#and then i was like 'you know what i should do is i should work on that story that i spend about twenty minutes on every four or five days'
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Maybe this is extremely incorrect or narrow of me to think in some way, but
When you learn about Hitler's takeover in school, I feel like you always imagine it being so much bigger, even bigger than it already was, like more... I don't know how to explain it. Like it stopped every single other aspect of life for everyone ever. Because like. Y'know, gigantic historical event. Like unfathomable degrees of impact on a global scale, even if that was only the case after years of damage.
And yet here we (Americans) are, living through something that has terrifying amounts of parallels to the start of all that, and like... Nope. Life doesn't freeze, not everyone feels an instant tangible change for the worst. People are still living out their daily lives, doing whatever their version of mundane life is, whether it's working for less than minimum wage at a shitty retail job, doomscrolling on the toilet at home, seeking out somewhere to stay warm and safe, etc.
Like no matter what life is like for them, everyone is acutely aware one way or another that this is happening and ongoing, but chances are it probably isn't completely derailing their average day (I'm having a hard time wording this in a way that emphasizes there's an element of privilege involved in this and keeps the people who will be impacted ASAP by things like ICE raids and such in mind but the sentiment is there, sorry).
Like. This is the next 4 years of our lives. I'm a poor, queer, neurodivergent woman. And I'm still more privileged than some people despite being quadruple disadvantaged (for a lack of better term). But I feel like I'm living a death sentence despite that privilege. And you'd think that, given I feel that way, what's happening today and will be happening for the next 4 years would feel more real than it does right now? Like I wouldn't be sitting in my home completely objectively fine, casually posting here on Tumblr feeling existential and spending an embarrassing amount of time trying to word what I'm thinking in a way that isn't/doesn't feel ignorant in some way.
But no. We're on the precipice of god knows what and it's not consuming very single American's life including mine in every single conceivable way like how you (or at least I, I guess) imagine it was for every single person back before/during WWII.
I dunno, I guess I'm just really feeling like this meme right now.
And it's all only made worse by the fact that like. The election was rigged (said by Trump himself btw) and there are a million other blatantly obvious reasons this shouldn't be happening. And yet it is. Like not only do we have to endure unimaginable amounts of dread for years to come, but we have the knowledge that this should not be happening to begin with but everything is so fucked up and the people that could do something to stop it are so fucking stupid and only out for themselves that it's happening anyway.
Edit: Can't believe I have to add this, but zionists and neo-nazis get the fuck out of here. Please choke to death, actually.
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
How did you get so good at writing??? Did you take classes? I feel like you should get paid all the money for this! (I subscribe to your website!)
after i dropped out of high school i found a torrent of like 5GB of OCRd romance novels and i read like 3 romance novels a day for a while
read enough romance novels and you will realize that they live or die entirely on technical skill. if you are new to romance novels then even bad ones can dazzle you with novelty but by the time you are on your 30th historical fake engagement between a bluestocking and a rakish duke you can grade them and you know when they've failed. when two books have what should be the same main characters hitting the same plot beats, but one of those books is delightful and the other fucking sucks, you learn some things. some books are bad and still delightful. other books are good but they just don't hit. you start to see the seams in the bad ones. 'oh, this is a weird out of character moment because she wanted to have the kabedon moment and didn't know how to get there'. 'she didn't want the ust to end but couldn't think of a better reason than this deus ex cockblock.' that kind of thing.
you could probably do this with other genres but i like romance because the plot is two people fall in love. that's it. everything else is set dressing. if you can figure out how to make that work you can carry it over into whatever other genre you feel like. mysteries would give you a different skillset around plotting that i don't have.
anyway after that i wrote a lot.
#original#ficblogging#i think many romantasies fail by learning from other romantasies instead of the original genres#if you can introduce magical cockblocks it's not the same#you need to master making it feel real and true for two dtf hotties to not fuck until page 250 when there should be nothing stopping them#if i can tell you need the magical macguffins to make this happen it's not the same
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
I’ve had my fair share of trauma and abuse in my life but almost none of it has come from my family directly. Sometimes I meet people whose trauma does come from their family mistreating them and to them the idea of a family out there somewhere being safe doesn’t occur to them. They don’t know what that looks like.
Here’s an example from my own life about what that looks like.
My grandmother had this Christmas ornament. It was a beautiful crystal clear glass bulb in an unusual shape that her best friend had bought for her many years before. It was irreplaceable, unique, imported from Europe. No longer in production.
And one day when I was eight years old I held it, accidentally squeezed it too tight, and it shattered in my hands like a water balloon.
When my grandmother saw this her first response was to check my hands for any cuts, wipe my apologetic tears, and gently ask if I was okay. Then she had me help her clean up the mess and that was that.
I broke something sentimental and irreplaceable and her first concern was making sure that I was okay. And that has been the standard for my entire life without question. That should be the standard in every family without question and if it wasn’t in your family then I’m very sorry you had to put up with that. I’m very sorry if you currently do have to put up with that.
You can, however, work to make it the standard in your own life from now on. Worry about the people you love first and trust that they know when they’ve done something wrong and if they don’t, explain it to them and let them understand the consequences.
Sometimes this also means reducing the presence in your life of people who refuse to live by this standard. That can hurt. I’ve had to do it myself with distant family and former friends. But sometimes it’s necessary.
Remember, you’re always worth more than a glass ornament. Anyone who doesn’t treat you as such is wrong.
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
i didnt plan to spend my sunday this way
#xmen#xmen comics#charles xavier#professor x#snap sketches#'snap how do you keep finding yourself in these situations' I DONT KNOWWWWWWWW LISTEN TO ME#so all i did last night was draw erik in his lil robe from ToM cause my twitter was liking that old drawing i did#and then i woke up wanting to draw his stupid Lougne Wear when he's on the meteor yk the one Sanctuary From 92#so i started flipping through my 92 art book to find the ref for it then i just kept reading until i got to the end where i saw the#how they say 'anime influenced' designs and i had already wanted to draw charles' chari from that at some point#but THEEEEN I NOTICED HE HAD A LIL RING WITH A RED STONE ????#its on his right hand so Whatever but charles xavier you are not slick i know what you are ........#if i make that ring a staple in my classic charles drawings dont look at me itll depend on the weather tho tbh ANYWAYS#and then i remembered i had my old Cave Dweller Charles sketches from ever ago and i was like#'well i might as well finish those' but then i draw two more. and then i was like#'well since im here ive always wanted to draw charles in that robe erik gives him after saving him from the snow storm'#'in' is a very generous term it is falling OFF him but STILL#i should do something about that lil snow storm rescue now that ive mentioned it .. tho maybe i can tie it in with my 309 thing ..#SO FUNNY I WAS GONNA CONTINUE WORKING ON T HAT TODAY. AND NOW WE'RE HERE#this is what i mean guys its a nightmare and a miracle i can get anything done ever when i get distracted so easily#.i was gonna include another doodle of charles in his lil battle outfit but then i figured id done enough solo charles doodles today#anyways. plesae enjoy !!!!!!! i MUST objective charles more.....
224 notes
·
View notes
Note
heyyy, could you do a one shot of rafe x high maintenance!kook!reader, about her expensive skinncare routine and rafe is just so in love of how well she takes cares of herself but at the same time like "90 dollars of this shit????" and reader is just "yeah😁 it has collagen, you should try it"
absolutely love this!!
the night had been perfect—rafe made sure of it. dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town, with white tablecloths and a wine list so long it came in a leather-bound book. he didn’t even blink at the check, sliding his card over with the confidence of someone who did this all the time. the drive home was just as good, you sitting in the passenger seat, admiring your new nails under the streetlights, the soft hum of the radio in the background.
“seriously, rafe, aren’t they gorgeous?” you asked, holding your hand up to catch the faint glow of the dashboard lights. “look at the shine. and the shape? absolutely perfect. they even feel sturdier this time, like they’re not going to chip in two weeks.”
he glanced over briefly, his lips tugging into a lazy smile. “yeah, they look good. but you’ve said that, like, twenty times already.”
“and i’ll say it twenty times more, you’re the one who paid for them,” you pointed out, inspecting them again. “you should be happy i’m obsessed with them.”
“oh, i’m happy,” he said, turning into the driveway. “just wondering if i’m gonna hear about them all week.”
“probably,” you teased, stepping out of the car.
the conversation didn’t stop there. even as you followed him upstairs, you were still gushing.
“seriously, though, rafe. i think this might be my favorite set ever. they’re just so clean and classy.”
“yeah, they’re nice,” he said, pulling his shirt off as he walked into the bedroom. “good thing you didn’t go with that neon pink idea you showed me.”
“it was bubblegum pink, and it was cute!” you argued, crossing your arms.
“sure, babe,” he said with a smirk, falling onto the bed. “bubblegum pink’s cute.”
rolling your eyes, you walked over to the mirror, sighing at your reflection. “ugh, i have to take my makeup off first.”
rafe propped himself up on one elbow, watching you. “can’t you just… skip it?”
you turned to him, horrified. “skip it? baby, do you know what that would do to my skin?”
“no, but i’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” he teased, flopping onto the bed and pulling the blanket up.
you ignored him, grabbing your skincare bag and heading to the bathroom. after what felt like forever, you finally emerged, your face clean of makeup, wearing your silk robe.
rafe was lying in bed, one arm behind his head, watching you with a mixture of impatience and amusement.
“you know what we should get?” you asked, your tone casual.
he raised an eyebrow. “what?”
“a vanity.”
rafe blinked at you. “a what?”
“a vanity,” you repeated, walking over to sit cross-legged on the bed.
“why would we need a vanity?”
“so i can do my makeup and skincare in the bedroom instead of going to the bathroom every time,” you explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
rafe gestured vaguely toward the open bathroom door. “the bathroom’s literally right there.”
you rolled your eyes, scooting closer to him. “yeah, but i’d rather be in here with you.”
he groaned, but there was no missing the fondness in his voice when he said, “you’re unbelievable.”
“and you love me for it,” you said with a grin.
he chuckled softly, pulling you closer for a quick kiss before turning back to his phone. shaking your head with a smile, you stood and padded back to the bathroom, ready to start your skincare routine.
as you began massaging a cleanser onto your face, you heard footsteps behind you. glancing in the mirror, you saw rafe leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you.
“what are you doing?” you asked, surprised but pleased.
“figured i’d see what all the hype’s about,” he said, smirking.
you laughed, turning back to the sink. “all right, pay attention.”
he stayed quiet, watching as you worked.
“first step,” you began, holding up the bottle. “oil-based cleanser. this gets rid of all the makeup and sunscreen.”
“so that’s why your face looks all shiny now?”
“exactly,” you said, rinsing it off. “next step: water-based cleanser. it makes sure everything’s actually gone.”
“seems like overkill,” he muttered, but his eyes stayed on you as you lathered up the second cleanser.
“it’s not,” you insisted, rinsing and patting your face dry with a towel. “now, toner. it balances your skin’s pH and preps it for the rest of the products.”
“you’re making this up,” he said, shaking his head.
“i’m not,” you said with a laugh, grabbing a small bottle. “next is serum. this one’s hydrating—it has hyaluronic acid.”
“whatever that is,” he said, leaning in a little closer.
“it’s amazing,” you said, patting the serum into your skin. “then comes eye cream. dab it under your eyes to keep them hydrated.”
“you have young skin,” he pointed out. “why do you need all this anti-aging stuff?”
“prevention is key,” you said simply, dabbing the cream under your eyes. “next, lip mask. it keeps your lips soft overnight.”
“lip mask?”
“yes, rafe. just trust me.”
he chuckled, watching as you smoothed the mask over your lips. “what’s next?”
“retinol,” you said, holding up a small tube. “but i only use it once a month.”
“why bother, then?”
“because it’s good to start early!” you said, smoothing a tiny amount over your skin.
rafe stayed quiet for a moment, watching as you worked through your routine. his curiosity got the better of him again when you reached for a fancy-looking gold jar.
“how much was that one?” he asked casually.
you hesitated. “uh… ninety, i think?”
“ninety dollars?” his voice shot up an octave as he grabbed the jar to inspect it.
“yes, rafe,” you said, snatching it back. “it’s a luxury brand. it has collagen.”
he gestured at the counter, which was full of bottles and jars from estée lauder, clinique, and clarins. “so how much is all of this combined?”
you shrugged, applying the last of your products. “a couple hundred, maybe?”
“holy shit,” rafe muttered, running a hand through his hair.
you grinned, turning to face him. “what? you like how soft my skin is, don’t you?”
rafe gestured at the counter, which was covered in products from estée lauder, clinique, and clarins. “so… who pays for all this?”
“i do,” you said, capping the jar of moisturizer.
rafe stared at you, incredulous. “no, you’re lying.”
“i swear!”
“no,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. “i’ll pay for it.”
“rafe, you can’t pay for everything,” you argued, rolling your eyes.
he shook his head. “i can, and i will. no way you’re spending this much on—” he gestured vaguely at the counter—“this… whole collection.”
you raised an eyebrow at him. “i budget for it.”
rafe stared at you for a moment, then leaned against the counter with a smirk. “okay, new plan. i’m paying for it from now on.”
“rafe, you can’t just—”
“i can, and i will,” he interrupted, his tone firm but playful.
“you’re not paying for everything,” you argued, narrowing your eyes at him.
he leaned in, his smirk softening into something gentler. “you’re right. i’m not paying for everything. just the stuff that makes you happy. and this”—he waved his hand at your collection of bottles and jars—“obviously does.”
you felt your cheeks heat up, but you rolled your eyes to cover it. “fine, but i’m not letting you pay for all of it. maybe just the retinol.”
“deal,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “but i’m serious. next time, just send me the bill.”
you laughed, resting your head against his chest. “you’re ridiculous.”
“yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “but you love me for it.”
“unfortunately,” you teased, earning a chuckle as he pulled you back toward the bedroom.
MASTERLIST
CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚。⋆
@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l ⟢ @slut4you ⟢ @maybanksgirl69
#lizzieswrites𝜗𝜚#lizzies anons/requests𝜗𝜚#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x you#drew starkey x you
805 notes
·
View notes
Note
shy!reader and spencer who are in the early days of their relationship and are getting more comfortable with initiating physical affection with each other (especially reader lol) and spencer gets her to open up by playing with her hair / hands, tickling her, cuddling, the like <3
The first time Spencer let his head rest against yours, you were sure you’d die right there and then, half-asleep on the subway, then suddenly away as he’d started talking under his breath, his conversation for you and you alone. You'd flushed full body and forced yourself to stay still, until Spencer had confused your shyness for not wanting his weight against you and pulled away.
This time you’re ready. This time, he’s working his arm over the top of your shoulders. Not a timid first move on the first date, he’d suffered through that already. Spencer lets his arm slip between your back and the couch as he tugs you toward him, resting his cheek against your temple, two points of skin turning hot as a burner.
“Okay?” he asks quietly.
You let yourself relax into it. “I’m fine.”
“Did you want me to run that bath for you?”
It’s imperative he doesn’t move. “No, I can do it. I’ll do it later, if that’s okay.”
It’s Spencer’s bath, but he let you take one the last time you stayed the night, so you’ll work it out. You knew he wasn’t gonna peep on you, knew you were totally safe in his bathroom, but your heart hammered fast as a hummingbird’s whenever the floors creaked —just the idea of being near him when you were unclothed set you aflame. Your skin warms with the memory, a nervousness in your chest and hands that grows uncomfortably warm.
You don’t move, though. You’re sending him all the wrong messages when you reject him out of timidity, you’re more than aware of it, but the longer he sits there gently holding you, the more the temptation to squirm builds.
Spencer makes a soft, soft sound as his hand trails up your back, curling around your arm, and meandering a path to your elbow.
“I got…” —Spencer begins, without any inclination to rush— “…more of that bath soak you liked, the camomile… and honey…”
You love the smell. Sometimes you swear you can smell it in his hair when he presses near you.
“And a loufa, ‘cos you didn’t have one last time,” he adds.
“Thank you.”
“…You’re welcome.” He kisses the side of your head. Then, in a betrayal of his character, he laughs breathlessly, saying, “Sorry, I forgot what I was saying. The loufa– It’s purple. I put it on the towel rack, and I got you a new face towel, too, mine’s too rough for you.”
“Did you get yourself a new one too?”
“Yeah.” He taps your cheek, the hand you’d forgotten about drawing a short line to your jaw. “You’re pretty.”
You drop your chin.
“You are,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Spencer’s hand slides down your neck, a caress that turns to a kind hold. “Can I…” He snorts softly. “You’re solid,” he says, squeezing your neck with enough pressure to wind you, which isn’t much. “You don’t have to get all tense.”
“I’m trying really hard not to get tense,” you admit.
“I know. I’m trying to help, but I’m just making it worse.”
Spencer isn’t making it worse. Or, he wasn’t. “I thought you were gonna kiss me, is the thing.”
“I was. Then you tensed up and I didn’t think I should.” His easy smile goes funny. “Could I have?”
“Of course you could’ve,” you mumble, pressing your face into his shoulder before he can decimate the last of your self respect. He laughs —giggles, really, in a burst of sound— and tugs you in. “Not funny.”
He can hear the lie. “No, it’s not funny,” he agrees anyways, laying back and then moving forward, swaying you enough to turn the giggle into a full blown laugh.
He murmurs something. You mumble back. His fingertips slip over the dip in your back and he’s saying something nice, if a little shy. It’s been nice getting closer to him, seeing the real Spencer, someone who’s hesitant but gentle beyond words. There’s no reason for him to be touching you like this, to talk sweet nothings behind your ear as he lugs you onto his chest, and maybe there’s no reason for you to melt. Butter in the sun, drifting bonelessly into his lap.
“You smell like tea,” you say quietly. “I love it.”
“You love it?” he asks, something oddly awed about him as he shifts your head back to look you in the eyes.
“Mm. It’s nice. And your eyes are so brown… they’re my favourite thing about you.”
Spencer teases the stripe of skin exposed by your rising t-shirt until you’re shivering again. “Thank you,” he says, letting one close in a wink as he taps your nose with his. “Am I allowed to say what I like about you, or–” You shake your head so violently he immediately stops. “Fine. But only because I want to sit like this for the rest of the night with you.”
“I still need a shower.”
“Later,” he says, his lips resting on your chin. “Way, way later, please.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
681 notes
·
View notes
Text
Feeling extremely disappointed in the community response to Trump's gender order regarding X gender markers on documents. Can y'all quit with the victim-blaming and "I'm so glad I don't have an X gender marker, I knew it was a bad idea" statements for two seconds to support those of us who are targeted by this?
I have X on all of my documents. Birth certificate, passport, ID, you name it I have an X on it. I'm intersex & trans. I'm percieved as ambiguous 100% of the time and I can't pass for shit. Stealth is not an option for me, I am visibly intersex/trans no matter what.
Having either M or F on my documents wasn't any more feasible than having an X on everything at the time I got my documents. Which I had to work my ass off to get, by the way, because I was homeless and had no documents and I needed to obtain everything from scratch, which of course is made as hard as possible to do. (How do you provide proof of identity without any identity documents? How do you provide proof of address without an address? How do you pay for any of this when you can't even afford your own groceries and you get all your needs met through local mutual aid? How do you drop anything off or attend interviews or court without transportation?)
Goddamn right I was getting an X on my documents after having to go through hell to obtain them. If I had to work that hard for them, my documents were going to be how I wanted them.
Now I'm being told the president is trying to invalidate my documents, that depending on how things go I may be held if I try to go anywhere due to my passport having an X gender marker, that we don't know the ways this will be enforced and whether I will still be able to use my documents or not, and my trans community is saying it's actually my own fault for having an X gender marker in the first place and that I was just begging to be discriminated against by having one.
I am in a very vulnerable position and I should be supported by my own community when anti-trans anti-intersex discrimination targets me and people I care about. Y'all are dropping the ball and abandoning your siblings when we need each other most.
Also, for the record, I believe that no documentation should have gender markers. However, the US requires gender markers on documentation at the moment and that fucking sucks. It seems like this will be the case for the foreseeable future. The way people have been saying "nobody should get an X gender marker because gender markers shouldn't exist" just feels very "your strategy pales in comparison to my strategy, firebombing a Walmart" and then not firebombing a Walmart. While we can and should work towards gender markers not existing in the future, people with X gender markers exist right now and maybe y'all should support us instead of constantly throwing us under the bus.
657 notes
·
View notes
Text
yandere! golden boy who is your loving boyfriend and... surprisingly loves listening to you talk about your interests! yes darling, talk about your games and novels and silly plushies! he loves seeing how interested you can get about things you're passionate about and it just makes him feel so warm on the inside.
you might even go as far to say he ENCOURAGES your interests. buying you plushies, taking you to exhibitions/places you want... you don't even have to ask, just one look with your eyes and he's taking out his card. yeah, it doesn't matter if you have an unhealthy attachment to that fat cat pusheen or whatever. you seem to really like it so he's buying that 400 dollar plushie for you.
on the same note... he can't help but get jealous when you're gushing over attractive fictional characters. SPECIFICALLY that ONE dude that you seem to have EVERYWHERE. on the wall, on your phone cover, lock screen, profile picture, fuck, even on your bed as a plushie! and all he gets is a meager nickname on his contact?!
"sweetie, must you... really have all these... THINGs of HIM?"
"he's my first husband, you're my second. of course i have merch of him. plus I'm not gonna just throw all these away, i spent big money on these ya know 💀"
he knows it's petty! he knows that it's just a fictional character and that he shouldn't be jealous but dude! you don't even have him in your wallet! it's that freaking guy!
so he does what evey sane boyfriend does and replaces some (not all just some!) of your merchandise with pictures of him and you. how adorable, right?
no.
"bro where is the portrait of my MAN🤬🤬🤬"
"i replaced it with a nice picture of us together darling☺️ look at how cute-"
oh. and you...you just put another photo of that guy again... oh... and you're ranting on reddit/instagram about how he's being mean... you also removed him from your close friends list... oh you... you also decided to kick him off the bed and onto the sofa... oh...
well no biggie! he has lots of patience and he will sneak in his presence into your stuff. he's determined.
"best friend I'm going to need you to cosplay as my favorite character please ☺️"
damn!
why didn't he think of that sooner? if you can't win the normal way, you should do it another way, right? he can just get you to see how much better he is and you'll eventually replace that fictional man for HIM!
...
yeah, that didn't work out as planned. now you're even more in love with that character and you're asking him to cosplay every other day. erm... at least.. your wallpaper is a picture of him cosplaying the character??? he'll take what he can get.
"lol best friend, did you see that video i sent you. it's so stupid."
"for the last time, sweetie. we're dating, call me boyfriend. and which one? I can't watch every single one of the 99+ reels you send me."
"a real best friend would watch them all..."
being with you has singlehandedly changed this man. for the worse or for the better, he doesn't know. but what he does know is that you DON'T know how to dress.
"sweetie, no. you can't just go out in a shirt and shorts! you look like adam sandler!"
"clothes are clothes 🤬"
at least he has a fun time dressing you up. you're like, his cute little rat! his very own personal dress up rat! oh how he wants to just keep you in his pocket and pick out pretty clothes for you, making you look like the cutest thing ever! sure you might take them off and just wear what you want but... at least he's got the photos and the sight of you in a pretty outfit ingrained into the folds of his brain already ☺️ and he'll take every chance he can get to put you into another pretty outfit again. that i assure you.
he... has ALSO found out that you are living on instant noodles, sandwiches, and the occasional takeout. you don't even open the curtains! how can you see in such a dark home? and why are you sleeping until midday?! dear oh dear. you really are a rat, huh?
"darling get up! it's 12 in the afternoon already!"
"i slept at 3 just let me sleep more..."
that simply won't do. he will not be allowing you to lead such a horrid lifestyle! not if he can help it! especially because... well, he's also your boss. from part 1, remember! yeah, you guys didn't break up at the end haha! you were just joking, obviously! not like you'll ever be able to break up. it's in the contract, silly.
"come on, get up. you need to have a healthy lifestyle. I've already gotten my personal chef to cook up a healthy meal for you."
"who's gonna stop me from living like this? you? 😂😂😂"
"yes, me. in our contract, remember? i will be responsible for your health from now till we die."
don't worry. he'll be by your side every step of the way. and hey, who knows? maybe you can even teach him a thing or two about gaming or something else you like! he's open to learning about the things you like.
and he won't even have to worry about you finding another REAL person to like because... well, let's just say you don't even like going out for dinner. we'll keep it at that ☺️
#yandere#tw yandere#yandere x reader#yandere drabbles#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#yandere concepts#yandere golden boy#yandere golden boy x reader#suiana rambling#suiana brainrotting
785 notes
·
View notes
Text
What is this feeling ? (1) II Alexia Putellas x Reader
romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1875
summary: Alexia tells herself you're to young for her, but her heart wants you.
author's note: hi everyone, enjoy the anticipated oneshot.💌
You knew it from the look on her face. You knew before she even made a sound. You knew what was coming and you still were unprepared.
It felt like time had stopped, like you and her could only existed in this small dressing room.
“Listen…”, she said calmly.
In contrast to you, she didn’t seem nervous at all. Her face was unreadable and stern, like it usually was when she was out on the pitch with the captain’s armband on.
You bit your lip, bracing yourself.
“I know what you’re going to say.”
Alexia didn’t miss a beat: “This won’t work.”
It took a lot from you to not let out a frustrated sigh.
“It’s the age gap, isn’t it?”
“I’m too old for you.”, Alexia confirmed, her face unmoved.
The room began to feel too tight suddenly.
You shook your head firmly, trying to shake the shock off: “No, that’s not true.”
“You’re too young. Better?”
It all felt like she was trying to make excuses. You were 22 and she was about to turn 31. Nine years weren’t that much. And you were both consenting adults.
The fact that Alexia didn't seem to see this filled you with frustration.
“I don’t care about the years between us.”, you said passionately, maybe also stubbornly.
The older player shook her head like there was no convincing her: “But I do.”
You frowned at her: “That’s your head, not your heart speaking.”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?”, she replied cooly.
“It does matter.”
“Y/n.”
Your name out of her mouth made you stall for a moment.
“Yes?”
“Don’t do that.”, she said plainly.
You cocked your head in confusion: “Do what?”
“Look at me like that.”
Finally, her voice softened.
“I look at you like I want to.”, you retorted.
Alexia rolled her eyes: “You’re a child.”
“Wrong, I’m an adult like you.”
“You just turned 22.”
You crossed your arms in front of your chest. She already thought you were a child so you didn’t care if you looked like one too. “Still.”
“You’ll never stop until you get what you wanted, huh?”, Alexia asked with raised eyebrows.
“Right. I had the best teacher for that.”, you retaliated.
“Oh, you did?”
“Yes, I learned that from you.”
“I know that you meant me.”, Alexia said, rolling her eyes for a second time.
“But you already gave up so I should leave.”
You took one step towards the door, trying to pass her.
“You’re leaving?”
“Isn’t that what you want?”, you asked, lifting your head to directly look into her eyes.
Alexia was left speechless: “I…”
“Tell me what you want, Alexia.”, you demanded.
She looked away, shaking her head: “I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s a lie.”
Memories flooded to the surface, back to the moment when everything seemed possible, and the age difference still seemed unimportant. It all started at your birthday party, which you celebrated with your teammates. Every longer look and touch made both your hearts beat faster.
“No, Cata, there’s no way I’m doing that.”, you shook your head determined.
The young women and you were going all out tonight, and the alcohol made you all a bit reckless except for your team captain. She gazed at you with growing concern.
The goalkeeper grinned: “Do it.”
“Fine.”, you sighed.
Ona watched you in disbelief: “I can’t believe she’s really doing it.”
If there was a test of courage, you wanted to pass it no matter what. Whether on or off the pitch, you were known for being brave and sometimes even reckless.
“Look at Ale’s face.”, Cata chuckled, amused by the stern expression on the older midfielder's face.
Smirking, Jana remarked:” Absolutely priceless.”
“What are you doing?” Alexia's worried voice interrupted the adrenaline rush that had been triggered in you by the task.
“I...”, when you saw the worry lines on her forehead, you bit your lip guiltily. Under her watchful eyes, you suddenly felt very stupid and childish.
She growled:” Don’t ever do that again.”
“It was just a test of courage.”, you tried to play down the whole thing.
The blonde crossed both arms in front of her chest as she warned:” Keep me out of this."
“Can I get you a drink?”, you asked, changing the topic to something more light-hearted with a charming smile on your lips.
“No, are you even allowed to order yet?”, Alexia lifted an eyebrow.
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her question: “We’re celebrating my 22nd birthday.”
“It was a joke.”, she revealed, and a shy grin lit up her face.
You returned her smile: “You’re really bad at jokes, captain.”
“I know.”, the midfielder admitted, nervously running a hand through her unbound hair.
Once you realised how nervous she was around you, it put you in a flirtatious mood: “But you look adorable while making them.”
The older woman’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Shut up.”, Alexia hissed, pretending not to be touched by your flattering words.
The blonde could deceive herself, but not you.
“Or what..?”, you boldly answered her with a counter question.
The midfielder explained; her intense gaze gave the feeling that you were the only two people in the room, even though it was quite full: “You better not test your limits.”
On the other side of the room, the rest of your teammates had followed your conversation from a safe distance.
“Oh, she’s overdoing it, girls.”, Salma observed anxiously.
Ona cleared her throat and declared fearlessly: “I’ll go and save her.”
You felt Onas presence next to you before you saw her. “Ona?”
“Hey, you can’t stay here all night.”, your teammate said, nodding towards the rest of your friends standing on the other side of the bar.
Alexia replied before you could: “I told her but she’s not listening.”
Her voice was flat, one note like she was bored by you.
Ona forced a light laugh: “Oh, you know her.”
You had enough of this talk. You wanted to get back to your friends and far away from Alexia.
“Yes, let’s go.”, you agreed with Ona.
“Please.”, the defender said, clearly relieved that you didn’t need any more persuasion.
You casually slid of the barstool next to Alexia but your heel got caught on the footrest and for a split second you lost your balance.
Alexias hands were on your body within the blink of an eye, one stabilising your waist and the other holding your hand.
“I’ll help you down.”, she announced but didn’t move.
You blinked at her, too stunned by the situation to realise that you were silently staring at each other instead of doing anything else.
Alexia finally took a step back, leading you down from your seat like a princess.
You pressed your lips together in the closest thing to a smile that you could manage: “Thanks.”
“You’re… welcome.”
Her words came out on two different breaths and she finally let go of you.
Cata wrapped on arm around your shoulder and dragged you away from Alexia: “Let the party continue.”
“Yes, time to party.”, you smiled through the memory of Alexias touch and her lips being too close to your own.
Salma grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the dance floor: “Come on then, no more waiting!”
Grateful for the distraction, you followed and moved your body to the rhythm of the music until a distinctive guitar sound resounded.
You paused with your eyes wide but as soon as you heard Taylors voice sing the lyrics to “22”, you let out a sigh.
“Who put on Taylor Swift?”, you yelled over the music.
“Me! Fitting, no?”, Mapi answered, beaming at you.
You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was horribly cliché so you shrugged: “Kind of.”
“Ingrid, I told you she’ll love it.”, Mapi said to her girlfriend. You were suddenly reminded of a golden retriever.
Ingrid nodded patiently: “You were right.”
“The only ones enjoying it even more are Lucy and Ona.”
You followed Mapis gaze towards your two teammates who were going all out on the dance floor and looking at each other like they were alone at this party.
In that moment you made a decision. You left the dance floor and went back to Alexia, who was still nursing her drink.
“Dance with me, Ale.”
The older woman raised the hands in defence: “I don’t dance.”
You asked her nonchalantly: “Why not?”
“I just don’t.”, Alexia tried to shrug it off until she noticed your disappointed look.
“Oh, okay.”, you nodded sadly.
The blonde couldn't bear to see you so sad on your birthday, so she gave in with a sigh:” Fine. One dance.”
“Wait, you’re serious?”, you lifted your chin in surprise. The look in her hazel eyes told you that your team captain really meant it. Undoubtedly.
“Yes, it’s your birthday after all.”, Alexia confirmed.
Her serious tone made you shiver in the otherwise hot room.
“Alright.”, you agreed, hoping she didn’t hear the slight nervousness in your voice.
Before it started, the DJ switched from a fast song to a slow one, which brought each couple on the dance floor closer to their partner.
“Oh, no.”, the midfielder muttered under her breath.
As you took the lead in your dance, you assured her: “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”
Underneath your guidance, you could feel her heartbeat relax.
“Not too bad.”, Alexia admitted quietly.
At that exact moment, you had the feeling that the two of you were the only ones dancing.
With a smirk on your lips, you observed: “You like it.”
“I..”, she began anxiously and broke off, unable to translate the turmoil inside her into a coherent sentence.
You noticed her struggle and kindly interrupted the older woman:” You don’t have to say anything more.”
“Okay.”
The song had already been over for a few seconds, but Alexia was still holding you tightly in her arms.
Nobody apart from you and her best friend saw it.
Comradely, Mapi poked her captain's side, once she sat down next to her:” You’ve a crush on her.”
“I don’t.”, Alexia laughed.
The defender smiled at her: ”Sure, Ale.”
“That’s ridiculous.”, she huffed.
With a wise undertone, the younger woman responded: “It’s what it’s.”
“You can’t say that about everything.”, Alexia shook her head amusedly.
Mapi grinned at her counterpart: “Why not?”
“It’s not always what it’s.”, the midfielder explained earnestly, feeling like she was talking to a child rather than a grown-up woman.
Her good friend's belief in love was simply unshakeable. That's why the younger player's response didn't surprise Alexia at all, it was full of hope, something she thought she had lost when it came to love:” Maybe it’s more a question of what could be between you two?”
What was the feeling that arose in the midfielder when she looked at you? Attraction, yes, but maybe deep down it was something more, something that terrified her. Loving family, friends and team-mates was one thing, but loving a person with all her heart was a brave step in her eyes. Was Alexia ready to open herself up to that? But what about the age difference between you?
So many questions which wanted to be answered.
gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/okboomer17/754477277102931968/alexia-labor-omnia-vincit-2022?source=share
#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas fanfic#alexia putellas#alexia putellas one shot#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso#woso community#woso oneshot#woso one shot#barca femeni#woso x y/n#jana fernandez#ona batlle#cata coll#salma paralluelo
559 notes
·
View notes
Note
What if when Billy gets put behind the x-ray and Batman's like "where are your bones" Billy panics, so bones appear, except, Billy doesnt actually? Know? How human bones work? So like, he just has a lot of bones under the x-ray now, except there are way too many and also that's not how ones are supposed to look like and fit in the human body??? Why is his whole torso from neck to butt covered in spines??? They're only supposed to be at the chest!
Marvel’s biology is strange. Batman knows that. After all, he and Martian Manhunter oversee the medical examinations of heroes. For some reason though, J’onn isn’t too concerned about it even though he definitely should be. That might be because of the fact J’onn’s a shapeshifter but still. Like…
Batman: “Say ah, Captain.”
Marvel: “Aaaaaaaah…”
Batman: *puts a popsicle stick on his tongue and looks around his mouth*
Marvel: “I’ evrythg gud? (Is everything good?)”
Batman: “Captain… Why do your teeth extend past your throat?”
Marvel: “Wha?”
Batman: “Why do your teeth continue past the normal amount until they disappear down your throat?” *gets a little flash light and peers it into Billy’s throat*
Marvel: “I’ tha no norma? (Is that not normal?)”
Batman: “No? Maybe?” *takes the popsicle stick away and turns off the flashlight*
Marvel: “How many teeth do normal people have?”
Batman: “32.”
Marvel: “Oh, okay. Check again.” *opens his mouth and he now has 32 normal teeth before closing it back up* “Is that better?”
Batman: “It is for humans.”
Marvel: “Oh, well then that’s good because I’m an adult human male aren’t I?”
Batman: Why are you asking me?
The fact that Marvel had to ask if he was an adult human male was extremely offputting.
or
Supes: *using X-ray vision on Billy* “Cap, why do you only have lungs, a heart and a brain?”
Marvel: “What do you mean?”
Supes: “I mean, you only have lungs, a heart, and a brain. How are you standing?”
Marvel: “Uh…”
Supes: “Is that normal for your species or something?”
Marvel: What do you mean species? I’m human?”
Supes: “Then how…?”
Marvel: “Can you show me a photo of human bodily innards?”
Supes: *confused at the suddenness of the question* “Why?”
Marvel: “Just cause.”
Supes: “Okay…” *shows him*
Random Bystander: *sees this and immediately thinks the two are gore fanatics*
Marvel: “Thanks! Now check again.”
Supes: “Woah… how do you do that?”
Marvel: “Well, I’m a human adult male. Aren’t I supposed to have those organs?”
Later, when Marvel told Flash about that incident…
Flash: “Geez, Cap. It’s like you were built by a kid!”
Marvel: “Ha ha ha… I know, right?”
JL: *laughing*
Marvel: *awkward laughing*
Batman: *sees the awkward laughing*
Bruce somehow came up with the theory that Marvel was built by a child God and that’s why his biology was weird despite the fact he claimed to be a human adult male. But then again, if he was built by a child God, would they want him to tweak his creation every single time he wishes to be more human?
618 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hot and Cold
Summary: Natasha's playing with fire when a new resident joins the Compound.
A/N: Queen of Angst @esposadejoyhuerta asked for the fluffiest, sweetest, tooth rotting story ever and I was happy to deliver, even after they changed their request to inclue jealousy BECAUSE no one can stop me. Love ya, baby!
Another day, another mission. Since last week’s mess, it seems like Fury’s been finding ways to torture the team.
Yes, at the end they were able to retrieve the drive with the data of over twenty enhanced individuals. But so did HYDRA. And now the Avengers are on a race against time to locate them before the Russians do.
Natasha walks to Fury’s office, not excited at the prospect of risking her life to recruit people who didn’t really want to be found.
“Yes?” she says as soon as Fury turns around. He hands over a very heavy binder. “Is this their criminal record?”
Great, a weirdo with a troubled past. Natasha might not make it out alive.
“No, that’s their academic stuff. She’s a scientist. Crazy smart” Fury explains. “Have you heard of Bio-Thermokinesis?”
“No, not really”
“The ability to manipulate the body temperature of oneself and/or others” he recites, having learned the concept just now.
“That doesn’t sound so bad” Natasha says, closing the folder. It’s certainly better than the last few people she had to chase down.
“Yeah, until she induces a heat stroke or hypothermia” Fury scoffs. “We’ve been failing at recruiting these people. It would be nice to have a win. Plus, she could work in the lab with Banner and Stark”
“I don’t think Nerd Club is worth one’s freedom” Natasha mutters, skimming through the file.
“Well, either way, this mission doesn’t requires strenght. It requires charm. You up for it or should I send Hill?”
As Natasha gets to the picture of the target, she looks up.
“I’ll handle it”
—
As usual, you’re carrying more than you can possibly handle. Books, your laptop, a sandwich from the cafeteria, and correspondence from the main office.
By the time you manage to open the door to your office, half of the things in your arms are dangerously close to scattering across the hardwood floor.
“Oh, shit” you mutter when your keys drop.
“Need a hand?” a voice says and you jump back, the rest of your stuff flying across the room.
“Uh… can I help you?” you say, because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is perched up on your desk, legs crossed and a playful smirk across her striking features.
“Are you Doctor Y/L/N?”
“Yes. How did you…? I’m pretty sure the door was locked”
Is she a thief? You have absolutely nothing of value, at least not for a conventional burglar. You run every possibility in your mind and then you land on your second least favorite one.
Natasha notices the room getting warmer, probably because of how flustered you got. The file seems accurate regarding your power.
“AC broke down?” she asks innocently, undoing the top button of her shirt.
“Uh… I… I’ll open the window” you say, pushing it and leaning against the window pain. You consider jumping down to escape, but it’s a considerable height. You take a breath, deciding to face the matter head on. “So, which agency sent you?”
“Ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
“Yes, that was my first guess” you admit with a sad smile. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”
“Call me Natasha” she says, hopping off the desk. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news… and a generous offer”
“Mmm” you nod, fixing your glasses.
“A tactical team was sent to stop the purchase of confidential information for 30 enhanced individuals. We were able to obtain it… and so did HYDRA”
“Listen” you raise your hand, taking off your glasses and pinching the bridge of your nose. “I get it. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. know about me. The thing is, my power isn’t something you can leverage in a fight. I doubt they’ll be very interested in me”
“I think you’re wrong. And it’s not just your ability. Your expertise in science and your genetic makeup can be used to experiment”
“So, is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to do with me?” you sigh, looking out the window. You’re enjoying the view, vaguely aware that life as you know it is over.
“We want to offer you shelter at the Avengers Compound. 24 hour security, top facilities and technology. You can continue your research” Natasha says, trying to make it sound like a great deal.
It brings her back to that time Fury told her it was either work for the US government or end up in the Raft.
Your offer is slightly better, but a golden prison is still a prison.
“Are there any questions I can answer before you make a decision?” she offers with a kinder tone.
“Yeah. Do I even have a choice?”
—
Academic life is all you’ve ever known. Grants were the perfect way to do your research without having to look for a benefactor and expose yourself. You could learn things about your DNA, your abilities, while doing other stuff without anyone noticing.
Now, you wake up and there’s nothing that drives you. You live with people who have exceptional skills, physical prowess, and military training. Their world is avenging, your world is scientific papers and books.
Sure, their lab is nice, but most of the times you end up leaving early, completely unmotivated and feeling empty.
Natasha watches from afar, and although this isn’t her doing, she feels responsible. She tries to include you in activities she understands, like training, but you’re very obviously not the athletic kind.
Banner is, as usual, isolating himself and Tony speaks nerd, but is barely around unless a mission requires his presence.
It isn’t until one day that Peter shows up to the Compound that Natasha gets an idea.
“Hi, Miss Romanoff. Is Mister Stark around?” he asks in that shy tone he always uses when he’s around Natasha.
“Nope, not to my knowledge. Do you need anything?”
“FRIDAY told me to meet him here. He must have forgotten. I guess I better get back to my Biochem project”
Wait a minute.
He’s a nerd.
“Stay” she says, looking him up and down. Peter reminds her of a puppy when he stops completely, as if he learned a new command. “Wait for Tony at the lab. I’ll try to find him”
“You’re sure? I’m not allowed inside by myself” he hesitates, following Natasha.
“Yeah, it’s fine” she types in the access code, and of course, there you are, spinning in your chair.
As soon as you hear the door opening, you stop your movements, almost falling off.
Natasha finds your blush adorable.
“Hey, Y/N. This is Peter. He’ll be around waiting for Tony”
“Oh, hey. Ok, I was just leaving. I’m kinda stuck either way”
“Ordinary Differential Equations?” Peter says as soon as he gets his eyes on your board.
“Yes. Very impressive” you nod. “This is focused on genetic network. I’m trying to determine inborn errors of metabolism”
“Oh, you know? There’s a brilliant Doctor who’s working on that, maybe her paper would be great for you. She’s Y/N Y/L/N”
“Yeah, that’s me” you say, tapping your chin and examining the board. “What is your ability? If you have any? Maybe I can use a different set of data”
“Yes! I would love to, what do you need from me?” Peter says, a little starstruck at finding out you’re one of the most prestigious researchers in the world.
“For now, a blood sample” you wink at him, adjusting your glasses.
Natasha sits in the back of the lab as you and Peter work together, and you explain every concept to him. This is the first time since you arrived that you don’t look so miserable.
The Russian takes it as a small win when you join her in the common area for dinner.
--
Since Peter found out about your abilities and your permanent stay at the Compound, you’ve been advising him on his project and college applications. Which is a really nice distraction, but it also makes you miss your own college days.
So, even if you’re in a better mood, it’s still hard to socialize with the team.
One day, you enter the lab to find Rogers, Wilson and Barnes looking at a screen, while Natasha types.
“Whoever encrypted this is slightly smarter than me. Only slightly”
They look away as you drag a chair to focus on your own stuff, a cup of coffee in your hand and a cookie in your mouth.
“Hi…” you wave at them, feeling intimidated as usual.
“Hey, weather girl” Sam winks at you.
Natasha rolls her eyes and elbows him.
“Ignore him, Y/N”
You can tell she’s getting frustrated, so you inch closer, looking at the code over her shoulder. Placing your hand on her elbow, you silently ask for permission to take over.
The redhead eyes you curiously, but stops typing and moves the keyboard your way. It takes you twenty seconds to hack into the files.
“How…?”
“I used to hack into databases to make sure my name wasn’t on any watchlist” you explain casually. Natasha laughs at that. “Anyway, there you go”
“Thanks, Y/N. You’re my hero” Natasha says, smiling up at you. Her tone makes you blush and you nod, going back to your desk.
“Nice work. We could use your help if you’re free some other time” Steve says as they leave the lab.
“Of course, Capitan”
—
An intruder changes your mind about training. The threat is handled swiftly and you don’t even have time to hide before F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms the suspect has been taken into custody
But you don’t even know how to begin to defend yourself, so you come back to Natasha, asking if her offer still stands.
Needless to say, the spy is more than happy to train you. Not just because it means you’re comfortable asking for things, but because Natasha can teach you something that will help you protect yourself.
You start with two sessions per week, which later turns to four, until you’re comfortable with training almost daily.
The rest of the team joins from time to time, giving you advice and helping you when Natasha’s away on missions.
After a few weeks, Natasha notices how your resistance is better and you’re building some muscle.
Only as a professional observation. It’s not like she finds you attractive, with that nerdy charm and toned arms.
One day, as you’re leaving the gym, she checks her bag, cursing when she notices she forgot a change of clothes.
“Wanna borrow one of my hoodies?” you offer, handing over your NYU sweatshirt.
“You sure?” Natasha hesitates.
“Yeah, I got tons of these. From all the places I’ve done work or research”
“I’ll give it back” she promises, taking it.
That turns out to be a lie.
A few days later, when you’re folding your laundry, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests that you join Tony and Banner in the lab. Leaving the basket in the living room, you think nothing of it, nor do you notice that a couple of your sweatshirts are gone.
It all comes to light a week later, when Natasha comes back from a grueling mission. The only thing that will make her feel better is staying in her room while wearing your UCLA hoodie.
She totally forgets about her attire when she answers the door.
“Huh, so that’s where it was” you tilt your head, smiling.
“I…”
“I’m watching a movie, care to join me? It’s one of your favorites”
“Ok” she nods, surprised that you’re not mad about the stolen sweatshirt.
Natasha enters your room, appreciating the combination of books, notes and the board with equations. After you apologize for the mess, you offer a place to sit in your bed.
“It looks good on you” you compliment the redhead. Natasha smiles, trying to be nonchalant about it.
“Thank you”
It becomes a habit, to steal your hoodies.
“Objectively speaking, you don’t actually need them as you can regulate your temperature” Natasha comments one day, digging through your closet. To her shock, she finds a sweatshirt with a sorority logo on it.
“Not mine. A girl I hooked up with in college” you explain.
Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing the garment as far away as possible while pulling a face. You laugh at her reaction.
“Don’t be jealous, Natty. You’re my favorite” you promise, unaware of the effect your words had on her.
“And yet you never let me wear the Harvard one”
“That was my first” you shrug your shoulders.
“First college or first hook up?” Natasha taunts and you laugh.
“A nerd never kisses and tell. Actually, a nerd rarely kisses anyone to being with” you try to joke, pulling out the Harvard sweatshirt from your closet to put it on.
Natasha eyes it, and you catch her intentions a little too late. She inches forward and you stretch your arm back, trying to place the hoodie out of reach.
“Nu-uh” you shake your head, laughing as she keeps trying to steal it. “Natasha, there are like ten other hoodies you could take!”
“I want this one!” she insists, jumping. Her body crashes against yours, and you both stumble, falling in your bed. Limbs are tangled and her laugh tickles your ear as she struggles to lift herself up. After a moment, Natasha smiles, looking at your lips. “Gotcha”
You don’t even know what to say, her intense stare making you feel warm -both literally and figuratively - and your heart beats faster when it seems like she’ll lean forward and kiss you.
“Agent Romanoff, there’s an urgent call for you” FRIDAY interrupts the moment.
Natasha sighs, standing up and looking at you.
“Catch you later?”
“Yeah” you nod, trying to hide your disappointment.
—
Natasha was gone for a week, and returned with a very bad injury. You heard the news as Steve and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, blaming each other as usual.
“Where…? Is she ok…?” you try to interrupt them, but they’re in the middle of a screaming match.
“Come with me” Maria says, taking you to a whole different wing of the Compound. Since you’ve never been on missions, you didn’t know about the Medbay.
Natasha’s lying in a hospital bed, asleep.
“She’s ok. A guy threw a knife at her, but it was only a superficial stab wound. Doctor said she’ll be discharged tomorrow” Maria eases your nerves.
Of course, for her it’s easy to say it’s no big deal. Agents are shot, blown up, killed in the field. A little scratch is nothing, especially for Natasha. But you take a deep breath, leaving the Medbay in a rush.
As you lock yourself in the Avenger’s Lab, you make F.R.I.D.A.Y. a simple request.
“Show me the mission’s footage”
—
Natasha’s had worst, truly. But still, her head is throbbing when she wakes up. The doctor discharges her with the instruction to rest for a week. No training either.
The Russian notices a bag with clothes on the chair next to her bed. She finds your Harvard sweatshirt, which puts a tiny smile on her face.
You are nowhere to be found in the Compound when she returns, so she goes to her room to take another nap, the painkillers making her sleepy.
By the time Natasha wakes up to get something to eat, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests her presence in the lab.
“What is it?” she says, surprised to find you working on a tablet. It looks like you haven’t slept in the last 24 hours, five or six cups of coffee around the various tables in the lab.
“I created a new technology for your suit” you jump right to it. “It has motion sensors that are triggered by incoming threats. That way, if someone tries to sneak up on you, you can either get an alert or program a defense mechanism that can be shot from any part of the suit”
Natasha takes the tablet, running the simulation. She’s impressed with the level of detail you’ve placed on this and on such short time. She’s about to thank you, but you’re already asleep in the couch of the lab, clearly exhausted from all the work you’ve done.
The sight of your sleeping form makes Natasha’s heart flutter.
—
Movie night is the one tradition you’ve always been on board with. Coincidentally, it’s Natasha’s least favorite. Depending on her mood, she’ll join everyone on the living room, or talk you into watching something else in your room or hers.
Tonight, she stops by once the movie has already started. As usual, you’re on the couch in the far back of the room, your glasses reflecting the screen as you eat some popcorn.
“Hey” Natasha leans over the back of the couch and whispers against your ear, making you jump. Your eyes follow her as she jumps over to plop down next to you.
“You’re not supposed to be doing that with a hole on your side, Natasha” you reprimand.
“It’s fine” she lies, grabbing some popcorn.
As the movie keeps going, the woman inches closer to you. At first you think she’s settling in her seat, but then her hand spreads on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your neck.
It’s fine. You can handle it.
Nope, you absolutely can’t. Not when you feel Natasha’s nimble fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, her digits alternating between caressing the skin and scratching your scalp.
“You’re hot” she whispers at some point and you turn to look at her, dazed.
“Huh?”
“You feel hot” she clarifies a second later, her eyes looking at your lips. “Is everything ok? Those powers of yours are acting up”
“I’m fine” you nod, looking back at the screen. Aware that you are in fact increasing the temperature in the room, you take a breath and close your eyes, before anyone else notices.
You’re almost back to normal when Natasha stretches and lies across your lap, her left hand squeezing your thigh as the other one begins to trace patterns in your skin.
All while she's wearing your Harvard sweatshirt.
Your only thought is to take it off, along with the rest of her clothes and kiss every inch of her body.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is the thermostat broken…?” Tony finally snaps, annoyed at the sudden changes in temperature. “Never mind”
Everyone follows his eyes as he looks to the back of the room, where Natasha is playing dumb while riling you up.
“Can you two find a room to turn into a sauna and spare the rest of us?” Tony says, which makes your eyes widen, and the room practically turns into a freezer. “Great, now we’re all turning into popsicles. Cap, you’re familiar with the feeling, right?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Tony” Natasha finally stands up, showing you some mercy. “Come on, detka”
“Uh, ok” you say, your voice barely a whisper as you allow the woman to drag you back to her room.
As soon as the door is shut, she pushes you against it.
“So, tell me” she says with a playful smile. “How hot do you think it will get here?”
You can only shake your head, speechless. Natasha smiles, kissing you softly. All thoughts leave your head, opening your mouth to give her access. You’ll do anything she asks, anything at all.
“I see” she smiles when the room gets hot. “Good thing we won’t have our clothes on”
It’s the best sex of your life.
So much so, the fire alarm goes off in the entire Compound.
“Fucking worth it” you sigh as you’re both naked in bed, the water from the sprinklers evaporating from all the heat in the room.
473 notes
·
View notes
Text
her weakness
summary: you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt
pairing: bucky barnes x female reader
word count: 3.5k
warnings: violence, blood, fighting, it’s a fight seen so yea expect things relating to that
a/n: i rewatched tfatws and this fight always makes me so worried for my bbs so yea this was born. I typed it up helllllla quick so I'm sorry if its trash, I'm not too proud of this one idk.
masterlist | send requests
Your feet followed closely behind Bucky as you approached the warehouse. Your limbs were stiff and your skin clammy. Your hand stayed firmly in Bucky’s grasp as you approached John Walker. Sam had tracked him to a storage warehouse near the square you had just witnessed brutality in.
He murdered him, in cold blood, with Steve’s shield. You couldn’t get the screams of the public out of your head, the sound of the vibranium as it slashed into the flagsmasher’s body. You would’ve thrown up if Bucky hadn’t pushed you behind him. You had seen much worse, much more gruesome violence in your line of work. But something about this was sickening, rotting away in your stomach as you tried to grapple with the truth that the shield your friend once carried with honor and pride was just used by an unhinged soldier who found joy in the worst parts of the job.
Bucky stayed ahead of you, following Sam as they entered the building. Your hand trembled in his vibranium grasp. His thumb gently brushed across the veins and bones of your hand, trying to bring you comfort before the scene he knew was about to play out.
As you walked into the large space, you saw him. He was too composed and stoic for what had just taken place. His tall and slender figure loomed as he casually walked up to you all, barely acknowledging Sam as he tried to get him to listen.
“Walker,” Sam started. The soldier brushed Sam’s stern tone off, hopefully delaying what he knew was coming.
“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good,” He said, walking past you.
“Stop, Walker,” Sam took a few steps closer, trying again to get him to focus.
Your jaw tightened as you watched the man pace erratically in front of you. He was muttering quietly before responding as if trying to convince himself what he was saying had any truth.
“What?” He asked, coming closer. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.”
Your grip on Bucky tightened, sensing Walker’s anger began to boil over. You knew a fight was coming, it always was.
“I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!” Walker shouted, his arms waving now and revealing how off the deep end he had gone.
You knew the moment you saw him in that fight. He stole the serum and took it for himself. This behavior just confirmed it. But the serum only enhanced what was already bubbling under the surface. The same John you meet on the highway. The same John who waltzed into the police station as if he had the authority or right to control Bucky and call him an ‘asset’. It was always there.
“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.”
Bucky’s smooth and deep voice cut through the tension in the room. You felt his grip on your hand squeeze for a moment, making sure you were okay. He could always sense your anxiety in the field. Your powers made keeping your calm difficult. You would never use them in battle unless your opponent was enhanced as well. You were a skilled fighter and agent, you didn’t need them. And it didn’t always seem ethical. But keeping them at bay, in check, could prove difficult- especially in heightened situations such as this.
Walker scoffed at Bucky’s words, dismissing the truth like it was nothing.
“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well,” Bucky said.
“I’m not like you!” Walker’s voice was full of disgust and resentment. From the moment you met him, you could sense his quiet disdain for your best friend. Looking down his nose at him like he was some scum left over from Steve's life, something he’d always have to deal with. Yet at the same time, resentment. Jealousy over his power, control, and abilities in his enhanced body. As if that’s what made him an excellent fighter. Or a good person.
Your spare hand moved between Bucky’s shoulder blades, giving him a subtle and quiet support as you prepared.
“Listen, it was the heat of the battle, okay?” Sam said, taking a step closer to Walker. That shield danced in your vision, taunting you as he paced back and forth. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record.”
Walker’s distress spread across his face, his brows furrowing and eyes scrunching as he tussled with Sam’s words.
“We don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sam said.
The warehouse went silent as Walker stared at the ground before him. Bucky gave you a soft, tight-lipped smile before begrudgingly dropping your hand. He slowly took a step towards the man, joining Sam.
“John…” Bucky said, calmly.
“You gotta give me the shield, man,” Sam said.
That did it. You could feel the room shift that second.
A disturbing serene aura washed over Walker at that moment. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to you all. His eyes were dark, lacking a certain warmth and compassion you had grown so used to seeing through that blue cowl. A certain warmth that left when he hung up the shield.
“Oh…. so that’s what this is,” Walker said. “You almost got me.”
You could see his grip on the shield tighten, the leather straps twisting between his fingers.
“You made a mistake,” Sam said.
You slowly took a step forward, your hands flexing as you prepared for what was to come. Walker finally turned his gaze to you. His eyes roamed you up and down. You could’ve sworn you saw Bucky’s jaw clench, that familiar muscle tightening in distress. Walker smirked at you before glancing at Bucky. He could read the protectiveness radiating off of your supersoldier.
“You don’t wanna do this,” Walker said to him.
Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. His fists balled at his side, practically shaking with anger. He never took pleasure in a fight, every punch or kick felt like a necessity rather than enjoyment. But he couldn’t deny how much he desired to rip that shield from his grimy hands.
“Yeah we do,” Bucky said.
Sam lurched forward first, Bucky soon following suit. Your feet moved quickly, moving behind Walker as your friends attacked from the front. The man moved with a speed you had yet to see from him, a brute force you could only get from the serum.
With a harsh kick, Walker sent Sam flying away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You tried to knock Walker down from the back as Bucky grappled with the shield. As you sent a harsh kick into the back of Walker’s knees, he spun quickly and sent a jab into Bucky’s gut sending him backward in pain and knocking him off balance. Before you could back him up, Walker slammed a harsh punch into Bucky’s jaw. Your heart raced and your hands shook as you watched him drop to the ground. You sprung into action, pulling the shield back in your hands and keeping Walker from smashing it into Bucky’s face. Sam leaped in, kicking the shield up and drawing attention to him.
You slammed a kick into Walker’s back, sending him stumbling forward as Sam slashed at him with his wings. Bucky leaped up, his arm aiming to come down on the faux Captain America’s back hard but was ultimately blocked by the shield.
You were growing frustrated. Walker never packed this much of a punch. The serum raged through his veins, lacing each kick and swing of the shield with force and hate. As you and Sam continued to trade blocks at Walker, Bucky attempted to pull him down but was quickly met with the shield swinging into the side of his face. Your legs shook. The longer this dragged out the more difficult you find keeping your emotions in check. The longer you watched your favorite person in the world become decorated with blood and bruises, the more your ethical code began to look like a suggestion. Walker deserved a swift blast to the face and more. But you held off.
Walker slammed the shield into Sam’s back, sending him down. As your two friends recovered briefly, it was just you and him. You surged forward at the man, dodging as he swung at you. Being smaller than the two Avengers alongside you made it much easier to evade Walker’s sloppy attacks. You sent a firm kick into his chest followed by an uppercut into his chin. As he spun and tumbled, Bucky was back on his feet and meeting Walker with punches. Bucky’s attacks quickly led the pair into a tight spot, backing Walker up into a heavy piece of machinery. The pair spun in circles over the shield, yanking the vibranium disc back and forth and trading beatings in between. Sam quickly followed you over, diving in for aid, but quickly was sent flying back by Walker’s attacks. His body slammed to the ground with a grunt.
While Bucky worked, you glanced at Sam. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, preparing to dive back into the fight. In your moment of distraction, the fear and care for your dear friend overriding your common sense to keep fighting, you heard Walker’s voice pull you back. Bucky was trapped between the shield and a machine. You rushed over to help but it was far too late.
“Why are you making me do this?!” Before you could register what Walker was saying, you watched as Bucky went flying.
Walker’s forceful swing of the shield sent him hurtling across the warehouse. Your body froze as if someone had filled your veins with cement. The dramatic scene Walker had created came to an end with Bucky’s body smashing into an electrified pole and crashing to the ground. The might of his impact snapped the pole in the middle, sparks cascaded from the steel and flooded onto the floors; leading your eyes to Bucky.
“Bucky!” You screamed.
His body lay limp and splayed out on the cold dirty floors. His face was smushed into the cement. His limbs didn’t dare to move. Except for his vibranium arm, which twitched and spasmed under his body; blue and white sparks burst out from the plates adding to the horror.
Your breaths were heavy and shaky, your hands trembled at your sides as the vibrating blue of your powers began to spark at your fingertips; mirroring the sight of your best friend’s arm. The room was spinning, at least that’s what made sense to you. Your balance was unstable, your knees threatening to buckle at any moment. You turned to spare a look at Sam, begging him for permission. But he was already back on his feet and rushing towards Walker.
“Go!” He shouted.
You had never been faster. Your abilities never gave you the gift of flight but in that moment they very well could have. Your legs became weak and your steps messy as you neared Bucky. You crashed to your knees beside him, pain radiated up your thighs from the impact but you couldn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than the expanding tight pain in your chest as you struggled to breathe.
Your hands quivered as they hovered over his body. With him lying so still you could finally take in the damage Walker had done to his face. Blood was splattered all over, deep purple and blue hues bloomed across his cheekbones, and a nasty split had opened on his lip. Worst of all, his nose was broken.
The sparks continued to burst from the plates of his arm, his hand jerking and spasming with an unsettling sound of grinding metal. Quickly, you placed your hands firmly on the vibranium. A deep blue beamed from under your palms, cascading the metallic golds and blacks of his arm in your glow. The excess electricity from the crash moved in waves through the arm up into your hands. You focused as all the veins in your body became electrified, an aqua glow shone through your skin as the energy you. Your once y/e/c eyes were quickly overtaken, the cool energy overriding your iris’ and leaving an intense indigo shine. With a sharp gasp and breath, you let go. His arm had stopped moving, now lying as still and motionless as he did.
“Bucky,” you said, giving his damaged body a soft shake. “Bucky, wake up.”
He didn’t move, his face slack and limps heavy as you struggled to turn him to his back and off of his arm. Your hands rushed to his face, cupping his cheeks and holding him close as if you could shield him from more of John Walker’s savagery. If someone had the power to take your abilities and trade them for the ability to heal, you’d offer them anything they wished just for the potential to spare Bucky from his pain even for a moment.
“Buck… come on wake up,” the fresh blood from his injuries spilled into your fingertips, the crimson caked into your cuticles and threatened not to leave.
“Plum, please,” His body twitched; your lungs finally filled with air.
His breaths were labored but there, his chest rattled as he sucked in much-needed air. Your fingers moved to his neck, their shuddering finally stilling as you felt his pulse return to a firm and strong pattern.
The sounds of Sam’s grunts and Walker’s cries swiftly pulled your attention back to your friend. He was up in the air, a long metal cord pulling on the shield and attempting to free it from Walker’s venomous grasp. To no avail, as soon Sam was flung back to the floor and across the room. The shield clattered to the ground, equally laid between the two men. The smug and determined look on Walker’s face enraged you, the blue glow returning to your eyes. Sam glanced over at you before rushing for the shield. He needed you.
You turned back to Bucky, still unresponsive to your touches and voice. He was breathing, his pulse steady. Taking in the broken state of his body, his face battered and bloodied, you couldn’t hold back your rage any longer.
It was as if something had possessed you. Gently, you laid Bucky back to the ground, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead.
“I’ll be right back,” you said, your voice monotone yet determined. The expressions of concern, fear, and horror that had played upon your face just moments ago were now gone. You were cold and still, as you rose to your feet and walked over to the two men fighting behind you.
Before Walker could grab the shield, a harsh blast of blue energy sent him flying back in the opposite direction. The man was studded, confused by how he could have been knocked down. He looked up to see you rushing towards him. You were steady in your movement, not running but with each step winding up for the next blow. Your hands were baked in a fierce glow of aqua as you channeled more energy through your fingertips.
Walker scrambled to his feet, preparing for the offense. Before he could even take a step he was back on the ground with another blast from you. A loud cry fell from your lips as you slammed him down with force from your power. As you ran up to Walker, he quickly sent a firm hit to your jaw. You stumbled back, regaining your vision to see him coming at you. You jumped up, knees to your chest and feet pressing on his as you blasted him once again.
He was on the ground with you towering over him. His face was coated in shades of black and blue, mirroring the face you were trembling over just seconds ago. Good, he deserved that and more.
You blasted him again as he struggled to crawl away. You followed him, hot on his trail as energy overflowed from your hands. The shield was long forgotten by you, only driven by your need for revenge. Bucky couldn’t even answer you, couldn’t move. He needed to pay.
Walker’s body slammed back into machinery as you surged more energy at him. He was done, hands shaking above him as he prepared for your next blow.
“We’re better than this right? Captain America doesn’t do this,” Walker said through his split lip and shaking jaw.
You scoffed; if only he had thought that way an hour ago. You wouldn’t be here. Bucky would be okay.
“Good thing I’m not Captain America,” you said. Walker shielded his face as you wound up your aim. Energy radiated from your fist up your forearm as you pulled it back to deliver one last shot.
“Y/n, stop!” Sam shouted.
Your blast was halted by a firm hand on your upper arm. You recognized the stillness and coolness that held onto your body. Turning you saw Bucky behind you. He was shaking as he stood, breaths labored and heavy, but there he was. Sam ran up behind the two of you, shield in hand as he looked at you. But all you could focus on was Bucky.
Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head softly as he lowered your arm.
“This isn’t you, you don’t do this,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you breathed heavily, struggling to reel your rage back in. You glanced back at Walker who lay on the ground, glaring at you smugly. Your eyes shone brighter, your fists clenching as the glow intensified.
“Hey,” Bucky said, taking your face and turning you to look back at him. “You’re not him.”
The energy overtaking your body began to fade as you relaxed under his firm touch. The uncontrollable blue glow began to fade back into your body, leaving you panting as you tried to calm your emotions. Bucky stood before you, vibranium hand stroking your own.
“You’re okay,” you said.
“I’m okay. Hey, hey, I’m okay. It’s over,” he said, pulling you away from the scene you had created. He walked you slowly back towards Sam, you shook in his grasp. Walker struggled to stand as he watched the three of you leave. The shield taunted him as it hung off of Sam’s arm, finally back with its true owner. The Captain America.
“I’m sorry,” you said, looking at Sam. “I just….” you glanced at Bucky, once again seeing the battering of his beautiful face. Your throat swelled as you lost your words, choking on your fear.
“We got it back,” Sam said, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze before heading out of the building. His limp as he walked didn’t escape you.
Bucky gripped your hand tightly, pulling you with him as he walked. He didn’t make it far before his knees began to buckle, his body slipping as he fell. You were at his side in a heartbeat, arm hauling him back up beside you; refusing to let his body crash to the filthy ground again.
“Hey, hold onto me,” you said. You wrapped his arm around your shoulder and his other gripped at your waist as you began to pull him from the warehouse, his feet limping and tripping as he struggled to walk. Walker’s body began to fade in the distance as you left.
“Why did you do that, doll?” Bucky asked as you walked, his voice slurred and low. Each wince and suck of breath stabbed at your side like a pecking bird, refusing to let your wound heal.
“I don’t know, I’ve never done that. I….” you paused, stopping your feet as you gave him a moment to catch his breath. “When I saw you hit that pole, I lost it.”
“I’m okay, Y/n,” he said, yet his words seemed to hold no weight as he struggled to stay upright at your side.
“Your arm was sparking, Bucky. You weren’t moving. I-I thought that you…” You couldn’t finish, gripping him tighter as your voice shook. As if letting him go would give the world a chance to tear him from you once again. Your fingertips dug into his tact suit, determined to embed yourself in him.
“Hey, babydoll,” he said, hoisting himself up just enough to take your face in his hands. He swayed on his feet as he stood, intent on holding you close as he spoke. Your hands held him steady at his side.
“I’m here, I’ll always be here. But no matter what happens to me, I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I can’t have that.”
“I don’t wanna lose you,” you said.
“You won’t. I’m right here, I’m always coming back to you.”
You nodded softly as you rested your head on his chest. His hands moved to your hair as he held you close. Your hands wound around his center, keeping him safe in your arms. As long as you were around, no one would take him.
“You’re so good, you’re so special, Y/n. You need to be strong, even if I get hurt. You can’t drop your morals for me. They mean too much to you,” he said.
“I think you may be my weakness,” you said, your voice muffled in his chest. He tucked himself closer into you at your words, his head resting upon yours. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.
“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.
---
taglist:
(comment to join <3)
#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes fluff#fanfic#tfatws#marvel#fanfiction
475 notes
·
View notes
Text
STRETCH (M)
★ PAIRING: cheerleader!Jaemin x cheer captain!Reader
☆ WORD COUNT: 4k
★ GENRE(S): smut
☆ SUMMARY: Jaemin can't fit into his cheer uniform anymore because he's been working out too much. While you can't help but admire his muscles, you realize the entire team is admiring him too and that's not going to fly. You decide you need to take action and get Jaemin a new uniform
★ ☆ WARNINGS: unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, explicit sexual intercourse, MDNI
☆★ NOTES: The concept of cheerleader Jaemin is just too hot to me so I had to spin the block on this one. Continuation of Team Spirit! that can be read as a stand alone!
────୨ৎ────
Jaemin has been bulking up lately. He had always been really into fitness and a bit of a gym rat, but since joining the cheerleading squad, he hadn't had time for his regular workouts, Now with competition season over he was back at it and you couldn’t help but notice the results. His chest looked fuller, and his arms rippled with defined muscle, showing off all the dedication he’s been putting in.
But as much as you loved his body, it was definitely time for him to size up his uniform.
His chest was starting to press tightly against the front of his shirt, the stretchy spandex doing little to hide the swell of his muscles. The uniform shirt he wore was a crop top that showcased his abs. That was a sight that was already causing issues, stealing your attention at the wrong time. But this? This was far beyond what anyone should have to deal with. The fabric was strained to its limit, and each breath he took only made it worse.
You doubted that going up a size in spandex would make much of a difference, but something had to give—he was practically bursting out of his uniform. You couldn't take your eyes off him.
Standing on the opposite side of the gym, you watched him closely as he moved. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his toned arms flexed beneath a snug black spandex top. To be honest, it was quite a sight. You enjoyed observing the way his body moved in the uniform, but then reality hit when you noticed the rest of the team admiring his outfit as well.
The fun was over, that shirt had to go. You weren’t deaf to the whispers that drifted around the locker room when your teammates thought you weren't listening. You overheard them making comments about how good he looked. You had to forcibly push aside the twinge of jealousy that threatened to creep in, reminding yourself to stay composed and maintain a level head. You were captain, you couldn't just go on a jealous rampage.
You did eventually find a bit of solace in making those who had whispered about him run extra drills. It felt good to dish out some consequences for their gossip. Plus, the glare you shot their way throughout practice was enough to let them know you were aware of their little comments. After that, suddenly no one had anything to whisper about anymore.
Strange how that works.
You walked into the locker room after practice, a small bag in your hand. “I ordered you a new top,” you said casually, trying to avoid eye contact. Jaemin was always able to read you like a book and you were beyond embarrassed at the fact you couldn't focus during practice because of his boobs. He did not need to know what thoughts swirled around in your head.
Jaemin's head turns towards your direction, a curious expression on his face. "What's wrong with the one I have now?" he asked.
You shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's getting stretched out. It's time for a new one."
He looked unimpressed, clearly not buying your excuse but after a moment of silence, he shrugged and said, "Okay."
It wasn’t until Jaemin put on the new uniform top that you realized the mistake you had made. As he stood in front of you in the locker room, the shirt hung loosely around him, nearly swallowing his athletic frame. The baggy sleeves sagged at his arms, and the hem of the top drooped far below his waistline. You could see the dissatisfaction written all over his face as he scrunched up his nose in distaste.
"Uh, this… isn’t really the right fit, is it?" he asked, trying to tug at the fabric to adjust it.
"I swear it looked smaller online." You mentally kicked yourself for not double-checking the sizing.
Jaemin turned to face you fully, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "So, what? I’m just going to run around in a tent now?" His tone is playful.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. "I’ll order you something else. I promise I’ll get the right size this time."
"I just don't see what's wrong with my old one," he said, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it aside.
You hesitated, trying to find the right words as you eyed him. "D-don't you think the other one is a little tight?" you ask.
Jaemin shrugged, clearly unfazed. “Feels the same to me.”
You took a breath, trying to be subtle. “In the chest area,” you emphasized, hoping to steer the conversation in the right direction, trying to give him as much of a hint as possible without sounding too blunt.
He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he glanced down at his torso. “Is that so?”
“It’s just that your old one hugs your body… a little too well, you know?”
Jaemin's eyes widened as he caught on. "Ohhhh...I see.” A smirk played on his lips. “Then I think it fits perfectly."
For a moment, you were at a loss for words. The way he looked at you—the confidence mixed with mischief—made your stomach flutter. You felt yourself blush, caught between wanting to call him out and being completely distracted by how effortlessly charming he was. "I'd agree if the entire team didn't think the same thing," you muttered, trying to deflect.
Jaemin's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Kinda like how the gym feels about you and your cute little spandex shorts during summer practice?" he asked, voice dripping with playful sarcasm.
You felt your face heat up as he mentioned your shorts. You'd always thought they were just a comfortable choice, until the day he told you how much they showed off your ass and banned you from wearing them. "They're comfy," you said defensively, trying to brush it off.
Jaemin raised an eyebrow.
Okay, whatever," you huffed, eager to shift the topic. “But back to the point, this was supposed to be about finding you something that actually fits.”
"So what if it's a bit stretched out now? It's got character. Plus, it's like my lucky shirt now."
You shook your head, laughing. "Lucky shirt?" You echoed, incredulous.
He nodded, a fierce look on his face. "You can't keep your eyes off me when I wear it, so it must be lucky,” he says.
You groaned inwardly; he was going to be so insufferable in that shirt now. Why had you ever mentioned how it affected you? You could already tell he was going to exploit this newfound power over you.
Rolling your eyes with a shrug, you replied, “Whatever.”
You’d just have to come up with another plan to get rid of that shirt once and for all.
—
Ever since you discussed your thoughts on Jaemin's shirt, you could swear it had gotten tighter. You were convinced that the shirt held some sort of magical power of enchantment because you couldn’t focus. You were missing cues and forgetting routines left and right, all while Jaemin pranced around in his annoyingly snug shirt.
It was almost as if he was wearing a compression shirt that not only accentuated his chest but also highlighted his stupidly disgusting slutty waist that you definitely didn’t want to grip onto while he pounded you into the nearest surface. You were losing your grip on reality, and all of it was thanks to him and that evil shirt.
You found yourself watching Jaemin when you really shouldn’t. He was in the middle of his routine, and you had only seconds left before your cue to come in on the opposite side of the mat. You didn’t have time to think about your face buried in his chest, or how firm it would feel under your fingertips.
Your teammates began to notice your distraction, and whispers started to circulate about your sudden lack of focus. "Dude, you okay?" one of them asked, nudging you playfully. You forced a smile, trying to brush it off, but you knew you weren't fooling anyone.
Suddenly you hated cheerleading. If it weren't for cheer, Jaemin would never have become a cheerleader, he wouldn't be sporting that top, and these thoughts wouldn’t be plaguing you now.
You missed your cue because of course you do, and the irritation in Seungkwan's expression was immediate.
“Okay, how about we take a break? I feel like everyone isn’t checked in today,” he said, his gaze sweeping over you with a pointed intensity. You roll your eyes instantly regretting making him your second co-captain next to Nayeon.
As you step off the mat you go straight to your water bottle, you need to cool down. Your eyes naturally find Jaemin and you swore you saw a brief smirk flicker across his face, only to vanish just as quickly. Did he think this was a game? Did he find it funny?
You would show him funny.
When you showed up in the spandex shorts Jaemin had banned you from wearing to practice, there was no humorous twinkle behind his eye anymore when he'd caught sight of you. His face fell, eyes glued to your thighs.
“Oops,” you said playfully, walking past him with a bounce in your step. As you moved, you could feel his gaze lingering. "Let's have a good practice today, everyone!" you called out to the floor
Nayeon leads the stretches, and you follow along with the rest of the team on the floor. You don't bother pulling the hem of your shorts down when they roll up, knowing full well what it did to Jaemin. You sit on the floor with your legs straight out Infront of you in a seated pike stretch. You reach out to touch your toes, tilting your head just enough to catch Jaemin’s reaction in the corner of your eye. Just as you expected his eyes haven't left your ass since you walked into the gym.
You pulled yourself back up straight, trying to play it cool as seungkwan announced for everyone to find a partner for stretches. Jaemin was at your side in a heartbeat.
“Next break, you’re changing out of those,” Jaemin says firmly, leaving no room for argument. He pulls you to stand in front of him, your back to his chest. His grip on your waist is strong. His hands travel and In one fluid motion, he grabs your thigh spreading your legs apart, then slides down the back of your thigh until he hooks under your knee. With a gentle lift, he raised your leg into a heel stretch, his fingers gliding sensually up your leg until they rested at your calf.
“Says who?” you challenged, trying to maintain your composure. “These are comfy, and they let me stretch to my full potential.” You tilt your head to look at the position he’s bent you into.
He’s so close that you can feel his breath against the back of your neck, the heat radiating from his body pressing against you. You could feel that he’s hard pressed up against you.
“Also, I don’t remember asking for your permission to wear whatever I want,” you add.
Jaemin stretches your leg a little further, not enough to hurt, but definitely enough to make you feel the burn.
“You’re going to take them off, or I'll do it for you.”
As you stretched, a whine escaped you, and your lips instinctively pouted. "Fuck you," you spat out.
His response came swiftly: "Watch your mouth." He spits back.
He slowly lowered your leg, and once you caught your breath, he met your gaze with a challenging look in his eye. Jaemin was the sweetest thing but he would always be quick to put you in your place when you step out of line. He gestured for you to drop into a split, and with a subtle dip of your head, you secretly rolled your eyes but reluctantly obeyed.
You ease into a split and Jaemin situates himself on his knees behind you, his body leaning against yours in a warm press of heat. He gently pushes you forward, his hand gliding down to rest on your lower back for support. You lean into a saddle split, hands splayed out in front of you as you stretch forward.
Jaemin adds pressure and you're forced to delve even further into the stretch. His body provides an added push against yours, testing your limits. You grit your teeth, drawing on your flexibility to hold the position, but you could feel the burn.
It's not easy to hold the position, even with how flexible you are. You're used to bouncing back up, shaking out your muscles, and moving on to the next stretch. But with Jaemin's guidance, you're forced to push your boundaries and remain still, letting your body adapt to the demands of the stretch.
"Jaemin let me up." You huff.
“Gonna take ’em off?” he quips, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Fine!” you relent.
Jaemin allows you to sit up and once you catch your breath he helps you stand. He looks you in your eyes as he tugs on the hem of your shorts, pulling them down just enough after they’ve rolled up, raising an eyebrow at you in a silent dare. "Keep them that way," he stated with an air of authority, making your cheeks burn in annoyance.
“Okay, guys, back to your positions! We're going to start routines soon!” Nayeon called out.
With Nayeon and Seungkwan in charge of leading stretches, it was now your turn to step up and guide the rest of practice. You burn holes into the back of Jaemin's head as he joins up with Shotaro as practice officially starts.
—
After everyone else had cleared out, you found yourself cornering Jaemin in the locker room.
“This isn’t fair,” you grumble, crossing your arms. “If I can’t wear my shorts, you aren’t allowed to wear that stupid crop top.”
Jaemin turned to you, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “Is that what this is about? Can’t keep your eyes off me, so you decided to pull this stunt? I thought you were more mature than that, baby." His smirk widened as he leaned against the locker, arms crossed over his chest. The way that obnoxious top clung to his newly bulked-up frame was maddening.
“Newsflash, Jaemin. I wear those because they’re comfy.” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you stepped closer to confront him. "You wear that shirt because you like, some kind of attention whore. How do you even breathe in that thing?” Your voice echoed slightly in the empty locker room, bouncing off the tiled walls.
His laugh was low and utterly infuriating, the casual way he dismissed your frustration only stoking the fire inside you. He pushed off the locker, closing the distance between you in two easy strides. Suddenly, his hands landed on your hips, warm and firm, pulling you close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.
“And what if I am?” Jaemin murmured, his breath brushing against your ear. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you firmly in place. “It got your attention, so what are you going to do about it? You gonna punish me for it?”
Your breath hitched. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to be mad at him. But the way he looked at you, all dark eyes and that cocky grin, made it hard to think straight.
“Maybe I will,” you shot back, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Your voice wavered just a fraction, betraying the confidence you were trying to project.
Jaemin’s smile deepened, and before you could react, he spun you around, his body pressing your back against the cold metal lockers. He pinned you there, solid and unyielding. One hand slid up your side while the other gripped your thigh, lifting it over his hip slightly so he could press himself closer.
“Go ahead,” he dared, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Punish me.”
The challenge in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel how hard he was pressed against you, and it took everything in you not to squirm. Instead, you raised your chin defiantly.
“Don’t think I will?,” you warned, though your voice came out softer than you intended.
Jaemin’s lips curved into an amused smile, and he leaned in, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. “You won't.”
His hand slid to your hips, fingers slipping past the waistline of your shorts to toy with you. You bit your lip to stifle a gasp, but it escaped anyway, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
“Let me hear you baby, I know.” he teased, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your clit. “I can tell, you know. Every time you look at me during practice. You get that naughty look in your eyes when you know you're supposed to be focusing. Bad girl.” He coos.
“Shut up,” you muttered, though your protest lacked any real conviction. His touch was too distracting, his words too close to the truth.
Jaemin chuckled, pulling his hands from your shorts. “Make me…or are you done pretending to be in charge.”
That did it. You shoved him back, pressing your palms against his chest. He stumbled slightly, his back hitting the row of lockers opposite you.
For a moment, you just stood there, breathing heavily, staring each other down. Then, without thinking, you closed the gap between you, grabbing the hem of his stupid uniform top and yanking it up.
Jaemin’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t stop you. You tugged the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. You let your gaze roam over his body, taking in the changes that had occurred. His shoulders were broader than before, his chest more defined. The faint trail of hair leading from his navel downward made your mouth go dry.
“Happy now?” he asked, his voice rough.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned in, catching his bottom lip between your teeth in a quick, punishing bite. He hissed, but his hands immediately found your hips again, pulling you flush against him.
“Not even close,” you whispered against his mouth before kissing him properly, hard and demanding. Jaemin responded instantly, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands roaming your body with a urgency that made your head spin.
Somehow, you ended up on the bench, his weight pressing you down into the hard wood. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. You arched into him, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way lower, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just above your collarbone.
“Jaemin,” you gasped, your voice barely audible.
He lifted his head, meeting your eyes for a brief moment before capturing your mouth again. His hands slid under your shirt, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The sensation made you moan into the kiss, and Jaemin grinned against your lips.
“Not so bossy now huh captain?” he murmured.
You glared at him and opened your mouth to retort, but the words died on your tongue as his hand slipped lower, past the waistband of your shorts. His fingers brushed against the slick warmth between your legs, and you couldn’t stop the tremble that ran through your body.
“Fuck,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders.
Jaemin’s smile was downright predatory as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. “You’re so wet already,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “All because of me? or maybe it was because of that crop top you claim to hate so much? You like it, admit it.”
You wanted to deny it, to push him away and regain some shred of control. But instead, you tilted your hips, silently urging him on. His fingers dipped inside you, slow and deliberate, and your head fell back against the bench.
“Jaemin,” you moaned, his name becoming a broken chant on your lips. His thumb circled your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your core. You writhed beneath him, desperate for more, but he kept his pace agonizingly slow, drawing out every sensation until you thought you might explode.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice dark and commanding.
You shook your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction but Jaemin wasn’t having it. He withdrew his hand, leaving you aching and empty, and propped himself up on his forearm above your head to look down at you.
“Say it,” he demanded, his eyes burning into yours.
You swallowed hard, your pride warring with the need coursing through your veins. Finally, you gave in, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I want you. All of you. Now.”
Jaemin didn’t need to be told twice. Jaemin swiftly strips you down, his hands moving with practiced ease. The cold wood of the bench bites into your back as you make contact, sending a shiver down your spine. The locker room was cool and you can’t help the goose bumps that prickle your skin. He reached for the waistband of his pants, shoving them down just enough to free himself. Once he's between your legs you reach out, gripping him in your warm palm and stroking him over a few times. His mouth hangs open in pleasure. He watched, breathless as you brush his tip against your entrance. Once you dip the head in he's taking over again and pushing his hips forward to drive into you in one smooth motion. The gasp that escaped your lips was swallowed by his mouth.
He starts at a brutal pace, not in the mood for anymore games. His hips snap against your ruthlessly and you have to wrap your legs around his waist to stop yourself from sliding off the bench. Jaemin groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he moved.
“You feel so good,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”
Your body trembles as the pressure builds inside you. He slips a hand between your bodies to toy with your clit. You arch your back in response. As your legs began to tremble, you felt Jaemin's smile pressed against your skin when he kissed your shoulder.
“That's right baby. Is this what you needed?” he murmured between choppy breaths, his voice low and sultry.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head at his unrelenting thrusts and cruel fingers. You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mouth opens to respond; you know better than to remain silent, but nothing comes out. You nod your head lazily instead.
He shakes his head at you disapprovingly. “You know that's not good enough princess. Use those fucking, words.” He punctuates each of his words with a toe curling thrust of his hips as he pumps into you.
“Yes! F–fuck, don't stop.” You cry.
“Mmm,” He moans before leaning down to kiss you again. The kiss is wet and full of tongue as he licks into your mouth. “Gonna fill you up.”
When you finally came, it was with a cry that echoed off the walls, your nails scratching down his back. Jaemin followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you. You shiver as his hot seeds spill inside of you. When he pulls out his eyes watch as his cum drips out of you. You reach down in between your legs and collect his cum before pushing it back inside of you with a moan.
“Don’t want to waste a drop.” Your voice comes out in a whisper.
Jaemin eyes you hungrily before he closes his eyes to take a deep breath. He needed to calm himself before he had you pinned up against the lockers next.
Jaemin gets up before he decides to have you again, getting off the bench to rummage through his bag. He comes back to you with a towel and cleans you up. He gathers your clothes and helps you dress again before following suit.
“So,” he said after a while, his voice still rough, “how do you really feel about the crop top”
You turned to look at him, incredulous. “Are you serious?” You couldn’t wrap your head around how he effortlessly switched from driving you wild to being your sweet boyfriend in an instant.
He laughed, a warm, rich sound that seemed to fill the chilly locker room, and pulled you closer. “Dead serious.”
You sighed, unable to meet his gaze. “I… I like it.” You admit.
Jaemin's smile widened, but just as he was about to respond, you jumped in to clarify.
“BUT! That doesn’t mean I’m letting you wear it to practice. We’re going to order you the correct size, and as for that one,” you said, your gaze narrowing playfully at the shirt still lying on the floor, “that one is for my eyes only.”
“Deal.”
#jaemin smut#jaemin scenarios#jaemin fic#jaemin fanfic#nct dream smut#nct dream imagines#nct dream scenarios#nct dream x you#jaemin x reader#jaemin x you#jaemin x y/n#nct dream x reader#nct smut#nct x reader#nct fanfic#nct scenarios
521 notes
·
View notes
Note
OH MY GOSHHHH CRYBABY READER AND CAITLYN 😵💫😵💫 can we have something like caitlyn fucking crybaby reader with her strap and she is soooo mean about it ☹️ like our makeup is running and she's being so condensing UGH I NEED HER BADDDD
♱ lesson learnt. ♱
lil drabble bc i’m lazy! + (a oneshot that may or may not involve ellie williams is in the works though…)
syp. mean mommy!cait fucking you with her strap after you got smart in front of her colleagues at a fancy event.
cw: nsfw content!!, strap-on sex, mommy kink, she slaps you once, choking, degradation/mocking, rough sex, vulgar language/cursing (obv), she's real mean!!
at this point in time, you were unsure what you had said or done to make it to this point.
did you have too much wine? say or do something fucked up because of it? have a little too much attitude? arrogance? conviction? nerve…?
your vision went white simply thinking of reasons as to why or how?
‘where was i?’
‘when the hell did i get here?’
nevertheless, it’s a certain ‘who’ that snaps you out of your self-questioning turmoil with a striking *SLAP!!* across your tear-stained cheek.
“are you even listening to me, whore?” caitlyn spits at you with a venomous tone which is a daunting contrast to her usually sweet and caring voice.
she’s currently looking down at you from above—hands gripping the skin at the back of your thighs and legs planted firmly on the end of the bedspread. her hair is falling out of her neat ponytail and her eyes are dark. the darkest you’ve ever seen them. she has your legs resting on her strong shoulders with your hands bound together by a rope above your head.
the position you’re both in should be considered missionary on steroids because of the way you can feel her cock pressing against your cervix so magnificently yet, almost painfully. she’s pounding into you mercilessly, forcing you to take her cock for the way you acted towards her in public.
“you are so lucky i’m even fucking you right now. so lucky. do you have any idea how foolish you’ve been tonight? a disrespectful little slut, is what you are.”
as you look at her, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head and tears streaming from your face, you can’t help but silently beg her, what for? who knows? her roughness sparks a string of desire that courses through your veins up to your brain.
“aww, poor girl. it’s so fucking deep, isn’t it? i bet you can feel it in your throat.” she’s taunting you. her dick thrusting inside of your cunt makes nasty, loud sloshy noises—makes your pussy drench the space below you.
“maybe that’s why you’re unable to speak.”
wrapping her hand around your throat, she squeezes harder the faster she moves in and out of you, “you love this. you love it, don’t you, darling? i can tell by the way you’re getting me all wet. so dirty.”
“ungh—f-fuck! y-yes, mommy!!” you respond to her for the first time in what seems like forever.
you feel the pure frustration seeping through her skin into yours, not just because of the sweat dripping from her brow onto your neck but because her stare sears daggers into you everywhere all at once.
“hmm. mommy can’t even punish you properly because you enjoy it. you enjoy being treated like a toy… solely for my usage. mine.”
the more she taunts and teases you, the more slick pools out of your puffy cunt—the more you tip closer to the edge.
“since you enjoy acting so heinously, you’re going to cum so much. so much, you’ll be begging me to stop, sweetheart. but i’m not going to.”
“not until you’ve learnt. your. fucking. lesson.”
…
AHHH!! i jumped 4 joy when i saw this rq thank u thank u!! 💋
(yes i used the british spelling for ‘learned’ on purpose.)
#jinxvex#arcane#arcane caitlyn#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn smut#caitvi#arcane thoughts#wlw#wlw blog#wlw community#wlw post#sapphic#wlw concepts#sapphic blog#sapphic smut#arcane smut#wlw smut#wlw ns/fw#wlw nstf#wlw thoughts#wlw yearning
472 notes
·
View notes
Text
— SCRIPTING YOUR FAMILY. ( i swear it can work even if they’re not dead )
. ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ ✦ . . ˚ .
— DISCLAIMER. script what you want !! this isn’t judgement or an attempt to convince you of anything. i still have ded family in some realities, don’t worry :^)
alright, so a lot of shifters skip right to scripting their DR families straight into the afterlife. gone, nonexistent, dead and buried. this is for a myriad of reasons, though for me and everyone i know, it has a lot to do with backstory, or the idea that family ties are going to cramp our style or get in the way of our dream life and the plot. but, for anyone who’s interested, let’s flip the script (pun intended) and talk about why creating an original, unique family for your desired reality can actually make your experience richer, more meaningful, and a whole lot more fun !!
WHY KEEP THE FAMILY DRAMA?
first off, let’s address the elephant in the room: family can be a lot. but scripting them out entirely can be like throwing the baby out with the bathwater !! there’s tons of potential to consider there. a family offers plenty of opportunities to add depth, lore, and a whole bunch of emotional layers to your DR. think about it—what’s a life without a little family drama, a bit of cozy love, or even a quirky aunt who always brings the laughs? it doesn’t have to be a big, happy family—it can be whatever you feel like you need, whatever fits
HOW TO BUILD YOUR DR FAMILY
. ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ ✦ . . ˚ .
— SIZE MATTERS ( but not really ) . . ˚ . when scripting your DR family, start with size. do you want a big, loud, chaotic family with siblings running around, or something closer to a small, tight-knit crew? maybe you’re an only child who’s the apple of your parents’ eyes, or perhaps you’re in the middle of a bustling household where everyone’s got a role to play. there’s no right or wrong—just what feels right for you, and what you feel like you need in that specific DR
— CHOOSE YOUR ROLES . . ˚ . who’s in your family? a loving, supportive mom who’s your biggest cheerleader? a cool dad who’s kind of your best friend? maybe a set of grandparents who tell you the most insane stories about their youth, or a mouthy sibling who keeps you on your toes. think about the roles that would enrich your life in your DR. remember, these people are there to support your life, not unnecessarily complicate it
— CONNECTIONS . . ˚ . now, here’s where it gets fun (in my opinion): your relationships. are you super close with your mom, the kind of close where you can endlessly gossip and have deep life talks? is your dad the type to give you space but always manages to have your back when it counts? maybe you have an insane sibling rivalry that spans over a decade. the relationships you script can add so much flavor to your DR—it’s all about creating connections that resonate with you, and support you in all the ways you want to be supported
FITTING INTO THE LORE ( making it make sense )
if your DR has a specific lore or world-building element ( Hogwarts, Marvel, etc. you know ), weave your family into it !! maybe your mom’s a legendary witch, or your dad’s a top Auror. perhaps your family runs a magical bakery, or you’re part of an ancient lineage with a complex magical or academic heritage. the point is, your family should feel at home in your DR, adding to the story rather than feeling like an afterthought that detracts from it
SOME IDEAS FOR YOUR DR FAMILY
. ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ ✦ . . ˚ .
( just to get you started )
— MAGICAL LINEAGE . . ˚ . your family has a rich history tied to your DR’s lore—maybe you’re descendants of a powerful wizard, or you’ve got a long-standing feud with another powerful family. drama
— ECCENTRIC GROUP . . ˚ . a family full of eccentric or seemingly ridiculous people—a dad who invents magical gadgets, a mom who’s an expert potion maker, siblings who are always concocting some mischievous or downright strange plans
— TIGHT-KNIT TEAM . . ˚ . quiet and likely unassuming—just a small, close family who’s been through everything together together. you lot might not be flashy, but their love and support are solid and you know you can always count on them
— CHAOTIC CLAN . . ˚ . a massive, bustling family where everyone’s got their own unique role. maybe you’ve got siblings with vastly different personalities, parents that always have something insane to say, or aunts and uncles hailing from faraway places. family gatherings are always an ordeal
DON’T STRESS THE DETAILS
here’s the deal: scripting your DR family is about enhancing your experience, not stressing you out or detracting from all the things you wanna do. whether you want to create a sprawling family tree or just script a few key members, it’s all up to you. and remember—at the end of the day, your DR is personal to you. it’s about what makes you feel connected, supported, and ready to dive into the adventure of a lifetime
so, build that dream family !! whether they’re magical, mundane, or somewhere in between, totally supportive or bringing never-ending drama to spice things up, at the end of the day they’re there to add richness and depth to your DR. and trust me, it’ll make your journey all the more special if you let it !!
. ˚ * ✦ . . ✦ ˚ ˚ .˚ ✦ . . ˚ .
#shifting motivation#reality shifting#shiftblr#shifting antis dni#shifting blog#shifters#shifting script#shifting#shifting community#shifting realities#shifting aesthetic#shiftinconsciousness#shift#shifting consciousness#shifting diary#shiftingrealities
426 notes
·
View notes
Text
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
"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 gray.
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, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. 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, sharp and unbidden, 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, unrelenting 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#love and deepspace fic#self aware au#sylus qin
423 notes
·
View notes