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dinogoofymutated · 8 months ago

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Jealousy headcannons! Multi/GN!Reader - Cable, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Quicksilver. Ok I know this wasn't on the schedule butttt Yeahhhh. Cable is going to have an extended version of his fic, and I might do the same for the others but no promises! Also I know that Cable's written half is literally just the snippet I shared with some minor edits but bear with me please his stuff is in the works!!! TWs: Jelousy. Barfights. No violence on Reader but men are creepy. Mentions of sex work. Cable and gambit make public spectacles it's just what they do. The return of wolverine and the X-men Pietro bc I love him

Cable

Look, any man who comes over to flirt with you after you walk in with a legit wall of muscle has to be either stupid or blind.

Cable is by no means a very jealous man. He's not gonna care if a man (or woman) approaches you and starts up a conversation. He might get a little frustrated if they start flirting with you, but he trusts you. He knows you can take care of yourself and he doesn't want you to feel like he's got you on a leash.

But when someone is being persistent, not taking no for an answer, and hell, putting their hands on you? He doesn't take it too well. He's more of an overprotective type when it comes to his flavor of jealousy.

“That beer for me, Beautiful?” The voice of a stranger cuts through your thoughts, and to be honest, you don’t even think he’s talking to you until you realize how close to you he is. He’s sat on the barstool next to you, leaning towards you like he can’t quite catch his balance. You make a face at him, nonchalantly moving Cable’s beer closer.

“Last time I checked it wasn’t.” You say curtly. The man has a smile hiding behind his pout as he leans a little closer to you, oblivious to the way you casually recoil from him.

“Oh c'mon, don’t play hard to get. I’m chill!” You can tell this guy is most definitely drunk, and you find yourself trying not to roll your eyes at him. If only he knew what kind of trouble he was in.

“Sure you are. But believe me, my Husband is not.” You tell him. You're not married, but to be honest, you knew this guy wasn't going to leave you be if you left him with some vague label. Didn't matter anyway, however, the stranger laughs in your face, and his breath smells like alcohol and cheap cigarettes, a nasty combo that repulses you. You point back at the corner booth where the cable was sitting just a few minutes before, hoping that he’d at least back off at the sight of the six-foot hunk of muscle you call a lover. Unfortunately, He doesn't.

“What Husband?” The man says mockingly, and when you look at the booth you find yourself pointing at an empty seat. The sight lights a small flicker of anxiety in you, and your face falls as the man sets a hand on your shoulder and squeezes. It’s not there for long before the weight suddenly disappears. You snap your head around, feeling relief when you see the man’s wrist caught in Cable’s literal iron-clad grip.

“This Husband.” Cable grunts.

All of the blood drains from the stranger’s face in an instant, but it doesn’t take long for the attitude to come back. He tries to yank his arm out of Cable’s grip, but Cable’s arm doesn’t move an inch. To be honest, the sight kinda made you blush a little. Sure, you had seen Cable’s strength many times, but this… well. This was different. The guy starts to yank a little more aggressively, and all Cable has to do is clench his hand for the asshole to yelp and give up. You set a placating hand on his shoulder, and Cable glances back at you. His gaze softens, and he sighs before letting the guy go.

“What’s your problem, man?” The stranger spits as he holds his bruised wrist. You had already gathered your things and were getting ready to get the hell outta dodge, giving Cable’s shoulder a hard pat as you desperately tried to keep him from getting in a barfight. Cable ignores the guy, walking close behind you as you start to walk away.

“ -s’ an ugly bitch, anyway.” The stranger mumbles under his breath, but not nearly as quiet as he should’ve. Cable stops in his tracks, wheels around, and slugs the guy with his left arm. There's a sickening crunch and the bar goes silent as the drunken stranger is violently knocked from his seat. Your first instinct is to scold Cable, but the guy had it coming anyway. You look around, and with every eye in the bar squarely on you and Cable, you decide you’ve definitely stayed past your welcome.

Gambit

Gambit is probably the most jealous man in this lineup. Again, He will get fidgety and somewhat aggressive when someone approaches you and begins to flirt, but he trusts you. He doesn't want you to think he doesn't, and as a result, he tends to grit his teeth and bite his tongue to keep himself in check.

There's definitely a very, very thin line in between "I don't want to be overbearing" Remy and "This guy needs to take the fucking hint" Remy.

He's mostly fine with drunk bastards, He thinks they're funny, and as long as they're not bothering you for the most part he'll keep the aggression to a minimum. -But the one thing he absolutely cannot stand is snobby pricks who think they can steal you from him because he's a "swamp rat."

"It's a shame to see such a lovely creature like you standing here all alone." You try not to roll your eyes at the man that approaches you. You and Remy were supposed to have a nice, romantic night out. It was your anniversary, and Remy had told you that he wanted to pull out all the stops for this one. Unfortunately, fate wasn't on either of your sides today. The X-men needed Gambit, and you told him that the plans can wait for another time. Remy, in a very gambit fashion, told you to dress up anyway and he bet he would meet you there. Definitely a rather High-stakes gamble, but you loved him, so you said you'd hold him to it.

Unfortunately for you, it looked like the restaurant was hosting an event at the bar for what looked like a rather stuffy- sorry, High-end law firm. You had been content with waiting for Remy, even if the waitress clearly looked convinced he was standing you up. You had ordered something to drink while you waited, and caught the wrong kind of attention during your trip to the bar.

"I'm not alone, I'm waiting for someone." You say, flashing him an annoyed smile. He smiles back in a smartass kind of way, flashing you his Rolex as he pushes up his glasses. Great. He thinks you're a sugar baby- or maybe a sex worker. Either way, you really wished he was anywhere but here.

"Right. I'll be honest with you, I know you've been waiting here for what- and hour now? Hour and a half? Any guy that leaves you here for that long is not worth your time, sweetheart." You cringe at the nickname, but he clearly can't seem to tell. At this point, you start debating your options. You could run to the bathroom, but there weren't any windows you could crawl out of and he could wait at the door for you to come out. You could try to leave, but you didn't want Remy to think that you left him hanging. It's probably best if you stay and wait for him, but man was this guy getting on your nerves.

"Again, I'm waiting on someone. I'm choosing to wait on him, and frankly, I'm not interested in you." You say bluntly, getting more and more aggravated. The man only smirks at you.

"You're certainly a fiesty one. Don't worry, I like it when they play hard to get." He sends you wink that makes you want to sock him, and to be honest, you start to think about it. The bell at the door of the restaurant dings, and you glance over, face breaking out in a smile at the sight of the man you had been waiting on.

Remy was still in his x-men suit, obviously having come fresh from the fight. He's got some dirt on his face, and his hair is a little messier than normal, but you had never been so happy to see him.

"Well, don't you clean up well." You joke as Remy walks to your table. He chuckles, barely sparing the other man a side-eye before picking up your hand to kiss it.

"Sorry, Chère. Originally, I planned on changin', but I couldn't stand the thought of leaving you here for another moment." Remy's fond gaze turns into a bit of a glare when he finally looks over at the gobsmacked man across the table from you. "I see you've made a new friend?" You roll your eyes at that, shaking your head. Remy gets the message.

There's a gasp from the other patrons of the restaurant, as the sound the contact made was rather loud. There's already a red mark forming on the mans face as you take Remy by the hand and begin to lead him out of the restaurant. Remy is looking at you like he'd fallen in love with you all over again.

"You've been waiting all this time for some Cajun freak?" The man blurts out, finally having found his words.

"Watch it, Mon ami." Remy's shoulders tense as he snarls at the prick. You stand up, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze before you walk in front of the man. The side of his mouth slightly upturns as you do so, right before you slap the everloving shit out of him.

"I know you really wanted for us to eat here, honey, but to be honest? I like your cooking better anyway."

Nightcrawler

Kurt? Jealous???

Absolutely. He absolutely gets jealous. Kurt is much more of a "cat" kind of jealous than a Guard Dog kind of jealous though. He's not going to do anything crazy like punch anyone, but he's gonna brush up against you, slide his tail around your waist, hold your hand. He wants reassurance from you more than he is angered by whoever is flirting with you.

That's not to say he's not angry. He doesn't like the way some people look at you like a piece of meat instead of the intelligent, beautiful person you are, and he's not afraid to call people out on it.

Kurt knew that the guy you were talking to right now was only stopping to ask you for directions, but he really didn't like how close to you the guy was. Kurt had gone off to get you something to eat from the street food vendor nearby, telling you to just relax and he would be back soon.

When he returned with food in hand, it was obvious to him what was happening, but he still couldn't help but frown. The man is leaning into your space as he shows you the map in his hands. It's fine. There was obviously nothing really going on, the stranger must have been simply touchy. He then watches as the man sets a hand on the back of your waist to point at a building up ahead, and Kurt's mind quickly changes.

Obviously, you had stepped out of the stranger's reach quickly, uncomfortable with the action, but Kurt still slinked up to your side like a cat, pulling you close with his tail as he hands you your food, resting his newly freed hand behind your back.

"There you are, Meine Liebe. I hope you didn't wait for too long." Kurt says sweetly, giving you a grin. You smile back at him, thanking him for the food. You felt relieved to see him. Sure, the stranger that had been speaking to you seemed to be a nice man, but there was a certain amount of comfort and security Kurt provided when he was near you. Kurt makes a show of leaning in and kissing you on the cheek that makes you giggle. The stranger clears his throat after a quick moment.

"-Sorry if I interrupted your date. I appreciate the directions!" He says quickly, face flushed red from embarresment.

"You're perfectly fine! I hope you're able to find what you're looking for alright." You respond sweetly, waving as the man walks off. Kurt is pouting again when you look at him, tail still wrapped comfortably around you. You can't help but giggle.

"You're so jealous." You laugh. Kurt gives you an innocent look as he brushes off the accusation.

"Whaaat? No. Ich habe dich vermisst. That is all!"

Quicksilver

I'm not even gonna lie the fic half of this is just part of that enemies to lovers hcs that I wrote

anyway!!

Pietro is a very pouty, bratty kind of Jealous.

Like sure he trusts you and all but you actually looked at someone else while they were speaking to you? >:[ Don't look at them. Look at him. Smile at him not them. You're laughing at something they said? Well, he's funnier than them!!

He's just, so pouty over the smallest, pettiest things. He just needs a smooch on the forehead and some reassurance and also possibly cuddles, and he'll be fine. God he's such a brat ILHSM

However, If someone is actually flirting with you or going too far and making you uncomfortable, he will in fact throw hands. Or do his speedster thing and find a way to embarrass them, like pantsing them or planting something embarrassing on them. One time he snatched a guy's cell and called his wife before planting it in the man's pocket so she could hear all the flirting he was doing. Now that was fun.

"So I heard you had dinner with the wolfie guy tonight." The sound of Pietro's voice makes you yelp in surprise. You whirl around to see him leaning against the wall of your room, arms crossed. You scoff, and pick a pillow off of your bed to chuck it at him. He catches it easily.

"His name is Logan, and No. Not really. All we did was happen to sit next to each other at dinner." You turn back around to sit at your vanity, but Pietro is already there, sitting on the stool with the pink pillow tucked into his arms.

"So you did have dinner with him?" He pouts. You roll your eyes at him, holding back a laugh as you shove him off the seat. He looses his balance for less than a second before there's a gust and he's sitting cross-legged on your bed, having tossed the pillow to the side.

"What does it matter to you, anyway? You're not even supposed to be here, Pietro." You tease as you sit down, unable to keep yourself from smiling. You comb through your hair as you ready yourself for bed, still grinning like an idiot as you hear Pietro huff and haw.

"Why shouldn't it matter?" He asks, watching as you complete your routine. "I- I have a reason to care." He stutters out cheeks flushing a light pink that reaches his ears. You cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing.

"Don't laugh!" Pietro objects, and it sends you into a fit of laughter as you stand back up and flop onto your back on the bed next to him.

"He's not my type anyway." You say. It only takes a second before Pietro is leaning over you, caging you between his arms. There's the ghost of a grin beginning to form on his face, simply at the sight of your own cheesy expression.

"What is your type, then?" He asks, and you cock an eyebrow at him.

"Let's just say I prefer a man who can keep up with me." You say with a wink that may or may not have been the most terribly, corny action you could have done. Pietro doesn't seem to care as his face is split with an equally as corny grin.

Both of you are caught off guard by someone calling your same from the hallway, and then a knock shortly after. You take Pietro's moment of distraction and quickly lean up, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Pietro looks absolutely shocked.

"You better get going." You whisper. He smiles at you, almost in disbelief, and then he's gone, the window left open and the breeze catching on curtains, blowing gently.

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ittybittyfanblog · 13 days ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 7

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes!, there’s some slight smut… but nothing too graphic (ion rly write smut haha), angst and comfort, this chapter’s brought to you by: a bunch of sad songs on repeat! A/N: 7k+ words what the fuck!! (this might actually be one of my favorite chapters. :’))

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8

“You don’t have a favorite color.”

“I… don’t, no.”

“But you’re quite partial to green.”

“I guess so—?”

“You’ve worn the same green shirt to bed thrice this week,” he notes lightly, pertaining to your Loki: Master of Mischief tee. The corners of his mouth pull into a faint, knowing smile. “It suits you, by the way.”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you glance at him, narrowing your eyes in slight embarrassment. “It’s a perfectly comfy shirt,” you reply, a defensive edge to your tone. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” he agrees reassuringly. “Just making an observation.”

“What, are you keeping a dossier on me now?”

Sylus gives a noncommittal hum, but offers nothing more in response. He keeps watch on you from his usual spot in the corner between the monitor and the CPU box, chin resting on an open palm. His gaze betrays hints of smugness to it.

You eye him weirdly. With a huff, you turn back to your typing.

–

You’re cooking dinner—with Sylus supervising the entire thing like your very own personal sous chef. Something that has now been the norm for you two, since your–banging!–success with the tofu dish.

And for tonight’s menu: Butter noodles. Simple, foolproof, straightforward.

"Simple" is… well, it’s not entirely inaccurate. But the way that the boiling water hisses angrily through the small lid hole wavers the already shaky foundation of your developing culinary confidence.

(Just a little bit! You’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.)

A faint burning scent clings to the air; you forgot to stir the garlic early on, and now it looks dangerously close to a char. You rescue it just in time, cursing under your breath. Your sous chef, of course, catches everything. Even your nervousness.

“You know,” Sylus chimes in, watching the wooden spatula tremble in your hand. “This is quite the step up from your usual instant noodle packets. You should be proud of yourself, sweetie.”

“Gee, thanks. Really complex work for an extra half-hour of cooking time,” Your words are snide, but he doesn’t miss the way your grip on the spatula tightens ever-so-slightly. Steadies.

The smell stabilizes. You add half a stick of butter, squashing it to a melt, and he lets the subject drop—for now.

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister,” you answer distractedly, stirring the sauce and trying to scrape the edges of the sauté pan without having it splatter from the inside.

“How much older?”

“Uh—six years,” you reply, reaching for a pinch of salt. “She's got a family. Two kids. Another on the way.”

“Hm. You two are close?”

You pause, the question landing softly in the haze of rising steam. “I mean. S’ alright, I guess. We catch up over the phone sometimes.”

“Ah. Good.”

“... Yeah.”

You catch a glance of his expression in your peripheral, looking thoughtful.

It’s a recent development, his curiosity. Sporadic at first, like light rain on a windshield—little questions scattered here and there, easy to brush off. But over the past week, it’s grown into something more unrelenting. It’s almost as if you two were playing a round of twenty questions, only it’s just you in the hot seat being interrogated.

There’s also that habit of his to take it one step further. Hedging his questions strategically, acting like he already knows the little factoid he wanted to ask and just needs you to confirm it.

You don’t really get the logic behind it, but hey, who are you to judge? Everybody has their quirks. Even someone of his caliber, apparently.

… God forbid he gets blindsided by something he’s genuinely surprised to know about you, though.

“You know how to play the violin.”

You pause the video you’re watching on your laptop at its five minute mark to stare at Sylus through your phone screen. He sounds… terse? Like you’d intentionally kept this a secret from him.

“Wha—yes, I know how to play the violin,” you huff, incredulous by the show of attitude. “What’s up with all these weird questions?”

“You’ve given me explicit permission to ask them. Level the playing field,” he reminds you, eyes slightly accusatory. “What else are you keeping from me?”

You groan, collapsing onto your back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “Do you wanna know my time of birth too?”

“Born at exactly twelve twenty-eight PM,” Sylus recites without missing a beat, his voice bored and unimpressed. “I saw it on your Co-Star app, sweetie.”

You freeze.

“…”

“That’s creepy,” you tell him, tone disapproving, giving him a scolding poke on the nose.

“Call it thorough research,” he counters smoothly, rolling his eyes at your feeble attack. “After all, a stubborn kitten’s been slacking on her side of the deal.”

The questions are, for the most part, harmless in nature. Anchored firmly in the mundane. He doesn’t stray too far from what’s comfortable, or what he deems safe to ask. And yet you can sense it beneath the surface: the burning curiosity. To know more of you, to take what he could—piece by piece, until he’s unraveled the puzzle of you entirely.

And you don’t get it. His world—filled with endless adventure, lore, and literal fucking superpowers—surely has to be more exciting than anything you’ve got to offer. What’s your life compared to that?

You said as much to him, mostly as an offhand comment. Although it did feel slightly more earnest when you put it into words, compared to how it sounded in your head.

“Honestly, Sy-Sy. Life here’s really not that interesting compared to all the stuff going on over there,” you told him matter-of-factly, in the middle of collecting your daily rewards. “You don’t have to keep this up, you know.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a moment. The easy nonchalance he wore so well shifted into something more reserved, almost somber. He didn’t challenge what you said, nor did he affirm anything—you're met with silence, loaded with thoughts unspoken.

“Don’t presume things on your own, little dove,” he said after a while, his voice low, a gentle reprimand.

Before you could even process what he meant by that, he smoothly changed the subject, his tone reverting back to his usual effortless calm as if to ease the weight of your words. “Now then, let’s circle back—what were you saying earlier? You almost drowned in a lake when you were eight? Because of a dare you made with your sister?”

And that was the end of it.

You tell yourself it’s exhausting—the way he keeps digging, prodding, asking questions like you’re worth the level of fascination he’s making you out to be. But there’s also the truth, hidden and tucked beneath your half-hearted protests, slowly unfurling. A part of you—cautiously hopeful, dreadfully fragile—that preens under the weight of his scrutiny.

So you let him press further; let him sift through twenty plus years of tiny, unremarkable fragments of your life like a beachcomber seeking treasures amongst the tide. And in return, he gives you his full attention, undivided and unyielding, as if your answers are the only ones that matter.

––––

He tells you there’s a new tête-à-tête feature in the game, so you check it out—not without giving him a slightly suspicious look.

“A microphone feature?” You snort, leveling him with a half-amused glare. “You already hear me talk all the time.”

Sylus blinks at you, his face a guilefully-crafted mask of innocence. “I’m just giving you the option, sweetie. You know, in case you’d like to put our conversations ‘on record.’”

“Treat you like some kind of… quasi-therapist or something? An online confessional?” You give him the stink eye. “Is that what you’re angling for now?”

He shrugs. “If it helps.”

You had no intention of using the tête-à-tête “feature” you’ve been so graciously offered, quickly dismissing it as just another one of his tactics to show off his capacity to manipulate the game’s code, or something along those lines.

It’s not the first time he’s done it.

But then, midnight comes on a deceptively ordinary Friday, and it’s suffused with an all-too familiar feeling of utter emptiness that drowns you. You’re crumpled on the toilet seat like chewed-up gum, knees pulled to your chest—the day’s wounds still festering. It's not anything new, but it leaves you feeling like shit all the same.

Yet another overtime shift. Yet another argument with your mom, over fuck all you know that you’re too damn old for, but still, still, finds its way to cut deep. Over and over, and over again.

Your phone’s blank screen stares back at you, just as mute and useless as the rest of the night. And you—

“Sweetie?”

You can’t speak. Not yet. But you don’t have to. One look at the exhaustion on your face is enough for Sylus to know exactly what you need.

Your mouth trembles open, then shuts again. He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for you to make the first move. To start whenever you’re ready.

After a long moment, you finally exhale a shaky breath. That’s when you catch his gaze; fixed, patient, almost... encouraging. It’s a subtle invitation, urging you to take the plunge, to make use of him to an extent only he can provide–the only one he could offer to you at this time–

So, you talk. Tentatively at first, the words slipping out like droplets from your leaking sink faucet. But once the dam breaks, you can't stop.

It spills out. Every frustration, every ache, every moment that feels too much to carry for one person, especially for someone like you, and he… he just—

listens.

You feel drained. Every ounce of energy wrung out of you after unloading the day’s weight to your unexpected confidant.

“That helped, didn’t it?”

If it were anyone else—or if you didn’t know Sylus the way you do now—you’d only catch the smug notes in his voice. The teasing lilt and the airy pretense of someone trying to ease the heaviness out of the room.

But you do hear it. Beneath the surface, woven so subtly into the words… something vulnerable.

You hear the unspoken question behind it: he’s genuinely asking if it helped. If his presence, however small or inconsequential it might seem, was enough to pull you back ashore.

I helped.

Tell me I did.

“You did, Sy.” Your grin is tired, grateful, and a little lopsided. But it’s real. “Thank you.”

For a moment—just a split of a second—the red in his eyes betrays something achingly raw.

“Anytime, darling,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, like it’s carrying more than the words themselves. “I mean it.”

And like a beacon of light slicing through the storm-tossed seas of your mind, you realize that he truly does.

____

You start giving Sylus the reins to select the music, trusting his taste enough to let him DJ for you. He picks the soundtrack for everything—cooking, errands, long rides—filling the silence with something that he knows the both of you would like.

The playlists grow. From one, to two, to almost an entire collection of carefully curated tracks to suit the mood and vibe of the day. He takes it seriously—so seriously that you can’t resist sneaking in a Megan Thee Stallion track onto his precious “Slow Evenings” playlist.

He finds it hilarious. Hilarious enough to loop Kitty Kat for all sixty-five minutes of your commute back home.

You laugh despite yourself. It’s exactly the type of shit you know he’d pull as petty retribution, already intimately familiar with his brand of humor. And if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine him beside you, sharing an earbud, smirking as he revels in your exasperation.

____

One night, you notice a weariness in his eyes. It’s an odd enough thing to see that it leads to a discussion on what he’s been up to as the shadowy leader of a notorious faction, deep in a lawless part of his universe.

“Just an operative gone wrong, sweetie,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a temple as though trying to physically push the stress away. “It happens.”

You press him on the details of the botched deal—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you is excited to live vicariously through the tale. But it’s not about you this time, you remind yourself. So you listen as Sylus indulges every question you throw at him, giving you the play-by-play: what the deal was for (special, hard-to-get protocores), where the trade-off occurred (west of Charon), and how it all went sideways (he knew it was a set-up the moment he walked into the venue).

You don’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this, but you want to try.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you joke, “Can you imagine clumsy, ol’ me there? I’d be dead before I even make it inside.”

Sylus freezes, his expression going still. Unreadable.

“No, you won’t.” He says in response to the second part of what you just said, his tone brooking no doubt. He says it with such intense conviction that you almost believe this exact hypothetical has already crossed his mind—more than once.

I won’t let you.

Before you can even think of what to say, he adds, quieter this time, but no less convinced: “And yes—I can.”

It’s a direct answer to your question, and it makes the words die in your throat. His voice is softer now too, but there’s no mistaking his tone. It has the same conviction from before, and it hits you that he’s had time to ruminate on this thought—more times than he’d care to admit.

And I do. You have no idea.

____

There’s another shift in the dynamic of your, well, relationship.

“Did you hear what I said, poppet?”

You snap back to meet his inquiring gaze, unwavering as always.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” You ask, the apology clear in your eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head in amusement—always patient, never annoyed—at your inattentiveness. “What’s on your mind, my sweet?”

Well. That.

Lately, Sylus has gotten into the habit of using possessive pronouns like they’re nothing. There’s also a notable increase on the variation of pet names too, each one more layered than the last.

It’s a little excessive, honestly. Like he’s trying to compensate for something—or maybe he sees it as just another natural step in whatever’s going on between you two. You’re still not sure what exactly goes in his head. He’s always been an enigma to you.

And yet, you never put a stop to it. How could you?

Little dove. Sweet girl. My darling.

When it comes off his lips like sunkist honey—each one brings a jolt straight to your heart.

You're quite partial to one in particular.

My love.

____

“Oh, my love,” Sylus tuts, feigning concern. “You’ve snoozed that alarm five times already.”

You groan, hitting the snooze button again—number six now—burying your face in your arms on the desk.

____

You’re attending a despedida party for a friend who’s flying abroad to study (For a PhD in Biomedical Science! You couldn’t be more proud.) and the venue’s going to be at The Penthouse, somewhere fancy up north. It even has an infinity pool on deck, something the celebrant dropped into the group chat with far too much enthusiasm.

So, earlier today, you’d ventured out to buy something nice for yourself. Nicer than what you have in the closet, which isn’t much of a stretch. Something different than your usual rotation of plaids and band shirts—not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just… you. Comfortable. Predictable. Not exactly the dress code for a rooftop soirée.

Now, you’re back home from a successful (!) trip to the mall, bags in hand: a small gift for your friend on one arm and a much larger shopping bag on the other.

You set the gift gently on the coffee table. Then, you head to the bathroom, the grosgrain ribbon of a paper tote held tight in your fist.

The pretty fabric caught your eye almost immediately, the moment you saw the garment; its sheen almost like woven liquid in the light. It felt like a risk, even on the rack. But under the unforgiving glare of your bathroom bulb?

Well, now, it’s looking less of a “bold choice,” and more along the lines of: “damn, what were you thinking?”

It’s not that big of a deal or anything. You like feeling pretty. But at the same time, you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that you’re anything above average to look at, even on the nicest occasions.

It’s something you’ve grown used to, a definitive truth ingrained deep in your bones. You know this—like you know gravity tethers you to the ground, even when you’d rather be carried by the wind. You’ve gone through more than a decade to accept it as just another fact of life, to make peace with the reflection staring back at you from the bathroom mirror.

Even if it means you’ll never be on the receiving end of ‘interested’ glances from strangers on the street. Or that you’ve never known the feeling of someone doing a double take when they see you at your best, all dolled-up. More than once, you’ve sat across from dates whose eyes wandered—toward some other, someone better-looking, in restaurants, at parks, even outside the movies. Everywhere past your direction.

But that’s okay. You’re used to it, the same way you’ve grown used to everything else.

And still, there’s that impulse—a sudden need for someone else’s opinion. Someone close. Someone that matters.

There’s a pang of fear you can’t quite shake. You hear the small voice from the deep recesses of your mind, whispering to you that it’s one of your worse ideas. That you’ll fall short of any and all expectations, and that it’ll hurt more this time around. You’ll hear the polite, “you look nice” and you’re gonna have to live with the quiet certainty that you don’t, not really, and that you’ll never quite measure up to what he’s used to seeing. To her—

You swallow hard. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not outwardly, at least.

And if he did… Well.

“I bought something,” you say as an opener, the words tumbling out in a rush as soon as you get a glimpse of his form on the screen. You’re rocking back on your heel, a little awkward as you stand there in front of your small vanity table even with your phone laid flat, front camera pointing upwards. “You remember the going-away party I’ll be attending two days from now, right?”

“Of course, the one for your secondary school batchmate.” Sylus replies easily, voice reverberating through the tinny speakers. Even at an angle, you can see the confused tilt of his head. “Is it on the ceiling, sweetie? What am I looking at, exactly?”

“No, smartass. I—” You press your lips together, eyes flitting upward, as if courage might be dangling from the ceiling in question.

Fuck, this is a bad idea. I can’t do this.

“It’s–I bought something for myself. I mean, I bought her a gift too, obviously. But I also bought an outfit. For the party.”

There.

He blinks, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. Realization dawns on his face, a knowing smile beginning to form. His voice dips, a teasing edge to it as he purrs, “Oh? Well then, save me from the suspense, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m getting to it, okay?” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, nerves flaring hot. You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop. “I’m just… Don’t be—ugh, just don’t make a big deal out of this, alright?”

You keep your eyes off the screen, unable to face him directly.

But when he speaks, his tone carries only a quiet understanding of your struggle.

Of course he understands. He always does.

He speaks; and it’s slow and measured—as if he’s coaxing a terrified, cornered animal out of hiding.

“Show me.” Trust me.

And so with a heavy exhale through the nose, you flip the front camera towards your direction, revealing the bare expanse of gooseflesh skin—

… And the flimsy one-piece that clings to your body like wet plastic.

It dips low between the valley of your breasts and stops short just halfway up your thigh. The material is a gauzy organza; see-through and light, in seafoam green. Barely leaving anything to the imagination as it reveals the dusky coral swimsuit from underneath the fabric and the hot flush that spreads across your chest like wildfire. Your fists clench and unclench behind your back – hiding the physical manifestation of your rising anxiety – while you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

There's a deafening silence.

The knots in your stomach grow tighter, creeping its way past your lungs. Your fingers tremble as cold sweat breaks out across your skin, chilling you from the inside. You feel horribly exposed. So exposed it’s almost unbearable.

And you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Your thoughts stumble, desperate to cling to anything solid, and a faint memory surfaces—a passage from an org pamphlet you’ve skimmed through back in college, something that has to do with “self-perception.”

The flesh does not define you.

Your body is but a facet of who you are. You are as inconsequential as the earth beneath your feet, and as important as stardust in the universe.

A low, guttural sound cuts through the stillness, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You—

“Look at me.”

A searing heat laces the cadence of his voice. It sounds restless—like a flame unchecked, rapidly growing into a raging inferno. Stifling in the way it pulls the air from your lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Your primordial instinct is to flee. But right at that very moment, you're no different from a paralyzed insect caught in an inescapable web with the way you’re stood frozen in place. Every instinct to run is smothered by the mere inflection in his voice.

—are all. And that is all there is to be.

“My sweet little dove,” it’s almost a croon, the way the words curl around you like wisps of smoke. Sickly saccharine… downright serpentine. “Won’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

And like a marionette on a string, you obey.

Time seems to stop to a standstill the moment your eyes meet his.

Sylus’ gaze sinks into you. Loaded. Heavy. A crazed glint, almost—to it. Even to someone like you who's embarrassingly clueless about the nuances of attraction and wholly inexperienced in its depths can see it as plain as day.

Carnal desire. In its purest form.

Sylus looks at you as though you’re something to be coveted. Devoured.

A small, fearful noise slips past your lips, and the twin crimson flames burn brighter.

“You’d like to know what I think?”

Yes.

No?

He sees the war in your eyes, and a throaty chuckle escapes him—raw and breathy. “Maybe so?”

You give him the tiniest nod, and the grin on his face sharpens into something wanton, something far more licentious. It slinks in like a fever, stirring something deep within you. Something as old as time.

Sylus opens his mouth.

You brace yourself for the inevitable.

A ring slices through the room like a hot knife. Just like that, you can breathe again.

____

Your saving grace comes in the form of a phone call that grounds you back to reality.

It’s a friend, one of the party guests, asking for directions to the venue. You’re listening with one ear on the receiver, answering each question robotically—your voice a controlled calm on the surface, a stark contrast to the thoughts running amok inside your head.

The words blur into background noise, muffled and distant, like a TV commercial playing on low volume in another room.

The moment you hang up, a suffocating hush swallows the room whole. You’re left alone with nothing but heat kindling low in your gut. The ghost of the heavy exchange from earlier stays with you, thrumming beneath your skin, hot and pulsating.

You don’t know what to do with yourself. The abrupt suddenness of it all gnaws at you, its weight driving you toward an early retreat—maybe a long night’s rest will do wonders and help you get your shit together, who knows.

You slip between the sheets... but not before retrieving your, ah, trusty little companion from its hiding spot in the bedside drawer.

You didn’t want to assume… You don’t want to expect anything from him, but you have needs.

God, but you do.

Your body feels like flint struck against steel, sparked ablaze by just a handful of words. Words weaved into a vivid imagery from the mouth of your… friend??

(Something more?)

The uncertainty wrecks you, every nerve alight with tension. And yet it’s the same uncertainty that roots you there. Hesitating.

So. You lie back, pushing the sheets away from your fevered skin, and just—lay there. Staring at the ceiling. The plaster cracks form maps you trace with your eyes, as if searching for answers in their tangled routes. You count your breaths, one after the other, as though the repetition could calm your racing heartbeat.

It feels ridiculous, almost. You’re a grown adult, acting like a teenager with a demented crush. It’s more than that, though—it’s deeper, messier, and completely illogical.

But it’s not something you can figure out tonight, not in this state. So you stop trying.

Instead, you switch on your little toy, open an incognito browser, and let yourself succumb to what your body’s been screaming at you for the past fucking hour.

You feel… You feel weird about using anything Sylus-related to get yourself off. That’s not to say you haven’t, before, back when he was just another eye candy from a measly mobile game. When it was just another infatuation.

But now? Now it feels all levels of wrong, like you’re toeing some invisible line. Worse, it feels like you’re exploiting something fragile, testing the limits of a bond already stretched thin.

So, any content related to that man stays off the fap fodder. You’re not that far gone. You think.

Instead, you scroll through your bookmarks tab, a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you let the hard vibrations of your trusty rabbit glide from inside your thighs, up… up to your warm center, in between the juncture of your legs.

You pause on a Toji smut fic—one amongst, uhh, dozens in your folder. It’s not the same, you know this, but you’re settling for the next best thing in your current circumstance.

Since what you really want, who you’d rather much have, isn’t—

…

Your phone glitches.

The Chrome app crashes.

And what do you think you’re doing?

Your heart stutters a beat, and you stop breathing.

You can’t answer. The words don’t come. But he doesn’t wait for you to try.

Put on your headphones.

You’re done with that. Tonight, tomorrow, any other night. Do you understand me?

The uncharacteristic curtness of the message sends a jolt through you, and a blush overtakes your entire body. You hesitate, just for a second.

Now.

You scramble to obey, fumbling for your earbuds, slipping them on with shaking hands.

The moment the bluetooth connects, the game boots up on its own—straight to an irate Sylus, looking royally pissed-off.

“Sy-Sy—” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t—”

"Oh, so back to Sy-Sy now, are we?"

The mocking lilt in his voice cuts sharper than the glare he fixes on your dimly lit face. Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you entirely.

You want to explain, to defend yourself. To…

“I see what you read. What you watch,” he begins, voice cutting and mean. “In the dead of night, when you think you’re alone. When you think it’s safe. That no one hears the sweet moans spill so sinfully from your lips.”

His words pierce through the air like an arrow; you feel his overwhelming presence take over, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, every exhale grazing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs, the ambiguity in his tone somehow making it worse. “I hear everything. I know everything about you, kitten.”

A shiver races down your spine, your body betraying you as he speaks.

“What makes you tick,” he continues, his voice a sinister caress. “What leaves you writhing, desperate for more. The way your breathing quickens… the way your body trembles under the weight of your own pleasure.”

You’re struggling now—each breath harder to catch than the last.

“And the way that pretty little mouth of yours falls open in a silent gasp, right after you come undone.”

His words are a noose, tightening with every syllable. Your head spins as the air seems to grow heavier, saturated with the tension between you.

“But it’s never for me, is it?”

“I—I’m sorry… I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume?” His voice darkens, any hint of softness replaced with something colder, harsher. “Again with your presumptions.”

He leans closer, his tone dropping to a command that leaves no room for doubt. “From now on, the only thing you’ll need to believe is when I tell you you’re mine.”

You blink at him dumbly. His grin turns into something wicked—caustic and biting—as he cocks his head. Derisive.

“Do you understand?”

Your head bobs in a weak, reflexive nod.

“Words, poppet.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” His tone shifts, smooth like languid amber, yet no less imposing. “Now, my love,” he coos, savoring the way your eyes tear up with desperation, “show me how you touch yourself.”

____

“Shi–iit,” he hisses. “This wet already?”

You attempt to close your legs, shame rising like a tide, but freeze halfway when Sylus lets out a low, warning growl.

“Try that, and we’ll stop,” he warns. “I won’t repeat myself twice, pet.”

The weight of his words pins you in place, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone gentler—coaxing. “It’s just me.”

His gaze burns into you, relentless, but something tender bleeds into it.

The glow of the screen casts shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, the upward tick of his mouth a dangerous contradiction—part teasing, part command. His sanguine eyes gleam with a mix of hunger and control, a look that leaves no room for hesitation.

You give in.

Your body relaxes under the weight of his stare, the fight draining from your limbs. It’s not submission—it’s surrender, pure and unfiltered, the kind that leaves you bare and vulnerable.

Sylus watches you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not soft, not kind, but triumphant—like a predator relishing the moment its prey stops running.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tongue like honey. “That’s better.”

____

Sade’s Smooth Operator starts to play in the background as you catch your breath.

You let out a tired giggle, swiping a hand down your sweat-drenched face, earbuds still in place. “Ugh—don’t piss me off.”

You hear a resounding chuckle.

Gently, he asks, “Alright, little dove?” There’s a beat of hesitation before he adds, quieter now, “Did I go too far?”

You curl onto your side, phone clutched in your hand like a prayer. Sylus’ gaze peers back at you through the screen, a dangerously soft expression on his face that you don’t want to identify.

“It's perfect, Sy,” you say, your grin tender and bittersweet, heart full of something you won't name.

____

It’s one in the morning. The dim glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face, spilling into the darkened room, casting shadows along the wall. You lean back against it, the end credits of Everything Everywhere All At Once rolling quietly in the background.

Silence settles between you and Sylus like a warm blanket.

“Do you think it’s… like that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to shatter the stillness of the moment. “All versions of ourselves colliding and coexisting at the same time?”

The question hangs there; he doesn’t rush an answer, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s choosing not to.

When he finally speaks, it’s with the same quiet restraint, his voice threading softly through the air.

“I’d like to think that in this vast expanse of the universe, there’s something for you and me.”

There’s a trace of something dreadfully optimistic in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten. You blink a few times, glancing upwards.

The moment lingers, delicate in its quietness, until you instinctively reach for your phone. A quick swipe reveals a new addition to your shared playlist.

This Is A Life by Son Lux and Mitski.

A small, genuine smile tugs at your lips as you press play. The haunting strains of the song pour into the room, filling the spaces words can’t seem to touch.

“Sneaky,” you murmur, your gaze sliding back to Sylus’ face on the screen. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile.

“Thought it fit the mood,” he says simply.

And it does. The music sweeps over you, soft and wistful, like the moment itself.

____

The balcony feels like a lifeboat drifting away from the chaos inside. The music, the chatter, the endless parade of tequila shots—it all fades to a dull hum as you step into the cool night air.

Out here, the world feels wider, the sky a little darker, and you can breathe without choking on the weight of the party.

She’s already there, of course. The friend of a friend. An acquaintance by definition, but someone who feels more of a comrade in these fleeting moments away from the crowd. You’ve seen her like this most times—leaning on the railing, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its faint ember glowing against the night. You don’t need an invitation to approach her.

“You mind if I bum one?”

She shrugs, silently offering the box to you. You take one.

“Fun party, huh?” you comment after two puffs, the lit end of the stick briefly catching the glow of the skyline. Your voice is loaded with the kind of irony only shared by those watching the world from the outside in.

“It always is with them around,” she snorts, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. Her voice carries the warmth of familiarity, from an observation you’ve both shared before.

You exhale a soft laugh, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the city below.

The silence that follows isn’t just companionable—it’s necessary. A pause to recalibrate, to let the noise, and the lights, and the weight of too many people melt away. Neither of you feels the need to fill it. Words would only dilute the reprieve.

And then, unexpectedly:

“You look happy.”

The words land like a stone dropping into still water, rippling through the quiet. You glance at her, startled by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her tone suggests she’s already drawn her own conclusions.

“You ‘ave someone?”

You weren’t ready for that. You blink at her, surprised she’s noticed anything about you—surprised, too, that it’s written plainly enough for anyone to notice.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, looking away. The admission feels strange in its simplicity. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles at that—easy but genuine, as if your happiness has spilled over and warmed her, too. “That’s good.”

There’s sincerity in her voice, unfiltered and direct, as she adds, “You look happier.”

You don’t reply, but her words settle somewhere deep, in the quiet places you thought were hidden.

And for once, you don’t mind being seen.

____

The party has left you drunker than you’ve been in ages.

As soon as the celebrant spots the two of you in the corner looking like a sad pair of eyesores, she quickly remedies it with copious amounts of Stone-Cold Stingers. You try to protest, but in the end, it’s futile against the cacophony of cheers and the face of societal peer pressure.

So now you stagger inside the condo building, looking every bit like a drowned rat dragged in from the storm. A weary guard from reception following closely behind, his patience visibly fraying as you giggle your way toward the elevator.

“‘m fine!” you insist, words slurring together as you attempt to shoo him off with a lazy wave. To emphasize your point, you pinch your fingers together, holding them inches apart. “Just this much to drink, see?”

He doesn’t respond, his expression coming across resigned and frustrated. You can almost hear the thought running through his mind: I don’t get paid enough for this.

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally relents, letting you totter into the elevator alone.

UG… P… 4…. 5…… Oh! Here you are.

Rivulets of water drip down from your rain-soaked hair, trailing icy paths down your neck as you stagger down the narrow hallway. Your vision blurs, making everything double—no, triple—as you fumble your way to the left, stopping in front of the door of 601—wait, no, 603.

You squint hard at the numbers, your head throbbing with the effort, but the stinging in your eyes and the stubborn clumping of your lashes make it way harder for you to make sense of it all.

Your waterlogged clutch feels heavier than it should, and your trembling fingers struggle to find the zipper pull that’s somehow become the bane of your existence. You huff, muttering incoherently to yourself, your throat tight and raw as a burning lump starts to rise. An annoyingly persistent buzzing from inside your bag adds to your mounting frustration.

With an angry yank, you finally manage to tear the bag open, water splashing off it in tiny droplets.

“Aha!” you exclaim, though the triumph is short-lived as your hands shake even harder when you pull out your phone. It’s the source of the buzzing apparently, the bright screen momentarily blinding you.

You try to unlock it—once, twice, three times—nearly getting locked out before the numbers finally click.

The notifications hit you like the mars lights of a freight train. Texts. Lots of them. You scroll through clumsily, the device slipping slightly from your grip as you snort gracelessly.

Sylus. Of course.

The words on the screen blur and twist, but you don’t need clarity to know the progression of each message—ranging from mild curiosity, to slight worry, to exasperatedly concerned.

The syllables of his pet name echo faintly in your muddled head, a small, fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on your chest. Sy-Sy. Sy-Sy. Sy-Syyyyy—

Synchronous with your erratic breathing, you dig through your bag with a heavy hand, each failed attempt sends you spiraling lower.

Another ping jolts you from your drunken haze:

How are you feeling? Did you just get back?

“I can’t—I can’t find my damn keys!”

The words slips out as a frustrated cry.

Inner pocket, left side. Answer me, sweetheart.

His words flash across the screen just as your fumbling fingers find the keys exactly where he said they’d be.

A tear burns a path down your cheek as you let out a half-hearted chuckle, mumbling, “Can I even function without you?”

How long has it been since you could manage something like this on your own? Has he become an extension of your mind?

The door’s stubborn resistance only adds to your unraveling. After several failed attempts—your fingers too wound up to grip the key properly—you finally twist the lock and push it open, stumbling inside, into the darkness.

“I’m a mess, Sylus,” you whisper, voice thick with tears as your head spins, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

The world feels heavy and muffled, like you’re trapped behind a fogged window. You know you’re a sight to behold—shoeless, drunk, drenched like some stray that wandered too far into the rain.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his voice warm and steady, cutting through the quiet void of the room. It takes a second for the words to sink in, for your scattered mind to piece together that, somehow, you’ve already opened the game in the middle of all your fumbling. Automatic. Like second nature.

You stare at him, trembling and pitiful, like a kid lost in a crowd. Your bottom lip quivers, and you hate how small you feel under his gaze.

You see concern pooling in the depths of Sylus’ eyes. That and something… desperate.

You sniff, rubbing at your wet cheeks with pruning fingers, clinging to humor like a lifeline. "Don’t you do anything else?” you mumble, your voice fraying at the edges. “Like... live your own life or something? You spend so much time with me...” You force out a weak laugh, bitter and jagged. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Your laugh cracks halfway through, more like a sob than anything. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.

And yet, you can’t stop. Even if it stings your throat.

Sylus’ response comes, and his voice is solid—unwavering. He doesn’t flinch like you do. “I don’t get sick of you, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

Something in you cracks, spilling over. “I really like you,” you murmur, voice steeped with emotion. “You’re the brightest light in my life. You’re… you’re everything.”

A flash of lightning cuts through the room, illuminating your tear-stained face.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sylus calls out your name.

It’s quiet, reverent, and it feels like a tether pulling you back from the brink.

You crumple down the floor, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing holding you together. In the silence that follows, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of his presence on the other end of the line.

“I’m here,” he tells you softly. “I’ve got you.”

____

This is a life

(Every possibility)

Free from destiny

(I choose you, and you choose me)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @nicora04 @blueberrysquire @love-anteros @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie (i spend so much time cross-checking the tags this is tiring lmao)

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #sylus qin

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anemoiashifts · 5 months ago

Text

why you should get off social media if you want to shift.

before you scroll away, i want to challenge all of you to read all of this. this is one of my longest blog posts ive ever made with over 1,000 words. if you can or can’t make it through the whole post, please let me know how far you’ve gotten in the comments below. you’ll get a surprise at the end 🥳 !

social media isn’t an inherently bad thing. however, outside & inside of the shifting community social media (specially tiktok) has been shown to effect our attention span. this shows in my comment sections on my longer tumblr posts that i also share on tiktok, such as this one, when people say things like “im not reading all of that” or “can someone summarize” also “what method should i use” and “why am i not shifting”.

let’s start with the basics of shifting. shifting attempts need some kind of focus; an affirmation, a visualization, some sort of task like counting. if you’re someone who struggles to focus, you will struggle to learn how to meditate or any hobby or task you’re tying to accomplish. all shifting methods are is a meditation. while no, you don’t need a method, I would make the argument learning how to meditate & focus your attention to what you are trying to manifest is an important part of shifting. if social media creates an instant dopamine reward without little effort, the appeal of shifting seems less. this is why i think a lot of people actually like thinking about shifting & creating content for it rather then doing it — because trying to shift requires some level of work without instant reward even if it’s as simple as laying down & setting intention.

if you try to shift & you wake up in your cr still, that isn’t as exciting when comparing it to the idea of shifting. rather, if you post an edit or a video about your dr you will receive a dopamine hit through video interaction (comments, likes, how social media platforms are set up in general). even maladaptive daydreaming can fall into this category to some. the interest in attempting to shift dies because we feel like we aren’t gaining anything from it when that’s not true. when laying down & attempting to shift, we are meditating & training the brain to focus on what we desire most: we’re correcting our attention span.

social media destroys the ability to focus & what we focus on & give our attention to allows room for that desire to grow, to become reality. if we’re always so overwhelmed with information & have so much to stress about, it’s important to recognize what we consume & how it effects our mood & mental health & how it can sometimes delay our manifestations. im not saying you have to be positive all the time, but we’re exposed to so much that it’s important to check in with yourself every once in a while. this can be where shifting content comes into play vs non shifting content. think demotivation, you don’t look for it, it just appears. & how many times have you opened tiktok to look something up to only be distracted by a completely unrelated video that automatically started playing ?

what i mean is people are telling you what shifting is, what works for them (which you could register subconsciously & believe that’s a step by step guide), rather then self discovery. people are telling you what shifting is, how to do it, what to think, what to script, what method you need to do, even if they say “this may not apply to everyone” because of how it’s being presented & spoken about. the said popularity of a method or definition may also come into play & feeling like something has to be right or work because other people align with it. its like math class, the teacher shows you one way to solve a problem then says “your allowed to use your own methods” & shows you one example of it then goes back to using the original method in class that you don’t understand.

another reason is opinions. when being shown so many people speaking on shifting & their thoughts it can be overwhelming. it’s a great thing so many people are willing to talk about their experiences in their desired reality or want to share their personal breakthroughs & opinions on what shifting is, it can be confusing. while everything i just listed is well intended, leaning about shifting through places like tiktok & not venturing out & doing your own research — or just searching methods online & trying it yourself while going in blind — it takes away self discovery.

so, how do we learn about shifting ?

when i say get off of social media, i don’t exactly mean all social media. yes, all of these things happen across the internet but the difference with tiktok is that the fyp isn’t so prominent. this of course also applies to other feeds that are generated, but a lot of the shifting community is ok tiktok so im using the most known example. it’s important to search & decide what information you consume & seek out rather then being told something without stopping to think for yourself. you want the chance to be able to create your own thoughts. your own unique thoughts you have about things make them personal & your own beliefs become stronger when you realize things on your own. it’s more satisfying that way.

places like reddit & searching for questions you specifically have so you don’t have ten more questions shoved in your that you didn’t have before that cause you added worry or unnecessary fear is helpful to keep in mind.

there is room for grey area. not everything needs to be black & white. there should be no consciousness vs multiverse theories because two things can both be true at once. Ike thing doesn’t have to be against something, you don’t have time pick a side. it’s all theory & hypothetical. it’s okay that we 100% don’t know (& will probably never know) what shifting truly is. not everything needs to be discovered to preform it “correctly”. you don’t need to be a master at painting to paint, you don’t need to know how paint brushes are crafted or how canvas is stretched to preform, anyone can sit & learn as they create their first & second & tenth piece. even people who have painted & sold their artwork for millions, don’t know the great’s techniques. they know pieces of them & take what works & discards what doesn’t serve them.

this post isnt to negate any of the good social media has done or sound like my mom & preaching about how social media destroys your brain…but i think we should be mindful of what we consume & how it makes us feel & if we’re speaking for ourselves or parroting others words. there are so many great people & advice out there & im not trying to take away from that. i just think taking a moment to stop & digest what we’re seeing is healthy. this blog post has been a long time coming but i know a lot of people wouldn’t want to hear it. i can promise you, you are more addicted then you think — myself included. i just don’t wake you guys to look back in 10 years & have spent more then half of that looking at a screen when there’s so much life to be lived. i don’t want social media to take away from what we are all here for which when we come down to it is living. shifting is literally wanting to experience life & i can’t help but find it ironic that this is the opposite of everything we wish to accomplish through this practice.

please take care of yourselves. much love.

surprise :) congrats you made it ! here’s your digital slice of cake ! 🍰

#desired reality #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shiftok #shifting motivation #shifting realities #shifter #reality shifter

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kabuki-writes · 1 month ago

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The Laugh of Nero

chapter: 4 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 5

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: General Acacius faces the consequences of his conspiracy, while his daughter unexpectedly meets Emperor Caracalla alone for the first time.

Note: -

word count: 3.6k

Romans loved the story of old philosopher Seneca. He was once the teacher of Emperor Nero almost 200 years ago and although body was dead, his life continued through writings: one of it being the drama 'Octavia'. It was a popular play in the amphitheaters of Ancient Rome and beyond. And it was a favorite of yours.

The plot focused on three days during which the Emperor divorced and exiled his wife Claudia Octavia and married another, his lover Poppaea Sabina. It was indeed a tragedy, that gave the audience a glimpse into the madness of Nero, the wisdom of Seneca and the tragedy of Octavia. Oh how you could relate to Octavia. The divergence between her fear, hatred and sadness against her will to withstand and be wiser than what was thrown against her, it intrigued you. Somehow you felt the same in your current situation. On the one handside you feared the future and displeased the attention of the Emperors on you, yet you wanted to do everything to persevere. In a way, the stoic nature of Seneca's character in this play gave you some kind of guidance too. Stoicism, maybe you needed to stick to that even more as you were not able to control your surroundings as it seemed?

You took your seat in the upper-ranks of the amphitheater, accompanied by two of your closest friends. Cicero was one of the grandsons of senator Gracchus and now served as one of the senate’s transcriptors for as long as he was not old enough to candidate for a political mandate himself. The other one was Lydia, the daughter of General Britannicus, who fought alongside your father countless of times and was now fighting with his legions in the far north of the Empire. "Oh, i hope Scato is going to play Octavia this time! The last time i saw him in the role of Electra - it was just mesmerizing. He is just so handsome", Lydia sighed, as she always seemed to be that actor's number one supporter. You and Cicero laughed in response before you gave your friend a small pat on the shoulder. "I already heard that you approached him after the last play. Beware actors, Lydia. They might be charming, but they're also free spirits," you explained with a smirk on your lips, before Cicero added. "Oh everyone would run, when they hear about her father."

"Come on! Stop it! I am just daydreaming! I know he will never let me spend time with someone that isn't a boring military officer!" Lydia turned her face away because she turned completely red, but as she did, she noticed the black armory of the Praetorian guards, who escorted one of the Emperors to the royal box of the Amphitheater. "y/n, Cicero, look!"

You quickly turned your eyes to the scene and your face went pale in an instant, when you saw the luxurious decorated robe, the blonde-ginger hair and the golden laurel wreath. That profile, the curved nose and the make up... you instantly noticed, which brother was here to witness the play of 'Octavia'.

Nero.

In that very moment, he turned his head in an attempt to take a look at the crowd and you tried your best to keep your head low, while your sight was locked to the stage in front of you.

"Is everything alright, y/n?", Cicero asked irritated, while he tried to make sense of your sudden change of behavior.

"Yes, yes i just... i've never seen Emperor Caracalla here."

"Really? He comes to the theater quite often to watch plays", Lydia managed to say, before the crowd slowly fell silent as the first actor slowly walked on stage. The young woman next to you blushed and you could feel Lydia's hand clinging on your arm as if she needed something to hold on - the actor was indeed Scato and the costume he wore was 'Octavia' - a flowing robe with a long, curled wig and extravagant make-up that captured the sadness of her character perfectly.

But you couldn't really focus. Your eyes went to the royal box, the best place to watch the play in a comfortable isolation from the rest of the spectators. Here he sat, accompanied by an entourage of 'friends' and a little monkey which sat on his lap. Suddenly his eyes went from the stage over the crowd and suddenly, he saw you. Your heart sunk to your feet and you instantly turned back to the stage to witness Scato's monologue. He had seen you... and what you were not able to witness now was how he turned to one of his Praetorian Guards, to which he whispered an order.

You tried to keep calm as you stared at the stage, where Octavia was now accompanied by a chorus, who wept for the terrible treason she had to endure when Nero decided to take another woman as his wife. Meanwhile your fingers clinged into the fabric of your toga-styled dress as you gathered your thoughts. You still recalled the words you'd talked with him at the Collosseum - the way you had his attention. Women would kill for what you were able to get if you just continue - but then you heard the words of your father, you saw his worried eyes in front of you and you knew something was terribly wrong.

You were so encaptured in your own thoughts that Lydia grabbed your arm again, but this time it was not because she was about to fall for the man on stage, but because a Praetorian Guard was standing right at the side of your seats and pointed at you. "You. Follow me," he ordered in a very demanding tone, while your friends looked at you in shock. They didn't know what you'd witnessed before, so you grabbed their hands and just gave them an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about me, we see each other soon, alright?", you whispered before you stood up and followed the guard upstairs to the place where Emperor Caracalla had his seat.

_________________________________

"y/n, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here! Please, take a seat!", you heard the voice of Emperor Caracalla as you stepped into the royal box of the amphitheater and bowed to him.

"Leave us, Go!", he hissed quickly to his entourage, who - without a word - got up from their seats and left as quickly as they could, but not without giving you a two-faced look. It was almost as if they already knew something you didn't, as if they both pitied and envied you at the same time. You hold their glances to not give in to any mockery they might've had in their minds and would speak out to each other when they were gone. Then it was only you and the young Emperor,... and his pet monkey, which was seemingly busy eating grapes from a bowl of fruit.

With slow, careful movements you approached the seats in the front and sat down beside Caracalla, his eyes never leaving you as you did. "A funny coincidence, is it not? I remember that we talked about 'Octavia' and here we are now", he chuckled, while he leaned back and for a moment, he watched the stage, where Seneca approached Nero about the divorce of his first wife.

"A coincidence, indeed", you answered and followed his glance. There he was, the mad Emperor, who complained about the unfair treatment of him through his own mother, which he cursed over and over again. At that point she was already dead - believed to be murdered by an order of Nero himself.

"You haven't fully answered me back then, when i asked why you see yourself as Nero". The question came from your mouth while you still followed the actor's movements in his luxurious decorated robes, a red wig on his head - it somehow reminded you of Caracalla.

"The play is written to portray him as a monster, am i sitting next to one?"

Maybe it was almost too bold to ask that. You already regretted speaking those words out loud, when his view instantly switched to you, his blue eyes digging into you like a sharp blade. Suddenly, he simply burst into a resounding laughter, that made your lose your breath for a moment, as you stared at him with irritation.

"Gods, you're really amusing", Caracalla grinned wide, showing off his gold tooth. Nonetheless he gave you an answer. "It depends..."

He raised his hand and let his little monkey climb on it. When he reached his shoulder, Caracalla took a grape and fed it to the animal, before it started to groom his wild hair. Not caring about it, he continued. "Everyone views Nero as mad for breaking the chains that his mother and his predecessor layed on him. He never loved Octavia, yet he had to marry her. He never wanted to be Emperor, yet he became one. His mother tried to control him, so much so, that he needed to get rid of this old hag." The last words were almost a hissing tone, as if he was speaking of something he could truly relate to.

"Now everyone is plotting against him, the Gods, his damned first wife, his teacher, all of Rome, only because he started to follow his own path and married the woman he loved. A tragedy, truly - not just for Octavia, don't you think?"

He looked straight into your eyes, waiting for your answer and you sensed that this was a key moment, where you could say something wrong. In a way, you could see what he meant, but there was something he didn't see. Nero broke the chains, yes, but he broke them with cruelty, murder and terror.

"Isn't everything in our lives a tragedy?", you asked and it seemed to please Caracalla, as his bright grin returned, before he turned to the stage once more, crawling his pet monkey while he followed the next scene.

Oh how he could relate to those words. No one could understand the tragedy of his own life, always being seen as the underestimated, 'weaker' and younger brother. But he enjoyed this talk more than he was willing to admit. And he was sure that you were able to understand him to a certain degree, the first woman to do so.

Suddenly, his pet jumped over to you, climbing onto your shoulder and taking a strain of hair to look at your curls.

"Dondus, no! Don't hurt the fair lady!" In an instant, Caracalla jumped from his seat, but before he tried to take the monkey again, he noticed your sudden yet beautiful laugh and how you reached out to pat Dondus carefully, softly, with your filigran fingers. How he wished that those fingers would touch him in that very moment, while his hands stiffened.

"It is fine, please - don't worry", you said quickly, since the monkey didn't hurt you in any way - in fact the way he climbed on your shoulders, touched your hair with his tiny fingers and groomed them with interest in his dark eyes, was very cute. And your reaction was honest.

"I think, he likes you", Caracalla mumbled, while he returned to his seat, still watching you how gentle you were with Dondus, one of his only 'real friends'. It was his own pet, his alone and caring for him often calmed his mind. Just as you did in this very moment since no word came from his mouth - he just watched. Why, just why does he have to share you with Geta soon...

Slowly he reached for his cup of wine and poured it down in an attempt to numb his thoughts over this damn fact.

"You said you see yourself in Octavia, but you could be Poppaea", he whispered, his eyes locked on yours.

"I could be," you responded, the focus laying on 'could', while you were still playing with the little monkey. In a way you started to find your path in this game. "Either way my fate would end in death then."

Caracalla laughed boisterous once again in response to your words, while he raised his cup. "And yet you would live in delight instead of agony. Let us toast to the inevitable death of us all". You took your cup and followed his toast.

"To the tragedy of us all." As you drank a first sip of your wine, you still saw how he looked you straight into the eyes. It was clear that he just waited for the next chance to say something and this time he was closer than before, leaning over the armrest of his throne. The Emperor was close enough for you to smell the scent of his perfumes and the wine on him.

"I just know we will have a lot of fun, once we see each other more often," he chuckled. His words hit you, but you tried your best not to drop your mask of neutrality. You'd almost began to enjoy this conversation up to this point. What did he mean by that?

Should you ask? No, it would be terribly impolite to question something like that in the presence of an Emperor. Only your lips parted, while you searched for your next words. Caracalla was the one to grin again, his gold tooth shimmering in the lights that came from the stage of the theater. And his next words rang through your ears like a bell.

"Don't forget to thank your dear father, once you're back home."

_________________________________

Marcus Acacius walked through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, escorted by the Praetorian Guard. He was not in chains, but wore his dark brown leather armor with the wine red whool cloak and his helmet under his arm - the armor of a General. In fact, he didn't really know why he was even here in the first place. It was quite early for a new war campaign, but he stopped to question them long ago anyways. It wouldn't be a surprise, if the Emperors had already found a new target for their obsession. The mere hunger for expansion was enough to never satisfy both Geta and Caracalla, who simply took military like Acacius and moved them on a map as if they were simple toy figures. The glory of Rome was what they promised the people, yet all the older man had seen was death and despair over and over again - even though he always came back with a victory laurel wreath on his head. What an irony.

The fact that everything was like the last times he was called to the palace, made him unobservant to the fact that he was walking straight into a trap. He was sure that his secret was still a secret - that he and the senators were safe in a way. Maybe safe enough to carry out their plan once the time was ready for it. How wrong he was on this...

When he stepped into the throne room, the guards behind him closed the door and he greeted Emperor Geta according to the protocol in situations like these. "My Emperor", he said with his fist on his chest and his eyes locked on the young man, who stood in front of one of the two elaborately designed thrones, which were placed on a platform at the center of the room.

"General Acacius! It is good to see you again. Come forward...," Geta called and his waving hand was a signal for him to move, to come closer. As he did, Marcus noticed that the other twin was missing, but this wasn't a surprise too since Caracalla was often 'occupied' with other things. In reality, he simply hated politics and rather threw himself into diffent forms of pleasure in an attempt to escape the stuffiness.

They were not alone, a couple of Praetorian guards stood at their distinct positions as they always did and therefore the general simply ignored them.

Meanwhile Geta had to force himself to keep a straight face, when the traitor approached him as if nothing happened at all, as if he was not about to put a sword into his neck with those filthy senators - just as Julius Caesar got betrayed by his kin and the senate as well. The young Emperor would not let this happen again.

"Tell me, General, why did i call for you?"

Acacius brows furrowed, while he looked to the map table, which was standing alone in front of the great window. It was untouched.

"I thought you might answer me that, your Grace. The last time we talked, you granted me a pause before i will regroup my legions in Ostia and start the next campaign in Numidia."

Geta's laughter filled the room in response to the General's words and it took him even more strength to not scream at him.

"Oh, don't worry, Acacius. This plan hasn't changed yet."

Yet. A feeling of unease creeped up his body, as he stood still, his eyes locked on the pale, gingerblonde royal, who stood in front of him in a toga of black and gold.

"But let us be honest now, shall we? I question your loyality to me and my brother, to Rome. As i know, you're meeting with members of the senate," Geta called out and even though this was true, Acacius kept a straight face, hiding his fear in trained perfection.

"As you know, my dear wife is the daughter of senator Galba. Is it now regarded as treason to meet with my father-in-law?"

Geta stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Acacius in an instant, while his jaw clenched in anger. His mind was like a volcano, ready to erupt at any second.

"Do you think we're fools!?", he hissed with an even more aggressive undertone that grew louder with each word. Marcus had to tackle the urge to say 'Yes', in fact there was even so much more he wanted to say right now. That they were tyrants, mad, arrogant and overall spoiled little brats, which he cursed at every given second of his life.

"We know what you're up to Acacius - a snake amongst the men we regarded as the most loyal to our father and to us. How dare you turn against us and plot with those maggots from the senate, even though you've seen that they were not able to rule an Empire for yourself! Have you no respect for Emperor Septimius Severus, who gave you all what you're now!?"

It was too late, he obviously knew. And Acacius was not even able to put in words how much he hated himself for not being able to keep it as a secret long enough. It not only put his own life in danger but the rest of his family too, his wife... his daughter. His jaw clenched at the mere thought of the consequences that might errupt in the aftermath of this audience. Yet he couldn't hold back what was laying under his tongue for so long: "You father still holds my greatest respect and loyalty even after his passing... may the gods grant him peace in elysium. But i've seen your shortcomings many, many times. You lack the wisdom and restraint he had, yes maybe even the love he had for Rome and its people. You and your brother are not worthy of the crowns he placed upon your heads."

Geta's eye twitched and he grabbed a dagger, placing it right in front of Acacius' throat. His whole body trembled in pure wrath at the audacity of that General's words.

"I should kill you now Acacius! I should kill you and all those filthy senators for that treason!", he screamed at him, while his opponent only responded with a cold and collected gaze. This look alone made him Geta even more aggressive and hateful towards Marcus, but killing him would only create another problem - so he went with the path he had already planned in his mind.

"My brother was right, you are a Brutus. But we're not Julius Caesar", Geta hissed against Acacius, leaning his head to the side for a moment, as he studied his stern facial expression. Oh how much he hated it that he didn't fear him. The Emperor wanted to change that.

"We should start all over again, shall we? As a hero of Rome, the people won't be pleased with you being crucified publically... But we can still kill your wife... your daughter?", he started and noticed how - even for a second - the corners of Acacius' mouth twitched, as if he wanted to say something against this. Now there was fear, something Acacius tried desperately not to show, but Geta still noticed.

A wide, knowing smile appeared on his face and he nodded in silent agreement. "Ah, now you see the consequences. Yes, i am not above killing you kin and let you watch... but it would be such a shame, such a waste... especially for your beautiful daughter. I wonder how you will explain to her, that you threw her young life away because of your pride"

The blade of his dagger was dangerously close as the tip touched his skin at his neck, while Acacius stood in an almost frozen position.

"I have a proposal for you, Acacius...it is the only option to safe your own life and the ones of those you love the most - wed your daughter to me."

Geta's word hit Marcus like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened in response to the request of the Emperor in front of him. And his heart broke in that very moment.

"I will not sell out my daughter like this", he answered with a firm tone in his voice, but Geta only smirked and leaned forward, whispering in his ear with an amused undertone. He knew that Marcus wasn't able to say 'No' in any way. He loved his daughter too much to watch her die.

"One option, General. She either becomes my wife - and i will make her Empress of Rome. Or she will be crucified alongside your pathetic senators..."

He would always choose her life, but at what cost.

_________________________________

Tags:

quuinyoung koshkahhh mmkkzz analves pandora-journey ange-olras tellynojelly targwh0re h3k3t onelemonoat whitenoise808 spooky-cupid dev1lbella onelemonoat hawraa-alzubaidi omg-hellgirl the-holy-pigeon justnobodynothingmore fandomblogs-stuff justnobodynothingmore superblyspeedydragon deliciousfestsalad moon-390 lv9su harmfulb1tch apollonshootafar zalera8310 sweetffcts lvspedri soltik capitanostella weepingfashionwritingplaid labellapeaky

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii fic #kabuki writes

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what-even-is-thiss · 4 months ago

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If you take like 1.5 times the amount of instant coffee you’re supposed to use and dissolve it in the bare minimum amount of hot water in a small-ish glass and fill the rest of the glass with cold milk and add a couple of ice cubes it will not in fact taste normal. It will taste kinda weird. And I don’t think this drink has a name but I do make it sometimes and it tastes good. It also does not taste like other coffee drinks.

Edit: Yes the similar drinks have been explained to me now

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456-is-the-way · 6 days ago

Note

hiii so ive had this idea for a while now but i just dont have the skills to write it myself, its not really a reader x character but more of a maybe actor!reader x the actor of the character if u get me??😭😭

so the idea is actor!reader plays a character that is also played as the love interest/partner of hwang inho (lee byung hun's character) and during their scenes together (like an intimate scene between their characters) reader just keeps messing up her lines or having trouble staying in character because she keeps getting flustered/shy by lee byung hun causing them to redo the scene over and over again so him and the whole cast just keeps laughing and teasing her about it😣😣🙏🙏🙏

A/n: So I will be going in order of the requests I get in my ask box then I will start on some suggestions I have in the comments. Once again, I do Actor x reader actor! So here is one of those ideas and I love it. I was going to do a tag list but I don’t know why it won't let me tag people!

Trigger warnings: Talks of smut, Partial Smut (lol?)

Squid Game Masterlist

Lee Byung-hun x reader

Quiet On Set

(Y/n) knew this scene would be the hardest to film. Sure as a professional actor, she filmed multiple movies that had intimate scenes. However, (Y/n) never had a romantic interest in the other actors. There was an instant spark when she met Lee Byung-hun. His character happens to have a complex background and in this season goes undercover to destroy Gi-hun, Lee Jung-jae, in an attempt to show him no matter what, people are greedy. Thats when (Y/n) character is introduced. (C/n) is written to be the complete opposite of The Frontman, In-ho. She is kind, patient, understanding, caring, and meant to show the good in humanity even though she has been dealt only hardships in life. Throughout the season their love builds up, soft touches, knowing glances, and quick kisses in secret. All the while (Y/n) had been falling helplessly in love with Lee Byung-hun. Of course, the fans did not let this go unnoticed during their recent interviews. Social media had blown up with edits and multiple bloggers posting about the chemistry they shared. (Y/n) would not admit her guilty pleasure is watching those edits and making comments herself which and fans foaming at the mouths. Lee Byung-hun even found it humorous that people not only shipped their character but them as well. When any with him and (Y/n) not on set but together was posted the fans always blew the comment section up within minutes.

“Alright places everyone!” Hwang Dong-hyuk called as the crew rushed to make sure everything was set up in the correct frames. “(Y/n), Byung-hun are you all ready?” He asked kindly always wanting to double-check checking the actors were comfortable in scenes where they would be partially on display. (Y/n) nods even though slightly hesitant she walked onto the set and stood by the bathroom wall where the scene was going to be shot.

Byung-hun walked behind her with a smile, “Don’t be nervous (Y/n) this scene will be over before you know it.” It earned a shy smile from the actress leaning against the wall.

“I am not that nervous… It’s a while since I have done scenes like this. Alright, I think we are ready.” She told the director and Byung-hun nodded in agreement.

“Quiet on set, Take one, action!” He yelled and silence filled the room. (Y/n) could swear her heartbeat could probably be heard by how badly it was beating against her chest.

Byung-hun fell into character without hesitation moving to press (Y/n) the cold tile. She breathes heavily cheeks flushed looking into his eyes. “In-ho we can’t” She whispered as he began aggressively kissing up her neck pressing their bodies together. (Y/n) let out a whimper from the pleasure she felt.

“But you (C/n)” His voice went low showing his absolute dominance. (Y/n) wasn’t used to this side of the sweet Byung-hun. As scripted their jumpsuits were quickly discarded. The heavy breathing filled the room as the two actors stood almost nude in front of each other. His leg slipped between (Y/n).

She arched up and moaned softly feeling him rub his knee against her covered core. “Byung-hun!” (Y/n) gasped causing him to instantly freeze. “Fuck I’m sorry.” She said as the director yelled cut.

“Let's roll again.” As the scene had to be started over (Y/n) continued to be a flustered mess messing up the lines or using Byung-hun’s name instead of Young-Il.

“You are a mess.” He chuckled as the team thought it was hilarious she could not for the life of her finish the scene. Byung-hun smirked and leaned down whispering in a low sexual voice. “Do it in one shot this time and I’ll let you cry my name tonight.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widen looking into her costars eyes with a grin. Let's just say she didn’t mess up again.

#squid game x reader #squid game smut #squid game fanfiction #squid game #in-ho #in ho x reader #in-ho smut #in-ho squid game #lee byung hun #lee byung-hun x reader #lee byung-hun smut #lee byung-hun images

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darnell-la · 4 months ago

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𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗦 𝗔 𝗕𝗜𝗚 𝗗𝗢𝗚

pairing: the worst!logan howlett x younger generation!reader

warnings: Logan easing into the new world and generation, mention of Wade trying to get roommate!reader and Logan together, making a TikTok, sniffing, smut, etc.

note: “she don’t want no puppy! She wanna BIG dawg!”

———

Logan had thought living with Wade would be a bad idea. He belonged in his last universe with what he’s done. He brought himself down for years, mentally and physically, hoping the pain would stop. Thankfully, it finally had.

It’s been almost a year since Logan has lived with Wade and his younger roommate. The match seemed off when he first met her, but after the first hour, she knew why she and Wade were close friends.

The girl was in college, young, pretty, had a small job at the campus, and loved parties, and things that Wade did daily.

Logan had a small argument with y/n a couple of weeks ago after she gifted him an iPhone. She said he needed it to keep in touch with her and Wade. She also said he needed a bit of humor.

He had no idea what that meant until she made a TikTok for the man. The videos that came up on his page didn’t make sense to him, he he still laughed at them.

He had no idea what happened to himself, but sending memes to y/n every hour was a habit.

After sending y/n a TikTok video, he swiped and came across a sound that confused him.

The man in the video was lip-syncing a song as she showed his muscles. Logan gave a disgusting look at his phone, thinking the man looked ridiculous until he read the title.

“When she chose you because you’re height starts with a six and your weight starts with a two”

Logan sent the video to y/n, asking her what he meant by that. He didn’t know being a muscle-tall man was a trend.

“Logan, I’m in the room next to you, just come here!” Y/n shouted in her room, making him sigh loudly as he got off of the couch for the first time in what felt like days.

“I just wanted to know what he meant? Like is being big and tall a trend? Like, if that’s the case, then I’d be viral,” Logan used words that y/n and Wade ran him by.

“God, Logan — Do people your age question everything?” Y/n checked her phone and noticed what trend he sent her. She’s thought about this trend but with Logan in it. He fits it perfectly, but Wade would tease her if she’d ever brought it up.

“I’m just askin', Bub. Seemed stupid to me,” Logan shrugged his shoulders. “Because you haven’t tried it,” y/n defended her generation. “So, you’re into that stuff? God, y/n — Never knew you’d be one of those kids,”

“I do like it, and since you’re so boring, we’re gonna have you do it, so c’mere,” y/n stood up from her bed and placed her phone down on her desk after clicking the sound.

“Gotta take your shirt off for it,” y/n lied, but she knew he’d do it, even if he complained. “No fuckin’ way, bub,” Logan laughed as he turned around to go back to his sofa until she grabbed his arm softly.

“Please! You never do TikTok’s with me,” y/n fake cried, annoying him in an instant. “Ain’t takin’ my shirt off for no little girls online. I’d get, what’s it called? Canceled?” Logan said, making her laugh.

“Logan, you sound stupid as fuck. Take off the shirt — Unless you’re jealous they look better than you,” y/n shrugged her shoulders as she went back to her bed to sit down, acting like she didn’t care to get a reaction out of him.

“Bub, you know I look better than them, so stop the lyin,” Logan felt a bit upset at her words. Y/n ignored him for what felt like hours, so he sighed and gave up. “Swear to god, I’d Wade say some shit about this, I’ll kill him,”

Logan and y/n worked on the TikTok for an half hour, trying to get the right angle since he kept saying he didn’t look good enough.

Y/n never complained. Watching him walk through her door repeatedly, then editing the video in slow motion, made her stomach tingle.

At first, Logan felt uncomfortable. She could smell the young lady, but he didn’t want to say anything. He’d be a pervert if he did, so he kept quiet, thinking it would go away, but he knew her spot grew bigger.

“So, you think I’m a big dog?” Logan genuinely asked as y/n began to edit the TikTok video. “What makes you think that?” She asked; thinking she nailed her scared response, but Logan saw the quick stutter in her fingers as she typed on her phone.

“Just askin, bub,” Logan said before taking a small sniff. He was leaning on her doorway as she sat on her bed. He was so far., yet she smelt so close.

He cussed himself out in his head, upset that Wade had won this “you’ll like her eventually” argument. Logan swore she was too young, and even made her feel a bit bad.

He had thought y/n had moved on, maybe got over the thought of her having a chance with Wade’s new friend, but the smell she had, is making him go insane.

All she’s doing is making a TikTok. That’s it, but he can’t stop thinking about the spot she’s soaking in her panties. He felt nasty, but in a good way after a while. The lust was taking him over.

“You happy you’ve got your little video?” Logan asked as he kicked off of her dorm frame and walked towards her bed to sit next to her.

“Yes, finally,” she smiled at him before continuing her edit. Logan scanned the girl's body slowly, watching how spotty her breathing was, seeing goosebumps form on her arms, and watching her leg shake a bit.

“Is that so?” He asked as he placed his hand on her thigh. She’s always been a sweet bean to him, but he ignored it. He tried his best to prove Wade wrong, but she was hard to ignore, and Wade knew that. Wade knew y/n would bring something out in the grumpy old man.

“Mhm hm,” Y/n mumbled as she pushed the post on her phone. “Think it’ll get a lot of likes,” she looked to the side at Logan who was now closer than she thought.

“And why is that? I look good?” He asked her, eyes on her soft and pretty lips. “Uh, yeah — Think the viewers will like it,” she awkwardly smiled, feeling her heart raise.

“Think you liked it more than the viewers will,” Logan almost whispered. Y/n just noticed how his shirt was still off. Why was his shirt still off?

“Seen you repost that video, y/n. You’re not slick,” Logan spoke about the video he had sent her. “Think you were thinkin’ about me when you did it,” the man smirked.

“I- I was just reposting,” Y/n stuttered as his hand slowly cupped her chin. “Guess I’m not the big dog you’re lookin’ for them,” Logan faked sighing as he pulled his hand back.

Before he could turn around to get up, y/n grabbed his face and pulled him into a short but long kiss, hoping to get the best out of this one-time thing.

“Told you last you, you ain’t for me, baby,” Logan said, making y/n look down in embarrassment. “I know,” she said. “I lied — Was just goin’ through a little somethin,” Logan admitted before pulling her back into a kiss, this time rough.

Y/n gasped as he breathed into her mouth, sucking on her lips like he’d starved for days. “Lo,” y/n moaned low at the feeling of his pulling her into his rough kisses.

Logan decided to push Y/n down on her bed and lean over her, keeping their lips together. Y/n instantly wrapped her legs around the man, pulling him closer as he moved his hips, grinding on her to feel the pressure.

“Oh, fuck,” Logan groaned in between their kiss, feeling his cock leak already. “If I fuck you, Wade wins,” Logan pulled back from the girl, taking a look into her eyes. She thought the man would leave, get off of her and never speak to her again, until he assured her, he was staying.

“Fuck it — Can’t resist you anymore, baby,” Logan smashed his lips back onto the young lady's lips, kissing her roughly as he tugged on his jeans. All y/n had to do was pull up the gown she wore almost every day she was off of work when she was too lazy to dress up.

“Wait- We need a condom,” y/n leaned up, but Logan pushed her back down. “Oh, no we don’t. Your cunts leaking too much for me to not feel her,” Logan said. She was confused, not knowing how he knew she was wet until she thought to herself.

He’s a mutant. His only powers can’t be regeneration and speed.

“Fuck, I-“ y/n cut herself off, embarrassed at her pervy actions. He probably smells her all the time. “Caught red-handed,” Logan chuckled as he put his cock in hand.

“Always wet around the house. Teasin’ me and basically beggin’ for me every day. Wished I took you to my room when I first met you. Maybe by now, we’d have our little family,”

Logan pushed into the girl, giving her no time to think about what he had just said about a family.

She’s never thought of a family with Logan. It’s not he wasn’t father material, it’s the fact she’s only been thinking about him pleasing her, and pleasing her only.

“Fuck, that’s it,”

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