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ittybittyfanblog · 6 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

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, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry. (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment.

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream.

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off.

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black.

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications.

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending.

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts.

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

… You cave on the fifth day.

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment]

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours.

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me.

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word.

Dont shut me out.

Please.

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams.

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them.

You set your phone down.

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops.

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered.

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb.

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling.

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out.

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space.

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then.

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll.

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will.

––––

“Hey, you okay?”

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.”

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Anytime, darling.

I mean it.

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?”

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store.

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath.

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent.

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain.

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor.

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back.

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most.

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make.

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes.

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button.

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless.

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision.

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized.

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing.

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does.

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope?

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far.

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin.

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red.

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark.

And unread mail. So much unread mail.

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you.

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you.

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being.

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words. Something in him snaps.

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red.

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues:

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating.

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you?

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break.

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you.

You’re afraid of what’ll come next.

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him.

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you.

As if he’d allow such a thing.

The guilt rises in him, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

…

And just like that, he concedes.

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other.

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even.

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?”

“Of course.” Whatever you want.

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head.

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart.

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound.

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him.

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other.

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact.

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched.

“My lo—”

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.”

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt.

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?”

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?”

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine.

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily.

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke.

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption.

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks.

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling.

I love you.

I love you in ways that consume me.

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you.

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.”

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop.

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading.

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone.

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.”

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise.

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?”

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did.

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his.

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.”

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time.

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent.

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating.

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you.

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours.

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

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 @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

#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 #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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iydiamartinx · 21 days ago

Text

NOT WITHOUT APPROVAL

Pairing: Kyle Rayner x Reader ft. Batfam

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 2.8k synopsis: Kyle Rayner gets interrogated by your overprotective bat brothers. a/n: This was my first time writing Kyle, so go easy on me if he feels a little off—I was also running on zero sleep while doing it 💀

You knew this day would come.

It was inevitable, really. No matter how much you tried to fly under the radar—normal dates, low-key outings, minimal PDA—the moment Kyle Rayner became a regular in your life, your brothers soon found out after that.

Jason was the first to notice. Of course he was.

You weren’t even with Kyle at the time. Just texting him during patrol, your face lit faintly by your comm screen. You hadn’t even realized you were smiling until Jason’s voice cut through the silence.

“Who the hell keeps making you smile like that?” he asked, eyes still scanning the rooftop across the alley.

You blinked. “No one.”

He slowly turned to look at you unimpressed. “That’s a lie. You only smile like that when you’re watching dog videos or texting someone who shouldn’t be texting you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, tucking your phone away.

He told the others that night.

Which is why, a week later, Kyle found himself in the deeply unfortunate position of walking into a coffee shop and realizing—with the slowness of a man watching his life flash before his eyes—that your four uninvited brothers were there and you weren’t.

Dick was the first to spot him, his smile a little too bright to be genuine. “Kyle, buddy! Glad you could make it. Sit. Want anything? Coffee? A muffin?” His tone was sweet. His eyes were not.

Tim had an iPad in his hands, his usually sleepy gaze sharp and hard for once. “Just a few questions. Basic background check. You know, standard sibling procedure.”

Jason sat across from them, arms folded, expression carved from stone. He didn’t say a word.

Neither did Damian, who lounged beside him, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled like a villain as his emerald green eyes narrowed into the infamous bat glare.

Kyle hesitated in the doorway, scanning the table as if gauging whether to run. But it was already too late. He walked toward them with the same reluctant grace of a man stepping into a den of wolves wearing bacon-scented cologne. His usual confident smile twitched, faltered, then gave up entirely as he looked from face to face—each one offering a different variation of the we will end you look.

“So…” Kyle offered, his voice pitching higher than usual, “does this count as a family brunch, or…?”

“Just sit,” Jason said flatly.

He cleared his throat and did just that.

You arrived late. The bell above the café door chimed softly, but the scene that greeted you brought you to an abrupt stop.

Kyle sat in the centre of the corner booth, hunched between your brothers who flanked him on either side, like a panel of parole officers.

Your eyes narrowed. “You ambushed him?!”

Dick was the first to respond, flashing a grin that was far too wide, far too cheerful to be genuine. “Hey, baby bat. We were just getting to know your… friend.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Boyfriend,” he corrected. “She told Steph and Cass he was her boyfriend.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “You little eavesdropper!”

Turning to Kyle, your tone softened with exasperation. “You should’ve just left.”

Kyle gave a sheepish laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sorry. I should’ve texted you. But I walked in and they were already here, and honestly?” He glanced toward Damian with a grimace. “I was afraid if I ran, Damian would chase me.”

Damian scoffed, clearly offended. “As if I would lower myself to such a humiliating display.”

You turned your glare on each of your brothers in slow succession, the kind of look that said try me. Your finger jabbed toward Jason. “I swear to God, if you threatened him—”

“I haven’t even pulled out my gun,” Jason replied with mock innocence. Then, after a beat, added, “Yet.”

Tim, seated across from Kyle with a tablet in his hands, cleared his throat. “Kyle Rayner. Green Lantern. Former graphic designer. Lives in Metropolis. Mild arrest record for trespassing—art-related. Consistent League presence, decent intergalactic diplomacy score.” He paused and looked up at Kyle with narrowed eyes, “So far, not bad.”

You shut your eyes and exhaled slowly. “…You ran a background check?”

Tim didn’t even glance up. “I cross-referenced League records, public databases, and pulled his social media footprint. It’s hardly invasive.”

Kyle shifted in his seat, as he sheepishly said with a nervous laugh. “It sort of is invasive.”

Dick leaned forward then, arms resting on the table, hands loosely clasped. He wore that trademark easygoing smile—and despite looking the friendliest, he was probably the scariest. “Look, kid. We’re not here to scare you. We just want to be sure our sister isn’t wasting her time with someone who can’t handle… well… us.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who cried when she dated that paramedic,” Jason muttered.

“He had a moustache like Commissioner Gordon!” Dick snapped. “It was weird!”

Your mouth dropped open. “He did not!”

“It was curling,” Dick insisted. “He looked like he should be directing traffic outside GCPD!”

Before you could respond with the scathing remark forming on your tongue, Damian cut in, his voice calm and infuriatingly cold. “I still have a few questions.”

You blinked, already feeling your temper rise. “Absolutely not. My relationship is none of your business—especially not yours, Damian. You’re twelve!”

“Incorrect,” he said, completely unbothered. “With Father off-world on League business, the responsibility of vetting potential suitors falls upon us. And as the only competent one in the room, it defaults to me.”

A chorus of protests erupted immediately from the others that Damian ignored. His gaze flicked to Kyle with practiced disdain, like he was gum stuck to the bottom of his combat boot. “What exactly makes you worthy of my sister, subhuman?”

Kyle blinked, visibly thrown off, still debating whether or not he should take offence to being called subhuman.

He frozen in place. His mouth opened, then closed. “Uh…” he began, uncertain, the word trailing off as he tried to form a coherent sentence.

Apparently, the hesitation was answer enough.

Damian’s eyes narrowed into sharp green slits. “Drake,” he said, voice clipped, “what else have you found?”

“Continuing with my findings,” he said, voice casual, “Kyle’s record is mostly clean, aside from the minor trespassing incident involving an unauthorized mural I mentioned earlier. Risk level: moderate. Noted to have a saviour complex. And he also cries during Pixar movies.”

Kyle straightened abruptly, scandalized. “I do not cry at—okay, Up doesn’t count,” he admitted, then looked around in disbelief. “How the hell did you even find that out?!”

“Don’t humour him,” you muttered under your breath, shooting Kyle a warning glance before turning your full attention back to the pint-sized menace sitting across from you. “Again—you are twelve, Damian. What the hell makes you an expert on relationship vetting?”

“I’ve read three psychology textbooks,” Damian began coolly, lifting his hand to tick the points off with deliberate precision, “studied the behavioural profiles of over twenty romantic serial offenders—one of which includes Grayson.”

Dick jolted upright, visibly affronted. “Excuse me?”

“Your pattern of failed relationships is both statistically and psychologically alarming,” Damian continued, undeterred. “I’ve even made charts.”

You and the rest of your siblings snorted in unison. Across from you, Kyle gave a small, nervous laugh—the kind of sound a man makes when he’s not entirely sure whether he’s in on the joke or about to be murdered for blinking wrong.

Dick’s voice shot up. “What charts?!”

“And,” Damian went on, ignoring him entirely, “I once successfully diffused a volatile courtship between two League assassins with conflicting kill orders.”

You opened your mouth to speak—possibly to tell him how utterly deranged that sounded, how Leagueassassins should not be part of any romantic case study, much less one led by a twelve-year-old—but he wasn’t finished.

“Your track record, on the other hand, includes crying over someone who ghosted you for a week and then posted a thirst trap.”

Whatever amusement you’d had vanished in an instant. Your jaw dropped, your face flushed. “That was one time!” you snapped, your voice pitching higher than you intended, voice cracked halfway between defensive outrage and and sheer mortification.

“To be fair,” Jason grumbled from his seat, voice laced with judgment and absolutely no sympathy, “she only dated him because—and I quote—‘he had killer abs.’”

Your head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull something. “Jason!”

He shrugged. “Don’t look at me. You did say it.”

Tim nodded in agreement.

“Will you idiots please stop listening in on my conversations with Steph and Cass—” you began, only to be immediately cut off.

“Exactly!” Damian exclaimed cutting you off, throwing up a hand. “We cannot afford another lapse in judgment,” he declared, gesturing toward Kyle like he were Exhibit A in a courtroom trial, “simply because this new lover happens to look marginally appealing in low lighting and owns a sketchbook.”

Kyle blinked, the sentence hitting him a beat too late. He processed the insult, then the strange half-praise buried beneath it.

“…Was that a compliment?” he asked, genuinely unsure.

“No!” four voices of your brothers barked in unison.

The sheer force of the response made him flinch slightly, hands rising halfway in surrender. You sighed, long and loud, dragging a hand down your face in exhausted disbelief.

Damian’s full attention had returned to your boyfriend now, gaze cold and assessing.

“So,” he said, tone chillingly level, “let me repeat—what makes you worthy of my sister?”

Kyle swallowed, shoulders tensing under the weight of every glare trained on him. He cleared his throat, trying to will some confidence into his voice.

“Uh… right. Well. I guess… I care about her?” he offered.

Damian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You guess?”

“No—I do! I do care,” Kyle corrected quickly, sitting forward with more conviction. “She’s smart. Amazing. She’s—she’s brave. She makes things feel… clearer. Like I know who I want to be when I’m around her. She makes me better.”

Jason leaned back in his chair with a groan. “Jesus. That was such a Hallmark line that I think I got a cavity.”

“Do you value your kneecaps?” Damian asked flatly, not even bothering to blink.

That was your cue.

You stepped in at last, exasperated beyond belief, you planted your hands firmly on the worn surface and levelled a withering glare at your brothers. “Okay, this—whatever this is—is over.”

“We’re just doing our due diligence as your brothers,” Tim said, completely unapologetic as he tapped something casually into his tablet.

“No,” you hissed, voice low and livid. “You’re not. You’re all insane. I swear, Duke is the only normal one left in this family.”

Jason shrugged, unfazed. “Your boy toy is still alive. That’s considered restraint.”

Kyle, to his credit, only subtly shift a few inches away from Jason at the his statement.

“I bought him a muffin,” Dick chimed in, as if that excused the interrogation he and the others forced Kyle under.

Kyle nodded quickly, hoping he could help diffuse the tension. “It’s true. He did buy me a muffin.”

You turned to your boyfriend with narrowed eyes. “Stop trying to make light of this. For all you know, these idiots poisoned it.”

The colour drained from Kyle’s face. He looked down at the now-empty muffin wrapper with dawning horror, then slowly turned his head toward Dick, who merely grinned wider and winked—completely refusing to confirm or deny the accusation.

Damian, meanwhile, was still watching Kyle with unnerving focus, arms folded, lips pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, he spoke again, “If you hurt her,” he said, voice firm and cold, “the Green Lantern ring won’t save you from me.”

You let out a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is insane. I’m not fifteen. I’m not sneaking out to meet a boy behind your backs. Kyle and I are seeing each other. End of story. You do not get a vote.”

Jason leaned back, arms crossed, expression smug. “Actually, we get four.”

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

Across the table, Kyle had gone still. Damian’s words had clearly hit their mark. But rather than shrink away, he reached for you.

His hand found yours hesitantly, fingers brushing your skin like the simple act of touching you might trigger a full-on brawl with the others. His gaze flicked to your brothers—who had suddenly gone quiet, watching with interaction with sharp, unreadable expressions—and then settled back on you.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Really. I get it. If I had a sister like you… I’d be worried too.”

You froze and softened at the fact he wasn’t completely bothered by your family.

Kyle turned back to your brothers, squaring his shoulders as he looked between them one by one. Then his eyes found Damian again. He held Damian’s glare, steady and unflinching.

Then, with a slow nod, he spoke—his voice calm, steady, and utterly sincere.

“Okay,” he said. “Like I said—I get it. I respect it. But I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not going to hurt her.” He let the words hang there, heavy and unflinching, and then added—more quietly, but somehow more resolutely, “You don’t have to like me. Hell, you can threaten me all you want. I’m not here to fight you. I’m here because I really do care about her deeply.”

There was a long silence. Then Jason sighed like it physically hurt him. ““Well… he’s not the worst you’ve done.”

“I still don’t like him,” Damian added swiftly, as if he needed to get it on the record before anyone mistook him for soft. “But… I suppose if he hurts you, we’ll just make him disappear.”

Kyle blinked. “Wait, does this mean you all approve?”

All of them snorted at the question.

“Don’t push it, buddy,” Dick said, rising from his seat. Tim followed suit, both of them stepping aside to let Kyle escape the booth

You didn’t bother replying. Instead, you grabbed Kyle’s arm and tugged him up with more force than necessary, already heading toward the door with determined steps.

“Okay. We’re leaving,” you announced, throwing one last glare over your shoulder. “Next time, we’ll do dinner off-planet.”

Tim blinked. “You know we can just hack the satellites.”

You only flipped your brothers the bird. Kyle turned to you as you stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind you with the soft jingle of the bell. His expression was a mix of awe and mild terror.

“…You know,” he said slowly, “I suddenly understand why you have trust issues.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in a little closer, voice dipping into a whisper like he thought your brothers might still be listening. “Just so I know… are there more of them?”

You sighed, the sound long-suffering but laced with something almost—almost—fond.

“Technically?” you said, casting Kyle a sideways glance. “Barbara’s neutral. Cass and Steph like you—so far. Duke too. But he also told me to pass along a message.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“If you break my heart,” you continued sweetly, “he’ll ruin your credit score.”

Kyle blinked, visibly thrown. “That’s… a very specific threat.”

You only smirked, slipping your hand around his arm and tugging him gently forward. “Welcome to my family.” There was a beat of silence before you added, far too casually, “Oh, and remember—you still haven’t officially met my dad yet.”

Kyle stopped cold in his tracks.

You felt the sudden halt in his step and turned just in time to watch all the colour drain from his face.

“Wait. What?” he said, voice a little higher than usual. “I thought… I just survived the Four Horsemen of Gotham. Can’t they just pass along a message or something?”

You turned to face him, your expression amused. “They were the warm-up.”

Kyle blinked. “The warm-up?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, nodding. “Bruce prefers one-on-one conversations. Private. Controlled. Somewhere quiet, and… less likely to leave evidence.”

Kyle ran a hand down his face, visibly distressed. “I’ve fought aliens. I’ve stared down gods. I’ve survived being trapped in a black hole with Guy Gardner. But this…” He trailed off, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

And yet—he didn’t step back. He didn’t run. He just stood there, eyes wide, shoulders tight. Then, with a sharp breath, he straightened, lifted his chin, and gave a shaky nod.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. I can do this. I’ve got this. Probably.”

You grinned, looping your arm through his. “That’s the spirit.”

From the café window behind you, a small figure stood watching—arms crossed, green eyes narrowed, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Fool,” Damian murmured, his breath fogging faintly against the glass.

Jason, standing beside him and sipping what was left of his coffee, let out a low chuckle.

“Dead man walking.”

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quarterlifekitty · 1 month ago

Note

going to the carnival with soap like “if you get me that giant cow i will blow you on the ferris wheel”

What you’re doing at the carnival

Soap is winning every stuffed animal you so much as glance at. It is ritual at this point. Because he knows filling up the car with new friends is the best way to encourage you to get sweet on him, it turns you all cuddly and affectionate for the rest of the evening, clinging to his arm as you walk, and of course, palming his bulge on every ride that allows it.

Carnival night is Gaz’s night to be bad. He will be visiting every single food stall and getting two of everything. You guys share an ungodly amount of fried food and spend the next day nursing tummy aches. But it’s so worth it, and you still discuss all the things you’re going to try next year.

I’m going to tell you a story. Once, when you went to a carnival, Ghost accidentally won a goldfish for you. He was aiming for a different prize, but they didn’t offer exchanges so he was left awkwardly holding a bag with a sad little fish in it. So you left almost immediately— you didn’t want to jostle it around in a bag all night. So you went to a pet shop. Got a 50 gallon tank, gravel, live plants, filters and bubblers, flake food, bloodworms, and methalyne blue, cleaner snails. Ended up spending like 300 quid and 5 hours setting up this luxurious tank for this single, tiny goldfish. You went back to the carnival the following night and got another on your way out, because you thought it was cruel to have just one. He won it first try.

Price doesn’t care much for a lot of carnival offerings, but he’s happy to just accompany you. What he does like is if they have rowboat or swan boat rentals— taking you out into the middle of the lake on a cool evening with the lights and excitement in the background while he coos at you and kisses you senseless away from prying eyes.

Nikolai loves an occasion to dress you, and this is perfect. A new dress with sleeves off the shoulders. Ribbon in your hair. Takes you to the face painter so you have cute little kitty whiskers and stripes. Wins you a few cheap little rings, full of colorful glass stones. Carves the sight of you smiling on the merry-go-round deep into his mind and heart. Pays the Ferris wheel attendant so you’ll be stuck at the top for half an hour. He feeds you cotton candy by pinching bits off with his fingers, having you suck the sugar clean off of them. Loves kissing you and tasting your stained, sweetened tongue.

#cod fanfic #writing #cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john price #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader

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rafesplaymate · 8 months ago

Text

The Other Woman

Rafe Cameron x Stripper!Reader

݁༉‧₊˚. navigation. ݁༉‧₊˚. masterlist.

warnings: angst. cheating (not on reader). substance use. descriptions of smut. dark themes / adult content.

a/n: there will be no second part

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

“The other woman has time to manicure her nails

The other woman is perfect where her rival fails.”

Her arms feel like the sun on a breezy day. Shining on him and encasing him in warmth while the cool winds prickle at his skin. Her scent like a pheromone that was designed solely to attract him. Her skin like expensive silk under his fingertips, delicate and smooth. Her lips felt like satin, brushing and sponging against his skin, lips and body in a way that was entirely addictive. She was entirely addictive; she was his haven. The luxury between her legs only he had access too. Her arousal was a flavor that could never be matched and that he yearned for when she wasn’t on his tongue. Slipping inside her felt like he had a taste of heaven, something he was entirely dedicated to worshipping. She was a deity he would willingly sacrifice his soul and life to.

“Baby… she keeps calling you.” Whispered out that voice that was like a sweet symphony to his ears and calmed down the ocean of complex emotions that dwelled in his heart. Rafe groaned in disappointment at his moment of peace being interrupted once more, burying his face deeper in the softness of her tummy while her manicured nails grazed his scalp. Feeling the soft pricks of hair under her smooth finger tips, touching him with a delicacy only she knew how to have. He sighed once more before bringing his head up and reaching a hand over to the incessant buzzing next to them in her satin sheets. Watching as Sofia’s contact showed for the 5th time that hour.

Rafe can’t exactly blame her, he promised her a nice dinner. Yet, he got to caught up in the girl who captivated his entire being and the one whose inner legs he finds solace in every night or day he can. Just seeing her glimmering smile or seductive gaze makes his knees buckle. He’s entirely fascinated by her, like a diamond in the rough of people who inhabit the island they live on. She’s unlike anything or anyone he’s ever known, the way she maneuvers her body on stage and glimmers under the club lights. The way he was entirely bewitched by the siren she was. He won’t ever forget the night Topper and Kelce dragged him out to a club he had no interest in being at. Small, yet no conviction in his claims of, ‘I have a girl, bro.’ He’s so entirely grateful he went. Topper’s convincing of, ‘what she doesn’t know won’t kill her, man. Trust there’s this girl there that will drive you insane. She’s got me and Kelce hooked.’ To which Rafe gave a small eye roll and scoff of, ‘any girl with her tits out has your attention.’ Topper only laughed and Kelce along with him before biting back a, ‘but hers are premium.’ As they all toppled into his truck.

That night was fate, and he knew that any woman he met or has yet to meet will pale in comparison to the goddess who’s enthralled his being and keeps him stuck in a perpetual state of desire for her and her alone. The moment he saw her glide across stage, in nothing but glimmering lingerie and wild hair. Her eyes packed on with glitter and pretty lips glossed so enticingly. Her body the kind of thing men carve into stone to keep as a recollection for life. The way she slithered across stage with her eyes set on him and only him. Singling him out while the cheers and hoots of his friends, other club goers and patrons faded into the background. Both of them fascinated with one another. The way she slung herself across his lap with her freed tits pressing into him and her intoxicating perfume swirling around him like an aphrodisiac.

“The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume.”

He paid for a lap dance that very night and let her help him escape in the private room under glaring, neon pink lights. Running his hands over every inch of her beautiful body as scraped her long nails against his skin and moved sensually across him. That night sealed their fate, and it didn’t take much convincing to let him take her home to Tannyhill. Making out in the back of Topper’s truck while him and Kelce smirked as they watched through the rear-view mirror. Praising their friend and promising to seal their lips when they were dropped off. That night y/n and Rafe brought their bodies and souls together, all night long. Sweat sticking them together as her inner thighs dripped with their mixed arousal. Their lips not leaving any inch of each other‘s bodies undiscovered. He marked her that night with his possession and allowed her to rake her nails down his strong back, calculating in his mind how he’d hide it from Sofia.

After that night any thought of another woman aside from the one under him was gone, his girlfriend included. The unsaid energy bringing their souls together as if they were lovers destined to meet. He licked and snorted lines off her body as he rubbed the powdery substance against her gums. Pouring champagne on her as he licked it up and let it soak his sheets right next to her arousal. She was like an added substance he was quickly growing addicted to and he knew this was an addiction that would never end. He took her apart over the balcony under the stars of the night sky as she whined and whimpered into the warm air. He was king and she would be queen.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

Now months later their affair is still going strong, he more often than not finds himself entangled in her at her penthouse he put her into. Vowing to move her into his mansion next. He’s yet find a way to end things with Sofia, he knows y/n is the one he wants to settle with. He wants everything with her. Aside from the passion that connects them physically it’s the understanding of their minds that really links them together. She understands him, she loves him in all his dark glory. Allowing him to be himself without feeling the need to try and fix him. Her understands her, in all her shady grandeur. They’re just as fucked up as one another; she’s not ashamed of who he truly is. She doesn’t keep him from changing either, she grows alongside him as the learn to love one another beautifully.

Rafe tells her about his dad, the pogues, even the yearning he has to reconcile with his sister. He cries to her and lets her hold him as he sobs into her naked chest, feeling her kiss his tears away. She always whispers soft, ‘let it out, baby. it’s okay, I’m here.’ Consoling him with gentle caresses and kisses. He feels guilt, guilt for keeping her in the shadows of secrecy. Yet, he’s not ready for the universe they’ve built for themselves to come to an end. He doesn’t want to share her with the world, he’s selfish and wants her all to himself. He keeps her locked away in the luxurious penthouse he’s granted her and has even taken her out of the club by providing for her. She’s his hidden gem, he knows it hurts her. It hurts him too.

He finds it difficult to end things with Sofia. Her softness and kindness to him never forgotten. He’s still fond of the girl who was there for him when no one else was. Who listened to him cry and his grieving words as he spread his father’s ashes into the ocean. Sofia is familiar, she’s routine. She’s comfortable in a different way and he doesn’t want to let it go. He knows he deeply adores y/n, he loves her with every fiber of his being. But he loved Sofia first, she’ll always have a place in his heart for the kindness and love she granted him when he needed it most. That’s why he leaves y/n every morning to go back to her. He knows it’s cowardly; he knows it’s completely selfish. He can see the tears falling from her closed eyes as she pretends to be asleep while he softly walks around the bedroom as to not wake her when he leaves in the mornings. He always knows she’s awake. Especially when he presses a kiss to her forehead as he softly strokes her hair. Promising with a whisper to her skin that he’ll be back and that he loves her. He’ll always go back for her, he’ll always go back to her.

When he greets Sofia, she looks at him with those pretty doe eyes that are so different yet just as beautiful as the ones he’s grown accustomed to love. Natural lashes in comparison to y/n’s pretty extensions he pays for. They’re both so beautiful, yet so different to him. Especially in the way they hold his gaze. When he kisses Sofia it’s not quite as intoxicating, yet he likes it nonetheless. Her scent not as addictive but he still finds himself burying his nose into her neck as he hugs her. While Sofia is all earthly beauty, y/n is pure glamour. Sofia is soft, meek, not a touch of makeup kisses her pretty face. Whereas y/n is more resilient, durable and she has to be in the line of work she succumbed to. With the way of life she lived. Her gorgeous face accentuated by flawlessly done makeup. He doesn’t think she needs it, but he loves it nonetheless. Sofia’s nails are always blunt and rarely polished, y/n’s nails always have a nicely perfected manicure. Sofia loves sandals and sneakers, y/n loves wedges and heels. Sofia’s lips always moisturized with chapstick, y/n lips always glimmering with gloss. He likes how different they are from their personalities to their styles. They’re like day and night. Polar opposites so beautiful in their own right. He’s a selfish, selfish man. He knows one day he’ll have to choose, but for now….he holds both hearts in the palm of his hand. Only one of them is feeling the stabbing pain of abandonment and pining the other has the pleasure of not being subjected too. He knows it, yet he can’t help it. Sofia is pure routine, y/n is his passion. Being with her is like being inebriated. Like an adrenaline rush he always craves, that he loves. He lives for it.

“And when her old man comes to call

He finds her waiting like a lonesome queen.

‘Cause to be by her side

It's such a change from old routine.”

Y/n waits, she always will. She knows he’ll be back. She’s begged him to stay, but he never does. Just a quick promise of his awaited return as his fully clothed body steps to her naked one which is kneeling in the satin sheets. A representation of the vulnerability she’s subjected herself to just for his approval. Her long lashes clumped with tears as her chin wobbles. He thinks she looks so beautiful like this; the dark part of him liking the way she longs and whines for him. He always gives her chin a quick pinch as he pulls away from their kiss and steps out of the bedroom. Y/n always falls back into the sheets as the tears that watered in her lash line fall down her smooth cheeks. Listening to his footsteps farthering and ultimately the front door closing shut as he leaves her once more.

She knows why, she knows what she is. A secret, a mistress. His side girl. She can’t help it; the desire she has for him overcoming her self worth and respect for his girlfriend. She feels the grief that fills her body every time he leaves, only to disappear every time he returns. She can’t bring herself to end it. Can’t bring herself to leave him alone, or give him an ultimatum that it’s me or her. She knows it’s pathetic, yet she can’t bring that thought to overcome the undying love she’s developed for him. So she does as he wants, she waits for him. She always will. When her body lays back down, and she’s sure he’s gone. Only then is when she lets the overwhelming hurt leave her body in sobs of pure anguish as she lets sleep overtake her body. Succumbing to the fatigue of a heart that is continually broken.

“The other woman will always cry herself to sleep

The other woman will never have his love to keep.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

a/n: was feeling angsty tn ugh. i hope you all enjoy, pls let me know your thoughts! muah!

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xichilie · 6 months ago

Text

Phainon x (fem)reader

Phainon is crushing and Y/N is oblivious 🤭

Part1 PART2

The golden streets of Okhema City were alive with motion, as market vendors called out to shoppers, children darted through the crowd with sweets in hand, and musicians played cheerful tunes in the background. Amid all this, Phainon walked a few paces ahead of the group, his hands clasped behind his back, every movement calculated to look calm and composed. Internally, though, he was anything but.

“This way,” Phainon said, turning briefly to glance at Y/N. “The central market is one of Okhema’s highlights—lots of unique crafts and imports from other planets. It’s… worth a visit.”

He cleared his throat, which was already dry from nerves. Y/N wasn’t paying attention to how stiffly he moved or how his voice wavered slightly. She was too busy marveling at the intricate architecture surrounding them. Towering buildings of white stone glimmered faintly, their edges lined with gold filigree that caught the sunlight just right. Her eyes sparkled as she took it all in.

“This place is incredible!” she said, twirling to take in the sights. “You live here, Phainon? You’re so lucky.”

Phainon flushed under her bright gaze. “It’s, uh… it’s nice, I suppose.”

“Nice?” she repeated, incredulous. “It’s gorgeous! Look at that fountain!” She pointed at a marble structure adorned with carved phoenixes. Golden water trickled from their beaks, glowing faintly in the light. “Is it glowing? It’s glowing! Is it supposed to do that?”

“It represents unity,” Phainon explained, his voice quieter now. “It’s a… local tradition.”

Tribbie, walking beside Y/N, leaned toward Mydei and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “You can practically hear the crush in his voice.”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “He’s trying too hard. It’s embarrassing.”

“Give him a break!” Tribbie grinned. “He’s doing great!”

“By what standards?” Mydei deadpanned.

Phainon coughed awkwardly, pretending not to hear them. His white-gloved hand brushed against his coat, nervously adjusting the fabric as he tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him look like a complete fool. But before he could, Y/N gasped again and rushed ahead.

“Look! That vendor’s selling jewelry! I’ve never seen designs like that before,” she said, practically dragging Trailblazer along with her. The two crowded around a stall displaying shimmering necklaces and intricately designed earrings, their energy overwhelming the vendor.

Phainon followed hesitantly, trying not to let his nerves get the better of him. “Be careful,” he said, his voice soft. “Some of these pieces are delicate—”

“You’re just saying that because you’re worried she’ll trip into the stall,” Mydei muttered from behind him.

“Or knock over a stack of something,” Dan Heng added dryly.

Tribbie, meanwhile, clasped her hands together dramatically. “But wouldn’t it be so romantic if Phainon caught her in his arms? You know, like in those old love stories?”

“I’ll bet ten credits he’d faint first,” Mydei retorted.

Phainon stopped walking and turned to glare at them, his face flushed. “Could you—please—stop that?” he hissed. “It’s not—”

“Not what?” Tribbie blinked innocently. “We’re just supporting you, Phainon. That’s what friends do.”

Before Phainon could respond, a loud shout cut through the cheerful hum of the market. “Thieves!” a merchant cried, waving his arms frantically. “My stock is gone—again!”

The group turned toward the commotion as a small crowd gathered. The merchant, a balding man with a deep frown, gestured wildly at an empty display case where shiny trinkets once sat. “It’s those creatures! They’ve been sneaking into the market at night, stealing everything shiny! No one’s done anything about it!”

“Creatures?” Y/N’s eyes widened with curiosity. “What kind of creatures?”

The merchant shook his head. “Small, ghost-like things. Glowing eyes. They come from the outskirts, I think, but I don’t know how to stop them. They’ve hit half the vendors on this street!”

Y/N turned to the group, her excitement unmistakable. “We should help!”

Trailblazer grinned. “Absolutely.”

Phainon opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it when Y/N beamed at him. “You’re here to keep us safe, right, Phainon?” she asked.

He froze, his heart doing an unsteady flip. “I… well, yes, but—”

“Then it’s settled!” Y/N said, already turning back to the merchant. “We’ll get your stuff back in no time.”

Tribbie leaned toward Phainon again, whispering loudly, “You’re doing great! She’s counting on you.”

Phainon sighed, adjusting his coat again to hide his embarrassment. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered.

Mydei clapped him on the shoulder. “No kidding. But at least it’ll be entertaining.”

Dan Heng shook his head as the group began heading toward the outskirts. “Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?”

“Because it always does,” Mydei replied.

Phainon, trailing slightly behind Y/N, couldn’t help but think the same—but then Y/N glanced back at him, smiling brightly, and all his worries melted away. For now.

Phainon’s boots crunched softly on the overgrown trail as he followed the faint shimmer of the residue. The group has split up to cover more ground leaving phainon and Y/N alone,

He can still picture Tribbies giggling as she declared phainon and Y/N should team up. He kept his usual cheerful expression, his white hair catching the faint golden glow from the city behind them. The trees arched overhead, their twisted branches forming patterns that danced in the mist.

“This is such a weird place,”

Y/N commented, walking just behind him. “It feels… old. But cool. Like something out of a storybook.”

“It’s definitely unique,” Phainon replied, glancing back at her with a warm smile. “Okhema’s outskirts have a lot of history. Ancient battles, forgotten shrines, you name it. Some people find it eerie, but I think it’s—”

“Amazing?” Y/N finished for him, her voice brimming with excitement.

“Y-yeah,” he said, a bit flustered but recovering quickly. “Exactly!”

Y/N grinned. “I like how you look at things, Phainon. You always seem so… optimistic.”

“Oh, it’s nothing!” He waved a hand dramatically, his voice taking on a slightly theatrical tone. “Life’s too short to not find the good in things, you know? Even creepy glowing trails.”

That earned him a laugh from Y/N, which made him grin even wider.

As they walked, Phainon occasionally crouched to inspect the shimmering residue, his golden and blue coat flaring out dramatically behind him. Y/N watched with curiosity as he ran his fingers over the faint scratches on the stones.

“You’re really good at this tracking thing,” she said, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look.

His heart jumped into his throat. “I—I mean, it’s just something I’ve done a lot!” he stammered, his cheeks tinged with pink as he straightened too quickly, almost tripping over his own feet. “Years of practice, you know. Nothing special.”

Y/N tilted her head, oblivious to his awkwardness. “It is special. You’ve got a knack for this stuff, Phainon. I don’t think we’d even know where to start without you.”

Phainon blinked, his cheeks turning an even darker shade of pink. “R-really? You think so?”

“Of course,” she said brightly. “You’re basically leading the whole investigation. It’s impressive!”

Phainon looked away, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to suppress a goofy grin. “I mean, well, someone has to do it… but thank you!”

Before Y/N could say more, a sudden rustling sound came from the trees to their left. Phainon froze, his smile vanishing as he instinctively stepped in front of Y/N, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.

“What was that?” Y/N whispered, her voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Stay behind me,” Phainon said, his usual playful tone replaced by a rare edge of seriousness. “It could be one of the creatures.”

They waited, the rustling growing louder. Then, with a burst of motion, something small and fast darted out of the underbrush.

“Ah!” Y/N jumped back, but Phainon had already drawn his sword in one smooth motion, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“Wait,” Y/N said, squinting. “Is that… a bird?”

Sure enough, a small, scruffy bird hopped into view, its feathers ruffled and its beady eyes glaring at them like they’d just interrupted its meal. It flapped its wings once in irritation before waddling off into the bushes again.

Phainon stood there, sword still raised, staring at the spot where the bird had disappeared. Slowly, he lowered his weapon and let out a sheepish laugh. “Uh… false alarm.”

Y/N burst out laughing, clutching her sides. “Phainon, that bird looked like it was ready to fight you!”

“Well, it caught me off guard!” he defended, laughing along with her. “It could’ve been something dangerous!”

“Sure,” she teased. “A very dangerous… tiny bird.”

Phainon sighed dramatically, sheathing his sword. “Mock me if you must. But remember, I’m here to protect you from all creatures—big or small.”

“You’re doing an excellent job,” she said between giggles.

Her words, though playful, still made Phainon’s cheeks heat up again. “T-thanks,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

They continued down the trail, the shimmering residue becoming more noticeable as they approached a clearing. The mist thinned, revealing a cluster of ancient stone pillars, each one etched with faintly glowing runes.

“Whoa,” Y/N breathed, stepping closer to one of the pillars. “These look ancient. Do you think they have something to do with the creatures?”

“Possibly,” Phainon said, his voice quieter now as he examined the runes. “The outskirts are full of strange things like this. I don’t know much about their history, but these markings… they’re similar to ones I’ve seen before near Titan ruins.”

“Titan ruins?” Y/N looked at him, impressed. “things are getting more interesting, I'm glad I have you here"

Phainon blushed again, suddenly feeling like his coat was too warm. “It’s… uh, nothing, really. Just part of the job.”

“You’re way too humble,” she said, shaking her head. “Give yourself some credit, Phainon.”

Before he could respond, another sound broke through the air—this time a low, guttural growl. Both of them froze, their eyes darting toward the source of the noise.

“Well,” Phainon said, his cheerful tone faltering slightly, “I don’t think that’s a bird.”

Y/N grinned, drawing her weapon. “Finally! Some action!”

“Action?” Phainon echoed nervously, his hand moving to his sword again. “What kind of action are we talking about here?"

The low growl turned into a rumble, and the ground beneath their feet trembled. Emerging from the shadows of the ancient stone pillars were creatures that looked like they were chiseled straight from the earth itself. Their bodies were made of jagged stone, glowing cracks spreading across their limbs like molten veins. Their heads were featureless save for the hollow, blazing orange orbs that seemed to serve as eyes.

“Okay, now that’s definitely not a bird,” Phainon muttered, unsheathing his sword in one swift motion.

“Phainon,” Y/N said with a grin, her own blade already drawn and gleaming. “You’ve fought these things before, right?”

“Uh… sure!” he said, his usual confidence slightly wavering as the creatures lumbered closer. “They’re slow, but don’t let them corner you. Aim for the cracks—they’re weak points!”

“Got it,” she replied, shifting into a ready stance.

Before Phainon could say anything else, one of the creatures lunged forward with surprising speed, its rocky fist slamming into the ground where Y/N had been standing a split second earlier. She darted to the side with the grace of a dancer, her blade flashing as she struck at the glowing crack along the creature’s arm.

The impact sent a spray of sparks flying, and the creature roared in pain, stumbling back. Y/N didn’t let up. She pivoted on her heel, slicing upward in a clean arc that severed part of the monster’s arm.

Phainon blinked, momentarily frozen as he watched her. “W-wow…” he mumbled, then quickly shook himself out of it when another creature charged at him.

“Focus, Phainon!” Y/N called, sidestepping another attack with ease.

“Right! Focus! I’m totally focused!” he yelled, leaping into action.

Phainon parried a heavy blow from his opponent, his sword ringing loudly as it clashed with the stone creature’s fist. He danced backward, grinning as he feinted to the left before delivering a precise strike to its glowing chest. The creature groaned and crumbled into a pile of rubble.

“Not bad!” Y/N called over her shoulder, slashing through another monster with an impressive flurry of strikes.

“Not bad?” Phainon repeated, his golden-retriever energy kicking into overdrive as he sliced through a smaller creature trying to flank him. “I’ll have you know, I’m amazing at this!”

As if to prove his point, he spun dramatically, striking the creature’s chest in one fluid motion. The monster staggered and collapsed, but in his enthusiasm, Phainon misjudged the swing and nearly tripped over its remains.

Y/N laughed, glancing back at him. “Careful, ‘Amazing.’ Don’t let your feet betray you.”

Phainon straightened, cheeks burning. “That was just… strategy! I wanted it to think I was vulnerable.”

“Sure you did.”

Another creature roared and lunged toward Y/N, its massive fists slamming down in an attempt to crush her. She jumped back, then forward, using the momentum to propel herself up onto the creature’s arm. In one fluid motion, she ran up its shoulder, her sword gleaming as she drove it down into the crack in its neck.

The monster let out a guttural sound before crumbling beneath her, its glowing eyes dimming. Y/N landed lightly on her feet, flicking her sword to the side to shake off the dust.

Phainon gaped. “Okay, that… that was amazing.”

Y/N turned to him, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Thanks,” she said with a casual smile, as if she hadn’t just dismantled a walking pile of stone like it was nothing. “Your turn.”

Before Phainon could respond, the largest of the creatures emerged from the shadows, its molten veins pulsing with an ominous glow. It was twice the size of the others, its fists like boulders and its eyes blazing with fury.

Phainon gulped. “Alright. Big guy. No problem.”

Y/N smirked. “Want me to handle it?”

“No, no!” he said quickly, stepping forward and twirling his sword. “I’ve got this! Watch and learn!”

The creature roared, charging at him like an avalanche. Phainon dodged to the side at the last second, slashing at the cracks along its side. Sparks flew, but the beast didn’t falter. It swung its massive arm, forcing Phainon to duck and roll out of the way.

“You’re doing great!” Y/N called, clearly enjoying herself.

“I’m trying not to die!” Phainon shouted back, though his grin was still plastered on his face.

He darted around the creature, his movements quick and agile. With a sharp leap, he managed to climb onto its back, his sword glowing faintly as he struck at the cracks near its neck. The creature howled, thrashing violently to shake him off.

“Hang on, Phainon!” Y/N called, readying herself to step in if needed.

“I’ve got it!” he yelled, though his grip on the creature’s jagged surface was less than reassuring. With one final strike, his blade sank deep into the glowing crack, and the monster let out a deafening roar before collapsing to the ground.

Phainon rolled off just in time, landing in an ungraceful heap. He quickly scrambled to his feet, brushing the dirt off his coat as if nothing had happened.

“See?” he said, turning to Y/N with a triumphant smile. “Told you I had it.”

Y/N laughed, walking over to him. “I’ll admit it—you were pretty impressive.”

Phainon’s grin faltered for half a second as her words sank in, and the familiar warmth crept up his neck. “I… uh… really? You think so?”

“Of course,” she said with a bright smile. “You took down the big guy all on your own. Not bad at all.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her. “Oh, it was nothing, really. Just, you know… part of the job.”

“Sure,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re too humble, Phainon. Own it.”

He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Tribbie’s voice echoing through the mist.

“Guys? Did you leave anything for us, or are we just cleaning up rubble over here?”

Y/N and Phainon exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter.

“Let’s regroup,” Y/N said, sheathing her sword.

Phainon nodded, his smile softening as he followed her back toward the others, his heart still pounding—but not from the fight.

The group reconvened in a small clearing not far from the crumbled remains of the stone creatures. The mist had thinned, and the faint hum of energy from the ancient pillars seemed to fade, leaving a tense silence in its wake.

Tribbie had already set up a makeshift picnic on a large, flat stone, her red hair glowing faintly under the filtered sunlight. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement as she waved the others over.

“Perfect timing! I brought snacks!” Tribbie chirped, pulling out a variety of treats from her impossibly small bag. “You know what makes monster fighting better? Food!”

Dan Heng stood nearby, arms crossed and expression unreadable as always, but he glanced toward the food with mild interest. Trailblazer, however, was already sitting down, grabbing one of Tribbie’s sandwiches.

“Oh, come on,” Tribbie pouted, slapping Trailblazer’s hand away. “Wait until everyone’s seated, you greedy gremlin!”

Y/N chuckled as she and Phainon approached. “Looks like we’re just in time.”

Phainon, as usual, was all smiles. “Tribbie, you’re a lifesaver! I don’t suppose you have anything sweet in there?”

“Of course I do,” she replied with a grin. “But only if you tell me how many monsters you crushed today.”

“Crushed?” Phainon placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Tribbie, I don’t crush monsters—I defeat them with style and precision.”

“Oh, excuse me, ‘Mr. Style and Precision.’ Sit down before I take it all back.”

Everyone chuckled as they settled in, the tension from the fight dissipating in the warmth of camaraderie. Y/N sat beside Phainon, who was still grinning from Tribbie’s teasing.

As the group began eating, Y/N noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Phainon was trying—and failing—to hide a wince as he reached for a piece of bread.

“Phainon,” Y/N said, her tone shifting from playful to concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong!” he said quickly, straightening up like a guilty child caught sneaking cookies. “Why would you think anything’s wrong?”

Y/N didn’t buy it for a second. Her eyes dropped to his arm, where a faint tear in his sleeve revealed a nasty scrape along his forearm. The edges of the wound were smeared with dust and a faint trace of glowing residue.

“Phainon,” she said again, this time more firmly. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing!” he insisted, waving her off. “Barely a scratch. You should’ve seen the other guy!”

Y/N gave him a pointed look, crossing her arms. “That’s not a scratch, and you know it. Let me see.”

“It’s really not that ba—”

“Phainon.” Her voice left no room for argument.

He hesitated, his golden-retriever energy momentarily dampened by the sheer force of her determination. With a sheepish smile, he extended his arm. “Fine, fine. But I’m telling you, I’ve had worse.”

Y/N ignored his protests, pulling a small first-aid kit from her bag. She crouched beside him, carefully examining the wound. “You’re lucky it’s not deeper. This residue looks like it might irritate the skin. Hold still.”

Phainon sat stiffly as Y/N cleaned the wound with surprising gentleness. Her focus was entirely on her work, her touch steady and sure.

“You don’t have to fuss over me, you know,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I’m not fussing,” she replied without looking up. “I’m making sure you don’t get an infection. There’s a difference.”

He laughed nervously, trying not to notice how close she was. Her hair brushed against his shoulder as she leaned in to wrap a bandage around his arm.

“There,” she said after a moment, tying the bandage securely. “All done."

Phainon looked down at his arm, then back at her. “Thanks, Y/N. Really.”

She smiled at him, and before he could say more, she reached up and ruffled his hair.

“You did so good out there,” she said warmly. “I mean it. You were amazing.”

Phainon froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The words “you did so good” echoed in his head like a mantra, and the way she said it—so genuine, so casual—completely disarmed him.

“I—uh—well—” he stammered, his face rapidly turning as red as Tribbie’s hair.

Tribbie, who had been watching the whole scene out of the corner of her eye, nudged Trailblazer with a knowing grin. “Look at him. Poor guy doesn’t know what hit him.”

Trailblazer smirked but stayed quiet, munching on a piece of bread. Dan Heng sighed, his expression as neutral as ever, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Oblivious to the growing amusement of their companions, Y/N stood up and stretched. “Alright, everyone ready to get moving? I think we’re on the right track!”

Phainon, still sitting there with his hair slightly mussed and his face glowing, finally managed a weak nod. “Y-yeah. Let’s go.”

As the group packed up and prepared to continue their journey, Tribbie leaned over to Phainon with a sly grin. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I think you’re doing great, Mr. Style and Precision.”

Phainon groaned, covering his face with his hand. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully, skipping ahead to join Y/N.

And despite his embarrassment, Phainon couldn’t stop smiling.

_______________________________________

A.N . First, I didn't plan on making a part 2 because I didn't expect people to actually like it that much, but I'm happy you guys enjoy it l, I'll try to make this little love story interesting ♡

#phainon x you #phainon x reader #phainon #phainon hsr #phainon honkai star rail #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #hsr art #hsr smut #hsr x y/n #x y/n #x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #amphoreus #x reader

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beansprean · 1 year ago

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Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

oh my god they're engaged to be engaged...

(also this is entirely separate from the izzyguana series fyi, but my god I have drawn their little island so many times by now)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of Stede and Ed's ramshackle house on a hill of long grass, a forested mountain sliding into the sea behind them as the sun peeks above the waves, painting them orange and yellow. Some work has been put into the house since they found it: the holes in the roof have been boarded over or covered with tarp, a rickety porch railing and staircase off the left side have been built on from scraps, oil lamps have been hung on each corner, and an addition on the right side is in progress, rocks stacked on the wood-slat roof and tarps hanging from unfinished walls. Planks of wood, tools, and fishing poles are leaned up against the porch, the path to the house has been cleared out and defined by stones and shells, and a wooden sign out front has the words "Best Little Inn By The Sea! +fishing equipment" carved into it. Stede and Ed, wearing a teal blouse with brown leather trousers and purple tee with black leather trousers respectively, are standing on the porch and looking out over the land, arms around each others waist. Stede raises his arm in a wave and shouts, "Great to see you two! Come again any time!" In the foreground, Pete and Lucius are walking down the path away from the house, looking tired. Pete has one arm around Lucius's shoulders and his eyes are closed, head listing to the side. Lucius covers his mouth as he yawns, lifting the other to throw a halfhearted wave over his shoulder. 1b. Waist-up in profile of Stede and Ed on the porch, sunrise behind them. Closest to the viewer, Stede stares out after their guests, hand lowering, smile fading to something a little bittersweet. Ed leans into Stede, free hand in his pants pocket, and rests his head in the crook of his neck as he follows Stede's gaze with a thoughtful smile. Ed asks, "You ever think about that for us?" 1c. Repeat. Stede's hand drops further, wrist dangling, as he turns his face toward Ed with a bewildered smile. "What?" Ed straightens from his cuddle, embarrassed, but keeps his right hand on Stede's waist. His left gestures randomly as he scrunches up his face, avoiding Stede's gaze. He explains, "Y'know...the matie-monie thing, whatever."

2a. Zoom out slightly; Stede takes a step back toward the house to face Ed as he pivots with his back toward the yard. They are still connected waist-to-hand. Stede plants his free hand on his hip with a smug little smirk and says, "Well I certainly hope that's not your proposal." Ed waves his free hand in a 'stop' motion, flustered as he meets his partner's eyes, and splutters "Wha- no! No, mate, I just... 'M having a dialogue." 2b. Repeat, zoom in. Ed dips his chin to look up at Stede through his lashes, red-faced and accepting defeat as he mumbles, "...How would you want it to go, though? Hypothetically." Stede giggles helplessly, free hand leaving his hip to rest fingertips on Ed's chest. 2c. Repeat, the background cutting out in favor of the sunrise occurring between them. They are almost forehead-to forehead, both of Stede's hands now pressed to Ed's chest and idly playing with the tips of his hair. Ed stares at his face with hooded eyes. Stede smiles, gaze lowered to focus on his hands, and says "Oh, I don't know. A bit of romance, you know. Dazzle." 2d. Repeat, zoom in to bust, background now mottled oranges and yellows. Ed raises his head to look past Stede with a frown, brow furrowed in confusion as he repeats blankly, "Dazzle." Stede hums idly to himself, concentrating on petting Ed's chest. 2e. Repeat. Stede lifts his head with a little smile, putting them nose-to-nose and adds, "I wouldn't say no to some fireworks." Ed flusters at the pointed reminder of their first time, cheeks turning red and a wobbly smile creeping across his face.

3a. Repeat. Stede asks, "What about you?" Ed leans back from their embrace, smile turning incredulous as he repeats, "Me?!" 3b. Waist up of Ed as he turns, sunrise at his back, to lean his left arm against the porch railing. He glances over the yard with a resigned little frown, fiddling with a piece of his hair with his right hand. He replies, "I dunno. Never really thought about it." 3c. Chest up of Stede as he mirrors Ed's pose with a fond if slightly amused smile, stairs and forest behind him. Offscreen, Ed continues, "Bet you had a whole scrapbook of ideas, eh?" 3d. Repeat. Stede straightens with a "Well!" and turns his body to face the house. 3e. Knees-up from the house POV as both men lean against the porch railing, the yard, ocean, and brightening sky beginning to streak itself with orange beyond. Stede is facing the viewer, back to the yard, leaning with his elbows braced on the railing. He aims his gaze to the side with a bit of a pained smile and says, "When Mary and I were engaged, a scrapbook wouldn't have been much use." Ed is turned toward Stede, left elbow propped on the railing. He scowls and sticks out his tongue at mention of Mary. 3f. Repeat. Stede turns his head toward Ed, who quickly tucks his petty tongue back in his mouth and schools his expression into one of interest. Stede continues, "Everything had been decided for us already. Never really got to the proposal part."

4a. Repeat. Ed turns his body more fully toward Stede, folding his arms on the railing and leaning his head over them with a warm smile. Stede raises his eyebrows in surprise and goes slightly pink as Ed says, "I'll have to make it really good, then." 4b. Stede turns his body toward Ed, left arm sliding against the railing behind him and right hand cupping Ed's chin as he leans closer, nose to nose. Ed's eyes hood, looking at Stede's mouth as is curls into a loving smile. Stede responds, "Can't wait." 4c. Repeat. Ed suddenly goes pale and blurts out, "You'll say yes, though, right?" Stede freezes in surprise, lips puckered in preparation of a kiss. 4d. Repeat. Stede throws his head back in a loud bark of laughter, straightening up and turning fully toward Ed to cup his cheek in his right hand and his shoulder with the other. Ed aims an embarrassed, besotted smile at him as Stede replies, "Ed, of course! Who could say no to you?"

5a. Repeat, both now in profile. The orange and yellow light of the sunrise is slowly spreading across the sky from the left. Ed straightens up from his lean to bring their foreheads together, still a bit red-cheeked and with a nervous edge to his smile as he lowers his gaze. He says, "You can say no if you want, though." Stede smiles at him with every ounce of tenderness he has, hands firm on his cheek and shoulder. He replies, "There's nothing I want more than to say yes to you, Ed. Permanent ink, remember?" 5b. Repeat. Stede moves his right hand from Ed's cheek to hook around his back, tugging him closer as he leans himself back. Ed stumbles forward with a helpless grin, cheeks even redder, bracing himself with his right hand on Stede's chest. When their eyes meet, Stede's smile turns teasing and faux-sinister, continuing, "You're stuck with me regardless. Foreverrr~" 5c. Repeat, larger and brighter, as Stede and Ed finally come together in an affirming kiss, the land behind them retreating to allow the sea and sky to fill the background. The sun finally breaches the horizon, sending glitter sparkling across the waves and gilding the pair in warm golden light. Ed's right hand is cupping the side of Stede's neck, thumb tracing through his sideburns, and Stede's right is hooked fully around his shoulders, cushioned in his soft hair. They are both smiling into the kiss, unhurried and in harmony.

6a. Repeat as they pull back from the kiss just far enough to meet each other's gaze, arms still around each other, Ed's right hand brushing Stede's cheek and Stede's buried in the back of Ed's hair. Ed smirks flirtatiously, eyes hooded, and says, "You know... I hear there's a traditional engagement sex sabbatical, too." Stede matches his expression, left hand sliding down Ed's shoulder to press against his lower back. Stede replies playfully, "Oh, is there? I suppose I can plan that part, then." 6b. Repeat. Ed brings his left hand up to mirror his right, cupping both of Stede's cheeks, and arches up on his toes to lean over Stede with a teasing grin. His movement forces Stede to arch his back in the first motions of a dip, hands briefly flying free of their grip on his future fiance to try to catch his balance. Their lips a centimeter apart, Ed hums, "Mmm, gimme a rehearsal, first." Stede tosses his head back with a giggle in response, eyes closed, cheeks pink. Hearts float above their heads. 6c. Shot at the bottom of the hill Stede and Ed are stationed on, the packed-dirt path to the house curving upward in the background, the stones and shells now more conservatively scattered. Amidst the tall grass and tropical plants lining the way are handmade wooden signs shaped like arrows pointing the way to the inn. Words carved into them say "this way!" and "best inn!" Pete and Lucius are in the foreground, walking down the hill towards the viewer, Pete's right arm still looped around his husband's shoulders. They still look very tired with dark circles beneath their eyes - Pete still hasn't opened his. Lucius has, barely, and is scowling his way forward with a furrowed brow, declaring, "We are leaving them the worst review." Pete nods solemnly. Text nearby points to them and says 'kept up all night by noises'. Pink hearts and exclamation points spill out behind them from the bend in the path, echoing the lovey-dovey noises from above that must have made their stay so insufferable. /end ID

#ofmd #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #lupete #petelucius #mlm #stede bonnet #ed teach #lucius spriggs #black pete #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #our flag means death #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

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lanf1an · 6 months ago

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SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.4 - january 7 2025

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

Wordcount: 1936

The group was scattered across the slopes, each pairing off for a morning of skiing or snowboarding. Lando and Dylan had somehow ended up together after riding the lifts, and were carving through the snow in companionable silence. Lando had to admit Dylan was annoyingly good on a board, making it look effortless as he sped down the powdery trails.

At the bottom of the run, they paused to catch their breath. Dylan stretched his arms above his head, grinning. “Man, this is the life. It’s great you guys have been doing this every year.”

“Yeah, it’s the best,” Lando replied, adjusting his goggles. “You’re lucky you got the invite.”

Dylan laughed. “I guess I passed the test with her, huh?”

“Guess so.”

As they lined up for the next lift, Dylan turned to him. “Speaking of passing tests, she told me she’s thinking of taking that job in Japan. Pretty big deal for her, right?”

Lando froze. “Wait—what job in Japan?”

Dylan looked confused. “She didn’t tell you? It’s with her company. Some kind of high-level exchange position for a few months. She’s not sure yet, but we’ve been talking about it.”

Lando forced himself to stay casual, though his chest tightened. “You’ve been talking about it?”

“Well, yeah,” Dylan said. “If she goes, I’d probably go with her for a bit. There’s great boarding in Japan, so it’d be a win-win. But she’s still deciding.”

Lando didn’t respond immediately, pushing off as the lift began to carry them up the mountain.

“She didn’t mention it to me,” he said finally, not wanting to admit it.

Dylan shrugged, oblivious. “She’s probably waiting until she decides for sure. I mean, she’s got you, Max, her parents—it’s a lot of people to think about.”

“Right,” Lando said shortly, staring out over the snowy landscape. — Later that evening, the group was lounging in the cozy living room of the chalet, the fire crackling softly in the background. Dylan was engrossed in a card game with Max and some of the others, leaving you and Lando alone in the corner, sipping your drinks.

Lando leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. “So... Japan?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Dylan mentioned something about you getting a job offer in Japan,” Lando said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing. “You didn’t think that was worth mentioning to me?”

You sighed, swirling your drink. “It’s not set in stone, Lan. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it until I decided.”

“Decided what?” His voice had an edge now. “Whether or not to move halfway across the world?”

You frowned, defensive. “It’s an amazing opportunity, Lando. I’m not saying yes or no yet, but it’s something I have to consider.”

His jaw tightened, and he set his glass down a little too hard on the coffee table. “What about the season? You’ve always been there—well, mostly. I can’t imagine doing it without you around.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your tone remained firm. “Lando, I wasn’t at every race last season, and you were fine. Look at your results!” You gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re a superstar. You don’t need me there holding your hand.”

He stared at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not about needing you to hold my hand. It’s...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “You being there—it just makes things... easier. Part of my routine I’m used to”

Your brow furrowed. ‘’Part of your routine?’’

“I just… It’ll be weird without you around. You’ve always been there.’’

The sentiment was sweet, but there was something about the way he said it that made your chest tighten. “You’ll be fine,” you said, forcing a smile now. “You’ve got Magui, and Max, and the whole team. You’re not exactly lacking in support.”

“It’s not the same,” Lando replied, his voice barely above a murmur.

Your hand froze mid-reach for your drink. You set it down instead, the clink of glass against wood sharper than you intended. “What are you saying, Lando?”

He hesitated, like he hadn’t expected you to call him on it. “I’m just saying… you’ve always been part of this. Part of my life, my career. You get it in a way that—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try,” you said, your tone sharper than he expected.

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked like the boy you’d known all those years ago—earnest, vulnerable, and completely unaware of how his words could cut. “I guess I just… I need you. You’ve always been there, and I don’t know what it’s going to be like if you’re not.”

“You need me?” you repeated irritated. “Lando, I’m not going to Japan to sit on a beach. This is my career. My chance to do something for me. Do you even realize how that sounds?”

His eyes widened in confusion. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying you want me to put my life on hold so I can keep holding your hand through yours and be part of your routine?” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Lando recoiled slightly. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Isn’t it?” you pressed, you voice rising. “You’re asking me to stay, Lando. To stay and make your life easier, while I give up something I’ve worked just as hard for. Do you know how selfish that sounds?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said again, but this time his voice was quieter, tinged with guilt. “I just— It’s not easy, okay? Doing this. And I thought… I thought you understood that.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in her chest. “I do understand. That’s why I’m still here, isn’t it? That’s why I’ve always been here. But you don’t get to ask this of me, Lando.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, but the sting of his words lingered. “I know you didn’t,” you said softly.

— Mexico, 29 november 2023

The shrill sound of tires screeching and the thud of impact echoed through the paddock speakers. Your breath caught in your throat as the screen showed Lando’s car slamming into the barriers, a plume of debris scattering across the track.

“Red flag. That’s Norris in the wall,” the commentator announced, their tone serious but calm.

You were already on your feet in the McLaren garage, staring at the screen with wide eyes. The replay looped, showing his car losing grip on the exit of a corner before careening into the barriers.

“Is he okay?” you blurted, your voice sharp with worry.

One of the engineers turned to reassure you. “We’ve got radio communication. He’s fine, just frustrated.”

The knot in your stomach didn’t ease until you heard his voice crackle through the team radio, muttering, “I’m okay, I’m okay. Sorry, guys.”

You exhaled, hands trembling slightly as you sat back down. He might be physically fine, but you knew how much this would rattle him mentally.

The energy in the hospitality area was buzzing with activity, mechanics and engineers rushing around to prepare for tomorrow. You made your way over to Lando, who was perched on a counter, still in his race suit, a bag of ice pressed against his shoulder. His helmet sat beside him, a little scuffed from the impact.

“You alright?” you asked, leaning against the counter beside him.

He shrugged, wincing slightly as the motion aggravated his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine. Car’s a mess, though.”

You shot him a look. “The car can be fixed. I’m asking about you.”

Lando glanced at you, his expression guarded but softening under your gaze. “I’ve had worse.” Then, with a self-deprecating chuckle: “Though I can’t say the engineers are thrilled with me right now.”

“They’ll get over it,” you said firmly. “They know you’re pushing to the limit—that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“Yeah, well, limits don’t win races if you’re sitting in the wall during quali.” He leaned back against the counter, his jaw tight.

You didn’t let the tension linger. “Oh, c’mon, Lan. You’ve come back from worse. Remember last season? You started at the back of the grid and still finished in the points.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “That was different. I didn’t stuff it in the barriers first.”

You reached over, grabbing a nearby energy drink can and tapping it lightly against his knee. “Then tomorrow’s your chance to remind everyone what you’re made of. You’ve got the pace, and we both know you love a challenge. Besides,” you added, grinning, “you’ll make the highlight reel if you pull it off.”

That earned a real laugh from him, and he tilted his head toward you. “You think I’ll pull it off?”

“I know you will,” you said, your tone unwavering.

Lando sat there for a beat, then hopped off the counter, dropping the ice pack onto the surface. “Alright, then I guess we will see.” — The garage was absolute chaos. Team members shouted and high-fived, celebrating an incredible recovery drive. Lando had fought his way through the field with surgical precision, finishing in a stunning P5. The relief and joy in the room were palpable.

Lando barged into the garage, his race suit unzipped to his waist, hair a wild mess from pulling off his helmet. He was grinning ear to ear, waving a bottle of champagne in the air.

“P5, baby!” he shouted, and the room erupted in cheers again.

You were standing with Max and a few others when he spotted you. “Oi, don’t act like you’re not impressed,” he called, pointing at you with the neck of the champagne bottle.

You crossed your arms, pretending to look unimpressed. “P5? Meh, could’ve been P4 if you’d overtaken Gasly one lap earlier.”

Lando strode over, uncorking the bottle with a loud pop and spraying it wildly, catching you and a few nearby engineers in the crossfire. You shrieked, laughing as the cold champagne hit your face and jacket.

“Alright, alright!” you yelled, holding up your hands. “You win, Norris! P5 is pretty damn good!”

“Damn right it is,” he said, grinning as he took a swig straight from the bottle, still dripping champagne. “You doubted me for a second, didn’t you?”

“Never,” you replied, swiping the bottle from his hand and taking a sip yourself.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s mine.”

“Not anymore,” you quipped, handing it back to him with a smirk.

The atmosphere was electric, the team chanting and laughing around you both. It wasn’t long before the post-race interviews started pulling people away, but Lando lingered for a moment.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in so you could hear him over the noise. “Thanks for, you know, earlier. Couldn’t have done it without your support.”

You glanced at him, surprised at the sudden sincerity in his voice. “What are you thanking me for? You’re the one who clawed your way back.”

He gave a small shrug, “Yeah, but you’re always there. Even when I’m a proper idiot.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile betrayed you. “You’re always a proper idiot.”

He laughed, holding up the champagne bottle. “Guess it works for me.”

“I guess it does.”

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05 @lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles

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apircteslife · 10 months ago

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Banded King Snake,Frog-Eating Rat Snake and Cottonmouth for Hook D Harrison

Snake Themed Character Questions - ACCEPTING!!!

Banded King Snake: What is a misconception about your muse?

That Harry wants to be a Captain or a First Mate. Many who knew Harry as a child often believed that he would grow up to be a Captain like his father or a First Mate like his Poppa; the Captain he would be second to being Uma...

But Harry shocked everyone when he ignored Uma's offers to join her crew and follow after her from the island he was born; the shocking growing much more when he, instead, decided to follow after a young crew just starting out on the seas; no sign of a position of power for the Hook heir.

Harry is happy just being a part of the Straw Hat's.

Frog-Eating Rat Snake: What is your muse's hygiene like?

Almost perfect... even though he's a pirate, has been raised as a pirate since he was born and even raised in a tavern; Harry's hygiene is almost perfect. Almost, because he does have days where he's not feeling the desire or need to wash and needs to either be convinced by Gil or his partner, or just needs to be left alone.

Cottonmouth: How comfortable is your muse in the water? Can they swim or do they sink like a rock?

He's a fish out of water.

Due to his own heritage, Harry is always comfortable in the water and can swim effortlessly.

#The Ocean Raged [Headcanon]#Carved in Stone [Background]#[Hook D Harrison]#Harry is my baby #I adore him and he has the most fleshed out background #He has a whole siren background too xD

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kunareads · 3 months ago

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if i believe you | chapter eight

cords of kindness

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2.5k

a/n: one of my favs so far :)

content: there is a jump scare in this chapter and you will know when you see it. mostly fluff! misogyny, clan politics in the background, so much yearning

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

the car rolls to a stop without a sound. you reach for the handle, but the door swings open first.

satoru’s already there, somehow—blindfold in place, white hair catching the light. he offers you his hand, steady and patient, the way he always is with you.

there’s something unreadable about him here—too polished, too still. like he belongs in this world, even though you know he hates it.

your shoes click against stone as you step out, sharp and singular in the too-quiet night. the kamo estate unfolds before you in symmetry: rows of sculpted hedges, every lantern flickering the same way. even the shadows seem rehearsed.

satoru falls into step beside you as you walk toward the entrance. the space around him bends subtly—heat rising off stone, a soft distortion you don’t notice until it’s there. his infinity’s up. you’ve only felt it once, at your wedding.

you slow without meaning to. not from nerves, really. it’s the stillness of this place, how complete it is. like looking at a portrait and realizing the eyes are real.

snap out of it.

you remember what you were taught—back straight, shoulders back, chin tilted—and adjust instinctively. it was all precision. no room for softness or pausing to admire how the light caught on silk or stone. and if you were perfect, you were safe. mostly.

you were raised for this. not this company, but this pageantry. different teeth, same bite.

the doors open before you reach them.

eyes track you as you steps inside. not overtly—no one’s rude enough for that—but you notice it in the way heads tilt, in the ripple of conversation that curls and quiets.

no one greets you directly, but the temperature of the room shifts. satoru is impossible to ignore on his own. but standing beside someone? that’s new in this setting. who stands next to satoru gojo?

and you feel it, warm against your back—the strange awe that trails after him brushing up against you, too.

whatever they’re looking for, they’ll find it.

younger voices murmur toward the middle of the room. not loudly, but loud enough. you catch pieces—”thought he always came alone,” and “—no, it’s her—” like you’ve already been a subject of discussion. like your name arrived before you did.

a man near the far wall—blond hair with dark green roots, a sneer that looks permanent—tilts his head like he’s bored with all this and you, specifically. he lets his gaze sweep over you, flipping a coin, deciding what you’re worth.

you hold his stare, don’t blink. you’ve played this game before.

he looks away first.

the kamos themselves don’t whisper. they don’t need to. their elegance has teeth. one of their elders—a woman with silver hair and posture like it’s been carved into her—steps into your path. her clothes are flawless, her expression unreadable.

“graceful,” she says. “just like your mother.”

you don’t flinch. not outwardly. but your spine pulls a fraction tighter. a reflex.

satoru’s hand finds the small of your back in less than a second—light, just enough pressure to tether. you don’t lean into it, but you don’t move away. it’s nice to have the option, you think.

you’re very familiar with your mother’s specific brand of grace. the rigidity in her posture. the obvious rehearsal of each movement. her way of cutting people down with a glance.

you wonder which part they see. which part you haven’t managed to shake.

you keep walking.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the dining hall is quiet in the way you’d expect—soundless, soft-lit, full of things too old to touch. everything smells like wood polish and paper.

you take your seat beside satoru, letting your hands rest lightly in your lap. the porcelain is fine, the glasses crystal-cut, the place cards handwritten. the napkins are folded into perfect thirds.

satoru shifts his chair before he sits. it’s a quiet thing, deliberate, making enough room that your elbows won’t brush accidentally.

an unspoken invitation: take up space.

you wouldn’t normally accept. but tonight, you do. he’s very difficult to say no to.

you smooth the fabric of your skirt, angle your body toward the center of the table, not away. posture open, chin up. you’ve done this before.

there’s a small imperfection in the place setting in front of him—one of his chopsticks half a centimeter out of line. you adjust it absently. he doesn’t say anything, but he turns his head, a near-laugh in the corner of his mouth.

conversation drifts like steam above the table—measured, polite, pointless. the courses arrive one by one, delicate and artful.

you lift a spoonful of something citrus-colored and unidentifiable. you smile when someone two seats down makes a vague comment about the weather—convincing enough that they don’t try again.

across from you, someone sits with his ankle crossed over his knee, his posture arrogant in the way only old money and raw talent can justify.

you recognize him as the same man who stared you down when you arrived. he hasn’t said a word since he sat down, hasn’t needed to. his gaze cuts across the table every so often like he’s collecting weaknesses.

you don’t know his name. you don’t particularly want to. it’s obvious from the way satoru’s looking in his direction, the set of his jaw like a knife held flat, that they know each other. and would prefer not to share oxygen.

his expression is mild, almost bored—but you know better. you’ve seen this look on him before: across from your parents in the sitting room, smile dangerous and performative, tapping his fingers against his knee like he was tired of holding back.

his voice is missing from the room the way silence follows a threat. not out of absence—out of calculation.

you reach for your glass, slow and fluid and ask, just for him, ”how long is this dinner supposed to last?”

his mouth quirks. “longer than you deserve to suffer through.”

“are you saying you don’t come here for the ambiance?”

“i’m saying if i’d known they were serving radish soup, i would’ve brought you snacks.”

you look at him, and it’s there—that slight, stupid warmth in your chest that’s been missing for days.

“i can see the appeal, gojo,” says the man across from you.

his voice is disarmingly normal, something lazy in the cadence. then—

“pretty little thing who knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

it takes a second for the words to register. another for the air to thin.

your mother taught you never to react to cruelty. especially not when others are watching. if you don’t flinch, it’s not real. so you don’t.

the room doesn’t react either. it’s practiced silence—a room full of people pretending they didn’t hear anything.

no one looks at you. no one looks at him. the words settle over the table like ash—fine, fragile, waiting to be disturbed.

you feel it before you see it: satoru goes still. sets down his glass like he’s worried it’ll break between his fingers, leans back in his chair, settling into something familiar.

there’s something dangerous about his composure. the whole table braces for impact.

“try fucking with someone other than my wife, naoya,” he says flatly, with the kind of calm that scares people more than shouting.

“before i forget where we are.”

you hear a chair shift near the end of the table. a cough, awkward and too loud. someone sets down a spoon. an elder looks away—not in disapproval, but understanding.

and the man across from you—naoya, you’ve learned—has the audacity to smirk. but his jaw ticks. his eyes don’t linger.

satoru doesn’t look at you. he just picks up his chopsticks and goes back to eating like nothing happened.

you stay still. stunned, rooted. the words echo. my wife. a line in the sand.

and when small plates of fruit start getting placed for dessert, he doesn’t ask. he picks through his own, sorts out your favorites, and slides them onto your plate.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the rest of dinner passes without incident.

later, after the formalities are handled and eyes stop tracking your every move, you step outside with satoru.

the night is cooler than when you arrived. the garden path winds softly ahead, and the lanterns out here glow dimmer, less curated.

you walk in silence for a while, neither of you in a hurry to fill it. it gives you room to think.

no one’s ever stepped in for your sake before. not like that. not at all. and it’s not something you ever thought to want—not until it was already done.

“you didn’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

“i had to defend your honor,” he says, a little too earnestly. “very traditional. very chivalrous.”

you smile—small and surprised. “…thank you”

he nudges your shoulder with his. “you liked it.”

“i did not.”

“you did.”

you shake your head, but the smile stays.

it’s easy, suddenly to fall into this rhythm with him again. to pretend this is just another night. that there wasn’t silence before this, and that there isn’t still silence between you now—softer, but still waiting

you end up near a koi pond—long and quiet, lined in stone. the surface glitters under moonlight. the fish glide in slow, lazy circles, like nothing in the world has ever frightened them.

until satoru stoops to pick up a pebble and tosses it in.

“don’t,” you say, too late. “they don’t like that.”

he blinks at the water, then at you. “well,” he says solemnly. “now i’m embarrassed.”

you glance at him, skeptical.

he smiles. “don’t worry. i’ll write them a formal apology. dear honorable koi, please forgive my momentary lapse in etiquette…”

it’s stupid. so stupid, but a giggle bubbles out before you can stop it.

you haven’t even smiled in days. and somehow, satoru pulls that part of you loose again with half a conversation.

“see?” he says, pleased with himself. “they forgive me already.”

“they’re very tolerant.”

“like you, apparently.”

you smile at him. “you’re lucky they don’t have teeth.”

“are you threatening me on behalf of the fish?”

you don’t answer. he beams at you anyway.

there’s a stone bench tucked beneath the sweep of a willow tree a few feet away. satoru gestures toward it dramatically, like he’s offering you a throne.

the bench is cool under your skirt as he sits beside you, not too close—but close enough that your knees almost touch. the air smells like flowers and clean water.

for a while, there’s only the sound of the pond lapping gently at stone, of distant voices muffled by hedges and formality.

“i missed your voice,” he says quietly.

you turn your head. his tone is lower now, more vulnerable. it feels like a truce.

you don’t answer right away. you reach for his hand, slow and careful, checking if you’re allowed. like if he moved, even a little, you’d pretend you weren’t reaching at all.

he lets you take it. his fingers curl easily around yours, like he’s been waiting for the chance.

you let your thumb graze the line of his knuckles. “i didn’t think you would.”

you’re not sure why you say it out loud. maybe it slipped through a crack in your restraint. but it’s there between you now, naked and irretrievable.

he doesn’t answer. he just tilts his head toward you slightly with a soft smile.

“you’re nothing like your mother.”

that’s what catches. not how he says it—mild, weightless—but that he says it at all.

“do i look like her?” you ask, before you can talk yourself out of it.

he looks at you like he’s weighing the truth against the damage.

then: “no.”

a lie. a kindness. you let it stand.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the car door shuts with a soft thud as you both shift quietly into place, the estate disappearing behind tinted glass. the car is warm. too warm, maybe, but neither of you mentions it.

you’re both quiet. not because there’s nothing to say, but because there’s too much—and none of it would sound right out loud. and that’s fine, you think. the silence that’s been cutting you both open for days is decidedly soft right now.

streetlights pass in blurs. satoru rests his head against the seat. his eyes are still covered, his mouth unreadable.

but he’s here. still beside you. after everything—all that space living between you—it’s enough.

after a few minutes, he shifts toward you and reaches for your hand. you offer it to him instinctively, letting him lace your fingers together like he’s missing the feeling.

he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. it feels like thank you. or maybe sorry. or something heavier he hasn’t found the words for.

your heart stutters. the warmth travels fast—hand to chest, chest to throat, eyes burning before you know it. it shouldn’t undo you this easily, but there’s a thread in you being tied back together.

you slide over on the seat, enough that you don’t have to pull your hand away when he settles it back down in his lap. you let your head tip toward him, and his shoulder meets it without protest.

nothing has been resolved. not really. there are still pieces of the two of you waiting on the floor when you get home. but his hand is in yours, and his shoulder doesn’t flinch when you lean in. so maybe this is how it starts again—not with an apology, but with a reach.

the rhythm of the car, the hum of the tires, the warmth between your palms—eventually, it’s enough to pull you under. and you think, just before sleep takes you, if he stayed like this forever, you’d never ask for more.

you don’t know how long you’re asleep. only that you wake when the car jolts over a bump in the road.

before you can move—before you even lift your head—

“go back to sleep,” satoru murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “please.”

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reallyromealone · 3 months ago

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Title: Tokyo host club

Chapter 3

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: host club cast, Tokyo revengers cast

Fic type: omegaverse

Pairings: mitsukuni x male reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, Omega male reader, fluff, slight angst, strangers to friends to lovers

Notes:

Summary: after his heat, (name) made a point to avoid the host club but the host club has the opposite plans

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(Name) Made it his lifes mission to avoid the host club, it wasn't easy when he shared a class with three of them but he made it work somehow.

Hiding in a corner of the library, he worked on the schoolwork he missed with focus, his lunch sitting beside him empty and neatly tucked in his bag. Currently he was working on his English assignments and zoned into it completely, he was good at English but he wasn't used to writing in it so his penmanship was a little sloppy.

He made sure to learn English early in life, even go as far as to read dictionaries in the language (Shinichiro thought it was odd but bought him the newest editions each year) and despite his IQ he still fumbled a bit on the slang and nuances that the western language had.

He tried to focus on his school work and not at the fact his first heat was triggered by a host club member and according to the rumor mill, (name) triggered his... He knew what it was, everyone got taught it in health class.

The short blond in the host club was his true match.

And god he wanted to avoid that.

At all costs.

But he knew that clubs reputation... He knew it was only a matter of time till he had to confront his inevitable.

"So what do we know about honeys mate?" Tamaki said dramatically, a picture of the Omega in question blown up and sitting on a decorative easel "he's quiet""he's a little stuck up" the twins spoke at the same time and haruhi raised her hand "he's grades focused, I spoke to him a few times-- he's actually really nice but he seems to just want to keep to himself"

Honey took in this information and looked at what was written on the board, martial arts and mechanics stood out to him, typically not omegan hobbies "he has a brother, I think" Tamaki wrote down 'brother?'

"Now we just need to stage a way for you two to meet! He seems to be really busy"

'or he's avoiding us' haruhi thought, knowing the Omega was absolutely avoiding them, either out of embarrassment or because he was anxious.

And that's when the host club began scheming.

The host club weren't expecting a dojo-- well kyoya was after a background check on the Omega. 'sano residence' carved into the stone holding up the gate "does his dad run the dojo or something?" Kaoru mumbled as they buzzed the gate "hello?" A voice spoke casually from the intercom "hi! We're friends of (name)?" The words came like a question from Tamakis mouth and a sigh could be heard but the gate unlocked.

Stepping up to the door, it immediately opened to a white haired man with sunset eyes "so you are all (name)s friends" his voice was suspicious, staring at them with a critical look "(name)!" He called back and sighed when he got no response"(name)! Get your ass here, there's people for you!"

Footsteps could be heard and (name) popped his head behind from his elder brother and looked hesitant but composed "hey, what do you guys want?" Pushing his elder sibling away with a bit of arguing and eventually stepping outside and closing the door "so you're Honey's mate!" Tamaki said excitedly "who knew his mate was a commoner!"

"Mates?" (Name) Looked bewildered "I-I don't even know you guys!"

"Tamaki you are completely jumping the gun, he doesn't even know him!" Haruhi shot back at the blond, coming to the omegas defence "let's leave hunny and him have a moment"

The host club argued a bit but eventually went back to the cars and left the short blond and (name) alone, a bit of silence between them "are you alright?" The Alpha asked genuinely and (name) looked a little startled "u-uh yeah, you?"

"Not my first rut and definitely won't be my last!" He said with a sweet smile, confused when (name) froze "Izana! Close that window!"

"Ugh!"

Honey sat on the steps of (name)s engawa and (name) followed suit "so... Uh, what do you want from this?"

"Well, I wasn't expecting to meet my paired mate in such funny circumstances but I'm happy! Would you let me court you?"

"I uh- I mean sure? But You're gonna have to talk to my brother" (name) was the family Omega after all, his fAmily wasn't the most traditional but they still had rules. "What about your parents?"

"Oh my parents are dead" he said simply and the air became a bit awkward "don't worry, it's not like I knew them" (name) quickly tried to cover up with an awkward laugh and honey just smiled sweetly at him "so where's this brother of yours?"

Honey made a few pit stops along the way, despite the host club bringing cars, the group walked to S.S motors with Izana tagging along, glaring at the host club with a sinister smile. He didn't trust these mothefuckers one bit.

Izana kept an arm over his brothers shoulder, glaring at the others and Hunni just chatted away like nothing happened, he could take him in a fight if needed. He didn't verbalize his feelings to everyone but his mind constantly drove him to (name), his instincts running wild after his rut and it took everything for the short alpha to not pick (name) up and lock him away.

But he was a gentleman, he would go through the process as raised.

"Iza! Stop hovering over me! You're too warm!"

"Sorry did you say get closer?"

"No! Get off me you ass!"

The host club watched the two push and pull at each other, Izana having a shit eating grin on his face while he teased his younger brother, an air of fondness between them. It was clear that the two were close, the two holding nothing but familial love in their eyes.

Even if Izana was annoying (name).

S.S motors was quant in Mitsukunis eyes, it seemed to be doing well and nice looking motorcycles were parked out front, a black haired man smoking a cigarette while chatting with three other obvious alphas, the sleepy looking alpha with colourful hair noticing the group first and the rest followed his gaze.

Shinichiro looked serious, mumbling something and (name) knew there was going to be a headache.

He didn't even know what he wanted, this random person was his destined mate or whatever, they jumped him on this and god-

What the fuck was happening?

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers fluff #male reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #x male reader #anime x male reader #anime x reader #ohshc x male reader #ohshc x reader #mitsukuni haninozuka x male reader

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cineatros · 3 months ago

Text

༉‧₊˚. haunted by you

pairing.ᐟ daniela avanzini x doctor!strange reader about.ᐟ daniela doesn't remember their love. The curse took that away, but when she looks into the stranger's eyes—the woman who won't stop staring at her like she's something lost—she feels something aching, something empty. genre.ᐟ heavy angst. no comfort. cw.ᐟ language. three dimensions. a/n.ᐟ drabble only. currently working on the one-shot. not proofread. just gonna post this cuz its been staring at me in my docs. pls someone tell me if this is good or not so i could edit it in the final fic :D. 4k words

dimension one - soul severance curse.

They tell you not to fall in love when you study the arcane.

Not because love makes you weak, but because it makes you choose.

And I chose her.

Even when I swore I wouldn't. Even when I whispered oaths in a language older than the stars, carved words into my soul, anchored myself in silence—I still chose her. Every day. Every hour.

Her name is Daniela. Not Lady Daniela, or Seer of Light, or anything like the others I met through the Sanctum. Just Daniela. Just…her. And she has no idea who I really am.

She thinks I’m a surgeon who switched to theoretical physics after a bad accident. She doesn’t know. About the Sanctum. About the texts hidden under my bed wrapped in illusions. About the magic that leaves bruises on my spirit. About the way I wake up sometimes not remembering which timeline I’m in.

She doesn’t know what I keep in the second drawer of my desk, or that I once stitched a bleeding tear in the fabric of space while she slept two rooms away. She doesn’t know I’m on a first-name basis with demons who speak only in riddles and lies.

But she knows me.

She thinks I’m just…Y/N. A little odd. A little secluded. Always curious. Always hers.

The real me. The one I forget sometimes when I get too close to the edge of whatever revelation I’m chasing.

When I’m with her, I forget the multiverse. I forget fate. I forget that I’ve read the end of too many stories.

We met on a Tuesday.

Not the kind of day stories are usually built on—there were no omens in the sky, no signs carved into stone—but I remember it clearer than I remember most of my magical training. She was standing in line at the café on East 73rd, scowling at the menu like it had personally offended her.

“I don’t trust anyone who names a drink Soul Latte,” she muttered under her breath.

I laughed. She looked at me. And that was it. That was the first spell I was ever caught in.

She never knew it, but she was already starting to save me.

We don’t talk about fate.

She hates the idea. Thinks it strips people of their choices. “If fate’s already made the decision for us,” she’d said once, “then why bother loving anyone? What’s the point of falling if you didn’t choose the edge yourself?”

I remember wanting to agree with her. But I also remember the way her hands felt wrapped around mine that night, like maybe fate wasn’t a villain. Like maybe it had done one thing right—one thing good—when it placed her on that street, in that café, in front of me.

But lately… I’ve been studying fate anyway. Quietly. Behind her back.

Because if there’s even a chance that someone like her could be taken from someone like me—by a timeline, a breach, a paradox—then maybe the answer isn’t to trust the universe.

Maybe it’s to control it.

I see it in her eyes sometimes. A flicker of worry. She doesn’t say it, but she feels it—that I’m slipping. That something in me is spiraling further away.

“You okay?” she asks, brushing her fingers through my hair, tucking it behind my ear the way she always does when she’s trying to feel closer.

“Yeah,” I say, kissing her wrist. “Just tired.”

She smiles like she wants to believe me. God, she always wants to believe me.

The first time we kissed, it was raining. Not the dramatic kind. It was the sort of rain that just existed—soft and constant like a heartbeat, more background than plot device.

She was soaked. Her curly dark hair stuck to her cheeks, and she looked up at me like I was the only thing in the world worth standing in the rain for.

I hadn’t planned it. I never do with her.

It’s terrifying. All my life, I’ve been a woman of plans. Of contingency. If A, then B. If B fails, then C. I learned the layout of every sanctum before I ever set foot inside one. I learned how to make people think I wasn’t afraid of anything.

But her? I never planned for her. I just—fell.

She leaned up, her breath warm and shivering against mine, and said softly, “You always look like you’re about to leave.”

That was the moment. The shift. The crack in my armor.

Because she was right. I was always ready to vanish. To portal out. To fix something. To stop a war before it began or speak with time itself. I was always half-here.

But not with her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered.

And for a while, I meant it.

She doesn’t know about the mirror dimension. The place I go when the world is too loud. Where gravity bends sideways and I can scream without anyone hearing it. That’s where I’ve been spending my nights lately. There, and the library beneath the Sanctum, trying to decipher ancient incantations written in languages that died before memory existed.

I tell myself it’s all for her. That if I just understand the weave of the multiverse enough—if I find the right pattern, the right key—I can keep her safe. I can keep us safe.

But there’s a cost to knowing too much.

I’ve started to dream of her face…fading.

She doesn’t believe in magic.

She likes science. History. Real things. She tells stories with her hands when she talks about her job—archival preservation. She’s the kind of person who protects the past so it doesn’t disappear. And I’m the kind of person who tears open time just to see what’s hiding behind it.

“I think you like breaking rules,” she told me once, her head on my chest.

“Only the ones worth breaking.”

“So…all of them?”

I laughed, kissed her forehead. “Not yours.”

She smiled then. I remember that smile. She believed me.

I don’t think she would now.

Tonight she’s curled up beside me on the couch, her legs over mine, a book resting on her stomach. Something by a dead poet. Her hair is falling into her face and I can’t stop staring.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the fireplace.

“I just…I love you.”

It slips out. Too raw. Too sudden.

She freezes for a second. Not because she’s surprised—I’ve said it before—but because of how I said it. Like it’s a goodbye.

She sits up. “Hey. Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I just—I wanted to say it.”

Her fingers cup my cheek. “Y/N. Whatever you’re holding in, you can tell me.”

I want to. I ache to. But I can’t tell her the stars are aligning in patterns they never have before. I heard a whisper from a guardian of the multiverse last week saying I was too close to something sacred. That I cast a spell last night that burned the edge of my soul just to see what would happen—and what I saw was her, looking at me like she didn’t know me.

“I love you too,” she says, pulling me into her chest. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

Her heartbeat is steady. Mine isn’t.

I start writing things down.

Not spells. Not maps of potential timelines. Not warnings from the old texts.

But memories.

Little ones. Dumb ones. Her face the first time I made her pancakes and set off the smoke alarm. The way she laughed until she cried when I tripped over my cloak (she thought it was a costume). The time we stayed up talking about whether ghosts get lonely. The way she smells in the morning—like cedarwood and coffee.

I write it all because I’m scared I’ll forget. Or worse—scared she will.

The curse is only theoretical. That’s what I tell myself. I haven’t cast it. I haven’t even spoken it aloud.

But I’ve read it. And when you read something forbidden, it doesn’t leave you clean. It leaves residue. Whispers. Echoes that follow you even after you swear you’ve put the book away.

It was an accident, really. I was looking into soul bonds. Into tethered fates. Into what binds people across dimensions.

I didn’t expect the price to be so specific.

“You will remain. They will forget.”

I laughed at first. Thought it was a metaphor. A romantic tragedy from another realm.

But last night, I heard the mirror speak back to me. As if it already knew.

Daniela leans into me while we sleep. Her body naturally finds mine. Like we’re planets drawn to each other by instinct, by gravity.

She doesn’t know I watch her. That I memorize the way she shifts in her sleep. That I count the freckles on her shoulders because they’re more permanent than anything I’ve ever summoned with a spell.

“Don’t go too far,” she mumbled in her sleep last night.

I don’t think she was talking about the room.

Today she asked me what I’d do if I lost everything.

I said I’d find a way to get it back.

She laughed. Thought it was bravado. “What, you’d fight the universe?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I already am.

And yet.

With every spell I read, I feel it. A pull. A tug from somewhere beyond this world—like fate is daring me to challenge it. And I’m tempted, every time, because I’ve never met anything I couldn’t try to fix.

But maybe love isn’t meant to be fixed.

Maybe it’s just meant to be held, fiercely, until it slips through your hands.

Tonight, Daniela is reading in bed, her glasses slipping down her nose.

I stand in the doorway, just…watching.

“Come here,” she says, smiling.

I walk over. Slide into the sheets beside her. Kiss her like it’s the last moment before the storm.

Because maybe it is.

She hums against my lips. “You always kiss me like I’m going to disappear.”

“You’re not,” I whisper, clutching her like a lifeline.

“Good,” she murmurs, curling into me. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

I close my eyes.

But the universe never needed her to leave.

It just needed her to forget.

dimension two - temporal curse.

She doesn’t know.

That’s the first thing I always remind myself of when I look at her. When I watch her sleep, cheek pressed lazily into the pillow, lips parted just slightly, one arm dangling off the side of the mattress like she didn’t wage war with her own blanket hours ago.

She doesn’t know who I am. Not really.

She knows I like my coffee strong and my silences softer. She knows I’ll always steal her side of the blanket even if I’m not cold. She knows I flinch a little at loud thunder, and that I hum under my breath when I think no one’s listening. She knows the mundane pieces. The unremarkable ones. The kind of things you learn when you love someone in the daylight.

But not the rest. Not the reason I sometimes leave in the middle of the night, not the reason I clutch my wrist like it’s bleeding when nothing’s there. Not the weight in my gaze when I watch her—like she’s a countdown, and I don’t know when the clock started ticking.

I didn’t even know which version of her I saved.

Not at first.

The timelines blurred so violently when I did it—when I pulled her from the moment death reached for her, when I bent time so far it nearly snapped.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t noble. It was grief in motion.

One second, she was lying there—her blood on my hands, lungs struggling, eyes unfocused.

And the next…she was alive. Standing in front of me. Whole.

But she was already different.

And I’m not sure I could ever bear the way she’d look at me if she did.

There was a moment once—two weeks ago maybe—where I almost told her everything. We were on the rooftop, just after midnight, and the city was silent in that eerie, stretched-thin way. Like the world was holding its breath. Like it knew I wanted to say something dangerous.

She had her knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie too big for her, sleeves half covering her hands. The stars had lost their fight to the city lights, but she looked up anyway. Like she believed in them just the same.

“I had this dream,” she said, softly, not looking at me. “That the world ended, but we didn’t die. We just...forgot.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

Because I’ve seen it. Variants of that dream. A thousand ways the world ends and keeps on spinning anyway. Some with fire. Some with silence. Some where I lose her. Some where I find her too late.

She tilted her head then, rested it on her knees, and blinked at me. “You ever get that? Like...something’s coming. And you’re already grieving it.”

She always does that. Says something that guts me without knowing she’s twisting the knife.

I think I touched her cheek then, just to make sure she was still warm. Still here. I kissed her slowly—slow enough it could have meant goodbye.

But I didn’t tell her. Not yet. I told myself it wasn’t the right moment. That she deserved normalcy while she still had it.

Really, I think I was just selfish.

The thing about loving someone as someone else—someone fictional, someone edited—is that you get really good at lying to yourself.

You tell yourself the parts you gave them are enough. That the secrets are protecting them. That it’s love, even if it’s in a cage.

And she does love me. I think.

No. I know.

She loves the version of me that forgets to charge their phone and can’t cook pasta to save their life. The one who gets too intense sometimes, too still, too far away in the eyes—and she just reaches across the table, grounds me with a touch. She never asks where I go when I go quiet. She trusts me without needing to understand.

Which is maybe the most painful part.

She never asked for magic. Or war. Or fate. She just wanted someone to stay.

And I’m going to break her heart. I know it.

It’s already started—the ripples. Little shifts in the air. Loose threads pulling at the seams of the life we built. The kind only I can see. The kind I shouldn’t ignore.

But every time I think about acting, about stopping the momentum of what’s coming, I see her laughing in the morning, barefoot on cold tile, humming some pop song she pretends not to like. I see the little love notes she hides in the fridge, the way she sings to plants when she waters them, the way she lets her guard down only for me.

And I tell myself: Maybe there’s still time.

I don’t think she notices the way my hands shake when I hold hers sometimes. Or the way my breath catches when she says things like, “We should plan a trip.”

Trips require a future and futures are fragile.

Especially when you’re me.

I’ve bent time before. Ripped it clean in half to protect the other version of her. I paid the price. I always pay the price. The universe is cruel, but fair.

And I know—deep in my bones—that if something happens to her, I’ll do it again. I won’t hesitate.

Which means I’ll destroy everything just to keep her breathing.

Even if she hates me for it.

Even if she forgets.

She brought home sunflowers today. Said they looked “obnoxiously hopeful.”

“I thought they’d balance out your broody vibe,” she teased, poking my side.

I smiled like I always do—crooked and weak—and watched her arrange them in the chipped mug we both pretend isn’t a vase.

She looked so proud. Like placing bright yellow petals on the windowsill was enough to shift the axis of the world. And maybe, for a second, it was.

Maybe, in that moment, I wasn’t the Sorcerer Supreme. Maybe I wasn’t the harbinger of the end. Maybe I was just hers.

And maybe that’s why I kissed her like I was drowning.

Because I knew—I knew—I wouldn’t get many more chances.

We lay on the couch that night, limbs tangled like vines, half a movie playing in the background. She fell asleep first, as always, breathing slow and even against my shoulder.

I watched the screen flicker. I listened to the faint hum of the fridge. I stared at the ceiling and tried to memorize the way she fit into me.

And then I whispered, so quietly it hurt,

“I’m going to lose you, aren’t I?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

But I think the universe did.

The lights flickered. Just for a second. Barely noticeable.

But I felt it.

A shift.

A warning.

There’s this concept—chronomancy. Time magic. Dangerous, unstable, almost always fatal in the wrong hands. I’ve only used it twice. Both times it almost broke me.

But I would do it again. For her.

If it meant she got to keep laughing like that. If it meant her hands stayed warm.

If it meant I didn’t have to bury her.

Because I’ve seen what’s coming. I’ve seen the moment she dies.

And I won’t let it happen.

Even if I have to tear open the fabric of time itself. Even if it fractures everything. Even if it breaks her.

She won’t understand.

She’ll never forgive me.

But she’ll be alive.

Right now, though—right now she’s curled up in bed, face buried in my chest, arms loosely around my waist. Her breath tickles my collarbone. She makes this soft sound when she dreams—half sigh, half content hum.

And I hold her like she’s already gone.

Because in some version of time, she is.

In some timeline, I wasn’t fast enough.

In another, I didn’t choose her.

But in this one, this fragile and beautiful and doomed one, she’s mine.

For now.

And if the only way I can keep her safe is by rewriting the rules of love itself...

Then so be it.

She’ll wake up tomorrow, same as always, maybe kiss me sleepily, maybe ask what I want for breakfast.

She’ll have no idea that the world is already unraveling. That the spell is already forming. That I’ve already started the process.

But she’ll live.

And maybe that’s the most I can ask for.

Even if she forgets how she loved me.

Even if I become a stranger.

dimension three - dimensional drift curse.

She always forgets me by morning.

No matter what I say, what I do, how long I stay—every time I cross into her world, it resets.

A curse, layered through time and dimensional faultlines. One that clings to her like dust in sunlight. Not her fault. Never her fault. She didn’t ask to be loved by a woman who breaks universes.

But God, she was loved.

And I keep going back.

I don’t know how many times I’ve met her now.

Could be a hundred.

Could be a thousand.

Every time, it’s different. A new version of her. A new variant of the same soft soul, living a life untouched by the war I fight across stars and spells and sleepless nights. Sometimes she’s an artist. Sometimes a teacher. Sometimes she owns a flower shop that always smells like spring.

Sometimes she’s wearing the same earrings I once gave her in a universe that no longer exists. And she doesn't know why.

But every version has her smile.

That same one. Like dusk settling over the ocean.

And every version still stuns the breath out of me.

I never tell her everything.

What would be the point?

She won’t remember.

By the time I cross back into my own dimension, the tether of memory unravels behind me. Like it never unfolds at all.

The curse is designed that way. Not by me. Not by her.

For a moment.

By a mistake in battle, a spell hurled with such fury it fractured the truth of us across existence. A sorcerer’s curse spoken through cracked teeth:

“The cost of power is always love.”

And I didn’t believe them. I thought I could fix it.

I always think that.

I’m not even sure why I keep trying.

Maybe it’s ego.

Maybe it’s hope.

Maybe I just want one more hour with her before the world resets. Just one moment where she tilts her head and says, “You look like you haven’t slept in years,” and offers me tea like I’m not wearing the weight of every timeline I’ve failed to save.

Maybe I like pretending—for a minute—that I’m not Doctor Strange.

That I’m just Y/N. And she’s just Daniela.

And we’re just…us.

Yesterday—whatever “yesterday” means in this spiral of slipping worlds—I told her something small.

I said, “Your voice sounds like spring rain.”

She blushed. Looked at me like I’d pulled that sentence from some long-lost poem.

She doesn’t remember that I said the same thing in Dimension One, on the first night she cried in my arms.

Doesn’t remember how I held her hand as she forgot me.

How I watched her fall in love with me in one universe, only to lose the ability to feel love in the next.

Here, she’s new.

Fresh.

Alive.

And I’m the ghost.

I know the spell exists.

The reversal.

The one that could fix it.

It’s buried deep in the Book of the Broken Star—pages bound in silence and consequence. A forgotten ritual that rewrites memory across dimensional planes.

It requires something.

A trade.

Not blood. Not time.

A soul.

One soul in return for another’s remembrance.

I know what it means.

If I cast it…she’ll remember everything. Every kiss. Every touch. Every laugh and grief and joy.

But I will be gone.

Not dead. Not erased.

Just—

Unraveled.

Like a name no longer spoken.

She’s sleeping now.

I found her again three hours ago.

This version works in a bookstore that smells like ink and wood. She keeps her hair up with a pencil. She laughed when I asked if she believed in magic.

“No,” she said. “But I believe in feeling like something matters. Isn’t that the same thing?”

I didn’t answer.

My hands were shaking.

Because even though she doesn’t know who I am, and doesn't remember anything, she still says things like that. Still feels like her.

Still is her.

I sit at the edge of the bed now, watching her breathe.

Her face is soft in sleep.

I can cast the spell.

Right now.

And she will wake up with every memory. Every version of us stitched back into her chest.

She will know me.

Will finally remember the love we once shared so loudly, so fully, that it split reality when it broke.

But I won’t be here to see it.

I’ll be lost to her.

She will wake up crying for someone she knows by heart and can no longer find.

That’s the price.

A reverse curse. A reverse cost.

She remembers.

I forget.

I close my eyes. Hold my breath.

And I cast it.

There’s a stillness in the universe when magic like this takes shape. A pause. Like the world knows what it’s about to lose.

And then—

A whisper.

A shift.

Her name, Daniela, whispered through a thousand timelines.

A thread, snapped and re-intertwined.

She gasps.

Her body jerks upright in bed, eyes wide, tears already falling.

“Y/N?”

I don’t respond.

I can’t.

Because I no longer know that name.

I no longer know her.

And somewhere else—in another city, another time, another morning—I wake up in a world I’ve saved a thousand times, with a hollow in my chest I don’t understand.

A woman passes me on the street. She stops, suddenly breathless.

Looks like she’s seen a ghost.

Her lips tremble as she reaches for me.

But I just smile politely.

And keep walking.

Daniela remembers everything.

And I remember… nothing.

But the universe never forgets.

And love, even when fractured across dimensions, always finds a way to echo.

maybe a manon or fic next lol