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#this is different from what i was venting about last night...if its not one thing its another. fun
dimepdf · 1 year
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Can you write more Dilf!Toji please? 😭 I really appreciate your writing 🫶🏽
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★  𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐘. + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎
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masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. you come around and make Toji so tempted, no matter what broad he's bagging all he can think about is you: his fucking nanny .
─── ☆ notes. number one dilf toji defender here, i’m in my Anderson Paak phase as well as i’ve sadly (i know im disappointed too) fallen for a man to the point where this boy has invaded my DREAMS y’all…this is embarrassing and this fic is me coping with having an actual crush so i give you full permission to call me a simp over this .
─── ☆ length. 2.6k (23 mins) .
─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, nanny au, dilf!toji, angsty start, fluff, minor character death, hints of depression, hookups, pining, black coded reader, you got brotha STARVING, megumi and tsumiki are toddlers in this, someone give toji a hug, vent-fic, hurt/comfort, age gap, height difference, it's always Gojo’ fault, masturbation, jealousy | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍
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Toji would say that after becoming a parent, he could read body language pretty well. Maybe it was just part of being a single parent and having to detect when your toddlers were sprouting nonsense just to stay up later knowing it was bedtime. 
From the times he believed that his little Megumi was being the perfect angel and finally grew out of his tantrum phase. 
Only to turn his back and realize that he had used craft scissors to chop a chunk out of Tsumiki’s hair and was playing nice to soften his punishment, to school beatdowns and playing dumb, Toji had decided he was just a master at decoding anyone’s bullshit.
Everyone except for his own that is.
Being a single parent came with its perks, Toji loved his two little demons, and it sort of helped that Tsumiki made the most of her mother's common sense.
But dealing with his ex-wife's abrupt death, being sprung into the life of lone fatherhood, and being a successful businessman were starting to take their toll on him.
His friends were not much help. Sure, Gojo did all he could to be seen as the cool uncle, but leaving his two hyper children with a man that refused to say no to anything that they asked was like signing his children up for their possible deaths.
Geto wasn’t much better, having his own marriage and kids. You would think that the father would grow to have a bit more compassion for the children's safety. Yet every time Tsumiki and Megumi visited their brass uncle, they would always come home with new scars sprouting about how they were practicing wrestling moves with their cousins for the last ice pop.
Waking up to something different, never being able to just fill in the gaps with a routine was starting to become a bit stressful. 
Not to mention going to work and having to push himself to his limits, knowing that just because he was friends and business partners with Nanami didn't mean he'd be lenient with him. 
All paired with the weight of some bold secretary that he had a one-night stand and never got the clue that every time he would brush her off for paperwork didn't mean he was singling her to cling onto him more. It was bad business hooking up with one of his employees Toji knows.
If anything, the woman had taken him at just the right opportunity when he was at the lowest moment of his life. Right after his wife's death, he had fallen behind on just about everything to the point where he would lean into any sense of comfort that reminded him of that faded memory he wanted to keep dear to his heart. 
So there he was after hours with a woman's thigh over his shoulder moaning out his name as if it were a prayer, and he had realized that right after it was all a mistake, which was kind of a shitty thing to note as she was standing right in front of him pulling up her panties. 
He just can't do it again, out of respect for her but also for himself. The last thing he wanted to do was entangle himself in another situation that would take more time away from his kids.
Not that he considered the woman to be pestering, but he wasn't a teenager anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was handle his stress by sticking his dick in the first woman he considered attractive, all because he had trouble bottling up all his emotions.
Toji's hatred for all the lingering eyes in the office—sure, Toji thought himself handsome—the proof was the number of relationships he had in his younger days.
There was something wrong with people finding him attractive and wanting something from him when he genuinely felt like his entire world would collapse on top of him if he stopped moving. 
As if he stopped overworking himself that he would be like one of those sharks that had to keep swimming or else they would fucking die. It was ironic how stupidly afraid Toji was at the thought of leaving his children alone in the world with both of their parents gone.
It was fear, having that parental fear for something every waking morning worrying every second that something could happen to children all because he could notice one little thing or he hadn't paid enough attention. 
Sure, he was being a hovering parent—call it what you want—but Toji would rather be that than a father who would spend his free time sleeping around with several different women. Never wanting to have to explain to his children that none of the women he slept with could compare to the relationship he had with their mother.
So he didn't. No more attachments. No more romantic anything, let alone bringing a woman home.
It was the secretary's fault. She was a beautiful woman with long hair and a cute, petite figure, and she allowed him to fold in any position that he wanted against his desk.
All that just makes Toji feel more guilty, or more worried, as if this choppy relationship that he had with this poor woman, whose name he would always forget yet who would practically scream out his, would just blow up in his face.
What if she wanted something more serious?
What if Nanami found out that he was banging one of the employees?
What if he got fired because he couldn't keep it in his pants?
What if he lost his main source of income and couldn't provide for his kids anymore?
All of those worries were just added stress, crowding his plate until he couldn't carry it anymore, and after a few years of bottling it all up until he couldn't anymore, he finally decided to reach out for help. 
Little by little, of course, he would actually tell his friends how he felt when they asked, spend more time letting Megumi and Tsumiki be actual kids, letting them hang out with their friends, and worry just a bit less whenever they would visit their younger cousins at Geto’s place. 
He had even accepted Gojo’s idea of hiring a babysitter, but of course, the blonde’s intentions for such an offer were dual-minded. 
Thriving on about how he should hire some smoking hot lady, to have some eye candy around the house to fuel some busting fantasies to break his dry spell. 
Toji was quick to dismiss that idea for a variety of reasons, one of which was that he had hired you. You were a clumsy young girl who just needed a side hustle to pay for some of your college classes, accepting his twenty-dollar an hour ad despite the fact that it was the lowest pay sandwiched between the obviously more wealthy families looking for someone to look after their kids so they didn't have to on the boogie nanny seeking website. 
At first, the idea of leaving his children alone with you was a terrifying thought. The impression that you gave him during the interview was more than enough to fuel his worries after seeing you stumble out of your car and get your jacket in the car door, dense to the point where you had face-planted into his back during the house tour, too busy gawking at the many bathrooms to pay attention to where you were supposed to be walking. 
Your genuinely bubbly personality around the children is what saved you from going broke. Sure,  you were a little naive when it came to some of the things that you lied about on your resume, but the thing that Toji liked about you was that you just seemed to handle yourself so well despite not knowing at all what you were doing. If anything, he admired how you had managed to keep yourself alive despite running through life so differently than he would.
You were quick to gain his trust, in fact, quicker than anyone has ever in his entire life. He felt his feelings were mostly biased given that his kids had practically attached themselves to you throughout the months of being their nanny. 
It was only natural for them to grow so close to you with how much Toji had to work, but what Toji hadn't expected was for you two to form some sort of friendship as well.
It started off pretty odd, with Toji coming home to find you have the kids tucked in for the night and spread out on his living room couch watching so many movies on his HBO Max account that he forgot he even had. 
You were a pretty chatty person, and he had learned to notice how you could go from being so silent that he would forget you were even there to the point of talking about anything within your wide range of interests that Toji had never heard of.
In all honesty, Toji loved that about you—how you could introduce him to new things that he hadn't gotten around to understanding all because he was too busy being a workaholic.
His new favorite part about coming home was just to talk to you, or at least listen to your rant about some silly little show, or make him listen to one of the new songs you had become obsessed with.
And before he had known it, Toji actually felt warmth in his household again, all because of some kind-hearted nanny who had managed to break down all of his walls.
It was almost strange how someone so opposite to him, someone so minor, could have managed to make his life change for the better.
And then it got a little bit more strange. 
Life had been going so well for him that sometimes those days would just blend together. There would be times at work when he had wished for his entire office building to crumble to dust just so he could get out of work early for the day, but even after those shifts, he would come home to you, and suddenly that swallowing dark hole in his chest would actually start to feel whole again.
He had just gotten so used to using you as his personal happiness dispenser that when you managed to wiggle into his life more and more, he even introduced you to his main group of friends. His mood was ruined when he saw Gojo's eyes practically glow at the sight of you during Tsumiki's birthday party. 
Toji hadn't understood why it had bothered him so much, seeing his best friend become too chummy with you.
If anything, knowing Gojo’s history of charming the pants off of any attractive woman, he could have prepared him enough to know that you too would soon enough fall victim to at least one of his friends, but there was just something so uncomfortable about hearing Gojo drown you in compliments.
It was as if something had clicked, and suddenly you weren't just the full-time nanny anymore, but the beautiful young woman that he had suddenly noticed was so pretty, and that alone made Toji feel like such a fucking creep. 
Maybe it was because you were closer to his children's age than his or the fact that every time you would change your hair every other month, he would imagine his hands tangled in your braids, how he would think about holding the locs away from your face to get a better view of you between his legs. 
It was all so fucked, your now normal image of him all screwed over all because of Gojo and his ability to turn anything sexual. Toji had felt just a little better pinning the blame on someone else, thinking that maybe it would ease his guilt for getting so hard thinking about you late at night.
You would be just downstairs asleep in the living while he laid down on the other side of the house in the comfort of his four walls, pressing his face into his pillows with an erection hard enough that he was convinced it was harder than bricks. 
For the first time in a while, it wasn't anything work-related taking up all of his attention, but instead the fucking nanny he hired. The pretty nanny who was in college, who was closer to his children's age than his, the nanny with the glossed lips that he had to hold back from wanting to taste which flavor it was she was wearing now. 
His lovely nanny, whom he wished to strip naked piece by piece to pay close attention to every dip and curve in her figure. He wanted you naked as the day you were born, spread across his mattress, lips parting only to say his name and his name only. 
It was a dangerous thought, one that often led to Toji revealing himself with a rabbit hole of thoughts about you in any situation his mind could imagine.
It was even more crude—wrapping his hand around his dick and thrusting his hips up into his hand, thinking about the same woman who was just a staircase away, masturbating as if he were a teenage boy and not a man with two kids asleep in just the room across the hall.
He blamed everything on Gojo, it was all his fault that you have suddenly seemed so fucking unforgettable. How could you suddenly be all he could think about with all his sanity thrown out the window for some nanny?
His pretty nanny.
You were so beautiful, with full lips, a dark complexion, and brown eyes that managed to look so appealing despite being so boring. Your expressions make you so easy to read. 
The way your brows would pull together whenever you were confused, how the ends of your lips would quirk with every joke, how your personality managed to be so welcoming.
You stood tall, your head just below his shoulder, average height but so short in comparison to his towering figure.
How bad Toji just wanted to scoop you up into his arms and bury his face into your neck, the same neck where he wanted to leave as many marks as he possibly could against your brown skin.
The thought doesn't help Toji’s aching dick at all. How bad he wants to suck little marks into your soft flesh, leaving dark little marks wherever he can against your body.
It was a possessive thought, having you covered in his teeth marks and love bites, waiting for the next guy to dare to even make a move on you. 
He wonders how soft your thighs feel and how nice they would feel wrapped around his waist. He lets his hand do the majority of the work, his fingers rough around his length, causing a groan from the friction. 
Toji’s fantasies about you play out quite beautifully in his mind, so perfectly, in fact, that he struggles to keep himself silent. 
Which was a new thing for him given that Toji wasn’t usually very vocal during sex, not even the best blowjob that he had ever gotten would he give anything but a few grunts yet there he was fisting into his fist to keep himself from whimpering out so pathetically. 
Humping his hand to the point where he had to cover his own mouth, he finished all over himself, strings of cum shooting all over his chest to his shirt. He was too caught up in his own bliss to care about the sad mess he created. 
Toji thought you were beautiful. He thought you were so perfect to the point where even the simple thought of you made him so happy.
You, his nanny, were the realization that settled in his mind after his high. 
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AITA for dropping a friend after she was groomed again?
my (16f) best friend (15f) and I have been best friends for about 3 years. Recently, she has been dating older and older guys. It started as a 17 year old, which is not that bad but it slowly got worse. Then she started dating a 18 year old online, then a 19 year old marine. Then a 21 year old online. Each time I told her the same thing.
We have both been groomed in the passes, we both know how bad it is. Stop talking to older men online, every time you end up relapsing and getting hurt.
Everytime she says she is old enough to be with older men and that this one is different.
It is so hard. I would tell someone but when I discussed going to a school counselor she told me she would kill herself. I didn't bring it up again.
I only barely kept her from meeting up with a frat bro in his 20s.
Everytime it ends the same, she starts sexting with them, they send pics, she gets asked for pics and refuses and they dump her, then next month she is coming to terms with being groomed.
I don't know what I could have done. Any even hint of going to someone results in her threatening to kill herself.
Its so draining. It affects me too, I have dealt with this trauma and having it spit at me every month is awful I failed my first test because she kept me up all night venting about how she relapsed and sending me pictures even when I told her I struggled with it and it's triggering.
This last time I was over it. She started dating a guy who was 26. She is 15. I told her was the same as everyone else. She told me I'm just jealous because older men don't like to date me.
It ended the same. He dumped her when she wouldnt send nudes or meet up irl.
The month after she came crying to me at school. She said she didn't know why this kept happening. She didn't know why these guys were always creeps.
I told her that she kept putting herself in this position. She would always assume they loved her. I told her I can't keep doing this and that I can't stay friends with someone who cares so little about the real world.
She called me a jealous fat bitch who can't pull.
I told her that she only pulls pedophiles which is not something to brag about.
She has not talked to me for 2 weeks.
Our mutual friend told me that she has been saying I'm jealous of her looks and charm.
What the fuck do I do.
A lot of my friends say I'm an asshole for blaming her for her kinks. I told them she shouldn't act on kinks that involve pedophiles. She is also 15 and maybe shouldn't be thinking about kinks at all
AITA?
What are these acronyms?
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call-me-copycat · 13 days
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Hey! Idk if you still write fics but if you do. Could you please write about Aizawa having a daughter who selfharms, but he didnt knew until one day he entered to her room and find her doing it?.
Its kind of an emergency so i would really apreciate if you wrote it 🩷
Hi! I'm really sorry for the slight delay, I've been bouncing between school during the day and work at night, so even though I saw your ask I couldn't physically write it due to exhaustion (⑉ ᷄ ⌳ ᷅ )ก
That being said, even though it's been a couple days I didn't want to leave you hanging! I got some rest and wrote as much as I could in one sitting!
I really do hope this helps, feel free to message me anytime if you need to vent or such ₍ᐢ‥ᐢ₎ ♡
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What I Owe To You
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*I listened to this on loop while writing*
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➤ Welcome - Introduction and Request Rules (Requests are open + Some info about me)
▶ Characters: Just Aizawa and Reader
▶ Genre: Comfort + Slight Angst
▶ Summary: As the ask states
▶ Word Count: 2925
▶ WARNINGS:
- Self harm
- Depressive thoughts
- Overall lots of angst
Please don't read if any of this makes you uncomfortable!
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The cycle always went on.
At this point you were afraid of what was to happen next. At the same time, the thought was pushed away by the constant emptiness that filled you through. The sticky tar-like hands of this unknown void ravaged your mind, shredding it apart piece by piece.
Leaving you constantly feeling... Hollow. It was difficult to describe it as anything else.
You walked to school everyday and went to your classes. You sat next to your classmates as they animatedly discussed the usual topics of training and what to do after school.
On the weekends, you slept. Sometimes went shopping with your father. Maybe you'd get visited by your Uncle Mic, other times you'd train.
There wasn't much variety. It was suffocating. These feelings had no place to spawn from, as your life wasn't much different from everyone else's. There didn't seem to be a reason, for all you knew. But it was there, no doubt about it. It made itself known.
-
It was a usual Friday night. You had completed all your classes and had the weekend to yourself. It felt pointless, there wasn't much to do. Nor did you have the energy for anything either.
Sitting in your room, you jumped a bit at the unexpected knock on your door. You had been gazing out of your bedroom window for who knew how long, zoning out as far from your mind as you could. You vaguely remembered that a storm was to come soon.
"Dinnertime. Wash up and come to the table when you're ready."
Your father's voice never failed to comfort you, and in a way he was one of the main beacons of light in your dark and foggy world. An unchanging pillar of strength, he held on tight to your cracking mind.
Slowly, tiredly, you made your way out of your room. As you passed by Aizawa, he couldn't help but sigh in response to your barely-there smile at him. You had a habit of doing that, possibly to keep him from worrying.
Truth be told, Aizawa always worried about you. Ever since you were young, he was on guard every second, trying to keep you from falling and scraping your knees, to keeping an eye on you during training.
Though recently, he had noticed some... changes. Your eyes began to grow dull, and their usual energy faded with each passing day. The bags under them grew more prominent, and in turn your hair began to be left more of a mess. Slowly, little things were building up, and he couldn't tell why.
It worried him sick, since the only thing he had in mind for you was for you to be happy and safe. Seeing your condition worsen with each day made him nauseous, as it was the last place he wanted you to be at. He wanted to help you, the best he could.
So that's why before you even sat down to eat, he began to question you.
"Are you feeling okay, [Name?]"
Truth be told, he knew you'd say you were fine. He just needed to soothe his frantic mind.
Looking up at him, you gave him another smile. He couldn't help but grimace at how forced it looked.
"Oh, of course I'm fine." You clenched your jaw at how unenthusiastic you sounded, but it would have to do.
Aizawa only felt uneasy. Too many things added up and gave him a weird taste in his mouth to leave it at that.
"Look at me, [Name]."
The unusual tone of his voice brought you out of your foggy state of mind as you looked up at him fully. Once you met his eyes properly, Aizawa took notice of the... Saddened expression that filled yours. He knew someone was wrong, but it was being covered.
"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"
He needed to know if you trusted him. He needed to be the one person you trusted in life. This was all or nothing.
Your eyes went wide for a split second as your breath hitched, but you quickly shook it off. His bluntness was what caught you off guard.
"Really, it's nothing Papa." You tried smiling once more, raising a hand out a bit in an attempt to calm him. You knew it was a pitiful attempt, but you didn't have the energy to make it convincing. Alongside that, Aizawa was generally a very tough man to fool. It'd take a lot to actually pass anything through him.
Aizawa's eyes narrowed in response as he saw your reaction to his question. Your body language indicated how uncomfortable you were, and he didn't want to push you too far past your limits.
It was tough, but he decided to give it up in the end and hope you'd come to him whenever you were ready. You always shared everything with him since you were young, and he had gained a large amount of trust over you in turn.
-
Dinner was eaten in silence, and as soon as it was over you bid your father a goodnight before heading off to your room.
Aizawa stayed seated at the kitchen table as he watched you walk off, wondering what was happening to his child. He couldn't bear the thought of you struggling with something alone. He had been there your whole life to help you get through everything you passed by, so why weren't you letting him in now?
After much deliberation, he got up from his spot at the table and made his way to your room. He needed to finish this conversation, and he needed to know what was going on. His mind had been sprawled all over the place for the last few months, as he'd been observant enough to catch on to the smallest changes you went through. Seeing you go into such a decline was like a punch straight through to his heart.
His mind was in such a haze that he threw open your door without second thought, seeing as he normally takes care to knock first. The room was pitch black, but based off of the startled gasp that came from you and the clanging of metal hitting the ground, Aizawa felt his blood freeze in fear.
Quickly flipping on the light, his eyes widened at the site that laid in front of him. You didn't have any time to cover yourself, so Aizawa saw it all.
The bandages laid out.
The blades.
And most importantly, your cuts.
You felt your eyes water at the expression on your father's face, guilt and self-loathing bleeding into your mind.
Aizawa was stuck in shock for a moment. It felt as though all time was warped as he saw what was his worst nightmare laid out in front of him. He was quickly snapped back to reality at the sound of your sobs that echoed throughout the room.
He swiftly made his way towards you from across your room, and in one smooth movement he pulled you into his lap, hugging you tightly to himself.
He had known something was wrong, felt it deep in his heart, but he didn't realize how serious it truly was. His heart ached for you as his grip only grew tighter around you. Aizawa didn't want you to hide these things from him, and in a way, he felt disappointed at your lack of trust towards him. All his disappointment and anger quickly dissipated, leaving him to face his worry and guilt.
"[Name]..."
He could hear his voice tremble, but couldn't care less.
"Why? I-" He was stuck in shock. It was something he never thought he'd run into. Looking down at you, his worry for your well-being grew tenfold, but he gathered the willpower to overcome the sudden surge of emotions he was feeling.
"I want... I need you to promise me you'll never harm yourself again," He looked down at you, cradled in his arms, "I don't think I could ever bear the pain of losing you..."
He knew this was only one step of many. That it doesn't start like this. That it grows. Although he couldn't pinpoint what might've started it, he at least needed to confirm you'd be safe. He just needed this one thing to give his already worn heart a little bit of ease.
You couldn't help but recoil a bit, bringing your arms to hug your torso. As much as you wanted it to be that easy, as much as you wanted to tell your father 'okay!', you knew it wouldn't be done so fast. And in a way, that only worsened your resentment towards yourself.
"I... don't know if I can.." You avoided his gaze as you faced the ground, hating how saddened he was and much rather preferring him to be angry. It'd lessen the guilt a little bit, at least.
He needed something.
"[Name]... I can't make you promise me you'll be able to stop right away. That's foolish to believe." Heaving out a sigh, he put a hand atop your head. "But I just need you to know that I'd be devastated without you. I can truly say from the bottom of my heart, I'd never be able to live a normal life again if you were gone."
Looking up into his eyes, you saw a heaviness that swirled in them. This was coming from a man who had seen it all - numerous deaths in ways he wished he could unsee.
You hadn't realized just how much you meant to him. It never popped up in your head. The all-consuming void had blocked any sensibility or logic from getting to you, and the more you thought about it, the more you realized just how much it would affect your father. He always told you your pain was his to deal with too.
Settling your face in the crook of his neck so you wouldn't have to see the hurt in his eyes anymore, you tried your best to explain everything to him.
"It feels..." Closing your eyes, you tried imagining everything that has built up. "Like I'm running a race, yet getting nowhere. That everything I do has no effect... I'm tired."
You stayed silent as you felt your father put a hand on the back of your head. Aizawa watched as you carefully pieced your words together, and saw the true effect of everything you had been dealing with. His heart ached to relieve you of your pain, his fatherly instincts screaming at him to help save his child.
"[Name]." His grip on you tightened ever so slightly. "I want you to get this through your head, alright? You are not a failure. You're going through a lot, and it's weighing down on you. And I understand you're under a lot of pressure, but-"
Aizawa was cut off when he began to choke up, the thoughts too much for him to bear. As much as he tried to keep his composure for your sake, his walls were beginning to crack.
You heard your father pause and looked up at him, only to be brought into shock at the sight of your normally stoic father tearing up. You felt ashamed for forgetting about his pain, tearing up once more at the guilt that ravaged your mind.
He could see how surprised you were, but he couldn't help it. He always struggled to contain himself when it came to you, especially whenever you were hurt. He hated seeing you in pain.
"Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I lost you? I- ... [Name], if anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do anymore, I'd-"
He truly couldn't help it. All that Aizawa wanted was for you to be happy. Seeing you in so much agony... seeing your only escape being to harm yourself... He felt that he lost a part of himself.
You cried out loud this time, seeing your father so torn over you. It was heartbreaking, but oddly soothing at the same time. To have someone to deeply care about you that they felt intertwined with you. He cared.
You could feel his arms engulfing you, and you allowed yourself to be swallowed in his hold. It was warm and soothing... A stark contrast to the cold you constantly couldn't escape from.
As he held you, Aizawa couldn't help but be more shocked at himself than anyone. He normally was able to easily retain his composure, so as he felt tears flowing down his face he couldn't help but stiffen. Quickly getting over it, he held you close. The room gradually began to get quieter, the both of your emotions slowing down.
You couldn't help but feel... Secure. It was a stark contrast to the constant void you felt. You felt... Warm.
Yeah, warm.
It was a nice feeling.
Closing your eyes, you finally allowed your body to relax. Aizawa rubbed your back as he gently rocked back and forth.
"I just want you to breath. Don't think about anything else."
Following his word, you kept your eyes closed and settled your breathing. You quickly noticed how much easier it was to think this way. Nothing else was getting in the way, no unwanted thoughts or fears, and you felt safe. Safe and comfortable.
The world around you normally was so chaotic. It seemed everyone was in a rush, always somewhere to be. You couldn't have time to yourself either, constantly getting pushed to and fro. There never seemed to be a place to stop. Nowhere to rest. An unchanging race.
But here you were. The world has stopped, giving you a break you so badly needed. You couldn't describe it, but such a simple hug from your father seemed to dull everything that pained you.
"I understand what it's like."
Aizawa would be lying if he said he was never in your place before. Too many nights he was kept up, worrying about working on himself. Scared of the changing future. Feeling like nothing was changing for him while the world moved on. It was isolating.
Over the years, he got better. The world's rush blurred to background noise, and he learned to appreciate his own speed in life. It was his own life he was living, after all.
Looking down at you, he saw a mirror image of himself.
"Y'know, it's not fair..." You looked up at him as he brushed away a lone tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You allow me to laugh with you in your happiest moments... So why do you lock me out when you're at your lowest?"
You had never heard it phrased like that before. You did enjoy having him around whenever you had something good to share. Whenever you were proud, or amazed, or just plain happy. But you understood, he wanted to be a part of it all. Every smile... And every tear.
Your voice couldn't find you, but Aizawa didn't mind. To you, he was always a hand outstretched. A guide to help you through the fog and the dark. It made the terrifying a little less daunting.
"Please talk to me when you can. Tell me whatever you'd like, I just want to know how you're feeling."
You nodded, looking at him directly. Your heart rate had gone down significantly, and you didn't know how much time had passed. If you listened carefully, you could hear the distance rumble of an oncoming storm, thunder booming on the horizon.
There was a pregnant pause before he started once more.
"Tomorrow, we'll need to get your injuries looked over-"
Seeing a look of fear cross your expression, he was quick to calm you.
"I'll be with you. The entire time. You won't have to deal with living life alone. I understand it's frightening to look at, but let me hold some of the weight you own."
You watched as Aizawa stretched out his hand, offering it to you. Looking at it, you thought back to all the times he'd helped you in the past. Every time he's offered his hand out to you.
All the times you were too scared to cross the road when you were little. Every time you felt too suffocated by the number of people surrounding you. Or even when it was just the two of you, silently walking home together in the warm afternoon sun.
He always offered you support, for every little thing life had to throw at you. Aizawa's expression softened when you gently put your hand in his, no hesitation in your movements.
Clasping his fingers over yours, you saw how your hands intertwined. And you realized, he was always there to take some of the pain from you - acting like he was a part of you.
"You get it now, huh?" Looking up into his eyes one more time, you thought you saw a sparkle in them. "Whenever you bring pain to yourself," He squeezed your hand a little tighter, "you're hurting me right alongside with you. I need you in one piece, kid."
You breathed out, everything a little clearer now. There was so much more to do. So much to go through. It was a formidable thought.
But as you looked up into your father's eyes and as you felt his hand in yours, you realized;
You weren't alone.
You really did owe him the world.
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During my lowest moments, Aizawa was always a huge character I relied on to get me through it. I will always write comfort for him to anyone who asks.
I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope things get just a little easier for you, you definitely deserve it (*´艸`)フフフッ♡
➜ Please let me know if I missed any warnings/triggers in the tags or in the opening!
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mymreaderlibrary · 4 months
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I need more old man yoai. Its just, it's good soup, ya know. I want them to get a house and adopt a teenage kid. Just family stuff ya know. Its good soup, ya know.
SORRY THE SOUP TOOK SO LONG, but I did my best to try and fulfill this ask. There were some changes to your idea but I hope it still works 😭
Old man yaoi pt 3 here we go
[long distance, weird fucky timeline, use of y/n, mention of the soap-cident except he’s fine because I said so, minor homophobia, some angst, an original character, and my adamance to be slow as fuck with romance].
[length: 2227 words]
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Getting to finally kiss each other didn't open the floodgates per say but it did give them enough respite that their "tenseness" subsided. The rest of the 141 were relieved that the pair had somehow righted their differences, even if they still didn't know what those differences were, and Soap congratulated them on "making up".
It was awkward for a bit and while it was nice knowing the feelings were recuperated neither knew what was too much or too little so they rarely made any advances. When they did finally feel confident enough, usually in complete privacy and far late into the night, it would be a lot of soft touches. Thumbs running over knuckles, shoulders bumping lightly together, maybe even a hug if they were feeling bold (though it was more like just leaning on each other as they never raised their arms higher than the hip). They kissed a good few times again but it was like a rare treat. 
Despite everything neither had actually been with another man before, y/n got close at a gay bar a while ago but a light shined directly into his eyes and he got a migraine that forced him to leave. The unfortunate side effect of previous head injuries. Meanwhile Price had casual relationships with women in the past but not men, however it's not like they lasted for too long anyways as his devotion to his work spared little room for it. So sue them if they didn't know what to do, this was all brand new and definitely badly timed.
They kept up in a pattern; mission, meetings, and then downtime. Complete a good weeks worth of work, discuss their next steps (and start on them), then pull out a drink and chat. Consider it just their luck that the night things finally felt like they were heating up, privacy was near guaranteed, and tomorrow posed no urgent challenge that Soap decided knocking wasn't necessary and stood there bewildered by the doorway till he caught their attention. Johnny was incredibly apologetic and promised not to tell anyone but the two older men decided it would be better to just come clean before something like that happened again. Laswell of course wasn't surprised, but Gaz and Ghost had a momentary pause that they quickly reassured wasn't from judging just surprise. Overall it went over smoothly and it had the added bonus of giving Price and y/n more alone time. 
(Note: however, the second it was clear to Soap he could freely chat about Price and y/n's relationship it became open season for the worst jokes imaginable. When Soap wasn't instantly flayed, the other guys would join in with a particular "dad joke collector" Ghost staking his claim in the torment). 
-
By the time y/n's work was over Price was hesitant to let him go, knowing they would not have this closeness again unless one of them gave up their current lifestyle. It was honestly a bit tempting, Price had spent about his whole life in the military and it wasn't like anyone could really judge a well seasoned man for retiring. But instead y/n gave him his phone number and the two split ways no matter how badly they yearned otherwise.
And that's how they stayed for the next couple of years, Price always calling from a burner and y/n being left to wait for him by the landline. Bi-monthly they would chat, y/n giving life updates and Price venting about how the 141 were going to give him a damn heart attack. Y/n got service dog, a great dane named Lucy who he couldn't help but boast about to the point the others wanted updates on her too. Price could sometimes hear her sniffing at the phone and was dying to see her in person. It relieved him to know y/n had someone (or something) there with him as the other man had admitted to feeling lonely at home. Still a big part of Price wished that someone could've been him. 
Over time Price reconsidered his stance on retirement with a series of back to back events being his solidifying his choice. It started off with a call from y/n, his family had come into town to visit after years of radio silence and at first it seemed to be going well. That was until his parents asked about his relationship. They sewed a lot of seeds of doubt, not privy to their son dating a male but also not believing it was serious enough to be real considering they never saw Price. His parents were happy to grind their heel into any anxieties their son had which ended up in a full blow up during his mother's birthday. Y/n ended up storming out after his mom made a show of mocking his relationship in front of extended family. He was humiliated that his parents could still get a rise out of him even in his old age. Price had gotten a call from y/n afterwards who sounded completely exhausted. Price desperately wanted to be there to comfort his lover but ultimately the only thing he could do was verbally console him. 
Within the same week Price began noticing a small shake to his hands. Nothing serious but still not something you'd want to see, especially as a sniper. He couldn't tell if it was age, an injury, or stress but it left him with an odd feeing in his stomach. Like his body was trying to tell him something. 
And a little while after that it seemed Soap decided to deliver on that heart attack joke. Out cold in a hospital bed with a list of injuries too long to name, the scotsman had everyone in a panic. Ghost in particular didn't take it well and, while he was good at being outwardly calm, anyone who knew the man proper could tell he was terrified. He just had this vague vacant look in his eye, it wasn't hard to determine he was probably disassociating. Gaz on the other hand tried to keep some semblance of positivity even if he was running on empty. Not the kind of peppy “everything is gonna be okay!” positivity but a rather light kind. The type where you try not to let your own doubt eat you upside by never verbally stating reality. He didn't want this to be the end so he wasn't about to act like it, but he was undoubtedly scared shitless.
Price had called y/n after the incident and it became his turn to be consoled. He wasn't a crier but he imagined if he was there would've been at least a few. He had dealt with shit like this before, but the secret was it never got easier you just got better at being quiet about it. He knew y/n understood that.
-
However by some grace of god Soap woke up. The man was shockingly resilient and not about to let himself get felled by just anything. The asshole was even joking within the first few minutes of consciousness much to Price's chagrin but Ghost and Gaz couldn't have been happier. Those two stayed with Soap for a while and Price was certain he heard scot getting bitched out from across the hall. Make no mistake, even while mad at him for being reckless they were glad to be ranting to his face rather than a casket. 
Y/n got another call after that, the bi-monthly quota quickly exceeded, to deliver the good news. The call was admittedly shorter than their usual but it left them both feeling far more hopeful than the last. When Price closed his burner he couldn't help but think about being there with y/n in person, getting to say these things to his face, even getting to hold him. He hadn't been kissed in years now and he yearned for a moment of peace like that especially after all that stress. A silent decision was made, a bit impulsively, but it was a long time coming. 
After Soap was back up and running the man started taking missions again, this time with an extra watchful eye from the team. But to everyone's surprise one person wouldn't be joining them. In an uncommonly personal meeting, Price announced his retirement to the rest of the 141. Soap had opposed in a panic thinking this was due to his accident, and while it might've inspired part of it, Price assured him this was something he had been thinking about for a while. He felt it was time and well... he had someone he knew was waiting for him. 
The meeting, while bittersweet, left off on a note of pride. Not everyone can say they retired by will and especially not a man of Price's caliber. The team were happy for him but also demanded he try to stay in touch even if only slightly. With a hug from everyone (a shoulder pat from Gaz, a crushing squeeze from Soap, a light hold from Ghost, and a rather sentimental one from Laswell) he said his goodbyes and gave y/n another call.
Y/n sounded a little frazzled upon picking up and confusingly Price noted the sound of another voice in the background, distinctly female. As it turns out it was one of y/n's cousins who, after the birthday disaster, decided to get in contact with him. She felt bad for how the rest of their family had treated him and wanted to make sure he was doing alright. Apparently Ying, as she turned out to be named, was absolutely enamored with Lucy and was giving the dane the play session of a lifetime hence the sounds of chaos. Price instantly eased, especially with how relaxed y/n began to sound as he had settled in to his cousins presence.
They chatted like usual but y/n could hear a strong sense of sappiness to Price's voice as he closed the phone. 
It took about 3 days for Price to make his way over to y/n apartment and to say he got a warm welcome would be an understatement. The ex-captain hadn't actually told his lover about the retirement or his planned arrival so the other man was completely surprised, but overjoyed. It had taken years but they were finally here together again. Holding back felt unnecessary, they kissed right in the doorway as they clutched at each others bodies. The sensation made everything so much more real and they likely would've stood there for way longer if Lucy hadn't poked her nose into them. Price was was thrilled to finally see the big mutt in person and she took a quick shine to him.
-
Within a couple weeks later Price had tried to settle in but it wasn't working. The apartment was just too damn small especially with two grown men and a giant dog in it. Lucy often had to be taken out to the local dog park for exercise and Ying came in to visit from time to time which only cramped the space more. It was practically inevitable that they were going to search for a bigger home so they eventually started a search. Originally they looked into more apartments, but just one peek at their current set up (and into Lucy's big brown eyes) they knew they needed something much bigger.
 The search took a while but they eventually settled on simple cabin with a good two acres. It was remote enough that they didn't have neighbors, but also close enough to civilization that they could keep in touch with Ying. Plus there was a lake not too far from it which made for a great fishing spot. Price did most of the packing but they didn't have too many items anyways so one small u-haul was all they needed.
The cabin had a strong musky scent from the wood, the floorboards would creek with each, and the whole place was perfect. Settling into this was much easier, something about it just felt natural. Maybe it was the amount of room, maybe it was the peaceful location, or maybe it was they were together. Whatever the reason, Price felt he had made the right choice. 
-
Come half a year later, they've accumulated a few things to decorate their house, had their fair share of fishing days out by the lake, and maybe made a good couple of messes or two. Ying was an active visitor and even brought her husband along with her from time to time. Seeing her car pull up into the driveway was a common sight but this time she walked with a nervous excitement which was practically suffocating. Y/n let her in and she asked if she could have a talk with him. The two went over to the couch to chat as Price went into the kitchen to make a quick coffee. He could hear a series of spikes in tone, serious, excited, antsy, all forming together until he finally popped into the room to see a smile on his love and his cousins face.
Ying was pregnant with her first child and wanted to know if they could be the godfathers.
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hebruh · 5 months
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i think i am in shock?
yesterday i received news that a girl i had known since childhood, elisheva rose ida lubin, was killed in east jerusalem. she was twenty years old. i am twenty years old. i wasn't expecting to hear of my childhood friends passing until i was 70 years old at least... i didnt know what to do or how to react so i reached out to a friend to vent.
this friend is palestinian-american and jewish, but had reassured me multiple times in the past that it would be okay for me to come to him for support regarding things related to israel, and i trusted him so i did. one of the first things he said in response to me expressing this news was "oh, she was a cop." i didnt respond to that and just kept venting and he seemed to be mostly receptive and supportive? at one point i mentioned that i really just wish i could live a normal life like other twenty-year olds i see around me, and that sometimes i wish i wasn't jewish because maybe then this conflict wouldn't be weighing on me so heavily.
he asks me, "what does being jewish have to do with it?" i didnt know how to answer that. what doesn't judaism have to do with it? my family is all israeli, im a first generation immigrant along with my parents to america but for all intents and purposes consider myself israeli, and my identity as an israeli is so closely intertwined with my identity as a jew that i dont even know how id begin to untangle them. the only reason i am israel is because i am jewish. if my family were not jewish then they wouldnt have had to flee from their home countries of iraq, syria, and germany. there is no other reason for us to have settled in israel.
it turns into an argument about how israel is committing a genocide. maybe if i refused to engage in that argument i would be feeling differently today. it felt like i was talking to a wall; any and everything i said was "zionist propaganda." zionism has rotted my brain apparently. his people are dying except his family fled prior to 1948 and neither of the last two generations have set foot on the land since, and my people are living and being killed there to this day. that's a cruel thought to have so i kept it to myself.
he tells me to "stop fucking bringing up judaism." i think its the aggression in the message that got to me? to have been vulnerable to such an extent and now met with hostility? i cant conceive of how someone who lives in the same world as i do can just reject my reality so soundly. am i wrong??? is that it??? i have dedicated more energy to learning the history surrounding israel and palestine in the past month than i ever had in all my twenty years of living and i still can't disentangle judaism from the conflict. i went into teaching myself this history with the mindset that the narrative i have been taught since i was a child could very well be wrong. i subjected myself to blatant antisemitism and the horrors my people have faced in order to try and get an objective view of the situation and i still hold the same opinions.
i know im not the most educated person. i effectively checked out from school in sixth grade until finally dropping out my junior year of highschool, but im trying my best. i dont know what to believe anymore in the face of people who somehow believe a different history of the world than what i did. i cant fathom how there are so many people who just hate jews so much, and how these same people somehow genuinely dont believe they hate jews at all? it is such an absolute mindfuck to get met with a barrage of accusations that i am somehow happy about dead palestinians if i say anything that falls short of a total and absolute condemnation of israel.
im still struggling to process what happened last night. i just can't accept it as reality—that both a girl i had known since childhood is now dead, and a friend that i cherished so deeply is now lost to me because he refused to engage with anything i was saying in good faith.
i dont know why im posting this. maybe to cement to myself that this is something that happened. this past month, and especially the past two days, have felt longer than all 20 years of my life combined. im so tired
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justaboot · 6 months
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fine okay HBO human DT would be like
(tw blood, gore, drugs, suicide mention)
Beakley's husband was killed by their daughter, who was a FOWL big bad. Beakley loved her more than anything but, in the end, they couldn't stop her, and she locked her in an uncrackable limbo pocket dimension, took newborn Webby, and told everyone she was dead. Every night, she doesn't think about how she's still in there, alive and rotting. (I hc this regardless)
Gladstone signed away his soul for glitz, luck, and luxury when he was young. He rains gifts and affection down on the kids, decked in the best money can buy and bored by all of it, surrounded by designer drugs and sex and fancy friends and desperately lonely when he's not with the fam.
Pre-series, the boys' father was a traitor who sold them out, nearly to Donald and Scrooge's death. Della goes alone to a standoff in an abandoned plane hangar, fucks him good one last time to get close before beating his head in with a socket wrench.
Goldie told her how.
The kids figure out Gyro's fallen into a brutally accelerating addiction to a stimulant chem of his own design, bc its producing incredible results. Scrooge has been looking the other way. Because results.
Actual Scary Girl Webby in a real way. She wants answers, and has no understanding of taboos. Stares at her first dead body way too long. Asks della too many questions about self-amputation, what it smelled like, if she could feel the difference between muscles and tendons when cutting. Did the ligaments snap back? did the bone splinter? did you see marrow? She just wants to know. The next day she asks bentina if they can get a whole pig to pit-roast and if she can be the one to carve it. Watched Scrooge and Goldie from the vent in his bedroom, looked too long at the line of Goldie's back as she moved and thought about it all night.
We see Beakley actually homeschool them. They have a library thats the school room, and Huey and Webby practice cello in Webby's room. They test themselves on new languages they're learning together by talking through music theory in them while playing.
Huey made Della a teak shower bench. Not HBOcore but its true and you should know it. It replaced the chrome one, and on bad nights, she hands out in there in the steam at 4 in the morning bc the room is bright and warm and the fan is loud and beakley'll be up in an hour which means the house wont be Still and Quiet.
Louie actually gets caught up in the underground crime scene. He slowly builds confidence gets too cocky, and gets in deeper and deeper shit until it goes south. Fast. His tricks dont work, because hes TEN, and Goldie has to pull him out of a human trafficking ring. He doesn't think to ask what she was doing there until much later, and she's already gone.
We see Donald's therapy sessions. He loves the boys more than anything or anyone in the world. He tells his therapist that he hates his sister for what she did to his future. His therapist asks if he hates the children, too, and Donald hesitates. He loves the boys.
Magica has Scrooge for weeks during the Shadow War. Plays out all his failures in shadow puppets on the wall for him. The spear, his parents, his sisters, goldie, everything. she was there in the dime for the whole ten years he was alone, and she plays out all the ugliest things he said and did. Shapeshifts through all the friends he's lost to taunt him, spitting words as young Donald. She shifts into Della, asking in her voice why he'd do that, telling him how painful it was, how it feels to freeze to death, what human lungs sound like when there's no oxygen to breathe. You'd think they'd be quieter, but there's a wet crackle that sounds like a sponge. She tells him how he was going to kill the boys, too, because he's too selfish, but it's not a problem now, because they've left again. They're safe now. But she says it all so kindly. He's exhausted and hes starving and hes half out of his mind, so when he asks what she wants from him and she puts a knife in his hands and tells him to end it, he does. Until the knife turns to smoke, he's unharmed, and it's not della but Magica who's laughing at him. Lena sees the whole thing, and later on, when the kids find out, Scrooge omits details, and the kids laugh at how Magica would ever think Scrooge would go through with it, just give up. He'd never give up. Lena doesn't say anything, and Scrooge doesn't look at her, and he has to cope with believing that'll be the last time he'll ever hear della's voice.
Lena Comes Back WrongTM
anyway you get it. everyone has a really rough duality. feel free to add.
(this post got too long, ask me later about the boys' birth and scrooge's secret s1 curse)
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pastelbunnelby · 1 year
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Yours and Mine (Joel Miller X Reader)
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[Plus-size!Reader Friendly][POC!Reader Friendly][Fem!Reader Friendly][GN!Reader Friendly]
Summary ~ You, Joel, and Sarah go out for ice cream.
Disclaimer ~ I do not own The Last Of Us or any of its characters.
Word Count ~ 1.6k
Warnings ~ sickly domestic fluff
The Last Of Us Masterlist
A/n ~ I do NOT consent to have my work posted, translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been reposted without my permission.
••••••
You leaned back in your seat and listened to the quiet hum of the truck’s AC, the cool air blowing out of the vents and onto your clammy skin was the only thing giving you a reprieve from the blistering heat outside the truck. You sank down in the passenger seat and pushed your legs out so they were stretched out across the dashboard of the truck, the book in your lap doing little to hold your attention under the gaze of the man sitting next to you in he driver seat.
“What?” You asked without ever looking up from the book in your hands.
Joel shrugged and rolled his shoulders, one of his arms resting over the steering wheel as his eyes remained on you, “Nothin’, I’m just lookin’ at you.”
You placed the old coffee shop receipt between the pages of your book to save your spot and closed it, the pages making a dull thud as you pushed them together. You slid the book into the small nook on the side of the door before turning to face Joel, your eyes squinting and taking in his appearance.
He had just come from work so he was still in his dirty t-shirt and jeans, both of them sweaty and bearing the occasional spot of dried on mud. His hair was still ruffled from when you had ran your fingers through it upon giving him his ‘welcome home kiss’ just minutes before the two of you loaded up into the truck to come pick Sarah up from school.
He furrowed his brows at you, “There something on my face?” He pointed over at his face with the had resting on the steering wheel.
You grinned and shook your head, “Nope, just lookin’ at ya.” You repeated his earlier statement which made him roll his eyes.
“Ha ha, very funny.” He looked past you for a moment at the school then back at the clock, you still had about fifteen minutes until Sarah would be out, “Ain’t much to look at right now, I need a shower.”
“I would beg to differ.” You pulled your legs off of the dashboard and tucked one of them under the other while turning to face Joel, “I may be biased but I think you look pretty hot when you get off of work.” You shrugged.
“Still, I would have liked to shower before going out.” He grumbled.
You raised a brow, “You didn’t have to come, you could have stayed home, I just promised Sarah I would take her out for ice cream after school since she made the soccer team.”
“I wasn’t gonna let you hog all the parent points.” He reached over and grabbed your pinky before tugging your hand into his lap and twisting the ring on your finger.
“Step parent points you mean.” You corrected while watching as he focused intently on your hand.
You knew it wasn’t something you needed to do with either Joel or Sarah, but you always tried your hardest to be a good stepmother and wife. Stepmothers were always given a bad rep in movies and books and you had made it your goal from the moment Joel had proposed to be the best stepmother you could be, even though Sarah already loved you.
One of the things you always tried to do was take Sarah out for a girls night at least once a month, this months was more of a celebration since she had made the soccer team earlier this week. Upon hearing that the two of you were going out for ice cream after Sarah got out of school, Joel immediately asked if he could come, after he did love spending time with both of his girls even if it meant postponing his after work shower for a few hours.
“What are you thinking about?” Joel cut through your thoughts and pulled you back to reality, “You’re doing that starin’ thing you always do when you’re thinkin’ too hard.” He ran his thumb along the back of your hand, the repetitive motion causing goosebumps to climb across your skin.
You dropped your head to the side against the seat and smiled, “You and Sarah.”
“Yeah?” He hummed, his eyes scanning your face like you so often caught him doing.
“Sarah more than you.” You teased him while smiling.
He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it gently before reaching over to place it on your lap, “Oh I’m sure.” He tried to hide the smile on his face as you heard the back door of the truck open.
“You two weren’t being gross in here were you?” Sarah announced her arrival before climbing inside the truck and pulling the door shut.
You saw the mischievous grin on Joel’s face seconds before he reached over and grabbed your chin to pull you toward him and kiss you. It was a short kiss, one you grinned and giggled through as Sarah groaned dramatically in the back seat.
“You two are disgusting.” She laughed and tossed a balled up piece of paper from her backpack at both of you.
You pulled away from Joel and pressed both of your lips together as he smirked at you and went to begin driving out of the parking lot.
As he drove, the two of you asked Sarah about school which she begrudgingly told you about. She recounted the different tests and papers she had due next week and asked if you would be able to help her with a few of them which you gladly agreed to do. She also told you about the other people who had made it on to the soccer team, her best friend Casey, as well as a girl she couldn’t stand and many others.
You always loved listening to the stories Sarah would tell you when she came home from school. You started work pretty early so you were usually home by the time she got back from school, the time between her coming home and her dad coming home was both of your designated girl time which was usually filled with ranting about your days at work and school.
Joel and Sarah chatted about various things on the drive to the small ice cream shop a few miles from the school, the whole time you just sat back and listened, a smile forming on your face as you watched Joel interact with his daughter.
When the three of you arrived at the restaurant, joel pulled the truck into the small parking lot before you all climbed out and into the hot summer air.
As soon as you stepped out of the truck you groaned, “Why is it so humid today?”
“‘Cause its the middle of summer.” Sarah squinted and held her hand above her eyes to block out the bright sun that was shining into them, “not gonna melt are you?”
“I might.” You pushed the door shut and walked around the front to where Joel was waiting for both of you.
Joel held an arm up on instinct as you drew close to him, his hand outstretched to wrap around your shoulder and pull you into his side. You took your usual place under his arm as the three of you walked up to the window where they were taking the orders.
Sarah ordered her milkshake first before Joel walked up and ordered for the two of you, you had long since stopped complaining about him ordering for you after he continuously told you that he did it because he liked doing it not because he didn’t think you could do it. So, because it made him happy you always let him.
After Joel paid he handed you your ice cream cone and grabbed his own while Sarah happily began drinking her milkshake.
“You remembered my order.” You smiled over at Joel and bit a drip of hardened chocolate off the side of the ice cream.
Joel squeezed you shoulder and led you and Sarah back to the truck, “You get the same thing every time darlin’.” He stepped away from you for a moment to pull the trunk down.
“What can I say?” You shrugged and jumped up to sit on the back of the truck bed, “I’m consistent.”
Sarah jumped up beside you while Joel leaned up against the side of the truck next to you.
“Hey dad?” Sarah furrowed her brows and leaned forward to look past you at him, “What are we doing for your birthday next month?”
“Nothing I hope.” He bit into his ice cream which made you cringe.
“Okay first of all, you’re a psychopath for biting your ice cream.” You pointed at him, “Second, we are doing something whether you want to or not Birthday boy.”
Joel sighed, “I don’t have a say in it do I?”
“Nope.” Both you and Sarah said at the same time.
“Just don’t sing happy birthday and I’ll be fine.”
“We’ll make uncle Tommy sing it.” Sarah plucked the cherry of the top of her milkshake and tossed it up into the air before catching it in her mouth.
Joel laughed, “Okay, that I won’t mind seein’.”
The three of you stayed outside the restaurant sitting in the back of the truck long after your ice cream was gone or melted. Joel and Sarah laughing and joking as you all talked and made plans for the weekend. All the while you kept looking back and forth between them both and thanking whatever the cause was for you meeting them both, you wouldn’t trade your family for the world.
Taglist ~ @hallecarey1
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idleorbitals · 6 months
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sand, ray, and destruction
**let's get this straight I'm an apologist for no one they're all messed up...also I love the tableau of messed up characters we've got in this show and I'm actually an apologist for every single one of them**
let's start at the pool table. ray and sand's scenes together so far have had plenty of sexual and emotional tension, but very little narrative/dramatic tension. up until this scene, which is loaded from jump. ray walks in on guard. sand has put his walls firmly back where they were. their whole conversation is a sparring match, and not the kind we're used to from them. for once, sand is the one with an agenda, one that ray clearly senses and is wary of.
sand's big move in this scene is to expose top's dalliance with boston to ray. (insert moment of silence for the hilarity of ray recognizing his two latest frenemies via a few seconds of their sex moans. jfc this tape is getting around.) then sand makes more explicit the motivation he has been suggesting for himself the whole time: I just don't want a good guy like mew to get fooled by top. mew is lucky though, to have you by his side.
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the last bit of this is a dig, and it's one ray recognizes as such. look at his face here. he knows he's being played, even if sand's game isn't entirely clear to him yet. but he's still going to take the bait, because he's exactly as reactive as sand is betting on. actually, a whole lot more reactive than sand is betting on, I'd wager
so what are sand's motivations? revenge on top, sure. but I'd put money on ray being included in this particular hurt. if my read is right here, sand is still stinging from the other night, and is trying to distance himself from his feelings for ray in favor of a little light emotional demolition. sand's brand of destruction here is calculated, to a point. far less calculated than what we'll see from mew not long from now; far more calculated than what we'll see from ray.
ray, who, reliably, gets himself drunk, high, and furious at p'yo's and proceeds to lash out at everyone he has the words to hurt. ray's brand of destruction is violent and total, and bears more than a passing resemblance to self-harm.
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on a rewatch of these scenes sand comes out way less shiny and victim-coded to my eye than he did the first time through. it's ray that's doing the harm here, but look at sand's positioning: he's standing just behind ray for most of his breakdown, in frame or just out of it, intervening only to a limited extent. the only time he speaks up is to protect nick, and in return he gets an earful of humiliation and abuse from ray.
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sand is taking some punches here and is duly hurt, but more than anything else I read fear and guilt here as it dawns on him how far ray is going to take things.
outside we get one of the dreaded fight scenes we knew was coming, and like so many other scenes from the trailer it's changed by its context. can you stop thinking about mew and focus on me for once? you really can't see that I care about you? hits different when sand has just helped to facilitate one of the worst moments we've seen ray have so far. we see this dissonance on ray's face as he shoves sand and screams at him through tears. why would you poke your nose in my business? what are we to each other? aren't entirely rhetorical questions. ray isn't just venting his hurt toward a convenient vessel; he's feeling (not unreasonably!) manipulated and disoriented.
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whatever his role, sand doesn't deserve the things ray is saying and doing to him in this scene. but honestly, again sand is reading to me as less worried about his own feelings here than he is about the bomb whose fuse he just helped light getting behind the wheel stumbling drunk.
we leave sand breathing unsteadily as he pulls himself up from where ray's flung him to the ground and jumps onto his bike to pursue him. from the previews, it looks like they're both going to be guilting their way back into each other's good graces next week. our surprisingly nontoxic raysand is Over, friends. it's mess here on out ✨
(all ofts watch throughs)
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vanwritesfan-fiction · 8 months
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I’m My Brother’s Keeper
Warnings: Angst
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Jack and Urban rarely ever argued. Urban was just a passive person; he would rather smoke than get into it over some petty bullshit. In your two-year relationship with Jack, you had only seen them get into it over one thing: Clay. Jack’s relationship with his younger brother had been tumultuous through the years, and they had just begun rebuilding their bond over the last couple of years since Jack’s fame had grown. At first it was just typical sibling rifts, but as Jack grew up, he became resentful of Clay because he was a constant reminder of his shortcomings and he hated how hard his dad was on him in protection of Clay. Urban grew up with one sister, so his friendship and brotherhood with Jack gave him another brother in Clay. He took him under his wing, and tried to prevent any fights between Jack and Clay because he knew their relationship was important.
Your relationship with Clay had grown over the years, and you four had become a close-knit group. As the oldest child in the family, you understood where Jack was coming from, and you tried to be as understanding as possible when Jack came to you to vent about his family. One night, Jack came home in a terrible mood, barely saying two words to you as he ate dinner and headed to bed. You usually gave him time to cool off before you addressed anything, but something seemed different this time. Jack was usually levelheaded, but everything ticked him off that night, from the silverware drawer not opening on the first pull, to his favorite hoodie not being clean for him to wear to bed.
You had had enough of the sound of slammed doors and angry grunts when you approached him in the bathroom. Jack was brushing his teeth, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his white tank tight across his chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, placing a kiss on his shoulder blade. Jack shrugged you off, spitting his toothpaste into the sink. “What the hell if your problem tonight?” Jack pushed past you to get into bed, and you followed him, hands on your hips. “Nothing.” Jack edged out, grabbing his phone to scroll through Instagram. “Is it something I did?” You asked and Jack sighed, looking you in the eyes as you stood looming above the bed. “No.” “Okay then don’t shut me out, if I didn’t do anything, don’t take it out on me. “You climbed into your side of the bed and shuffled over to Jack, sitting back on your heels.
“Its Clay.” “What about Clay?” you ran your hands through the top of Jack’s curls, scratching his scalp with your long fingernails. He shivered at the touch. “He wants to start producing.” You waited to hear Jack’s next sentence, not sure where the animosity was coming from. You leaned into the pillows and grabbed Jack’s hand, massaging his fingers one by one. “That sounds amazing! He has always wanted to get into music. What’s wrong with that?” Jack sighed again, averting his gaze to his feet on the bed. “He doesn’t want to produce any of my music.” “Oh.” You knew that Jack would be hurt by that. You swallowed a couple of times while thinking of a response. Jack cut you off before you could get the words out. “Why the fuck doesn’t he want to work with me? You know what, I wouldn’t want him to work on my music anyway. He doesn’t have any experience; he’d probably be a shit producer.” Jack laid down facing away from you, effectively ending the conversation. Not wanting to push the issue further until Jack could calm down, you went to bed.
Except Jack didn’t calm down. He was in the throes of touring, stuck in tight quarters with Clay most days, and his face was just a constant reminder of the betrayal. You encouraged Jack to talk to Clay and explain how he was feeling, but he just brushed your suggestion off. It wasn’t until after a show late one night when the team was loading into the van to head back to the hotel that his pent-up anger threatened to explode. Jack had felt off the entire show, and he couldn’t pinpoint if it was the setlist or the crowd that threw things off. There was nothing Jack hated more than when he had a bad show because he took pride in the time and dedication it took to put it together.
You climbed the steps of the van, passing by Urban and Clay who were sitting in the front seat, huddled over Clay’s phone. Jack was in his usually seat at the back of the vehicle, and you could see from his face that he had been stewing in his rage for a while. You sat down next to Jack and grabbed his arm to pull him out back to reality, leaning close to his ear. “Whatever it is, let it go until we get to the hotel.” Jack nodded, his eyes still focused on his brother and best friend at the front. “Hey Y/N, want to show you something, got a second?” Clay turned back to address you, holding his phone out for you to grab. You glanced at Jack to your right, his face turning bright red. “Can we do it later, Clay?” you were trying to deescalate the situation that was unfolding in front of you. “She wouldn’t even want to listen to your bullshit anyway,” Jack shouted out, looking for a reaction from the crowd, but everyone fell silent. Clay just slumped back in his seat, turning to face the front. He admired his brother in every respect, and his opinion meant so much to him. This was a kick to the gut. “Jack stop,” you warned him, but he was just getting started. He ripped his arm from your grasp and stood up, walking to the front to tower over Urban and Clay in their seats. “You know what? If you think you’re too good to work with me, you can get off the fuckin’ bus.” Jack grabbed Clay’s backpack and threw it out the door of the van, and you winced at the sound of Clay’s computer shattering at impact with the ground.
Until now, Urban had stayed out of this situation, having heard from both Jack and Clay, trying not to take sides, but Jack had taken it too far. He stood up to Jack, at eye level with him. “Back the fuck off Jack. Clay doesn’t owe you anything. None of us do.” Jack turned his rage to Urban, unable to believe what he was saying. “Stay the fuck out of this, Urb. You don’t even know what’s going on.” Urban stood his ground. “Clay is a fucking good producer, and instead of being a bitch about it, you should be supporting him.” Jack looked between Urban and Clay, who hadn’t moved in the last couple of minutes, one last time before getting off the bus. You followed behind him, stopping to pick up Clay’s backpack off the ground and hand it back to him. Clay looked defeated. “Sorry Clay.”
You and Jack grabbed an Uber back to the hotel, and while you cared that Jack was upset, you couldn’t believe how he had treated his own brother. Jack stomped around the room, no real purpose to his motions. “Jack, sit down”, your voice was stern and loud enough that he immediately complied. “Why did you do that to Clay?” Jack threw his body back onto the bed, resting one arm over his eyes. “He cares so much about what you think! You should be happy for him that he wants to pave his own way and not be under his brother’s thumb. I thought out of anyone you would understand that! Tell me why? Jack!” it felt good to get that out. “I don’t know.” You could tell in his voice that he was telling the truth.
You sat down on the bed, and he removed his arm to look up at you, his eyes brimming with tears. “I know he would be good at whatever he does, and I just wanted this to be the thing that separates me from the person I used to be. I used to treat him so badly baby, and I was so angry at him and my dad for how I was treated. This was supposed to be my thing!” tears were starting to run down his cheeks, breaking off to fall down the side of his face. You laid down next to him, using your arm to envelop his shoulders, leaning your head against his. “Jack, I think you need to give Clay more credit. He is his own person and even though he looks up to you, he wants to make a name for himself. I think him producing separate projects will be amazing for his confidence and you won’t have to worry about a career coming between you to. You both have worked so hard to repair your relationship and things are going so well. Don’t let this be the reason things fall apart.” You continued to hold Jack for a while as he calmed down.
Jack finally got the courage to reach out to Clay and asked both him and Urban to come down to your room. When Clay entered the room, Jack immediately grabbed him into a hug, holding his head against his own. “I’m sorry man. I was just jealous; I will support you in whatever you decide to do.” Clay returned the hug eagerly. Once they separated, Jack turned to Urban, extending out a hand. “Thank you for putting me in my place, Urb.” Urban pulled Jack into a hug, “That’s what brothers are for.” You were so excited to see that your favorite men had made up. “Clay, I’m ready to hear what you have been working on.” You and Clay plopped on the couch in the room, and Clay played you some of his newly produced beats.
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alias-milamber · 8 months
Text
Today I completed a Blades in the Dark campaign
Lessons learned:
Blades in the Dark isn't great for a short story-focused campaign
BitD works well for a single-session or a long campaign with the territory/growth rules it defines, less well for short campaigns
Even when I think I'm making a short campaign, it might last a year.
Full improvisation is fun, but if you don't take notes you'll goozle yourself.
"Your Theorycrafting about the nature of the plot is entirely correct" is a vicious Devil's Bargain
As is "I'm not going to tell you, but it gets you two dice"
Write a vague prophetic dream, and use the details later to make them pay attention when you need to.
You can build an entire year long arc on the stupid pun "the bad guy is called Carson. He wants to turn everyone into crabs"
"He wants the whole world in his claws, the shellfish bastard"
A shop full of monkeys-paw magical artifacts that you improvise on the fly is like catnip to players.
Keep a list of random threads you haven't looped back to. Don't bother to check them off, things can mean two things.
If in doubt, add more cultists.
If in doubt, venetian masks.
If in doubt, add an NPC's mirror-verse twin.
"Everyone gets nightmares about being shelled and covered in Mary-rose sauce."
Three handouts:
A Dream Of Seafood
(after a player has eaten of the sacred flesh, disguised as a prawn vol-au-vent)
The world is cold and wet, and you like it that way. The sandy floor below you, the stars above, as it has always been and will always be. In the distance you hear the song of the leviathans, cutting through the ocean water like bagpipes over a mountain hillside. The words mean nothing to you, their song as alien as yours would be to them.
You do not sing your song, sound isn't what you're made for. You are, you see, you feed, you eat.
You obey.
The sandy floor rises up below you in ribbons - you never even process the net that has caught you. Your life flashes before your eyes, hits this moment, and goes beyond into the future.
You see the world above the ocean briefly, before darkness. The smell of wood and others for a long time, and a long descent into clean water. The water scalds and burns, and the life life leaves you, without your presence going with it.
You haunt the flesh of yourself as your shell is peeled back from you. A bath of pink sauce and a bed of puff pastry. Music, and strange people.
A mouth, and darkness.
And despair.
A Dream Of Shellfishness
(The first character to atune to a sacred artifact)
Within your dream you awake. You are underwater, and this seems oppressive and terrifying until you realise that you're breathing the water without difficulty, and then it just seems oppressive and differently terrifying. You breathe in brine, it fills your lungs and then you breathe out again, and beyond your initial panic, a deeper worry sets in.
You are surrounded by stars, refracted by a perfectly clear sea. Above and below you, constellations unrecognised, twinkling gently in the pitch black night. A moving black patch above you can only be a leviathan, its gigantic form gliding through the pitch black sea like a bird of prey. Behind it, the keel of a hunting ship disrupts the surface with its infernal motorised screw engine spinning to try to keep up, but the monstrous creature swims away with no apparent concern. Around you is a barnacle encrusted cage, glowing runes engraved on a wooden frame that you somehow know cannot be broken, even by you.
That's no mean feat, you discover, as a sense of scale kicks in and your perspective shifts. You realise that you could hold that leviathan in the palm of your hand, should you be able to break the cage that surrounds you. You beat against the bars soundlessly, unheard and imperceptable.
A voice, a sound like the antithesis of music, and you see one of the glowing runes go dark on your prison.
Vengeance will be won.
The Crab God's Shanty
(To the tune of the work song from Les Mis)
We sit, we row. Fourty fathoms low. We sail, wind blow, Forty Fathoms Low.
We load cargo, Forty fathoms low, We lift, we stow, Forty fathoms low
The stars, they glow, Forty fathoms low, The tide will flow, Forty fathoms low.
The deep, plateau, Forty fathoms low We see, he know Forty fathoms low.
The undertow, Forty fathoms low, Will make us go, Forty fathoms low
He speaks, bestow, Forty fathoms low, We feed, he grows, Forty fathoms low.
Our life, forgo, Forty fathoms low, The world will know, Thirty fathoms low.
Give up, let go, Twenty fathoms low, He rise shadow, Now ten fathoms low.
He rises slow, Just five fathoms low, Yo ho, heave ho. Claws at your ship bow.
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secret-sturniolo · 4 months
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just a long vent. read (or dont) idc
not that anyone really cares, but i just have some things i need to get off my chest because im currently alone in my room crying in the dark.
let me preface this by saying i dont have any friends. i literally do not have a single person i can talk to. i dont even have a therapist because she just quit. the last friend group i had, i found out they had a secret group chat where they were shit talking and making fun of me. so, the closest thing to friends i have are my 151 followers and the people in this fandom. when i log on here and i see that people have interacted with me or like my works, thats literally the highlight of my day. so to anyone who has talked to me or shown me support, i truly thank you and i love you.
if you met my family, you would think we have it all. my parents own a successful business, they (appear) happily married, and my brother and i have everything we could ever want or need. but heres the truth:
my parents are alcoholics. every night its the same thing. they get drunk, they fight and yell and say nasty things about each other until one of them goes to bed and they sleep in different rooms. im the one who has to mediate things. im the one who has to send my little brother to bed so he doesnt have to hear them. im the one who cleans up the spilled drinks. im the one who drove us to the hotel when my dad was being verbally abusive. and when my mom almost died in the ICU a month ago as a direct result of drinking, i was the one visiting her multiple times a day. i was the one at home doing all of the dishes, all of the laundry, all of the cleaning, and bringing my brother to and from school ON TOP OF my own schoolwork and going to work every evening all because my dad is lazy and doesnt get out of bed until 1pm.
they swore to me that they were done drinking. and when they lasted 3 days and got drunk again, i didnt shame them. i didnt say anything at all. in fact, i showed them support.
wanna guess what i get in return for all of that?
i get told that im the one whos tearing our family apart, that if they get divorced its my fault. that maybe if i was nicer we would have less problems.
and god forbid that i have a bad day sometimes like a normal human being, because then i get accused of not taking my medications.
they also like to act like my mental health problems are harder on them than they are on me as if they didnt literally play a role in me developing them. a year ago i had to go to another state to receive inpatient and residential treatment because i was anorexic and suicidal. let me tell you, thats not a vacation. i have clinically diagnosed ptsd from things i witnessed there. all those times they had to take me to the hospital? yeah, not fun for me either. i promise you, nobody has tubes shoved up their nose just for shits and giggles.
you guys, im only 17. i havent even graduated high school yet. if this is what life is like now, im terrified to be an adult.
i mean it when i say that this fandom keeps me going. it makes me feel appreciated, even just a little. so if you made it to the end of this, thanks for caring enough to read this absolute dumpster fire of a post.
love you all <3
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shsy7573 · 8 months
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Two-Hundred Days
A Voltron Fanfiction by shsy7573
Description: When Keith goes radio silent after weeks of daily video calls with his boyfriend, Lance begins to worry. To cope with the stress, he begins filming daily audio recordings on Keith’s old helmet. As Lance’s mental health begins to deteriorate, each message becomes more depressing than the last. What happens when Keith finally returns, and listens to how broken his boyfriend has become?
Relationships: Klance
WARNING: thoughts and discussions of suicide. Cursing
Notes/Info: Langst. Hurt/comfort. Screw canon, Lance is Blue Paladin, Keith is Red. Depressed Lance. Suicidal Lance. I didn’t include every single recorded message (obviously), but i figured I’d just include instances that highlighted Lance’s descent into deep depression. Tbh I don’t know how I feel about this one. The writing feels awkward/out of character, but let me know what you think. I kinda just had this idea pop into my head so I wrote it down :/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lance sat down and rested his back resting against the wall. He scanned the room. It was a place he’d been to many times before, and it wasn’t all that different from the other quarters in the castle. It was quaint, small. A bed ran along the side of the wall, its blue sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. There was a long compartment for belongings located next to the door, and a coat hanger right above it with a red and white jacket. Keith’s jacket. He’d left it behind when he’d joined the Blade.
It had been days since Lance had heard from the former Paladin. Nobody else was worried. Why would they be? They didn’t get daily calls from the half-Galran. Then again, it would be weird if they did. They weren’t his boyfriend.
Lance missed Keith. A lot. It was lonely on the ship without having his favourite Red Paladin to snuggle into. He missed the long conversations in Red or Blue’s cockpits, or the late-at-night encounters in the kitchen when neither Paladin could sleep. The team just felt… empty without him. Or maybe Lance just felt empty.
Usually, though, he’d have their morning calls to look forward to. It was the only time of day Keith was always one-hundred percent free. Apparently the Blade of Marmora were late risers. Mornings had become Lance’s favourite part of the day, whereas before it had been a struggle to get out of bed.
That’s part of the reason he was so worried. He knew Keith enjoyed their time together too, his boyfriend wouldn’t miss out unless he was doing something really important. Right?
Lance sighed. He didn’t even know why he’d come to Keith’s room. Obviously he wasn’t just going to show up here. That's not how things worked. Still, he’d hoped it would at least make him feel closer to the boy in some way. That it would do something to cure the aching in his gut that had started to emerge since he went radio silent. It didn’t, though. In fact Lance almost felt more separated from him.
The Blue Paladin stood up again, about to leave when something caught his eye. A small glint coming from inside the chest - which apparently wasn’t fully closed. Curiously, Lance walked over, and opened the trunk to discover Keith’s abandoned Paladin armour.
Oh. I was wondering what he did with that. Lance thought, reaching down and picking up the helmet. Ever since Keith left, Allura had been piloting the Red Lion. She hadn’t used Keith’s armour, though, instead opting to make a set with pink trimming. The Paladin smiled, wiping dust off the visor as he sat down again beside the chest. Man, this thing’s been through it.
He wasn’t exactly sure what prompted him to do it. Maybe because it was something of Keith’s, and he missed talking to him, maybe he just needed to vent without worrying anyone with his problems. Either way, he reached inside the helmet and activated the recording function.
-
[ RECORDING ONE ]
There was a shuffling noise, followed by a light jostling as the helmet was set down. It was quiet at first. The only sounds being picked up were the breathing of another person, and a quiet, awkward shuffling.
Then, a small, uncertain voice began to speak. “Uh… hey man. It’s… been a couple days since we’ve talked. I keep wondering if maybe something’s happened to you. I hope not. I’m sure I’m just being paranoid. You're probably just busy, but… I can’t help worrying about you. I love you, you know? And I miss you.”
The speaker took a breath, and the muffled sound of his voice as it went on suggested he’d put his head in his hands. “Dios, this was stupid. What am I even doing?” He inhaled, and his voice became clearer once more. “Whatever, I’m doing it now. So, fuck it I guess.”
More shuffling as the speaker repositioned himself. “It’s pretty early right now. About the time we’d usually call. You got me into the habit of waking up early, you know? Mama would overjoyed to hear that.”
“Nobody else is awake yet. Uhh… the whole Allience thing with Lotor is still pretty new. It’s been pretty hard to trust him, but… if he’s telling the truth it could be nice to finally have another ally. Especially one whose Zarkons son.”
“Hunk is experimenting with the food replicators again. He’s trying to flavour the goo to taste like spaghetti, so far it hasn’t worked. I’m not sure I really want spaghetti in goo form, but it’s good he’s trying new things. Allura’s still doing really well as the Red Paladin. I was worried for a while she’d be pissed about switching from Black, but I don’t think she minds. As long as she gets to fight she seems happy. Now that we know King Alfor binding the lions with her quintessence makes her able to fly any of them, I don’t think she’ll be leaving the cockpit anytime soon. Shiro is… well, he’s Shiro. He’s… definitely getting more and more done with all my shit. So, that’s something I guess. Pidge… we’ll, she won’t admit it but I think she still misses her dad. And, with mat working with the resistance it’s like she’s all alone again. I think she’s better, though.”
“Umm, let’s see, uh… yeah, we all miss you. Me especially, even though I already said that. I know the Blade would reach out if something had happened to you— at least, I hope they would. I’ll just… try to be patient. I think that’s about it. See you, man. Hopefully, I’ll talk to you soon.”
The sound of shifting metal could be heard, followed by a soft click.
-
[ RECORDING TEN ]
A bit of static washed over the mic, before the telltale sign of something being placed down.
“Hey, Keith, I’m… yeah I’m still doing these. Still… haven’t heard anything from you yet. I’m really starting to worry. Are you alright? Surely you’re fine. You can’t be dead. Somebody would know… right? But… What if you’re lost? What if you’re hurt?! Damn it, I’m freaking out. I think the others are starting to notice something’s wrong. I just— I can’t stop thinking about you. Please just… I really need you to call. I hate not knowing what’s going on.”
Lance took a deep breath, and he was silent for a few moments before continuing. “Nothing new has happened. Still the same old Castle. I tried telling Shiro that I was worried, but he just said I needed to focus. That… I couldn’t worry about you, because you could take care of yourselves and Voltron needed my attention. And he’s right. Of course he is, he’s Shiro. I just… I don't know if I can.”
“That’s about it, I guess. I miss you, please call. I love you.”
-
[ RECORDING ELEVEN ]
“Hey, me again. It’s the next morning, and… I don’t know, I really just needed to talk. Shit’s been happening lately, Allura and Lotor think they’ve made a…discovery? Coran - and the rest of us for that matter - isn’t too sure, we’re all a little sceptical. Still, Allura seems on board with it, so we’re giving it a go.”
“Everyone’s been a little… crabbier than usual. I keep trying to lighten the mood, but that just pisses them off more. I’m sure they just need to blow off some steam. If they need to yell at me to take the edge off, then I— I suppose I’m okay with it. They don’t… actually mean the things they’re saying. So it’s fine… I guess”
“I’m still really, really fucking worried about you. I don’t—“ his voice strained for a moment, and when he spoke again it sounded teary, “I don’t know what to think. I just— Keith, if you die I don’t— I don’t know what I’d do. The team can’t afford for me to be grieving right now but, I just can’t— I’m such a fucking mess. Please… please come back. Just send a message or— or at least give me some sort of sign that you’re alive! I need you to be alive, Keith!”
He sniffled, and the microphone was shifted slightly.
“Please… please call me soon. I love you.”
-
[ RECORDING TWENTY-THREE ]
“So… listen. I know I said that I was okay if everyone started yelling at me, b-but… I— I—“ his voice broke. There were a couple moments where the sounds of crying could be heard, before the speaker composed himself and started talking again. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining about this. We have so many better things to worry about. It’s— god some of the things they say, they fucking hurt, man. Like, I know I’m fucking stupid but that doens’t mean I want to hear it all the time. I— I’m just trying to do my best. I just want to help.”
Lance sniffled, taking deep breaths to try and compose himself before continuing. “God, Keith they— I think they hate me. Or, at least they’re starting to. That’s the only explanation for why they— they just—“ he sighed.
“I wish you were here,” he cried, not even trying to conceal his misery anymore. “I— I miss you… so much, Keith. I don’t know where you are, and I’m terrified. Keith. Please just… come home. Come back to me. Let me know you’re alright.”
The Blue Paladin was quiet, his cries having died off in the last sentence. It was so quiet there was barely an indication for when the microphone was switched off yet again.
-
[RECORDING FIFTY-ONE]
“—eith!” Lance all but yelled into the microphone. Having started talking before the recording and even started. “Oh my god, Kieth, I don’t— I don’t know what to do!” He whispered. His breathing was sparratic. And there was a constant jostling that suggested the camera was shaking. “I— I— I died Keith. We-w we were just trying to h-help fix this Galra base. It was— Allura was gonna— there was gonna be an explosion so I- I jumped in! I just— I don’t even— I knew we couldn’t lose her! I would rather it be me and so I just… and then I— died and— and nobody even—“ his breathing was out of control now.
“I c— I— h—“ the Paladin tries to force the words out, but it was no use. For several minutes, he sobbed as panic swept over him. Being picked up by the helmet as ragged and quick inhalations of breath. Lance forced himself to take deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. After a while, he settled down enough to talk again. Though, his voice was shaky and weak.
“Bl-blue saved me. She— she shared some of her quintessence with me, an-and our bond is stronger than-than ever. I can hear he-her talk now. Which… is cool I g- I guess.” He continued to breathe slowly as he spoke.
“I— I don’t even think anybody cared.” He whispered, squeezing it past the lump in his throat. “They didn’t— they didn’t even say anything, I— m-maybe they don’t know? But y-you’d think they w-would have felt something?”
Lance sniffled, and his voice became muffled as he placed his head in his lap. “I don’t know anymore. I… I just know that I miss you. I really miss you Keith,” he mumbled, voice sad and thick as he sobbed. “And I just— I— I need you, and I miss you, and I love you and I just— I- I feel so alone. I am so alone.”
“I’m sorry. Whatever I did, whatever stupid thing I’ve done to make the universe take you away from me, I’m sorry! Please! I need you! I c— I don’t want to be alone anymore!” He sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve, before sighing. “I just want you to come back. Please, come back. I— I love you.”
There were a couple more minutes of crying, before the recording finally ended.
-
[ RECORDING NINETY-EIGHT]
There was a sigh as the recording started. The room was silent for a couple moments, before Lance started talking. “Hey, Keith. I… was going to make this in the morning, but… I just… haven’t had the energy to do this. So, I’m doing it now, right before I go to bed.” His voice was monotone. Tired. “I don’t know what to think anymore. The Blade haven’t been in contact, so… I’m assuming you’re not dead. I’m hoping you're not dead.”
“A lot of stuff has been happening. I… if I’m being honest, I don’t really want to talk about it. Nobody on the team is very happy with me. I keep annoying them. I’m not trying to, I just— I don’t know how else to lighten the mood. The good thing is, with everyone being so pissed at me they’re not really arguing with each other. So, that’s good good, I guess. At least I’m doing something useful.”
“You’ve been radio silent for, um… gosh how long has it been? I— I think a little over three months? I don’t know, I’ve lost track. Everytime I ask the team if they’ve heard anything they tell me to stop being paranoid, and focus on the mission. They’re right. I’m already enough of a hindrance without nagging twenty-four seven.”
He sighed again, shifting as he swallowed thickly. “That’s… all I have to report. Miss you. Love you.”
- AFTER KEITH COMES BACK AND ALL THE FINALE AND SHIRO REVIVAL HAPPENS ALSO DON’T ASK BUT THE PLANET THEY STOP ON RIGHT AFTER ALL THAT HAS A FOREST NOW I’VE DECIDED -
Keith stretched as he and the other Paladins sat around the fireplace. He was pretty content. Shiro was back, actually back, and they’d gathered enough resources to get on the road again. Of course not everything was great. They’d lost the castle, obviously, and it would be a long time before they reached earth… but they’d manage.
Keith had retaken up the mantle as Red Paladin, not at all sorry to admit that he’d missed his Lion. Shiro had gratefully backed out of the Paladin position. He was still pretty shaken up after being extracted from Black and shoved into Kuran’s cloned body.
Yeah, it had been a weird couple of days.
Now that they were on the road, though, Keith figured he’d better make a note of it somewhere. Something told him he’d be wanting to keep track of events. He stood up, stretching as he spoke, “I’ll be back, guys. Just gotta do something.” The others murmured acknowledgements as he walked away. Keith completely missed the look of longing on his boyfriend's face as he made his way over to Red.
The leaned leaned down her head, opening her jaw to let him in. He entered casually, sending a mental greeting to the beast. She replied with a purr, warmth blazed through his mind at her greetings as he sat down in the pilot’s chair. Keith sat there for a moment, relaxing before reaching down to start a recording on his helmet.
To his dismay, the second it started, the recording ended, sending out a little automated message.
“Memory data, full.”
That was odd, Keith had never made a recording of this thing in his life. He opened the history, and was shocked to see that a stream of videos were practically flooding its memory banks. One for every single day for the last month.
Who the fuck has been using my helmet? He questioned, opening the latest message in curiosity.
Suffice it to say he was shocked to hear Lance’s broken, devastated voice on the other end.
[ RECORDING TWO HUNDRED]
The mic switched on, immediately being overcome by sobbing. They were loud, depressing and defeated. It sounded like they were being torn from their speaker’s throat. “I— I fucked up, Keith.”
“Lance?”
“They all hate me for sure now! I— I know they do! I do! I was just trying to help.”
What’s going on? Why is he so upset? Keith wondered, heart rate picking up as he listened to the recording.
“Allura and Lotor were— were working on the- the ship, and I offered to help but— but I don’t know how to build. I’m not an engineer, I didn’t- why the fuck did I even think that was a good idea! I just wanted to be helpful like- like Pidge, or Hunk. They said they were fine, but I insisted! And… and I made them all upset. I just kept getting I— in the way. They got so mad, Keith, they were so mad!”
What? Keith wondered, his heart breaking as he listened.
He sobbed harder, breathing quickly as he pressed on. “Pidge was— Pidge was right! And Shiro was right— a—and Iverson and-and fucking everyone! I— can’t- I can't do it! I’m just a fuck up, I’m a fucking idiot! I’m so stupid! I can’t— I can’t do anything right! I’ll never- b—be able to- t-to do anything right! I’m just a screw up! I’m— s-so useless”
“No!” Kieth protested to no one as the voice echoed through his Lion’s cockpit. What happened to you while I was gone?
He shouldn’t be listening to this. This was obviously a private recording. Then again… he sounds so sad. And.. it is being addressed to me…
He couldn’t force himself to stop listening. He was so glad he didn’t.
“I know why you disappeared now. You probably got fed up with me too. You stopped calling because y— you couldn’t take me anymore.”
No! How could you even think that?!
“You didn’t want me around! You got sick of m—me and how ann-noying I am. You d-didn’t want to b—to— be around someone this worthless!”
Keith could feel tears starting to form in his eyes. That’s not true! None of it! You’re not worthless!
“It’s okay I— I understand! I don’t either! I know th—that everyone wou-would be better off-f-f without me. I know— I know they o-only keep me ar-aro-ound is because there’s nobody else compatible wi-w-ith Blue!”
Lance, no!
“If— if you were here I— I know I’d be s—sent away. You would Pi-i-lot Red, and Allura could pilot Blue and th-a-then I’d just be nothing! Nobody! No use in keeping me around! You c-could all finally get rid of me! I want to get rid of me!”
The Red Paladin’s eyes widened. He couldn’t mean…
The crying, somehow, just became more desperate. More heart-wrenching, “I— I- d-d-on’t- wa-at to do this anymore, Keith!”
Then again, Keith didn’t think anyone could fake this level of heartache.
“I ca— I can’t! If there wasn’t- if there was an—anyone else I wouldn’t even— I would— I’d just stop! I don’t want to live anymore! I h-hate not be—eing able to do anything!”
Don’t you even dare, Lance!
“If you came back, and I wasn’t- couldn’t be useful anymore. I— I- don’t— I would just—“ he gasped, hard as he tried to force the words out, “I don’t—“ another big inhale, “I don’t think I could do-o it anymore! I co-couldn’t bear to-to have you lo-look at me! I could-dn’t stand you hating me. I w- I would just fucking end it so you all w-wouldn’t have to-o-o d-e-deal with me anymore!”
Every inch of Keith froze as he heard those words. His thoughts screeched to a halt, heart skipping a beat as his blood ran cold.
“It would b-b-e f-for the best! V-Voltron would be better off! Th-the u-inverse would be b—better off!”
Lance just kept crying. The sheer agony he felt in his soul coming out as loud, wrenching, ugly cries. Like he was trying to expel all the parts of him that he felt weren’t good enough.
“Nobody wants me.” He whispered after a while, when the crying had died down just enough to regain his breath. “I don’t deserve to go back home.”
He swallowed, and there was a shuffling, and a sudden closeness of the voice that suggested he was hugging the helmet. “I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough. E—even though you hate me… I still love you.”
The Blue Paladin sniffled, the sound of skin rubbing skin could be heard as he wiped his tears. “I h-hope one day you come back. For the others. I promise I- I won’t bother you. I pro-promise you would have to deal with me.”
“I’m sorry… mi amor. I’m so- so sorry.”
There was a beat. A single moment taken to process everything he’d just heard. Then, Keith was out of his seat, and racing out of his lion. He tossed helmet to the ground, not even caring as his heart thundered in his chance. He had to find him, he had to find Lance.
I’ve barely even talked to him since I got back! I- everything just happened so fast! I’ve just been so preoccupied… What if he thinks— I haven’t even— oh god, FUCK!
He ran over to the others, not bothering to conceal his panic as he realised that the Blue Paladin was not sitting with the others anymore.
Oh god, oh fuck, oh no!
“Where’s Lance?!”
“Keith, what—“ Shiro started, but the Red Paladin as having none of it.
“WHERE’S LANCE?!”
Pidge shrugged, “uh… he,” she turned to where the Paladin had been sitting and shrugged, “he kinda just disappeared. I don’t exactly—“
“What the fuck is wrong with you! You didn’t even bother to—“ Keith cut himself off, shaking his head. He didn’t have time for this. He grabbed onto Cosmo’s fur.
His dog, seemingly to get the message, immediately teleported them away. They popped up in the forest somewhere, and Keith looked around desperately. His heart sang in relief as he saw the blue and white armour of his boyfriend slinking between the trees.
“LANCE!” Keith shouted, barreling towards him. The boy turned around just in time to be tackled to the ground in a whirlwind of arms and legs. Keith didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything right now. He squeezed Lance tight to his chest as the boy flustered in confusion.
“Kieth, what—“
“Oh my god, you’re okay! You’re okay! Lance y— how could you— do you know how fucking scary that was?! I don’t care that I’ve been inside the stomach of an animal, or that Shiro has almost died like five times, or that we’ve faced an army of like ten thousand Galra ships! I have never been more terrified in my fucking life than when I heard you say you’d kill yourself if I ever came back!”
If possible, he held Lance tighter. “Then— then when I came outside and you weren’t with the others I though— I— I thought that you…”
Lance was silent for a few moments, before a realisation dawned on his face. His shoulders went slack, any attempt of trying to pretend that he was fine dying on his lips.
“The recordings…”
Keith pulled back so he could see Lance’s face. He raised his hands up to grab the boy’s head firm, caressing his cheeks as he stared into those ocean blue eyes. He kept a tight hold with his other hand, as if the second he let Lance go, he would lose him. “I can’t believe— you— do you know how devastated I would be if you— if you tried to…” Keith shook his head, slamming his body into Lance again, sending them both completely to the ground.
Tears filled the Blue Paladin’s eyes. “I… I’m sorry! I’m so-s-sorry! I fucked everything up I— I didn’t mean— I just— I’m so—“
“Don’t you apologise for anything, McClain. I love you so much, Lance. I don’t ever want to lose you. I— I can’t— I don’t even want to imagine a world where you’re not in it! I would never abandon you! Do you hear me?! Never! I would never! Ever! Leave you!”
Lance wrapped his own arm around Keith. Holding the boy just as firmly, with just as much desperation. All he could do was cry. Everything that had been building up pouring out of him as he grasped onto Keith like a lifeline.
“Everything’s just—j- been so much! Ev-verybody ha-h-h-hate me! I’m such a fuck up! I’m- I’m stupid- and I’m weak and- and- I an-nnoy everyone! And it doe-s-doesn’t matter how hard I try! I j- I d- I can’t keep up!” He sobbed, his breaths deep and agonising as he forced more words out through his panic. “I can’t do it anymore! I’m so sick of getting yelled— and scolded a-a-and of p-pe-peo-ple condes-sending me! And— and I know they’re right— I -I know-I its because I’m not good enough! I d-deserve it! But I can’t— I’m sick of being so worthless and I can’t—“
“You are not worthless, Lance! Not one bit! And I… I’m so sorry! When I came back, I was just- I was so preoccupied with everything else I just— I wasn’t even thinking! God, I can’t believe— I can’t imagine how awful you must have felt when I didn’t even— ! I never meant to— I love you, Lance! I love you! You are so beautiful and smart and talented and funny and you… and you are good enough Lance! You are everything! And I hate that you didn’t have anyone around to tell you that, because it’s true! It is so fucking true, Lance! You matter so much! I love you so much! Don’t you ever try to leave me! You matter so much to me!”
Lance shook his head. Sitting up again as he pushed Keith away. “Why, though?! I’m so fucking dumb! I’m incompetent! I can’t do anything right!”
“That’s not true!”
“Yes it is! It’s how everyone has been treating me for the past month! It has to be true! I know it’s true! I just— I can’t even fathom why anyone would ever fucking want me around! I don’t understand why anyone would ever fucking care about me when I’m not even—“
Keith raised a finger to Lance’s lips, stopping the tumbling of words in its tracks. It was too painful. He couldn’t listen to the person that he loved so much talk so little about himself. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right, and Keith wasn’t going to let it happen.
He opened his hand, trailing it from the boy’s mouth to gently caress his cheek. For a moment, he just let himself stare into Lance’s teary eyes, the liquid causing them to shine in the light of the planet. Even though he looked broken and his face was covered in tears and snot, he was still the most beautiful person in the world to Keith. He always would be. The Red Paladin applied a soft, hinting pressure to his partner’s jaw, pulling it towards him ever so slightly.
Lance allowed himself to be guided forward. Both lost in each other’s eyes as they grew closer. Finally, when their lips were close enough that their noses touched, Keith tilted his head.
“Then let me show you,” he whispered, in a voice softer than Lance had ever heard him use. His warm breath brushed across Lance’s skin, sending a cascade of shivers all the way down his body.
The Red Paladin shut his eyes, and leaned forward. As the distance between them was finally closed, their lips met. Lance, still in shock, kept his eyes open for a moment before melting into the kiss. It was light, and gentle, but full of emotion. Keith’s devotion and determination came off in waves as he tried to pass on every ounce of his love to the Blue Paladin.
It was something that, over the past few months Lance had wanted so badly. A kind of affection he’d craved for so long now, but had convinced himself he’d never feel again. Convinced himself he didn’t deserve.
At that moment, the rest of the world melted away. There was no more team. No more Voltron. It was just Lance and Keith, tangled in each other’s embrace as they’re lips met in an expression of love, longing, and relief.
38 notes · View notes
davnittbraes · 2 years
Text
I’m Here
Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 8,546 and every single one of them is pure, unabashed self-indulgence
Warnings etc: reader is described as being in a long term previous relationship, smut (piv, unprotected, oral f!receiving), angst, fluff, description of disgustingly cliché meet-cute, established relationship, mentions of past abusive relationship, anxiety, big beefy cuddly dogs, light BDSM, breathplay, like HEAVY breathplay to some people, physical restraint, Dom/Sub dynamics, Soft!Dom Marcus, Sub!Reader, Praise kink out the wazoo
Notes aka Writer’s Plea For Mercy: This was supposed to be a ~200 word drabble, then I mentally vomited some paragraphs onto a page as part of my attempt at working through some life shit and here we are. GIF chosen because those GODDAMN HANDS STARTED THIS WHOLE THING.
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You shut the lid of your laptop with a little more force than necessary - not enough to get IT pissed off at you, just enough to satisfy your urge to shove the memory of that three hour long meeting-that-could-have-been-an-email out of your mind for the rest of the night.
You definitely didn’t want to be thinking about work right now.
Because Marcus was coming over tonight.
Your handsome, sweet, caring boyfriend Marcus.
A silly, girlish grin steals over your expression before you can stop it.
You’d just went “official” with Marcus last week, after the two of you had talked about how amazing the last couple months had been. You’d met at a café - a stereotypical meet-cute that you were only a little embarrassed by, both for its eye-rolling cheesiness and your role in the entire thing.
You had been on the phone, negotiating a contract and had accidentally grabbed his coffee when it came up. He had chased you down, there was an awkward exchange and you’d apologized profusely. But you’d run into him a couple more times after that and eventually neither of you could ignore the mutual attraction. A few dates had gradually turned into spending most nights and days off together and eventually both of you had realized you had no interest in seeing anyone else right now.
So, now he was your boyfriend Marcus.
Your heartbeat does a little skipping series of flutters and you huff in amusement. It seems so silly, reacting this way at your age, but really, you’ve never felt this… light, before. Being with Marcus is so comfortable, so effortless.
So vastly different from your previous experience.
After twelve years of trying to make a toxic marriage work, you had finally seen it for what it was and filed for divorce. Now, two years later, ink dry on the divorce papers and several therapy sessions giving your step a little more confidence, you’re finding out what it means to be in a healthy relationship with someone, and you’re practically giddy with it, despite your efforts to stay level-headed.
Which is all well and good, but you know what’s best. You shouldn’t dive right into another serious romantic relationship, not after the last one. So you’re moving slowly with Marcus, keeping a little bit of yourself in reserve, just in case.
Including your… proclivities.
Your nose wrinkles in sudden self-awareness, idly sifting through your thoughts.
Marcus is a sweet guy. The definition of sweet. Tooth-rotting, saccharine-sweet. And so kind, and understanding, and supportive - he’s been your rock over the last couple months, making sure you don’t get too lost in your work, sending you silly cat memes throughout the day, patiently listening to your venting about your issues with work and family with genuine sympathy.
The exact opposite of your ex-husband, who was usually too wrapped up in his own shit to have any clue what was going on with you.
Marcus has been exactly what you need in your life right now. He’s happy to move slowly, too, having just got out of a cancelled engagement and a failed marriage before that. His own therapy sessions had taught him to find validation in himself and not others, allowing him to ease into relationships instead of immediately going all in. In fact, you had been seeing each other for three weeks before you had sex, even though you had definitely wanted to before then, and only held back on mutual agreement.
A little frisson of arousal wends its way through your core, remembering that night.
God, what a great night.
You’d been practically swimming in your panties after lusting after him for weeks, and fuck, did he ever make it up to you. There were still parts of that night that were blurry, you’d come so many times they all just ran together at one point. He was amazing, the perfect mix of attentive and confident, and of course, his signature sweetness had your heart squeezing tight in your chest.
Sitting back in your chair, you tap your fingertip against your laptop thoughtfully, your nails clicking on the plastic.
Yeah, the sex is great. Some of the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, actually. And you definitely don’t want to give that up. You don’t want to give Marcus up.
But.
There’s that little part of you, the part that you’ve shoved away deep down, never allowing it to see the light of day, hidden behind a queasy feeling of uncertainty. It’s a part that wants a little bit more, a little harder, a little rougher. A part that you’ve never shown anyone, for fear of ridicule.
Also for fear of how far you would let it take control.
But after your divorce, after realizing how much of yourself you had pushed aside for the sake of keeping your ex-husband happy, you had realized… maybe you wanted to see. Maybe you wanted to let that instinct take over, and see what it felt like, with a partner you could trust not to shy away from it.
And sweet, sugary Marcus?
Marcus, who presses soft kisses along your temple as he undresses you? Marcus, who holds you gently while he carefully pulls pleasure from your body? Marcus, who murmurs tender admirations into the crook of your neck as he slowly slides inside you?
There was no way he’d be into that. And you’re not willing to bring it up and risk scaring him away.
You’ve survived this long without giving that more… intense part of you any satisfaction. Maybe right now you need to focus on just being happy, and not worry about the future. You don’t need to give in to that darker side of you to enjoy sex, and you definitely don’t need it to be happy with someone.
And you are.
You’re happy.
That silly little grin curves your mouth again. You try to temper it with a healthy dose of easy, girl, taking it slow, remember? but you can’t help it when your phone buzzes and you see it’s a text from Marcus asking how your meeting went and saying he can’t wait to see you tonight.
Ok, so maybe a giggle even slips out.
But you’re happy.
Standing up with a purpose, you look around your office.
And why shouldn’t you be? You had worked hard to get here, almost a decade’s worth of toiling to prove yourself, shoving your way into your dream job and succeeding on pure determination and skill. With some sweet-talking to cover up the simultaneous arm-twisting, yesterday you had finally earned your spot in a role where you could make an actual difference.
Which was exactly why Marcus was coming over tonight. He wanted to celebrate your promotion by making you dinner, and even though you had protested at first, he’d won you over with a little sweet-talking and arm-twisting of his own.
He’d been getting better at that, talking you into letting him do things for you, but it was still weird to you. For pretty much your entire life and certainly your entire marriage, you had been extremely self-sufficient, independent to a fault. You never asked for help unless you truly needed it, and had exhausted all other options. You didn’t exactly hate people doing things for you, but you did feel a sort of guilty about it. The thought of putting someone out, making someone feel obligated to do things for you made your stomach turn.
But it was deeper than that, too.
The possibility of liking it when people do things for you, maybe even growing to need it, was terrifying.
Your life had been full of abandonments, let downs and disappointments. You had learned not to rely on anyone but yourself.
But sweet, kind Marcus, with his adorable dimpled grin and warm brown eyes and soothing voice…
Sighing in a manner that you refuse to label as “dreamy,” you head out of your office to the bathroom for a quick shower before Marcus arrives.
Sure, Marcus had wormed his way through the tiniest of cracks in your defenses. Which was fine, as long as you were aware of it. And, of course, made sure that’s all you allowed him.
 ***
A polite rap on your front door snaps your attention from the kitchen counter you’re wiping down, and you only have a split second to register the sound before all hell breaks loose.
Two hundred pounds of canine in the form of two bull-mastiffs tear through the house toward the front door, your shouted command to calm down lost amidst the scramble of large paws on the floor and deep, rumbling barks that echo throughout the entryway.
“Seriously guys, calm down.” You make your way to the door, weaving in-between the masses of brown fur and beefy muscle. “Fred, Ginger, hush, go on, get out of here.”
The dogs reluctantly obey, even if only enough for you to open the door.
Marcus.
Warm brown eyes and a dimpled smile fill your vision, and you pause for a moment to take in the sight of him, dressed in blue jeans and a dark red henley that does all kinds of wonderful things to his chest and arms.
Meeting his smile with one of your own, you lean a shoulder against the door-frame, feigning nonchalance while your heart flutters with excitement. “You know you can just come in, you don’t have to knock.”
His grin widens. “I like to give the welcoming committee a chance to feel important.”
As if on cue, the dogs squeeze past you and out the door, immediately swarming Marcus, tongues lolling through big grins and tails thwacking against his legs. You snort softly in amusement as he leans down to scratch them both behind the ears, one at a time since his other hand is holding a bag of groceries.
“Here, let me.” Stepping forward, you snag the handle of the bag from his fingers. “Better come in or they’ll have you trapped out here all night.”
He steps into your space, hand cupping your jaw and tilting your lips up for a kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, and so quintessentially Marcus - as is the mischievous twinkle in his gaze when he pulls away. “There are worse ways to spend my time.”
Your hands drift up his chest, feeling the warmth of him underneath his shirt. “Like this, you mean?”
His mouth curves in an answering smile as he pulls away to look at you, brown eyes warm with affection. “Not even close.”
“Such a charmer.” You press another quick kiss to that boyish smile before turning to step back inside.
His chuckle of amusement as the big dogs try to weave between his legs follows you through the house and into the kitchen.
Setting the bag down on the counter, you start parceling through the groceries, avoiding his gaze. “So what are we cooking?”
“‘We’ are cooking nothing. I am cooking dinner while you relax.” He slides closer to you, arm looping around your waist and tugging you gently away from the counter.
You hold your ground, planting your feet. “I can help. You don’t have to -“
His lips suddenly press to yours, soft but insistent, and you’re temporarily overwhelmed by the feeling of Marcus, warm and broad and steady, mouth moving oh-so-sweetly against yours as he chases the whimper that squeezes from your throat.
Suddenly he’s pulling away and your hands grasp at his shirt on instinct, tugging him back. Your eyelids drift open and you catch the smirk on his face, and realization clicks. “Distracting me won’t work.”
“I beg to differ.” His fingers curl around the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he can trail his lips over your jaw, pausing to press a kiss just below your ear, and you stifle the sigh of pleasure that slips from your mouth.
The curl of his lips on your skin tells you he caught the sound anyway.
His hand on your waist slides up, thumb brushing the curve of your breast, but you resist the urge to arch into his touch. “If you keep this up neither of us will be cooking tonight.”
He huffs softly against your neck. “Fair enough.” Pulling back, he meets your gaze, playful smirk replaced with open earnestness. “Let me make dinner for you. Please.”
“I swear, you’re one second away from actually pouting.”
“If that’s what it takes to get you to sit down for once.”
You roll your eyes, smiling at his determination. “Fine. I won’t help with dinner. Compromise: I’ll get the dogs set for the evening while you cook.” He opens his mouth to protest but you keep talking. “That way we can just relax after dinner, maybe watch a movie?”
The slight narrowing of his eyes means he sees your diversion, but after a moment he relents, hands smoothing down your back as he shakes his head. “One of these days I’m going to convince you to let me take care of you like you deserve.”
A sharp twinge of guilt and shame stabs through your stomach, nauseating, and you shove it deep down as you step away from Marcus. “And one of these days I’m not going to cave to those puppy dog eyes of yours.”
His begrudging chuckle follows you as you head toward the patio door to let the dogs out, their heavy paws scuffling along behind you.
 ***
Dinner was delicious, the movie an old favourite that allowed the two of you to chat quietly about your day without missing anything. Marcus had tucked you into his side as soon as you’d sat down, his presence warm and steady through the night, his hand casually stroking the curve of your waist. Fred sprawled at your feet, snoring softly, and Ginger took her usual place when Marcus was over, curled up on the cushion next to him, big, heavy head lying in his lap as he scratched her favourite spot, the divot between her eyebrows.
It was a perfect night.
Except for the anxiety fluttering in your stomach.
Marcus had let you help clean up after dinner, at least. But you still felt bad - he didn’t have to cook. You liked cooking, and you really liked cooking for other people. It felt good to take care of others. You’d done it your whole life, it was a well-practiced habit, one you felt comfortable doing.
The anxiety is still buzzing under your skin as you get ready for bed, pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and a loose tank top, then a chime from your phone catches your attention. Skimming through the long list of notifications, the last one catches your eye, and you open the related email.
“Are you kidding me?” You grumble at the phone screen, thumbs already typing out a reply.
Marcus walks into the bedroom carrying the bag he uses for overnight stays at your house, pausing as he takes in the expression on your face. “Everything ok?”
You sigh, quickly flipping over to your calendar on your phone. “This supplier is saying they can’t fulfill our last order, so they’re canceling it. He wants to book a meeting to discuss, I’m going to have to pull up his contract and - shit.”
The block of time the supplier proposed shows out of office in your calendar. Vet Appt.
“What’s up? Anything I can do?” Marcus sidles closer, furrow forming between his brows.
You groan in frustration. “The dogs have a vet appointment for vaccine booster shots at the same time the supplier wants to meet. And apparently that’s the only time he’s available, he’s traveling the rest of the day.”
Marcus shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. “I can take the dogs. They’re pretty comfortable with me.”
“No, it’s fine.” You start typing out a reply to the supplier asking that he free up his schedule more to resolve this issue, gaze focused on your phone screen.
“I really don’t mind. I’ve got a light day tomorrow, just paperwork to close up a case.”
Your thumbs fly too fast over the keyboard and you have to backspace to correct a typo. “It’s fine, I’ll handle it.”
“Hey. Let me help.”
His voice is quiet and polite but it snaps through the tension you’ve been holding on to all night, and it pours out of you, clipping your words sharply. “I said it’s fine.”
You growl as you make another typo, throwing your phone on the bed in frustration. Marcus watches you, something unreadable in his expression, and for some reason that just irritates you further.
Crossing our arms in front of you, you give him a leveling look. “You knew what my work was like when we started dating. These things happen, and it’s my responsibility to figure out how to make it all work.”
His eyebrows flick up, obviously taken back by your tone. “I know. I’m just saying I can help.”
“I don’t need your help, Marcus!” Inwardly, you cringe at the volume of your voice. It’s too much, too different from his gentle cadence. A little voice whispers that you’re being unfair, lashing out at him, but you can’t stop yourself. “I’ve handled everything in my life just fine up until now, and I can handle everything moving forward.”
The furrow between his brows is back and he shakes his head once. “I know that. There has never been a single moment of doubt in my mind that you can’t handle anything that’s thrown at you.”
His soft tone of admiration is jarring, a clear contrast to your sharp, heated words that throws you off balance, and you can only look at him in silence as your thoughts race to find footing again.
He watches you for a moment, that warm gaze contemplative. “You are the most capable person I’ve ever met. To deal with everything that’s on your plate and still have the capacity to care as much as you do - it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”
He pauses, a faint flush pinking his cheekbones. “I’m… I’m in awe of you. I know that sounds cheesy but I really can’t think of any other word for it. So please believe me when I say I didn’t offer to help because I don’t think you can do it yourself. I know you can handle everything. I guess I… I hope you know that you don’t have to. You can lean on me, if you want. I’m here.”
I’m here.
Two words, softly spoken, land on your skin with the delicacy of a butterfly.
And send a shockwave through your entire system.
I’m here.
You know it’s true. From the moment you met him, he has been. His presence has been a constant, even when he’s not physically with you, whether it’s a warm smile as you tell him about your day or a quick text message saying he can’t wait to see you tonight. He’s here, supporting you, making you feel special, making sure that you’re taking care of yourself.
I’m here.
Never once has he given you reason to doubt the truth of those two words.
Even now, as you childishly take your frustrations out on him.
Even as you hold him at a distance that keeps him safely outside of your carefully constructed walls. The walls you built after too many people had hurt what’s inside, used you until there was nothing left, took what they needed with no regard for what little they were leaving you with.
Marcus never takes from you.
Marcus only gives.
Something cracks inside you, and a flood of emotion catches in your throat, brings tears to your eyes. He sees it, concern twisting his expression, hands lifting to reach for you before they pause, unsure of if you want him or not.
And oh god that hurts, the thought that he doesn’t know, doesn’t know how you feel about him.
How you feel right now.
Three quick steps and you’re on him, hands cupping his face to draw his mouth to yours. His startled sound gets lost in your kiss and his arms come around you, steadying, as the two of you sway with your momentum.
It feels so good and perfect and he feels so good and perfect and you press yourself tighter to him, some wild instinct trying to mould your body into his, needing to be as close to him as possible. Needing to show him that you don’t want to push him away, despite what you might say, that you want him right here with you.
An instinct that almost instantly flares into arousal, heat sparking down your body to settle between your thighs. Your hips move with it, seeking friction, seeking more of him, pressing into his.
He groans, low and rumbling, sliding a hand up your back to curl around your neck and tilt your head further back, giving him better access to delve into your mouth, pulling a keening whine from you and taking it into himself.
His hand shifts and his thumb suddenly rests over your racing pulse and your thoughts are flooded with something, a thick haze that erases all logical thought, allowing that instinct you’d felt a moment ago free reign to lock onto your awareness.
Panic floods your thoughts and you shove it away, recognition flickering with anxiety.
It’s that instinct, that part of you that you’ve pushed away for so long, afraid of what it meant.
The part of you that wants to let someone else be in control for once.
Then his thumb gently brushes over the throb off your pulse, soothing, while his long fingers hold your head firmly, and you don’t want to resist anymore.
It takes barely a thought and the thick haze swarms over your awareness in full.
Everything else fades away and you can feel only him, his palm on the curve of your lower back, strong and steady. His broad chest pressed against yours, warm, solid. His mouth expertly pulling pleasure from your lips and tongue, stoking the heat of arousal in your core.
His long, thick fingers curled around your neck, holding your very heartbeat in his hand.
Him him him Marcus -
You want this. You want to feel this, only him.
It takes a couple tries to get your body to obey, to pull back from him enough to speak. “Marcus.” Your voice is high and wavering in the air between you. “I-I need…”
Too many words, too many things you could say next but can’t, your tongue frozen to the roof of your mouth.
Your gaze lifts to meet his just as some kind of understanding flashes across his expression.
Those warm brown irises grow darker, almost black, bottomless.
He sees you.
And you should be terrified of being so exposed, but all you can think about is how much you want him to know all of you.
He tilts his head a little, watching you closely as his thumb presses ever-so-lightly over your pulse, his breath catching when your eyes widen and your hands clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. “What do you need, beautiful?”
He knows.
You can hear it in his voice, see it swirling in those deep brown eyes.
The last frisson of logical thought left in your mind tries to panic.
But the haze on your thoughts doesn’t care.
“Don’t hold anything back.” You lean into his grip, pressing his thumb even tighter to your pulse, heart skittering against it.
His warm baritone drops even lower, rasping down your spine, holding a note of something you haven’t heard in his voice before.
“Do you know what you’re asking for?”
Something that calls to the thick haze that’s settled over you, something that tells you even if you don’t know the answer to that question, he does.
A moment of stillness, just his gaze watching you, just your heartbeat pounding in your ears and against his grip.
You swallow hard, throat flexing under his hand. “Show me.”
He looks at you for a long moment, searching your features for any sign of hesitation, brown eyes meeting yours once more to read the certainty there.
Then he moves.
It’s lightening-fast.
One moment you’re standing and the next you’re face down on the bed, his hands on your waist, pressing you firmly into the mattress.
The air leaves your lungs in a rush and your fingers claw at the blanket, trying to ground yourself, a dizzying wave of arousal coursing through your body.
“You want me to show you, huh?” Marcus leans over to murmur into your ear, making sure you hear his every word, trailing his fingers down your back as he speaks. “You want me to show you what I’ve been thinking about since I first saw you? Standing in line at the café, listening to you talking on the phone, so focused, so confident, insistent on getting what you wanted. God, it was so fucking sexy. Then you turn around and this perfect ass -” his hand suddenly squeezes the plush flesh, fingertips digging, sending little stabs of pleasure-pain straight to your core. “- is right there in front of me, and all I could think about was how it would look bouncing on my cock.”
Fuck.
The dampness between your thighs grows, a warmth that makes the cloth of your underwear stick to your folds.
Your thoughts move sluggishly, words trying to make sense of instinct. “Please, Marcus.”
“Please what, baby?” His voice is gentle, coaxing, even as his hand on your ass grips tighter, tiny pinpricks of pain making you squirm.
Frustration worms its way through the haze. “I-I don’t know.”
“Beautiful girl, doesn’t know what she needs but knows she needs it.” He shushes you softly, relaxing his grip and smoothing his hand over the stinging bruises. “You said you want me to show you, and I can do that. I can show you what you need. But you have to do something for me, ok?”
He presses a tender kiss to your temple, gently tilting your chin up over your shoulder so he can meet your gaze fully. “I need you to use your words, especially if it ever gets to be too much. I know it might be difficult in the moment, but you’re so strong, sweetheart, I know you can focus enough to tell me to stop if you want me to, at any time and for any reason. Can you do that for me?”
You swallow against a dry throat, push the word out. “Yes.”
He smiles, eyes dark and full lips curling. “Good girl.”
The praise shoots through the haze and that primal instinct inside you preens, making you whimper at the fresh wave of arousal, back arching your hips higher as your fingers curl into the sheets.
His smile grows, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, did she like that? When I called her a good girl?”
You huff against the mattress, thighs squeezing together as your core throbs. Oh god why was that so hot? Him talking to you in the third person? “Yes, I like it.”
Out of the corner of your eye you watch his gaze track the movement and then he shifts down the bed, out of sight again. “Are you wet for me, baby?”
“Mmmph.” Your hips lift off the bed instinctively, body trying to supplement where your voice can’t.
“Use your words.”
Oh fuck -
The soft note of command in his voice makes the haze of your thoughts pulses and words burst free, fall gasping from your lips. “Yes, oh god I’m so fucking wet for you, please Marcus -”
He growls - growls - and suddenly his hands are tearing your shorts and underwear off and the sting of the fabric scraping down your legs with the harshness of the movement only amplifies that primal instinct to feel more.
Then his hands are lifting your hips and pushing your legs so you’re kneeling on the bed, his movements just as sharp and fast as before, and you’re gasping into the sheets at the feeling of the cool air swirling over your wet cunt.
He hums behind you. “Mmm, look at you, all spread out for me.”
Those big, warm hands cup your curves, steady on the sensitive skin where your ass meets your thighs, and he clicks his tongue in mock sympathy. “Poor girl, beautiful pussy is so fucking wet you’re dripping.”
His thumbs glide up to press and pull you completely open, and you keen, senses overwhelmed, vulnerable. He chuckles softly and you feel your inner walls flutter at the knowledge that he’s enjoying this, just watching you like this. “Look at you, clenching on nothing. Need something to fill you up, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” Fuck, you can’t even talk, you’re so turned on, you’ve never felt so much before.
“Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ll fill you up, nice and full, but I’m going to taste you first.”
Before his words can even sink through the haze of your thoughts his tongue is laving over your entrance and your hips twitch with a wave of pleasure, the hot wet muscle gathering the slick that’s formed there and flicking inside for just a second before disappearing, leaving you panting.
You hear him swallow and moan at your taste, and oh god that’s hot.
His tongue glides down to your clit, swirling lightly, over and over at a pace that instantly steals the breath from your lungs.
Pleasure builds, your core clenching, back arching as your body begs for more, and he moans into your cunt, open-mouthed and breathy, and the feeling of warmth ghosting over your slick folds makes you writhe on the bed, shuddering cry muffled against the sheets.
Over and over his tongue works your clit, pulling it into the wet heat of his mouth and flicking tight circles as he suckles, drawing your pleasure higher and higher.
Then his arms are curling around your thighs to hold you in place and his tongue is rolling against your clit and his nose is brushing against your entrance and your orgasm is right there, blindsiding you, yanking you closer and closer to the peak as his tongue presses over your clit and flicks hard and you’re crying out wordlessly as you fall -
His hands grip you hard as your hips flex, the deep groan rumbling from his chest vibrating against your pussy and shoving another wave of pleasure through your body.
You whimper and claw at the sheets until finally it releases you, leaving your limbs quivering, your cheek limply pressed to the mattress.
There’s one brief moment, one breath to fill your lungs, for the world to start to reassemble around you and then he’s shoving his cock into your still-fluttering cunt, straight to the hilt.
The force of his thrust threatens to push you across the bed but his hands grab your waist firmly as he pulls out, only to immediately shove forward again, driving his cock deep. A strangled shout stutters from your throat, lips mouthing at the sheets.
He holds your waist with one hand while the other slides under your tank top, up your back and down again, caressing the curve of your hip. “Fuck, you look so good like this. Does it feel good, beautiful?”
You almost choke on your own words as he thrusts into you again, the zipper of his jeans - fuck, he’s still fully clothed - biting into the sensitive skin of your ass. “Y-yes.”
“Do you like it when I fuck you like this? Bend you over and fuck your pussy as hard as I want?”
The haze of your thoughts throbs as he takes up a rhythm that has the edges of your vision going dark. The entire world narrows down to just the feeling of him inside you and around you, the sting of his thrusts against your ass and thighs, the not-quite bruising grip of his hands on your waist, the blinding pleasure radiating from his cock as it glides over some spot deep inside you again and again -
Then suddenly he stops.
Your entire body shudders hard, cunt clenching around his cock, begging for friction. You whine into the sheets, a garbled questioning sound, your thoughts reeling at the shift.
His hands smooth down your back, soothing, voice firm. “Answer me, baby. Do you like it when I fuck you like this?”
That instinct, the haze that forces your focus to only Marcus, seems to speak for you, pushing words from your mouth, rough with need. “Yes I love it please fuck me like you want to -”
He groans, picking up his brutal rhythm. “Good girl, such a good girl for me.”
And then your words are lost again, all senses blinded by pleasure.
His cock drives through your core and every thrust feels like he’s punching into your fucking soul and then his hands are pressing down on your shoulderblades, forcing your back to arch even more, tipping your hips at a sharp angle and the head of his cock hits that spot inside you and you’re coming again -
And again and again and again -
You don’t stop you can’t stop it’s just wave after wave before one let’s go another begins and -
He picks up the pace with one-two-three quick, deep thrusts and pleasure explodes across your vision, white noise flooding your ears, inner walls pulsing around his cock over and over and your lungs scream for air.
A split second, a flash of time, you hang there then you drop and your awareness falls back into your body.
You’re moving slowly, his hands guiding you onto your side as your limbs continue trembling with aftershocks.
He slides behind you, warm and steady along the length of your frame, one arm curling underneath your shoulders to pull you close and the other tucking you into the curve of his body, his hand splayed just under your collarbone.
Your body obeys the silent command, drawing a deep and shuddering breath, gasping and choking like you had stopped breathing for ages.
The white noise ebbs and you hear his voice, quiet and unfaltering, right next to your ear.
“Breathe for me, sweetheart, nice and slow, just breathe and relax.”
The haze of your thoughts follows his instruction, focusing on expanding and retracting your lungs, bringing your heartbeat down to a reasonable pace. His hands never leave you, one resting over the centre of your chest, while the other strokes your temple, his arm cradling your head.
Finally your limbs relax, fingers uncurling from where they’ve fisted in the blankets so hard they hurt. You focus on feeling him behind you, the softness of his shirt against your bare shoulders, the rough denim of his jeans against the back of your thighs, the faint, steady warmth of his breath on the curve of your neck.
He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Are you with me?”
“Yes?” The word falls from your lips, rough and strained.
“Good girl.” The soft chuckle makes you smile, belatedly hearing the uncertainty in your own voice. His hand suddenly leaves your chest and cups your pussy, making you start, the heat of his palm a shock to your oversensitive flesh. “I think you need to come like that again, hmm?”
Your sluggish thoughts register that he’s asking a question. “Can I?”
“Are you asking if it’s possible? Or asking for permission?” He rises up on an elbow to look down at you, keeping your head nestled on his forearm, his dark gaze a hypnotic mixture of amusement and lust. “Because the answer to either question is ‘yes.’”
Your whimper is caught by his mouth, his lips coaxing yours open to slip his tongue inside. The taste of him floods your senses and your entire body arches toward him, needing to feel him.
He groans at your movement, hand between your thighs gliding up your body to curl around your neck, leaning slightly on his forearm, pressing your chest down just enough to prevent you from moving.
The sensation is overwhelming, a shiver runs down your spine and your breath stutters against his lips.
He pulls back just a bit to look down at you again. “You need this, pretty girl? Feeling me on you, my hand on your throat like this?”
His hand on your neck squeezes once, a barely-there movement, and a white-hot thrill shoots through your body, throbs in your core. “Y-yes I like it.”
“Hmm, I think it’s more than that.” He whispers as he trails kisses down your jaw. “I’ve seen it, sometimes, when I’m fucking you just a little rougher, something in your eyes that begs for more.”
His tongue laps at the skin of your throat right over your fluttering pulse. “A part of you that needs this.”
The hand squeezes again, for longer this time, and for a moment you can’t breathe, can’t move, frozen, and then he loosens his grip and oxygen is rushing through your system with a flurry of endorphins and cortisol as your fight or flight instinct flares into action, tensing every muscle.
But Marcus is right there, long fingers moving in soothing strokes up and down your neck, lips pressing tender kisses over the bridge of your nose and cheekbones.
Endorphins win out, sweeping you away into the warmth and security that he’s layering on your body with his gentle touches. Your hands clutch at his arm, holding tight, your breath coming in quick pants that almost sound like whimpers to your own ears.
His voice is soft, gentling yet direct. “Open your eyes.”
Your eyes are shut tight and it takes effort to open them, the haze on your thoughts delaying any communication with your body. But you want to obey, to be good for him, so you slowly open your eyes, meeting his gaze above you.
Something like awe forms on his features, an open amazement, as his hand strokes up to cup your jaw, fingertip brushing along the corner of your eye. “God, look at you. Absolutely perfect. Just… lovely.”
He dips down to kiss your forehead gently, runs his nose down along yours, his words brushing over your parted lips. “My lovely one.”
Something twists in your chest, turning and turning until it’s knotted around your heart and it hurts but it feels so good at the same time. A broken cry is pushed from your chest, sounding something like his name and a curse and a plea all at the same time.
His lips meet yours briefly, a reassuring kiss followed by a soft susurration, his hand returning to your neck, a comforting weight. “Tell me what you need, lovely one.”
Tell me what you need.
What do you need?
The haze of your thoughts narrows, sharpens for just one moment.
And you know.
You know what you need.
What he’s been trying to show you.
It’s this.
This state of hyper-awareness that allows you only to feel, all logical thought locked away behind a fog of pleasure.
There’s nothing else here, no problems to solve, no one who needs you to care for them, no one here to take from you.
It’s just you and him - Marcus, the shield protecting you from everything, the guiding hand showing you how to achieve perfect bliss, how to find pleasure in only receiving.
Marcus, who now holds your life in his hand with a tenderness that speaks to how aware he is of this responsibility, and that sincere, open gaze that tells you he will never break your trust.
Slowly, but with no hesitation, you curl your fingers around his wrist, pressing his hand tighter to your throat. “You. I need you, like this.”
He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, taking a moment to simply share your breath before kissing you oh-so-softly. “Good girl. My beautiful, smart, strong girl. You have me.”
Your heart throbs and your eyes sting with emotions you’re not ready to name.
He shifts, hand on your neck moving to grasp your thigh and lift up, baring your cunt to the cool air of the room. Your breath hitches in anticipation as he lines up, the head of his cock brushing along your soaked folds, catching on your entrance, then he’s pushing in, a slow, relentless movement that instantly has your legs trembling.
It’s a moment that seems to stretch forever, your entire body strung tight, focus centred on the split of your inner walls around his cock. And the whole time he’s watching you, those burning-dark eyes just inches from yours, gaze flickering over your features, noting every pull and crease and twitch as your expression shifts to one of pure need.
Finally his hips are flush with your ass and he pulls you back a bit more so your weight rests on him, your head tucked into the curve of his arm, his hand on your thigh gliding up until your knee is hooked over his elbow. You squirm helplessly, stretched open and pinned in place, stuffed full of his cock.
The need to move claws at your skin, threatens to bring tears to your eyes, so you squeeze them shut to stop it. Your thoughts are spiraling, frazzled, near panic, and you don’t know why, the sensation of being pulled open and vulnerable overwhelming and you can’t -
Then his hand glides up your chest, fingers brushing the curve of your breast over your tank top, the motion pulling your knee even higher until his fingers curl around your throat and there that’s it yes -
The weight of his hand, warmth of his palm on your racing pulse, smooth calluses on his fingertips along the sides of your neck.
It anchors your thoughts again, pulls you back into place, and the haze settles, firmly shutting out any anxiety.
Your eyes drift open, meeting his gaze. He’s still watching you, assessing, as if he knows what just happened inside your own mind, as if he can see the moment you let the haze take over once more.
His mouth curves into a gentle smile, full lips pursing slightly. “That’s it, keep your eyes open. I want to watch you feel this. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” The haze speaks for you again, firm and confident.
His thumb strokes over your pulse. “Good girl.”
He moans softly at the subsequent pulse of your cunt around his cock, a thrill of pleasure coursing through your core at his praise.
Then he starts to fuck you.
It’s an unending series of long thrusts that drive deep, with a snap of his hips that punches up into you, setting every nerve in your body afire, shoving little whimpers from your lungs and sending starbursts across your vision as the slick glide of his cock spreads your cunt deliciously.
Words fall from your lips among the choked sounds. “Oh god - I - so good - don’t stop please - don’t -“
“I’m not stopping until you come. Wanna feel you flood my cock.”
He pants above you, voice rough with the effort of his movements and his own pleasure, and that instinct inside your thoughts preens, knowing you are the reason.
It spurs on your own pleasure, climax rising quickly, and your hands fly for purchase, one gripping the forearm of the hand on your throat and the other reaching up to find his free hand. He grasps your fingers, twining them with his own, holding your joined hands just over your shoulder.
A jagged moan rips through your chest - the contrast is devastating, this tender embrace and the soft open-mouthed kisses along your cheek as he fucks you roughly, cock spearing hard and deep and hitting that spot every time, pushing your pleasure up and up and the hand on your throat tightens just a bit, pressing just so along the sides of your neck and your vision blurs until all you can see is those dark eyes that see all of you.
His words float through the haze. “You’re gonna come so hard, I can feel it, can see it. You’re gonna come like this, spread open on my cock, pinned down with my hand on your throat, and you’re gonna love it, aren’t you? Come for me, my beautiful, perfect girl.”
Your orgasm crest, sparking all along your skin and tensing in your muscles and you’re suddenly untethered, floating in that haze, needing an anchor to pull you back and keep you safe and you call out -
“Marcus - “
He doesn’t let up, fingers flexing just a little harder on your throat, cock splitting you over and over as his words sink deep into your soul. “Let go, lovely one. I’ve got you.”
His grip on your throat slackens and oxygen floods your lungs and -
You come.
Hard.
Harder than you’ve ever come in your entire life.
Every muscle seizes, ripples, spasms, your heartbeat rushes in your ears, and for a moment you can almost hear his, his pulse, throbbing against your neck through his hand and against your inner walls through his cock. Your awareness flares and envelopes him until all that exists and has ever existed is just him and you, singular and eternal.
Then the release snaps you back into your body.
Marcus shudders, corners of his eyes tight with concentration, thrusts faltering as your pussy throbs around his cock, squelch of it filling the air. “Fuck, so good, so fucking tight -“
You want him, all of him, need all of him.
“Marcus please -“ your fingernails scrape along his skin as you try to tug him impossibly closer, words lost in your own pleasure spiraling upward again.
Something almost possessive crosses his features, gaze growing somehow darker, and he leans over you, hand shifting to cup the back of your neck and tilt your face up to look at him as he drags his cock in and out. “Want me to come inside you, pretty girl? Fuck, you know how much I love that? Filling you up, watching me drip out of you?”
Your fingers curve around his shoulder, looking up at him with as much sincerity as you can muster, voice wavering as he pulls out only to push back in with a snap of his hips. “I love it, too, please, I need it, need you -“
“Oh, fuck, yes you do, don’t you?” A shiver runs along his shoulders and he drops his forehead to yours, dark gaze completely filling your vision. “Come with me and I’ll come inside you, lovely one.”
The haze of your thoughts ripples, throbs, exalts.
You lift a hand to his face, cupping his cheek, holding him right there with you, his breath and his sounds of pleasure mingling with yours as they grow louder and faster, rising with your orgasms until yours breaks, cunt clutching and gushing around him and he cries out, thrusting home once-twice more before burying himself deep. All you can do is hold on tight, fingernails digging into his skin, riding the wave of your pleasure with him, that primal instinct shouting with joy as the warmth of his spend floods your core.
There’s a moment of calm as your heartbeats sync and your breathing starts to regulate, and you look at him, emotions too deep and weighty to name filling your thoughts, amplified by the haze that still envelopes them.
He looks back at you, those same emotions reflected in that dark, beautiful gaze.
For a moment it’s just the two of you, in the entire universe, a moment too big to fit in the space between you and yet somehow it does, squeezing into those cracks in your walls and curling around that part of you that’s been hiding for so long.
Then he’s moving, carefully pulling out of you, shushing your soft whine at the sudden emptiness with a kiss.
For a brief moment you panic, overwhelmed with the need to be close to him and your arms wrap tight around his shoulders, drawing him back.
He huffs gently into the curve of your neck. “I’m just going to grab something to clean you up.”
You make a wordless sound of protest, pulling him back down to you, and he follows, turning to roll onto his back, an arm curving around your waist to tug you into his chest. Gratefully, you tuck your head under his chin, curling your limbs around him as tightly as possible, pillowing against his broad chest.
His heartbeat thrums under your ear, keeping time with the smooth strokes of his hand up and down your back, the small circles of his other hand on your shoulder, fingers brushing your neck occasionally.
It’s safe and warm and… like home.
The haze of your thoughts flutters, starting to dissipate. Not yet, don’t go yet, I don’t want to go back to… to…
The tears that have been hovering behind your eyes since the moment Marcus laid his hand on your neck finally catch hold, pooling behind your closed eyelids. You try to swallow them back down but it’s useless, you’re still too open, too raw.
Two teardrops fall onto his chest just as you fail to hold back the sob that’s burning in your throat and his hands pause their circling path.
“Hey? You okay?” His voice is so soft, murmuring against your hair.
You try to answer but only a whimper comes out, more tears squeezing onto his skin.
His arms pull you in tighter, lips pressing kisses to the top of your head. “Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”
The sob finally breaks free, and you turn your face into his chest as if you could hide from it, wrestling your voice under control. “Nothing, I’m fine, it’s just -“ you sniff back another onslaught of tears, the haze of your thoughts making all these emotions seem so much bigger, so much more.
Then his hand is cupping your face, gently shifting you to look at him, and there he is, those beautiful brown eyes warm with concern, with care, for you. “It’s ok, just breathe for a minute, all right? Focus on me. I’m here.”
I’m here.
Those words again.
You meet his gaze, letting yourself fall into it, into the feel of his hands holding you steadily. Your body moves to obey him, lungs filling, shifting into a calm rhythm as you focus on the one thing anchoring your thoughts, guiding you back to yourself.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Marcus.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Marcus.
Slowly, the haze begins to pull away, the last of it evaporating with the sweep of his thumbs brushing away the tears from your cheeks and the caress of his fingertips along your jaw.
A smile suddenly breaks through your tears, and it feels like the sun itself is warming the inside your chest. “You are, aren’t you?”
His brows pull together slightly, a little crease of confusion forming between them. “I’m what?”
Your hand cups his to your face as you turn to plant a gentle kiss to his palm, your eyes steady on his. “You’re here.”
Understanding flashes across his face, and he smiles in return. “Always, lovely one.”
*****
Next: Affirmations
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snelbz · 1 year
Text
Better Or Worse {Chapter Three}
Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.
@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab
Better or Worse Masterlist
Chapter Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of sexual acts and is NSFW. 18+ ONLY.
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Cassian -
Knowing that my loving wife is at Az and Elain’s, I make my way home after the gym. I’ve spent the last two nights with Feyre and Rhysand with no contact with Nesta. I should feel guilty for just walking out, but I don’t. If anything, I’m still pissed. 
The worst part is that she hasn’t even tried reaching out. I know I was the one to leave, but she hasn’t called, hasn’t sent a text, hasn’t scoped me out. It’s almost like unwelcome validation, further proving my point and fears. 
Once I’m home, I unlock the kitchen door and make my way in from the garage. The house is quiet and perfectly clean as if no one had been living there in my absence. If I were to guess, Nesta had been spending long hours at her office in the city. She hasn’t had anyone bitching at her to come home on time and I’m sure she’s been taking advantage of that. 
The bed is perfectly made and a basket of clean laundry sits on top of the blankets, none of it mine. Greg, our cat, is sprawled out on my pillow, sound asleep. 
I raid my closet, pulling together a new heap of clean clothes that I toss in a bag. It doesn’t feel right, but I ignore that feeling. I have to ultimately do what’s best for me and my happiness, even if joy is the last thing I’m feeling right now.
After getting my shit together, I take a look at the time and start stripping down, tossing my sweaty workout clothes in the hamper. I wonder if she’ll toss them in with the next load of laundry or just let them rot as I walk into the master bathroom and start the shower.
I missed my walk-in shower. It was my only request when remodeling our bathroom a few years back. I’m bigger than the average man and our previous shower never let me forget it. In this shower, I was never cramped and it relaxes the hell out of me.
I stepped beneath the hot water and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, then another.
It wasn’t that long ago that Nesta’s eyes shone when she first saw the shower. She hadn’t fought me hard on its design, only bemoaning the cost once or twice, before realizing just how worthwhile it was. It was big enough for not only myself, but room for someone to join me as well, something she’d taken advantage of often.
If I had a particularly early morning, Nesta would almost always get up with me. While I’d get in the shower, she would go downstairs and start the coffee pot, refill Greg’s food bowl, and check her email, reading over them, but never replying. Sometimes, it took two minutes, sometimes, it took ten, but without fail, before my shower was over, I’d feel her arms wrap around my waist and she’d join me.
It wasn’t always sexual. Sometimes, her emails frustrated her and she needed to vent. Listening and rinsing her hair was something I became good at. Even when I wasn’t inside of her, being with her in such an intimate setting, nothing but our souls, naked bodies, and the water running around us, there was nothing to distract and take away from each other.
But then she started to take longer and longer in the mornings. An email needed an immediate reply or she had to read through some quick edits. Those excuses made sense, they were related to her work, the only thing she loved as much as she loved me. I understood.
Then coffee pot wasn’t working, until I got downstairs and then it worked perfectly. She had been watching a news story and got distracted, but could tell me nothing about it. She had a migraine, four days in a row, that only affected her when I touched her.
By the time she stopped joining me in the shower, I’d stopped hoping she would.
I’m not sure when it all started changing. When I stood with Nesta on our wedding day and said our vows, I never expected to end up here. She was the love of my life, and still is, I think, but it’s…different. Every time I look at her now I feel a sense of sadness, pure loss, like looking at an old memory of when I used to feel alive and invincible, but realizing that it ended in heartbreak. 
We had a hell of a love story, though, while it lasted. We’re too much alike in all the right ways, which resulted in sexual tension that almost always ended in mind blowing fucking.
It wasn’t just the sex. Nesta understood me, and I understood her. We had a bond that I had always thought was too good to be true, and maybe it was. 
I miss her. 
I miss the woman that I had fallen in love with, and even though we were married young, I had no doubt of my love for her, and hers for me.
I miss joking around with her, hearing her laugh because I said something stupid and profane. 
I miss just talking with her about nothing and everything, comforting her, having her comfort me. I miss waking up in the morning to her watching me, still gloriously nude from the night before, with messy hair and a soft smile. I miss the little things that I took for granted, like holding her hand or laying with her on the couch while we watched a stupid movie.
I miss the sex. Not just because the lack of it has me horny and aggressive, but I miss the connection. I miss getting lost in her body that was completely in my possession. Sometimes I still let my eyes linger on her body, and I’m not sure if she doesn’t notice or just pretends not to, but I can’t deny that my wife is gorgeous. A beautiful face, of course, but her body…
Strong and curvaceous, her skin so light that even my fingerprints left soft pink tracks behind them. Her ass was one of my favorite places to grab, to smack, to hold onto while she rocked her hips, while she bounced on my cock, but nothing compares to her breasts. I still catch myself looking at them, catching her peaked nipples through those little tanktops she wears around the house. No bra, never at home, not since we started dating, and I sure as hell never complained. Even now, when she hates me for some unknown reason, it’s still no bra, and my eyes can’t help but drift to how they bounce with every step she takes.
Thinking of those showers we used to take together, of the feel of her skin, of tight tank tops with no bras, sent my imagination into overdrive and suddenly, in my mind, I’m not alone under the spray anymore.
I’m remembering one of the last times we had sex, when I’d come home and found her in the shower. Deciding that surprising her was a good idea considering how tense she’d been, I undressed and slipped into the bathroom without making a sound. I’d startled her and she yelled at me for a solid ninety seconds before I had her back pressed against the cool tile and was balls deep inside her.
The decision to take my cock into my hand wasn’t one I made on my own, but as I remember how good she’d felt, how tight and wet, her nails digging into my shoulders, I’m powerless to stop myself.
The sounds she made, the sounds she always made, the gasps and moans and yelling of my name strung with curses. I swear in the quiet as I pump myself, faster and faster, as I lean my forehead against the cool tile. The image of her head leaned back in ecstasy is all I see behind my closed eyes, the way her brows furrowed as that sensation in her core kept building. 
Fuck.
I’d kill to make her react like that again, to make her feel good, to give her exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. I know her. I know what she likes. I know what makes her scream, what makes her knees shake. 
I can’t help but groan as I near my release. It’s embarrassing how quickly it’s approaching. It’s been too damn long since I’ve orgasmed, too damn long since I’ve been touched. So long that I’ve settled for myself, but I’m feeling too good to care.
I imagine it’s Nesta’s lips wrapped around my cock, her tongue exploring as I fuck her mouth with no hesitation. She shows no resistance, she never has. She loves it, loves the taste, loves the tease, loves sucking me dry.
At least she used to.
I ignore the fact that she won’t be down on her knees before me again and relive the memory of it. I groan and my hand finds the wall beside my head, grounding me as I jack off to the lust of something that no longer exists. 
I breathe her name, or maybe I yell it, I don’t know. 
All I know is that all I can think about is her name, her body, her eyes on mine, the love and desperation in them as we fucked. It’s been months since this day, months since this memory, and I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of anguish and guilt as my release comes.
Nesta -
It’s hard to enjoy time with my sisters when my heart isn’t in it.
I feel guilty. I haven’t seen either of them in forever, save for when Feyre has come to pick up Nyx on the days that we watch him, and now that we’re all finally together, I can’t keep my mind in the conversation. 
I tell myself to focus, but I can’t. It’s been days since I’ve seen my husband, days since I’ve talked to him. I know he’s staying with Feyre, but I can’t convince myself to ask her about him. Even though I want to.
I want to know if he’s as miserable as I am.
I pop a strawberry in my mouth before taking a sip of my wine. “Oh, that reminds me,” I begin, even though I’m pretty sure they had moved the conversation along a few minutes ago, when I started to tune out, “I ordered two swings so I can keep one at my place. Because, you know, I’m going to steal this baby as much as possible.”
Elain chuckled, rubbing her growing bump lovingly. “I’m sure she’ll love spending time at her Aunt Nesta’s…and I’m sure me and daddy won’t mind having an afternoon or two to nap.”
“Why do I feel like you call him daddy way too often?” Feyre asks, and Elain nudges her with a scowl, which makes me chuckle. 
My sisters fall back into a comfortable, lighthearted conversation, but I don’t hear much of it. My mind is elsewhere. I wonder what Cassian is doing, what he’s been up to, what he’s been thinking, what he’s been saying about me. I doubt any of it has been good. I’m sure he’s been cursing my name and wishing I was nothing more than a woman of his past. 
“Nesta?”
I blink, unaware of how long I’ve been staring at my wine glass. I look up at Elain and clear my throat. “Hmm?”
Her eyes were soft, full of worry. “You can talk to us, you know.” 
I look to Feyre to try and gauge where her thoughts are at. After all, she’s the one that’s been talking to my husband. Yet, her eyes are just as full of worry, which I hate.
“I’m fine,” I say, and they know it’s a lie the second it slips off my tongue. The room drops into silence, and I close my eyes. “Has he…said anything?”
My sisters remain silent until I open my eyes, but then Feyre says, “He misses you.”
“He has an odd way of showing it.” The hostility in my tone isn’t directed at her, but I can’t help it. 
“He’s sad.” Feyre shrugs. “He hasn’t said much in detail, and I haven’t pried, but I can tell that he’s sad.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. I sip from my wine. I didn’t think that it was possible to feel any more guilty, but now I’m drowning in it. It doesn’t help that my sisters stay completely silent, letting me dwell in my misery. 
“Has he…mentioned when he’s coming home?” I ask, ashamed of how small my voice sounds.
It’s quiet for another moment longer and when I drag my gaze from my glass, I regret it. They’re both looking at me with pity.
I hate it. I hate feeling weak, but the sadness in their eyes isn’t just for me. Cassian has been a staple in their lives as long as he’s been in mine. He’s family to them both, but he and Feyre have always been close, almost stepping into the role of the older brother for her that none of us ever had.
I wasn’t surprised when she was the one who took the lead on this particular conversation.
Clearing her throat, she adjusted her seat on the couch, wrapping her arms around a throw pillow. I couldn’t get the image out of my head that she was putting a shield between us. That made me all the more worried for whatever she was going to say.
“I don’t know that he plans to,” Feyre finally admitted.
I waited for her to go on, not wanting to push, but her silence, and Elain’s, continued. “But that doesn’t— Why wouldn’t he?”
“He asked for a divorce, Nes,” she said, voice gratingly gentle, as if she were speaking to Nyx or one of her students. “That’s a pretty big indication that something is wrong.”
“I don’t need you telling me that something’s wrong.” Neither of them flinch at my sudden fury. They continue to watch me, carefully. I take a deep breath. “He’ll come back. He’s just pissed off and needs to cool down.”
Even as I say the words, I taste the lie.
“He’s given up, Nesta. He’s unhappy,” Feyre said, not unkindly. “And so are you.”
Such simple words, a secret that we tried to hide for so long, but here it is laid out bare: the truth. 
“I know,” I say, quietly, because my anger has faded and now I’m at a loss for words. 
“What about you?” Elain asked, and at my confused expression, she says, “Have you given up?”
If I were to tell the truth, I would say that I had given up a long time ago, I just didn’t realize it. Instead, I shrug. 
“Have you two ever talked about marriage counseling?” Elain asks, adjusting herself on the couch with a cringe. Deep into her last trimester, I can tell that she’s constantly uncomfortable. An annoyance, but a luxury. 
I shake my head. “I can’t remember the last time we had a meaningful conversation, much less a conversation that’s involved any sort of reconciliation.”
The confession flows out of me and my sister's frown deepens. “Well, remember Az and I did couples therapy when we were engaged. It helped so much.”
Azriel used to have a difficult time opening up, talking about his past, and it had created separation between the two of them in the beginning. I remember them doing couples therapy for a few months and only being happier and closer together because of it.
“I don’t really see Cass as…the therapy type,” I say, staring at a loose thread on the blanket thrown across my lap.
“Az was opposed to it at first,” Elain says, “but as soon as our first session wrapped, he already wanted to continue with it. Maybe suggest it. If you want to find your way back to him…” She shrugs and her eyes line with tears. I know it’s her hormones, but I still feel guilty for making Elain cry. She quickly shakes her head. “Don’t mind me. You know I’m an emotional mess.”
Feyre chuckles but I lean over and squeeze Elain’s hand. “I know. Don’t worry. I’ve cried so much the last few days that I don’t think it’s possible for me to cry anymore. Greg has gone into hiding, surely scared shitless that every time he sees me I’m going to be bawling.”
I try to make it a joke, but it’s just pathetic.
“We know you love him,” Feyre says, sipping from her glass. “And he loves you. He really does. He’s just…tired. You know?”
Yeah. I know.
“Do you want to save your marriage?” Feyre asks.
I don’t have the energy for anger anymore. “Of course I do. But I feel like…” Apparently I lied. I do still have tears left to cry, and they come now, appearing so quickly that I can’t even try to stop them. “I feel like so much damage has been done. We’ve drifted too far apart and I have no fucking clue how we’re going to find our way back to one another. I don’t think love is enough anymore. And I feel like I’ve made one too many mistakes.”
“No such thing,” Elain said, dabbing at her eyes. “There’s no such thing as too many mistakes. I’m telling you, marriage counseling works wonders. If you want, I can give you the information of the woman we saw. Suggest it to Cass. See what he thinks.”
My eyes drift back down to that loose thread, although my vision is now blurry. I’m scared of suggesting such a thing and having him laugh in my face.
“What if he doesn’t want to?” I ask, wiping at my eyes with my sleeve. “What if he’s just done? For good?”
This time both of my sisters spoke at once. Elain, trying to comfort as she always did, and Feyre, unafraid to speak the truth, no matter how much it hurt, their words jumbled as they spoke over each other. They gave each other an apologetic smile before turning back to me.
“He won’t be,” Elain promised, taking my hand. “He loves you and he misses you. I’m sure he’d be willing to do anything to get back to how you were.”
“But…” Feyre took my other hand, squeezing once. “If he doesn’t, if this is the beginning of a different chapter of your life, we’re here. You aren’t alone.”
The smile I gave them didn’t reach my eyes, nor do I think it fooled them. I’d been alone for months, but no one said anything, no one noticed.
What would make this any different?
After another hour of talking, clearing my head, and making sure I was good to drive, I headed home. I was avoiding it now, far more intentionally than I had before Cassian left.
Before, I hadn’t been there because I was busy. I came home late, but I always knew the porch light would be on, that my husband was waiting inside, despite our distance.
Now, when I come home, it’s empty. It’s dark and every sound, day or night, makes me jump.
I hate being alone.
But as I approach the house, I see the porch light is on and my breath catches in my throat. When I raise the garage door, it isn’t empty, as I’d expected.
There’s a familiar black truck parked in the spot opposite mine.
He…came home.
For a moment I just sit in my car, surprised and uncertain, not because I’m not happy he’s here, but because I wasn’t prepared.
After a deep breath, trying to calm my newfound nerves, I open the door and head inside. It’s ridiculous, being nervous to see my own husband, but we haven’t spoken in days and our last conversation left too much unsaid. I don’t know if I should be expecting a gentle reunion or preparing for a fight. 
“Cassian?”
The house is quiet. Greg is nearly asleep on the kitchen table, looking like he’d just gotten there and isn’t quite comfortable yet. 
Cassian's keys and wallet are sitting next to his phone on the island. It’s not where he usually puts them when he comes home. I’m finding it much stranger than I probably should.
When he doesn’t respond to me, I start making my way through the house, calling his name once more. I take to the stairs and hear the shower running as I approach our bedroom. 
It must be a good sign, right? That he’s making himself at home?
It looks like he came here right after the gym. His shoes are discarded on the floor, his sweaty clothes sitting on top of mine in the hamper. I drop my purse on the bed and slip out of my boots. I’m just about to sit, to wait for him, to take a few minutes to think about what I’m going to say, but then I hear my husband moan and my entire body locks up.
It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve heard him moan.
He’s having sex in there.
He may be pissed, but to bring some slut into our house— 
My entire body is shaking and I feel like I’m going to vomit. I feel a panic attack coming on, feel my face burning in embarrassment. We’ve had our issues, but I never imagined Cassian to be the cheating one, never imagined he could be unfaithful. 
And then to rub it in my face like this?
Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m storming towards the bathroom and throwing open the door.
A room filled with steam greets me, and before I can start screaming and cursing his name, I freeze.
Cassian’s alone. His back is to me, one palm opened flat against the tile wall, his head thrown back as his body starts to tense. The glass is fogged up, but I can still see enough of the body that I used to explore and pleasure. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him naked, since I’ve let him touch me in any sort of way, since I’ve touched him.
Which seems to be why he’s touching himself now.
He hasn’t heard me come in, and I should walk out, but my feet are stuck just across the threshold, my hand clinging to the doorknob.
He works himself quickly as he moans again, and curses low.
He says my name as he comes.
I must have gasped, must have made some noise as the shock of hearing him groan my name in ecstasy flooded my body, because he turned on his heel, staring at me through the fogged glass. His hand was still around his cock, his chest heaving with each breath that rasped from his lungs.
If I hadn’t been expecting him to say my name, I surely hadn’t been expecting the ire in his eyes when his gaze landed on me. Any heat at what I’d walked in on dissipated as he looked at me.
He may have been thinking of me, but clearly he didn’t want to see me.
My chest felt cold and hollow and empty.
Without a word, I left the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and walked into the bedroom.
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Reunion
A fan fic where Tav is Astarion's younger sibling/brother/sister keeping it GN so anyone can imagine Tav however they want (well Tav is wearing a hood and mask and an high elf so sort of but still lol) Spoiler alerts for the game! Read at your own risk.
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"Over here!" Tav froze as they heard a familar voice -- one they hadn't heard in centuries. Tav looks over to Shadowheart who is puzzled and concern, their eyes began to tear up. "I think someone I know is also captured and still alive."
Shadowheart's eyes soften, judging her high-elven ally's reaction. Had they lost this person? "Then what are we waiting for? I'm sure this person would be pleased to see you." Shadowheart responded. Tav and Shadowheart run for the cliff then they found the source: form a distance a pale high elf.
The Shar Cleric tugs Tav's sleeve. Who's that?" she whispered. Tav gives her a look. "My brother..." Tav replied in a hushed tone.
The pale elf sees Tav and Shadowheart, seemly relieved. "Hurry, I got one of those brain things cornered." Tav looks over shocked, dropping their weapon, the pale elf respond with a bewildered expression. Shadowheart watches with concern. "Why are you looking at me like that? The brain thing!" He points at the direction of the cliff side. Tav slowly walks over to him. "Astarion?" Tav replied.
The pale elf grow shocked and pulls out his dagger but Tav wasn't stirred by it. "Get back, how did you know my name?!" Shadowheart looks at Tav, it was starting to worry as she prepares her weapon. "What are you doing? I don't think he wants to talk." Tav removes their hood and mask, the pale elf's eyes went from hostile to shock.
(Astarion's pov third person) Memories of a distant past before Cazador resurfaced. At sixteen, he hold his baby sibling for the first time. At twenty-one, he bites his lip as five year old Tav talks his ear off. Another time that same year, he saves Tav from drowning. At thirty-one, Astarion listens to Tav vent about their parents expectations and Tav wanted something different. Last memory is pushing Tav to save them. Cazador swoop in and the next two hundred years was hell.
(Now back to Tav)
Astarion stands there in a trance then looks at his sibling; he puts away his dagger cautiously. "Are you really Tav? Or am I speaking to a thrall?" Tav shook their head. "Its me, I'm not a thrall," Then the mind worm connected their minds. Revealing each others memories to an extent. Astarion shakes his head as the memories faded. Tav rubs their temples, the pain and sensation from inside their skull was irritating. "It's the mind flayer worm, It connected us," Tav respond.
Astarion's eyes soften with realization. "The worm of course. That explain things. Somewhat..." And to think he was going to decorate the ground with his sibling's inwards. Guilt and exhaustion was running through him like a punch in a face. He should be happy to see someone from his past life let alone a family member but he felt numb instead. He didn't started really bonding with Tav till they became an adult. No one was at fault the siblings had a large age gap.
"Um, did you said about a mind flayer cornered?" Tav asked. Astarion started chuckled awkardly. "That was a lie to question you. Uh...apologies." he replied.
Tav sighed, they ain't getting mad for this, their too tired physically and mentally. "Apology accepted, I can understand why. I might've done something like that if I was in your shoes." Astarion smiles somewhat, a rare softness shows as he places his hands on his hips. "I'm glad you understand then. So Gwing, do you know anything about these worms?"
Astarion can sense that Tav had developed a wisdom from the passage of time and experience since that fateful night. Tav looks down with fear written on their face. "Yes unfortunately, they'll turn us into mind flayers." Tav replied.
Shit this is worse than he thought. The horror sets in, Astarion realizes once again, he'll be controlled by a different being. "Turn us into..." Astarion starts laughing he didn't want to believe, but reality is cruel. "Of course it'll turn me into a monster. What did I expect?" Then he started to think. "Although it hasn't yet. If we can find an expert -- someone that can control these things. There might still be time." Tav looks at him scared it reminded him of when Tav was little hiding behind him when he talks to someone.
"Control it? We need to get rid of it." Tav replies.
Tav can't deny they are frustrated. Where were you? I thought you were dead. What about its good to see you again? Alias the younger high elf bites their lip. Astarion nods in response to Tav's statement.
"Yes of course, but first things first. Tav I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd, with familar company isn't such a bad idea." said Astarion.
Tav relaxes they had a feeling this is Astarion's way of assuring them he's glad to see them again. To be fair Astarion didn't believe his own sibling was there in front of him.
Shadowheart who was quietly listening to all of this was relieved there was no fights. "I'm glad no one is hurt, I think we should get going." said Shadowheart.
The three nodded and head out. Astarion felt happiness for the first time. But there is a new fear manifesting, Cazador will know soon and his relationship with his sibling will be put to the test. Lets hope they don't come out dead or worst twisted and broken. And he owes an explanation Tav needs, and answers he can provide...soon.
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piratedashmod · 9 hours
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You guys recognize her? You should. It's Marigold. Don't worry if you didn't know who it was at first, because you rarely see her like this...happy and dressed up. Dressed up because she was invited to another Big Dance. Happy because she gets to stick around for longer than what some others believed, thinking she wouldn't last as long as a Cougar or a Duke or even an Eagle.
That last part sounded weird, didn't it? Well, let me explain it in a little story.
You see, the story of Marigold hoping to make it to the Big Dance, portrayed as a gala in Equestria, has been an allegory-inspired tale where real life events would affect what happens next in the story. And if you know me well enough, you can easily figure out the hidden message of the story and know what happens next to her.
I-L-L. I-N-I.
The idea first came in my head in January 2020. Marigold kinda has been used in the past as a vent character, but things were going good for said team for once. The program has been in one of its worst shapes ever. Ever since the national title run of 2005, it had been disappointment after disappointment. First weekend exits. NIT berths. Screw jobs when you make it back to March Madness that were so bad rule changes had to be implemented the next season. And a point so low that finishing above .500 was a pipe dream. It was a depressing state of affairs.
But the turnaround was coming in 2020. We got back in a place where, even though an auto bid wasn't happening, we were on the right side of the bubble. We could dream and hope again, and be all but certain, that the longest drought out of the Dance was ending. We would be back in our rightful place in March Madness.
Well...we all know what happened March of that year.
But hey, everyone's back next season. Not only are they back, but they're better. A hell of a lot better. You are one of the best of the best. You know, and Marigold knows, that your invite to the Big Dance is a lock. She's highly confident, maybe even a little cocky about it. Not only is it a lock, but you might be Queen of the Dance. You're on the doorstep of greatness.
Well...this was the last picture in the series. Marigold happy and looking forward to the Big Dance. It leaves an open ended story as to what happens.
So what did actually happen? She breezes past a Dragon once inside the dance, but is stopped in her tracks by a Rambler. A Rambler who won't let her free because she keeps talking her head off, blocking her from her biggest dreams. And not realizing that she missed her window to even be considered to be the Queen of the Dance.
Marigold goes outside after missing out, shell shocked into a dead silence, with tears gently falling down her cheeks. How the hell could this have happened? Was that a nightmare or did it actually truly happen? What went so wrong that night? It's a moment and a loss so great, Marigold just doesn't know if she'll get over it.
The following years are not that much better. Sure, she gets the invites back to the Big Dance. But there's little confidence that things will go well. The next year, Marigold get Moc'ed so bad that she's upstaged by a Cougar. The year after that, you barely get in the door before some Razorbacks chase you away, putting up very little fight. Marigold is now at a point where she doesn't believe she'll ever get to stick around for more than just a fleeting moment at the Big Dance.
But...you come back every year because you just can't quit, and you know at some point, things will change.
Well...2024 is where it all changes for Marigold, and things are different.
This time, you have a different plan. This time, you seek some help from a stallion from the Southern part of the Empire in a Domask. You find a Hawkins that helps defend yourself better, and maybe even help your troll game.
This time...it works. An Eagle can't stop her, and neither can a Duke. They don't even put up a fight, and the Cougar that was a threat to your hopes and dreams are nowhere to be found. The boosted confidence and experience helps Marigold be the best she can be. It's a Sweet 16 feeling.
Can Marigold Earth Tulip Hosta be the Queen of the Dance? That's to be determined. There's the chance a Cyclone bears down on the Dance, and some mean looking Huskies await before she has a chance to rise like a Phoenix.
But Marigold knows one thing for sure...she can do this, no matter what any doubter and hater says. And it helps that a bunch of other ponies are starting to believe too.
I-L-L. I-N-I.
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