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notlongtolove · 7 months ago

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time present and time past

spencer tried to explain einstein’s theory of relativity once. and now, with spencer beside you in bed, you think you finally understand what he was on about. because time is relative. and if he doesn’t wake up, this moment will never end, and maybe you can slow down time itself. this work is part of the burnt norton series

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst

content: situationship core. they argue. avoidant!-ish.

word count: 3.4k

note: i have a final in 3 days and thought now would be the perfect time to write and post my first fic. yay! anyways this is inspired by an old literature text i studied, einstein's theory of relativity and what not. a line: I’ll come to you before you call—Just to prove that I don’t come to you every time you call.

time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past. if all time is eternally present all time is unredeemable. - t.s. eliot

You've never been one for physics, the numbers, the theories, the science of it all. But that’s never stopped Spencer from launching into explanations like a rocket whenever the chance presents itself. You would nod along, a smile on your face though whatever he's saying might as well be in a foreign language.

He tried to explain Einstein’s theory of relativity once. Something about clocks, something about a kind of gravitational field.

“Think of it like this,” he started, and you could almost picture him gesturing animatedly on the other end of the line. “I’m on the jet, and I run down the aisle in five seconds. From my perspective, that’s it—five seconds, straight forward, simple.”

“Hotch would kill you,” you cut in, biting back a grin at the thought.

“Just imagine it,” Spencer laughed.

“Okay, okay.”

“So, if you time me, and I make it down the aisle in five seconds—”

“Highly unlikely, but sure.”

“Angel,” he warned, but there was no real bite in it. He waited for your giggles to subside before pressing on, “but for you, watching me from outside as the jet moves, it’s not so simple. You’d see me running, sure, but you’d also have to factor in the jet’s movement. To you, I’m covering more distance because the jet is moving too, right?”

“If you say so...”

“Just focus,” he laughed. “Now, here’s where it gets interesting. The faster the jet goes, the bigger this effect becomes. If it were moving close to the speed of light, something wild happens—time for me, inside the jet, starts to move at a slower rate compared to your time outside.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t get it.”

“No, I do. I do.”

“Okay, so explain it.”

You paused, your lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “Uh… You can run faster than a jet?”

Spencer groaned, but he was laughing too. “Time moves slower for those in the jet because space and time are connected,” he said, his voice warming with excitement. "They stretch and bend depending on speed. It’s called time dilation. The faster you move through space, the slower time moves for you relative to someone standing still."

“...I think I get it?”

“Not yet, but you will.”

He promised to explain it more when he got back. But he never did. And so you never really understood it—at least, not until now.

Not until he’s lying in your bed again, your sheets tangled around him like they’ve claimed him as their own.

Einstein says that time is relative. He says that the rate at which time passes depends on an observer's frame of reference.

The observer in this case—You.

And if one observer moves at the speed of light, time will slow down for them.

Spencer’s asleep beside you. His face is soft in the flickers of streetlight creeping through the blinds. They give you just enough visibility to watch the rise and fall of his chest and you wonder if he's dreaming. The sound of his breathing, steady, is the only thing keeping you tethered.

If you squint hard enough, there’s almost something domestic about the scene. You ignore the fact that this is the nth time you’ve done this because ignoring is easier. It’s easier to think about how he smells like his shampoo, and how his shirt is thrown haphazardly over your nightstand. A sight you missed more than you would admit. You think about reaching for it, but your hand stays where it is. You stay where you are—just watching, observing. Because Einstein said the rate at which time passes depends on the observer’s frame of reference. And if you stay still enough, maybe you can slow down time itself.

You like moments like these. The simplicity of it. You tell your friends the same thing when they ask, their voices thick with judgment, their eyes too knowing. “We don’t do anything” you insist to the room of raised eyebrows. “We’re just hanging out, you know, as friends” you say, as if saying it enough times will make it true.

“Just hanging out?” “Yup.”

“As friends?” “Yup.”

You know you’ve hit a new low when you have to pull the ‘hanging out’ card, but you take a sort of comfort in that fact. Because at least he’s not like those other guys, right? That’s your silver lining. That it’s not like that. He’s not like that. But in the quiet after, when his breathing is the only sound and you feel walls closing in you, you can't help but wonder which is worse: the thing that he is, or the thing you’re letting yourself become.

You reached out first this time. A small victory in the game you’ve been playing against yourself. There’s some semblance of control in it, you rationalize. If you’re bound to fall, tethered to this fate of always crawling back, at least let it be on your terms.

I’ll come to you before you call—Just to prove that I don’t come to you every time you call.

Come over. Made too much pasta. You texted. It’s an olive branch, a peace offering after a fight that had left you both frayed at the edges. A throw of the same old ball back to his side of the court where the game has dragged on far too long. Proof to him that you didn’t mean what you’d said, that you’re not done yet. That you’re still okay with this.

You can take it.

The fight had been about work—or at least, that’s how it started. He’d mentioned a new trainee in passing, his voice light, almost too casual, as he spooned rice out of the takeout box. “She’s new,” he said, with a shrug. “Eager, maybe too eager. Emily says she’s a bit of a people pleaser.”

She. You watched him carefully, trying to read between the lines.

“Oh?” you replied, keeping your voice as even as you could manage. Muscle memory. You’ve been here before. Just because Spencer wasn't one of those guys didn't mean you haven't had your fair share of them.

You smile as you meet his eyes asking all the right questions. Where’s she from? How’s she doing?

He glanced up at you, surprised by your interest. Light work you thought. “Somewhere out West, I think. She’s doing fine—rookie mistakes, you know. She had a bad day last week, though. Got rattled on a case. Garcia said Hotch was too hard on her.”

“Poor thing,” you murmured, “Hope she’s feeling better.”

“Garcia thought I… thought she was pretty,” he added laughing, the words tumbling out like an afterthought. Like the words don’t hold the weight that he knows it does.

Ah. There it is.

“Well, did you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, casual.

“She’s… alright,” he said, his tone too high, too quick. You didn’t miss the way he swallowed hard afterward.

“You’re avoiding the question,” you teased lightly, smiling even though your stomach was beginning to twist itself into knots.

“I’m not,” he countered, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. “You asked if she’s pretty, and I said she’s alright.”

“You’re totally avoiding it,” you said, laughing to keep the air light even as the knot pulled tighter. “Spence, you can just say it.”

“Say what?” he asked, eyes darting up to meet yours, then back to his plate.

“Just say it.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Admit that she’s pretty.”

“Okay.” He exhaled sharply, like the word had been dragged out of him. “I think she’s pretty.”

Oh.

There was something in the way he said that made your chest constrict.

I think she’s pretty.

He thinks she’s pretty. Not like it was some objective fact, not something calculated or reasoned. Not that she was statistically pretty, backed up by some symmetry or math behind it. He just… thought so—No, he thinks so. Thinks. Present tense. Meaning as he’s sitting here, across from you, eating the takeout you suspected he’d purposefully ordered too much of, he thinks she’s pretty.

You stared down at your plate, your appetite long gone. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmur of voices from the apartment next door.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally, his voice softer now, hesitant.

“I’m fine,” you replied too quickly, a smile pasted on your face as you looked up. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. Pass the soy sauce?” He passed it without another word, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you finally said, your voice sharper than you intended.

“I’m not,” Spencer replied defensively, though his eyes stayed trained on you. “You’re just… quiet. It’s not like you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ve run out of things to say.”

“Is this because I said she’s pretty? Because I didn’t want—”

“Spencer stop,” you interrupted, setting your fork down with a deliberate clink against your plate.

“I wasn’t going to say it. You asked me to say it.” he countered. “And the term pretty is subjective anyway, I think you’re pretty too.” You stayed silent, not meeting his eyes. “Don’t be like that. You know I care about you.”

“It sure doesn’t feel like it.”

You knew you were being petty. Acting like a child who didn’t get their way, grasping at anything to make the hurt feel justified. But you couldn’t help it.

“You just—you talk about work, about—god, about pretty girls and I—”, You stopped, swallowing hard, trying to tamp down the words you weren’t ready to say. “I feel like I’m just… here. Someone you call when you’re bored or when you’ve ordered too much food or when—”

“That’s not true,” he argued, his tone sharp now, “You’re twisting it—”

“Am I?” you snapped, your eyes finally meeting his. They were wide, startled, but it didn’t stop you. “Because I’m starting to think this is exactly what it is.”

“Well, what do you think this is?” Spencer’s jaw tightened as his hands gripped the edge of the table.

“I don’t know,” you said bitterly. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“We’ve talked about this,” Spencer said, each word cutting deeper than the last. “You said you wanted to be friends. Friends do this. Friends have dinner. Friends don’t force someone to admit someone else is pretty and then make it all—I don't know, all weird after.”

You winced, his phrasing like a mirror reflecting every misstep, every conversation where you’d backed yourself into this corner. He’s not wrong—you had said you wanted to be friends. But he didn’t know the weight behind that concession.

You’d thought back to those late-night conversations. The ones where he’d laid out his reasons like a clinical diagnosis: I don’t have the time. It wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m not ready. So, you’d waited, convincing yourself that 'not now' meant 'not yet'. But eventually, you’d called it yourself, told him you should just be friends. A sad attempt at controlling a situation you were only ever destined to be hurt by. Because your own destruction should only ever be yours to wield—and you have to claim it before it can claim you.

He’d agreed it was better this way and you’d nodded along. Not because you believed it, but because it was a way to keep him in your life. A lifeline you clung to no matter how much it cut into your hands. But labels don’t erase what’s already happened. They don’t undo the stolen glances, the kisses in the quiet moments, the nights where you felt like the only two people in the world. They just build a fragile scaffold over it all, a flimsy way of holding up what’s already crumbling. Dating. On a break. Dating again. Friends. They pile on top of one another like a pathetic plaster over the hurt of what you wished things could be.

“Right,” you said finally, the word brittle and sharp as it escapes your lips. Your voice was hollow as your eyes met his, daring him to flinch. “So I guess that means I can’t expect anything from you, right? No decency, no consideration, no… nothing. Because we’re not in a relationship. We’ve never been in a relationship. Right?”

“Don’t,” Spencer said quietly, almost pleading now. “That’s not fair. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“You’ve made it perfectly clear what this is,” you said, standing from the table, your hands trembling as you gathered your things.

“Wait,” he said, standing too, “You don’t have to—”

“And by the way, Spence,” you cut him off, reaching into your bag and slamming the extra key he’d given you months ago onto the table. It clattered louder than you expected, echoing in the tense silence between you. “You can have this back. Because last I checked, friends don’t have keys to each other’s apartments.” You were acutely aware of the venom dripping in your voice but you pressed on, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And thanks for the flowers, but I don’t think friends go out of their way to buy a bouquet to make up for every friendly dinner they miss.” You didn’t wait for a response. You didn’t look at his face, didn’t want to see whatever expression he was wearing.

But the satisfaction of that slam felt distant now. You think back fondly of the girl who had made her point so clear, so definitive. A line drawn in the sand. But winds blow and sand moves. That girl seems like a lifetime away from the girl you are now—the one lying here, beside him, again.

Spencer stirs beside you, a quiet sigh escaping his lips, and your breath hitches. You don’t want him to wake up. Because if—when he does, you know he’ll leave. But until then, in this moment of temporary serenity, you can pretend it doesn’t matter. You can pretend it’s okay. You can pretend you’re okay.

After all, Einstein said that time is relative. If he doesn’t wake up, the moment will never end, and maybe—just maybe—you can slow down time itself. You stare at the ceiling, letting the minutes tick past, each one stretching longer than the last.

Your thoughts drift back to what Spencer had said. Time moves slower for those in the jet.

Well, if your apartment is the sky, then this bed is the jet. In the quiet of this moment, his warmth beside you, the faint smell of him lingering on the pillow—this is where time bends. The rate at which time passes depends on the observer’s frame of reference. Maybe you can trick the universe, make these seconds stretch into hours. Maybe, if you stay still enough, think hard enough, the world outside won’t come knocking. You can freeze this bubble of peace.

But the illusion is tenuous, and reality looms like turbulence on the horizon. Time doesn’t truly stop, you know that, we’re all forced to move on along with it. They say time waits for no man—least of all a broken-hearted girl. The clock keeps ticking, indifferent to your longing. Sooner or later, he’ll wake, and the bubble will burst.

You wonder how long you can keep this up. You’d just been talking earlier tonight, telling each other what had happened in the days you hadn’t spoken since the argument. The words had come easier than you expected, though none of them seemed to solve anything. Spencer had fallen asleep mid-sentence, right as you were recounting something trivial about your day. His exhaustion was written all over his face—the heavy pull of his eyelids, the way his head tilted slightly toward you before finally giving in. You’d paused, watching him, and the words you were about to say dissolved into silence. You hadn’t wanted to wake him.

The old you would’ve been angry, the frustration bubbling up into sharp words and accusations. The fight was always the same, well-rehearsed and raw: You always do this. I’m sorry. When are you not? I missed you. Then why won’t you stay? You know I can’t. You can. I can’t. It was less of a conversation and more of a script. It had long since stopped being about what either of you said; it was about how you said it and where it always led. It would’ve ended in a fight, Spencer’s guilt countered by your hurt, spiralling into a familiar standoff with no real resolution.

But that was the old you. She’d had more fight in her, more fire to demand the things she felt she deserved. That fire has dimmed now, not extinguished, but banked low and steady, like you’ve learned to ration it. It’s not that the frustration has disappeared—it lingers, an ache beneath the surface—but you’ve stopped letting it boil over. Deep down, you know the real reason you didn’t start a fight tonight. It’s not just that you’re tired of fighting, though you are. It’s that you don’t know how much fight he still has in him. You don’t know if one more argument, one more crack in this fragile thing between you, will be the thing that makes him walk away for good.

And you’re not ready to find out.

So you let it slide. Not because you want to, but because you can. You’ve told yourself you’re strong enough to carry it—to make up the weight of his distance, his exhaustion, his inability to give you what you need. You let him sleep, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, and you tell yourself it’s enough.

But Spencer shifts again, and this time his eyes flutter open. You freeze, your body tense, as if staying perfectly still might undo his wakefulness.

“Hey,” he murmurs groggily, his voice thick with sleep. His arm snakes over your waist, pulling you closer. For a brief, fleeting second, you allow yourself to relish the warmth of his touch, the illusion of intimacy.

Then his hand moves. He’s reaching—not for you, but for his watch on the bedside table.

He checks the time, squinting in the dim light filtering through the blinds. And you know. You know what’s coming next.

“I should go.” he says softly, his arm already retreating from where it had rested over your waist. He pushes himself up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

You sit up slightly, the sheets pooling around you, and force a small smile. “Okay” you murmur, the words feeling hollow even as they leave your lips.

Spencer’s already out of bed, reaching for his shirt and bag. The routine feels mechanical, practiced—a series of motions he’s repeated so many times it barely registers as something that could hurt you. He pulls the shirt over his head, adjusts the strap on his bag, and leans down to kiss your forehead. Friends, as if. You think.

It’s a fleeting gesture, a touch that’s supposed to mean something but feels more like a formality now. More perfunctory than tender.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” he says as he straightens, glancing at his watch like he’s late for something more important. “You should’ve woken me up.”

You shake your head silently, not trusting that your thoughts won’t betray you. Don’t wake up. Don’t leave me. Don’t go. Instead you settle for, “You were tired. You should get some rest.” The weight in your chest feels unbearable but you press your lips into a tight, strained smile anyways. A silent permission for him to leave.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Drive safe,” you say quietly as you walk him to the door.

“I’ll text you?” he offers, already halfway out.

“Okay,” you reply, the word barely audible.

And then he’s gone.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoes in the quiet of your apartment, final and unrelenting. You stand there for a moment, staring at the door as if willing it to open again, as if hoping he might turn around and come back. You know he won’t.

You turn and lean against the wall, the cool surface grounding you, a poor substitute for the warmth that was just beside you. The apartment feels colder, emptier now, the silence deafening. The clock on the wall ticks forward, oblivious to your grief, dragging you further away from the moment he was just here. You feel stuck in place, a reluctant passenger watching the world rush forward while you’re left behind, stranded.

You think back to what Einstein had said and you think he’s got it all wrong. How if one observer moves at the speed of light, time will slow down for them. Because no matter how tightly you try to hold on, the jet doesn’t slow down. It won’t wait for you. The jet will keep moving forward, unrelenting, and him along with it. With or without you.

And as you stand alone in the stillness he’s left behind, you realize it’s always been without you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst

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gaysindistress · 9 months ago

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Watching Agtha All Along and seeing Audrey plaza (good gods that woman) gave me a little bit of inspo.

Imagine Bucky with a partner who isn’t quite…right & pt 2

No one can exactly place a finger on what makes them on edge whenever you’re around. No one can fully explain what it is about you that makes every alarm go off in their head.

Sam jokes that it’s because you’re utterly silent and still. He might have asked you once or twice if you were a vampire after watching you for 5 minutes and not seeing you breathe. The slow blink and stare that found his worst nightmares in moments told him enough; vampire or not, you’re certainly not human.

Tony has tried to run tests on you several times without your knowledge but none have produced a satisfactory result. Blood tests have come back blank. At first he thought it was merely a mistake but after the fourth time, he realized that your blood completely evaporates in seconds. He’s tried over means of DNA testing but all offer the same result of inconclusive thanks to a variety of factors.

Bruce was recruited to offer some assistance as well as Stephan. Neither were able to pin point anything about your origins other than you are both natural and unnatural. Sometimes when you blink, your left eye will turn a milky eye color and you seem to disappear within yourself. Other times a grey mist will engulf your skin and swirl in time with your emotions. Once Bruce swears he saw a tendril reach out from the shadows and wrap around the ends of your hair.

Steve pretends that he likes you but in reality is wholly horrified that his best friend is with you. He’s fought alongside you, witnessed the unexplained things that you’ve done in the heat of war. He’s watched while you emotionlessly stared at a man who wept for his life and still ran a shadowy blade through his back. He’s seen you lick the blood from your fingers and smirk at the taste.

However nothing compares to the violence that you’ve unleashed on any who’ve hurt Bucky. Those memories will no sooner leave him than the fear that they instill in him.

He swore to never tell another soul, dead or alive what you’ve done when Bucky’s life has been at stake.

Other than Bucky, Loki is the only one who’s managed to get a word out of you. The first time you met at the tower, his charming smile fell and he stumbled away from you. Nearly falling into Thor, he stared at you with a wild and dangerous curiosity that led him to figure out that you were as some kind of primordial being.

“Chaos. You have to be Chaos,” he gasped in admiration and astonishment. Everyone else gasp as well but out of fear and worry of what your reaction would be.

“Must I be?”

“Hesiod wrote that you were an endless void of nothingness in which the universe sprang from.”

Bucky, from where he had been reading on the couch, chuckled under his breath and nodded in agreement. “If only you knew.”

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky imagine #james bucky buchanan barnes

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mollygrass · 12 days ago

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Pretty Little Thing

Remmick x Black Female Reader

Reuploaded, edited and proofread

Tags and Warnings: Chicago 1930s Au, Mafia Au, Remmick is in an Irish mafia, Remmick is still a vampire, Reader is 22 years old, everyone is up North from the South, Age gaps, slow burn, eventual smut, dub-con, (maybe—non-con), lengthy fanfic

Summary: At the twins new night club in Chicago, you give an opening performance and among the crowd of onlookers a certain Irish man from the other side of the Southside eyes linger a little too long on you.

A/N: ⚠️ Hi, everyone!! Before diving deeper to read this story, I ask that you throughly read the tags and know what you’re about to read. This contains dub-con and maybe non-con. Please be aware of those factors if you’re uncomfortable with that. If not please proceed and enjoy! ⚠️

I put this extra warning because someone on ao3 felt it had non-con in it in later chapters, i apologize profusely for that because it wasn’t what I thought I was writing and I don’t want anyone else to have to same experience as that person, so please tread carefully and be warned!!

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

“Well, little lady, you ready to show off that voice of yours?” A raspy, dried out voice croaks.

In the mirror’s reflection your eyes catch a glimpse of an old tall man peeking his head through the crack of the dressing room door. Still applying makeup, you give him a silent nod, heart racing wildly.

Profusely you begged your older twin cousins from down south to let you sing at their new night club in Chicago. Persistently without an ounce of sympathy they denied you, specifically the more firm, mean one—Smoke.

The only reason you’re set to put on a show tonight is because little ole Sammy from down south came all the way up north to escape the hot fields of crop sharing and is putting on a show himself. He’ll perform right after you, singing the blues whilst playing his fancy little guitar.

You two are the same age—twenty-two and you made sure to bring it up to make your case against Smoke. Stack took your side and convinced his brother and that’s how you ended up in their club’s dressroom.

“Okay, well make the dolling up quick, Smoke says you're on in five minutes, little lady.” His southern accent drips from his words, old and raw. He too came up north to support the twins' new night club.

“I’ll be out soon, Slim.”

With that said, Slim leaves and the door clicks shut softly. You continue finishing your last step of putting on the makeup–lipstick. Careful and docile, you apply a dark cherry red lipstick before twirling in the mirror. The pale purple flapper dress dances in the air, shining from the light's reflection. You always wanted to wear this type of dress, but never had the money to afford one. Stack has taste since he’s the one who brought you the dress for tonight.

You join Slim on the main stage excited but nervous. From his piano he looks up and smiles. “My, my, little lady, you are breathtaking tonight.”

You blow the old man a kiss. “Why thank you!” You giggle, eyes bright.

People pool into the establishment, wearing all sorts of expensive attire for tonight’s event. The sight of so many people nearly makes you want to dash off stage to the dressing room and stay there the entire night. But you refuse to back out. Not after all that convincing you did. Nope, no going back now.

Sammy strolls on the stage, guitar in hand as usual. “Good luck out there.” He smiles ear to ear.

“Same to you!” You chirp, as Slim begins to play the piano and other musicians on stage join him.

Soon the night club is buzzing with folks from all around Chicago’s southside. Brown faces of all shades fill the room leaving no space for any lighter tones. Though the city wasn’t legally segregated, it’s still separated by redlining. The closest you’ve been to white people are the ones also residing in the southside as well but in different neighborhoods–Irish white folk.

Lately there’s been rumors of tensions growing between the Black and Irish gangs for territories and things you really didn’t know about. It’s also rumored tonight an irish gang will join tonight's grand opening, settling tensions or come to some sort of compromise.

Whatever, it doesn’t concern you so you don’t mind it. On the main level where the dance floor is Smoke and Stack stand side by side welcoming their guests. Stack displays a bubbly face and his brother, an intimidating frown, stoic as always.

Stack takes a drag of a thick cigar. “Welcome, good folk of chicago! How y’all doing tonight?” His voice booms, southern drawl rich.

The crowd hoots and whistles among multiple claps.

“Tonight our little cousin, raised and born here in the sweet ole windy city will be our opening performance.” Smoke chucks a thumb over his shoulder to the stage facing his backside and takes his turn with the cigar.

The crowd cheers louder this time as the showlights shine brightly on your frame at the center of the stage. It nearly blinds you, but you remain stiff, not daring to move an inch.

“She got the voice of an angel y’all, but let’s get this shit started!” Stack hypes the people up once more before blending into the sea of tables with his older brother trailing behind.

The lights everywhere else in the large club fade to a dimmer glow, and only the bright light on the stage shines. You feel like you could throw up at any given second with so many eyes glued on you. At the side of the stage Delta Slim begins playing the piano and other musicians on stage follow suit.

Deep among the multiple faces of strangers, Sammy gives you a reassuring smile and mouths, “you got this!” He flicks up a thumb.

You gulp, giving moisture to your gritty, dry throat and start singing. Slowly your body loosens up, that stiffness melting off. As the song goes on your body moves with the flow dancing around the stage and the crowd springs to life. People cheer for you and others groove to the rhythm themselves.

As you’re distracted, absorbed in the world of music, you miss the glowing red eyes far off at a table with Smoke and Stack. The eyes latch onto your body, watching your every move on stage.

Curiosity turns to interest.

Interest to fascination.

Fascination to lust and desire.

“Hey, Irish man, eyes on me,” Smoke demands, eyes grave as his palm rests on the gun buried in his hip holster. “Not on my baby cousin on stage.”

Stack joins in, a cocky smirk pulls at his full lips. “I know, she a diamond ain’t she? But you ain’t come here for that. So, you best keep those wanderin’ eyes on us.”

The Irish man grins himself, eyes slick. “Can’t help admiring pretty things,” he drifts off, eyes daring to sneak a peek at you once more. “And I’m the type of man that loves pretty things.”

His words tick the twins off. Between the both of them it enrages Smoke the most. It takes every ounce in his body to stop the itch in his hand not to aim the gun at the cheeky Irish man.

“You better watch that filthy fuckin’ mouth of yours, motherfucker,” Smoke growls.

The Irish man’s goons around him grow tense at his offensive words. Ready to start a bloodbath, hands ghosting over their guns too but their boss’ voices freezes them.

“Be calm, this ain’t nothing.” And as if it’s a command their muscles relax. “Right, me and my men are gathered here for business. So let’s talk business, fellars.”

On stage you huff, panting, light sweat pooling at your temples. The crowd goes wild, clapping and cheering your name.

“You did amazing,” Slim says and takes a swig from a flask.

You shoot him a smile too tired to use your voice. When the cheers die down you gain the club’s attention. “Cousin Smoke and Stack, cheers to a wonderful night tonight!” Your hands point to them and then at Sammy. “And everyone give it up for little ole Sammy from the deep south!”

Like before, cheers shake the club as you leave the stage. Behind stage Sammy squeezes you in a tight hug. He applauds your performance before rushing to the stage to sing his blues. Before he completely disappears to the stage he halts, head peering over his shoulder.

“Oh also, Smoke said to stay in the back rooms cause you ain’t allowed up front.” He sharply inhales, eyes glinting with guilt. “Sorry about that!”

You blink. His words take a minute to sink and soak in your brain and before they register he’s already bolted on stage. The booming sounds from the crowds tell it all as it practically shakes the walls. You want to ask him why, but seeing it’s too late you just listen.

Salty and disappointed, you walk through the short dimly lit hall. Fingers trailing along the blood red walls as you pass by. The backroom is empty of people. Fancy expensive couch chairs surrounding a polished wooden table with a candle on top centers the room.

Mirroring the halls outside, the walls inside here are red with painted portraits of long black figures dancing and playing the blues. Left to the wooden table is a brick built in fireplace and to the right is a small bar with pricey booze bottles.

Illegal booze.

Plopping down on a tall stool, back slouched, you snatch a liquor bottle.

How ironic, blues music whispers in the backroom as you’re feeling quite blue.

After tonight you’ll make sure to give Smoke and even Stack a piece of your furious mind. This sudden unpromised treatment is petty and unfair. After your performance you expected to be out on the dance floor dancing and mingling. Not locked away back here for no one to see.

You slide a nearby shot glass to you and pop the bottle open. The top goes clacking on the cocktail table. Filling the small glass to the brim, you take a swig of the bitter poison. It burns, slipping down your throat. You repeat the process once more.

You sigh and bury your face in your palms, both elbows propped on the table. “Fuck you Smoke…and fuck you Stack.”

Your vision blurs as you sniffle.

As if they planned it, the twins burst through the door and you jolt upright on the tool. Behind them a pale white man follows after. His eyes are quick to find you and a sly smirk carves on his face. The twins however fail to notice you until they're on the cushion red couches. Smoke's face is quick, flashing anger and irritation while Stack is dumbfounded.

Stack stands. “What the fuck are you doin’ back here?”

Your eyes widen, appalled at his words. “Why am I back here,” you pause. A glare pulls your brows together. “You two jerks sent me back here, that’s what I’m doing back here!”

Your little feisty attitude makes the Irish man lean forward. Elbows resting on his legs, callused hands entwined as his face ghosts above them. A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. His mind races, ideas of how he’d have fun breaking you in. He never did like the obedient type of women.

Smoke remains seated, legs crossed. “Watch your damn mouth in front of company, girl.”

The word girl makes you flinch as the three men watch you. Smoke rarely speaks to you in such a tone let alone call you girl. It makes you wonder who spit in his drink tonight.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just a bit moody,” Stack says lightly, but you still don’t buy it.

You shift on the stool, feeling a bit shaky at your older cousin’s brutal demeanor. “Whatever,” you mumble, but no one but your ears hear it.

“But really, why’re you back here, Sammy didn’t tell you to come here.”

Confusion flickers upon your features. “With all due respect, yes he did.”

A long exhale falls from Smoke’s mouth. “Damn boy, can’t even listen right.”

The Irish man sitting between both twins is silent and patient as he watches the scene unravel. His eyes sparkle with greed and mischief as his eyes linger longer over at the bar.

“Well, gone on home. Find Sammy and Slim so they can take you.”

“Wait.”

All of your eyes fall on the Irish man. You stand on your feet, hand idly resting on the bar table.

He tilts his head towards the bar and you swear you can see steam seething from Smoke.

“Don’t,” Smoke grits out. His eyes glint doused in bloodlust as he leans forward on the couch.

The Irish man keeps going, regardless of Smoke’s threatening tone.

“Is that my open booze over there by the pretty little thing?” His eyes remain on the twins.

Smoke and Stack heads whip to the bar. The younger twin eyes grow wide and his brother’s face twists in rage. Smoke curses under his breath, lost for words.

“Remmick, you leave her out of this. She had no idea it was yours,” Stack says, brows furrowed.

You stand frozen, mind dizzy, stomach sinking. Did you do something wrong? Yes, and you know it, but you just don’t know what exactly it is. You do figure it’s got something to do with the open booze bottle on the cocktail table.

It might be the wrong decision to say something right now, but you speak anyway.

“Okay, Smoke. Stack. I’m gonna head home now.”

“Don’t move.”

Remmick’s voice freezes your body in place.

“I think you owe me, darlin.” He smirks, eyes growing wide.

“How much money for the bottle?” Smoke jumps from the couch.

“I’m not talking to you,” Remmick says, voice stale and dry. His deep brown irises burn holes through you. “What was it again?” His fingers caress his chin, licking at his sharp canines that resemble more that of fangs than regular human teeth.

Finally, he says your name as if he’s won the lottery, snapping his fingers. He turns to you and sighs, still smiling like a maniac.

“How are you gonna pay me back for drinking my booze, pretty little thing?”

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cozycottagetarot · 3 months ago

Text

What Changes Before You Meet Them?

🧺 Reading Contents:

The theme of what changes

Factors out of your control

Factors within your control

🫧 Reading Notes:

This reading was posted last year on my Patreon, but I've been wanting to share it here for a while now. I also don't remember what I wrote because it's been almost a year but I hope you enjoy! 🫶

This reading is for entertainment purposes only, please take only what resonates be it some, all or none.✨

LINKS: Reading Masterlist | Dividers | Ko-Fi

Personal Readings: Classic (New Readings Available!) | $10 and Under - OPEN

My laptop stopped working unexpectedly, and I had to borrow money to replace it so I could keep up with college and tarot readings. As an online student and tarot reader, my laptop is truly my lifeline.

If you’ve ever thought about getting a reading from me, now would be a really lovely time. It helps me more than you know and I’d love to create something special for you in return. 💛

Pile 1

The theme of what changes:

The Devil, Six of Wands rev, Knight of Pentacles, Two of Pentacles

What changes is how you handle what holds you back from reaching an important milestone or some kind of success (and subsequently reaching that success). It seems like something is holding you back. You should be making progress even though slow but it just has you in such a tight hold. However, once you learn to manage a temptation or commit to overcoming whatever it is that chains you, you will find not only reach a big personal success, but also meet your person.

Factors out of your control:

Eight of Swords, Strength, The Fool

There’s a leap of faith of you have to take, and the journey of what it takes to get out of this cage doesn't feel like it’s in your control. Even though the eight of swords being one of the tougher cards, paired with strength and the fool-- I think it may have it's difficult moments but overall it will be a beneficial experience.

Factors within your control:

Seven of Wands, Eight of Wands, Two of Cups

When it comes to what you can control, one of the first things that stuck out to me was a matter of controlling who you ally with. This seems like it will be an important factor as you wouldn't want to partner with people who will help to keep those limitations in place. You can also control how you handle conflicts (internally and externally) as well as how you manage impulses and spontaneous decisions.

Pile 2

The theme of what changes:

Three of Swords, The Lovers, Queen of Cups

A betrayal or heartbreak of some kind (don't panic!)... finding your 'queen of cups energy' again (nurturing, creativity, emotional expression). So there’s multiple ways this could play out as always. My first thought was obviously a previous relationship which is always likely. However, it could also be a friendship that means a lot to you... not so much, but maybe a professional relationship and of course self-betrayal or you breaking your own heart. The theme is one having some kind of harmony or bond being broken and not by positive means. It may even take place in a way where it’s a little bit difficult to differentiate whether or not it was ‘accidental’ or 'purpose work'. Regardless, you have to find your power after this event takes place before you meet your person.

Factors out of your control:

Seven of Cups, The Ace of Wands, Two of Cups

The partnership or coming together (that is the catalyst for the change) is out of your control. I don’t want to be a fear monger, but it’s not something you can really avoid or see ahead of time and determine 'this person or situation is going to hurt me in some way'. And the purpose of this event is to meet your person so I mean… I don't think you'd want to avoid it? It seems like the relationship itself will bring you passion and spark something in you-- this could be a new interest, passion project etc. It could influence/improve the relationship too, but the relationship itself 'burning out' isn’t something you can control. It will be a deep connection or meaningful event and there’s so much potential — but you can’t control that potential. You can’t control how much something or someone means to you...

Factors within your control:

Page of Wands, Queen of Swords, Four of Swords

What is in your control around this event is how you handle it and choose to heal from it. Making the decision to take the lesson or experience and use it to fuel you moving forward and to become stronger in the future. You’ll become more firm and self assured. For some it could be a first relationship or maybe a significant situationship? But I think you’ll definitely have what it takes to move forward and face any challenges with your person. So choosing to reflect and and ask yourself what you can take from the experience will be something within your control. Also I think whatever spark is ignited with the ace of wands, you’re going to be in control of how you harness that fire and make something with it.

Pile 3

The theme of what changes:

Nine of cups, The World, Ace of Cups

I feel like there’s going to be this… I don’t want to say 'new found' desirability but a desirability you may now know how to work in your favour. It could be some kind of glow up or reinventing yourself that results in everyone suddenly seeing what you have to offer or how well rounded you are. It's a change the results in you having so many people clamouring over you and falling head over heels!!!

You also had The Hermit and The Sun as 'honourable mentions', so really doing the work to make yourself happy. It doesn’t feel like you’re the kind of group where romance or companionship is at the forefront of your mind, even though it maybe something you desire to have at some point.

Factors out of your control:

Two of Pentacles, Death, Knight of Pentacles rev

There’s some kind of transformation that’s going to take place in your life, but you’re not really the one in control of it. It doesn't seem like something that you purposely bring about... just a natural flow of things. I kind of feel like you’re just minding your business. You may not even be aware how attractive you’ve become in the eyes of others. You’re more focus on doing the work and less focused on how doing the work is perceived by others. It doesn’t seem like this is a planned glow up either, just a natural outcome of trying to get yourself together.

Factors within your control:

Queen of Cups, Eight of Wands, Knight of Wands rev

What you are in control of is your pace and how you channel your creative energy. I think you may be a little impatient or impulsive at times, and those are the two things that you need to work on... How you direct your energy and where you place your attention. What you go after is in your control but there’s a lot of moments of spontaneity and how you channel or use those moments are important. How you nurture those interest of yours is something in your control too, as well as being able to soften that fire when it starts getting a bit unruly and out of hand and being able to channel it carefully again.

Pile 4

The theme of what changes:

Ten of Cups, Five of Swords, Ace of Cups, Knight of Cups

The theme has to do with a new emotional phase. One where you’re actively opening yourself to love and embodying love… I think the change is being at a point emotionally where a love offer is ready to come in. With the five of swords you could have a better understanding of who you are and it what ways you might be prone to deceiving yourself.

I don’t know why but on this pile I was suddenly concerned as I was shuffling with whether or not I should include a section with have you met your person yet… or do you know of them. I think you may know of them but you’ve either never met them personally, know them but never met the face to face, or you haven’t met “the new and improved” version of them yet….

Factors out of your control:

The Lovers, Black Numen, Six of Swords

Soooo I’m a little bit stumped... but here’s my best shot. So you can’t control your lover and what I mean by that is you can’t control who it is… but at the same time I was being nosy and trying to get insights to make it make sense— your lover may be someone you’re manifesting. Something in your life is a sinking ship as represented by the Black Numen. The titanic came to me as well (confirmation anyone?) and there’s the six of swords which can be about moving away from something physically or mentally/emotionally. Something is fading into oblivion in your life and you’re already parting ways when this emotional change occurs. It’s like a test of faith it seems. You can’t control what dissolves but will you hold on to this positive out look?

Factors within your control:

Five of Pentacles, Eight of Swords, Queen of Swords

The swords in this reading are kind of depressing here to be honest, so doubling back to the theme it’s a challenge of mental dexterity. You could be down on your luck financially/materially as the pentacles are the only insights into the physical realm of this change. It could also be in relation to how you approach care for your physical self. However you can control the ways in which you limiting yourself (be it good or bad) and your attitude towards the challenges you may be facing.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #pac reading #pick a picture #pac #cozycottagetarot #tarot reading #free tarot reading #future spouse tarot reading #future spouse reading #future spouse #your person #cozycottagetarot readings #love tarot reading

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emma23 · 4 months ago

Note

Ohhgg Steven Grant getting baby fever... Reading that little drabble, I can only imagine it getting worse. He sees little clothes, children at a park, even nursery builds in an IKEA catalog and gives you those puppy dog eyes. He isn't pressuring you intentionally but God if he isn't the king of getting what he wants

Marc feels like he would be in the "we are not ready for a baby absolutely not" category. There are too many uncertain factors, so much can go wrong and he doesn't want his love or their child to get put in harms way because of his moon knighting so to speak

Jake could probably be convinced, but still would see the dangers and still tell you that it's something that they should really be on the same page and be extremely prepared for (don't get it wrong he would be ecstatic to be a papa)

Steven.... Baby fever is contagious.. he wants that taste of domestic bliss and all the hardships that come with it. I don't even want children, but I think Steven could convince me with little effort,,

Omg love the idea !!! 💕

Steven/ Marc/ Jake x reader

You weren’t expecting it when it started.

It was subtle at first—Steven’s eyes lingering a little longer than usual when you passed a baby stroller on the street, his lips parting in quiet awe when a toddler giggled at him in the grocery store. You noticed the way he hesitated in the baby aisle at Target, fingers brushing over the tiny socks like they were made of gold, and how he always seemed to pause when flipping through a magazine that happened to have an article about parenting.

At first, you thought it was nothing.

But then, you caught him staring at an IKEA catalog, completely ignoring the ‘practical storage solutions’ section he usually obsessed over. His focus? A nursery setup, all soft blues and yellows, tiny bookshelves filled with plush animals, and a crib that looked like it had been handcrafted by angels.

“Oh, no,” you muttered under your breath.

Steven Grant had baby fever.

And Steven Grant was very, very good at getting what he wanted.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before. The idea of a little one running around, a mix of you and them, was… sweet. But this was not something you could decide on impulse.

And Marc? Marc was a hard no.

"We are absolutely not ready for a baby," he told you one night, arms crossed over his chest like a barrier between him and the conversation. "We have too much going on. Too many risks. Too much shit we still need to work through."

His voice was firm, but there was something in his eyes—fear. Not of being a father, necessarily, but of bringing a child into his world, a world that was dangerous, unpredictable.

Jake? Well.

"¿Un bebé, huh?" He tilted his head, assessing you with that sharp, knowing look. "I mean… It’s a big thing, mi vida. We’d have to be sure. Really sure. But…" A slow smirk spread across his face. "I'd be lying if I said I didn’t like the idea of a little one calling me ‘papá’ someday."

That left you in the middle of a tug-of-war you weren’t prepared for.

On one side, Steven and his dangerously persuasive pout.

On the other, Marc’s logic and fear.

And in between? Jake, who was probably enjoying this chaos a little too much.

It all came to a head one Saturday afternoon when you and Steven went to the park.

It was meant to be a simple outing—fresh air, a walk, maybe some ice cream. But then, Steven saw them.

The kids.

Toddlers chasing after bubbles, little ones waddling unsteadily across the grass, tiny hands reaching for their parents’ fingers. A dad lifted his giggling daughter into the air, spinning her around before settling her onto his shoulders.

Steven didn’t say anything.

He just looked.

And when you turned to him, his eyes were soft, filled with something deep and yearning.

"Love," he murmured, barely audible. "Can you imagine it? A little one. Someone to love, to protect… to teach about ancient Egypt and proper museum cataloging, of course."

You snorted, nudging him. "Because that's exactly what kids want to learn about."

"They should," he huffed playfully, but then, more seriously, "I just… I think about it a lot, yeah? I know it’s not simple, but I want that with you. I do."

You exhaled slowly, heart squeezing at the way he looked at you—like you were the whole damn universe.

"Steven…"

And then—

"Absolutely not."

Marc’s voice. Sharp. Unyielding. He was at the front now, pulling Steven back like a parent snatching a kid away from the edge of a cliff.

Steven groaned, rolling his eyes. "Marc—"

"No."

"Marc, c'mon, mate, it’s not like I’m asking for one right this second—"

"You're looking at car seats like you're about to shove one in our shopping cart."

Steven huffed. "That's exaggerating."

"It's not. Y/N, back me up here." Marc turned to you, arms crossed.

You hesitated. "Well… I mean…"

Steven’s eyes snapped to you, hopeful.

Marc’s narrowed.

You sighed. "Marc, I get it. I do. But…" You glanced at Steven, the sheer want in his expression making your stomach flip. "It’s not crazy to think about, is it?"

Marc groaned, rubbing his face. "Christ."

"See?" Steven beamed. "Not crazy."

"Not crazy," Marc muttered. "Just—fuck, okay, hypothetically—"

Steven’s eyes lit up.

"—if we ever did this, we’d need to be prepared. We’d need to think about safety. Logistics. The reality of it."

"Of course," Steven agreed immediately.

"And—"

"Ah, mierda, just give in already."

Jake.

"Jake." Marc’s voice was warning.

Jake just laughed, low and easy. "C’mon, hermano. You know you’re picturing it now."

"I’m not," Marc snapped, then scowled. "Okay, maybe a little."

Jake smirked.

Steven grinned.

Marc sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Fuck."

That night, you and Steven curled up together on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, his arms snug around you.

"You really want this, don’t you?" you murmured, fingers threading through his curls.

Steven pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. "More than anything, love."

You swallowed hard, leaning into him. Maybe… maybe this was something you could want.

Much later, when things turned heated—when Steven had you pressed against the mattress, murmuring sweet, desperate things against your skin—he whispered, "Y'know, practice makes perfect."

You flicked his forehead.

"Ow!"

"You're impossible."

"Yeah, but you love me."

You rolled your eyes, laughing breathlessly. "God help me, I do."

#steven grant x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight #marc spector x reader #Jake Lockley #jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #oscar isaac characters

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spicyraeman · 1 year ago

Note

How do you suppose fat would actually appear on Gith? They sort of have that Shrinkwrapping thing with their skin so tight over their muscles and bones.

Especially if we're looking at your lovely flat ladies, because that takes away really the only conical fat deposit we can see.

Like what does soft, retired Lae look like? Or slow-moving scholar Xan?

I've been thinking about this since you sent this (a couple weeks ago whoops sry) and I think I've landed on that their shrink-wrapped muscle appearance is probably more from their intense physical training in childhood and lack of need to eat in the astral plane than any sort of genetic disposition to skinniness.

So if you took a Gith and put them in a situation that removed them from those factors they would gain weight like an average human, which actually leans into my headcanon that Lae’zel gains a bit of weight throughout the game.

Not anything particularly drastic, just a healthy layer of fat, no less muscle, and in fact probably stronger muscle now that it has something to sustainably run on. Id like to think a retired post game Lae would look pretty similar, maybe a teeny bit less muscle because she's not actively fighting every day, but I can't imagine she'd let herself get too soft

As for Xan i've always been partial to him becoming a collage of lore bard after hearing about all the tadfools adventures, so he's definitely on the softer side. Tall and lanky when he gets older but never really growing out of his baby fat

#asks #bg3 #lae'zel #bg3 xan #you'd think the thing that took the longest about this post would be the art #but alas my brain is as smooth as a marble and coming up with coherent thoughts took far longer

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catbowserauthor · 15 days ago

Text

2003 Raph Diagnosis

I went back and forth on Raph for a long time. I did consider a few diagnoses for him but here’s the thing—he doesn’t meet criteria for any of them. Either he doesn’t have all the symptoms or the symptoms he displays resolve.

See, a huge difference I noticed between Raph and his brothers is that the effects of what they’ve gone through don’t stick around with Raph like they do his siblings. Naturally, I started to consider why.

Simply put, Raph has more of what we call resilience than his siblings. Resilience in terms of psychology means that he bounces back and adapts to change readily.

Does this mean he didn’t have a reaction to the trauma they went through? Not at all. But Raph’s responses are receptive to change.

After they’re forced out of New York and his brother is hurt, Raph weeps (with support) and expresses his anger. He also devotes himself to helping his brother in a very productive way; they fix his swords together and discuss what happened while they do so (though we only see some of this). They PROCESS it.

After the battle on Ch’rell’s ship, Raph once again expresses his rage but then finds a productive means of healing—in this case, he steps into the leadership role Leo is struggling with and becomes a voice of reason for his brothers.

His means of helping are directly connected to outcomes of the trauma. This allows for continued processing of emotion even when it doesn’t feel like it. Raph is able to really accept and handle all the emotions their crazy lives give them.

Important to remember not everyone exposed to trauma gets #PTSD or a long trauma response. Only about 17%. Raph appears to fall outside that statistic, surprisingly.

As odd as it might seem to say, I think Raph’s anger served as a protective factor for him and I’ll tell you why:

Anger and Sadness are alarm emotions. Part of their purpose is to alert our support systems when we need help. Sadness is a much more subtle alarm but anger is loud and blaring.

Because people know Raph has temper, when his alarm goes off, they respond. When Raph is struggling, he has the support to work through things. Raph is also practical—not logical, but practical. Once his anger is spent, he’s the first to identify what needs to happen. Even if he doesn’t like it. I think we see this especially true in Season 4 when he realizes Leo isn’t at his best so he chooses to step up.

Another thing worth mentioning—Raph’s anger gets noticeably better as the series goes. Part of this is due to gaining more supports (Casey, Mrs. Morrison, Angel, etc), part of it is by gaining more coping skills (knitting especially forces him to slow down and be calm) but also he grows. While we don’t know how old the turtles are in the beginning, most series start them around 15.

Hormones are absolutely insane during puberty and I doubt that’s different for mutant turtle boys. The earlier ages of puberty are often the hardest as the body tries to figure out a balance, leading to outbursts or shorter tempers being more frequent. I think a lot of Raph’s earlier, more intense, anger can definitely have some influence from hormones. Some boys are more sensitive to it or they produce more. As Raph matures and grows, that naturally mellows out.

Lastly, let’s address the elephant in the room. The pipe vs Mikey incident. I think this is one of those blind rage situations where a perfect storm of circumstances came together—given we never see Raph have an outburst like that again. So let’s see:

—just lost his home he had from childhood (and presumably a lot of sentimental items)

—had his family attacked

—emerged topside for the first time since childhood, with separation from his father during this mess

—is in early/mid puberty with no support aside from his brothers and father

—is most likely feeling powerless given recent events

I think Mikey’s taunting was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back with a whole bunch of pressure that had been building up. And he actually handles the aftermath pretty well.

We see immediate regret, removing himself from the situation and he actually gains a confidante in Casey Jones that serves him through the rest of the series! And seeing Casey Jones demonstrating the kind of behavior Raph knows he has. Having to see it I think really drives home that motivation for Raph to improve.

And he does. He grows, uses coping skills, learns to reach out to his family (in his own way) and while he remains hotheaded and impulsive, it’s manageable.

So, would I give Raph a diagnosis? Truthfully…no. In order to have a mental health diagnosis, it has to be interfering negatively in your life and by the end of the series, Raph pretty much has his stuff handled.

Could he still benefit from some impulsivity therapy and development of coping skills, maybe a little more anger management? Yeah, but it’s not to a clinically significant level.

Raph gets V codes! (Or Z codes if you’re outside the USA)

What the heck are V codes, you ask?

V codes are indicators of something a client is working on but it’s not severe enough for a full blown diagnosis. So, things like siblings issues, housing issues, some need of more coping skills etc.

We’re going to assume Raph is self pay so I don’t HAVE to give a diagnosis (Yes, some insurances require this and it is one of the reasons why diagnosis of ‘mood disorder unspecified’ exists)

FINAL DIAGNOSIS:

V61.8 Sibling Relational Problem, High Expressed Emotion Level Within Family

V62.4 Target of (Perceived) Adverse Discrimination or Persecution

V62.89 Victim of Terrorism or Torture

V62.22 Exposure to Disaster, War, or Other Hostilities

V15.49 Other Personal History of Psychological Trauma

#tmnt #2003 tmnt #tmnt 2003 #Raph is surprisingly well-adjusted #go figure

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infiniteeight8 · 3 months ago

Note

Steter Prompt because I'm terrible at smut myself : Stiles drunkenly bets he can take Peter in his Beta form and Peter takes him up on it.

Bonus points if certain things are bigger in Beta mode 😉😏

I went with established relationship smut because it made the set up easier. 😀 I also skip over or abbreviate some things I’d normally write out, because I am trying not to let every fill go past 300 words. I mean, I failed, but if I hadn’t this would be even longer! 😂

Warning for drunk sex. They are both drunk, they’re both into it, but it’s a thing.

“I bet I could take you,” Stiles says with all the confidence of the totally plastered.

Peter, none too sober thanks to the wolfsbane laced wine he’s been drinking all evening, scoffs. “In beta form? Have you forgotten the claws and the fangs and the speed and the strength and the healing factor?”

Stiles leers at Peter. “I didn’t say in a fight.”

It takes a minute for that to process in Peter’s liquor soaked brain. When it does he smirks and runs a slow look over Stiles. “Oh, you think so, do you?”

“Yeah, I do think so,” Stiles announces.

Twenty minutes later, he’s feeling a lot less confident, no matter how long Peter spent fingering him. Peter’s cock is much bigger in beta form, and that is absolutely not the beer goggles talking.

Peter stretches, gives his hips a little shimmy, and smirks. “Give up?”

Well, if he’d been close before, he sure wasn’t now. “Hell, no,” Stiles blusters. He shoves Peter so that he flops down onto his back on the bed and crawls over him. “You stay right there, I’m taking this at my own pace.”

Peter snickers, but obligingly folds his hands behind his head. Stiles positions himself over Peter’s cock and slowly, slowly lowers himself down.

The first breach isn’t too bad. Peter is thicker, yeah, but he’d also worked Stiles open very thoroughly on his fingers and Stiles is dripping with lube. Eyes closed, focusing on his breathing, Stiles inches downward. And downward. His thighs are burning, and it feels like Peter’s cock goes on forever. By the time he finally comes to a careful rest across Peter’s hips, Stiles feels like he ought to be able to taste Peter’s cock. He’s stuffed to the absolute brim, so full he’s already feeling zings of pleasure from where Peter is pressed up against his prostate.

Prying his eyes open, Stiles grins triumphantly at Peter. “Told you!” he crows.

“I’m very impressed,” Peter says, a little breathless. He moves his arms behind his head and lays his hands on Stiles’s hips. “Mind if I help you with the ride?”

Considering how Stiles’s thighs are aching… “Not too fast.”

“Oh, not to worry,” Peter says, beta eyes flaring brighter. “I want to enjoy this.”

Stiles moans as Peter lifts him, then cries out as his weight pulls him down onto Peter again. God, the size of it, Stiles gets the feeling of fullness and the shock of a thrust. He moves as much as he can with his tired legs and with Peter’s help Stiles is soon bouncing on his dick, moaning almost continuously.

“You are fucking perfect,” Peter groans, thrusting his hips up even as he pulls Stiles down.

“I’m gonna remember you said that,” Stiles gasps. They’re moving faster now, skin slapping together loudly, the waves of pleasure almost continuous, and fuck, they have to do this again, Stiles has never felt anything like it, and the prick of Peter’s claws in his hips only makes it better.

Peter comes with a roar, pulling Stiles down onto him hard. Stiles grinds down desperately and tips over into his own climax with a wail.

Still sitting astride Peter, his heart pounding, Stiles has to laugh.

“What?” Peter demands.

It takes Stiles a minute to get it out: “What do you think the neighbours made of those sex noises?”

Peter laughs even louder than Stiles.

#Steter #ficlet

94 notes · View notes

live-laugh-lenney · 8 days ago

Text

LOCKED IN | ARTHUR FREDERICK

chapter seven is yours! i've got lots going on, at the moment, hence the very small hiatus i took for a couple of weeks. work has been a bitch and there's some stuff going on in my personal life that has kept me from being here. but we're back with the series! lots going on in my drafts, at the moment, too. and i'm hoping to get them all finished and out after this series has been completed... including a new chaptered arthurtv fic. feedback is always welcomed and my inbox is always open so please, please, please don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts on the story. enjoy! x

- C H A P T E R S E V E N -

Breakfast.

It was always a chaotic start to any day when it came to making the first meal of the day. Those that were up and dressed, and ready with far too much energy coursing their body at the start of the day, would congregate in the kitchen to make breakfast for the rest of the house to feast upon. And this morning, Darkest and YN were the first ones ready. And, with the help of Jemel shouting orders from the other room and Spuddz speaking in sign language because he’d set himself a challenge on not speaking for the day, they got to work on making omelettes for the house.

Omelettes with cheese, omelettes with ham, omelettes with both cheese and ham… because the ingredient list was lacking and they could only do so much with what they had in the fridge and in the cupboards.

Where Darkest was on egg duty, and had done expertly well in cracking the shells and emptying the contents into the measuring jug in front of him, YN was on chopping and prepping duty. Grating cheese and slicing the ham, ready to tip into the pan when the eggs were partially done on one side, prepping each one individually for people to come and grab as they walked by.

Everyone’s mugs were out on the kitchen island and waiting for them to be filled with either orange juice, a cup of tea or a cup of coffee. A box of teabags placed alongside a jar of coffee, the orange juice kept in the fridge to keep it chilled, spoons set alongside their mugs in case they needed them.

All YN could think about was consuming another good, warm and ‘perfected to the taste’ cup of tea that morning - which was something she definitely couldn’t live without. Her day would always start with a cup of tea, whether it be with her breakfast or to take back to bed on a Sunday morning where she would recuperate and take things slow, and her day would always end with a cup of tea (decaf, of course, she wouldn’t consider herself a lunatic who drank caffeine before bed), whether it be one she took to bed when reading a good book or whilst she took a seat and caught up on the television she had missed over the course of the last few evenings when she’d been hunched over her laptop in her office and editing and scheduling videos to post on her Youtube the following day.

When she’d woken up that morning, after feeling a soft nudge to her shoulder, the first thing she was greeted with was two steaming cups of tea in Arthur’s hands. One for himself and one for her, which she found adorably sweet and she couldn’t believe it when she realised he had remembered what she told him on the first day they entered. “You’ll always find me with a cup of tea in the morning.” She vividly remembered saying it to him, with every single morning to follow being started with a cup of warm liquid that she savoured till the last drop. A kiss to her cheek that came with it after he had sat down on her bed and passed it over to her, surprisingly good for his first time making her one

Her day never felt complete without one.

“I have a weird feeling about today, you know?”

YN looked up from the chopping board and glanced at Darkest, “how so?”

“I don’t know. There hasn’t been a major twist yet. No shock factor to the show,” he explained, using a spatula to flip over the seventh omelette he had sizzling in the pan on the hob, “something’s coming. We’re at day seven of this season now. There has to be something that’ll change the dynamic of what’s going on here.”

And YN, too, had a weird feeling.

Everything seemed to be going almost too well in the house; the morale was high, there seemed to be no tension in the house, everyone was laughing with everyone, there were no arguments and everyone was feeling a lot more comfortable now that a week had passed. They were sharing stories about the most personal moments in their lives, throwing banter between themselves, feeling as if they were the only people still alive on earth. And it was evidently clear that things were deepening between her and Arthur and they were slowly making progress with one another… so, it was almost like she knew that something was going to come along and ruin the peace they had going.

It was never going to be easy-breezy, straight through to the final day, without a single bump in the road.

She didn’t want to agree verbally with Darkest, and she chose to keep her feelings private, but she was very much sitting in the same boat as him.

“Let’s not manifest it,” YN laughed softly, “if you don’t speak it into existence, it’ll never happen.”

Once omelette number eleven had been made to perfection, which was going to be YN’s omelette because she was kind enough to let everyone go ahead of her, and once all the utensils were soaking in hot water in the kitchen soak, she took a seat next to Arthur and reached for the tomato sauce sitting beside the salt and pepper grinders in the middle of the table.

“What do you think?” She asked him, looking at his half finished omelette and watching as he took food off of the fork in his hand, a grin on her face when he chewed and swallowed, “good? What one did you get?”

“Really good,” he smiled, placing his knife and fork down on the tabletop, “I think I got cheese and ham. There’s definitely some ham in there and I can taste some cheese sprinkled in there. Well done, you.”

“Not me you need to thank. You can’t fault Darkest and his culinary skills today. I just prepped the fillings, he did the rest,” YN grinned widely and looked over at Darkest, a tea-towel draped around his neck and hanging over his shoulders, “think he did amazingly, considering he’s never cooked a meal before in his life. So he says.”

“I haven’t,” he clarified, his ears pricking up once he realised he was being spoken about, and nodded, “I think we make good chefs, YN. Gordon Ramsey will be quaking in his boots.”

“We’ll be seeing you on Celebrity Masterchef soon,” YN teased and his eyes widened, pointing at her in amazement, “I can see that. Gone from barely cooking himself a meal to winning Masterchef. I’ll be your number one supporter.”

Laughter filled the room and she felt Arthur’s hand resting upon her thigh underneath the table, the warm pads of his fingertips squeezing at the flesh of her leg, a tingle sitting in her belly. And it amazed her at how his arm fell so casually to her thigh, like it was something that happened so frequently and happened to be a common movement he made around her, no thought behind it yet it was something she thought about all the time.

And in that moment, she was gone. Butterflies erupting in her belly and it wasn’t because of the omelette she was enjoying. Her legs wobbling like jelly underneath his touch because it was delicate and soft and the feeling, alone, had her wanting to feel it just a little bit more. Heart-eyes bulging, metaphorically, from their sockets as she settled her mind on just what was happening.

Smitten, was the word she would describe herself as.

Absolutely smitten for him.

There was no way that what was happening between them, from the cheeky glances she could feel when she was going about her day in the house to how she would make eye contact with him when she found herself looking for him to how he was the first face she saw when she woke up in the mornings and how he was always looking at her when she woke from her night’s slumber with a sleepy smile on his lips.

And, really?

She was looking forward to pursuing her feelings just a little further and testing the waters on just what the future held for the both of them.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Housemates, please report to the Challenge Area.”

For the sixth time that week, and like clockwork, the whole group of them rushed and bundled their way into the four grey, empty walls of the so-called Challenge Area. No one had any idea about what was about to happen once the door closed, without an inkling of a hint all but a screen to explain what they were about to be challenged with, and they situated themselves down in their given teams as they awaited the rules of the next game.

“In teams, housemates will go head to head in answering the same questions,” Anastasia read from the screen, “if the teams give the correct answer, they will all be given one point,” she concluded.

This one felt easy, YN thought to herself, and she knew she just had to follow her gut instinct when answering because it was a 50-50 win, either way.

There was no way she was letting the other team come out on top of this challenge - she needed those points to gain a little more leverage on the leaderboard and lift herself from the bottom and back to the middle of the table. And part of her wanted to beat Arthur, the competitive streak in her finding an outlet because as happy as she was when he won, she wanted to experience the feeling of being a winner.

“Mr Beast has seventy-three point eight million subscribers. Are Ed Sheeran’s monthly listeners on Spotify higher or lower?”

YN read the question from the screen before everyone, almost immediately turning to her team - Jamie, Jemel, Anastasia, Johnny and Darkest - with an answer she was pretty confident on.

“I’m pretty sure it’s higher,” she whispered to her team, “fairly certain I saw something similar to this on Twitter before I came in here.”

“Are you sure?” Jamie asked, crouching down, with the rest of the boys, to a level where they could all whisper and still hear one another, “seventy-three point eight is a massive number.”

“It’s not a huge gap between the two numbers but he’s got about another half a million more listeners than Mr Beast has subscribers. At least, that is what I read,” YN confirmed, nodding alongside her answer, “I’m confident enough.”

“We’re trusting you,” Jemel teased, standing back up straight and resting his hands on YN’s shoulders, squeezing them gently before raising an arm up to signify their answer, “we’re saying higher, locked in.”

The waiting killed her.

Her knee was bouncing up and down with nerves, her stomach felt like it had dropped to the floor and she could feel the shaking of her hands as she prayed she was correct and didn’t make herself look like a fool in front of her team. She was confident enough, she hoped.

When the room flashed green and she read the word ‘higher’, she cheered and pushed her arms into the air. Congratulations and well done’s were said above her, a squeeze of her shoulder from the guys behind her, and she exchanged a little cuddle into Anastasia’s side as they revelled in their win and their prize of one point.

“Anastasia has one point three million subscribers,” Steph read, cheering and pointing at the girl on the opposite bench to her, “is the population of Birmingham higher or lower?”

Both teams hushed up and they conferred with each other.

“Lower, locked in,” Arthur spoke into the room, bringing YN’s team out of their discussion, his fingers pointing down.

“Higher, locked in,” Jemel spoke for the blue team, pointing towards the ceiling above them.

This one had their brains racking. Neither of them on YN’s team knew what the answer was going to be, throwing around different thoughts but barely settling on a definitive answer, this one being a throw away answer and one that they didn’t care if they got wrong because they weren’t sure to begin with.

But when they saw ‘lower’ on the screen, their heads rolled back in annoyance.

“I wish I had more subscribers than the city of Birmingham,” Anastasia murmured jokingly, feigning sadness before she cracked a smile, “but one million is still crazy to me. I can’t lie about that.”

Hearing his name being called when he was at his most comfiest - almost asleep as he laid flat out on his bed with his pillow squashed up between his cheek and the mattress beneath him, arms folded beneath it, with YN sat beside him as she held a gentle conversation with Jemel about his life outside the house - felt like a kick in the teeth. His eyes were sore, stinging from the lack of sleep and the desire to close his eyes for just a moment to give him a break from the bright lights around him, and it took a lot of willpower to tear himself from the warmth of her side and down the hallway to the tiny room set up for the one-to-one interviews in front of the camera.

“This better be worth it,” Arthur grumbled as he slipped through the door, digging his fingers into his eyes to rid the sleep that was clinging to his eyelids, “I’m so tired, my god.”

He situated himself down in the chair, adjusting the hoodie over his head and pulling the sleeves over his hands, crossing a leg over his other.

“Good afternoon, ArthurTV.”

“I don’t even know what time is anymore,” he informed the camera, “time is non-existent here. I was about to go to sleep and you’re telling me it’s only the afternoon?”

“Only the afternoon,” Sugarlips clarified, “how are you enjoying your time here?”

“It’s been a lot of fun, yeah. We’re all a lot more comfortable with each other, too, so we’re delving into conversations that are a lot deeper than we’d have thought we’d go when we first met,” Arthur said, nodding alongside his words, “although, there are moments where we’re clashing and almost butting heads. We’re tired, we're bored, we’re getting on each others’ nerves because we’re around each other twenty-four seven so it’s bound to happen. We work things out though.”

“Who are you closest to in the house?”

Arthur cackled hoarsely and leant back in his chair.

“I’m probably closest to Jokeman, you know? I-”

There was a robotic cough that came from the camera before him, a choked out ‘bullshit’ that followed, and his eyes widened. Taken aback, pink forming on his cheeks, and he laughed nervously whilst bringing his hand to the nape of his neck, rubbing his skin up and down in a way to keep his emotions at bay.

Of course, he wanted to scream about how he was feeling from the rooftop. Because he was bursting at the seams to relieve his inner-most thoughts about the situation he was in, wanting to express what the hell was going on in his mind because he’d never experienced such a scenario before and he never expected something like this to happen when he signed up for the show… he just wanted a little boost into his career as a Youtuber, he wasn’t hoping to find someone of the opposite sex whom he gelled so well with and had hopes for better things to happen when they walked out the front door when their time on the show came to an end.

But he was more respectful because he knew YN was reserved in what was happening. She was worried about what people were going to say, scared to hear what the outside world thought of them, and he didn’t want to feed into that. He understood her feelings, understood she wanted to take it slow because, deep down, so did he.

“Okay, you got me there,” he covered his face with his palms and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, “Jokeman is up there though. But, it’s YN, isn’t it? You want me to say YN.”

“We’re not forcing your hand into saying anything, Arthur Television,” Sugarlips clarified but Arthur cocked an eyebrow up in the direction of the camera, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips, “but you can’t lie when there are cameras in almost every room.”

“I’m not denying anything,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously and held his hands up in defence, “if you know the answer then why did you ask the question?”

“You got us there,” the robotic voice retorted back to him in a mimicking tone and he wondered, in the depths of his brain, why on earth he was biting back at someone who was clearly fishing for content for the show on the other end of the microphone, “we’re expecting a thank-you for this.”

“Oh, you’ll be invited to the wedding,” Arthur smiled widely, his cheeks pinking up at the curve of his cheekbones, “but, yes. YN is the one I’m closest to in this house. I’m always looking for her when I’m bored. I feel better around her, a lot more comfortable when she’s in the room. And I think we bring out the best in each other.”

“Everyone on the outside is really loving the chemistry between the two of you, a lot of people rooting for a good outcome,” Sugarlips explained, “how does that make you feel?”

“It makes me feel good. Really good,” Arthur nodded, “I never came looking for such a connection with someone else in here. I told myself that the friends I made along the way were just a bonus to the situation I’ve been thrown into, but YN’s really become something special. I think we’d have met in the future, with the jobs we have, but the opportunity now has been eye-opening for me. I’m going to tell her what the outsiders are saying. She needs her mind to be put at ease.”

“If everyone could just,” she stretched her arms out to prevent anyone from walking passed her and carried on walking, ushering people back into the kitchen area and out of sight from the lounge area, “if you could all stay in here and not come out until we say so, that would lovely, thank you.”

“Why?”

“We’re planning something,” Darkest grinned, rubbing his hands together in a mocking and evil way and stepped backwards out of the room with his eyes wildly diverting between everyone to warn them not to even think about following him, “don’t come in, don’t even think about looking. Just stay in here. We won’t be long.”

The door closed for a moment and the nine of them were left wondering, discussing, throwing around what one earth the two of them could be doing that required a room to themselves and all of them not to take a peek at what they were doing. Someone suggested a dance that they were making up to entertain the rest of them. Someone suggested a made-up story that they were planning on telling everyone. Someone assumed it was for a challenge they’d been given and suggested that they had to do something stupid before the whole group to grab themselves three points. Someone even joked around and said they just wanted some time to themselves without being interrupted but they knew that was nonsense… god bless her boyfriend on the outside.

So when Steph opened the door and revealed the secret that her and Darkest had planned, YN didn’t know what to say.

Before the ten of them, the lounge room had been given a makeover.

Two of the three sofas had been pushed together, to form a square-shaped and makeshift bed, with a white sheet tucked across the seat cushions. A few Haribo love hearts had been placed in sporadic positions, almost like they’d been thrown from across the room, and there were glasses of an almost-pink fizz that was bubbling away in champagne flutes.

Anisa stood behind YN and gave her elbows a squeeze, a cheeky grin on her face as she urged her to keep stepping forward into the room, Anastasia glancing over every so often to grab looks at just how in awe the girl was of the space before her. Arthur cautiously followed close behind and stepped into the room, practically beside YN, and he felt his cheeks flushing pink at the effort they’d gone through to create a space so cosy and romantic looking.

“What’s this?”

Steph pushed a glass full of drink into YN’s hand, claiming it was ‘lady’s first’ and she smiled as YN took it from her hand to take a quick sip of the fizzy liquid, passing the second glass over to Arthur who took it from her hand and took a swig.

“Well, you two seemed to spend a lot of time together recently,” Darkest started, stretching out his arms in a fashion that showed off the room before them, “and we know that we’ve been taking the piss out of it and teasing you both about liking one another which, by the way, is very obvious and you should do something about that,” he continued, a smirk on his lips as he watched the two of them try to shy away from the conversation, “we made this room all romantic for you so that we could actually force something to happen between the two of you.”

“Stop it,” Arthur whispered under his breath, looking at YN as she looked back at him, “can you believe-”

“Don’t deny it, Mister Television,” Steph laughed at him, “we’ve seen you guys all day today. The little looks you give each other, the gentle touches, the hugs. Heck, I even saw you kiss her cheek at breakfast when you gave her a cup of tea. You might as well just smooch and make it official for us to celebrate.”

“You guys are so fixated on this right now. We’re not an episode of Eastenders,” YN informed them, shaking her head and taking another sip of the drink in her hand and she popped a smile on her lips, “but this is cute. Real cute.”

“Plus, we all need a pick-me-up since Jemel left so,” Steph shrugged her shoulders and began ushering people out of the room, “this is keeping us all distracted. We’ll be thinking, all night, about you both and whether you’re enjoying our set up, and not how we’ve just lost someone from the house.”

“This really is actually so sweet of them,” YN whispered softly, adjusting her position on the two sofas pushed together and laying her head back against the pillow, watching as Arthur took off his cap and set it on the side. His hair was tousled, and he had a bad case of hat-hair, but YN found it endearing. His fringe being messed by the peak of his cap, sticking in all directions, and it made him ten times more irresistible to her than before. “I guess we can’t keep denying it now.”

“I guess not,” he laughed, “were we that obvious to people?”

“Clearly,” YN snorted, “I guess they saw through all of the constant denial.”

“I tried so hard to make it less obvious that I had a little something more than just liking you as a friend,” he admitted shyly, “I was just hoping we could get by in here, become good friends, and then maybe try something more on the outside but-”

“But here we are,” she smiled, sitting up and twisting in her place to face him, crossing her legs and clasping her hands in her lap, “we might as well entertain it for them here. Not that I want us to be exploited for humour and content but we can always do something more private on the outside.”

“I was ready to go to bed,” he said, leaning back against his pillow and resting his arms behind his head, “I’m so tired, my eyes are stinging.”

“You’re telling me,” she snickered, “I’m not struggling to sleep at all but, at the same time, I am struggling. It’s like my brain is blocking me from getting too comfortable in this place. Like, I’m such a slob at home and I’ll just chuck my clothes anywhere in my bedroom and leave dirty pants and socks on the floor and such and I feel like I just can’t be myself outside of my front door.”

“Oh, my god,” he scoffed and shook his head with a smile on his lips, “I’m the complete opposite. I’m a clean freak so everything has to be in order before I even think of going to sleep. I’m struggling to sleep in here because of the people. The ones that snore and the ones that sleep talk. God, I’m such a light sleeper and it’s such a curse.”

“I don’t snore, do I?”

He shook his head.

“No, you’re quite silent. And you’re very pretty when you sleep,” he admitted shyly, “not that I watch you or anything but it’s kind of hard not to when you have the bed next to me and- that still makes me sound weird-”

“You just keep digging the hole that makes you look even more creepy,” YN joked and he groaned and covered his face with his hands, “I’m just kidding, you donut. If it helps and makes us even, you’re quite pretty when you sleep, too.”

“I wish they gave us some notice or something,” Arthur hummed, bringing his hands down from his face yet there was still some discolouration in his cheeks from their usual pale look with a deep pink taking its place across the stretch across his nose, “I could have been more prepared.”

“Yeah, I could have topped up my make-up, done my hair. Made an effort,” she claimed, “could have dressed up instead of appearing in shorts and a jumper.”

“You look lovely, regardless,” he smiled softly, “I don’t think they were planning on telling us their scheming plans for our secret ‘date’.”

He used his fingers to indicate quotation marks around the word and her head dropped down to look at her lap, a grin bursting to appear on her lips.

A date.

Even if it was just something of a joke to the rest of the house, it felt (almost) real to her.

And she would have considered it a real date, their first date, had it not been for the cameras recording and collecting content for those on the outside and the listening ears of the nine other housemates waiting to hear the gossip and the juicy details of what had happened without them.

She felt comfortable around him.

And if it wasn’t for the cameras around them, and the listening ears of those housemates waiting outside the room to have insider knowledge, she would have opened up a lot more to him than she had done. Being around Arthur made time pass by in the blink of an eye. What felt like half an hour had been a good two hours and it brought great annoyance to the two of them when they were interrupted by the ping of a comment appearing on the screen - that time had come again and YN wasn’t sure what she was expecting this time around - and a bombardment of people flocking through the door as their little ‘date’ had been interrupted at the worst possible time.

The small space where the sofas had been pushed together were now full of people slouching over the cushions, squashing YN’s legs as the girls laid across her space and making the large room feel small to her, the boys leaning against the backs of the furniture but some seemingly finding comfort in the corners.

‘FootAsylum, can you send Arthur and YN on a date’

“Already happened thanks to us,” Steph grinned at the camera and wrapped her arm around Darkest’s neck, pulling him close and offering his fist for a fistbump, the two of them glaring into the camera with prideful looks upon their faces, “you’re welcome, YN and Arthur lovers. Giving you what you wanted.”

‘Loving the bromance between Jokeman and Arthur-’

“Yes, my brother,” Jokeman cheered and walked towards Arthur who was laid upon the sofa, leaning over the back and squeezing his shoulders, “although, it’s starting to get a little crowded in this little circle so I’m willing to step back for my lovely girl to have you all to herself…” He gave YN’s hair and ruffle and she pushed him away, playfully, “unless-”

“No, Jokeman,” YN laughed and reached for his hand, “as much as I adore you, two is company and three’s a crowd. Definitely a crowd.”

“Understood,” he smiled and gave her a wink to which she reciprocated, “I’ll have him at weekends. You can have him on weekdays.”

‘Make Johnny take stephtoms on a date I’m sensing the chemistry 👅😂’

“Yes!” YN cheered, thrusting her arms into the air and grinning widely at Johnny before smirking at Steph, “I can repay the favour for this glorious date night that you set up here. We can fixate on you two rather than me and Arthur then. The house’s hottest new couple.”

“Yeah, nope,” Johnny shook his head and stood to his feet, “no offence, Steph.”

“None taken,” she smiled as he walked out the room and YN frowned playfully, “guess we’re living vicariously through you and Arthur when it comes to dates and romance in this house.”

It wasn’t long before everyone was saying goodnight and it wasn’t long before Arthur and YN were left alone, again, in the living room.

Sofas still pushed together and the sheet had been exchanged for the duvet from Arthur’s bed so that they could sleep a little warmer in the lower level of the house, something that Anisa had brought down after everyone had settled down for the night. The lights had been switched off in the entirety of the house, and the lounge room had succumbed to darkness, apart from the tiny red power lights coming from the cameras in the corners of the room. Arthur was standing on the other side of the sofa as the lights had gone out, his t-shirt being chucked onto the floor and his legs shimmying out of his trousers, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor that he would sort out in the morning. There was no way he was rummaging around in the dark when all he wanted was to climb back onto the sofas and crawl under the duvet with the girl he was rather infatuated with.

“Can you see where you’re going?”

“Not at all,” he claimed and as he tried to find the edges of the sofa and attempted to climb over, as his unlucky fate would have it, he stubbed his toe on the foot of the sofa with enough force to give the piece of furniture a jolt and make YN jump as she cosied down beneath his comforter, “fuck.”

A soft giggle escaped her lips as she tried to find him in the dark.

“Are you okay?”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed out tensely and she could hear the pain in the sound that came from within his chest, “that hurt.”

“I would offer to kiss it better but I’m not into that kind of thing,” she teased and he tutted jokingly, “sorry, lovie.”

She felt the weight of his body fall beside her on the sofa cushions and she groaned as he leant on her hair in an attempt to get comfortable in the dark, something he profusely apologised for until he got himself comfortable under the covers, his leg brushing against hers as he stretched out across the expanse of the sofa. And YN couldn’t lie, it felt weird to have someone in such close proximity to her when it was something she’d not experienced in a long while. His body radiating enough heat to keep her warm and she was thankful for the duvet as it trapped it and kept the two of them snug.

She couldn’t lie about how she felt when there were butterflies in her belly from what was happening.

Here they were, in a makeshift bed together after finally coming to terms with how their feelings for each other were just as strong as they both felt for the other, cuddling up under the covers. Her hand fell upon his bare chest, she felt more comfortable on her side and found she had a leg draped over his hips, his arm wrapped tightly around her as he held her close, her head falling perfectly into the space underneath his jawline. He still smelled divine with the lingering scent of an aftershave still clinging to his skin, and she could feel every muscle, every ab, every inhale and exhale of breath that he took rhythmically.

She couldn’t lie about how thankful she was for Steph and Darkest for actually forcing them into initiating something because she realised she made herself look like a fool in her head over heels state for the boy beside her.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, giving him a soft squeeze.

“Goodnight,” he responded, giving her forehead a quick and gentle kiss, “see you in the morning.”

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whatsonmymind03 · 4 months ago

Text

Ko Kyung-Jun x reader: I Love You

———————————————————————

It’s been seven months. Seven months was how long this thing between the two of you has been going on. Seven months may not seem like a long time, but when you’re busy peeling back the layers to one’s heart it can feel like you've been doing that for a very long time.

Seven months of this pushing and pulling between the two of you. You never give up in trying to pull at his heart strings and get him to open himself fully to you. You take what you get from him. Deciding when this all started to let him create the pace. Knowing fully well what would happen if you pushed him too hard. It was difficult having to walk on eggshells most days, but slowly you learned more about him and ever so slightly you began to see changes in him. The effort was paying off. It was a relationship of slow progression, but after the first month you already knew that you had loved him.

You knew he liked you, it was evident and he practically said so as much. And he knew that you liked him back. It was clear in the way you never gave up on him, even when he would ignore you for days. Coming to your doorstep waiting for the day you rightfully shut him out, but that day never came. It was almost like he acted like that on purpose, giving you an easy way out. But something kept drawing the two of you together, and it continued for those seven months.

But what he didn’t know was that you truly loved him. That you dearly loved the boy and wanted to continue learning about him, helping him to want to change on his own. And going at his own pace, following in his slow declaration of acceptance and feelings was fine at first. But now that the love for him was consuming you, your patience was wearing thin. You knew a confession like that from you was bound to have the two of you taking steps backwards, that it wouldn’t be easy at all. You figured he would shut you out, probably yell and get angry, but you hoped that after some time he would come back to you. Letting you run your fingers through his hair and massage his scalp which he let you do on occasion.

Which led you to today. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, making it even worse for him to accept. You wanted to be casual about it, while also ensuring that today would be a day he was in a good mood. And for Kyung-Jun to be in a good mood took a few factors: he didn’t throw any punches at school, his bullying was at a low for the day, he didn’t have an altercation with Hyun-Ho, he didn’t mention anything bad about his home, and he wasn’t more agitated than usual to you because of those factors. And today was one of those days. Which was proof to you that he was changing, and you knew you were part of that reason. He did too.

He was even feeling touchy today. The two of you were practically cuddling on top of your bed as you watched television. It was one of those rare days he let your hand run through his hair, scratching his scalp. And you knew that he relished in the moment as his usual stiffness and tension began to dwindle, letting himself relax into your touch.

And then suddenly the words just tumbled out of your mouth. You always have been impatient in nature. When you wanted something, you often forgot to fully and logically think through things. Which would’ve been helpful today, knowing Kyung-Jun similarly ran on his emotions, namely negative ones.

“I don’t just like you, Kyung-Jun, I think I’m falling in love with you.” It just spilled out. One sentence is not nearly enough to convey the overwhelming feelings you had for him, but it would do for now. It’s been seven months after all.

It was like the T.V. suddenly shut off, or the Earth stopped rotating because you felt his breathing stop and so did yours. You couldn’t feel his breath on your neck anymore from where he was laying, and you even felt his chest against your arm stop rising. And then you added to the growing fire inside him by softly speaking, nearly mumbling,

“…I mean I don’t think. I know that I love you.”

And that was all it took for the dam inside him to break. No extinguisher to take out the flames.

He suddenly sat up. Eyes still glued on the television, practically burning through it. You expected what was to come…

“You can’t.” He simply stated. Finally turning to look at you, he was breathing heavily now like he was about to burst. And yet, his expression wasn’t necessarily angry, it was a mixture of… fear? Sadness? Defeat? You could’ve sworn his eyes looked a bit glassy.

So maybe you weren’t expecting what was to come. Because you hadn’t expected him to look so… hurt. You wanted to suddenly hold him and tell him he deserved this. He deserved your love and he deserved to love.

You reach out a hand as you start to sit up and he swipes it away. Well that you did expect.

And as usual he gets up, grabbing his things and heads for the door. But before he leaves the bedroom door frame completely, you desperately reach out to him with your words, trying to ground him.

“You matter. Let me be the one to prove that to you. I-I want you, all of you. The good and the-“ And you suddenly stop. He turns his body slightly around to look at you. Your heart nearly breaks at the new expression of emptiness on his face. Loss of usual furrowed eyebrows, his lips neither turned up nor down, and then his eyes…

It was almost like he was urging you, pleading with you to finish that sentence. Say that he had “bad” aspects to him and make it easier on both of you to walk away. It was so much more than him being labeled as “bad” because you knew he wasn’t bad inside. He was buried by his insecurities and unresolved traumas, losing himself in the process.

“It’s just good.” You state. “I know you’re just good. It’s deep in here” and you bring up your hand to pat at your heart for emphasis.

He starts to open and close his mouth, unsure what the right insult or negativity he can use to throw at you to make you see this uphill battle of loving him wasn’t worth it.

You thought you were mentally prepared for it, an “I hate you” or a “Stay away from me!” but instead he says,

“You disgust me.”

And what made it worse was that lack of anger and aggression. That you can deal with, knowing it could die down. Instead it was the emptiness, the seriousness of it. Like the very thought of someone loving him was disgusting to him. You felt your throat tighten and the tears start to well in your eyes. It wasn’t just because of what he said to you, but rather the fact that this teenage boy just felt so incapable of being loved.

The front door slams shut. You can still smell his lingering cologne as you lay down and let the tears out.

What’s another seven months?

#go kyung-jun #go kyung-jun x reader #ko kyungjun #ko kyung-jun #kyung-jun #kyungjun #night has come drama #night has come #nhc drama #cha woo-min #cha woomin #kdrama x reader #x reader #fluff #angst #ko kyungjun x reader #ko kyung-jun x reader #kdrama

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43501 · 3 months ago

Note

So I read your Near romance headcanons and can't stop thinking about Near "panicking and shutting down" after his first time having sex, could you talk more about it and about his first time in general?

(I'm loving your headcanons about him♡)

Hey, thank you! I really appreciate it, I put a great deal of thought into them and hope they spark enjoyment (and help people to see my vision of him).

When you think about it, this headcanon is mega variable and not really a "given". It depends on a ton of factors - how long have you been in a relationship at the point it happens? Have you talked about it before? How slow or fast did it go? How old is Near? I think there'd be a difference between 18 year old post-Kira, 21 year old c-Kira, 27 year old a-Kira etc…

No matter what, though, the first time leaves him overwhelmed. Intellectually he understood what to expect, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing and it left him feeling more exposed than he bargained for. Near is a person who struggles to lower his guard. He's also a person accustomed to being in control of his emotions and reactions at all times. Anything that makes him feel not in control makes him anxious (he doesn't tolerate alcohol well for the same reason).

Some free-floating thoughts about (you) and Near's first time below the cut, warning for NSFW text.

You have to lead, this is non-negotiable. He's good at following along and a quick study, but you need to show him the way. There's a sense that he doesn't know exactly what to do - not completely sure where to look or place his hands, what would feel good and when, if he should speak or make any sound. The slight awkwardness is very endearing, though.

Exploring his body is great fun because he's super sensitive in an erogenous way in a lot of places. This is his first time, so neither of you were aware of this until now. Lathing your tongue over his ear or mouthing his neck will earn you the sweetest gasps you've heard in your life. His collarbone, nipples and stomach are also effective areas to kiss (and, I'm sorry to say, his feet if you dare to go down that far and try it someday).

He seems into it, but you know him well at this point and you can tell he's a touch apprehensive. Go as slow as possible and verbally check-in when it seems right, even if it disrupts the mood a little.

He's the type to close his eyes for most of it, a little lost in the sensation. His pale skin flushes easily. In those rare moments where his eyes meets yours, his expression is soft and vulnerable in a way you've never seen it before. It makes your heart clench.

It's best to get him off with your hand or mouth (rushing ahead to full penetration is probably too much for him this time). After the lengthy foreplay he's achingly ready for it and busts in a couple of minutes. As a sidequest, shamelessly slurp up his spunk to make him experience a combination of emotions he's never felt before: "ugh, that's kind of gross" and "that's extremely arousing". The look on his face will be worth it.

For some reason I think he's the type of guy who'll get up and clean off straight away after sex (maybe because I'm fastidious and do this…) so once he's in possession of his faculties again, he excuses himself and leaves for a few minutes. When he returns to your side, it's not a nice, comfortable afterglow - something feels off. He seems out-of-sorts, distracted, providing terse one-word responses when you try to communicate. If you press him for an explanation, he just says he "feels weird" and "can't explain it". The correct thing to do is not take it personally, reassure him and just be patient. If you ask him if he'd like to be left alone, his answer is a definite "no". He wants you to lay beside him and hold his hand, or come closer and cuddle him. This will be one of those nights where he absolutely insists on sleeping with you (he explicitly requests this from time to time, not super often though).

#death note #near #nate river #near x reader #meta

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erodasfishtacos · 5 months ago

Text

Let's Be Alone Together - Trucker!H Prt II

prompt: harry doesnt understand why he asked her to travel with him, why he cares, or why he seems so drawn to a girl who cant stop apologizing and is too kind for her own good.

word count: 3.8k words

warnings: depression, suicidal ideation, lack of resources (food), childhood trauma - this is not a light-hearted read so use caution for yourselves!

author's note:

the first part was posted on tumblr here

there are currently eight more installments of this up on my patreon and still being posted

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

---

YN had laid back down in his bed after they had settled that she would go with him, that neither of them were attached to anyone else in any way, and all this was a bit of company - nothing more, nothing less.

Harry tried to keep his mind blank as he watched the road ahead of him.

It was a slippery slope that typically never led to happy thoughts when he lets himself be alone with them for too long at once.

They would creep in, like slow-cresting waves, and then hit him with the impact of a tsunami.

His body moved in practice, subconscious motions as he shifted gears with ease, flicking the windshield wipers up a notch because this weather was brutal and unrelenting.

Normally, Harry wasn’t concerned about such treacherous conditions where the roads were a sheet of white, snow flurrying rapidly and thick enough the clog the wind streams to make it nearly blinding.

He sickeningly enough enjoyed it because of the risk.

The higher possibility of death.

It was because what was the worst that could happen?

His truck could veer off the road.?

Hydroplane off the asphalt, hitting him into a guardrail, flipping it over until he’s falling down the steep embankment?

He would never want that to happen, only for Birdie’s sake, but if she wasn’t a factor then his answer would be different, most days.

Harry hated to admit that there were more days than not that he thought about how much he wouldn’t mind such a thing to happen to him.

His life had never been easy, it’s why he fled his home when he was sixteen, lied about his age, and had a rough-around-the-edges older man who had hired him for some odd jobs around his mechanics shop taught him everything he needed to know about driving a semi-truck.

And as soon as he could get his commercial license, he found a job that had him driving a truck from one end of the states to the other to deliver furniture from a custom brand out of Canada.

He didn’t mind the job, except for when he was granted his time off.

It was three weeks on, two off, and for people with families, children, it was rigorous schedule but they looked forward to having the extended time to relax at home before another three weeks took them away.

Harry didn’t know what to do with himself for that two weeks.

His bosses had looked at him like he was insane when he asked if he could just not take those two weeks off.

The first time, he came back to his hometown because he didn’t know where else to go, and it hadn’t ended well - he gave his mother too many chances and it resulted in him heading back out onto the road with twelve hundred less dollars in his wallet.

He never went back, left all of his belongings at his childhood home, changed his number so that his mother couldn’t get a hold of him, and cooped up in extended stay hotels wherever he landed for those two weeks.

Occasionally, he would meet a cute girl at the local bar or a waitress at the diner who he would spend a night with.

He really wasn't a one-night-stand guy or just a casual hookup either, but he sought out those women when the thoughts got dark, when the loneliness seemed overwhelming, and he really wasn't seeking out sex as much as he was comfort and intimacy even if just for a few hours.

He never felt enough of a connection with any of them to visit on his next off-time, even if he had promised it a few times to smooth over the hurt he had caused by crushing their hopes of a relationship.

His work paid for his meals during his weeks on, he stayed in cheap hotels, and didn’t spend money on anything except necessities that his company card didn’t cover which led to quite a hefty sum in his bank account.

Enough that he could purchase on his own semi-truck, used and beat to shit, breaking down every couple thousand miles and causing more financial burden than it was worth, but it helped him start his own business.

He had his own transport company now, just his truck and him, nothing fancy or overly complicated.

He could pick and choose his work, always picking the highest paid contracts, and it really made him successful.

Enough so that he could purchase a new, top-of-the-line semi which he reasoned was the best investment because not only was he purchasing his work truck but his home as he would be living out of it.

Ever since he started his own company, with no off time because he had contracts lined up to fulfill for the next year, and then some that never gave him a break - just like he wanted, no time to get too lost in his own miserable shit that he preferred to suppress.

No time off meant no life.

Harry hadn’t chatted anyone up at the bar, hell, he can’t remember the last time that he was even in one.

He can’t remember the last time he had sex either.

At some point, the company of a woman didn't quell those thoughts.

Sex workers knocked on his cabin door quite frequently, his flashy truck drew their attention with the hopes that he would be a generous tipper, but he always shooed them off.

He would be extra pissed if they woke him.

At some point between his first job and now, his depression had worsened to a deeper state than it had ever been in his life.

Life was a routine, monotonous and never-changing, miserable and defeating.

Harry convinced himself he didn’t need people, he only needed the open road and his dog, and that would be enough to suffice.

It was…

Somedays.

But other days (most of them), Harry found this sense of hopelessness, the weird in between where he wouldn’t do anything to end his life, but he wasn’t going to go kicking and screaming if it happened.

This world wasn’t made for him, he had told himself a long time ago.

It was destined to be a path of unhappiness from the moment he was born to the woman his mother was.

Happiness, prosperity, excitement towards life had never been an option when the woman who raised him rejected it all.

Harry couldn’t possibly start to consider his own behaviors of inviting this girl on a five-day trip with him around the country.

He was just being nice, is what he’ll tell himself because he’s fine being alone, really, he is.

It’s been this way for years; this was certainly just a blimp before his life becomes routine again.

Birdie is always sleeping in the passenger seat during the day.

It was weird to look to the side to see the seat empty, the expensive leather worn from the amount of time her lazy ass slept there.

However, Birdie was back with YN, tucked into her like they were the best of friends, and Harry never existed.

Traitor.

Acting as if Harry hadn't nursed her back to health when she was a puppy, too young to be away from her mother, and completely reliant on Harry to survive.

Could fool him.

Harry didn’t even want to acknowledge that Birdie has never taken to another person, ever, like she had with their visitor.

YN must have not slept well for weeks at this point, obvious by the dark circle under her eyes that had been covered with thick concealer when they’d first met.

YN didn't stir from his bed until nearly five in the evening, he had kept the blinds down, and the black-out curtains drawn so that no light was seeping in to disturb her as she slept, making up for lost time.

When YN finally does wake up, after using the bathroom, she pads up to the front of the cabin, and sits in the passenger seat, legs crossed and tucked under her as she glances out the windshield at the snowy mountains ahead of them.

Harry looks over at her, his eyes accidentally falling on her chest before they’re darting back up to her face - she wasn’t looking at him anyways but the henley she was wearing wasn’t the thickest and the pebbling of her nipples was obvious.

“Sleep alright?” Harry asks, eyes already back on the road, with this weather he didn’t have the luxury of not being vigilant.

“Yes, thank you,” YN replies as she curls her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees, and resting her chin on her kneecaps.

Harry just nods, he’s not good at conversation, at one point he was but that was a skill he wasn’t familiar with anymore.

The extent of his communication was over the radio, letting other truckers know that they’re driving like assholes or the customers he had contracts with - that was really it.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, it’s comfortable for Harry but he can tell by the way that YN keeps looking over at him and then out the window, that it wasn’t the same for her as the only noise filtering in was the engine.

“Why don’t you have a home to go back to?” YN’s voice breaks the quiet, her voice is unsure because what were they supposed to being doing on this trip together?

Was YN supposed to keep him company by conversation since her purpose to come wasn’t sex.

Or did Harry just want the physical company?

Just a body in the seat, nothing more than that.

“Why don’t you?” Harry replies in a terse tone, it was defensive because he didn’t talk about his past, to anyone, fucking ever.

He felt emotion when he thought about what his home used to be.

It trudges up anger, helplessness, desperation.

All things that his depression helped him ignore.

He isn’t an open book, the most binded close, lock-protected type because he wasn’t going to share anything that made him vulnerable, weak, and the only thing that got him to the point was recalling what a shitty childhood he had.

Shitty was an understatement.

Harry feels instant regret for his choice of words when YN flinches at his response back, arms coming to wrap around her knees a bit tighter, and that has him cursing himself out in his mind.

He didn’t want YN to be scared of him, he could tell she was already a jumpy thing which most likely came with the required hypervigilance of the work that she does, and he doesn’t want her to have to feel that way with him.

“I’m sorry,” YN apologizes, a nervousness in her voice as she positions her body more towards the door, and away from him.

Fuck.

Harry doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know how to say ‘sorry’ without showing emotion.

As he never did before, vulnerability was his worst fear, and he was going to do anything and everything possible to never show it.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Harry says instead, glancing over at her but she’s looking out the window, head now resting on the cold glass.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” YN dismisses easily, not turning to look back over at him.

And she didn’t say it in a way that she wanted sympathy or that anything like that.

Her voice was kind and forgiving, understanding which just shows how beat down she is.

Tired enough to just accept others' behaviors because that’s easier than fighting, accepting how people talked to her because she was so used to it that it didn’t seem like anything special when they did.

And God, that made Harry feel like absolute and utter shit.

He didn’t know YN, no, but he had a feeling that she really was a sweet girl under all the anxiousness and turmoil, and didn’t deserve that treatment from anyone.

Harry doesn’t want YN to feel like she has to get used to him treating her the same way that others have but they only have a few days together.

Why did this bother Harry so much when in the grand scheme of things, their time together was so limited that he shouldn’t care like he does, and he’ll continue to lie to himself - to chalk it up to a lame excuse.

Instead of apologizing, his voice is probably still too gruff when he responds, “You shouldn’t be used to shit like that. You need to stand up for yourself, not let people walk all over you. S’not right.”

YN picks at a loose thread of the pajamas pants she’s wearing, “I shouldn’t have asked, it’s my fault. I get why you said that.”

Harry hasn’t registered guilt as an emotion he’s had for a very long time, it hasn’t been a necessity, and it’s not YN’s fault that it's pounding inside his skull right now.

There’s something about how understanding she’s being, kind and giving him every opportunity to act like it never happened, and she deserves to be treated nicer - nicer than he was treating her too.

“S’not your fault,” Harry shakes his head, his fingers knuckling the steering wheel a bit harder because going from zero to a hundred of getting his feelings back wasn’t an easy thing to try to sift through - it was overwhelming, and he didn’t know why it was happening.

YN doesn’t say anything else, props her chin back on her knees after a while and watches the open road, her eyes trailing over the snow-capped mountain tops, to the wildlife they would occasionally see off in the plateaus.

Harry finds himself wanting to talk.

He wants to know more about her, but he can’t do that when he just shut her out.

“You can go nap again, if you want. It’s going to be at least another hour before we’ll stop,” Harry tries to keep his voice more friendly, but it just comes out flat, monotone, bored.

YN had been leaning down to scratch behind Birdie’s ear, lounging right at her feet on the floor, perpetually dozing off - “I won’t sleep tonight if I do. If I’m bothering you, I can go back there.”

She slips her feet out from underneath her, standing up with the intention to get out of Harry’s space.

“No, that’s-” Harry cuts off when he realizes he had wrapped his fingers around her wrist to stop her, light with no real intention to stop her actions.

They both look down but Harry’s dropping his hold on her, continuing where he left off without acknowledging the touch, “That’s not what I meant. I just know this can be boring. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to feel like you had to sit up here with me.”

YN doesn’t seem alarmed or angered by the touch, she didn’t try to rip from his hold or shake him off, her body language was as calm as it had been before.

It was a relief because Harry was starting to have a sense of anxiety that YN might be scared of him or intimidating, and he knew he came off…strong, unapproachable, unfriendly is just a few ways to describe him.

However, his intention is never to make her feel fear or concern about her safety around him.

His goal in these past twenty-four hours has become the exact opposite, an intense urge to protect her, even though he doesn’t know her or what she’s been through.

“I like sitting up here with you,” YN tells him shyly, her eyes darting away from him as she moves to sit back down in the passenger chair.

It had been a miracle that Birdie hadn’t snagged it in the short amount of time that YN had been out of it.

Harry’s chest warms at the admission, but he doesn’t let it show.

Of course he doesn’t.

Fuck, she’s pretty and Harry has to look back at the road because he could just stare, admire, and try to memorize her features because each time he gets a good look, he feels like he discovers something new about her.

He doesn’t say anything back, only leans over to turn up the heat a bit when he realizes that she has goosebumps on her arms, and she smiles to herself at that - almost like she doesn’t realize that she did.

And that anger floods in because all he did was turn the fucking heat up for her and apparently that gesture, that miniscule gesture, was enough to cause her to smile which make Harry wonder what the fuck she had gone through in her life.

Harry likes her smile, he thinks that he’d like to see it more often, and that thoughts are scary to him - all of this is more terrifying than it should be because his mind was becoming occupied with her.

So much so that he hadn’t thought much about his depression, his lowness, that dank place he tries to keep his mind out of at all today when normally it’s the only thing that is circulating in his mind.

Harry had been very spot on when he predicted that they would hit the next town in just a little of the hour.

He hadn’t eaten yet today and with a realization that he didn’t think that YN had either.

“Did you eat anything?” Harry asks with a frown, he knows that he startles YN a bit because they hadn’t spoken in that hour, and they probably would have if Harry had shut down the initial attempt at conversation, “At all today?”

“Not yet,” YN tells him as she sits up, stretching her arms above her head.

Harry knows to keep his eyes up because even out of his peripheral vision, he can see the flash of her smooth belly as the shirt rising just the slightest, and since when did he find his eyes wandering to that of any woman before?

It seemed that every inch of her body was of interest to him.

And even though that sounds bad, it truly wasn’t in a predatory or sexual way, it was more of an awe, admiration to how beautiful she was, and how perfectly she was crafted albeit much too skinny.

He can see the outline of her ribcage when she stretches, not enough fat on her bones to disguise them at all, her hip bones more prominent than they should be, and all of this a clear indication that she wasn’t eating enough.

And was Harry the person to talk to?

No, not really.

He was skinnier than he should be too.

Depression sucked the appetite from him, but he did enough to keep his muscles, even if his ribs are showing more than his abdominal muscles at this point but it was hard to have any motivation to care about his appearance that much.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come out as accusatory as it did, he really needed to work on his tone.

YN pulls at the hem of her shirt, almost like she realized that Harry noticed how skin and bones she was under her clothes, “I am but I also learned how to cope with the hunger pains when I get them. I try to save my money to eat when it gets to that point, where it hurts.”

Harry doesn’t like that one fucking bit.

“You’re not going to do that bullshit when you’re with me, you got it?” Harry huffs, letting his irritation show and he doesn’t know how it translates - whether she gets that it is because it concerns him or that she thinks that he just finds her annoying.

It’s a tossup at this point.

“You’re going to eat when you’re hungry, no stomach pains, none of that shit,” Harry meets her eye, facial expressions firm to show that he means it.

“I’m sorry,” YN apologizes again, eyes wider and remorseful, “I’ll eat.”

Harry wishes he had the words to tell her not to apologize, to explain his behavior, and that it was all with good intent.

He wasn’t yelling at her, but he was concerned.

Instead of saying those things, he just grunts out, “Good.”

“Did you eat?” YN asks in return, not throwing it in his face but genuine concern in her words.

Harry holds up his coffee cup, “This is my fuel.”

“But…you have money to eat?”

The confusion knits her brow in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

“Yeah, m’just not hungry a lot of the times,” Harry shrugs, it’s not a lie.

YN’s lip twist at the side, thoughtful as she reties the knot of the pajama pants, too big and slipping down her hips, her voice quiet like if Harry hadn’t really been listening, he wouldn’t have heard it, and she probably wouldn’t have said it again.

“I really love McDonalds.”

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lover-from-the-past · 1 month ago

Text

Late Night Calls

Barou Shoei x reader

Late night calls from your long-distance bf while he’s at Blue Lock

The phone rang. Finally.

It was so much later than he normally called, he half expected you not to answer.

“Sorry for calling so late, dumbasses wouldn’t go to bed.” Barou explained gruffly, his eyes fixed on you once you answered. You were clearly in the middle of getting ready for bed, so he said, “Won’t keep you long, just wanted to see you before I went to sleep.”

God, he missed seeing you every day. Blue Lock was a lucrative opportunity, one you practically shoved him out the door for, but he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t regret coming in the late hours of the night when he had to talk to you over the phone, after his moronic teammates went to sleep, instead of being able to see you through the window and talk to you on the roof of your house.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” you said, smiling, “How was your day?”

“Shitty. Fine.” He grumbled, pushing his damp hair back from his face, “Missed you. Our game went to shit because these donkeys wouldn’t follow my orders, and then they wouldn’t go to bed because they wanted to argue and shit. Got tired of waiting for them to shut up so I’m sitting in the damn hallway.”

He had explained to you before, the second he got his phone back from Ego, that he didn’t want anyone else here to know about you here. Soccer was shared by each person in here, but you were his, and he didn’t want any of the morons here to know anything about you. After being in close proximity to so many other guys for so long, it was a breath of fresh air to have something no one else did, or to be able to do something no one else could. He never told anyone, but one of the driving factors to him pushing himself and his team so damn hard was so he could get his phone back to call you.

“Tell me about your day.” He added, not really a request but not really a demand, either.

“I’m sorry your day wasn’t good, baby,” you said kindly before beginning a recap of your own day like he had wanted. Your day was always so much more vibrant than his was, never rooted in the routine of eat, soccer, eat, study, sleep, repeat, repeat, repeat. He loved Blue Lock, but he missed experiencing your day with you. Missed having you talk to him as he worked out, missed you studying while he practiced, missed babysitting his sisters while you made dinner and he was stuck playing dress up.

He wasn’t really listening to the drama you recounted, and he knew you knew that. He was thankful you didn’t comment on it because he wouldn’t know what to say. He was too busy watching the way your mouth moved as you told him whatever came to your mind, too busy watching the way your your necklace, the one he gave you for your one year anniversary, sparkled in the dim light of your room. The ring you had gotten him sat heavy against his skin, hidden on a simple chain under his shirt.

“You got your hair done.” He noted, his eyes drawn from your hair to the way you beamed at him, “Looks nice.”

You smiled at him, and whatever anger he had from the day left him. His frustrations from losing and his anger at his team’s arguments and stupidity evaporated from his mind and body, leaving only the burning feeling of his love for you. He never knew how to do things is halves; he was always all in or uninterested, and he was always all in for you, in all ways. God, he just wanted to be able to hold you in his arms now, not be in this cold ass facility, sitting on the floor of some hallway, likely being watched by Ego and having to half-listen for anyone coming down the hall.

He listened to you talk for another hour, content to just watch you over the phone as you washed your face and applied those fancy creams and serums to your skin and hair, acutely missing the smell of your perfume and the way it always lingered in his clothes. When your talking slowed down and your eyes drooped, he spoke quietly to you about what he’s been doing. The tricks he learned, how he’s improved his workouts, the food he got after working hard. When your breathing evened out and your face smoothed out, he smiled, just a little bit.

“Sleep well,” He murmured, “I love you, baby.”

He hung up, sitting there for a minute longer before pushing himself up and starting the trek back to his room. He rounded the corner and saw one of his teammates, looking like he was caught as he stared back at him.

Barou’s eye twitched, but he ignored the other boy and continued on his way back to their dorm room. He’d deal with that later, and if the moron knew what was good for him, he’d pretend he didn’t hear anything. It if he didn’t, Barou would make sure he knew not to say a damn thing.

———

My first post!! This was kinda rushed so sorry if it’s ooc or not great

This is based on a bot I made on c.ai (check it out on my pfp: xoxo_hugz_nd_kissez) 💕

Feel free to send requests here for stories or bots!!

#blue lock x reader #barou shoei x reader #bllk x reader #x reader #bllk #bllk x you #bllk barou #c.ai bot #blue lock #blue lock x you #x you #first post #send asks

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bleedingichorhearts · 4 months ago

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Hello! I see asks are open!

May I please request a Yandere!Salamander from Space Marine Husbandry Sentience? Trying so hard to be a gentlemen and polite, and not ravage his sweet treasure (yet, needs to wait until his courting gift is ready and his darling accepts...), loving their bonded being independent and working to support them, even though he could take care of and protect them...

He's trying so hard not to be too covetous (failing). Trying so hard not to be jealous of the baselines who get to spend hours of the (work)day with his treasure, of people who get her attention. But it's okay because she likes him best, loves him, chooses him, and comes home eager to see him and fall into his arms and sink into his warmth and protection.

Salamanders are like dragons, but they're not unreasonable... most of the time. Just let him protect and support you, and show him a little affection... a little love and appreciation. That's all.

(Love you're writing it's so cool and fun! The Custodes Series is my favourite so far!)

"Awww! This is such a cute request! Salamanders are most definitely like dragons but just with a cuddly, protective factor. I just image a big ol' fluffy drake that got the hair dryer, lol. I didn't put summary as your words are absolute. As for "the golden knights?" I'm glad that I'm doing well with it! I always worry that I didn’t put emotion in anything." - Ichor

Tagged - "@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.”

TW: Cuteness Aggression? Yandere, A Very Tiny Smidge of Smut Thoughts.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

The Salamander thumbs at the forged courting gift in his hands. His eyes looking over every single detail on it, making sure it was absolutely perfect for you. That every single detail on it was to tell a tale to those who could decipher what was on it, and most importantly to impress you. His little treasure.

He has been incredibly careful with you, not wanting to scare you away from him that maybe differ your view of him. Your “snuggly dragon.” An affectionate term he knows, and it makes his heart’s feeling like they were wrapped up in flames like a dragon inhaling; only keeping their fire in their chest, never releasing it upon his foes.

Ah. His fingers stop briefly on stroking the gift, his head lifting up and looking out the darkening skies of your nest. His mind briefly wondering when you would be back. His “foes.”

He would consider the other baselines that work with you, and that dare to come over into your nest a type of foe. He isn’t quite sure on what type of foe as he is conflicted with his thoughts about it while their some that are rather kind and light up your day when he should be doing that. There are some that get too close to his comfort and he just wishes to engulf you in his arms, never see those baselines again. Yet, there are some that keep their respective distance, and others? “Introverts,” a term he keeps forgetting to grab a description from the Apothecary.

Despite all that, he loves how independent you are, even if he wants to take care of you himself. He would prefer it that way, but you insist that you need something to live by, and honestly? Wasn't he enough? Was he not something to live by? If he didn't know any better, he would have stolen you from the get-go. Yet, something in the back of his genetically kind mind told him to go slow and steady with you. Not only that, but he has heard that he would have a better chance of a healthy bond to bloom with you by taking his time.

He sighs, keeping his gaze out of the window. A certain dread filling up his nerves as you were coming back home later than usual. It a rare thing honestly for you to come back late as one time he freaked out. Scouring your whole workplace to find you, snatching you up before hissing at the boss who dares to keep you to their greedy cooperate hands! He would like to remove them and offer them to A Night Lord, but with how you snuggled up to him immediately... it calmed his thoughts. His chest giving you a rumbling purr to put you at ease while he takes you back to your nest.

He loves it when you are all cuddly with him. He is all for it as it means more attention on him. It means more time with you, more time to rub his scent all over you, and coo lovingly in your ear when you coo and pet him back. These little affections of yours always putting those... dark thoughts in the back of his mind for just a moment.

Grumbles start to leave him after a while though, and if he had a tail? It would be twitching with irritation. His eyes flickering around the main part of your nest: the bedroom before looking back out the window. Hoping that if he pretended to look away you would just suddenly appear. Of course, that doesn't really work. Maybe with video games when they are loading.

An inhumane hiss rumbles through his chest when he suddenly gets up and off from sitting on your bed. His hands quickly hiding the courting gift for you in the highest shelf in your closet as he quickly turns away and out into the hallway. He always had a bit of a short temper when you were gone away from too long than what you have told him, and if he had it his way? That corporate would be burned to the ground like the Xenos that he purged with his own flame. Taking your time away from him should be sinful of those who greed!

Great, now he was thinking like a Word Bearer....

He huffs when he reaches the front door, absolutely ready to swing it open, maybe pop it off if hinges before he pauses. His head tilting slightly while a soft click sounded out, and a faint but fresh scent of you seeping behind the door.

"I'm hom- Gah!"

You don't even get your greeting words out as you're practically bodied by your Salamander that has most definitely gotten growly and huffy at your lateness. Your feet dangling while your carried away from the door. Irritated chuffs and gruffs' leaving your Salamander.

"Hey now," You laugh, patting his chest lightly as he snuggles you close all while walking back to your bedroom. "I'm only... 5 minutes late, give me some slack."

"Too long." He growls lowly, placing himself down onto your bed with a slight bounce like a huffy child before stuffing you in his chest. "Need you here, with me."

"Clingy, you are." You laugh again, happily snuggling into him after the long workday. Your hands wrapping around his torso as much as you can. Only getting about halfway, but the simple actions make your Salamander purr. Though, it sounds restricted, as if he really didn't want to amuse you. "You going to play that game? Fine."

He gives a rumble in response, lowering himself a little as you lean away from him in his lap. A bit of a mischievous glint in his eyes. He knows what he's playing, and he wants to absorb everything you would give him. Especially since your 5 minutes late.

"Greedy thing." You tease, lifting your hand up to cradle his jawline that he nuzzles into your palm for. His purr slowly becoming louder. Your other hand moving from his torso to gently scritch at his neck, going up and down slowly. Your eyes seeing a little shiver going through him, and you smile. "You're lucky I love you."

His body seems to freeze for a moment before he leans down more to nuzzle his nose against your neck. His back going to kill him for the awkward position, but he doesn't care for it. He cares for you, and your sweet, adoring words. His lips giving a twitch; just itching to just mark you right there as you let him nuzzle against you with another laugh escaping your lips.

"Sweet little treasure..." He purrs into you, his teeth beginning to itch at how he could just... mark you as his, right now. So vulnerable. Underneath him... crying out his name...

"Little?" You scoff, faking offence. Pulling away from him. "I'll have you know I am average size-!"

He simply turns, sort of manhandling you to snuggle you down into your own bed with him onto of you and you on the bottom. His head resting on your stomach with the weight of him pinning you down into your own bed.

"Really?" You deadpan, placing your hand on-top of his head.

He coos sweetly in response, nuzzling into you.

#🗡️ichors’ warhammer request’s #warhammer40k #space marine husbandry sentience #fluff #third person pov #second person pov #monogamy #salamander #salamander x reader #tw: yandere #man i hope this is long enough?#I am unsure of ones taste.

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