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marvelsmylife · 3 months

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One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Plot: After the events at your dance recital, Azriel will stop at nothing until you forgive him. Even if it means begging on his knees.

Warning: more and more angst, begging, Cassian having to step in to get his brother under control

A/n this is part two to Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don’t. I really leaned on the trope where the male fae spirals while the female fae heal and thrive without their mate. Since it’s me though, this does have a happy ending for the reader and the shadowsinger. Also, there will be one more part to this.

Part One Part Three Bonus Scene

ACOTAR Masterlist

Request

What was meant to be a few days apart turned into two years. No matter how much you wanted to forgive Azriel for what he did, you couldn’t get past the fact he thought you were cheating on him. You tried explaining that to him, but he didn’t want to hear it. He justified his actions by saying if you would have been home more, he wouldn’t have thought those things.

That, in turn, caused you to make the heartbreaking decision to move out of the home you shared with Azriel. Azriel desperately tried to backpedal and apologize, but it was too late.

You packed your stuff and moved out within three days. With the help of Rhysand, you moved into a highly secure apartment. In Rhysand’s words: “You need to be in a highly secured building. Even if you are no longer with Azriel, you are still his mate, and unfortunately, that means you have a target on your back.”

The others in the inner circle were trying to convince you to move in with them. They knew you were in a vulnerable state mentally and didn’t want to leave you alone. You ultimately told them you needed to live on your own for a while but that they were more than welcome to visit you in your new apartment.

You didn’t dare visit them at their homes though. Some of them begged you to visit and even offered to ban Azriel from their home but you refused. You told them that it wouldn’t be right, seeing as Azriel was friends with them way before you came into their lives.

Because of that, Everyone in the inner circle gave Azriel the cold shoulder for a few weeks. They were livid when they discovered what happened between you and Azriel.

Even Elain, who didn’t have a mean bone in her, scolded Azriel for his actions: “How could you do that to y/n! She’s been nothing but kind and loving towards you. You're lucky I'm not your mate. I would never forgive you,” Elain told Azriel in an angry tone. She despised Azriel the most out of everyone for what he did to you. You were the one Elain spent the most time with, and she really loved your company. Now that you asked for space and stopped visiting them, she started spending time with Cerridwen and Nuala. Which wasn’t a bad thing, she loved them dearly as well, but she missed your little chats about your day: “Let’s hope your mate is more forgiven than me.”

While Azriel was suffering without you in his life, you were living your best life without him.

With the help of Rhysand, you decided to open your own dance studio and started teaching children who couldn’t afford to attend your old dance instructor classes for free.

It was hard at first, but with help from your dance friends and even your old instructor, who eventually apologized for banning you because of Azriel’s actions. He was so happy when he learned you were opening a dance studio for children who couldn’t afford it and even offered to come by every few weeks to teach at your studio. “You are an angel for teaching these kids for free,” your old instructor commented after finishing his class in your studio.

Every now and then, though, you would cross paths with Azriel when you would leave your dance studio, and every time he, would make a scene while he pleaded for you to forgive him.

“I told you not to make a scene in public, especially in front of my studio. You’re making my student uncomfortable,” you tried not to show you were furious at him for his action.

Before Azriel had the opportunity to reply, Cassian and Feyre made their way through the crowd that was now formed around you. “I’m sorry about my brother. I’ll try harder to keep him from coming over here,” Cassian apologized while peeling his brother off of you. Feyre stayed back for a few minutes to make sure you were ok and even offered to walk you back to your apartment, but you reassured her that you were ok.

You managed to avoid him for a week before you came face to face with him again during Elains dinner party, where she and Lucien introduced everyone to their twins.

Elain sent you an apologetic look when you realized Azriel was at the dinner party. You smiled weakly at the new mother before you took your seat between Amren and Cassian and across from Mor.

You felt Azriel’s gaze on you the entire dinner. He looked like utter shit, but he didn’t care, not when it’s been a week since he tried to speak to you again.

You tried your hardest to ignore his stare, but you also couldn’t help but glance at him and really took in his disheveled state. His usually clean-shaven face had stubble with dark circles under his eyes. It took every once in you not to rush over to him and wrap your arms around your mate. The only thing stopping you was the flashback of him accusing you of cheating on him.

After dinner, everyone sat around to pass the twins around. Halfway through the night, you decided to step out and get some fresh air. Unfortunately for you, Azriel took it upon himself to sneak out with you when no one noticed. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts about how awkward you felt being around Azriel that you didn’t realize Azriel decided to hug you from behind. “What the fuck! !” you shouted and broke out of the hug: “Azriel, what are you doing out here!”

Azriel dropped to his knees and hugged your legs out of desperation: “My love, please forgive me. I miss you so much. I can’t function without you in my life.”

“Get up. Everyone is staring at us,” you gritted through your teeth when you looked up and noticed everyone staring at the two of you from inside the house.

“I don’t care,” Azriel argued back: “All I care about is you forgive me.”

Rhysand, Cassian, and Lucien looked like they were about to walk over and pull your mate off you, but you signaled them to not intervene. Instead, you knelt down and cupped Azriel’s face: “Azriel,” you felt yourself tearing up: “You have to stop this.”

“I can’t,” Azriel placed his hands on top of yours: “I can’t function without you. I finally understand where I went wrong, and I’m so sorry I’ve caused you so much distress.”

“I’m so happy you realized it,” you replied, resting your forehead against his: “I just need you to give me time and space. Every time you show up and make a scene outside my studio, you reset my progress of forgiving you. Can you please just give me a few more days? Please.”

“I can do that,” Azriel whispered. “Do you think we’ll ever get back to how we used to be?” Azriel asked hopeful.

“Eventually,” you replied honestly. And that was enough for him to keep going, knowing that you will eventually be a family again.

@byyalady @sheblogs @janebirkln @starsinyourseyes @cumuluscranium @honeybee54321 @pussyistasty-blog @azriels-shadowsinger @anuttellaa @pussyistasty-blog @fightmedraco @aunicornmademedoit @esposadomd @thelov3lybookworm @harrystylesfan2686 @sarawritestories @fxckmiup @sleepylunarwolf @mochibabycakes @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @stargirl1714 @tenshis-cake @tele86 @63angel @sagskylar01 @i-am-infinite @kristin813 @one-big-fangirl

#azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar imagine #acotar x reader

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reiderwriter · 4 months

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My Love Is Mine All Mine

Week 2 of my Playlist series 🎧💕

Summary: Spencer Reid always liked broken things, but you didn't think you could be fixed. Maybe all you needed was understanding and companionship.

Warnings: slight angst, case details mentioned - misogyny, kidnapping, etc, but no graphic/ explicit details. Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: Tumblr, please let me post haha I've been good, I promise 🙏 This fic is so late because I've been having some technical issues with tumblr and it has greatly annoyed me, so hopefully if you're seeing this it's been fixed? Who knows... Thank you to everyone who has sent in songs so far for the Playlist series, I'll be cresting the playlist today and posting it for everyone to see and use!

Masterlist || Series Playlist

Falling for Spencer Reid wasn't in your plan for the new year, but looking back, it was probably something that was just bound to happen.

He'd been the first person to show you any kindness after everything you went through, the first person who hadn't put their own rigid horror at your past before their attempts at sympathy.

You watched the way people recoiled from you as you told them - bluntly, you had to be blunt - what the man in the cabin had done to you.

He listened to your words, didn't interrupt, didn't quietly shake in anger, and refuse to meet your eyes like your father did, didn't weep for her baby like your mother did. He took your hand as it shook. He held your gaze.

It was his job to ask questions, but there weren't many left to answer.

The only reason you were alive was because his team had tracked the string of bodies to your kidnappers home. You were alive because one of his coworkers had put a bullet through his head, ending your nightmare.

The very idea of love was repulsive to you as you emerged from that basement in the first days of the next year, and you remembered thinking the snow looked fresh and soft. You remembered wanting to lay in it, to wrap it around yourself like a warm blanket and drift into sleep. The cold ground would be as much comfort as you would allow yourself.

Because after everything, you knew you didn't deserve love.

You accepted understanding from him, though.

When the shock wore off, you were awash in all the misery inflicted upon you. You raged, kicked, screamed, broke things, and made people uncomfortable. Nothing would numb the pain of being trapped inside your head, your head still trapped inside that basement, that cage.

He came to visit you at the hospital. The nurses had given up on you, were content you were physically healing, and that they had technically done their job but not bothered by your deteriorating mental state. Some days, you swore that they pierced your skin in the wrong places purposefully, not even searching for your vein.

But then he was there, with a book and a chess board, and he'd asked you if you'd ever played before.

“No. Chess always seemed too…” You swallowed the bile that drowned your lungs and tried again. “Before, it was boring. An old person game, too many rules. Now… He said we shouldn't do things like this. Said we shouldn't cultivate our minds.”

It was a confession again, but one that took a weight off your shoulders, and not one that pushed it further down.

“Would you like to learn?” His tone was so soft and awkward, like a teenage boy asking a girl out on a first date, that you almost giggled.

“I'll be honest and say you'll never beat me, I've played through most board combinations, including a large proportion of the 10^80 theorised checkmate positions, so if you'd rather do something else, that's fine, or I can leave, too, if… you'd… prefer?”

You had laughed then, a thing that bubbled up from the pit of your stomach and left your shoulders shaking as you gasped for breath doubled over.

You'd been in hell for six months, and he'd drawn you out of it for a few moments by rambling about chess.

“Are you a patient person, Doctor Reid?”

“I think so.”

“Then set up the board and let's play.”

He beat you every time, obviously, but you enjoyed his small explanations of the moves, and you did improve slightly.

More than that, you enjoyed his company. It wasn't that you talked extensively In your hospital room, oscillating between your lowest point and somewhere just a rung above that where the snow was falling and the air was fresh, but that he never looked at you the way others did.

You were discharged and were sad to lose that small glimmer of normality. He'd come twice a week throughout January, and now you were back in your usual shape. You were being discharged, and so that would end.

You were surprised that he came to pick you up from the hospital the day you left.

The parents who had looked everywhere for you for half a year hadn't wanted to, and the close friends from before hadn't spared you a thought since reposting your missing poster on their social media pages.

But the man you played chess with twice a week, the man who'd carried you out of hell himself was there.

“Ready to go?” You nodded, dumbstruck, and followed as he grabbed your bag.

You weren't exactly sure where it was you were going, but you followed the man anyway, only a small part of your brain shouting in protest considering the last time you'd been blindly trusting.

He led you back to an apartment with some bare furnishings but a large window and a warm soft blanket covering the bed. It wasn't his, but yours.

“Your parents are paying for it. They're taking the city to court due to the circumstances. Apparently, there were numerous phone calls to law enforcement that went unnoticed, but the city is looking to settle, so you don't have to worry about rent for a while, maybe ever again. The WiFi is all set up, hot water is working, and so is the heating. The locks are triple enforced, and I'm right down the hall, so if you need-”

“What?”

He blinked at you and suddenly, looking sheepish, as if becoming aware that he'd presumed a friendship between the two of you without consulting you first.

“I live down the hall.”

You stared at each other for a few moments as you processed his words. He lived down the hall. He'd driven you to your new home, set everything up for you, and he lived down the hall.

“You're a good man, Spencer Reid.” You whispered, turning away to not let the moment linger anymore than it already had.

Chess nights became routine. You'd set up the board and play for an hour or two or until you were sick of losing.

Gradually, though, the nights got longer. He'd arrive just as you were eating a meal, and you'd invite him to join you, or he'd bring along takeaway and you'd eat quietly together, talking about everything and nothing.

One day, you'd mentioned a film. A popular one, one you'd loved as a child and still rewatched to this day.

“I've never seen it, is it good?” He'd said. And in your shock, you jumped up and sent half the chessboard flying.

“Well, it seems that now our game is over, that we have time to give you an education, Doctor Reid.”

“I have three PhD's-”

“And still you haven't seen Clueless?”

You'd pulled him over to the couch he'd picked out for you, loaded up the movie and then invented a new tradition.

Chess nights and film nights were separate days of the week. So he could always promise to be around for one of them even if he had to miss the other because of work.

You didn't ask him about his job anymore. He saved people like you, and you didn't need to be thinking about people like you too much.

What they went through, if they survived physically. If they survived in other ways.

He always visited you first when he returned, though. There would be a knock on your door at some point in the day or night, and he'd let you know he was home safe.

Another tradition. You'd opened the door to let him in the first time he'd returned from a case after you moved in, and he'd leaned down and wrapped his arms around you.

You heard the breath of relief, loud and emotional, and hadn't quite realised it had come from you until a few minutes later. Some part of you had thought he wouldn't come back.

Now, every time he came home, you ran to the door and quietly comforted each other, reminding the other that no matter what happened, you were both there for each other.

You weren't sure when traditions and movies turned into love or if it had lingered over you the entire time. You didn't think you could love someone right then, your heart broken into small pieces with the torment you'd suffered.

But it was stitched back together with pieces of him still lodged inside. He was in the very fabric of your being as you became whole again.

The truth was that you most likely couldn't find love again because there was no room in your heart for anyone else. And you'd never be able to reschedule chess nights to go on dates anyway.

You weren't sure if Spencer ever figured out how much of hum you carried around with him, how your eyes followed his lips as he ran through decades of memories to give you the fact he thought would please you the most. You weren't sure if he loved you as much as you did him until you were.

You'd agreed to watch one of his movies for a change, agreeing to stop the streak of 80s brat pack classics to watch a black and white war film from Russia with no subtitles. You'd sat together on that couch under blankets you'd bought together months earlier, and he'd pulled you in closer.

“I want to watch the movie and translate at the same time. You should sit here.” He'd pulled you into his lap, letting your back fall against his chest as his lips fell to your ears, and he began to whisper.

Sitting there so closely, so intimately, was almost torture. Unconsciously, your head tipped back with his words, displaying your neck and shoulders, silently willing his lips to drift even once. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you did your best not to squirm the entire movie, but with your heart beating out of your chest, it was a hopeless cause.

“Did you enjoy it?” He whispered as the credits rolled, but you hadn't even noticed the movie had ended. It wasn't until the silence that followed his question stretched out notably that you came back to reality. You couldn't answer, in fact. You gaped for a few short moments, hoping something vague but accurate enough would just pop into your mind.

As you attempted to negotiate yourself out of distraction, you turned your face to his, but he was closer than you thought.

Your noses touched, and your breaths mingled. His arms still wrapped around your waist, and your blankets still anchored you to one another.

“I wasn't paying attention to the movie, Spencer. I'm sorry.” The words came out of you so fast, yet so quietly that you were surprised yourself how honest you had chosen to be.

“Why not?” He asked, eyes having drifted sleepily down to gaze at your lips.

You didn't answer his question but felt your cheeks flush red. You thought about pulling away, moving back, or at least laughing everything off, but you didn't. You stayed there, still like a deer in headlights.

“Your voice was too distracting,” You forced some of the tension out of your body and let your head fall against his shoulder again, hoping this moment wouldn't end anytime soon.

“Distracting?” He sounded concerned and shifted in his seat, lifting you up from your happy place in his arms until you were again face to face. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

The look on his face was so concerned and focused that you had to pause for a second to catch your breath. He cared about your comfort so much and paid attention to each word that came out of your mouth. He wanted your happiness more than anything in the world.

“No. I'm never uncomfortable with you, Spencer.” You were back to whispering now, hands floating up to grab his own, fidgeting by his sides. You bought them up to your face and guided his hands to your cheeks, needing to show him just how comfortable you were with him in actions, not just words. Words could be dishonest. Actions were honest.

His concern melted away as he began stroking your cheek with his thumb, smiling sweetly at you.

Though you were both content, you'd never been quite this intimate before. So when his thumb swiped over the corner of your lips, your eyes both caught on each other. You could see him weighing up the outcomes in his head, going back and forth between pulling away and pushing in closer.

Slowly and softly, as though he were trying not to startle you, his head moved closer until his lips were on yours.

It was a quiet kiss. You wouldn't describe it as fireworks, or butterflies, or anything loud and grand and passionate. It was quiet, and it was right.

He pulled away seconds later, trying to gauge your reaction, but you followed him away and kissed him again.

When you finally pulled away, it took you a few seconds to realise you'd climbed back into his lap, unconsciously having moved closer to him. You guiltily looked up, waiting to see any discomfort on his features, but to your surprise, he was busy straightening out your hair.

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered as he took care of you. He smiled, looking down at you once again, pulling his arms around you to gently lower both of you down to a laying position on your couch.

“I love you, too,” he said as you held each other and drifted into contented sleep.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid hurt/comfort

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allur1ngs · 5 months

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imagine team bebe walking into bada being scolded by reader and how bada turns into a puppy whenever reader takes charge 😭

bada when reader is mad at her: 🥺🐶 she's so, "my wife is mad at me i hope i die" coded

"bada lee." you say firmly, arms crossed over your chest.

sitting in her office chair, bada freezes, her eyes growing wide and her mouth closing as she mentally curses herself. she knows that tone. that stern way you say her full name, indicating she's done something wrong.

mentally, she runs through everything she's done today, wondering what she did to offend you so much

"did i wake up without giving her a good morning and i love you kiss?" bada thinks. but no, she explicitly remembers that although she'd woken up earlier than you, she'd stayed in bed for hours until you woke up so she could place a kiss on your cheek and say, "i love you" before she went to her office to work.

she touches the side of her face, checking to see if she wore her glasses--her fingers meet the cold, sleek black frames--because if she didn't that would be another mistake. but she's wearing her glasses--

"fuck what day is it?" bada thinks, scrambling to check the calendar she has propped up on her desk to make sure today isn't your anniversary or another important date--

but it isn't.

and she'd taken a break about an hour ago, meaning you weren't mad at her for that...so what could it be?

"yes, baby?" bada says, trying to give you a smile but her lips slightly twitch with anxiety.

"do you know what time it is?" you ask, tapping your foot against the marble floor.

bada rolls up her suit jacket, checking her cartier watch for the time. "five in the afternoon?" she gulps.

"and tell me, how many times have you eaten?" you quirk up an eyebrow accusingly.

oh...

bada closes her eyes and takes in a sharp breath. so that's what it was. she hadn't eaten breakfast, much too wrapped up in her work to eat, and too excited to speak to you during her break to ask for breakfast.

"i haven't eaten..." bada says quietly, opening her eyes to glance at you and see your disapproving expression.

while you and bada speak, the bebe girls are turning around the corner, talking about their latest mission passionately.

"and when i shot him--" lusher's sentence gets cut off.

"that's what i thought." your stern tone grabs the girl's attention, making them huddle around the half-opened door to bada's office instantly--their nosey nature shining through.

"honey, i'm sorry--" bada tries to apologize, looking like a kicked puppy.

behind the door, the girls snicker with each other, large smiles on their lips.

"did you hear that?" tatter whispers, nudging lusher.

lusher nods, trying to hold back her laughter. "honey, i'm sorry~" she mimics your wife's ashamed tone. "bada is so whipped--"

"and unnie is very scary when she's mad." minah points out, staring at your confident and strong posture.

back in the office, you hold your hand up to stop bada from speaking any further. "don't apologize to me."

"sorry--" bada says instinctively before stopping herself.

"no more work." you state. "you're done for today, and i want you to eat. now."

bada looks down at the pile of paperwork on her desk, then back at your expectant expression. "okay." she stands up without another second of hesitation, and instantly makes her way to your side like a magnet. she wraps her arms around your waist and buries her head into the crook of your neck, hoping to soothe your anger. "i really am sorry." she mumbles into your skin. "i didn't notice how late it was."

you sigh, your firm composure breaking at your wife's sincere apology. "it's okay, you just worry me sometimes."

"sorry baby." bada places sweet kisses to the column of your neck. "since i'm not going to be working for the rest of the day...can we cuddle?" she asks, tone hopeful.

"we can cuddle all you want after you eat." you promise.

from outside the office, the girls give each other faux disgusted looks.

"when did bada become such a softie?" cheche murmurs.

"the minute she met unnie it was game over." lusher snickers. "we should be glad, unnie is the only one that can speak to bada like that without receiving a death glare and being threatened."

"the miracles of love." soweon sighs wistfully.

"more like the miracles of unnie." tatter jokes.

#౨ৎ melody's newsletter #bada lee x reader #bada lee x reader fluff

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 3 months

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My dear lgbt+ kids,

I have been openly living as a trans man for some years now. And I'm at a point where it doesn't take up so much mental space anymore.

Don't get me wrong: I certainly do not mean "it doesn't matter anymore" here. I am not a "just call me whatever pronouns, I do not care" person and I don't think I ever will be. Nothing wrong with feeling that way, it's just not how I feel. Being adressed with my name and my pronouns is still important for my mental well-being, and it still triggers feelings of dysphoria when people misgender me.

Even apart from misgendering: My identity is still important, and it always will be! Being trans is not some small thing that loses its importance over time. It's who I am. Being a man - and having grown up in a society that told me I wasn't - influences the way I experience everything in my life (from my self-image to my relationships with others to... well, everything).

What I do mean here is: Before coming out to others, and also before coming out to myself and accepting myself as a man, there were naturally a lot of questions running circles in my brain. Why do I feel so sad when adults tells me I'll grow into a woman? Why does it cause me so much stress when mom tells me to put on a dress? Why does it make me so euphoric to use masculine scents? When I try to picture myself kissing a boy, why do I see two boys? Ah, I just learned trans people exist, why does this fascinate me so much that I can't stop thinking about it? Am I creepy for being so fascinated by them? I'm older now, why is that sad feeling not going away? Why is it only getting worse now that I have "grown into a woman"? Why do I keep getting this horrified feeling that I took a wrong route somewhere and was never meant to arrive at "woman"? Wait... could this mean I am trans? Is it too late to realize I am trans at my age? Can I really be trans when the whole thought of even just considering surgery feels overwhelming and scary? Will I ever be ready to actually come out as trans? I really want to get married some day, could I even find love as a trans person? Can I ever be happy in a relationship if I hide who I am? Can I go on living in the closet? Okay, I am trans and want to come out, is it safe to do that? Will my family still love me? Will I ever be brave enough to come out to people outside of my immediate circle? Will people take me seriously? Will people hate me? Will I regret coming out? What if I fuck up my life?

Well, I came out and the world didn't end. All these questions, I either found answers to them or they just dissolved over time - and that frees up a lot of energy and mental space. The space that was occupied by these questions and concerns is now available to me again.

I do not wonder if I am a man anymore. I just am one. It has become something that is just self-evident to me. It goes without saying - or without conciously spending time thinking about it. Of course I am a man, of course I am Oliver. Who else would I be?

We all have a limited amount of things we can focus on, and many trans people share this experience that over time they do not need to focus so much on it anymnore. But this is not unique to the process of figuring out you are trans - in the sense that a cis gay, bi, ace etc. person could also relate to this, but also in entirely non-lgbt-specific ways. Think about a person prepping for an important exam for example. A lot of their energy and mental space will be tied up in exam related questions... which obviously will not be a permanent state. After the exam, they will naturally no longer by preoccupied by wondering how the exam will go!

I'm telling you all this because one of you asked me if I struggled with coming to terms with being a trans man - and this is my very long way of saying: Yes, I did (and it's pretty normal to do! It's a really big realization about yourself!) but struggling isn't a permanent state.

You'll find answers to some questions, some questions will just fade away. You'll figure things out.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt

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sameschmidtdiffname · 3 months

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heyyyy can I pls req something where Mike tries to make it up to the reader after he says something wrong in their 1st fight as a couple? like “I don’t want to lose you” as an apology and they get back together or something along those lines? tysm I really enjoy ur work :))

But of course!!!

Wanting, Waiting

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Overworked and underfed, you'll go to sleep once some decent work is complete. However, a late night turns into a day long fight.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no gender specific pronouns for Reader, pre-established relationship, argument, cursing, Reader and Mike both got some shit going on, hints of an eating disorder, overworking, hurt/comfort, crying, mentions of: suicide/death, depression, drugging, and kidnapping. Vulnerability is gross.

Notes: 'Slip' walked so this could run full speed into a brick wall. I feel as though I may have redeemed myself.

▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

This page is mocking me.

The hour is late. I stopped checking the clock around 2:00 A.M., and there's a cup of cold coffee right next to me on this table, several rings on the inside from where the coffee had been left sitting far too long. It's cheap, the flavor sticking to my teeth in a way that settles my lips into a slight grimace as I try to convince my hand to move my pen across the just as cheap notebook paper that has been sitting in front of me since I came home.

Come on. It's words. What the fuck is hard about this?

'It's not hard if you can actually get your head out of your ass and do something,' I think to myself. Not helping.

I have an irritating collection of drafts. Oh yes, I can start them and I can certainly plan out the works before me. But actually writing is somehow impossible, and even though I can feel how thick the block is in my mind, preventing me from communicating my feelings properly, I just can't get break myself out of it.

Come on. Finish one draft. Then everything will click together for the rest.

For the past few weeks it's been just like this. Come home, sit down with projects, and try. But no matter what I do, I just can't focus. It's as though my head simply won't allow it. And this house, quite frankly, isn't helping. It's admittedly unsettling atmosphere, the loud noises born from nothing. It's as though I can feel the weight of the dead that used to sit at the same glass table as I watching me over my shoulder, pressing their non-existent weight against me, making my chest tight with pressure I cannot voice because that's not fair to the ones still here truly haunted by their presence. I'm just a guest who overextends their stay, quite frankly.

Just a page. Just write a page and you can get up for a moment. Ignore how loud the fridge is at something clunks inside of it.

A page. Get a page. Come on, you imbecile, how hard is a fucking pa-

"I thought we talked about this."

It's a testament to my mental state how high I manage to jump in my chair, my tired and over-caffinated heart set off to make me dizzy with over exertion from fear, turning to see who has come to voice their thoughts and damn us both with them.

"Mike," I sigh. I place a hand on my chest, rubbing slightly at the spot where I feel my heart pounding against my sore ribs. "Don't do that."

"Have you slept at all?" Mike asks disapprovingly. His arms are crossed against his chest, heavy bags under his eyes from another night of restless dreams. He can't sleep, I won't sleep. If he'd allow it, we could actually get shit done this time of day.

"A little," I lie. He's just worried. About everything. He always is, which at first was something I loved about him. And usually I still do. It's an admirable trait, to care about someone and love them so much it's only natural to fret over them, to check and make sure they're taken care of properly.

Except it makes me feel guilty.

"Oh yeah? What time?" He asks, narrowing his sleep swollen eyes at me.

Details. Fuck.

"Ah, uh- I don't know, I wasn't looking at the clock," I say sheepishly, trying to flash a disarming smile and make my own bags look like ones of bare minimum rest instead of self neglect. Mike's jaw tightens slightly.

"Oh?" He says in a dull voice that is not raised, yet managed to ring throughout the room nonetheless.

I hum affirmatively, pressing my lips together and fiddling with the cheap pen in my hands, glancing down at it in an attempt at trying not to give myself away.

"Yeah, I don't know. Just like, laid my head on the book and... y'know... drifted off for a couple hours," I try to say casually.

"Ah," he says as though that were enough, leaning now against the doorframe of the hallway, looking at the other wall as though the paint were interesting. "How long after I went to bed, do you think?"

Keep your breathing even. He can smell fear. "Like, a couple," I answer with a shrug.

"Or, like, not at all," he says, turning his head back to stare down at me with a glare.

"I slept," I insist.

"Bullshit. You give me unnecessary detail about your shits post mexican take-out, but you can't tell me what time you fell asleep?" He says accusingly.

"I was asleep! I'm sorry, do you want me to lie and give some time because you need it for some reason?" I ask evenly, shrugging as though to ask what he'd like me to say, blinking at him and adding a tired tinge of a croak to my voice to match his.

"I'm sorry?" He asks, eyes still in narrow slits yet somehow widening slightly, his leg uncrossing from over the other and planting firmly on the floor as he stands straight.

He's not that tall. Kinda short. But he looks much bigger when mad. Kinda like an iguana. I told him that one time and got bit. Jokingly, of course. It's not like he'd just reach over and sna- You know what? Irrelevant.

"I'm just saying," I say, starting to turn back to my notebook as though the conversation were finished.

"No-no, I'd like to hear that again," he says. I can hear his footsteps pad against the flat, tan carpet, my shoulders stiffening slightly as I train my decreasingly neutral eyes on the wrinkled, lined paper in front of me. "I liked the part where you made me sound like some insecure teenager for calling you out on your shit. Very original."

My lips press into a thin line, my grip on my pen tightening slightly.

"It's not that serious, Mikey-"

"Don't bullshit me, and don't use some cheap nickname as a cop out via sympathy," Mike snaps, standing now on the opposite side of the table, pressing his hands now against the glass surface that dirties so easily. Trust me, we've had to clean some prints off of it.

There's a line, and at some point I'm going to cross it. The problem is it's hidden under mental sand that makes me unclear of exactly where it is.

"Michael-"

"That's formal," he says, leaning forward on the table, his tone the same as an interrogating mother just waiting for the moment where no one will blame her for finally tearing you to shreds for what you've said to her outwardly innocent statements. A trap.

"I'm sorry, I thought you didn't like cheap nicknames?" I say, fighting the irritation in my voice, barely managing to remain even as I click my pen to begin writing.

"What's wrong with just Mike?" He asks. He reaches across the table, placing all five of his fingertips on my paper firmly and dragging it back across the table towards him, withholding it from me.

"Would you like me to use just Mike?" I ask.

"I'd like you to make eye contact while you lie through your fucken teeth," he says calmly, not moving as he continues to stare me down.

"Okay, Mike. And what exactly does my sleep schedule mean to you?" I ask slowly, trailing my eyes from his hand, slowly up his arm with pronounced veins and muscles, to the white cotton shirt that was two sizes too large and usually what he wore to sleep in, until I meet his dark and slightly hateful eyes.

"We had a conversation," he starts.

"A conversation," I repeat.

"About a month ago, do you remember?" He asks, cocking his head slightly in that way it does when we both know I'm not going to dare to answer with anything other than he wants.

"You ha-"

"I had a concern," he interrupts me, now looking down at the notebook and studying it as though it were a piece of fine art. "Which involved how absolutely awful your ability is to take care of yourself properly."

"Mike-"

"Shut. Up." Mike says with disturbing calmness. "I'm talking."

Fine.

"It's fucking rude."

Not saying it's not.

"Like your attitude when I try to just help you because clearly, you can't help yourself," he says, now slapping down the notebook to gesture at me as though it were obvious why he was concerned.

I could speak. I'd like to. And he gives me a long enough silence I could. But instead I decide I will simply give him the floor.

"No opinion on this?" He asks shortly.

"No," I say with a dismissive shrug. "You seem to have them for me."

Mike laughs at this statement, and if the sparkle in his eyes didn't seem to have the same dull shine as the glass table between us I'd feel a bit better about it. But I think there's a six foot hole in the backyard I just signed a lease on that makes his disturbingly convincing smile much more worrisome.

"You're funny," he says affectationately. "Get up."

"What?" I ask, blinking.

"Are you deaf now? Up," he says in irritation, beginning to cross back around the table. "This isn't a negotiation."

Before I can speak his hands dig in under my armpits, roughly pulling me to stand and bringing me close to his chest. I should have energy to fight back, I've only been sitting after all. But a physical confrontation would be too loud, first of all. Abby is asleep in her room, and I don't want to make a scene to wake the poor child. Number two, my bones are sore, my head is aching and I generally just do not feel well enough to protest. Physically.

"Put me down, you son of a bitch!"

Verbally, I'm fine.

"You're going to bed, that's final!"

"I have twelve drafts due that I have to get done or else this project-"

"You have four hours of sleep you can get before you have to take your candy ass to work in the fucken morning, or else I'm gonna beat it into you," he hisses directly in my ear, his breath cold and loud so close to me. Jesus, fuck. What did his parents feed him as a child? It shouldn't be this easy for him.

"Oh, I don't do what you want and now you threaten physical violence. Very mature," I mock, reaching out to grip the doorframe of Mike's bedroom, purely to piss him off.

"Save me the dramatics," he snaps in a whisper, wrapping one arm tighter around my waist and using the other to bat my hands away from the frame. I can tell he's genuinely trying not to hurt me, his grip on one wrist firm but careful.

"Just let me write one page," I try.

"That's what you said last night," he says, still trying to pull my hand away. My nails have dug into the frame, making it slightly harder. I can sense his irritation growing. "You got two hours of sleep."

"That's not going to kill me," I argue.

"You haven't slept for more than two hours in a week," he says.

One nail breaks against the frame, making me lose my grip and sending pain down my arm from the awkward angle at which the pressure had snapped it off. I wince slightly, which gives Mike slight pause as he checks my hand, but decides I'm alright before he begins dragging me towards the bed in earnest.

"Why is it so hard for you to just take care of yourself?" Mike asks in frustration.

"I take care of myself!" I say defensively. Mike drops me onto the bed, standing in front of me to prevent any new attempts at escape.

"No, you don't," he says, quiet but firm. "You sit and stare at your notebook and you don't do anything else if you can help it. You sleep for two hours, you go to work, you hardly eat, you don't have energy anymore." Mike's hands are planted firmly on his hips, his nostrils flailing as he tries to take collected, calm breaths. "I care about you. Why can't you?"

"Michael-"

"Stop!" Mike snaps, groaning and turning away from me with a sharp spin on his heel. He buries his hands in his hair in frustration, now pacing between the bed and the door, quietly shutting it so we can argue in peace.

"Why are you so upset?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Because I don't want to see you live like this. I am concerned and every time I bring it up you dismiss me, you joke, you don't care and I hate that," Mike says, temporarily stopped in his tracks to point at me as he seethes. "I'm watching you waste away and you know what? I'm starting to think part of you likes it."

"Excuse me?" I say, astounded. I cross my arms in front of my chest, cocking my head at him in a way to say 'I dare you to repeat that.'

"You heard me," Mike says, taking a step towards me. "It's like you cannot for one iota of a second conceive of some world where taking care of yourself is a good use of your time. You work, and work until you've burned yourself out so horribly you rot in bed for a month. And unless you're staying here, I hear nothing from you. Not a call, not a fuck you or whatever. It's like you're punishing yourself."

"Now who's being dramatic?" I say.

"See? I can't even point this out without you getting defensive, which just shows you know you're in the wrong!" Mike turns away from me once more, resuming his path of restless walking.

"Why do you even care?" I ask genuinely. This makes him pause again, his glare once more returning to me as he mentally questions my intelligence.

"You know what, I don't know!" Mike snaps, his voice gaining volume. "You are insistent in this fucking- slow method suicide and I'm trying to help you, but you won't let me!"

"I never asked you to care," I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"I never asked to care!" Mike nearly shouts, leaning in close to my face and sneering at me.

This breaks the tension.

His face falls as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes widening slightly like my own eyes. This comment shouldn't really sting. I shouldn't let it. But it does. And for a moment, I do. And he sees that clearly.

"... oh," I say softly, my arms relaxing and shoulders sagging ever so slightly as I drop his gaze, trying to shut off my emotions before they're obvious.

"I'm sorry," Mike says quickly, stumbling to his knees in front of me. "I didn't mean that-"

"It's fine," I say, trying to remain as blank as my pages on the kitchen table.

"I just said it to be hurtful," Mike says quickly, his hand reaching up to cup my face. I take it away, turning my head to the side slightly. There's a new chill in the air, one I can feel seizing my chest.

"You weren't," I say. "I'm going to sleep."

"Please, I don't want-"

"I'm going to sleep," I say forcefully, shoving him away and turning to begin undressing from my work clothes that I still wore. Mike is silent behind me, probably thinking, and I'm close to not being able to hold myself together anymore.

"Get out!" I snap, flinging my shirt at him in a rage and beginning to stand from the bed to chase him out. He doesn't need anymore prompt, quickly scurrying out from the room to wherever it is he'll sleep now. Probably on the couch even though there's another room down the hall. A self induced punishment. Knowing him he probably won't even allow himself a blanket or pillow, feeling the cold air fitting for his selfishness.

Good.

When I wake that morning, I can smell breakfast in the air. My stomach hurts from skipping meals, but I don't want to eat. First of all, I haven't worked for a meal. There's still plenty to be done with my drafts. And food is a good encouragement to keep working. Second, I didn't ask him to care. And he didn't ask for it either. There probably isn't enough for me, and if there is, he and Abby can debate between the two who will have it. I need to shower.

I take forever washing myself. If that's what you want to call it. It was moreso standing under hot water, letting it run cold until I couldn't stand it anymore and hoping my deodorant is able to do some heavy lifting today. I barely have enough time to get to work, passing silently by Mike and not turning when he calls my name, walking out the door as fast as I can without running.

He follows me outside, something shaking in a bag behind me. When I finally open my car door I'm forced to have my gaze in his direction, his body between the door frame and my car door, presenting me with a bag of lunch.

"Please eat," he begs, placing the bag in my lap unceremoniously and then quickly stepping away and shutting the door himself.

There's a small moment where he and I just share at each other through the glass, time slipping away without notice. He hasn't slept, he'll be late for work if he doesn't get dressed soon, and the bag on top of my thighs is warm. Fresh. A petty part of me wants to roll down my window and throw away the meal, back out of the drive way and let that fester in his mind out of hate. He thinks words can hurt? Actions are so much worse.

But there's something in his eyes. Defeated, resigned. Childlike is almost the word I could use. In front of my car is the 12 year old boy who tried to chase down his brother, the 18 year old who decided to sacrifice his life raising his little sister while saying goodbye to his parents, and the 27 year old man who's just trying to keep everything together.

I don't know what to say to this child. Or to the man.

So, with the turn of my key in the ignition, I don't.

It's late when I come home. When the manager had asked me to stay late I almost called Mike to break the silence and tell him this. But there was still a part of me that didn't care whether or not he knew. Really, I didn't have to return home tonight. I could go back to my apartment and just let him rot in bed the way he claims I do. How could he say such a thing, anyways? I rot in bed? What about the days I've walked into the house and he hasn't slept all week, where he's claiming he's trying to kick his medication and he'll get the hang of it soon. Where his sister is eating every meal almost burnt because he can't think straight enough to remember time. Where I've had to coax, beg, demand of him that he just takes a pill because he's laying on the side of the bed, small and curled in on himself, dead eyed and obviously tired but still not sleeping. One time I slipped it into his food. And I felt awful. Do not think for a moment I wanted to do that. There was a betrayel in his eyes when sleep began to overtake him. I hoped he wouldn't notice, but he must've. Some tell in the drugs effect that made him aware his rest was not voluntary. But I didn't care. I stroked his hair through the night, and I'll do it again. He could hate me however long he needed to, he just needed sleep first.

The irony still hasn't struck me when I walk through the door of his house, well past dinner, Abby in the bath. The door was left unlocked, which is unusual for this time of night. Mike jumps from the couch the minute I open the door, standing with his hands by his side anxiously pulling at the edge of his oversized sweater.

Everything's oversized with him. The thought occurs to me that his father was slightly bigger.

"Don't leave me," he says quietly, his voice small and pathetic like him. But I don't say that with hate.

"I just got home," I say. "Be a bit odd to leave again."

I try a smile, but it's artificial and we both know it's only for his comfort. It doesn't touch him, his eyes glassy and lips slightly parted the same way a child's is when they're trying to breathe as their sinuses spring to life in wake of forming tears.

"I didn't mean it," he says, still standing in the same place. If I was a better person I'd probably run to him. But I'm not.

If I were a better person, I'd say I believe him. But I don't. And suddenly my throat is swollen with hurt, my own bottom lip is sticking out and now we're both trying not to cry because this is so overly taxing. We're adults but emotions are hard. Vulnerability is hard. It is a damnation that we both detest, both avoid. In better states we would joke about this, would laugh and tease the other for not having the emotional capability to voice our thoughts. But we're not. So we don't. And now we're crying openly in the off-putting, attempted to look cozy living room that we can never fully relax in.

"I don't wanna lose you," he says between small hiccups, hands now balled into fists that he buries under opposite armpits, shifting his weight so that he doesn't look so small. His glances bounce between me and the hallway table, never fixing on either of us as he tries to state his mind like an adult. "I've barely had you."

In my heart there has been a constant ache, hurt flowing and pumping through my veins like the blood that ran cold last night at his hurtful words. His apologetic words make the ache somehow worse.

"I don't mean to be a burden to you," I say softly, feeling a small, stray tear break the fluid barrier of my waterline to race down my cheek, allowing a pathway to the fatter drops that threaten to quickly follow.

Mike's face shifts, stepping towards me and holding out his arms.

"No, never," he says just as soft, trying to comfort me. I freeze as he approaches, my body stiffening as I try to swallow the lump and convince myself that I can survive his touch. His touch that I normally crave the moment I'm around him, that I seek in the dark of night even when the bed is overheating, that I'd go insane without.

"I've never asked you to care," I say, voice breaking and tears rolling freely now.

"I know," he says into my neck, which is wetting as he shakes around me, his grasp firm and careless of whether or not it's too much.

"I don't mean to cause problems. I just...." I don't know what I mean, how I wish to finish the statement. If I was clever, I could. If I was clever, I wouldn't even be in this problem to begin with.

"I'm just scared," he chokes out, his breathing horrible as he struggles to keep his crying from being obvious. "You look sick all the time and I don't want that."

He's told me the story. His mother wasting away, thinning and slipping, starving and dying. How he'd returned home to a baby wailing in her crib as their mothers body lay in a pool of blood he never really got out of the carpet. He lied to me initially when I saw it the first time, said it was wine. It wasn't until we had a few glasses ourselves that his eyes glazed over and he told me. It was disturbing how neutral he kept himself to the subject. A habit he'd developed much too long ago to break.

"Mike-"

"I try, and I try and if something doesn't give soon I'm gonna fucking lose it," he sobs into my skin, arms tightening around me.

"If what doesn't give?" I ask softly, trying to pull him away to look into his eyes. But he doesn't budge, sobbing a little bit harder and gripping a little bit tighter. He doesn't respond, simply shaking as he breathes heavily against me through his mouth.

"Hey," I say softly, trying to wrap my arms around him, failing and giving up as I realize his grip is too tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

His mouth closes a little, quieting his breathing slightly as he sniffles.

"I'm an idiot, but I'm not suicidal," I say softly, trying again for a joke. He doesn't laugh, but he does pull away slightly to look at my face, lips swollen and quivering as he blinks at me.

"You scare me," he says quietly, not quite meeting my eyes. He's watching my lips, but I think that's because that's the closest he can get to making eye contact.

"I scare you?" I ask, furrowing my brows. I lick my dry, cracked lips for comfort. "Why?"

"Because I love you," he says shakily, sighing as though it were exhausting to admit while still holding that nervous flicker in his eyes. "Because when I think about not being with you the house seems colder. And I can't go back to hating this house."

I open my mouth to respond, but there's more.

"Because I love your stupid smile when you're excited, or how you do that cricket leg thing when you're falling asleep. Or how if you want my attention you'll bury your head in my chest and pretend you're doing it in your sleep even though I won't judge you for doing it while you're awake."

"I don't-"

"I love how defensive you get over things like that," he says, bringing one hand to cup my cheek, resting his thumb that smells like the creamy lavender handsoap next to the bathroom sink on my lips. "I love how you look waking up next to me, how you play with Abby. And for a really long time I didn't see myself ever having kids, but when I see you curling her hair at the kitchen table I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I just took up another job and saved money so that we could-"

"Mike-"

"Stop cutting me off," he says gently, his eyes finally meeting mine with just the smallest smile. "It's rude."

At that I do stop, my body finally relaxing into his grasp as I lean into him and his touch.

"I want things I haven't wanted since before Garret went missing," he says, stroking my lip. "And I want them with you."

Dinner was just as delicious as lunch, even if it was late. And the bed is soft like our voices as we make plans for years down the line. And after a week long break, the pages are finally filled once again.

Just like us.

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

Literally had a come to Jesus moment while writing this that not only do I fear being vulnerable irl, but in writing too. Nearly threw up while writing this. Book aable feet.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

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genericpuff · 4 months

Text

Lore Olympus Episode 265 Betrays the Series' Own Messages of Consent

I've been keeping it on the down low lately with new episodes of LO, both for the sake of my mental health and because LO itself has just become so... pointless and boring. There's only so much to say when nothing is happening, and in that regard, I will preface this with a "congratulations" towards Rachel, because she's finally found a way to best the "haters" - make the comic so boring that there's nothing worth talking about to begin with.

At first glance I thought this was going to be another one of those episodes. Good job, Rachel, you managed to pad out another episode with pointless fluff to get you closer to that looming end date. Just keep dragging, just keep dragging, just keep dragging-

But the longer I sat on it, and read the comments and posts about it in discussion circles, the more I've realized that this episode in particular has a load of issues that I don't feel good just sitting on and not talking about. Primarily because, over the course of about 90% of this episode's length, we see Lore Olympus - and Rachel - slyly undo everything that ever mattered in its subtext about consent, healthy relationships, and strong communication.

Granted, Lore Olympus has never exactly been the poster child for those things, but it's trying to be, so we're going to dissect it with an equal amount of scrutiny. It wants to be taken seriously, so I'm going to take it seriously and criticize it seriously.

CONTENT WARNING: EPISODE 265 SPOILERS AHEAD, AS WELL AS DISCUSSION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT, MENTAL HEALTH, GROOMING, AND SYMPTOMS OF MANIA, PROCEED WITH CAUTION

Episode 265 opens with an attempt at plot progression, returning to Morpheus who, last we checked, had been targeted by Kronos as the cliffhanger for Episode 259 before being shoved aside entirely for multiple episodes worth of Demophoon, pool-fucking, and a vision from Hera.

Honestly, I won't waste my 30 image limit on the episode's opening sequence because it accomplishes absolutely nothing. And by the time it starts to try and state what that goal is, it transitions away, because Rachel has the attention span of a squirrel on meth and having Morpheus state what her plan is would just be too much dedicated writing for her at this point, she needs another week at least to figure it out.

So instead we get exactly what was promised in the FastPass previews - the entire episode is spent, yet again, on Hades and Persephone, with the exact same topics, conclusions, and terrible sex as the pool scene.

Seriously, this might be a nitpick, but I'm so tired of Persephone not being allowed to swear. We've seen other characters swear. We've even had Kronos call her a "dumb fucking bitch". But this "girlboss" character who we're supposed to believe has "agency" can't be allowed to swear even when they're in an ACTUALLY STRESSFUL SITUATION? You know purity culture isn't exclusive to sex, right, Rachel? If you're gonna deconstruct it, maybe don't have the poster child of that deconstruction be relegated to a church girl? She's literally the Queen of the Underworld - adjacent to the ruler of Hell - let her fucking swear LMAO

Anyways, we see very quickly that Persephone is still feeling the ill effects of her anxiety that she was feeling in the last episode. Anxiety that, by the way, caused her to pass out. Please keep that in mind, don't let it escape.

And what is she stressing over? The genocide? The fact that they still don't have an actual solution to the ongoing "plague"?

Nah. The sleep dive. She's stressing over her husband doing the sleep dive again and - like last time - turning into a dad-possessed monster.

As always, the fear and anxiety is in no way linked to the actual devastation happening outside - it's just concern for the main male lead, because that's all Persephone's character and thoughts and opinions and "agency" can revolve around.

But uh. Remember that scene where Hades got possessed by Kronos and literally strangled her? Remember that scene I just asked you to keep in your brain about her panic attacks getting so bad she's been passing out?

Hello? No? Okay. Next.

I hate, I loathe, I detest this dialogue. Not because it's cliche as fuck - it is - but because the whole "I trust you, it's just xyz I don't trust" shit has been overplayed and debunked as a plausible response in relationship communication for years now.

We talked about this back during our discussion of Leuce - how it shouldn't matter if Persephone doesn't trust Leuce because ultimately Leuce can't do anything to her or Hades' relationship if it's built on as much "trust" as she claims it is, trusting Hades is all that should matter full stop - and it repeats itself here, albeit with Hades' dad instead of his canon first wife. This is a copout. Relationships actually built on trust can definitely still be worried about the issues posed by other people, but if you trust your partner, if you truly trust your partner, that's it. That's where the sentence ends. No shit you don't trust Kronos, we've been over this song and dance multiple times before and while he's definitely a bigger real threat than Leuce, your distrust for Kronos has nothing to do with how you're communicating with your partner who knows there's likely no other way and a solution has to be found. Nothing's being accomplished at this point from Persephone moping around and having sex with her husband, and he's showing 10x more initiative in actually finding a solution - even if it means putting his own safety at risk - than Persephone.

I didn't edit any of that, those are the legit real panels. Literally what the fuck is this dialogue, my tinfoil hat theory about LO being written by ChatGPT is becoming more and more plausible and I hate that, my crackpot theories shouldn't actually become reality.

Is there an owl in here?

LO is just spinning its wheels over the exact same conversation and points that have already been made. Nothing is being accomplished here, it's just more moping and going over the same problems - the centre of which being "what about H x P's relationship?? :(((("

All of that repetitive meandering and moping for "okay fine but if anything feels weird, get out" "okay". It, again, accomplishes nothing that couldn't have been accomplished during the pool scene.

And now we get this line. "I experienced greed in that way, and you do not possess it." Don't be alarmed if you were confused, I was confused too, as were many people in the discussion circles. Thanks to the ULO Discord, I realized she was talking about Apollo. She's literally comparing him to Apollo.

"After all this time, I can't comprehend you causing me harm. I've been at the receiving end of harm so I would know" is literally all she's trying to say. And even with it translated... I don't really like the implications of it at all. This has been a problem since S1, but there's always been this subtext in LO that because Hades didn't rape her, that somehow makes him less abusive or a better partner for Persephone than Apollo, that's all the SA has really been trying to achieve.

But Hades is abusive. He's intentionally pursued women who are in a crisis. He's trapped women in financial dependency. He's sabotaged women from having power and status on the same level as him.

And now, we're about to see actual abuse from Hades - the subtle kind that demands co-dependency, but is still abuse, full stop - but it's being framed as "romantic".

"Being an Originals creator was my big chance to prove myself, and I flopped"- wait sorry I misread. We're talking about Persephone failing at being Queen. Yeah, she definitely flopped. And it goes to show her true intentions in wanting to be Queen, now that she's hit rock bottom and isn't putting on a brave PR face - she wanted to become Queen not to make the Underworld a better place, not to be an example of being a better ruler among a gallery of scumbags, but to "prove" that she could belong and be one of the big guys, that she could be more than just a cereal box mascot.

Don't get me wrong, I can absolutely get wanting to rise above the odds and "prove" to everyone that you can be more than people's perceptions of you, but becoming the literal ruler of a realm that you then go on to destroy due to your own hubris, just to whine and cry about it and have your husband and your colleagues and your friends carry the burden of that destruction on your behalf... therapy would have been a better first step to overcoming those insecurities, not taking control over the lives of innocent people.

Especially when Persephone DID have status and power before becoming Queen, it just wasn't the specific kind of status and power she wanted. She was only a trust fund child with a huge net worth, a full-ride scholarship, and everything she could ever need provided to her with little struggle to get it - but she didn't have control over other people so it just wasn't good enough.

This is the perspective and attitude of a 19 year old who never matured. Who never could mature because she transitioned from her mother's control into Hades'. There were far better ways to prove herself, ways that we had seen her try to do, only to drop so she could pursue her co-dependent relationship with Hades - she gave up her schooling, gave up her apartment (which we only see her use maybe 2-3 times), gave up so many of her connections and support so she could be with Hades.

This is the result of 5 years of real-time grooming that we're seeing play out.

No, you are just saying them because she's your wife. You'd be saying it to Minthe, or Leuce, or Hera, or any other woman in Persephone's position because it's not about taking accountability, it's about keeping these women in a position of submissiveness and co-dependency, by giving them reassurance that nothing they ever do is wrong and that he's the only one that can give them that freedom from consequences.

And then we get the reinforcement.

I'm gonna spare you all the cringe of the actual sex scene (and yes, they do straight up go into having onscreen sex and it's... not hot at all), but here's some of the dialogue spoken by Hades during the entire sequence:

Again, let's remember the actual situation that led up to this and the position Persephone is currently in. For the third time Persephone has "accidentally" killed thousands of people. Over the past few episodes we've seen her try to realize how so many of these problems have been her fault and she clearly doesn't know how to make things right (and Rachel has made it obvious how much she doesn't want you to agree with this kind of self-awareness because much of it is being said through the mouthpiece of a rapist). And now we have Hades, reinforcing the thought patterns that would prevent her from growing and learning and changing. In this, a comic that's supposed to be "feminist", a comic that's trying to preach the importance of consent, a comic that's trying to make us believe this is a healthy, consenting relationship with strong communication skills.

These are literally grooming tactics. Hades is reinforcing the same thought patterns that will prevent Persephone from acknowledging her errors and mistakes. People are dying and Hades is telling her that if anyone has anything to say about it, they deserve to die anyways. The same man who literally rewarded her with sex for vandalizing a nymph's home is now telling her that she's not cruel, but kind:

Hades might not be Apollo, but he literally choked her out less than a week ago while possessed by his dad, and for the last SEVERAL episodes he's had the starry skin making him resemble who? Oh yeah, his dad.

Hades is literally holding Persephone in the same position Kronos did, while she's experiencing a literal meltdown that she's trying to stuff deep down - in fact, exhibiting a LOT of symptoms of mania - and initiating sex.

Doesn't this feel a little familiar?

Oh right, but he asks her if she's "still okay" mid sex only AFTER initiating chokehold sex with her without her consent and love-bombing her, so it's fine, clearly.

I remember being 17 years old and reading Fifty Shades of Grey for the first time, and even then understanding fully how toxic their relationship was. I can only hope the teenagers in Rachel's comment section can realize that as well, but judging by the comment section, I'm not holding out hope. This is literally "fifty shades of fucked up" material, and what's worse is that I can't tell if Rachel genuinely thinks this is healthy, or just doesn't realize how unhealthy it's coming across as. Even beyond how "cringe" this sequence is, it enters into the realm of being deeply uncomfortable and unsettling, and it needs to be talked about, Rachel can't be let off the hook for this especially when this is supposed to be, again, a comic that's intending to "deconstruct purity culture" and teach young girls about consent and boundaries.

And that's it, that's the end of the episode. It reads like the manifesto of a villain in the making at the hands of a predator, like Anakin being manipulated by Palpatine - "so long as you're with me, you'll have all the power, all the glory, and everyone else will be crushed underneath your heel."

Is that really the message we really want to come away from LO from? That it's fine for husbands to initiate sex with their wives through trauma-bonding and reinforcement of toxic thought patterns rooted in grooming because... they're married? That being a "girlboss" means sabotaging and abusing anyone who you perceive as a threat?

Is Hades really that much different from Apollo? Because so far, the line between his actions and Apollo's are seriously starting to blur. The parallels between Persephone and his past partners - Minthe and Hera - have always been clear, but they've never been quite so loud as last night's episode.

This is Hades' play, the play of a groomer and an abuser who depends on making their victims dependent on them - taking advantage of women while they're in a crisis.

For Minthe, it was financial - she had lost her job, blamed it on him, and he found a way to "solve her problem" that strategically put her into a position where she had to continue to financially depend on him for what's assumed to at least be a year or longer, through her apartment, her bills, and her job.

For Hera, it was emotional - she had chosen Zeus over him, and instead of addressing her marital concerns within the marriage, she participated in an affair with Hades in an attempt to have what she could have had if she had chosen Hades instead, a man who resembles her own abuser. Not only did this put her into a much more vulnerable position than him - if the affair was found out, Hera would have suffered the consequences far more than Hades - but it's also manifested itself into Persephone, who Hera has been using as a stand-in for herself, even going so far as to manipulate Persephone's image and how she goes about her decision-making, from intentionally pulling the strings to get Persephone a job with Hades so she could get closer to him as a "test" for Hades, to forcing Persephone to wear a wedding dress she wanted her to wear over the one Persephone had actually picked out herself.

And now there's Persephone, the newest addition to the cycle of abuse and untreated trauma, the true culmination of Hades' years trapping and manipulating women - financially dependent on him, emotionally dependent on him, and only where she is because she's made her entire identity revolve around him.

I'm not going to psychoanalyze Rachel in any way, I don't want anyone to think that this is permission to do so because Rachel's personal life is her own and I want to examine the material rather than the person. But so much of LO gives me such a gross impression that Rachel herself never matured past middle school, that she never grew beyond the mindset of being a 13 year old girl who felt like the entire world was against her and that no one could understand her, that she never gained the perspective most adults do by the time they're 25 at minimum after they've entered the "real world" and had the lived experiences that make you realize "wow, that girl I hated in high school for stealing my crush from me probably wasn't as bad as I thought she was and we were all just teenagers trying to navigate the hellscape that is adolescence."

And instead of actually analyzing those thought patterns and mindsets, Rachel is instead reinforcing it in her own audience of 13 year old girls and teenagers who will only hopefully maybe outgrow it and not just repeat the cycle themselves.

And this isn't entirely on Rachel's shoulders. It's on the shoulders of E.L. James, of Stephanie Meyer, of Colleen Hoover, of every "young adult" romance author who's peddled this strictly heteronormative "submission culture but not like the 1950's kind I swear" crap, that women should only aspire to find the richest man they can bag in their pursuit for power and after that everything in the world is owed to them and any problem they have can be solved by riding dick. Trauma? Solved. Genocide? Solved. The very real consequences of your own actions that affect others to such a degree that it will be felt for decades? Solved. Just ride that dick and get that money, girlboss.

Just like 50 Shades of Grey, if Lore Olympus was any other story, it would be a tragedy. It would be a masterclass in understanding and showcasing the signs of emotional abuse, financial abuse, grooming, trauma-bonding, love-bombing, and enforcing co-dependent habits for the sake of trapping people. It would be a precautionary tale to young girls to stay alert and be wary of older men, that men like Hades are depending on girls to fall for their tricks, their praise, their affirmations that they're so mature for their age, that they're not like other girls, that they would just be so set for life if they spent all their time and attention with them, so that they can "have it all".

I can only hope that even a third of the young girls who read LO naturally grow up, gain perspective, and learn that LO isn't the pillar of healthy relationships and consent that it tries to be. It's certainly a common thing to see these days, for people to join the UnpopularLoreOlympus / #antiloreolympus community with sentiments that they started reading it at age 14 and then (thankfully) learned that what LO was preaching wasn't healthy.

But for every other girl who doesn't realize this, it's reinforcement of the same cycles - the cycle of women being only objects for sex, pitting themselves against one another, confusing gender empowerment with abuse towards others, and making their entire identity revolve around a man and justifying it as healthy so long as it makes them rich and powerful.

Even if Rachel some day gets her own head out of her ass and realizes what damage she's causing in her audience, like Persephone committing genocide, no amount of self-awareness will undo the consequences. She'll still have the awards, the money, the accolades, everything she's gained off the backs of Greek myth, feminism, and good faith from an immature audience who doesn't know any better and isn't being given the tools to understand.

Even if she realizes that, that's something she's going to have to live with for the rest of her career.

And it's a fucking tragedy.

#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #antiloreolympus

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bloodblanks · 2 months

Text

the cadence within [il dottore x reader] — prologue.

The quickest way to a man’s heart is through their fourth and fifth ribs. But few men would allow you to just skewer them like that, and Dottore was no exception. So you took the classic route. No, it wasn’t through his stomach; it was through sheer force of charisma alone. However, charisma is shaped like a double edged blade. Pantalone sent you to Dottore’s lab like a flying dagger, and not until it was too late did either of you realize you’d been lodged in his chest.

co-written with noodsies, however, they’re shy and wish to stay anonymous! ♡

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, violence, dottore himself, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

“Check,” you whispered.

Queen to C6 check, in response to white’s bishop checking on F3. Your D7 pawn guarded your queen, but your bishop was stuck in B8 while his king was vulnerable on A6. His only other piece was a knight on A4.

Did he blunder?

After placing down the chess piece, you glanced back towards him, your eyes searching his face for any readable signs or expressions. There were none, save for the hint of amusement that remained eternally etched into both his features and demeanour.

You mentally sighed. Dottore was as indecipherable as ever, leaving you confused about what to do with the nagging itch that tugged at your heart. You tried to push it aside, to dig a hole and bury the feeling six feet underground where it was never to resurface again, but you found yourself unable to. Instead, you found yourself caving into that emotion, the tension thickening the very air that now felt suffocating to breathe in, each of Dottore’s answers only leaving you with more questions to ask—none of which you should’ve paid any mind to, yet you still couldn't resist, barely holding yourself back from asking the one thing you really wanted to know.

You coughed softly, clearing your throat before speaking again.

“My turn,” you tried to steady your voice and sound as confident as possible, pushing past the dryness in your mouth. “Question nineteen, are you going to continue with your plan?”

It shouldn’t even matter. If you were being rational, you wouldn’t have bothered to ask that; whether or not he planned to continue should not affect your judgement in any way. He had done enough wrong as it is, committed far more crimes than could be excused or remotely justified.

Still, you couldn’t help but succumb to your own weakness, the question leaving your lips alongside a silent prayer that you hadn’t exposed your intentions—be it the one to put an end to him, or the far worse one, the one to give up on your original task. The task you should adhere to, despite your traitorous feelings wanting to get in the way. But you were not strong enough.

Dottore’s silence permitted you to keep ruminating over the same thoughts that had ceaselessly plagued you each time you faced him, the same thoughts that had insidiously grown in intensity throughout your interactions, leaving you to realize far too late that at some point, your actions towards him became genuine.

“Perhaps,” Dottore responded at last. You fought to keep your face neutral, trying your best to mask your disappointment at his answer. As much as you had wanted to, you were unable to deny that you had indeed wanted him to say ‘no.’

As shameful as it was, you pushed for a different answer.

“You’re supposed to answer yes or no,” you stated, keeping your tone light and indifferent.

How ludicrous, you thought. Your job was to pretend to be interested in him, yet here you were, desperately trying to act like you weren’t.

“Unfortunately, Y/N, I can’t do that,” Dottore replied. “The answer is dependent on certain variables.”

“Like what?”

“That’s not a yes or no question.” His face did not betray anything, yet you could hear the smirk in his voice, evident in the satisfaction he spoke with.

“But—”

“—My turn,” Dottore interrupted, and though you wanted to protest, you had to maintain an air of calmness, leaning back in your seat as you waited for him to speak.

“Question nineteen,” Dottore drew out each syllable with emphasis, “you are planning to kill me, aren’t you?”

His sentence caused you to freeze, a chill running down each ridge of your spine as you shivered, goosebumps breaking out over the surface of your skin, your hair standing on end as you stared at him, motionless, eyes wide.

That wasn’t a yes or no question. He knew. Dottore knew.

You didn’t need to see yourself to know that blood had drained from your face. There was no need for you to say anything; even if he hadn’t already known, your expression alone would be enough to confirm that everything he just said was true.

“Go on. Why don’t you answer me?” His voice was sharp enough to cut through the pounding of your heart, the pulsating of the organ reverberating in your eardrums being the only sound to muffle the deafening silence of the room.

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Dottore continued. Though the syllables reached you, your mind struggled to process the meaning behind them. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

Dottore scoffed, indignant.

“I find it rather insulting that you think so lowly of me.”

“N-no,” you scrambled to find the right words. “I don’t—”

“—Is that so?” he said, cutting you off while clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. “Do you have a more plausible explanation for that gun strapped to your thigh, then?”

Your heart sank, his words the anchor that plunged it into the bottomless pit in your stomach. It felt like the life was drained from your body, rendering it an immobile marionette whose strings dangled from the tips of Dottore’s slender fingers. As if his words were coated in a paralyzing agent, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak further or move an inch. The only reminder that you were still alive was the harrowing thump of your pulse, each beat accelerating faster than the last.

How did he know?

For a split second you wondered if you’d been betrayed, but that was impossible. You had premeditated the perfect plan, meticulously memorized every step, and followed through with flawless execution.

With clandestine sleight, you acquired the perfect trump card—a gun loaded with bullets meant to destroy both visions and delusions. It was exactly what you needed to put an end to him, to put an end to this madness and absurdity. You’d be done with this once and for all. You’d have your old life back; exactly as it was before.

So how?

And what was more pressing than how, was the question of just what Dottore was planning to do with this knowledge. The urgency that question posed was unmatched by anything else, the answer pertaining to whether you would live or die.

You couldn’t help but wince, unable to conceal your expressions any longer. Dottore had seen through it all, seen through all your plans. You were dead, and you could only hope that your death would not be as unpleasant as some of the others by his hand. You knew what he was capable of, and you knew he was capable of far worse.

“I didn’t think so.” Dottore’s words were firm. Unwavering. And in those very seconds you were forced to accept the reality that you were going to die. This was the end.

“Go ahead,” Dottore said, slowly holding out his hands with both palms facing you. “Shoot me.”

What?

“I won’t stop you,” he finished his sentence. You were still gaping at him, but he was gazing back straight into your eyes, unflinching.

“Is this a joke?” you breathed, unable to comprehend what was just said to you.

“Is that your final question?” Dottore returned, his words somehow snapping you out of your daze and paralysis for a split second. You instinctively reacted by reaching to your thigh, pulling out the gun that you had prepared for this very moment and aiming it directly at him.

You tried to still the tremble of your hands as your index finger hooked onto the trigger, tensing it frozen so it wouldn’t pull.

A moment went by.

“Is that all?” Maybe you were imagining things. You had to be, but you couldn’t help but feel his eyes scan your face, searching for something.

Just what was he looking for? Could it be the same thing you sought?

“Allow me my final question, then.”

You couldn’t help but anticipate, that minuscule flame of hope, that lingering spark that refused to be snuffed out, flaring back to life.

“Sure.” Your voice was low, but you knew that he had heard you, nonetheless.

“Question...” Each second felt like it had been split up into millions, leaving you to experience time a microsecond at once. You were breathing heavily, your blood pulsating in your ears and adrenaline rushing through your veins. “...Twenty.”

“There is something stopping you, isn’t there?”

next chapter -> any interactions are appreciated (´･ω･`) thank you very much for supporting my work! ♡

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jessicqvswrld · 6 months

Text

Unsaid words ll

Pairing: Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya reader

Warnings: angst, childhood friends, miscommunication trope, friends to lovers, one sided pining, she fell first he fell harder, depressed neteyam, heated kissing, fluff, (uses of y/n)

Synopsis: After Neteyam’s confession doesn’t go as planned, it is clear you need space to think, before you make your decision.

A/n: sorry for the wait.. I got writers block and school stuff got in the way so yeah.. also didn’t know how I was gonna do this part but I think I got it down now..

It had been weeks since you had spoken to neteyam that day in the forest.

It was eating away at you, his confession was too much for you to handle.

You didn’t even know how you would gather the courage to talk to him, you loved him, yes.

But this was such bad timing.

Even when you had left with loak and kiri to fly they had noticed your change of mood, one that wasn’t displayed on your face earlier that day.

“What’s wrong y/n?” Kiri exclaims her concern and it’s written all over her face how worried she was.

“Nothing..I’m okay.” you try to say calmly as to not show any suspicion, as they both looked at each other with a look, you tried to act normal after that but it was hard not to show any emotion about the fact that their brother was the cause of your mood.

Two weeks passed of avoiding him everywhere you went, you would avoid certain parts of kelutral so even you wouldn’t visit the sully’s hut anymore to specifically avoid seeing neteyam.

He felt like he was losing his mind, maybe he shouldn’t have told you anything. But at least you knew how he felt.

His parents have even noticed his change of mood as of lately. “Ma Jake have you noticed something off with neteyam?”

“No…why?” He turns his head towards her with furrowed brows.

“I’ve been noticing he’s staying out longer than usual, and his ears are always down.. I feel like something’s up with him.”

“He’s probably just going through a phase of something.” Jake brushes it off. “No it’s not a phase jake you need to talk to him.” She states.

“Alright, I’ll talk to him.” He replies, with a simple nod to his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek before making his way out of the mauri.

Later that day he had pulled neteyam aside from training when he noticed exactly what neytiri was talking about.

He was hurting, emotionally and mentally he felt lost without you. This was the most distance that has ever been between you both in your years of friendship.

You had always been on speaking terms, so when you weren’t it wasn’t the same. He felt so empty and it was beginning to show.

He was overworking himself constantly to get his mind off of you, not eating or talking as much.

Jake walks to the edge of the treeline past some shrubs and foliage and instructs his son to sit on a round boulder.

“What is it boy, what’s on your mind?” Jake says as he leans his back on the rock.

Neteyam hated crying but his feelings were too bottled up inside him, he just had to let it out.

“It’s Y/N I waited too long to ask her to be my mate.” He chokes out holding back tears.

Jake was taken aback at his burst of emotion. He must have been kept this bottled up for some time to have a reaction like this.

He kept such a facade on all the time, taking himself too seriously because he was held up to a very high standard as to being the firstborn and the next to become olo’eyktan.

His only weakness was you.

“What happened son?” I didn’t know you had a thing for y/n that’s great.”

Neteyam shuts his words down, “It doesn’t matter now. I missed my chance, Rai’uk wants to court her and I’m not sure what she’s gonna say.” Neteyam says doubting that you would give him a chance now.

“Okay, well you said he “wants” to meaning hasn’t yet, you still have a chance son, you just need to let her know how you feel.”

Neteyam takes in a hitched breath from the excessive crying,“I did but it’s complicated dad she was waiting for me to choose her..and I never did.. I’m such a skxwang for waiting too long.”

Jake quietly chuckles to himself hearing his first son go on about his teenage feelings about a girl, reminding of him and how he was younger and first met neytiri.

He knew you since you were a child, as a young girl you were always welcome to their home. Neytiri took a liking to you immediately since you were such a gentle girl with a kind heart.

He didn’t know about his son’s feelings for you though, and in order to be of any help he needed to know the details.

“When did you say this to her, what did she say back?” putting a hand on his shoulder in attempt to comfort him.

“Like two weeks ago, and she said she needed to think about what I had said to her.” He says sniffing and wiping a tear from his face.

“Okay, well think about it this way neteyam, she said she needs to think about it, that doesn’t necessarily mean you lost your chance.”

Neteyam turns his gaze to meet his father’s in response to his words.

“She’ll come to you on her own when she wants to talk, if she really wants to work things out with you…you just need to be patient and give it time.”

“Overthinking won’t solve anything.”

Neteyam heard his father’s words and nodded at his words as to take them in almost to get a better understanding.

“Head home son you did enough work today.”

It was quite rare for Jake to let him go home early, but he figured to cut his son some slack. Regardless neteyam was thankful, and had now had a change of mood to come at his situation a different way.

You on the other hand, had wanted space from Rai’uk as well mainly because as he was handsome and all he is also very dull and doesn’t really have much personality to him as neteyam does. You told Rai’uk that you needed space as well.

You were questioning if Rai’uk was the person you wanted to spend your life with. You were much more comfortable with neteyam having known him since you were both children.

It was obvious who you were going to choose.

Later that day you had made up your mind that you were just going to talk to neteyam and say how you really feel, not what you want to feel.

But what you actually feel.

You let a few hours pass and it was already going to be time for communal dinner.

The last few days you were sitting with kiri and loak. Neteyam sitting not to far from his siblings stole a few glances at you, how you were so naturally yourself with his siblings that you never would’ve guessed that all these things that were said just between you and him.

You too stole glances and wanted nothing more to speak to him but your own stubbornness didn’t allow you too.

Until today, you couldn’t let yourself get in the way this time.

After mostly everyone had finished most of their meals, everyone hangs around just talking.

Loak and kiri were bantering about whatever sibling antics they were occupied and that’s when you got up before you could have the chance to overthink.

You had made your way to where he was hunched over talking to one of his friends.

His friend saw you coming before he did. Instantly pointing your presence out which caught neteyam’s attention. You clear your throat briefly, “Is it okay if I speak with you neteyam?” He looks up and for two weeks your eyes were finally on him.

He was a bit caught off guard cheeks heating up at the sound of your voice, nonetheless he nervously took your hand as you led him the forest.

You had already played out in your mind how you were going to tell him, that you chose him.

That he was always the one you have been undeniably in love with.

You strided the forest with confidence, neteyam behind you admiring the way your hips moved when you walked. You stopped a bit further in the green foliage.

“Neteyam I have thought about what you said to me, and how insensitive I was about your feelings.”

“I was only frustrated with my feelings I didn’t take consideration of your own.”

“ it’s okay y/n, you don’t ever have to apologize, I dropped all of my feelings on to you, it was reasonable to be upset.” He looks down for a brief moment.

You take in his words but don’t get the chance to respond because he follows after with, “y/n I need you to know that I love you, that I will always love you.” He looks up as to show how serious he was. You heart swells with emotion at his words.

Choosing neteyam was always easy for you, he never wanted to hurt you in any way, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love him back, so you tell the truth.

“I love you too neteyam, more than anything.” A smile creeps on his lips as you said the words he thought he never would hear. He steps closer to you and grabs your hands in his.

“ I don’t know how I managed to keep my feelings for you hidden for so long, I was so stupid before, but please let me show you that I will be better for you now.”

“Please give this a chance.”

You felt heat in your cheeks rise up in your face as you rub the back of his hand with your fingers.

“Please be my mate y/n.”

You dreamt of the day he would ask you this, the day he would take your hand into his and ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

You place your hand on his cheek and smile at him, you answer his question by crashing your lips on to his, his eyes widen at the sudden kiss, but flutter close as he loses himself in your taste.

He moves his hands to your waist pulling you closer into him, deepening the kiss you felt his tongue slip between your lips until eventually they went farther the more eager he was getting.

You break the kiss briefly to breathe, the silence in the air filled by you two catching your breath.

“I would love to be your mate, neteyam.” You say in between pants.

He looks at you with lustful eyes admiring every freckle on your face, he couldn’t believe this was happening that you loved him unconditionally.

he cups your cheek in his hand and smiles eyes darting down at your lips, before he leans down and gives you the most slow intimate kiss ever.

You have the familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach mad you feel like folding again.

A/N: kinda want to make a part 3 to this possibly where they are further in their relationship but we’ll see.. hope you enjoyed and thx for reading.🤍

#avatar neteyam #atwow fanfiction #neteyam x you #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x na'vi!reader #fluff #angst

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jvnluvr · 11 months

Text

you have my heart ; michael kaiser ♡

ft. kaiser x f!reader

author’s note: finals have been killing me, but it’s my last week starting today !! inspired by that one tiktok where the bf is staring at his gf with LITERAL heart eyes and the song sunsetz by cigarettes after sex. <3 used some lines from redacted bc they so fit kaiser’s personality, cute tease :( michael brainrot goes crazy !! i love him with literally everything, ENJOY FLUFFY FLUFF !!

it’s well known that kaiser usually ends up coming home late due to having practice basically all the time. you usually try to stay up until he comes back, so then he could drag you both to your bed. but this time around, you were particularly too tired to wait on the couch.

you slowly dragged yourself back to your shared bedroom, not making a futile attempt to properly dress the blanket over yourself before you passed out. you were knocked out completely, but it was only a couple of minutes after that the front door rang open, with kaiser dropping his bags beside the door immediately after not seeing you in the front.

“liebe,,? oh. she’s asleep.” he realized, words still vocalizing his thoughts before he could make a judgment. he gently closed the door behind him before walking over to you, seeing the blanket almost falling over the bed. “jeez, atleast put the blanket on yourself, you’ll get cold.” kaiser sighs to himself, picking up after your lazy habits.

he sat there for a while, watching the way your chest slightly heaved up and down, soft snores escaping you as you peacefully slept. kaiser doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to do this, he’s so busy after all.

shortly after, he laid down besides you. truth be told, kaiser couldn’t really fall asleep like this. like yes, you’re still there, right next to him, but he doesn’t know how to explain the feeling. and truly, he would hate to wake you up from your seemingly peaceful slumber, but his hands move on their own, and you jolt awake.

“michael,,? what’s wrong?” you say in a groggy voice, slowly but surely turning around to face him. he just thinks you look so adorable though. he’s just staring at you, the way your eyes slowly start to open, your pouty lips at him awakening you, your slightly disheveled hair. kaiser just thinks you look so perfect no matter the circumstance. it makes his heart skip a beat and he’s clearly zoned out at the sight of you.

“mikka, you’re staring.” you snap him out of his trance, your eyes finally adjusting to the lighting of the room. “sorry, baby. couldn’t help it. you just look so cute.” his arms wrap around you, pulling you below him as he starts to give you tiny kisses. you’re lightly squirming in his hold, nonetheless accepting what he has to offer.

“i don’t look cute mikka, what’s gotten into you—!” he kissed your lips in response, catching you off guard. “shut up, yes you do.” he giggles, continuing to pepper your face with kisses. you start to get a little grumpy, knowing that both you and kaiser are probably exhausted, yet he’s advancing forward with this little stunt. he notices your expression turn not quite sour, yet he’s aware you’re getting a little ticked off. yet kaiser starts to tease you about it. (ofc.)

“aw, is little cute mrs. grumpy face mad at me? don’t be honey c’mon,, you know i love you.” his kisses start to get just the tiniest bit more aggressive, as if he’s trying to prove what he just stated. but you’re tired, and as much as you love him back, you lightly start to slap his face away. but of course, kaiser is not only physically strong, but mentally resilient. so he doesn’t stop his love assault on you.

“stop slapping me away— stop being mean, i’m just tryna give you my love— ow!” he whines as you start to pull on his ear, a definitive warning that he should give up. but it’s all fun ‘nd games as you both start giggling at how childish you both were being. kaiser still tries to reach out for you, but you continue holding his ear. “let- let go of me-! ow! why are you like this, [name] i was calling you cute!” you both continue to giggle, but he eventually breaks the wall that is stopping him from kissing you again.

“you are so—” he gives you a kiss before speaking again. “you are so mean to me.” you lightly slap his head, a quiet sign of calling him an over dramatic drama queen. he gives you another kiss before leaning against you ear, starting to whisper. “you feel that, honey?” he questions, but you clearly confused, so for the first time in a while, you talk again. “feel what,,?

kaiser grabs your hand, putting it on his chest, and your cheeks start to heat up. “my heart is- beating insanely fast. that’s what you do to me.” he says, for what seemed like a pause was actually a finish to his sentence.

“you’re silly..” you reply back. it’s a plain response, but really, he is silly. but you love him so much that whatever he says drives your heart to go just as crazy, and the words won’t come out right. “just.. c’mere and sleep with me, stupid..”

he can’t help but let a grin escape himself as he’s moving to lie down beside you, grabbing your waist as he pulls you closer to him. it’s quiet, the sun is setting, and you’ve never felt more at peace, being with the person you love most.

“goodnight sweetheart, i love you.”

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

~i wish i was special, your so fucking special~

Summary: "But a woman's intuition is a clever thing, a strong thing not to be overlooked, a thing you must trust, for, as they say, where there is smoke, there is certain to be fire. And for you, that fire came in the form of a betrayal, a betrayal that could break you, if you moved it too. But feminine rage is also a divine thing, a destructive fire, incinerating everything in its path. "

Warnings: Smut, Dazai cheats on you, mildly unhealthy relationships to really unhealthy relationships, reader isn't in a good headspace~

Notes: i have been in such a depressive mood, so i decided to channel that into a story. I hope my feelings came through to you.

Also this isn't really a story about healthy relationships. Both Dazai and Fyodor are kind of assholes, although Fyodor is slightly less of one. The reader is not in a very good mental state. But that's what makes it spicy…

also this story is not for the Dazai lovers. although i am one.

...

It was snowing the day it happened. Big fat snowflakes falling gently from the sky, pressing kisses to your nose. They piled beneath your feet, along the sides of the roads in big fluffy piles, much akin to the clouds that would fill the sky during the summer months. They settled on the trees, painting their bare spindly branches a dirty gray white. It was dark, late at night as you hurried home, the street lights painting the white snow with yellow pure light.

It was cold, but not unpleasantly cold, your breath perfuming in the air around your face as you huffed out breaths, the heels of your boots sinking into the snow and clicking against the pavement. Your hair, let down around your shoulders, fell gently around you, floating like a cloud in the air. Your cheeks flushed from the cold, hands shoved deep in the pockets of your fur coat. The hat upon your head kept the warmth in, hugging your head gently.

You were feeling anxious. You didn't know why, it was a feeling that had persisted, that had been niggling at the corner of your brain, spilling unease into each and every corner of your body. The feeling had eaten at you, and you had buried yourself in your word to dull it, to dull that horrible dawning sensation of understanding. You were a weak woman, burying a poorly disguised inferiority complex under your fake bravado. It was most obvious in your incessant application of makeup, your occasional breakdown in the shower where you cried and cried, muffling your tears in the shower, letting the warm water wash them away.

For you to cry in front of Dazai was a pathetic thing, to let a man so confident and strong see your tears almost break you each time. You were a lucky woman to have such a man as your boyfriend, a handsome confident man who could have any woman he wanted. You knew this, and so you muffled your tears and that yawning feeling of dread opening a cavity in your stomach and told yourself that everything was alright.

But a woman's intuition is a clever thing, a strong thing not to be overlooked, a thing you must trust, for, as they say, where there is smoke, there is certain to be fire. And for you, that fire came in the form of a betrayal, a betrayal that could break you, if you moved it too. But feminine rage is also a divine thing, a destructive fire, incinerating everything in its path.

The snow caught on the bushes in the front lawn of your apartment as you made your way upstairs. The snow landed gently on the red berries, melting fast but yet just as fast replaced by another snowflake until the bushes and their red berries were dusted lightly with a decorative powder. The lights that hung from the trees in the front gave the entire scene a picturesque holiday feel, and yet that yawning pit of dread still ate at you from the inside out.

Heels clicking on the metal of the stairs, loud but not loud enough. Muffled by the snow. Loud only to you. Most of the rooms in the apartment you share with your boyfriend are empty, and all the lights beside your own are extinguished, lending an air of abandoned solitude to the surrounding. It's a bleak picture to your mind, and a foreboding chorus to the bouts of angst to come.

Your apartment is at the end of the row, all the way on the top floor. It takes barely a minute to walk the length and yet it feels like an hour, those feelings of dread you still cannot place eating you from the inside out, causing your legs to tremble in an unhealthy anticipation. You still don't know the cause, simply your misplaced intuition, and so you soldier on, passing the abandoned apartments.

Miss Smith, an alcoholic who had abandoned the apartment in a drunken haze, Ms Katya Ivanova, a pretty woman with blond hair that had been arrested for reasons unknown and dragged away kicking and screaming. Dazai had informed you what a shame it had been. You supposed she had been nice, but you had never really interacted that much. And finally, the old apartment next to yours. Owned by Ms Petrova, a kindly old lady that had died just last month. You had cried, the pathetic woman you had become, mourned her death like she was your own mother.

And at last, you arrive at your door, your gloved hand resting on the handle, not daring to open. Your body is frozen, unable to simply push open the unlocked door, afraid of the unknown, of what you might find there. You don't know why you're afraid, it's simply that yawning pit of sorrow, the gate to hell housed in the pit of your stomach. The feeling that something is wrong, but you simply can't place it, can't banish it, and so you must exist in this anxious state until something, or someone, breaks it.

You stand still before your door, the door you and your boyfriend had lived behind for three years now, a door with the familiar numbers 4B, partially rusted and close to falling off. Behind this door you had happy memories, sad memories, memories of all kinds. You simply can't bear it, you can't bear whatever you know, somewhere deep in your consciousness that you will find something that will change your life. You don't want things to change, you want to stay with your boyfriend who you love deeply, to keep your ok job at the ok law firm you worked at and to spend the holiday season happy, content, if not wealthy. It's all you’ve ever asked, to be content and loved, and yet it seems too much for whoever was spinning this dreadful wheel of fate. You had always lived your life kindly, a person who would bend over backwards for the needs of others, a person who loved first, hated never. This was your philosophy, a belief you stood by.

You took a deep breath, and opened the door. The hallway was dark, despite the lights you knew lighted the windows, despite the low murmur of voices coming from another room. You don't bother to take off your coat, your eyes catching on the unfamiliar coat and high heels placed in your spot. You already know what you will find as you make your way down the darkened hallway, towards the small bedroom you share with your boyfriend, but somehow you still hold out hope. You hope desperately that he really loved you, that the woman's clothes are presents for you, or his mothers clothes. You pray even, a desperate prayer to any god who may be listening, that he loves you, that you won't find him cheating. But of course, because your intuition has never steered you wrong, because that yawning pit of despair was correct, that's exactly what you find.

The door to your bedroom creaks as you open it, the light from the main room casting a sliver of golden light upon the bodies on the bed, twisted together under the covers, embracing in a love you thought you shared. The pit of despair, the anxiety, and get of hell that perpetually follows you opens up, swallowing your heart with finality. You turn, walking back down the hall, holding back the angry tears welling up in your throat. You're not surprised, how could you be, it was obvious really. But you had ignored the signs, refused them, rebuked them, wanting compassion and kindness that you knew he could never give you. He had warned you.

“I'm broken.” Dazai had said, hands caressing your own.

“I stray to temptations my belladonna, i cannot commit to you and you alone.”

You had foolishly thought that you could fix him, that you were good enough to make an ex-mafia member stray onto the path to the good, the path of the faithful. You curse yourself as Dazai stumbles out of the bedroom, chasing you, the woman behind him. You don't stop, even as he calls your name, a desperate plea.

“Wait, Name.” He says, his hands catching the end of your coat, yanking you to a halt. Biting your lip, your turn, holding back the tears. Dazai runs a hand through his messy brown hair, Katya Ivanova standing behind him, clutching her clothes to her almost naked frame. She looks as pretty as ever, her blond locks only lightly mussed, perfect even in sex. The woman he always told you not to worry about. You don't feel jealousy as you look at her, only a strange kind of acceptance.

“What, Dazai.” You say, your voice calm, not a tremble in sight. You comment yourself on your acting, even as the despair tears you apart from the inside.

“Bela…” He starts, once again mussing his hair. He's clothed only in pants and a few remaining bandages on his torso and arms. Lipstick marks and hickeys mar his pale skin, clear evidence of his activities. You bite back tears. You refuse to cry in front of these two.

“Belladonna…” Dazai says, seemingly at a loss for words. It seems he can't even beg for your forgiveness, and you only feel a cold kind of acceptance as you gently shake his hand off your coat, and walk towards the door.

“I hope you two live happily.” You say, turning one more time to look at them. What a picture they make, so pretty on the surface, but ugly underneath, where it really matters. And with one last small smile, you close the door behind you.

It's still snowing, but the scenery no longer feels peaceful and festive. No, now it feels cold and lonely and bleak and as you hurry away, the tears start. Fat, hot tears running down your flushed cheeks and hitting the snow below you as you walk slowly away from the apartment, to where you do not know. The streets are abandoned, dead in the still of the night and you can cry, tears a welcome relief from the tense anxiety that had hounded you not hours earlier.

You love him, loved that man with all of your pathetic little heart. Imagined a future with him, imagined kids, devoted your entire being to him. You tried your best, applying makeup and sucking dick and laughing at his jokes but you were not enough it seemed. Never as good as Katya Ivanova, effortless in her seductions, with her pretty blond hair and blue eyes, with her perfect body and bimbo brain. You would never be her.

The tears are freeing, in a way. They wash away your sadness and betrayal and also your makeup and then the anger comes. White hot and ger that pours in with each tear that trails down your face. Pure, unadulterated rage.

If he can do that, if he can seduce women as he pleases, you shall feel no shame in seducing men. And you know just the one to target. The rage burning your body, your steps imbued with it as you march on, given a purpose, at least temporarily. You will make him hurt. You will make Dazai, a man with nerves and emotions of steel, feel the same burning anger and anxiety and sadness and betrayal that you feel.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You know these neighborhoods well, the places you had watched Dazai and Fyodor argue over things from philosophy to what was the best fruit. They like to argue, oh yes they did, and their rivalry was something you hope to exploit. But your tears wouldn't stop. It was pathetic and sad but you sholdeird on, walking up to the small picturesque cottage and knocking politely on the door.

It was a nice cottage, with a few trees scattered around the lawn and a little bird fountain covered in a light dusting of snow and ice. The whole place feels welcoming, more wealthy than you and Dazai could ever afford. You try your best to whipe your tears, but alas there is nothing you can do. Fyodor was always kind to you, treating you with a certain amount of delicacy, like you were a glass fairy statue, pretty but easily breakable. You find you like this, very much.

You had always been a bit of a prize in their arguments. At least on Daazai’s side. But not enough to make him stay, not enough to make him loyal. You let the tears flow freely, tired of trying to hold back.

The door opens with a small crack, the light spilling out onto the lawn, onto your tearstained face. That familiar face looks out, eyes alighting in surprise upon your tear stained face, your obvious distraught expression.

“Name, what a surprise it is to see you.” Fyodor says, opening the door wider and letting the light spill across your sinner's body. You look up through your lashes, mouth trembling as you lean forward, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“Make it go away.” You whimper into the fabric, clutching it like a lifeline, as if it's the only thing between you and something terrible, something you never want to see.

Fyodor always seems to understand everything. Perhaps he reads you like an open book, dark eyes scanning the pathetic words that make up your being, reading your emotions, drawing them in a beautiful canvas, the world of his brain. He is a beautiful creature, dangerous and smart and a bit all knowing.

You tears are falling faster now, soaking the cotton fabric of his white shirt, cries muffled against him.

Fyodor’s thin hands grip your waist, maneuvering you inside, closing the door on the coldness behind you. The hallway is an illusion, something you can't even comprehend. All you can see is him, his hair brushing his chin lightly, his dark eyes locked on yours, his thin clothes. You whisper the words again, almost a silent prayer.

“Oh god Fyodor.” You whimper, imploring him with your eyes. “Make me dumb. Fuck me until i dont need to think anymore.”

Fyodor’s mouth curves into a small smirk, eyes locking on your own. His hands are cold, soothing as they reach up, cupping your face and smoothing your tears away.

“What about your boyfriend darling?” He asks, a cruel question really. You are sure he already knows the answer. Fyodor can be a cold man sometimes.

“Cheated.” Is all you whisper, still pressed against his heat. His body is lean, heat radiating from his frame despite his weak physical condition. You know he can make you forget.

Complicated emotions make their way across Fyodor’s face as he holds you. His big hands caressing your waist, sending little shockwaves of heat to your poor pussy, dripping against your panties. Your fantasies and desire have already driven you wild, a temptress of aphrodite, a sinner desiring the man who holds you, teasing you until you might simply explode.

“Fyodor.” You whisper, looking up at him through your lashes, begging for his love, hands working at the top few buttons of his shirt.

His response is to lean down, mouth pressing a achingly sweet kiss upon your lips. You melt into the sweetness, lured by the kindness, but it seems he has not forgotten your desire to forget. Because all at once the kiss is carnal, your back hitting the wall of his apartment in a brutal display of desire. Hands gripping fabric, the sounds of ripping fabric as his hands toss your coat aside, the buttons on your button down scattering in his eagerness.

Fyodor’s kisses are like a sweet poison. A desire that overcomes your senses, begging you to steal more. And there are more for the taking, many more as he pants against your neck, laying open mouth kisses against it, as you moan. Your back is still supported by the wall, trapped between a rock and hard place, pressed between a hard object and a relentless desire. You curve into Fyodor, perhaps begging for him to ruin you, to send you to sin. Fyodor drops to his knees, his mouth pressed against your soaking core. And as your head arches back, you know this is going to be a long, wonderful night.

The way his hands touch your body, the way his mouth worships your cunt, the way your hands tangle in his dark lock as you grind your core against his face. It's a pretty picture, a display of beastlike desire. The hallway smells of sex and the air is warm, stifling really. Your hair is wild, the locks falling around your bare shoulders, your makeup already smudged beyond belief. But you find you dont care, as his clever tongue urges an orgasm out of you, as he leaves you hsaking and begging as he flips you around, entering you with one long thrust and shoving you against the wall.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“My Darling.” Fyodor pants against you, as your hands grip at the smooth surface of his table, moans leaking out of your mouth, cum dripping out of your poor abused hole.

“Why are you crying?”

It takes a moment to truly come to, to take in his sentence and formulate a response. His whole house smells of sex, and the two of you had long abandoned the hallway, and moved to other parts of the house. It's an interesting kind of house tour. You're tossed over the kitchen table, body littered with possessive little hickeys. You love them, the fact that he wants to mark you, to keep you, to make you his forever. You love that his cum drips from your holes, that in a way he could possess you, in a way you could be his, have a purpose, have a comfort, have a man who loves you.

“Oh god.” You start. Your words are slightly slurred, and you don't understand how he has so much stamina, considering how physically weak he is.

“Oh Fyodor, I want to be loved.”

The words are vulnerable, and Fyodor’s relentless thrust stutter slightly. Your back arches against the table, hands finally gripping purchase, the end of the table. You feel so loved, so desired. You love it, you love him, Dazai is simply no more. You know he’ll come back, maybe later when your feeling less fucked out, but right now your very satisfied with this feeling, the happiness, the freedom.

A rough thumb on your clit urges you to orgasm, a powerful one. Your back arches off the table, your hands gripping his hair as he leans down, your lips parting in a scream.

“Oh Fyodor, I want to be yours.” You say, the orgasm forcing your true feeling out of the box you had buried deep. Your shaking, your body trembling with the force of the orgasm, his dick still spearing you deep. Your hands reach up aimlessly, searching for skin, for hair, for something. And find it you do, his thin shoulders, already engraved with the evidence of your desire, your fingernails leave more red trails in his pale skin, and he shivers at the pain.

“I’ve always loved you darling.” Fyodor says, his voice a pant. His vulnerable words break through the haze of orgasm, thrilling your heart even as your core clenches around his dick. He finishes his sentence, the words driving you made with desire, with love, with happiness.

“You're mine now.” Fyodor says, hands on your waist, lips on your own, pressing his love and desire on to your skin, painting a beautiful portrait, one that is for you, not for the others.

You're his. You love the words, those possessive desperate words whispered in a haze of arousal and sex. The words that you longed to hear. Because you are a woman who loves it, the possession, the feeling of love that stems from it in return. You know you will love this man, that this man will erase any traces of Dazai that remained, rework you into a beautiful statue, a glass fairy statue perhaps.

You keen into his words, hands gripping that pretty hair and yanking, pulling. He likes it, these little stabs of pain you learned. You are a broken woman, and you suppose this broken man can fix you. FYodor is undoubtedly a monster, a creature of the darkness whose hands are stained with blood. But you know this creature can fix you, pick up the broken pieces of your heart, the heart that had shattered upon the betrayal, and glue them back together, make you whole ounce more.

Your hands are scrabbling now, moving from his hair to his shoulders to his neck. Fyodor lets you, lets you grip his neck, holding the line of his life in your delicate hands. You doubt you could kill him, not that you wanted to, not with the state he’s reduced you too. You're a woman whose will hangs on his hands, whose life hangs at his fingertips, whose mentality is ruined by his dick. You're a woman remade wholy from desire. You find you like it greatly.

“You’ve ruined me.” Are the words that leave your mouth, slurred but still coherent.

Fyodor, eyes alight above you, only smiles. It's a predatory kind of smile, a smirk that shows his sharp canines, a proud smirk. You find you love it, as your pussy clenches down around his dick.

“Oh darling,” Fyodor says, panting the words in a rough grunt. His accent has become thick with lust, clogging his words, clogging his throat. “You say that in a negative light. I think I've simply sucked the sadness out of you. Converted it to white hot pleasure.”

Fyodors hand is working your clit again, hard circles that hurt as much as they feel good. The pleasure and pain is a delicious mix, a dangerous cocktail ruining your senses, driving you crazy for his touch. You think you might indeed become addicted. Your brian is fried, and it takes a lot of work to pull together coherent sentences, and so you simply give up, instead conveying your feelings in a mess of moans and whimpers, in his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

“My darling, I think you're the one who has ruined me.” Fyodor's words are accompanied by a slap, your ass stinging deliciously. You can barely speak, all you can do is keep yourself up, your hands braced against the slippery tiles of the shower. Your mouth parts in whimpers and pants, your pussy still dripping with cum even as the water tries to wash it down the drain. You try your best to prompt his words.

“What do you…” You say, the words slurred and interrupted with moans of pleasure. You don't understand how Fyodor has so much stamina, how he can ruin you over and over and then put you back together with words of kindness and devotion and the possessive hickeys littering your body. You whimper as another orgasm rocks your body. Countless, you’ve lost count.

Fyodor leans down, his wet hair tickling your neck as the length of his chest presses against your back, skin to skin, his beating heart obvious.

“I'm addicted to you.” Are the words he pants in your ear, letting his masks and walls come down fully, his expression a bit crazed, a bit scary. You clench down hard, the beginning of another orgasm shuddering down upon you. His dick, his words, his hands, his thumb on your clit bring you to countless orgasm, your brain fried, coherent words simply impossible. You try your best anyway, as the micro orgasm shakes your body.

“Oh good Fyodor.” You whimper, as your hands scrabble on the wall, as his hands grip your boobs, twisting your nipples. “I’m a sinful woman.”

“Aren't we all, just sinners of god.” The words are a pant, too confusing for your incoherent brain to decipher, but the sound of his voice is pretty. You know his words are a comfort, even if the true gravity won't hit until later. You find yourself thinking that maybe, this was destiny. Fate had lead you to this man, a monster who would caress your body, putting you back together, loving you, craving you.

You take a moment to send out a small thanks, and as another orgasm rocks your body, you simply stop thinking, drowning your feelings in sweet pleasure and pain.

...

Endnotes: i’ve never really written true angst, but now i guess i have. Although I can't help but give it a hopeful ending.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #bsd fyodor #fyodor x reader #dazai x reader #dazai bsd

198 notes · View notes

greenandsorrow · 26 days

Text

You're my best friend

✨Eddie in love with his best friend (fem!reader), feelings of inadequacy, fluff, comfort, light angst✨

"Damsel I'm back!!!! It's so excruciating going grocery shopping..."

It's the melodramatic entrance and the small pout at the end of his sentence as he kicks off his stinky shoes that makes you chuckle.

"Glad you survived Edds."

You two used to talk at school and were on good terms. After he failed to graduate twice you became classmates and got so so so so so close. The truth is that he always had a crush on you, but regardless of that your friendship is real and runs deep.

When you were looking for a place to stay after deciding you needed some time away from your family, Eddie told you that you can stay with him -his uncle is barely at home anyway- as long as you do the cooking. Least to say, you accepted the offer.

You listen to him playing his electric guitar, he keeps you company while you study, you have laughed and cried together. He doesn't mind you're not a complete freak like him, but more of a black sheep at school. There have been rumours you're dating and at first you liked being dramatic about it. Unfortunately for him, you're actually dating someone now so the "being dramatic about it" has stopped. Eddie doesn't enjoy your romantic interest taking your attention away from him, but he respects you too much to say anything that could even remotely throw you off.

You are roommates, you have your rules, your movie nights... and he's a gift from God you can't lie. He has learnt and accepted your every little quirk and peculiarity.

Sometimes you make hot chocolate and play Scrabble with Dustin and him. Sometimes you play with his hair while he's stoned. He has significantly cut down on smoking all this shit since you moved in.

Eddie isn't the jealous type, but the pit at his stomach envious type, the delicate disappointment that he can't have you the way others do type.

You'll be his first and last kiss.

Eddie drives you everywhere with his trashy car. He's the best company you could have ever asked for. You love your friend. You wish more people could see him the way you do.

The night is uneventful with you falling asleep on the couch as per usual. In the morning, Eddie wakes you up by ruffling your already messy hair and singing "you are my sunshine" in an ear bleeding frequency.

You're too sleepy to care and just stretch, your lack of a bra not going unnoticed. An awkward giggle is all he lets out, but internally he's so grateful for his hair covering his ears. They're burning too intensely for this time of day.

You get ready for school. It's all routine.

After school, you have your shift at the same place Mrs. Wheeler works in. At least it's quiet.

At this point you feel too bored for your own good, not to mention how your date canceled on you a third time in a row. You return home so done with life. Your hero, Eddie, has prepared the hot water just for you. He welcomes you in by telling you that you're late and have missed the DnD match, but he quickly realizes you're not in the mood.

You're so mentally exhausted, fed up and frustrated with your canceled date that you try to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Eddie gets a little hurt because the rules say no pitty fucking amongst pals.

When there's no reaction from him you just pull back and shrug. You won't show how embarrassed you actually feel. Not in this already pitiful state. Eddie knows about the canceled dates.

He does try to move on and get some snacks and a movie ready. He is flustered... your breath was so hot on his face... good thing he has time to shake the feeling off while you shower.

"The grime has been washed off!"

"We can talk about it, ...if you want to that is?"

Eddie is genuinely worried about your emotional state and he makes you open up and even break down in his arms. You have been living in denial but your love interest has been distancing themselves from you.

After this crying session, with you holding onto Eddie's warm body and wetting his Hellfire Club shirt with mascara tears, you put on a horror film. He even lets the fact that you're wearing your now ex's hoodie drop. Even though the revelation makes his chest tighten and his breath canal feel like it's been blocked.

You fall asleen on him.

He can feel the outline of your curves and your breasts pressing against him but the way he's holding you is gentle, like he's afraid you'll break into a thousand small, sharp pieces if he squeezes you too hard. You're even snoring softly, completely drained from all the crying.

At least you can't notice the silent tears running down his face. It's unfair. He's choking up in all the unsaid things. He had to see you crying over someone that doesn't even appreciate you while he was there. Exposed to you, ready to give you all he had.

Is he not your best friend? Who is there painting your nails and giving you scalp massages when your period headaches torment you?

Maybe if his mother hadn't abandoned him he would have been able to ask her for advice. He feels like crap now. Are you really that blind? Do you take him for granted to such an extent as you showed him tonight?

Another morning comes, but insecurities gnaw at Eddie. He can't fake a smile when you yawn and open your eyes, realising you're still wrapped around him.

"You look like shit."

Normally he wouldn't mind your choice of words at all, probably finding something even worse to say to you, but in his fragile state... Eddie snaps.

"It's not funny y/n! Do you think it's funny when someone spends the night sleepless?!"

You tilt your head, your mouth forming a straight line.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Oh no, I don't wanna hear it! Are you really as insensitive as you let out?"

"Edds I... I-"

"Shut up! Just shut up! I can't take it anymore! You have me wrapped around your finger y/n, feeding me hope and baked goodies.. but I've never heard a single I love you Eddie, not a single I actually care for you Eddie... Nothing!"

His big eyes are glassy now, tears threatening to spill down his freshly shaven cheeks. It breaks your heart to see him like this.

"B- but I do... I do love you!"

Your voice cracks as you feel your own eyes swelling up with tears.

"Then prove it! Prove it goddamn it! Wear my hoodies, worry over me for a change... Just please... Please-"

All the energy and anger have vanished from his expression and tone. Your gaze has softened as well and he feels like he's melting under it.

You extend your arms, wrapping them tightly around him. Eddie returns the embrace like you're gonna vanish into thin air if he doesn't hold you close enough to be able to feel your heartbeat against his own.

"Have I been so blind?" you ask without breaking the hug.

"Yes you glorious idiot of a girl..."

The pout... the melodrama. He's okay now. You stay like this for a while, missing your classes but at least settling into the conclusion.

You two belong together.

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I found a flash drive with all my shifting scripts from quite some time ago, so since I'm still in this stupid writer's block I thought it'd be fun to work on some already existing stories. I had to edit this ALOT, but it came out cute ngl✨

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floydsmuse · 7 months

Text

Love on a swing

warnings: none! it’s all fluff <3

pairing: Bob floyd x reader (no y/n)

description: after a long exhausting day, you make it home to Bob & he lovingly comforts you on your porch swing. (wc 1k+)

a/n: hi ! i just wanted to say thank you for all of the love & support i’ve been receiving lately, especially on my last fic :,) im so glad you all enjoyed it! i hope you like this one too :) as always, likes & comments are great! reblogs are appreciated too🥰🩷 tysm again!

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it had just been one of those days. you weren’t quite feeling like yourself & on top of that, work was chaotic. everyone needed you for something, you were constantly on your feet & you didn’t even have an opportunity to take proper time for yourself during your shift. to make matters even worse you had woken up not feeling great mentally & heavily considering taking a personal day. but, of course someone called in & you were needed at work.

you just couldn’t wait to get home to your husband. Bob had already left before he could see you in a distressed state this morning, instead bidding you goodbye with a kiss on your forehead while you were sleeping & leaving a little note on your nightstand like he always did before he’d head off to work, telling you that you were gonna rock today & that he loved you more than you’d ever know. that note did give you some motivation to have a better outlook on the day, but you still had your doubts. you knew today wasn’t going to be entirely easy.

after a long & exhausting shift, the clock had reached 5 & you were finally off. you made it through the day in one piece. relived & giving yourself a pat on the back, you practically ran out of the workplace, hoped into your car & headed on home.

around 20 minutes later, you made it to your destination. Bob’s car was in the driveway & you couldn’t have been more happy to see that he’d made it home at a reasonable time, knowing that he tended to get held up at work or sometimes he’d be dragged out to the hard deck to go drinking on occasion and play pool, even though he’d always much rather be at home with you. you noticed the porch light was on & you figured Bob was most likely reading on the little wooden swing that you had gotten installed when you two first moved in. you always dreamed of having one & when you brought up the idea to Bob, he loved it & got it put in immediately. you had spent countless evenings sitting on it, admiring the sunset with your husband or reading together for hours on end & sharing cups of tea. you felt so at bliss when you two shared moments on that swing.

snapping yourself out of your reminiscing & not wanting to make Bob wait any longer, you hop out of the car & make your way to the front porch. you had been right. Bob was sitting on the swing, steadily rocking back & forth, wearing his comfy grey sweats & a navy blue crewneck, reading a book. his eyes snapped up towards you & that crooked smile swept across his face. you were sure you looked exhausted & out of it, but you couldn’t help but return a smile back at him.

“hi my love. come sit. tell me all about your day.” Bob greeted & patted the spot next to him on the swing, inviting you to come sit. you looked down sheepishly, but headed towards him & sat down. Bob placed his book to the side and reached for your hands, clasping them together. he brought them up to his lips & placed a sweet kiss to your knuckles.

you honestly didn’t know where to start. the whole day was just a mess & you weren’t even sure if you could coherently put into words how you were feeling. Bob was always so patient with you, which you greatly appreciated. he would never pry or pressure you into expressing how you were feeling if you weren’t up to it. he would also never judge you for your feelings & always reminded, more so encouraged you to just let yourself feel freely and unapologetically. he wanted you to know that he’d always be there for you. through thick & through thin. you decided you didn’t want to talk about it, your brain cloudy & your body feeling weighted. you look up at him finally finding your voice,

“could you just…hold me please?” you asked in a whisper. Bob doesn’t hesitate. he pulls you straight into his arms, with his chin resting on top of your head and your legs draping over his lap. he quickly removes your shoes, making sure that you’re comfortable & allowing a chance for your sore feet to breathe & break away from their restraints. you snuggle into him, burying your face into his warm chest. his musk was just emanating off of him & was somewhat grounding you back down to earth. making you realize that you were now in your safe place & you could finally let the stress of the day go.

Bob rocked you both back & forth gently, soothingly rubbing up & down your back. he would place gentle kisses to your forehead, & run his fingers through your hair. you let out little hums of content here & there, feeling a type of peace you were yearning for throughout the day. Bob radiated a warmth that was just unmatched & he always made it his mission to take care of you.

you two stayed like this, cuddled up & rocking back & forth until the sun went down. the sounds of nature & the occasional car driving by was the only thing heard. you were really trying not to let the exhaustion completely take over, but your eyes were drawing heavy. your body was completely relaxed & the sound of Bob’s heartbeat was starting to fade in & out of your ears. you were falling under a sleep spell. but before you could drift off completely, you lifted your head, it feeling heavy on your shoulders & were immediately met with Bob’s kind blue eyes. he too looked sleepy & almost ready to doze off. you were about to speak & ask to go inside to bed, but he beat you to it,

“this has been lovely, but it looks like you’re about ready to head off to bed. what do you say my love?” Bob asks, with a yawn cutting in at the end. you nod your head up at him,

“yes Bobby, i’m ready for bed now.” you ironically let out a yawn of your own too & the both of you couldn’t help but chuckle at that. you were about to unravel yourself out of his grasp to get up, but Bob stops you & lifts you up bridal style,

“i got ya sweets. let’s get you inside.” you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder & you two headed into the house.

Bob placed you down onto your bed. helping you strip out off your work clothes & retrieving one of his t-shirts in the drawer. you lifted your arms in compliance & he slipped the shirt onto your body. he gently grabbed your face, big palms swallowing up your cheeks & giving them a playful little squeeze. you let out a breathy giggle & Bob leans in to place a lingering kiss to your lips. he slips out of his sweats and crewneck, leaving him in just his boxers. he removes his glasses, as you get under the covers. Bob follows suit.

getting into a comfy position, you lay your head onto his warm bare chest and his left arm instinctively wraps around your torso. once you’re fully situated, you turn to face him,

“Thank you for always taking care of me Bobby.” you say sleepily, snuggling deeper into his chest & finally letting tiredness take over you.

“no need to thank me my love. i will always take care of you. always.”

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd fanfiction #tgm #tgm fanfiction #top gun maverick #bob floyd fic #tgm fic #lewis pullman #floydsmuse

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misc-obeyme · 7 months

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Flufftober you say?? Barbatos is untaken you say??? Can I request MC taking care of him? The entirety of my mental, physical, and spiritual needs can be fulfilled by thinking of pampering the butler. Bonus points for him being kinda awkward and not knowing how to deal with it but very much liking it.

Helloooo!!

AH yes I loved this request so much lol. I am the exact same way, I want to take CARE of that BUTLER.

This one ended up a little longer than it should've because I am a fan of this scenario and got carried away. I can't help it, Barb needs to be pampered more.

Thank you for submitting a prompt!

FLUFFTOBER 2023

GN!MC x Barbatos

Warnings: none!

There weren't often days when Barbatos felt tired. He was reliably capable, always on top of everything that needed his attention. He kept things running smoothly, maintaining the Demon Lord's Castle, taking care of Diavolo, and ensuring that the work that needed to be done was completed.

Barbatos did it all day in and day out, never once showing his fatigue, never once faltering. Whenever Lord Diavolo needed him, he was there. Whenever any of his friends needed him, he was prepared. Barbatos was ready to step in at any time, for any reason.

And then there was you. How could a human like yourself see through so much of his mask? The knowing looks you sometimes cast his way let him know that you were aware of how much he worked.

Most of the time, Barbatos was able to redirect you any time you suggested he should take a break. You sometimes offered to do things for him and he would sometimes agree, letting you take care of minor things. It was a tactic to distract you, a way to let you feel like you were helping without giving you too much to do.

So when you arrived unannounced at the castle one evening, Barbatos was prepared to give you some menial task, something that needed doing, but that would essentially keep you out of his way.

You shocked him by calling him out on it.

"Not tonight," you said, arms folded, watching his face. "I'm not going to let you distract me this time. Did you think I didn't notice how you looked at RAD today? If you were anyone else, you would've been falling asleep in your seat."

Barbatos blushed and closed his eyes. "Forgive me, MC-"

"Don't even start with that," you said. "It's okay to be tired, you know. But you've been pushing yourself too hard lately. And I know exactly what you need."

Barbatos opened his eyes again, but his frown deepened. "What did you have in mind?"

You took his hands and smiled. Barbatos felt his heart flutter at the look in your eyes. Even though he was a little apprehensive about where this was going, he allowed you to lead him to his own room. He was a little surprised that you seemed to know exactly where it was. When had the castle become so familiar to you?

"Just wait here," you said, pushing him down gently so he was sitting on the edge of his bed.

You hurried away as Barbatos folded his hands in his lap. He kept his gaze on the large window, watching the treetops swaying in a gentle breeze while he waited for you.

Barbatos thought about how you knew the exact route to his room. Had you truly been here enough times to know its location so easily? Memories of your presence in the castle flooded his mind. You did come here frequently. Often enough that he couldn't quite pinpoint when you had become so familiar - not just with the castle, but with him, too. Enough to know when he was truly tired, a state he did his utmost to hide from everyone.

When you returned, you had Little D No 2 with you, following along at your heels. Even the Little Ds trusted you enough to simply do as you asked them. Little D No 2 was carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

You were carrying what appeared to be a plastic bucket full of water. Where you had obtained such a thing, he couldn't be sure, but Barbatos was on his feet in an instant, ready to help you with it.

"No, you sit back down!" you said.

Barbatos immediately sat back down. He closed his eyes and blushed again. He wasn't sure why he was so inclined to listen to your command without question.

You brought the bucket over to where he was sitting and he noticed a cord trailing off the end of it.

"What is this, MC?" he asked tentatively.

"It's a foot spa," you said happily. "I borrowed it from Asmo."

Barbatos watched as you plugged in the little plastic bucket full of water. You took the tray from Little D No 2 and put it on the bedside table.

"Thanks, No 2," you said, patting him. "You can go now."

No 2 saluted you and scurried out of the room.

Barbatos continued to watch as you knelt before him, next to the tub. He watched as you began to untie the laces on his shiny black shoes.

"MC," he said. He reached out, grabbing your hands, seemingly unable to let you continue. "What are you doing?"

You looked up at him and again he was struck by the look in your eyes. A tenderness he didn't quite know what to do with.

"You're always on your feet," you said. "And Asmo said this is a really great way to relax."

Barbatos squeezed your hands. He was sure you could see the uncertainty written on his features. For once, he didn't have the presence of mind to hide it.

You sighed a little and moved into a taller kneeling position, scooting forward to put yourself between his knees.

Barbatos blushed as you leaned forward and kissed him. You took your hands out of his and put them in his hair instead. You kissed his cheeks, his lips.

"It's okay," you said. "I want to take care of you. Won't you let me?"

Barbatos closed his eyes for a moment, to brace himself against the assault of love in yours. It seemed you had not only become a fixture in the castle, but in his heart as well. In the end, he knew he couldn't deny you.

"Very well," he said.

You smiled and sat back on your heels. Barbatos didn't protest again as you removed his shoes and socks, rolling up the legs of his uniform pants and placing his feet into the warm water of the tub. You pressed some buttons and suddenly he felt the tub massaging his feet.

It was such an unexpected feeling that Barbatos let out an involuntary sigh, his whole body sagging slightly as it let out a tension he didn't realize he was holding.

He was so distracted by it that he didn't notice you had moved until you were sitting on the bed beside him with a steaming teacup.

You handed the cup to him, then put your hand on his back, letting your fingers trail down his spine. He shivered beneath your touch.

"Isn't this nice?" you asked, resting your head on his shoulder. "You should really let me do this for you more often."

Barbatos hummed thoughtfully. He had been so uncertain about this plan of yours. It was his job to take care of you, not the other way around. And yet, he couldn't quite deny the sweet beating of his heart. He couldn't pretend to himself that he wasn't already thinking of future moments like this with you. And he knew that even if he felt awkward, even if it felt backwards, that he would always allow you to care for him this way.

Barbatos would make an exception for you because all he truly wanted was to see that tenderness in your eyes.

flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname @libidinous-weeb

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me barbatos #om barbatos #barbatos obey me #obey me fluff #obey me flufftober #obey me barbatos x reader #om barbatos x reader #barbatos obey me x reader #misc flufftober 2023 #misc writes

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