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rememberwren · 1 month

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Third time’s the charm. Simon/fem!reader. Handjobs, edging, cumming untouched, thigh riding, femdom behavior, somewhat submissive!simon, literally tried to cure my depression with this (did not work)

“You said you usually go three times in a session. We should try one more time, shouldn’t we?”

Ghost looks at you like you’ve grown an extra set of eyes. He shakes his head a little, his eyes hard and disbelieving when they meet your own. “Have I not embarrassed myself enough for you?”

“Not really—? I mean—fuck,” you fumble, running a hand down face. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I don’t feel like you have any reason to be embarrassed.”

He stares at you, through you, like if he looks long and hard enough he’ll be able to see your truth straight down to your bones. Well let him look. He hadn’t exactly bared his soul during the few weeks you had spent discussing this before meeting in person, but he had told you plenty: his issue had cost him relationships. It had cost him jobs thanks to lack of focus. Friendships thanks to neglect. You couldn’t imagine anyone willingly choosing something which gave them so much suffering. His lack of complicity cleared him of any blame in your eyes.

At length, he must see that there is some honesty in you. Looking like it pains him, he nods his head, hulking shoulders deflating a little. “Fine. One more time. I’ll need a few minutes though.”

“That’s fine,” you offer, and it is, or at least it would be if it meant you both didn’t have to sit in complete silence, Ghost uneager to offer up conversation topics and you too awkward to try.

He keeps staring at you, too. Or more specifically, your breasts. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt, but the effect is aided by one of your prettier bras. You had worn it unsure if Ghost was serious in his insistence that there would be no sex taking place between you both

It seemed a pity for it to go to waste.

“Do you want to see?” you ask him, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and gripping it tightly, folding it a little anxiously back and forth like an accordion’s bellows.

“See? What? No—!”

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

Ghost reaches up a hand to rub at one eye like a headache is forming behind it. His mouth never abandons its signature frown, even as he says, “If you want? Jesus, fuck. I don’t know. I’m not going to stop you.”

You find that you do want. You kneel up, take the hem of your t-shirt into your hands and work it up over your breasts. For all his lack of enthusiasm, his eyes crack open straightaway and glue themselves to you, widening a little at the sight of your strappy, lace-laden bra.

“I know you didn’t fucking wear that for me,” he says, sounding winded.

“I’ll be honest, I thought this was just a ploy to hook up. I wore the matching panties too, do you—“

“Stop—talking,” he mutters, closing his eyes. His hand reaches down towards his (valiantly hardening) cock, but thinks twice, turns into a fist, and comes to rest at his side. “And under no circumstance should you take your pants off.”

“Got it. Pants stay on.”

Ghost sighs. “I’m ready. Let’s get it over with.”

That’s the spirit, you think to yourself dryly. You lift your hand to your mouth, creating a little cup with your palm and to spit in, your eyes locked on his own. You hear the click as he swallows, but it’s progress that he doesn’t cum, right? That must mean that he had experienced some level of desensitization, either to you as a partner or to the specific stimulus or a mixture of both.

But that’s not how this is supposed to work. The whole point is to help him learn to last when he’s as desperate as possible, hoping that edging when he’s truly suffering will lead to a more satisfying orgasm and therefore a need for fewer of them.

You lower your hand instead of spitting and grip the hem of your shirt, tugging it off over your head altogether. Ghost can’t seem to find his tongue, staring at you with dark, huge eyes as you reach around back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, but at last that comes undone, and you peel it away from you, letting it join his jeans and your shirt on the floor.

His eyes rake over your naked breasts, mouth forming a curse that he lacks the breath to whisper. His cock is so hard and heavy that it lays against his belly, thick and twitching.

You shift and straddle his thighs just proximal to his knees. He fists the bedsheets, abs tensing sharply as he watches you with silent awe and trepidation.

“What are you doing?” He whispers.

“Getting comfortable?” you suggest.

Now you cup your hand and spit into it. Then you offer it to him, holding out your hand expectantly. Looking wary, he leans up onto his elbows, ducks his head, and spits into your hand too, quite delicately for being a giant of a man.

You take your hand and place it palm down against where his cock lays on his belly, slicking the underside from top to bottom. Ghost groans, a low sound torn deep from his chest. He collapses off of his elbows and onto his back, hands finding his eyes and palming at them again while you slick his cock all over with a delicate touch, barely more than a tickle.

“Are you teasin’ me?” he grits out.

“I would never.” The tips of your wet fingers trail down over his balls, tight and drawn up against his body already. He hisses through his teeth, cock flexing. You fight a grin.

Taking him firmly in your hand, you give him a series of smooth, slow strokes, your hand loose and gentle where it is cupped around him. His body writhes against the sheets.

“Stop, please stop,” he gasps, and you do, letting his cock fall to rest against his belly with a soft thud. He opens his eyes, takes one look at your tits, and squeezes them shut again. ”Fuck, can’t believe you took your shirt off.”

“I can put it back on if you want.”

“Really don’t want that. Really fucking don’t. Just—sit there. Please,” he tacks on to the end like an afterthought. You’re grateful to have received a please at all. He takes deep, slow breaths, his nostrils flaring as he strains for air.

When he gives you a curt nod, eyes still firmly closed, you reach down and use one hand to grip the base of his cock. The other you place toward the head so that you can softly drag your thumb over the deep red tip, tracing the sensitive ridge and over the leaking slit. He whines, honest to god whines, a sound which you feel viscerally in your belly and lower. You shift on his thighs, wondering if it would be so bad to just straddle one, to get some pressure right where you need it most. It’s not like there’s any sort of propriety in a situation like this. He’s getting his, why can’t you get yours?

You use your thumb to trace a vein up the length of his shaft and smooth the slick over his tip, polishing it softly.

“Fucking—! Stop! Stop!”

You stop, and you swallow an unhappy sound. Things had just been getting fun—for you, at least. Ghost looks like he’s being put through the wringer, redness creeping down his neck to disappear under his shirt, knuckles white where he grips the sheets, breaths rapid and shallow.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He laughs a little, a self-deprecating, unhappy sound. “You’re too good at that.”

“Good with my mouth too,” you say on a whim.

His eyes flash open, wide and surprised (and narrowed in on your mouth), his lips parted in a look of near comical astonishment. His hand scrambles to grip around the base of his cock, squeezing painfully. “You—you’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Way more than I thought I would,” you admit. “An obscene amount, honestly—I’m so wet—“

Ghost releases his death grip around his balls and strokes his cock, once, twice, thrice, quick little strokes as his face crumples, as he gives up on the whole fucking thing. You can see it in his face, the defeat, the submission. He’s going to jerk himself off to a quick, unsatisfying release—but it doesn’t seem fair.

“Stop,” you hiss, reaching out to grip his wrist. He lets go of himself like he’s been burned, immediately obedient even as his face twists with fury. He pulls away from your touch but watches as you shift until just one of his thick thighs is between your own.

You give a soft, gentle sway of your hips against him. His face is so fucking expressive, his eyes and brows and mouth telegraphing his every little thought and feeling. He watches you with something like tortured awe, eyes flickering towards where your clothed pussy rubs against his bare thigh.

“Don’t touch yourself,” you breathe, pleasure zipping up your spine at the friction against your cunt. “I want to see if you can cum like this.”

“Came went you spat in your fucking hand,” he breathes, abs tensing, cock twitching as precum pools in his happy trail, watching as you get yourself off against his thigh. “Can cum like this no fucking problem.”

“You’re not as sensitive now,” you pant, planting a hand against his tensed chest to gain the leverage you need to lengthen the rolling of your hips.

“Am too.”

“We’ll see.”

His face twists. “Will you—keep going? Even if I do?”

You consider for a moment and then shake your head, breaths too shallow to make words properly. You feel saturated, swollen and sensitive. Every drag of your hips sends muted pleasure up your spine. Normally this would take you ages to cum, but you haven’t been this worked up in a long time. Watching Ghost’s cock turn shades of red and plum is like live pornography, obscene and arousing. Feeling a little cruel, you tell him: “Gotta hold it.”

He tenses his thighs, heels digging into the bed. It does something to the muscle pressed against your cunt and makes your nails dig into his chest.

He’s shaking his head. “No. Negative. Can’t.”

“Hafta.”

“Can’t—fuck, I—“

“Goddamnit Ghost,” you whine, hips working feverishly against him. “Hold it and let me cum.”

He really can’t—really and truly. His cock spurts against his belly, a pitiful amount of pearly cum as he groans low and long, moan forming half-hearted, breathy apologies: sorry, ‘m sorry, couldn’t hold it—

You groan, a sound more frustrated than aroused. Your hips slow and stop, and your mouth fights to make a pout. You will it away. It really isn’t his fault.

“You…you don’t have to stop,” he says, a little shyly.

You shift off of him and swallow your own sigh, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Maybe next time I’ll get my pants off.”

His cock, spent, still twitches against his belly.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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andhumanslovedstories · 4 months

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I’ve been struggling lately with the feeling that my job is pointless. Intellectually I know it is not—nursing is one of those professions where you get to be real smug about knowing the value of your work. But it’s still felt very pointless. Like I’ll start a shift thinking, “what am I even doing here,” and end it thinking, “what have I actually even done.” It’s been a ROUGH couple months.

But I had a really good shift last time I worked, which was good for the soul and also a very useful data point. I got to do pain management advocacy and symptom management, met a bunch of cool patients, did education for new nurses, and had several long heart to hearts, which the kind of midnight heart to hearts that I think are the most important part of night shift, all of that while being well staffed with very pleasant and appreciative patients and coworkers, and I was still like. Pretty depressed. I had a sense of satisfaction and moments of joy and meaning, but it turns out that one good shift did not cure the depression that has been latched on to me for the last few months like some kind of fucked up mental health leech. As I realized I was still depressed and that it was still interfering with my life even when everything was going well, the sense of peace washed over me was the best I’d felt in a while. Because I was like, okay! None of my usual stuff as worked! I have no excuse not to try something new to get my brain out of the shit ditch it’s slipped into.

So I’m applying for short-term disability. I’m worried I won’t get it, and I’m not sure what the next step is if I get rejected, but I feel so much better having decided to pursue it. It’s so much fuckin paperwork for sure, to a degree that’s overwhelming except that that the form could be a checkbox that says, “you want money?” and I’d be like “THIS IS TOO MUCH.” I’m totally not writing this post instead of finishing an email to my manager. I’m definitely not writing this post to avoid dealing with coordinating all my various care providers. I’m certainly not at every moment worried that I’m secretly faking all this so I can get three to nine weeks of a cool summer vacation.

I was thinking about how I almost flunked nursing school in my final semester because I turned in assignments late for a class with a “no late homework” policy. The professor said that this was reflective of real life, where if you miss deadlines you’re just fucked. I ended up appealing my grade and passing, because frankly it was a weak reason for making me repeat a final semester when there was no issues with my actual work or knowledge. During my appeal, I was like “I also think this policy is ableist. Harsh penalties for late work hurt students with health problems, especially chronic health problems when you aren’t asking for one week off due to the flu but instead for a general and never ending flexibility. I’m not trying to make an excuse but explain why this policy is a bad one. Disabled healthcare workers are an asset to healthcare.” I’m trying to remember my own argument as I pursue help. My depression and ADHD and eating disorder do help me be a better nurse, not because like depression gives you superpowers, but because I manage my chronic illnesses every day, in ways that range from hardly noticeable to life or death. Being kind to patients means being kind to myself, and vice versa.

I’m rambling. I really do not want to do this paperwork or send these emails. And I’m not sure if I deserve the leave I’m trying to take. But I miss being love with my job. I miss enjoying it. I wouldn’t judge someone else for going on medical leave, and my job doesn’t want me to burn out or quit. It almost feels like I have to be skeptical of applying for leave because no one else is. Everyone I’ve spoken to has been very supportive, including my manager. And considering how many unpaid days off I’ve had to take lately, disability leave would be an improvement over some of my recent paychecks. All in all, short-term disability makes sense and seems like a reasonable response to circumstances. But FUCK. I wish it required like 90 percent less documentation.

#nursing tag

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catch1ngmoths · 4 months

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BRO I LOVE YOUR WRITING OML ESPECIALLY WITH JOOST ?! MHSKYTJSSYJ

Anywho im allergic to happiness rn so could you write a joost x reader (gn if possible, if you don’t do gn do whatever your comfortable doing idm:3) with like reader admitting that they’ve been struggling (like with depression, suicidal thoughts etc etc)

If you’re uncomfortable with any of this feel free to ignore!! Have an amazing day/night AND GET SOME SLEEP(•̀ᴗ•́)و

࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ SOBER TO DEATH ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ “take your hands off your neck and hold onto the ghost of my body…” - car seat headrest 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

Summary: you’ve been struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts. You’re struggling with a pretty bad mental episode just as your boyfriend Joost comes home…

Note: I love you all omfg, the support is insane! I absolutely love writing and reading angst so I get you annon 🙏🏻. PART TWO OF, “Only stay with you one more night” WILL BE OUT TOMORROW!!

Warnings: mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, bad mental episode + comfort

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You’ve been going through it, really going through it. You had no energy to do anything anymore. No energy to get outta bed, brush your teeth, or even eat. You felt utterly and completely worthless every single day of your life.

The thoughts of getting rid of all the pain and suffering your mind made you go through on a daily basis plagued your mind. The only reason you’d haven’t gone through with your plethora of ideas to end it all was your boyfriend, Joost.

He was the most important person in your life and the best guy you’d ever met. He always helped your mood; anytime he smiles, you smile. Anytime he laughs, you laugh. Anytime he’s happy, you’re happy. But he wasn’t around, not here to talk to you and hold you in his arms.

He was on tour and had been for the past few weeks, you’d realized how bad it’s been without the comfort and just presence of Joost. Don’t get me wrong, every day he was away from you he felt even more annoyed and irritated with everyone around him. Not his fans of course, while performing that was the little peace he got in the day. He just wanted to hold you, he craved it. Just the sight of you made his nerves calm immediately.

You both were like a cure to each others bad moods (THE CURE MENTIONED??!!), fixing each others problems by just being near each other. But your mental health has been the worst it’s ever been these few weeks. You don’t remember the last time you ate and especially drank water. You haven’t left your bed even, falling into deep thoughts of harming yourself that would worry anyone.

The good news is Joost was coming back today, he was practically rushing to get back home to you. FaceTime calls and texting just wasn’t doing it for him, he needed to hold and kiss you. You on the other hand totally forgot Joost was coming home, you’d lost track of time a while ago.

It was around 6pm when you heard the familiar sound of keys opening the front door of your apartment. Your eyes widen, is he home?? Is it really him..?! Before you can get outta your bed a figure comes running towards you with a wide smile, jumping on you and pulling you against them.

You feel yourself smile for the first time in weeks, breathing in the familiar smell of Joosts cologne. He grabs your cheeks and presses kisses all over your face, “missed you so so much baby” he says, his accent bringing the much needed comfort you craved.

He pulls away, looks at you and can immediately tell something’s wrong. He scans your face with narrowing eyes. You looked skinnier and had dark circles around your eyes, even still looking beautiful as ever but he knew you weren’t okay. He doesn’t need to elaborate or even explain, he just says, “what’s been going on in that pretty little head of yours hmm.?”

You sigh, he always knew when something was wrong. He would never let it go unanswered or ignored, “I’ve been getting worse without you here..” you say with a sad sigh, you could always be open and honest with him both of you knew that.

“Talk to me mijn lieve schatje” he says, rubbing your back comfortingly. You pour you heart out, you tell him all about your suicidal thoughts. You tell him about how you haven’t eaten or drinking anything in god knows how long. Your body felt so weak, it took a lot out of you to even raise your arm. You explain how depressed you’ve been, feeling like the most miserable person ever.

He gives you his full and undivided attention, keeping eye contact even when you looked away he stares at you with the most intense eyes that were filled with love and nothing but utter care and worry for your wellbeing. Once you’re done he immediately begins, “well first of all, I’m gonna make you something to eat and drink.”

He says picking you up and carrying you to the kitchen, placing you on the countertop and making you food. Not before handing you a water bottle and making sure you drink all of it. Once your fead, he brings you to the bathroom. You both shower together, he washes your hair and body affectionately while he presses kisses wherever he could.

Once you were both back in bed and ready to sleep he speaks once more right before you were about to fall asleep. “You’re coming on tour with me for now on, I don’t think I can spend that long without you again.” Is the last thing you hear before long kisses are pressed to your eyelids before you’re consumed by darkness….

#joost x reader #joost klein x you #joost klein x reader #joost klein #joost x fem reader #justice for joost

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soshirohoshinasimp · 2 months

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"Are ya alright...!?"

Synopsis: Savior!Hoshina x Civilian!Reader

Author's note: Thanks @hoshinaideas4all for the list of ideas, and for curing my writer's block.

This was really fun to write, mainly because I was trying to patch up on writing falling in love scenes, describing things and poetry. (Mainly destruction, sadness, depression and just describing things in general.) So this was very fun writing. I hope you all really enjoyed this one, and especially enjoy the poetry at the top! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wc: 1500 (whoopsie doo)

To love something means you feel an endless wave of excitement. It’s like when you’re glued to a romance movie and can’t wait for the main couple to finally be together. Every scene has your heart racing and your emotions bubbling over.

To love someone feels like you’re living in that movie. It’s like you’re the main character, and everything around them feels magical and special. Even the smallest gestures become epic moments.

But these two kinds of feelings, while both thrilling, are different from each other.

One day, you were managing your new restaurant. It was a busy, exciting time for you, as you were sending out orders, crafting drinks, and handing out menus to customers. You had just opened the place a few weeks ago, so it was still just you working there. There were no employees yet, just you, living your dream of owning a restaurant. You’d worked hard to get this far, and it felt amazing to finally call it your own.

But then, Once a dream turned into a nightmare.

It was a regular afternoon when the chaos began. You were in the middle of preparing an order when you heard a loud crash. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up to see a group of yojus —huge, monstrous creatures— not a lot though, around five to ten -- bursting through the restaurant’s front window. The once-glass window shattered into a million pieces, sending glass flying everywhere.

The kaiju were terrifying. They were massive, shaped like mushrooms with crimson red spots on their heads, They thrashed around, causing destruction with every movement. The walls of your restaurant, which you had carefully decorated and maintained, started to crack and splinter. You could hear the ominous creaking of wood and the groaning of metal as the restaurant’s structure began to give way, as more yojus came rushing through.

You ran to the back, trying to stay out of their path, but the kaiju were cornering you. Some were even coming in and out into the ceiling, and a huge chunk of the ceiling fell right where you had been standing just moments before. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your breathing became shallow and erratic. You could feel the panic rising, squeezing the air out of your lungs.

In the midst of the destruction, you tried to call for help, but the noise of the kaiju and the crumbling building drowned out your voice. You stumbled, almost falling as the floor shook beneath you. The restaurant, which had been a symbol of your hard work and dreams, was now a chaotic, dangerous mess. The walls were closing in, and pieces of the roof were falling in different spots, creating a maze of debris.

Fear gripped you tightly, making it hard to think clearly. You saw more parts of the ceiling start to buckle, and you knew you had to get out, but your legs felt like you had weights in your pockets. Every time you tried to move, the ground shook violently, making you lose your balance. The sense of impending doom was overwhelming. It felt like everything you had worked for was crumbling in front of you, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The last straw came when a massive piece of debris fell dangerously close to you, and you saw the entire section of the roof beginning to collapse. It was like a scene from a disaster movie, and you were trapped in the middle of it. Despair and resignation took over, and you felt as if your whole world was falling apart. With your heart racing and tears streaming down your face, you just sank to the floor. You sat down on your bum, closing your eyes tightly and bracing for the worst.

In that moment of absolute terror, you felt completely helpless. You could hear the kaiju’s roars and the sound of the building breaking apart. It felt like time was stretching out, and every second was a mix of fear and anticipation. You were sure you were going to die, and you prepared yourself for the end. But what you weren’t expecting, silence. No more sounds of the kaiju. Or was your mind playing tricks on you?

Then, through the chaos, a heavy accent pierced through the din.

“Are ya alright..!?”

Loud and Commanding

You opened your eyes to see a man with striking crimson eyes and a bowl cut of midnight purple. He was wearing a JAKDF suit, and held a sword in each hand. He moved with incredible speed and precision, slicing through the kaiju with expert skill, cutting through the monstrous creatures effortlessly into bits.

His eyes werefilled with concern as he looked at you. The contrast between his calm demeanor and the chaos around him was striking. His presence was like a beacon of hope in the midst of the disaster.

You watched in awe as he fought off the remaining kaiju, his movements fluid and graceful. It was like he was dancing through the chaos, and you felt a strange sense of calm as you saw him taking control of the situation. His confidence and strength were reassuring, and you couldn’t believe someone like him was there to help you.

With the last kaiju defeated, he sheathed his swords and extended a hand towards you. You took his hand hesitantly, and he helped you to your feet with surprising gentleness. His touch was firm but careful, as if you would break on any sort of impact, and it grounded you in a way you hadn’t felt since the attack started.

“Yer not injured are ya..?” he asked, his voice gentle but full of curiosity.

You nodded, still feeling a bit dazed and flustered. You could hardly believe what had just happened.

“Thank…thank you,” you managed to say softly, your voice trembling with relief.

“Anytime, ma’am! Comes with the job,” he said with a smile that made you feel all warm inside. His smile was like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Even though the conversation lasted less than a minute, it felt like it was in slow motion. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a wave of emotions washing over you. It was like the world had paused just for that brief moment.

It felt like roses were blooming when he spoke.

As quickly as he had come, he was gone. He walked out of the restaurant, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your mind spinning. You gathered all your remaining courage and called out to him, “Uh! When you stop by, your first few orders are free of charge!!”

He turned back and looked at you with a playful grin. “Aren’t ya sweet? Guess I’ll be expectin’ to see ya real soon.”

With that, he left, and you watched him go, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and something else—something you couldn’t quite put into words. His departure left a significant mark on your heart and mind.

In less than a bit, the ambulance arrived and was taking some of your customers into the vehicles, and just like that the “eventful” day was finished. When you arrived home to your little apartment. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, and his voice seemed to echo in your ears every day. With the restaurant being repaired, you spent the rest of the night in your tiny apartment researching who this hero was. You pulled out your computer and began searching for information about him.

You figured he was part of the defense force, but you weren’t sure which division. After two hours of digging through profiles, you finally found him. In a group photo with the division’s captain and the entire division, there he was.

Soshiro Hoshina — Vice Captain of the JAKDF Third Division.

You dove into his social media pages, learning everything you could about him. You replayed the scene where he saved you over and over in your mind. You found yourself doodling pictures of him and daydreaming about him with a smile on your face.

Was this just a crush?

Probably not. You fell for Soshiro Hoshina so quickly and so deeply that it felt like you deserved a medal for the fastest in record time to fall deeply in love. You eagerly awaited the day when the cleaning and remodeling would be finished so you could see him again and hear his voice.

Man, getting over him is going to be really tough.

#kajiu no8 x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro x female reader #kaiju number 8

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liliththeimp · 5 months

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Farmhand! Simon HC’s

(fem!reader, SFW)

Farmhand. Farmhand but in a way that will water down the harsh southern living into sweet tea and fireflies and cattle all because I'm a silly delulu squirrel who wants my life to be easy right now.

I'm into escapism and fake scenarios can't you tell?

Anywho, my main point about this is I can't stop thinking about farmhand! Simon and its curing my depression a little bit so heres some head cannons lol

(Ain’t proof read, per usual :P)

—————

Farmhand! Simon, who decided to move to the states for a job opportunity, and innocently assuming he’d take care of a lonesome old couple and that was that. Little did h know he’d find your cute little puppy ass fluttering around him curiously every time he turned around.

Farmhand! Simon, who you met after returning home from a trip with your friends, the new masked face a surprise addition to your grandfather’s ranch, considering your grandfather ain’t one who asked for help often. Let alone someone from England.

Farmhand! Simon, who is very distant and quiet, no matter what advances you made to try and slink around to bother him, he would always shy away with a grunt and wrangled horses into their stalls, and your guess was he wasn’t very friendly.

Farmhand! Simon, who is embarrassed by your sudden appearances and advances into helping. He’s grateful for his hat and the bandana tied around his face to hide his embarrassment around you- otherwise you’d find out underneath all that he loved checking you out in that short red gingham dress, the way it rode up your thighs when you bent over the fences to hand him water or reach for his hat to spite a reaction from him.

Farmhand! Simon, who will wake up at the crack of dawn to make back tea and gets the feeding out of the way, so if you woke up early enough, you were able to spot him hard at work before the sun glinted across him.

Farmhand! Simon, who helped carry laundry baskets for you outside before rudely dropping them to go collect some bails of hay for the horses, it only because he got so embarrassed by the way you’d look up to him as you talked, fluttering your lashes like you two were friends.

Farmhand! Simon, who finds you asleep in an empty hay-blanketed horse stall next to Gideon, the newborn horse calf. It melted his heart a bit, seeing the glow on the sunset glisten across your skin, kissing your hair and making you glow even more than you should. To see you curled up against the calf so sweetly.

Farmhand! Simon, who begrudgingly picked you up from your napping post and up into his arms effortlessly, carrying you across the field for a few minutes to admire your sleepy features, the way you twitched your nose, the way you curled up against his chest, curling the fabric of his flannel in your fingers as if you weren’t close enough.

Farmhand! Simon, who put you up to your bed, brushing a stray curl from your temple to hesitantly peck your forehead, bushing his finger across your lips for good measure.

Farmhand! Simon, who will eventually start to come closer to you, and begins to allow your help around the ranch.

Farmhand! Simon, who will work from 5am-12pm for a break and walks in on your making him some lunch (embarrassingly refuses to eat in front of you, instead goes out into the barn to eat with the animals.)

Farmhand! Simon, who nearly looses his mind at how you cook for him, sweet or savory, he thinks it’s divine.

Farmhand! Simon, who got so love sick at your appreciation, went to an auction and got you a new calf, which you name Duck.

Farmhand! Simon, who starts thinking this is your illegitimate child together, (will also get a bit jealous at your attention for the calf instead of him, he wouldn’t allow himself to really feel to though, cause why would he want that nasty fluffy crap?)

Farmhand! Simon, who will bring you out late at night to capture deep in the woods, the virescent glow of fireflies that dances around you lit up your eyes with a beaming smile like some puppy chasing them through the trees, while he watches for afar, finding that this was the moment he fell in love with you.

Farmhand! Simon, who has gotten so comfortable, on his breaks he’ll let you make him picnics and eats with his bandana off, but inched away -only cause he’s shy of you starring at him like he stares at you- or the potential denial of his scarred features who scare you away,

Farmhand! Simon, who will give you a giant bear hug before you or he goes anywhere, just to make sure ;)…especially if youre out in town, he’ll be sure to keep any small town weirdos from getting to close to you.

Farmhand! Simon, who will eventually become so lax around you, he enjoys the time you take to be around him, laying your head on his stomach as you read, the low buzz of the radio drifting around you with the sound of crickets starting to chime together at the sunset. While Simon’s hand had a beer in it, the free one hesitantly inches towards the ends of your hair, twirling the strand around experimentally, hoping you didnt feel it while he memorized the softness and texture, hoping one of these days he can fully run his and through your hair.

Farmhand! Simon, who eventually kisses you the night before you leave for college, wanting you to understand he would wait for you, if you’d wait for him too.

#simon ghost riley #Cod #simon riley x reader #farmhand au #Someone sedate me #I need him in a way concerning feminism

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lixzey · 2 months

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a leo valdez x child of dionysus!reader story/headcannons would cure my depression rn🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️(maybe best friends to lovers ? )

sorry for being so vague but there just isn’t enough appreciation for leo i need anything 😭😭

thank u i love your works btw

i wanna teach you how forever feels !

leo valdez x daughter of dionysus!reader headcannons <333 friends to lovers

leo valdez x dionysus!reader headcannons <33

a/n: so sorry if this is too long 😭 i got carried away 🫣 i hope you like it!

• you and leo met the day after his quest to save hera along with jason and piper. you had just came back to camp after spending a dreadful christmas back at your mortal relatives' place, and you weren't in the mood to deal with anyone's bullshit. but you bump into him, walking back to cabin nine from spending most of the day at bunker nine. leo starts apologizing again and again, keeping his head down for the duration of it. the holidays were really not the best times for him, having spent most of them alone. you forgive him, of course. it was the holidays after all, and you were pretty sure that he didn't need you being mean and all on the day he felt he most alone

• after that little interaction, you went to go look for him at cabin nine or bunker nine. he was shocked, to say the least.

• “what are you doing here miss...?” he asks all awkward, almost hitting himself in the face with his hammer bcs he was twirling it in his hand trying to act normal.

• you laugh at him, which makes him blush so bad to the point that he could compete with a strawberry down at the patches. he thinks that you sound so angelic, not knowing your other side yet

• speaking of that other side,

• the moment he found out who your godly parent was, he nearly lit the whole bunker ablaze. you were mr d's kid, oh he thought that he would be in so much trouble for being so close to, his only daughter

• it was a recipe for disaster, honestly

• but who was leo without a little disaster here and there?

• you and leo grow close over time

• because you literally hung out at bunker nine almost every day, helping him out even though you didn't know shit about building a literal war ship.

• and if you aren't there, leo would look for you so the two of you could hang out for a bit before going back to your respective camp duties

• the two of you bonded over fire, suprisingly

• you've been drawn to fire since you were young, something about flames dancing just fascinates you

• leo opens up about how his mother passed, which you felt bad for but he assures you that it's okay and it's not your fault, it's his. you glare at him at that and pretty sure he saw flames in your eyes, which shut him up real quick. leo now knows better than to talk poorly of himself around you.

• through the six months of building the argo II, you managed to get leo to rest from time to time

• let's be fr, that boy would not rest until you threaten to drag his ass back to his own cabin for him to sleep

• after a while, you manage convince leo to let loose. you invited him, jason, piper, and a few others to a party at your cabin

• since you practically live alone inside of it, why not forget all of the bullshit surrounding you guys for a while? you made sure that you'd be drinking grape juice, upon piper's insistence (much to leo's disappointment, but at least he had you-)

• watching you dance and laugh at the party made leo feel something weird, something he's never felt before. in his eyes, you look like a freaking goddess under the light, and from the corner of your eyes, you see leo smiling, which makes you feel giddy and warm inside

• the day before they were scheduled to leave for the other camp (jupiter) to go get percy, your father informs you that you, his only daughter, is a part of the quest

• you were mad as FUCK

• because why the hell would they tell you last fucking minute???? you literally had no clue about the said prophecy of eight, which apparently included you.

• the only one who managed to calm you down was leo.

• which was definitely a surprise to everyone who knows you, since your temper is definitely something, a force to be reckoned with, really

• so the next day you, leo, piper, jason, and annabeth set sail for who knows where because you literally had no idea

• leo tries his best to cheer you up by asking you to help him man the ship with him. teaching you morse code the way his mother taught him

• oh, how leo wishes that he could see that smile of yours every day

• and your laugh? angelic as if angels personally came down from heaven above

• when leo got possessed by those dumb eidolons, you stood up for him when octavian was talking shit about you and your friends.

• clocking octavian hard in the jaw

• needless to say, everyone was surprised

• but leo? bro thought you looked (even though he didn't see it personally) hotter than literal fire itself

• you may or may not have flooded camp jupiter with diet coke as you and your friends escape to buy you guys some time

• when percy was giving leo grief, you snapped at him

• “he bombed them, y/n!”

• “sit your ass back down perseus,” you hiss at percy, eyes ablaze with a purple flame your father always has. “before i smack the living daylights out of your sorry ass. and no, annabeth can't stop me.”

• annabeth, in fact, can't stop you

• but leo can

• “calm down, mi vida,” leo places a hand on your shoulder, somehow instantly calming you down.

• annabeth looks at leo, realizing what he had called you

• mi vida, or my life in english

• funnily enough, neither you or leo realized that

• secret glances between the two of you, like a glimpse of each other's smile would def make yours and his day a 100 percent better.

• you kinda despised hazel for a while because of the sammy thing. you tried to hide it, but if there's one thing that leo's picked up on you, it was your facial expressions.

• it's like you had built in subtitles, as leo put it.

• “i try not to think,” leo admitted. “it interferes with being nuts.” take a guess where leo got this

• you, his amazingly deranged pretty girl....friend

• when the argo II got yk attacked by big 'ol shrimpy monster, leo was terrified as fuck when he woke up in camp fish blood without you there

• bro practically had a panic attack

• if frank and hazel hadn't assured him that you were safe (probably, hazel just hoped that you were), he would have swam back up to the surface despite the risks

• my bro literally ran towards you as soon as he stepped foot on the ship

• “holy hephaestus! gracias a dioses estas a salvo, estaba tan asustada, mi vida!”

• you honestly had no clue about what he said, but you were honestly so relieved that he's alright

• coach hedge had to pry leo off of you

• but bro refused to leave your side

• leo tapped “meet me at the stables later,” on your arm in morse code

#leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez #leo valdez headcanons #leo valdez hcs #heroes of olympus #the lost hero #son of neptune #mark of athena #house of hades #blood of olympus

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mewguca · 1 year

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I was thinking about how people should talk more about the parallels between hunter and moon

This is a rather self-indulgent piece...I find it very comforting to be able to express my emotions through a media I love like this...that's probably my favorite thing about art. Being able to express something...being able to connect emotionally with the viewer...is really nice

textless versions and a long rambling under the cut

Hunter is often viewed as a very strong and agile slugcat...they are the "hard mode" after all. Hunter probably has a lot of physical prowess. But, with the rot...they become weaker. At its worst, they struggle to do basic movements...until they eventually die. Of course, in my version of events...Hunter's rot is cured, but it still leaves lasting side-effects. Their scars go beyond simple battle wounds...there's a sort of pervasive sickliness throughout their whole body. Treatment helps, of course...but

You know how that is, right...? You have to keep getting treatments. You have to work for your recovery. And you have to work to prevent your body from getting weaker again...Or y'know, that's how it is if you've ever had any reoccurring or chronic health issues. It's...a struggle I feel like doesn't get expressed very often...so I wanted to express it through my version of Hunter.

Even though Moon isn't anywhere near as organic, I feel like she can relate to similar struggles. She used to be like a god...a powerful supercomputer who could do just about anything! But...she couldn't bring herself to do the one thing that'd preserve her own wellbeing. She delays and delays on forcing Pebbles to stop with her administrative powers until it is far too late...

Maybe she thought she could handle it. That everything would be fine if she just waited for Pebbles to understand...or waited for him to stop. If she just kept sending messages, eventually he would listen.

But he didn't. Things didn't get better. And by the time she finally took action against it, it was too late...her forced communications did nothing but make her brother furious with her...because she "ruined everything." She could only accept her imminent collapse...

When she woke up again, she had only a few neurons left to run on. Her umbilical was broken, her overseers were out of her control, and even the roof over her head was incomplete.

She couldn't do most of the things she used to. She could hardly move. She could hardly even think. She could barely remember who or what she used to be...and she didn't have great ability to remember the present, either.

It must have been really painful...but she keeps doing what she can anyways. She reads the pearls you bring her. She tells you about the items you bring. She gives you information as best as she can. She is kind and hospitable. She encourages you. She could be so bitter and depressed...so resentful and cruel...but she isn't. I'm sure she has plenty of bitterness and resentment, plenty of hopelessness and great sadness, plenty of suffering...

But when she sees the little slugcat, she's still kind to it. She is grateful for what she has. She is happy to see you. And she keeps on living.

She's so strong...she is a huge inspiration for me.

So, I think if anyone could relate to Hunter's struggle...Moon is probably the closest. I think people should talk about their relationship more...after all, Hunter is her "little savior." I think they would be wonderfully close. They could support each other in their struggles to keep living, even if their bodies fight against them. I also think their friendship is just cute! Great potential for angst, for fluff, for comfort...idk. everything, really. It would be wonderful for them to reunite when they're both in better shape...as creatives, we can make a versions of events where that happens. It's really wonderful to me...for a work of art to inspire others to create art because of it.

This game means a lot to me...and it means a lot to me that it resonates so much with other people as well. So, thank you...

#rain world #egg art #eggmoon creations #looks to the moon #rw hunter #angst #comfort #rambled eggs #eggmoon's rain world

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alexandraisyes · 3 months

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This is a flag I found for ASPD. There's an entire archive of support flags for people with different kinds of Cluster B Disorders. I just really like this version.

Antisocial Personality Disorder can be disabling and is considered a social disability. Depending on the psychologist it’s also considered an emotional disability like ADHD or Bipolar.

This may not make sense at a glance, but there’s psychologically found logic behind this.

People with ASPD have severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Chronic Depressive Disorder, and General Anxiety Disorder GAD).

The disorder also tends to be comorbid with Bipolar Disorder, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Depersonalization-Derealization Disorder (DDD), as well as some psychotic disorders like Brief Psychosis Disorder and Schizophrenia. although these last two aren't as common.

There's also a chance for people with ASPD to have overlapping traits from other Cluster-B Disorders (NPD, BPD, HPD). And many people with ASPD struggle with impulse disorders. Common impulse disorders related to ASPD are as follows:

Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED): Characterized by recurrent outbursts of verbal or physical aggression that are disproportionate to the provocation.

Kleptomania: A recurrent urge to steal items that are not needed for personal use or for their monetary value.

Pyromania: An impulse control disorder characterized by recurrent and deliberate fire-setting behavior.

Pathological Gambling: Persistent and recurrent problematic gambling behavior that leads to significant distress or impairment.

Trichotillomania (Hair-Pulling Disorder): An irresistible urge to pull out one's own hair, resulting in noticeable hair loss.

Many people with ASPD also struggle with addiction and may be fighting addictions to drugs, alcohol, sex, shopping, binge eating, and social media because these are quick endorphin fixes that help us feel something due to the inherent nature of ASPD to be numb almost 24/7.

It's extremely rare for someone with ASPD to get disability aid. Which probably sounds ridiculous, when you look at this massive list of issues. A large part of it is our society. People tend to see someone who has a label that is synonymous with Sociopath and Psychopath (there's a difference between the two) and immediately want them in jail. And it doesn't matter how long they've known that person, or what their relationship is. (I got dumped last year when my ex found out I have ASPD and almost disowned during Christmas when I told my dad. The only reason I haven't been being that he thinks it's a demonic issue that can be "cured with prayer".)

On top of that, our psychology system isn't built to handle someone with a personality disorder like ASPD (or even NPD). I get told a lot "You're really self-aware." Which is basically them saying they aren't going to help you. Of course I'm self-aware if I'm going into the therapist's office for advice (at the least) and actual help (would be great), but I get turned away because if I'm "self-aware", so I should be able to figure it out. This isn't an issue that pertains directly to ASPD, it's also one that affects every disorder that's hard for a neurotypical to understand.

This is more personal. Feel free to read this in a mildly irritated, but not very much, tone of voice. Preferably a tired scholar from Skyrim, that'll make my day.

I cannot function in today's society. I can't hold down a job, and I've tried time and time again. I get a few months in and I hit a wall and my mental health goes to shit. I had to quit my last job for my physical safety because I got bored with just life in general, to the point I was seriously considering sticking my arm in a fry vat.

I haven't even managed to get a proper diagnosis because I don't have health insurance, and I have so many false disorders on my medical diagnosis sheet from my narcissistic father bullying my long-term therapist into giving me damn near every disorder except for ADHD and Conduct Disorder (I was below the age of 18, but it would have helped me in the here and now with securing the diagnosis I need for medical reasons.) Growing up several doctors I worked with wanted to get me set up for an ASPD diagnosis and my father told them no. And because of where I lived I had no say in it, and even if I did my father was abusive, so goodbye to ever speaking up for myself.

On top of that, I'm a woman. There's a severe gender bias in ASPD, as well as the fact that women with ASPD are reportedly less likely to be physically aggressive and more likely to be mentally aggressive, so our symptoms show up slightly differently than the stereotype. And don't even get me started on the stereotypes. Plus women are more likely to be studied for comorbid disorders than psychologists even considering ASPD. This is the same shit autistic women struggled with.

There's a massive underreporting in the female ASPD populace because of this, and a lot more masking going on because everything gets chalked up to "she's just a bitch" or "hormones". There's also just not enough research done on females with ASPD to understand how it may be different from a male with ASPD.

I'm tired. I've been fighting for a year to get people to recognize me as an individual who deals with ASPD. Every time I run into threats of being abandoned (which is horrible, considering I was abused and then abandoned by my biological mom, then put in foster care for the next 4 years), or the road block of "You're a woman. Are you sure you don't have BPD? That's the female disorder." Or just getting tired of the uphill slope. I only have so much stamina, and sure I have a lot of spite for the world, but eventually that's going to run out too. And then I'll probably kill myself.

The suicide rate in general is less than 2%.

The suicide rate for people with ASPD is 23%.

#actually aspd #disability #invisible disability #mental health #mental illness #antisocial personality disorder #alex talks #sociopathy/psychopathy #alex lore #disability pride month #disability awareness #aspd awareness #aspd safe #cluster b safe #cluster b disorders #psychology #cw mental health

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crazyvaleska · 2 years

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Listen To Me | Jerome Valeska x GN! Reader

summary: you are jerome's psychiatrist at arkham asylum and after years of treating him he opens up about his childhood trauma

genre: angst

word count: 8479 (it's a long one folks! so get comfortable and grab ur popcorn & blanket! and tissues.)

warnings: cursing, self harm, mention of sexual assault & domestic abuse, mention of death & suicide, just a lot of angst in general. read at your own risk, you've been warned.

a/n: i started writing this back in august 2022 and finished it just now. been adding small paragraphs to this story every now&then. some paragraphs were written days apart while others were written weeks apart. i'm writing this bc i feel like there aren't many angsty stories with jerome. imo jerome isn't evil but broken. also having read his diary added up a lot to his character as it's pretty depressing. perhaps everyone has a different version of a certain character. here's my version of jerome.

also i got a tiny bit inspired by the harleen graphic novel and the joker movie for this !!

the playlist i was listening to while writing this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5E2lk49zurRTAaHq3Nz7FQ?si=7TQxYHDsQ0ypPYkIvlLCpw&utm_source=copy-link

jerome's thoughts are written like this btw!

enjoy! (or don't.)

A huge amount of people would say it is impossible to become a psychiatrist at 18. That must mean they've never been to Gotham City. Here anything is possible. Therefore, you had just graduated medical highschool when you were offered a job at Arkham Asylum and you had no choice but to take it. You were aware of the risks of working in a place surrounded by criminally insane lunatics, but you didn't really have another option. You needed a job. Besides, taking risks never ever scared you. Though many viewed Arkham as a spooky place, to you it was interesting. Treating mentally unwell criminals was challenging because you liked helping people, no matter who they were.

What you didn't know was that one of the patients you would have to treat was none other than the infamous Jerome Valeska himself, probably one of the most demented and wicked being Gotham City had ever know.

Yet, you thought his character was rather fascinating. After all, you had known Jerome for years.

Jerome Valeska. How do you even begin to explain Jerome Valeska?

You first met him right after he killed his mother, the first time he was in prison. Before he died. Before he was an infamous murderer. And you had to admit, he did become more intimidating as years passed by.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about him at first, same old story about the son committing matricide. Though, he never told you the entire story. You noticed he was uncomfortable and you didn't want to push, everybody had their boundaries and you respected that.

If you had to describe in one word the way he was acting in his firsts therapy sessions, you would use the word "flirty". Sort of. A mix of charisma and inappropriate jokes.

He told you he didn't plan on killing anyone else, claiming that the murdering of his mother was something personal. For some reason, you chose to believe him. Until Theo Galavan happened. It was like the Jerome you once knew had completely vanished. He was the same and a different person at the same time. You almost felt sorry for him. But then again, you weren't supposed to get attached to your patients. Jerome was charming and all, but he probably didn't feel the same way you did. He was just a kid after all, and so were you. Both 18. The only difference was, you were trying to cure insanity while he was trying to spread it.

A few days later he died. Actually, was murdered. Poor thing, you thought. You wished you had more time to know him. You wished you could've helped him. You knew small parts about him but not his entire story.

You had hoped you would forget him as time flew by, but you didn't. His evil crackle never left your dreams. It was always there. You could hear it all the time, as if he was trying to reach you. It was torturing you. Yet pleasant at the same time. You missed him, truth be told. But you knew he was in a better place now. Or so you thought.

That was until he was resurrected. Being honest, you weren't exactly surprised. This was Gotham City, after all. Everything was possible in Gotham. The actual shock was seeing him faceless and unconscious. You wondered how much strength does one require in order to be able to staple their face without passing out. Jerome's pain tolerance was so high, it concerned you.

By the time the ginger maniac was sent back to the Asylum, his face had been attached back to its place. He was hideously scarred now, wearing a permanent disturbingly bright smile. Although, to you he looked fine. Somehow attractive. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was simply your questionable taste in men. At the same time, he was much more intimidating now, much more grown. And as a result to him dying by being stabbed in the throat, his voice had also changed. It sounded more threatening now.

"It's good to have you back, Jerome!" you said in his first therapy appointment of the year, a warm, kind smile on painted on your lips.

His reply came out natural, "Well, at least someone missed me." but his face was expressionless and emotionless, and his voice numb, as if he had lost his spark.

To most, he was simply just out of his mind, a low-life criminal, but you felt there was more than that. You desperately wanted to know what made him the way he was, what made him turn to a life of crime, because you knew no one was born evil, not even in a city like Gotham (though he wasn't born in Gotham) it was usually the environment that could cause one's insanity. And you could see it in his eyes: he wasn't born bad. He was shaped evil, but not born evil. But then again, anyone could go insane with just one bad day.

Jerome was very charismatic, he could get anyone do whatever he wanted. Nevertheless, he was an amazing liar, you couldn't ever tell when he was speaking the truth and when he wasn't. He didn't seem to care about the way others felt and showed lack of remorse, he was impulsive and manipulative, deceitful and reckless. He was extremely narcissistic and showed lack of empathy towards others, and you had diagnosed him with Psychopathy Cluster B Personality Disorders and Schizophrenia. The ginger was on different medications. Sometimes he didn't take them, other times he did and not only his, but others' as well . You had told him multiple times how that was no good for him, but he never listened.

The thing about Jerome was, you never knew what he would be like in your therapy sessions. Sometimes you felt like you knew Jerome, but did you really? Oftentimes his behavior was passive aggressive, other times he would crack up jokes and you actually enjoyed his company, getting lost into his mesmerizing hazel eyes, as if you two were actually friends. Most of the times he just stayed quiet though, especially if you mentioned his family. Sure, he had no problem talking about killing innocents but once you switched the subject to the murdering of his mom, for example, he would tilt his head and pretend he didn't hear you or just say the same old story about her being mean, but you suspected it wasn't just that, you could see it in his eyes that part of him was still... hurt? His eyes spoke volumes. Although he always tried to hide it by pretending to be a God, deep down he hated himself. But of course he didn't want anyone else to know that, he didn't want to be seen as weak. Not anymore. He knew better than that. You noticed this thing about Jerome, he tried to act unbothered all the time but he always did this head tilting thing whenever he felt uncomfortable. Sure, Jerome was always surrounded by people, mostly his followers, but being around people doesn't mean you actually trust them. And you couldn't blame him for having trust issues considering he was stabbed to death by the only person he ever trusted. You could only imagine the feeling of betrayal he felt. That must have been traumatizing, but he had never ever addressed it.

One rainy Thursday the young Valeska told you he was upset because there wasn't any pudding left at the cafeteria. So the following day, Friday, you came up with an idea that could get you killed, but it was worth a try.

It was getting dark, your shift was over and you were supposed to go home. But instead of heading towards the Asylum's exit you found yourself walking towards its core, towards one certain inmate's cell, inmate E-146's cell: Jerome's cell. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous, because you were. You didn't have anything to defend yourself on you. If anything, you were aware you were walking towards something that could be mean your sudden death.

You did have to pay bribe to the prison wardens that guarded his cell. They warned you about the homicidal redhead, but you liked to believe you weren't scared of him. To you, Jerome wasn't scary-looking. What really scared you was his mind. You had read his criminal record thus you knew what he was capable of. Even though you tried to tell yourself he won't hurt you, truth was you had no idea what he'd do or say, he was unpredictable.

First time you stepped foot in his cell was an experience you weren't going to forget anytime soon. The room was smaller than you though it would be. Not that you were expecting any kind of luxury. But this was worse than anything you had ever imagined. The first thing you noticed was the extremely low temperature, it was bone-chilling. No wonder why Jerome sounded sick all the time. Four gray walls and a dark ceiling that looked like it could collapse over you at any given moment. A bed for one person that was placed next to a prison porthole and near it a small, cheap table with an old chair in front of it. The smell wasn't very welcoming either, you thought rats were the only thing missing from the picture.

Jerome didn't notice you initially, he was busy writing in something that appeared to be a notebook. You cleared your throat loudly, which made him jump. You caught him off guard, quite literally. He looked equally shocked and confused to see you.

"Whatcha doing here, doc?" the redhead asked as he sat up. He placed the pencil down and closed his book, then took small steps closer to you. Only now that you were both standing up at the same time you noticed how tall he actually was. In the therapy room, his arms were always folded together in a shinny white straightjacket that prevented him from harming the doctor before him. You had actually never seen Jerome with his arms free so close to you before. He was wearing his stripped prison uniform instead of that tight straightjacket and you could tell he was way more muscular than you thought, his hands were enormous, he could knock you out in a second. His looks should've alarmed you but for some reason they didn't. Actually, you were happy to see his body looked healthy. Everybody said he looked like a nightmare, but to you he was the opposite. You shook your head quickly trying not to think of that or anything potentially inappropriate.

You hitched your breath nervously as you took a few steps back. "I told you already, you can call me Y/N... Uh, yesterday you said there wasn't any pudding left for you so I thought I would...um ... I... well," you stuttered while searching for something in your bag. The man raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. You reached your hand out, holding a bowl of chocolate pudding, "I-I... I made it myself! And I paid the guards to leave..." you said in a low murmur.

The unsurety in your voice didn't go unnoticed and it made Jerome grin. He walked even closer to you and crossed his arms while nodding, "That's so brave of you, Y/N! But you do realize I could poke your eyeballs out and squash you like a bug right about.... now!" he hissed. The next thing you felt was your chin being lifted up by his gloved hand, holding it in a tight grip, forcing you to face him. You avoided looking directly into his eyes so you just stared at his hand. Unfortunately for you, that seemed to bother him, "My eyes are up here," he used his free hand to point at his eyes.

The fabric of his white glove was soft but his touch was aggressive and harsh, the clutch on your chin was hard, "... I just... I just came here to give you this, nothing more." At first, Jerome was very sceptical, not believing any of it. He even thought the pudding was poisoned and insisted on you having a try before he did. The rest was history.

That happened approximately one year prior. You had spent the last 12 months seeing Jerome 2 times a week: one time during his therapy appointments every Thursday, the other time every Friday night, when most of the Asylum's staff had gone home. You had stolen they keys to his prison cell and no one knew about your late at night meetings with the clown prince.

The first times everything was pretty awkward, Jerome used to search your bag and pockets for any sharp objects that you could potentially use against him. But with time he stopped doing that. Approximately after 6 months.

You mostly brought him food, especially sweets, Jerome loved candies but he wasn't allowed to eat those in prison. Sometimes you even played cards with him and he would win every game, the boy knew how to play the jokers, that's certain. He did make inappropriate jokes from time to time, but nothing that made you too uncomfortable. He never touched you or anything like that. Everything stayed platonic.

One time you attached a colorful self-made bracelet to his wrist. You had a similar one on yours. Jerome pretend he didn't like it, telling you that friendship jewels were a waste, but truth be told, he liked it, he wore it all the time, he liked playing with it beads. Of course, he made sure it stayed hidden underneath his sleeve. He didn't want anyone else to see him like that. He had a reputation to uphold. Thus sometimes he would threaten your life in a playful manner just because he was Jerome Valeska.

You had also noticed the ginger was great at arts and crafts so you brought him crayons. Lots of them. The previous week you even brought him a scissors after he had begged you to for weeks. He promised he wasn't going to hurt other prisoners with it. He was using those to draw and decorate his diary. You knew he had a personal journal that he had never showed you. But you were cool with that. Though you wished he could open up to you, you didn't want to push, you wanted him to talk to you because he wanted to, not because he had to. All you knew was that you desperately wanted to help him get better. You didn't feel that way about other patients. Obviously, you wanted to help them too, but with Jerome it was different. Not that you would ever admit it out loud, but you had grown some sort of crush on the maniac. You knew how wrong that was, but you couldn't help the way he made you feel everytime his eyes met yours or when he smiled at you. You came to the realization that Jerome wasn't half as bad unless he was surrounded by other loonies or by people he despised. He was quite chill aside from his maniacally laughter.

Although Jerome didn't own a watch, he simply knew what time you were supposed to show up. In fact, he had actually grown to like your little visits. At first he found all of this annoying and irritating, but with time he changed his mind. You weren't so bad after all. Actually, he was waiting impatiently each of your visits. You were nice to him. Not a lot of people were nice to him. Nobody, actually. Just you.

Therefore you being late one certain night didn't go unnoticed. Strange, Jerome thought at first. You had never been late before. Was this all? Did you spend all that time with him only to leave him like that? Did you replace him with another patient? Did you get bored of him? Did something bad happen to you, perhaps?

Jerome shook his head. He didn't like to picture you dead. Why was that? He loved everything about death and killing, blood and gore. Why did it bother him now? He promised himself he wouldn't get attached. No, no, Jerome Valeska didn't give a shit about anyone. He was heartless. A monster. Everybody said so, so then it must be true. So what if you died? Who cared? Not him, that's for sure. Yeah.

But then, why had he been walking circles in his small cell for minutes? Why was he breathing heavier and why did he have an awful gut feeling? And now how did he find himself in this position again? Sitting on his bed, facing the wall with teary eyes, clinching his fists anxiously and twiddling his trembling thumbs. There were drops of dark red blood on his already dirty mattress. Drops of blood between the beads of his bracelet. When did that happen? He could vividly remember when he started pressing the scissors down his wrist. It all happened so fast. He didn't even apply much pressure and yet he had managed to draw enough blood to cover his fingertips. How did he end up like this? Like a sobbing mess. Why did you do this to him? Why did you give him hope? He should've known better. Humans are deceitful beings. They lie and they never keep their promises. One day they love you, the next they don't need you anymore. So he really didn't learn anything from trusting Theo Galavan after all. He remembered it as clear as day. He thought he could finally be happy when Theo came along, gave him a proper bed and proper clothes. He was like the father he never had. But then his life flashed before his eyes as he dropped dead by the hand of the one man he thought was trustworthy.

Oh, dear ol' Jerome. Getting attached to the first person to treat him like a normal human being again. So all those times you took care of him were all on act. Of course. Why was he so stupid? Stupid enough to think anyone would ever care about him. Of course it was all a lie. He hated you. This was pathetic. Everyone was pathetic. Crying was pathetic. Crying was for the weak. Jerome wasn't weak. Not anymore. But what if, perhaps, you weren't even real? What if he had been imagining you the whole time? After all, it was all too good to be true. But maybe that's just the way life is: it hits you harder than a train truck, then you feel good for a while because you start doing things that distract you from how you truly feel, killings in his case. But then you realize you weren't ever really happy, just delusional and that makes you depressed again. It's like a never ending loop.

The boy shivered at his own thoughts. So many questions at the same time. His mind was suffocating him. But he liked it, didn't he? Or maybe did he just trick himself into thinking he liked it? He liked being sick, right? Who was he without his sickness? Pills. He needed more pills. The pills were never enough. If only he had enough pills to...

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the very familiar sound of his creaky door being unlocked then opened. Jerome knew this could mean one thing. He quickly wiped his teary eyes with his knuckles then clothed his fingers with his gloves. He cleared his throat, "Where were you?" he asked, his voice harsher than ever. He didn't want you to see him vulnerable. He tried to hide it. He didn't want to admit not even to himself he was somewhat worried. But, in fact, he had grown very fond of you. He wasn't sure why, he wasn't sure what he felt towards you. There's a very thin line between love and obsession. All in all, part of him was relieved once he heard your voice.

"I'm sorry, Jerome. I had some things to take care of. Things that involve you, actually," you closed the door behind you and took a few steps forward.

The last sentence got Jerome's attention so naturally he turned his head around to look at you. His stare was so intense it seemed like he was staring directly into your soul. His hazel eyes were so beautiful yet so terrifying, you couldn't stare at them for too long. The dark circles under his eyes were darker than ever and you wondered if he ever slept. It was your job to help him get better but it seemed that he was getting worse everyday, like he was losing himself therefore you were failing. But you had to pull him out of his misery. You had to.

"You threatened Oswald Cobblepot," Jerome couldn't help but snicker proudly at your remark before you could continue your sentence "And you also took his medicine. How many times have I told you that taking meds you don't need only makes things worse?" you paused but the boy didn't reply. He knew it was bad, he just couldn't help himself. You sighed "They want to change your therapist, Jerome. They don't think I'm doing a good job with you."

Jerome's face dropped, "As in you'll be replaced?" he asked and you nodded. No, this wasn't possible. You were lying, you had to be. First you're late, now this. The redhead jumped out of his bed and walked up to you, "You're lying."

"Jerome-" you started but he didn't let you finish.

"Don't you dare to Jerome me. You're an hour late and now you're telling me you wanna get rid of me?" his tone went from numb to mad in a matter of seconds.

"I'm so sorry for the waiting, I'll try my best to keep you. I promise! Cross my heart and hope to die."

That only made Jerome crackle in an ironic manner "Oh please, Y/N. Don't make promises you know you can't keep. Empty promises. You're growing tired of me. It's funny, actually. I think this may be just my luck! Jeremiah promised he wouldn't leave too, but he did anyhow. And now you."

"Who's Jeremiah? I don't know what you're talking abo..." you felt like you couldn't breathe as panick took control over your body, "...why is there blood on your gloves?"

Shit, Jerome thought. "It's paint," he smiled but you knew he was lying the moment he tried to change the subject "Jeremiah's an old acquaintance, if you will."

"I never brought you paint..." you murmured. Then you remembered what you did bring him. The scissors. "You promised you won't hurt anyone with it..." you whispered.

Jerome shrugged, "I promised I wouldn't other inmates. I never promised I wouldn't hurt... myself...!"

Your eyes opened widely at the sudden realization. You covered your mouth with your fingers and your heart was beating impossibly fast while tears were filling your eyes. It was only now that you noticed his slightly puffy eyes too, "I'm so sorry... Jerome... oh God..." you muttered. He didn't look at you until he felt your hand on his.

Jerome hesitated to speak at first, "Oh, y'know... the scissors just slipped. I'm fine, really. No need to worry about me. If anything, I like bleeding out."

You knew that wasn't true. "I'm gonna get the doctor... we need to get it patched up."

"Then they'll know you're here."

"I don't care. I'll probably lose my job anyway. You hurt yourself, Jerome. You could get an infection. Fuck, I was supposed to help you get better but I didn't do shit! Now you're bleeding and it's all because of me-" you were cut off by Jerome's gloved hand covering your mouth.

"Shh. I'm fine, Y/N. It's not that serious. It's just... I don't feel safe when my scars are healed. I need to bleed to calm myself. It's like a part of me. It's my biggest comfort."

You tried to mumble something underneath his hand which made him frown, "I don't need your pity, Y/N. You're trying to weaken me, it won't work," he moved his hand, giving you the chance to speak.

"Please, Jerome. I care about you! I won't let you hurt yourself any longer!" you cried out. It was true. You would've done anything for him and it hurt you knowing he was harming himself. He thought he had it all under control but clearly he didn't. You were scared of what he could do to himself next. You couldn't just watch him destroying himself knowing you could've helped him.

Jerome shook his head repeatedly and covered his ears with his plams while circling around the room, mumbling things to himself. Eventually, his voice got louder and louder, "NO NO NO NO NO! No, you don't, stop saying that! Cut the bullshit, Y/N! You don't care about me, no one does! Jerome has no one, Jerome's all alone! It's how it's always been. It's how it's always gonna be. What the fuck do you want from me? Look at me! I have wanted to die for as long as I can remember. And guess what? When I finally did some jerks thought it'd be funny to bring me back to this shitty life! You think you understand me, but you don't! You can't save me, you can't fix me! What have you done to me? You cracked me! Just leave me alone! Leave me alone! LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!!" he yelled as he shed a single tear.

His face turned red from all the rage and you could swear he was gonna kill you at that very moment, but he didn't. Instead, his body collapsed on the ground. He was hugging his knees while staring at the floor, with his back pressed against the cold wall. You had no clue what just happened but he looked defenseless, practically harmless right now. You knew this was risky, but you kneeled next to him then reached out your hand and caressed his shoulders which caused him to look at you. You didn't see a psychopath in his eyes anymore, just a frightened child. That wasn't the ginger maniac everybody feared. That was a poor boy stuck in his traumatic past.

"Let it out, Jerome. This is why I came here, so we could talk like 2 human beings. Help me understand you. I know I can't take your pain away, but you can talk to me," you whispered.

"I'm not a human being. I'm a monster, can't you see? Everybody fears me. I'm the monster parents tell their children about," he muttered quietly. Usually he said that proudly, but now it sounded as if he was ashamed, which was very out of character. What he felt at that very moment was confusion.

"You're not a monster, Jerome. I have this feeling that... you're misunderstood, like no one ever listened to what you had to say. I am here to listen and I promise I won't laugh or judge. But if you hold everything inside you it's only gonna get worse... Let it all out, please." you spoke in a soft murmur.

"I don't even know.... what I am supposed to say," Jerome sobbed.

"Anything that comes to mind, that upsets you, that you wanna get off your chest. What is that one thought that won't let you get rest at night? The things you always wanted to say but nobody ever listened to. The things you always tried to forget because it all hurt too much. I can see the depth and complicity of your character, Jerome. You're not evil. Your past is haunting you, isn't it? I can see it in your face, it was rough. So please, I just want to help you. And I won't tell anyone, you have my word."

The ginger glanced at you with furrowed brows, trying to keep track of his thoughts. He felt something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. He felt helpless and he didn't know why. He didn't know why he suddenly no longer felt in control. Was it because you were the first person to actually look at his wounds concerned instead of laughing? Because you were willing to actually listen to what he had to say? No one had ever told him that before. Except for you. But he couldn't bring himself to entirely believe anyone could actually care about him. His chest was hurting and his heart was aching. He was tired of hiding.

"... okay, I'll tell you everything," he nodded his head eventually, "but I'll never tell this story again so you better be all ears."

You nodded while caressing his once-so-soft-cheek slowly. Initially he shuddered, then he closed his eyes and leaned in your touch, giving you permission to carry on. Tracing your fingers on his cold pale skin made you feel his every scar, but his scars didn't scare you, they never did. You could tell he wasn't used to this kind of stuff. He wasn't used to people treating him like a normal human being. He wasn't used to being touched unless the touch was meant to harm him. He hadn't even started talking but you just knew something terrible was about to come out of his mouth.

The man took a deep breath. He knew that once he started speaking he wouldn't be able to stop. He had been holding all in for so long, it all came out like word vomit.

"Jeremiah is my twin brother. He was always mother's favorite. Mother. Can I even call her that? No, she was never my mom. Lila Valeska never loved me. She never treated me like her son, not even when I was a baby. She had only one son and that was Jeremiah. I was just... there. Like a nephew she had to take care of or something. But not a son, no. She always said I ruined her life. Yeah, like it's my fault she had unprotected sex. But I could never understand why she praised Jeremiah all the time. What was so special about him? What was he doing so much better than me to get that kind of appreciation from mama when we were just 5 years old? I can only remember he was into maths and puzzles and that kind of shits from a young age. He pissed the hell out of me. But I didn't hate him. I mean, at the end of the day he was still my brother. And sometimes he would hold me while that whore was busy banging clowns the next room, assuring me that everything would be alright and that mother didn't actually hate me, promising me that one day we'll get out of the circus and live our best lives. What a dirty little liar...! And to think I actually used to believe his empty promises... Until he turned his back on me."

Jerome paused. His eyes were now filled with anger, you could tell he didn't like his brother much. Then he continued.

"It happened once we turned 7. Lila had hit me multiple times and I don't even remember what was the reason, but then again, it's not like she ever needed a reason to hurt me. Before this it was usually just slaps, but this time it was a proper beating. The sadness mixed with anger I felt at the time were too much to handle for a little boy. I had to somehow let it out, y'know? So... I started mutilating small animals. Soon I grew an interest in murdering them. And it felt... therapeutic. I know I should feel ashamed of this, but I don't. I never did. Hell, I even pretended they were her because I knew I wasn't strong enough to actually hurt her back. How fucked up I must've been to behave this way at 7, right? But things got complicated when Jeremiah found out. He said," Jerome talked in two different thin voices the next parts:

"... ' I understand your anger, 'Romie! I think it's quite interesting, really! '

I actually believed him and replied happily ' You think so, 'Miah? But please don't tell 'ma, she'll get really mad at me! My cheek still hurts from the last slap she gave me! '

' I would never! She hits me too sometimes, you know. But I don't know why she's so mean to you all the time! '..."

Jerome cleared his throat and went back to his usual tone "Well, he kept his promise, kinda. He didn't tell our mother but he told uncle Zach ―and let me tell you this― he was the WORST. Such cruelness in one man. He used to cook food for the other circus members, but he was an ex prisoner, spent years in jail for robbery and rape. Yeah, that's my fucked up uncle. He was a cook and yet I was always left to starve. Mind you but I used to be underweight 'cause of that.

Anyway ...! Dear ol' Zach thought I had gone psychopathic when little 'Miah showed him the dead animals' corpses, so he made sure he worked me over. And, of course, Lila made sure of that as well. And as if those injuries weren't enough, Jeremiah saw this as a perfect opportunity to leave the circus. He started spreading rumors about me kickin' and punching him, feeding my mom and uncle with funny stories about me threatening his life, when the truth is I never touched a hair of his. For him, those were the stories that were gonna get him out of that damned place we so called home. For me, those were the stories that were gonna ruin my life. Even though I tried to defend myself they never believed me, because after all I was the animal abuser while he was the perfect innocent son, with his little nerdy hamster glasses and fancy books and puzzles. And let's just say, it didn't end well for me when he would randomly bring up something that didn't even happen. He had totally brainwashed them and I was lucky if I could get away with just a slap or two. But they didn't abuse me just physically... verbally as well. The amount of times I heard them planning my murdering were countless. And maybe they should have done it. Maybe they should have murdered me. Instead, they used to remind me every single day that I was such a heartless psycho monster who's gonna cause nothing but disaster. Well, I guess they weren't exactly wrong with that one. I mean, just look at me now..." he narrowed his eyes.

"Nobody ever stood up for me. Nobody cared. Nobody. They always managed to cover it all up, they always told me to smile once they were done. I was known as Haly's Circus little sociopath. And Jeremiah? They'd always make sure he was treated right, that he got the best stuff, while I could be freezing at night and they wouldn't even notice.

On our 9th birthday our uncle decided to take Jeremiah to the city away from me so he could celebrate his birthday properly and left me with my mom and her partner at the time. The got drunk and had sex all day, not caring that I was in the same room, beating the shit out of me afterwards. And when I had finally managed to get out of that hell of a trailer, my father ―I didn't know he was my father back then, but he knew I was his son― didn't even try to comfort me, he simply told me to suck it up because nobody cared. And he was right. This world indeed doesn't care about me or anyone else. But for a child? Damn, that hurt. And I suppose it's even sadder now knowing he was my dad...

Moving on, by the time we were almost 10 his lies got worse and worse, and so were the beatings. According to him I had tried to poison him and to light his bed on fire. One time he injured his knee when he fell on the ground, but later lied about me pushing him down the stairs. But the last straw was when he lied about me holding a cake knife to his throat on our 10th birthday. My uncle almost broke my ribs for that and my mom repeatedly kicked my stomach with her legs. Honestly, I can't really remember that day. All I know is that they decided it would be the best if uncle Zach took Jeremiah away while I was asleep. And I'm not gonna lie, I was pleased when I saw they both left, but little did I know that it was only gonna get worse for me.

Haly's Circus is a nightmare dressed like a daydream. A lot of fucked up things happened there. I hated that place. And with Jeremiah gone, she started drinking more and more, and got more aggressive. She got pissed at every little thing I did and made sure I received punishment. Did I forget to do that dishes? She'd kick me. Forgot to take out the trash? She'd slap me across the face. Didn't feed her snake? She'd punch me. Was breathing too heavily for her liking or my existence simply bothered her? She'd beat me till my vision was blurry or till I coughed in my own blood. I did try to get help from the cops, but guess what! They didn't give 2 shits! Ya see, the system is so corrupt they don't care unless someone's been murdered. They made fun of me and I understood no one could ever save me, I was the only one that could free myself from the pain."

You stood quiet when Jerome removed his gloves. You hadn't seen his hands unclothed in a very, very long time. Last time you saw his bare fingers was before he died. His veins were more noticeable now, among with multiple half healed blueish bruises he had probably given himself. Seeing Jerome without his gloves felt like him breaking a wall between the two of you. Like he trusted you. Like he trusted you enough for you to see him at his lowest. He needed to trust you enough to tell you everything. The scarred man was silent for a brief moment, trying to find the right words to describe the next part of his story that made you feel like throwing up.

"On my 14th birthday one of Lila's hookers...how do I say this... one of her hookers touched me, Y/N. Like, parts he shouldn't have touched... And... she was there, watching. She didn't do anything to stop him, she didn't even try. I was crying and screaming and begging her to make him stop. She just laughed. Her awful witch-like laugh followed by her favorite line: ' shut up! boys don't cry! '. And afterwards she just left with him for the night and before that she told me to smile. Smile. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel my body. The only thing I could feel were his hands all over my body... To put it into words, I felt worthless and helpless. Smile," Jerome smiled weakly through the tears as he repeated his mother's words, hugging his own body, "Smile. I was smiling that night. I was smiling when I tried to kill myself. It was all too much, I couldn't handle it. My life was a living Hell I started to believe Hell itself couldn't be that bad. So... I just took a bunch of her pills and I thought that was it, I thought I was finally gonna die. I smiled because I thought everything was finally going to end. Sadly, I survived. After taking the pills I dropped down to my knees and then... I don't know. I can't really remember anything except the fact I woke up with a terrible headache. Did she notice? Nope. Did those pills have had an effect on me? Absolutely.

I didn't have anyone to comfort me anymore. Not that Jeremiah was ever a great comfort, but it was better than nothing. I didn't have any friends, 'cause who would wanna befriend the freak who tried to murder his twin and massacred tons of pets? And if anyone tried to get close to me I would push them away. Literally. Push them. Because what was the point in denying my violent urges? Everybody thought I was the villain already anyway."

Jerome paused to blow his nose into a handkerchief you handed him. You were at loss of words. This was a lot to process and Jerome's voice was now shaky. It was painful to hear his life story, it was painful to look at him now, to stare at the helplessness in his eyes. Tough people always have the most heartbreaking pasts.

"I used to cry myself to sleep every night, but I barely managed to fall asleep knowing that she could strangulate me when her snake in my sleep, and I low-key hoped she would so my suffering could end already. But when I did manage to fall asleep I ended up getting a... What was that called? Oh yeah, sleep paralysis. She was the demon suffocating me. Even now... I can't ever properly fall asleep. I'm always half awake. Actually forget I said that... Stupid! stupid...." he cried while gripping on his ginger hairs, scratching his thin pale skin with his sharp nails.

"Jerome," you whispered and took his hands in yours, "it's not stupid. Your emotions are valid. Please, carry on."

The boy nodded and did as you said, "At some point I just stopped talking because my body was hurting so much. I started isolating myself from everything and everyone. Because you see, people like me, we're put in this world for one thing: to suffer. The only thing that made the pain go away for a while was the thought of torturing her, cutting her open and feeding her snake with her organs then bathing in a pool of her blood and maybe sending her bones to Jeremiah. All I know is that I was so sick and tired of her calling me names and spitting on my face, beating me up till I bled, abusing me, banging my head against the wall, ripping my hairs off, punching me with her cold fists, slapping and pinching my skin, throwing empty alcohol bottles at me and kicking my bones. And when she was done with beating me, she'd always call over one of her sex partners to have some fun. I was tired of having to hear her moans as she was getting railed the next room. But I knew better than disturbing her, because if I did she'd invite her lovers to beat me too... or worse. I just had to keep quiet because if I behaved she'd leave me alone for a day or two.

But in time I got used to it. The beatings and all. It didn't even hurt that much anymore. The psychical wounds healed eventually, but the emotionally ones were always there. She didn't even need to get physical, her words were enough to torture me, they were like poisson. Her words cut deeper than a knife. When she wasn't the one hurting me I was hurting myself. That's so messed up, I know. But what isn't messed up about me or my life? I just couldn't help it. I had grown addicted to watching myself bleed. It's like... that was my only comfort. My sadness, my pain... Bugs. There were bugs on my skin, crawling on it. One second they were there, the next they weren't. I had to peel some of my skin off just to make sure. But I liked it. I think. It looked pretty. Such a pretty shade of red...! I could've stared at it for hours. Don't know if I was high or if I just had lost touch with reality. Or maybe both.

I just wished she would just kill me already and be done with it, 'cause it was better to be dead than to be alive and suffering. I just wished that everything would go quiet once and for all. My mind was like a prison I could not escape. My mind was the darkest place. The negative thoughts, they were always there. The voices telling me to do horrible things to myself. People screaming. A thousand voices howling in my head all the time. Dead people. I saw dead people everywhere. I couldn't control it.

Nobody cared about me, so who would've noticed if one day I just disappeared from this world? If one day I just stopped breathing? Definitely not her. If anything, she'd beat my corpse. I mean, she didn't even notice my first attempt.

That's what I told myself as I tried to slash my veins. But then I heard it," his face suddenly lit up, "That voice. The voice. The only comfort I ever had was that voice in the back of my head. That voice that grew louder as the years passed by. That voice that was giving me hope saying ' your day will come, your revenge will come, you just have to be patient '. And I had done my waiting. All the suffering, all the abuse I was forced to endure were about the end. I wasn't gonna let her win. Little did that whore know her beatings gave me strength and a high pain tolerance. Suddenly, all the fear I ever felt towards her turned into hatred and anger. She was going to pay for everything she had ever made me go through. People call me insane but they don't know my insanity gave me strength to save myself from that Hell I used to call home.

So, by the time I was 16 I had already started planning her murdering. I started working out and made better meals for myself so I'd be sure I was stronger than she was. I wanted to no longer be skinny. I had also made the perfect plan to kill her and get away with it.

So on my 18th birthday, like a birthday gift for myself, if you will, I grabbed an axe and chopped her off, hitting her repeatedly with it, digging it up and down into her skin. The first stab was the hardest one, but once I saw blood drawing out I just couldn't stop. I laughed as I did. Seeing her like that, lifeless and all covered in blood made me shiver in a good way. It was like feeling a brand new emotion. I was...happy? Entertained? I had finally given in that voice, I was finally free! That day I promised myself that I would come after my brother and uncle too, they also needed to pay for the way they'd treated me. And after that I'd be finally free to kill myself... I know how fucked up that sounds, but now that you know what they put me through, I hope you understand why I had to do it. There was no other way. One of us had to go. I killed her because she deserved it, self defense really. You get it, right? Tell me you get it, please."

You nodded while massaging his thumbs. His eyes were red and so were yours. You were both crying. Jerome couldn't believe he just told you all of that. He had never told anyone about any of that before. Did he say too much? Did you not want to be near him anymore?

"Jerome, I don't even know where to begin... you are such a strong person, really. You didn't deserve what happened to you. It wasn't your fault. You were just a child, none of this was your fault. No one ever treated you like a human being. No one ever gave you a chance. It's like you were forced to be evil, you didn't have a choice. They made you evil. They turned you into the villain. Of course you snapped eventually. I can't blame you. I would've done the same if I were in your shoes. No one ever gave you the chance to tell the full story. I wish I could take it away. All the pain, all the suffering... Oh, Jerome... I can't even begin to describe how bad I feel for you. Your heart has endured way too much at a way too young age. It's not you who is the monster. It's them. You had and have every right to kill them, I'll even help you. Jerome... I'm so proud of you for staying alive. Jerome, please remember that you matter. You matter to me. I see you, Jerome. I see you for who you are. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? You are a very, very handsome boy."

"Even with the scars?"Jerome smiled, his eyes puffy from crying. Not a threatening or disturbing smile. A genuine smile that made you smile too.

"Absolutely. Your scars just show how strong you are. Your scars make you prettier. I myself ain't a strong person but... I won't let anyone hurt you anymore, you've been through enough. And I won't let you hurt yourself either. Because I care. And you can trust me with anything, Jerome. Let me be the one person that makes you feel like home. Please." you got lost in his gaze. Words weren't enough to express what you felt. So you just hugged him. A gentle, loving hug. Jerome wasn't a touchy person in general, but he gave in and hurled himself into your warm embrace. Soon he was holding you so close to him like he was never going to let you go. Then he cried more. And louder. He cried on your shoulder and you patted his back. This was all new to him, he was still confused by the way he was acting. But it just felt right. He felt safe at last. He wondered if you were an angel sent from Heaven to rescue him. You scooped him up in your arms. Yours arms were tight around him, his head on your chest. He needed this. He needed to feel okay. He needed feel loved and accepted. You held each other for so long you could feel each other's breathing, and you weren't going to let go of each other anytime soon.

"Thank you for listening."

#cameron monaghan #gotham #jerome #jerome gotham #jerome valeska #jerome x reader #jerome valeska x reader #jeremiah #jeremiah gotham #jeremiah valeska #valeska #dc #batman #joker #angst #gender neutral reader

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misc-obeyme · 8 months

Note

Ooh, headcanons! If I’m allowed to request a Solomon one though I see someone has already done that, perhaps hurt/comfort (or fluff, whichever category you find it fits in ^^) for a pretty badly depressed MC with insecurities, jealousy, emptiness, etc. It’s been an— interesting past few days 😅

(though I always feel like I would get so much better if, you know, I cross the 4th wall,, I swear all their love would cure me)

Hi there, anon!

I'm sorry you've been having a rough time recently. I hope things start to look up for you soon! I can relate to those feelings, so it was pretty easy for me to write this. I definitely think their love would be the thing that could heal us all! Since they're fictional, though, the best I can do is offer these words of comfort. Know I wrote it from my heart. 💕

Thank you for participating!

COZY COMFORTS EVENT

GN!MC x Solomon hurt/comfort headcanons

Warnings: MC is depressed, dealing with feelings of emptiness and insecurity

Solomon notices that something is off with you. He can tell that you're struggling with something. He'll still wait a little bit to see if you come to him first, if you tell him you need his help. If you do, he will drop everything to help you. He has done his best to make sure you feel like you can always come to him for help. But he knows that sometimes it's hard to ask for help when you need it. So if too much time goes by, he'll bring it up carefully himself.

You might try to hide it still. You might answer his questions by saying you're fine, that there's nothing to worry about. Solomon will see right through this. And he knows exactly what he needs to do or say to get you to open up. He'll smile a little - it's a knowing smile, the one that says you can't hide the truth from me, MC.

Even if you choose not to say it out loud, Solomon doesn't really need you to. He can tell just from looking at you that you're struggling and really, that's all he needs to know. He thinks of things that would make you feel better, anything to lift your spirits. He'll go out of his way to get you things you enjoy, such as your favorite food. He knows not to make it himself because he's aware that having him in the kitchen adds to your stress. He'll do little things to comfort you while he waits for you to tell him how you feel.

You can keep pushing, but eventually you'll break down and when you do, he's there to hold you. You find yourself crying in his arms, telling him about how all you feel is empty. You tell him that there is no point to your life, that you're useless, that you're numb. That every day is full of pain and you don't know why. Maybe you say that you're not worthy to be his apprentice, that you're not worthy to be his friend. You're not worth any of his time.

Solomon will listen to you say all of these things. He has to try to hold in his anger at hearing them. It upsets him to think you feel this way about yourself. But he also knows you need to let it out. So he only holds you and listens, frowning the whole time. When your words devolve into sobbing, he finally speaks. He tells you that all he wants is to take that pain away.

He tells you that he doesn't know how to change how you feel. He knows that just saying it isn't true won't be enough. He'll say it over and over again, though. He'll tell you until he's blue in the face that he loves you, that you're more than enough, that you're the best apprentice he's ever had and he's so proud of you. He'll tell you that he thinks you're amazing for each day that you survive while feeling this way.

Solomon will also tell you that he has felt that way before himself. That he knows that feeling of sorrow and emptiness. He'll tell you that he never had anyone to turn to in those times. And now all he wants is to be the one you turn to when you're suffering. You wouldn't begrudge him that, would you?

Maybe it takes some time. And certainly he can't fix everything for you in a single night. But give him a chance, MC. Let him hold you, let him carry a little of your burden. Solomon will tell you that he is always there, that he'll always be by your side.

Solomon will hold you close for a long time. He won't let you go until he can tell you're feeling a little bit better. He'll kiss away all of your tears, hold your face in his hands, and look into your eyes. He'll kiss you gently, tentatively - he needs you to feel how much he loves you. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, Solomon will always be there for you to return to. When you feel like you're falling, he will catch you because in his arms, you'll be home.

cozy comforts | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me headcanons #obey me fanfic #obey me solomon #om solomon #obey me solomon x reader #om solomon x reader #obey me solomon x mc #om solomon x mc #misc cozy comforts #misc writes

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muffinrecord · 2 months

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Not MagiReco, just Life Stuff

I've been doing a lot of reading lately, not just of star mythology books but memoirs from EMTs, Firefighters, and Rangers. Trying to study and get research in for the story I wanna make. I've also been reading a lot about bears which are slowly becoming a favorite animal. How dare bears look so goofy and silly while being so dangerous!!!! Scandal!!!! I've also been reading about cults and stuff, which is also research. Also medical stuff on how to repair injuries if you're in the wilds with no one else coming to help you. My protag is a former EMT so she needs a decent-ish amount of medical backing.

If I do actually start writing my story, and if people notice it, and if I somehow make money off of it, I think my current dream goal is to start a lil fundraiser and donate money to various EMS organizations. Like maybe help fundraise money so that a place can get a new vehicle with state-of-the-art equipment. I can't think of a cooler thing to do.

I think the next few things I wanna start reading about is Alaska, where the story takes place. A friend is helping me with the inside scoop of living there, but it's always good to diversify your sources and learn as much as possible. I've been watching videos and stuff but I just absorb stuff through physical text easiest.

If folks are curious; my story (When the Sun is Gone) is about star-themed magical girls (magical women?) called Celestials. I'd categorize their magical duties more similar to EMT/Firefighter/Ranger work than police/army stuff. I really want to focus on them protecting the community and the kind of struggle that arises from it. The monsters should feel more like a wildfire than a person. There are infections that develop when monsters and humans live too close together, called "lunacy" (cause these monsters formed from the lingering corpse from the dead moon god), and this presents a problem because you gotta cure these people who are going through some issues and might fight back about it. And if you don't cure them in time, they might become fully fledged monsters that they can't come back from. Some of them want to be helped, some of them don't.

There's a dead moon cult up to no good too, which is difficult for the protagonist to deal with. The cult does some negative shit to the outside populace for sure, but the real issue is that the leaders are hurting their own people inside and those victims don't want to be saved because they think this is all for their benefit. How do you help people like that? Do you walk away, even if they're being hurt? Even if they do want to be helped, how do you do it? Sometimes the protag has the best intentions but it goes horribly wrong. You can do everything right and still fail. It's hard to not take that personally or to feel like a failure.

I don't want it to be too much of a bummer of a book though, so balancing failure and winning is going to be a tricky issue. But I think it will be fun. A lot of the research I've been doing is been to prepare for the right mindset for the Celestials to be in and for different ways for my protag do develop burnout and depression akfsjsafklas. Something I've noticed from a lot of the memoirs is that they almost always start out hopefully, optimistic, and anxious about their new job. Then they develop almost an addiction to the crazy nature of it all, to the unpredictability, the out-of-the-box thinking involved in street/wilderness medicine, and to the adrenaline rush. But as it goes on, that becomes burnout, then depression, occasionally suicidal ideation. The lucky ones get out before it becomes irreparable. We always read about the lucky ones because they're the ones who survived to write a book.

That said, it's scary to work on personal projects because of stuff like perfectionism. But if you're too worried about "perfect" then you'll just end up in the situation I'm in, where you never get started lol. But still, it's scary to write something personal and think that someone might read it and be disappointed in it. What if it's just not very good? The other thing that frequently comes up in my head is "am I really the right person to tell this story? What if I get it wrong?" What if I hurt someone's feelings by getting it wrong? What if I say something wildly inaccurate and contribute to misinformation out there? Or what if it's morally wrong to read memoirs about people's tragedies for the sake of your creative writing? I'm "using" a person's life to mine for storytelling material. It feels wrong to do that. Is it okay? Am I doing a bad thing here?

But maybe it's okay to write something that isn't very good, and maybe it's okay if I'm not the "right" person to make it. I don't know. I feel a pull to move my feet forward though, step by step, and see if I can do my best at least.

I think one thing I'm really thankful for from the game and this fandom is that I was just myself and people seemed to like that. I could shout out my loud opinions about stories or gameplay into the void and people would agree or disagree, but they were generally polite and excited.

This is a lil all over the place ajfaslfaf

But-- if you've been checking out the blog, then thanks for being here :) I hope that the upcoming liveblogs will be fun to read. If you decide to hang out and read my stupid lil story in the future, then thank you for giving that a chance too. But no worries if you aren't.

#Personal Muffin Stuff

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vickyvicarious · 4 months

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“I made a mistake, Kemp, a huge mistake, in carrying this thing through alone. I have wasted strength, time, opportunities. Alone—it is wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end. “What I want, Kemp, is a goal-keeper, a helper, and a hiding-place, an arrangement whereby I can sleep and eat and rest in peace, and unsuspected. I must have a confederate. With a confederate, with food and rest—a thousand things are possible. “Hitherto I have gone on vague lines. We have to consider all that invisibility means, all that it does not mean. It means little advantage for eavesdropping and so forth—one makes sounds. It’s of little help—a little help perhaps—in housebreaking and so forth. Once you’ve caught me you could easily imprison me. But on the other hand I am hard to catch. This invisibility, in fact, is only good in two cases: It’s useful in getting away, it’s useful in approaching. It’s particularly useful, therefore, in killing. I can walk round a man, whatever weapon he has, choose my point, strike as I like. Dodge as I like. Escape as I like.” Kemp’s hand went to his moustache. Was that a movement downstairs? “And it is killing we must do, Kemp.” “It is killing we must do,” repeated Kemp. “I’m listening to your plan, Griffin, but I’m not agreeing, mind. Why killing?” “Not wanton killing, but a judicious slaying. The point is, they know there is an Invisible Man—as well as we know there is an Invisible Man. And that Invisible Man, Kemp, must now establish a Reign of Terror. Yes; no doubt it’s startling. But I mean it. A Reign of Terror. He must take some town like your Burdock and terrify and dominate it. He must issue his orders. He can do that in a thousand ways—scraps of paper thrust under doors would suffice. And all who disobey his orders he must kill, and kill all who would defend them.”

There's so much going on in this conversation. First, the obvious irony of Griffin telling Kemp how he understands now that he needs a helper he can trust, while Kemp is trying to ensure he gets caught in the next few minutes. Griffin saying that he will be easily imprisoned once caught but that he's hard to catch, as Kemp frets over whether they will be able to catch him now. That's pretty obvious, and both funny and also sad. It's perfectly understandable for Kemp to want Griffin to be caught even before he talks about this plan, but it sucks that Griffin's sincerity is just completely bouncing off him. Griffin is for the first time trying to make a connection with someone (something that could potentially turn this situation around) but he's been rejected from the start.

But there's also... what is Griffin talking about? This goes from 'yeah, Griffin, you shouldn't be going it alone' to 'no Griffin not like that holy shit' real damn fast. And it's really interesting in the context of the rest of his behavior, because... this really doesn't seem to match it throughout most of the book so far.

Griffin has used plenty of violence before now. He defaults to threats or physical harm when he feels too vulnerable or powerless. But while he's been reckless and careless with it, there has never really been premeditated malice to anything he does. He's not scheming evil upon others. He's mostly reacting, again, often in what seems a kind of panic. When he gets most violent, at least. He has done harmful things with forethought, but those are mostly limited to theft, and are informed by selfishness and a lack of consideration/awareness of potential consequences.

He also has been consistently motivated by curing his invisibility. He wants his resources back, and privacy/freedom to work in order to do just that. He very quickly decided making himself invisible was a shortsighted mistake, as he encountered drawback after drawback in the immediate aftermath. He also wasn't motivated by any particular single goal of seizing power when he made himself invisible. He was deeply depressed and clinging to 'seeing it through', and then panicked when he came into conflict with his landlord. His paranoia about his invention was intense, but that too is linked to him seeking control over his own life, not others' as such.

So then, why this turnaround? Well, last chapter he said this:

"I had one hope. It was a half idea! I have it still. It is a full blown idea now. A way of getting back! Of restoring what I have done. When I choose. When I have done all I mean to do invisibly."

So, now it seems Griffin's motivation has shifted. He no longer wants immediate relief from invisibility. Instead, he wants to do things while invisible first. He wants to establish a Reign of Terror, to take over a town by utilizing his invisibility in the only way he can see it being of practical use: murder and the spreading of fear. But he says that as a 'must' as 'judicious'. So it's still not for the pleasure of it. Then, why?

First, I frankly don't believe Griffin is actually capable of enforcing the kind of siege he describes here. Physically maybe (depending on how unprepared others are), but emotionally I don't think he could keep it up. He'd collapse, he'd succumb to the guilt he clearly does feel at times. When he's not in a constant state of high emotion (largely fear, which with Griffin transitions seamlessly into rage) he wouldn't be able to keep murdering people so coldly and logically. He can of course work himself up over time, and can hold a grudge, which might be enough to get him started enacting this plan, but I don't believe he could see it through all the way. Still enough to do monstrous things, of course, just not enough to be effective at establishing his goal. (And even that shows his typical lack of forethought. Does he think that no one else would help them? That this town would just succumb to him in total isolation?)

But why does he even want it? I think it actually reflects all his same motivations until now. He feels cornered and he reacts badly, lashing out at others. As the rejection builds all around him, as his options dwindle, as his fear and helplessness grow - he consistently reacts by escalating and proving everyone's worst assumptions about him correct. And right now, even though he has found Kemp and thinks he can mostly trust him, it's not enough to make him feel safe. There are lots of people actively hunting him, now. And he can't just stay in Kemp's rooms forever. He would hate the idea, would feel imprisoned. He doesn't think much of stealing from others, but absolutely hates being stolen from (and he has so little, that the loss feels correspondingly huger), especially something like his books which contain the key to freeing him. So being here is a brief reprieve but he's still deeply afraid. And that makes him deeply angry. And so he wants revenge, he wants to punish them (in general, who make him feel afraid - and Marvel in particular, who has 'betrayed' him).

He also quite likely knows even with his idea it will take an unknown but likely significant amount more time to perfect his cure. So even if all he wanted was to be cured, he would need a safe place to work until then. And the tension is so high right now, his fear of being betrayed is so strong, that I don't think he believes it would be possible to do the necessary work unless he has the town cowed under his invisible heel.

“I don’t agree to this, Griffin,” he said. “Understand me, I don’t agree to this. Why dream of playing a game against the race? How can you hope to gain happiness? Don’t be a lone wolf. Publish your results; take the world—take the nation at least—into your confidence. Think what you might do with a million helpers—”

This line is also key. Kemp urges Griffin to confide in others. All his considerations of the usefulness of invisibility were from the perspective of a lone man against a cruel world. Very selfish and very assuming of a hostile environment. This too is reflected in Griffin's treatment of the few people he has reached out to - Marvel and Kemp. In both cases, he seeks understanding and sympathy. But he also seeks it at metaphorical gunpoint, by threatening them with what he could invisibly do to harm them. It's because as much as he may pour out his heart to Kemp here, he doesn't fully trust him. He doesn't fully trust anyone. By collaborating with them, all he is doing is giving them power over him, and that means they have power to hurt him. So instead he clings to his own power to hurt them first.

In Griffin's eyes, there is no such thing as an equal relationship. There is such thing as trust rewarded, or even given freely. And so in order to ensure his own safety he has to be the one in charge. He has to convince Kemp that they will both reap great rewards, he has to be able to hurt him and get away should anything fall through.

It all ties in perfectly with his backstory of being an outsider (albino, not socially adept at all), and being poor (in many ways powerless). And of course, it is such a self-fulfilling prophecy of terrible outcomes. If you only give violence, you're only getting violence in return. Someone has to let their guard down first, someone has to be willing to trust and be vulnerable for things to ever change. But Griffin is convinced that would be a mistake to ever fully do. And as much as I want to tell him he's wrong, his experiences corroborate that view. Everywhere he goes, he's experienced rejection and hate, or nosiness and distrust at best, no matter how much he tries to be on his best behavior. Every time he even partially lets down his guard or reaches out to others, they turn on him. And of course so much of that is because of the way he never fully relaxes, the way he always keeps a threat hanging over their heads, but he's not gonna see that. All he's gonna see is that he's been right all along. That he truly is in this alone. That he has to be selfish and he has to hit first and hit harder because he is outnumbered and if they catch him he won't be able to get away.

#the invisible mail #griffin #it's so twisted. such a MESS #and like i cannot blame kemp at all for not trusting him #as i said here i dunno if it would even work at this point #would kemp be able to talk griffin down from his plan?#maybe. but maybe not before something else happens and things spiral out of control #and i'm sure they would even if kemp were 100% on his side #and kemp is too much like everyone else in this book. too ready to assume the worst of griffin and dehumanize him #(which only ever accelerates him dehumanizing himself by behaving more monstrously)#so he wouldn't be able to be the kind of support griffin needs #....at least lxgf griffin got out before things spiraled too far. if only barely. and then only thanks to people helping him and believing #in him. something that's not happening at all in the canon book #my meta

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st-eve-barnes · 2 years

Text

Unfinished sympathy

(Modern Aegon x fem Reader)

Summary: You broke up with Aegon months ago but he can't move on, and maybe neither can you.

Word count: +2200

Warning: Mentions of depression and drinking. This is pure comfort fluff with a tiny bit of angst.

Seeing Aegon cry just melts my heart, okay, I know he has issues but we'll leave those in canon. This modern Aegon is just a sad, depressed puppy who needs love.

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

If Aegon had learned one thing from a very young age it’s that people always leave. Whether it was his father, who never cared for him, or his mother, who had high hopes for her son he was never able to fulfill. Even his brother and eventually his sister grew tired of having to deal with him and his moods.

But then he met you, and for a while things were better than ever. He made you laugh and you made him fall so deeply in love with you. The world was softer then, more colorful and he actually started to have hope again.

But of course it didn’t last.

That’s another thing Aegon had learned from a very young age, he would always fuck up a good thing.

He just didn’t know how to stop, how to change, grow up and be like everybody else. It just wasn’t in his DNA.

And fuck it, he didn’t want to be like everyone else. People were sad and cruel creatures, life an endless cycle of the same boring days repeated over and over. It was eating at his soul.

Drinking helped. Sex did as well. He got addicted to both. But the cure was only temporary, and always left him wanting more. Left him needing what he couldn’t have anymore. You.

He watched you from the sidelines tonight, watching as you danced with him. Too close, too cozy, his hands all over you and the shy, sweet smile on your face showing not the slightest objection.

Aegon forced himself to look away. He knew he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be following you around like this, like a love sick puppy that couldn’t move on. But what else could he do?

You found him sitting on your doorstep when you arrived home later that night.

He had his face hidden in his hands and when he looked up you saw he’d been crying.

”Gods, not again,” you sighed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he tried to smile at you but it only made him look more miserable.

You grabbed your keys from your purse and walked up to the door, fully planning on ignoring him. “This isn’t your apartment anymore, Aegon, you can’t keep coming here every time you’re drunk.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he stood and met your eyes,”I’m not drunk. I swear.”

It only took you a few seconds to know he wasn’t lying, you’d seen him drunk on too many occasions to know tonight wasn’t one of them. Your initial irritation faded a little bit. “What are you doing here then?”

“My head’s really bad tonight,” he confessed, rubbing more tears from his face,”really bad and…I just can’t stomach being alone right now, can I…please just stay for a while? Please.”

You sighed again. You knew you should say no, you couldn’t keep doing this, taking him in every time he had another breakdown. But this was Aegon, your Aegon. You would never be able to find it in your heart to turn him and his sad puppy eyes away.

“Yeah, okay, fine,” you caved,”Come on up.”

***

The warmth coming from your fireplace was soothing and comforting, the rest of the room was dark and Aegon couldn’t stop looking at the moving flames right in front of him. You sat down next to him on the floor and handed him a cup of tea.

“Thanks,” he spoke quietly,” I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“You didn’t, my night was over anyway.”

He looked away from the fire to meet your eyes, his gaze soft and filled with that all too familiar mix of sad and troubled with a little hint of mischievous.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, how all he had to do was look at you with those big doe eyes and your heart would go all weak for him again.

He was bad for you, you knew that and breaking up with him all those months ago had been the smart thing to do, the only thing to do to protect your own heart. But some part of you still missed him every day, and it killed you to see him struggle, no matter how self-inflicted his issues were.

“You look really great, by the way,” Aegon pulled you from your thoughts,”And happy, really happy, I mean, you’re practically glowing.”

“That’s just the reflection of the fireplace,” you joked and he laughed softly.

“Well, It looks good on you,” he continued,” And I’m…I’m happy for you.”

For a moment you just looked at him.

“You’re still a bad liar,” you then smiled.

Aegon shook his head and the smile faded.”And you still see right through me, huh?”

“Always.”

You both stayed quiet then.

“Are you?” he then asked.

“What?”

“Happy?”

Your eyes met his and you couldn’t lie, not when he was looking at you like that.

You shook your head,”No, but…I’m okay.”

“What about that guy you’ve been seeing?” he asked carefully.

“I’m not seeing him, it’s just a casual thing…he’s not…it’s nothing."

He’s not you, is what you’d wanted to say but you bit your tongue and swallowed those words.

“It’s none of my business anymore, I know,” Aegon sighed,”It’s…god, fuck, I shouldn’t even be here, should I?”

“Why are you here, Aegs?”

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips at your nickname and you instantly regretted it. You shouldn’t have said it, you didn’t want him to think…

“You’re the only home I know,” he then whispered, interrupting your thoughts,”My head gets bad and…all I can think about is…how badly I want to disappear into your arms. It’s the only place I feel…”

When you looked at him you could see the tears in his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, wiping his tears before they could fall down,”I know I shouldn’t say those things anymore, I just…I can’t fucking move on from you. I tried, I really fucking tried but…and then I saw you with him tonight and I…”

He bit his lip to stop himself from blurting out more things he would probably regret later.

“You followed me again?” you asked, disappointed but not surprised, it wasn't the first time you’d accidentally ran into him and you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“Gods help me, Aegon, what am I going to do with you?” you sighed.

“Oh, the gods don’t want me anymore, baby. My own family doesn’t even want me anymore,” he chuckled sadly before meeting your eyes, letting his gaze linger as he added in a soft whisper,”But you still do, don’t you?”

You wished it wasn’t true, wished that you could listen to your head instead of your heart and save yourself the inevitable heartbreak that would surely follow, if it wasn’t today or tomorrow then further down the road. There was no happy ending with Aegon, you knew this.

But it didn’t matter, you couldn’t deny the way your heart was aching for him.

“Yes,” you confessed with a defeated sigh,” Yes, I still do.”

Aegon’s hand reached for yours, holding it in his for a moment before he pulled you into his space. You went willingly, letting your body lean against his, your head on his shoulder while his arm wrapped around you and his hand started caressing your hair.

“I miss you,” he whispered against your ear,”You have no idea how much I fucking miss you.”

You sighed into his touch, realizing how much you had missed him as well but you didn’t say anything, you just wrapped your arm around his waist and hugged him closer. Aegon melted into you, his face buried into your hair while he breathed you in.

Tears filled his eyes again but they were not of sadness this time. Your smell, your presence, your obvious affection for him warmed his heart and just like that he could slowly see some color seeping into his world again. Every touch from you chasing away part of the darkness that’s been following him like a shadow for as long as he could remember.

You hugged him tighter and let him cry in your arms, meanwhile losing yourself in his embrace and the way his hands made you feel so safe and needed.

This was the thing with Aegon, when things were good they were really fucking good. After those first months together you were convinced you would never want or need another man again. You two were so happy you didn’t know what you had done to deserve him.

But then things changed, he’d started feeling insecure, going out more and drinking more, feeling depressed whenever he came down from his highs and blaming it all on you.

The breakup was ugly, you had never been so mad at anyone in your life, Aegon begged and cried and promised you a million different things. You believed none of them.

It had been seven months now. You told yourself you had moved on but right now, laying in his arms with his hands caressing your hair and your back so gently while his lips pressed soft kisses to your forehead, you realized you hadn’t moved on at all.

You missed him just as much as he missed you, if not more.

You leaned back to look at him,”Aegs?”

He cupped your face, thumb tracing your cheek while he stared deep into your eyes,”What is it, baby?”

You didn’t speak, you just closed the distance between you both and softy kissed his lips. He didn’t hesitate, one hand cupping your neck to hold you close while he slowly deepened the kiss, tasting you, chasing your tongue with his.

Your hands moved through his messy hair and he pulled you even closer, kissing you over and over, not wanting to stop now that he was allowed to have you again.

“Aegon, wait,” you pulled back after a while.

“I’m sorry,” he bit his lip and leaned his head on your shoulder,”I’m sorry…I’m a mess, I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No,” you shook your head and hugged him close. Aegon leaned into you, holding your body to his but not wanting to push things too far too fast. If you pulled away from him now he would never recover.

You leaned back to look at him after a while and noticed the tears were back in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he cried softly,”I never know what I’m doing…everything is so dark without you…and I know it’s not fair to even say that to you now…I know I hurt you too much. I wish I could take it all back and you would be with me again…I still love you so much, baby…”

You pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes, feeling your own hot tears finally spill at his words.

“Why are you crying, sweetheart?” Aegon whispered, his hand was back to caressing your hair.

“Because…I haven’t moved on either,” you sobbed,”I’m just very good at pretending…but I still love you, Aegs. I probably always will.”

Your eyes met his and the world seemed to halt for a moment. He gently wiped your tears away with his thumb and then kissed your cheeks until you stopped crying and he could see a smile on your face again. Then he carefully leaned in and kissed your mouth again, slow but deep, just as he had before. You softly moaned into the kiss, pulling him closer and putting a smile on his face.

“You’re sure?” he asked, insecurity clouding his voice,”Sure you want this? I’m so fucked up.”

“Well, obviously so am I, why else would I take you back?” you teased him and he laughed.

You hadn’t heard him laugh like that in so long. It made you realize once again just how badly you had missed seeing him like this. Happy, or at least something resembling it. And you knew it was because of you.

Aegon leaned in to place another quick kiss on your lips.

“I will do better this time,” he then whispered,”I promise you, I will try so hard…”

“Stop,” you cupped his face, caressing his cheek,”Don’t promise me anything. No beautiful, hollow words or plans for the future this time, no expectations and no pressure. Just us.”

He leaned into your touch and nodded his head.”Just us,” he repeated.

“All I need is for you to love me. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know how to do anything else,” he smiled softly and then pulled you down into his lap. You followed eagerly, wrapping your legs around him and feeling him cling to you with his entire body.

“Can I stay?” he whispered in your ear.

“Always,” you nodded with a smile.

Aegon couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that you still wanted him, after everything. He was determined to not let the past repeat itself this time. Not with you, not again. He would be better this time, take it day by day and do his utter best to keep the darkness at bay and let your light be his anchor in this world.

For the first time in a long while he felt like maybe he would be okay.

#aegon x reader #aegon imagine #aegon #aegon x you #modern aegon #fanon aegon #hotd fanfic #tom glynn carney fanfic

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