.”

Robin clutched her hands to her chest. “Oh that’s right I forgot! You already have!”

Steve glared at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” she asked, sliding into the car. “So what do you call offering to do his back tattoo?”

Steve already in the car, hit his head on his steering wheel. “Fucccckkkk.” He hit it over and over. “Why did I do that? Why did he agree? What am I going to do?”

Robin rubbed his back. “I think this is good thing for you. If you do well on his wings then you can start doing large pieces again. And if not, then you know it’s not something you can do and you’ll never do another one ever again.”

Steve sighed and wrapped his arms around the steering wheel. “I just wanted him to like me.”

“As person, as friend or as a boyfriend?” Robin asked seriously.

“All of the above?” Steve said raising his head to look at her. “Apparently the first one has been met. I’d take the second one, but I would love the last one more than anything.”

“Well this weekend will be a great opportunity to test the waters and see how he feels. Because even if he wants to be friends now, there’s still a chance he might want something more in the future. Just don’t bank on it.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.” He turned the key and pulled out of their parking lot.

“This would be a good time to get a couple of apprentices of your own,” she said after a few miles of silence. “You’re going to be spending a lot of hours on Eddie’s tattoo and you’re going to need someone to pick up the slack.”

Steve let out a shuddering sigh. “I know. I’ll start putting out feelers in the community and see what’s out there.”

Robin nodded. “We’ll put up filers at the local colleges and universities as well as putting it up on our website. I’ll talk to Will and see what he can come up with for both.”

“I know he’ll turn it down but offer him the usual rates for that sort of thing,” Steve agreed.

Robin laughed. “Fingers crossed he’ll accept this time.”

Eddie walked into his apartment and flopped face first into his couch. It had been such a whirlwind day. He wasn’t even sure he could function. That really was the downside to having a full time gig. Having all this free time.

Because yeah, Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin practiced nearly every day, and they were always coming up with new music, it just wasn’t the same as full time job. He didn’t have to do anything but show up and perform two nights a week. He could phone it in if he wanted.

Not that he would. Just...that he could. Which meant on days when his head was spiraling he could stew for days and never leave this couch.

He rolled over and pulled out his phone and dialed that familiar number.

“Munson residence!” came the gruff familiar voice.

“When are you going to at least get a caller ID, old man!” Eddie crowed.

“Shut it, boy,” Wayne growled. “I have one and it works just fine, the greeting is polite. Something I thought I raised you better in.”

Eddie giggled. “You love me.”

“Lord help me, but I do,” Wayne agreed. “You calling to talk or to listen?”

It was something that they had established long before Eddie left Hawkins to live on his own in the big city. Long before before Eddie took three years to graduate. Long before Al Munson abandoned his son on his baby brother’s door step for one last job. A job that would land him in prison. They had this code. Well, not really a code.

Just this thing between them. When Eddie had a rough day, he would call Wayne. But depending on the swirling of emotions going through his head, sometimes he just need to hear Wayne talk about his day. Gossip about his neighbors. Let the words flow over him until he felt at ease enough to go to sleep.

Other nights, though. The really bad ones. The ones where Eddie needed advice, he would talk. Sometimes Eddie would figure it out on his own, other times he would need Wayne to give him advice. This was one of those nights.

“Talk,” Eddie breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Wha’cha got, Ed?” Wayne asked gently.

And Eddie just let it all spill out. The tattoos, Steve, the band, feeling like they had stagnated.

“That’s a lot on your plate, boy,” Wayne said. “I can see why you wanted to share.”

Eddie let out a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know what to do about...well any of it to be honest.”

Wayne hummed. “When was the last time you went out and did something fun? Something for just yourself? And don’t say get a tattoo because that’s part of the tangled mess right now.”

Eddie blinked. When was the last time he had gone out for drinks, saw a movie, or even listened to music other than his own? “I’m not sure.”

“Well there you go,” Wayne said. “Creativity isn’t endless, boy. It’s a well and you’re going through a drought because you aren’t taking in any influences other then that feedback loop you’re on.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t have to be with your friends or even that boy you’ve got your eye on,” Wayne explained. “Just go out and have fun for yourself, ya hear?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, already feeling lighter. “Thanks, Uncle Wayne.”

“Rest well, okay?” Wayne murmured.

“You too.”

Jeff shook his head and rolled his eyes as he watched Eddie play with his rings, his knee bouncing up and down.

“Chill!” Gareth growled. “For fuck’s sake. We are professionals, we’ve done this twice a week for years. What’s got your panties in a twist this time?”

Jeff wagged his eyebrows. “This time pretty boy Steve Harrington is going to be in the crowd. With a girl no less.”

“She’s gay,” Eddie bit out. “A literal flaming lesbian. I just have to pass the best friend test with her. And considering she wanted me to get his number, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to work that hard.”

“I noticed you didn’t deny that you’re nervous about Pretty Boy being in the audience tonight,” Brian teased.

Eddie threw up his hands in the air and leapt to his feet. “All right, yeah. I’m nervous. Even when I did have boyfriends that would show up, I knew they liked the music. But I have no idea if Steve is just being nice or if he’s actually interested in hearing us play.”

Jeff cocked his head. “Yeah, I can see how you might be worried he won’t like it. But if he doesn’t, isn’t better you know that now, before your feelings get in too deep?”

Eddie’s lip quivered. “Yes. I mean, of course. But it still makes me feel like crawling out of my skin, okay?”

“Okay,” Gareth said. “So do what you do best and throw yourself into the music. Let it wash over you. You are a consummate performer. So kick ass.”

Eddie nodded and the nod slowly turned into a head bang with him playing air guitar. By the time the knock came to let them know it was time, Eddie was ready to go out there and rock.

Steve hadn’t been to The Nightmare Holes before. It hadn’t even been on his radar at all. That was so weird, especially since it was almost literally doors down from Robin and his favorite club.

Well that was until they were dropped off in front of a large concrete building that didn’t look like a bar from the outside at any stretch of the imagination. In fact the only thing that stuck out at all was a neon sign with a large arrow pointing to a set of stairs leading down proclaiming this to be The Nightmare Holes.

When they got into the bar, Steve realized that they were going to stick out like a sore thumb. With Steve looking prep and Robin looking punk, they were going to be murdered before Eddie even got on stage.

They were saved by a goddess if you believed Robin later. This pretty woman in a tank top and tight leather pants with four inch heeled boots came up to them.

“Hey!” she greeted warmly. “You must be Stevie, right?”

Steve nodded. “I’m afraid you’re one up on me. You know me, but I don’t know you.”

She smiled much to Robin’s chagrin. “I’m Miranda, girlfriend of the rhythm guitarist, Jeff Lawrence. He was worried that Eddie might have forgotten to tell you that wearing your usual clothes might make you stand out.” She waved her hands at them. Both Robin and Steve blushed. “You aren’t too bad actually. I was think you would be much worse the way Jeff was going on.”

“He only saw us at work,” Robin explained once she picked her jaw up off the ground. “He might have assumed that we wear that on the regular.”

Miranda nodded. “You can do this one of two ways. Stay dressed as you are as big middle finger to conformity no matter who’s conforming to what or you come with me and I can tweak your looks enough that you don’t stand out as much.”

Steve looked down at his clothes and tilted his head. “I think I’m going to give conformity the middle finger, thanks. I’ve been bucking what people think a tattoo artist should look like for years. I’m not going to change that for one little concert.”

Miranda nodded appreciatively. “Good on you. How about you, princess? You gonna give conformity the middle finger, too?”

Robin looked down at her clothes and blushed. “I think most metalheads would say a punk is being a step too far.”

Miranda laughed. “You’re probably right. Let’s go see if I can metal you up a bit.”

The two ladies came back a few minutes later. Robin still had her chunky jewelry and smudged makeup. But her billowy plaid pants were replaced by tight black jeans and instead of her vest, she wore a black jacket. Her hair had been tamed to a more relaxed style.

Steve grinned at her. “Looking good, Robs!”

Robin blushed. “I made a new friend.”

Miranda laughed. “Thanks for that.” She looked around and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Just a little secret between us new besties.”

Steve and Robin shared a glance, but both nodded.

“I don’t like metal music, either,” she whispered and winked. She turned around so she faced the stage. “But I’m here because my Jeffie does. So if you don’t like the music, because hey, you might not, don’t sweat it. They put on a good show and we’re here for them.” She jutted her chin up at the stage just as the house lights went down and the stage lights went up.

Standing the spotlight was Eddie. He wore a slashed up band shirt, tight jeans, and his leather jacket. A jacket Steve was about to learn wasn’t going to feature long. About twenty minutes into the show, the jacket was gone and Steve could see a peek of the new tattoo through the slits in the shirt.

He licked his lips slowly. Ooh...that was tantalizing. And then Eddie threw caution and his shirt to the wind and everyone saw Eddie’s new tattoo.

Robin turned to Steve wide-eyed. “Holy shit, it blends seamlessly into the rest of the tattoos, like it was there first.”

Miranda peered around Robin to look at Steve, too. “Yeah, man. You did a hell of a job. You should be proud of that.”

Steve was. No doubt. But he was prouder of the fact that Eddie wanted everyone to see it. It melted his heart and settled at the base of his spine, like he had drank a cup of hot chocolate all at once.

And that was when Steve realized he would do anything for Eddie. Even if that meant just being friends.

***

My new favorite line? * “Lord help me, but I do,” Wayne agreed. “You calling to talk or to listen?” * It’s just so...Wayne, you know?

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @aizawa-emma @yikes-a-bee @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @archermightbegay @hallucinatedjosten

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #tattoo artist steve #ladykailtiha writes

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laurenairay · 1 year

Text

I loved and I loved and I lost you - J. Hughes

Summary: Sometimes, relationships just end.

Warnings: Pure angst

Words: 1.7k

A/N: I don’t know even know what this is or where it came from, but here it is. Needed to get some angst off my chest in the healthiest way I could think of, and I feel so much better for it. Hopefully I’ll write something for Jack that’s not so angsty another time!

Title from Hurts Like Hell, by Fleurie

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Nothing.

You didn’t know when the end had started. There wasn’t anything in particular that had triggered this downfall, this spiral that you’d been floating on for as long as you could remember. Parties had lost their shimmer, all the laughter and conversations feeling stilted and fake. Nights out clubbing had lost all their energy, the loud music and bright lights grating like they never had before. Date nights were rare, as were the random romantic surprises he’d dotted around in the first year or so. Watching him play hockey felt like you were just going through the motions, barely able to feel anything when you would once scream with pride. Even nights in together were lacklustre, as infrequent as they were, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa like the two of you were flatmates rather than lovers.

Somewhere along the line, your relationship with Jack Hughes had drifted into nothingness, and you didn’t know how to salvage it. You longed for his laughter, his love, his touch, but you weren’t sure you knew how to ask anymore. Gone were the days where you felt cherished and adored, all replaced with brief kisses in passing and half-hearted words that felt rehearsed. Everything inside you that used to bubble over with excitement and joy and wonder felt like an aching chasm, empty and depleted, nothing left to recover. Like you were trying to grab at frayed strings to hold onto, but it all just flickered out into smoke between your fingers. You wondered if it was the same for Jack too, although he’d never said a word about the obvious diminishing of the passion between you two. It felt like you were a ghost, drifting along at his side, just simply existing in a world that used to make you feel like you were on fire.

It was almost a relief when Luke signed to the team, moving in with the two of you.

And it helped you see that it wasn’t all just in your head – Jack had changed. The apathy he’d been showing you for longer than you cared to admit was nowhere to be seen when he interacted with his brother. That laughter you fell in love with years ago filled your apartment where it had been so quiet before. The rapid conversation, filled with energy and jokes, once again lit up Jack’s body like a livewire, the two brothers making the apartment feel like a home once more. Even the smile that had made you weak at the knees when you first met him had made its way back – and you couldn’t remember when he had stopped smiling like that at you to begin with. You had no doubt that you held blame in this crumbling relationship too. In a way, the fact you hadn’t noticed how bad everything had gotten was damning in itself. Your own blindsided realisations had to have come from somewhere, and you knew in your heart that Jack wasn’t the only one at fault for letting things get to how they are. It felt like you were just moving along in a fog, the public kissing and hand-holding some kind of act, and you knew you shouldn’t feel so empty, not like this. But you couldn’t stop any of it, couldn’t vocalise any of it, thoughts feeling like they were in slow motion while the rest of the world raced by. How had things gone from so good to so bad so quietly?

There was no anger, no burning need to confront him, no reason to hate him to any degree. He’d never cheated, couldn’t even fathom the thought, and neither had you. There were no lingering arguments, no irritations, no hurtful reasons for you to leave, not really. There was just…nothing. Nothing left inside that held any meaning, not like it used to. You felt nothing when you once felt on top of the world, consumed with joy and love and laughter, and knowing the difference? Knowing how much you felt before compared to how little you felt now? That cut you deep most of all.

It was all of this that made your decision easier than you thought.

When you thought about a future with him, all you could picture was an endless tunnel, taking steps forward each day with an interminable road in front of you. No journey, no destination, just emptiness. A void, if you will, and if nothing else that scared you. What was there to stay for, if there was no future you could envision with him?

Why stay?

It was only once that thought passed your mind that you felt a clarity for the first time in a long time. A beacon of hope out of the darkness that had taken over you so completely. Leaving Jack was your answer.

Leaving Jack.

Leaving Jack?

A different kind of ache filled your chest as your decision settled into your bones, the deep unnerving sadness of a life together that could’ve been wonderful if it hadn’t fallen apart. A swirling pool of missed opportunities, a life you could’ve had, all washing away down the drain like it meant nothing at all when it had once meant everything to you. Because it had been your everything, once upon a time. You’d loved Jack with your whole heart, body, and soul…but those feelings were gone, that love was nowhere to be found. It had all left you – and now you had to leave too.

While Jack was away with the team, you packed your bags. Years together had accumulated a lot of shared belongings, and in what felt like a haze you picked up only the things that you knew Jack wouldn’t claim as his own. Years together melted down into a few bags, a couple of suitcases, and half a dozen boxes. Everything that had once symbolised your life together, reduced to essentially nothing. Nothing. Staring at the pile by the front door only made you feel even more hollow, like you were cracked open without anything holding back the aching in your chest, and it was all you could do to retreat back to the bedroom you’d once shared, tearing a page out of a notepad Jack always left on his nightstand.

It didn’t feel enough, writing him a goodbye letter. It didn’t feel enough and yet there was nothing more you could do in this moment. You couldn’t call him – you knew he would be too busy to answer. And if he did answer, what good would that do with him down in California with the team? He couldn’t come back and you couldn’t bear the thought of him asking you to stay. Or not asking you to stay at all. Texting him felt too bland, even if it would be as impassionate as you felt right now. A sentence typed out on a phone felt too impersonal for all the memories you had together, the ones that you’d been clinging to longer than you could remember. Not saying anything at all would just be cruel, and as much as your relationship had reduced to wisps of air, he deserved more than that.

That didn’t mean it hurt any less to write down your thoughts on the page. As you struggled to write out the words that’ll end everything, all the missing emotions slammed into your chest, both stabbing and twisting in sharp agony, and overwhelming you like a tidal wave, leaving you stranded in shock as you struggled to breathe. A high keening noise filled your ears, and it wasn’t until you gasped for a jagged breath that you realised the noise was clawing out from your own throat. Tears trailed down your cheeks, obscuring your vision as your writing continued on, shaky in this final act to sever what remained between the two of you. Tears. These tears were the first you’d shed, and they felt like a river cascading down your face, dripping off your chin, stinging your eyes. An unending river draining your emotions from your body for what felt like hours, until you were left gasping for breath with a red puffy face, washed out and dried out like a husk.

But it was done. With your final words to him, you let your heart start to let him go, head swimming with the dull throb of losing the boy that had been your rock for so long, your safe space. Where were you supposed to go from here? What were you supposed to do without him? It was overwhelming, finally knowing what it was like to be alone, having nothing to hold onto. But you’d been alone for a while, in truth, and it took the last of your willpower to leave the note on your pillow for him to find, for whenever he returned home. With one last look at the bed the two of you shared, the ache in your heart almost too much to bear, you left, walking away from the life you once shared with Jack into a future that you had no idea what to do with.

But it was for the best. It had to be.

Dear Jack,

If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. I’ve loved you, and I’ve lost you. I don’t know when but it hurts like hell. What we had has been over for a while and I don’t think either of us knew how to change that. So I’m changing that for us. Someone has to, before we wind up hating each other and I can’t bear the thought of poisoning the happy memories we shared. I know you must hate me right now, but in time you’ll thank me for walking away when both of us should’ve left a long time ago I hope you find someone who makes you as happy as we once were.

Take care of yourself x

Tagging a few who might like this: @wyattjohnston @starshine-hockey-girl @senditcolton @fallinallincurls @thebookofmags @sorryjustafangirl @jostyriggslover96

#my writing #jack hughes fic #angst angst angst #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fanfic #jack hughes imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic

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void-wolfie · 10 months

Text

family ties

summary: you decide it's finally come out to your parents.

pairing: Jenna Ortega x fem!Reader

tw: homophobia/biphobia, angst

words: 2.26k

a/n: it's my birthday, yay! here is a slightly birthday-themed post. this one hits me a bit hard but mostly because it largely stems from my own insecurities. anyways, y'all love your angst, so I figured I would supply.

*I am not paying for y'alls therapy, reader discretion is advised

You sat in your car outside the small two-story house. Its brown walls and open windows seemed to mock you, tall and daunting. Of course, it wasn’t the house that set your nerves on edge, your anxiety growing the longer you sat, it was what lay inside. Your parents.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jenna asked, watching you worriedly from the passenger seat.

No. You didn’t want to do this. You’d rather go back home and binge-watch TV with Jenna for the rest of the night. But what would life be if not for making hard choices?

“Not really. But I need to.” You grimaced, thinking about what horrors the night might bring.

“I’ll be right here the whole time,” Jenna interlocked your fingers with hers, doing her best to reassure you.

“Thank you, baby,” You brought her hand to your lips, kissing the back of her knuckles.

You knocked on the front door, pushing it open without waiting for anyone to answer it. It was your childhood home after all, and you knew your parents wouldn’t mind.

“Mom? Dad?” You stepped into the hallway, Jenna following just behind you.

“y/n?” Your mom appeared from around the corner, your dad just a few steps behind her.

“How are you, baby?” She held out her arms for a hug, which you fell into.

“I’m alright,”

“Good! Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom,”

She finally let you go, her eyes catching Jenna standing just over your shoulder. “Jenna, darling, so good to see you again!”

You let the two of them do their thing while you greeted your dad.

He pulled you in for a hug, patting you on the back, "Happy birthday, kiddo,"

"Thanks, Dad,"

Your dad was more on the quiet side, unlike your mom who was very much a social butterfly. He was usually the more relaxed one, which you often found comfort in.

The sound of conversation mixed with that of clinking silverware. Dinner had been served and everyone was catching up. Your parents were currently talking off your girlfriend’s ear, interrogating her on her up-and-coming projects.

But you weren't paying them any attention. Your eyes were dead set on the table, lost in your own world of thoughts. Would they be mad? Disappointed? Upset? Of course, they would be upset, this was going against everything they believed in... Would they call you names, or just shun you altogether? Would they throw you out? Cut you off? Not that you relied on them much anymore financially, but still, they were your parents...

"Earth to y/n, hello?" Your name being called brought you back from your spiraling thoughts. You looked up to find everyone looking in your direction. Jenna was shooting you a worried look, her hand intertwining with yours underneath the table.

"Oh, sorry," you apologized, hoping to brush off the awkwardness that clung to the air.

"Where'd you go, kiddo? We lost ya there for a second," your dad said with a chuckle, taking another bite of his food.

"Just thinking," you squeezed Jenna's hand, hoping your parents wouldn't notice how anxious you were. Your knee was bouncing up and down under the table, you nearly felt sick from all the worrying.

"Thinking about what?" Your mom asked.

Of course, she wanted to know. Ever so the nosy one, always needing to be in everyone's business.

"Um," should you tell them now? You looked at Jenna, wishing you could read her mind and know what she was thinking, but she only looked at you with that same curious glance.

Fuck it. What do you have to lose... besides everything... "Actually, I- um. There's something I want to tell you both..."

You could practically feel the blood pumping through your veins, your hands shaking violently under the table. Your heart felt like it might burst from how fast it was beating. It's now or never...

"Okay?" Your parents exchanged curious glances, the two of them wondering what could possibly be so important to have you acting so oddly.

Fuck. Where to start? What to say? Your mind was reeling. Everything felt like it was too much. But you had to do this, you couldn't avoid it forever.

You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your nerves, but that didn't stop the words from rushing out of your mouth, "Jenna and I are dating. We've been in a relationship for two years now."

The room was dead silent. The only noise coming from the rain outside and the air conditioner quietly whirring in the background.

Both you and Jenna were eyeing your parents, waiting for some kind of reaction.

"What?"

Both your parents wore blank expressions. You almost wished they weren't, that they'd have some kind of emotion on their face, that way you could tell if they were upset or not. But a blank face was debatably better than an angry one.

"I'm dating Jenna." You said it again, not nearly as fast this time and with a little more confidence.

More silence. It hung in the air like a thick smog, suffocating you as it squeezed the breath from your lungs. The longer you had to wait the less you could sit still, nearly shaking in your chair out of anticipation.

"Is this a joke?" Your mom’s voice held a dangerous tone, one you'd learned meant trouble over the years.

"No." You made sure to keep your voice flat, hiding how you truly felt inside.

You knew what was coming. Despite your hopes that they might actually care, that they might actually love you, you knew the truth. Your parents would never accept someone like you as their daughter. You would've been better off if you'd told them you were a murderer.

"Get out." Your mother refused to meet your eyes, staring down at her plate instead. She had said it quietly and calmly, but you could see past that cool exterior, you could see the storm raging inside. She was furious.

"What?" Jenna spoke up, looking between your mother and father.

She couldn’t believe it. Your parents had always been so welcoming, so warm to her. You had always acted like such a happy family, and she was just going to kick you out?

Your mom’s eyes snapped up, glaring daggers at Jenna, "I said. Get. Out."

You could feel the tension in the air, thick as it filled up the room. Time to go.

"Come on, Jenna." You stood up, hoping you could pull Jenna from the house before things got too ugly, "If they don't love me for me, that's fine."

You noticed your father wince at the comment, his gaze dropping to the ground. Part of you wondered if he shared your mother's beliefs, if he hated you as well. He has always been the more levelheaded one, maybe there was hope for him.

"No." Jenna stood up, her eyes were still trained on your mother with a fury like you'd never seen before.

"Jenna, don't." You tried to stop her, but you could tell from the determined look on her face she didn't care.

"Are you really that shallow? You'll shun your daughter completely, all because of who she loves?"

"I'll not have a daughter who's a-"

"Who's a what? Say it," Jenna was challenging her now, daring her to say that forbidden word.

"You're a disgrace, you know that?" Your moms’ eyes darted over to you, "It's a sin and you're going to hell."

You scoffed, trying to act strong despite the tears in your eyes and the ache in your chest, "that’s fine, as long as I don't have to hear your bigoted comments for the rest of eternity."

Your mom shot up from the table, her chair sliding backward across the tile. Despite the look of rage, her eyes were watering as well, "How could you do this to me? To us?!"

"Do this to you...? Do you really think I started dating her because I wanted to hurt you?" Your vision was blurred from the tears silently streaming down your face. Your hands clenched as you tried to bottle up your rampant emotions. Everything was going to shit.

"Are you? Because from here, that's exactly what it looks like-"

"No! I would never try and hurt you. You told me to find someone that makes me happy, she makes me happy!"

"I said go find a nice boy to make you happy! Not to go practice sacrilege!”

"Are you insane? Do you even hear yourself?" Jenna jumped in, standing in front of you protectively.

You pulled Jenna back beside you, taking a step closer to your mother, "Let me spell it out for you. I'm bisexual. It's not something I can choose. It's who I am, it's in my DNA. I love Jenna and that's not changing any time soon. And I love you, you’re my mom, you raised me and cared for me, and taught me everything I know. But a real mother wouldn't disown me for being me."

It all happened so fast. Before you even knew what was happening you were on the floor, a red handprint staining your cheek.

You were in shock. Your hand cupping the forming red mark. She slapped you. She actually slapped you...

When you finally focused back on the situation, Jenna was kneeling in front of you. Her eyes were swimming with so many different emotions, but you couldn't miss her little concerned pout. You melted into her hands, how they cupped your face so gently as she examined the mark.

At the flip of a switch, her face contorted. What once was full of worry and concern had been taken over by hate and rage. It scared you.

Jenna spun around, wildly flinging insults at your mother. A shouting match had started, but you weren’t listening. All you could see was the image of your mother slapping you, repeating in your head over and over. Her face was full of so much hate and anger. How could someone who was supposed to love you do something so horrid?

You stood up, shaking off the shock and your spiraling thoughts.

“We’re leaving.” You stated simply, interrupting their screaming. You grabbed Jenna’s hand, lacing your fingers together as you pulled her towards the door with you.

You stood in the doorway, a nagging feeling sitting in the pit of your gut. You had more you wanted to say, but should you? Your mother made it more than clear she wasn’t willing to listen, that she was more than fine abandoning you.

You pushed yourself out the door without another word, walking through the rain. You handed Jenna the car keys, silently asking her to drive home. She took them without saying anything, understanding what you were asking.

Neither you nor Jenna said anything as you got into the car, the two of you still comprehending the nightmare that had just happened.

"Please take me home," you asked softly, ignoring the tears falling down your face.

You had been in the shower for over an hour now. It wasn’t abnormal for you to take long showers, but never this long. Jenna was worried.

The warm water had long since turned cold, leaving you shivering on the tile floor. Your head was buried in your arms, your knees pulled up to your chest. The sound of the water running effectively drowning out the sounds of your sobs.

You were heartbroken.

Your whole life there was this belief that your family would love you no matter what, that they would accept you for who you were. It’s still true, but after the scene at your parent’s house… your idea of family had been fundamentally shifted. Your parents weren’t your family anymore.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, “You alright in there, baby?” Jenna’s voice echoed throughout the bathroom.

You took a deep breath, trying to stop the crying, “Fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Your voice came out shaky and hoarse. Jenna could tell you’d been crying from the other side of the door; if your voice hadn’t given it away the sound of you sobbing when she opened the door would have been.

Jenna wanted nothing more than to hug you tight, kiss your forehead and wipe away the tears. But she knew you needed some space. She closed the bathroom door and waited back on your bed, her patience wearing thin as worry settled in.

The minute you were out of the shower and done changing, you could see it. You looked like a mess. Bloodshot eyes stared back at you in the mirror. Your nose and cheeks were red from all the crying. Your chest ached and your throat felt like it was on fire.

The second you were out of the bathroom Jenna was already staring at you. The way you looked so hurt, eyes bloodshot and shoulders slumped, it broke her heart. You deserved better.

You didn’t say anything, just walking up to her silently and falling into her arms. You were fresh out of tears, with nothing left to give. You just wanted the pain to go away.

Jenna pulled you onto the bed with her, letting you cuddle up into her arms. It wasn’t long before you were asleep, the exhaustion from the day having worn you out. Jenna held you a little bit tighter against her chest before falling asleep herself. She silently hoped that you knew, even if your parents didn’t, she loved you more than she would ever be able to articulate.

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x gn!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #void-wolfie

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