#but i just dream of good things. very good things.
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prael · 17 hours ago
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Day 8: Perspective
(G)I-DLE Miyeon x male reader smut
words: 6,693 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist
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It's all a matter of perspective. From the outside looking in, things can appear vastly different than when viewed up close and personal.
Take, for instance: Miyeon.
Now, look, you're not saying the whole image is only perspective. You wouldn't dream of undermining the fact that the girl who looks like a princess in magazines, on TV and wherever else you might see her, does in fact look every bit as much of a princess in person. The long black hair, the perfect smooth skin, the way she smiles as though she has a wonderful secret she can't wait to tell. Everything about her is as regal and poised as you'd expect.
But that's not the whole story. It never is.
There's a depth to this woman. There's a nuance to her that doesn't translate to the photos. Something you feel more than you can describe.
And, boy, you can feel it.
"God, fuck, I'm close," Miyeon whispers, her words hot against your ear. Her voice is a breathy whisper, so different from the clear tones she uses on stage. She's not singing now—there's nothing practised or perfect in the way she breathes, the way she talks to you. It's natural, and that's what makes it perfect.
Those manicured nails, adored in acrylic and fake jewels burrow into the skin on your shoulders, holding you down as she grinds atop you. Her hips move with all the skill that they do when she's performing, but there's an aggression to it that you don't see when the music is playing. This is a different type of performance—a different rhythm.
Looking up at her as she rides, you would never deny the comparisons. She's beautiful in every sense of the word, and it's hard not to get lost in the sight. There's something about the way the dim light catches her skin. It's like a spotlight on her body, illuminating every curve and dip, and all the shadows in between. It's hard to look away, and when she moves, it's like the light dances on her sweat-stained skin.
Years ago, Miyeon was always the 'lay there and take it' type (and she was so very good at taking it), but these days, there is something raw and wild inside of her. Something that you're not sure what to call, or how it started, or even how to feel about it. All you know is that when the two of you are together, there's an energy in the air that's electric. Like a storm brewing, ready to strike.
It's in the way her eyes lock onto yours as she works her hips up and down your cock, her body trembling with every movement. Her breath is ragged, and she's gasping as if she's running out of oxygen. It's in the way her thighs squeeze around your hips, and her nails dig deeper into your skin. She's riding you like it's her only purpose, her only goal, and the world could be ending around her and she wouldn't stop.
"Cum with me, please," Miyeon begs. And it's truly a beg. It's not a demand or even a polite request. It's a desperate plea, and it's all you need to hear.
Your hands find her slender waist, gripping her, pulling her down hard against you. You thrust, slamming your hips up to meet hers. It's a clash of bodies, and you're not sure where you end and she begins. You share this moment, this sensation. It's as if you're one being, one creature of lust and desire, moving in perfect sync.
Her pussy clenches around you, and her moans fill the air, a song that's just for your ears. Her body shakes, and her eyes flutter shut, her head falling back. You can see her pulse pounding beneath the surface and her chest heaves. She's lost in the sensation, and you're right there with her. You spill into her, your cock throbbing inside as she milks every last drop from you. Her nails scratch down your chest, leaving red lines in their wake, but you barely feel the pain.
When she finally collapses, her body limp and spent, you can't help but pull her close. Her head falls onto your chest, and you wrap your arms around her. Her hair is damp with sweat, and she smells of sex and perfume. She's so light on your chest, but somehow, it's the most comforting weight.
"That was—" you begin, but she stops you.
"Perfect," she whispers.
You chuckle. "Yeah."
"And also the last time."
You don't move at first. You're still breathing heavily, and you can feel her heartbeat against your skin. You're sure she can feel yours, too. You're not sure you heard her right, and you can't bring yourself to respond.
"Did you hear me?" Miyeon asks, her tone suddenly serious.
You swallow hard, then say, "This shit again?"
She sits up, and you can feel the weight of her body leaving yours. You miss it instantly, the warmth of her skin against yours, the way she fit against you perfectly. But now, she's looking down at you, and her expression is hard to read. There's a mix of emotions there, and you can't tell which one is winning.
"Miyeon—" you begin, but she cuts you off.
"Don't," she says. "Don't try to make this something it's not."
"So what the fuck is this?"
She sighs, and you can see the sadness in her eyes. "It's convenient. We have history. We know each other well, but I can't do this anymore."
You're not sure how to respond. You've done this dance before, so many times that you've lost count. And yet, every time, it still stings. You wonder if she'll ever tire of this cycle, or if it's just a part of who she is.
"Look," she says, her voice softening. "I care about you. I do. But... I can't keep doing this."
"You say that every time," you reply, your voice a mix of frustration and resignation.
She looks away, and you can see the guilt in her expression. "I know," she says. "But this time, I mean it. I can't keep hurting you like this. It's not fair to you."
It's all a matter of perspective. From the outside looking in, the two of you might look like young adults in love. Sharing intimacy and vulnerability in the rawest sense. But from the inside looking out, you can't help but feel like you're trapped in a cycle you can't break. It's like a never-ending rollercoaster, with highs that leave you breathless and lows that leave you feeling empty.
"You know what?" you say, sitting up and looking her in the eye. "I'm done with this shit. Every time things seem to settle, you blow it up. What is it? Are you scared of being comfortable?"
"It's not about that," she says, her voice defensive. She slips back a little, drawing herself off your limp cock and resting between your legs on the bed, her thigh resting atop yours. "We're touring soon and I have to prepare. I don't want you to think you'll be able to come see me, or that we can continue to do this. It's over."
"Touring, huh?" you scoff. "That's the same excuse you used before. What about when you're back from touring? What then?" You shake your head. "You drop me a text at 2 am and ask me to come over?"
She looks at you, and for a moment, you think she might waver. But then she shakes her head. "No," she says, her voice firm. "This is it. It's over."
-
It starts in Seoul, you've spent the last few months seeing the posters everywhere. The subway, the billboards, the bus stops, and even the side of buildings. You can't escape them. The images are larger than life, with Miyeon in the centre. She's smiling, her teeth bright white and her eyes sparkling. She's beautiful, as she always is. Around her are the other members of (G)I-DLE, dressed in matching outfits, looking every bit as perfect as she is, and yet, they pale in comparison.
You can't look away from the images. They seem to follow you wherever you go, a constant reminder of what could have been. What could have been, but never will be. It's been a month since you last saw her, and yet you see her every day.
And it's not just the posters. It's the commercials, too. You'll be watching TV, minding your own business, and suddenly, there she is. Selling makeup or shampoo or some other product you have no interest in. But you can't turn away. You're drawn to her, even though you know it's only going to hurt.
You're in the supermarket, trying to get your groceries, when you see the magazine covers. There she is, looking perfect, as always. Her hair is styled, and her makeup is flawless. She's wearing a dress that clings to her curves, and her legs seem to go on forever. It's a far cry from the way she looks when she's with you, but you can't deny that she's still beautiful.
You pick up the magazine, flipping through the pages. There she is, in an interview. She's talking about her upcoming tour and her plans for the future. She's confident and charming, as always. You can't help but read the whole thing, even though you know it's not healthy.
And now, you're in line at the convenience store, picking up some ramen for dinner. You glance up at the TV in the corner, and there she is. Performing. She's on some music show, singing and dancing with the other members of (G)I-DLE. She's in perfect sync with the others, her movements fluid and graceful.
It's not just the public images that haunt you. It's the personal ones, too. The ones you took of her, of the two of you together. You have them all saved on your phone, a constant reminder of what you had. You try not to look at them, but sometimes you can't resist. It's normally what tides you over, between the time when she calls you and in the most innocent of voices, tells you that you should meet.
There are other girls, of course. Your attempts at getting over her by getting under someone else. But the thing is, every girl in Seoul seems to want to be just like Miyeon. You go out on a date with a cute girl, she'll be wearing Miyeon's makeup and her clothes. At a club, a girl will be wearing her perfume. She's everywhere, and you can't escape her. It's maddening.
So you buy one of them a drink. Try to forget about Miyeon for a night. Even when you're between another girl's legs and she's writhing, it's the thought of Miyeon's face that pushes you over the edge. You've even tried to avoid it. You've taken girls that look nothing like her, but it doesn't seem to matter. They're all just a distraction, a way to numb the pain.
And you can't help but feel like you're going to lose your mind.
It's a rainy day when you finally see her. You're walking home from work, huddled under your umbrella, when you spot her across the street. She's walking with her head down, trying to avoid the rain. You stop, and for a moment, you're frozen. You don't know what to do. Should you cross the street and talk to her? Should you pretend you haven't seen her?
Before you can decide, she looks up and sees you. There's a flash of recognition on her face, and then a smile. A real smile. You can't help but smile back.
But she keeps walking.
-
It's just two days out. The opening show of (G)I-DLE's world tour. You've managed to avoid it. You've had no interest in buying a ticket. It's not the music. You still listen to them, and they put on a great performance. It's more the idea of it. You don't want to be part of the crowd, just one face in a sea of fans.
You're drowning your sorrows over a few drinks at some hole in the wall. It's a familiar place. The mood is all youthful energy. It's a record bar, and it's one you're familiar with. You've lost count of the number of times you've waited here, with Miyeon's apartment around the corner, waiting for the text to tell you it's all clear. It's not why you're here, so maybe it's a strange choice, but the records on the wall, the music pumping through the speakers and the drinks in your belly makes it easier to forget.
A girl comes and sits beside you. She's cute, in a plain sort of way. She's not trying too hard. You've been watching her since she came in. She's with a group, but they've been playing darts, and she's come over to the bar by herself. She sits and orders a drink, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, not saying anything.
You can see her glancing at you out of the corner of your eye. You know she's interested. You know the game. You've played it before.
Maybe you could spend the evening talking to her, maybe even take her home. But the idea doesn't appeal to you. You're not in the mood. Not for her.
So opportunity passes. A man walks up, some business type in a suit. He sits on the other side of her, and the two strike up a conversation. You watch her laugh at his jokes, and he buys her a drink. There's a pang of jealousy, not over this girl in particular, but the fact that he can have this light-hearted fun without the baggage weighing over him.
He doesn't have a Miyeon-shaped hole in his head, but maybe that's just a matter of perspective.
-
You're not drunk. You're sure of that.
Maybe careless is the right word. You've had a few drinks, but not enough to impair your judgment. You're just a little loose, a little less concerned with the consequences of your actions. So you're pressing the button for the top floor of the apartment building you're in, and you're on your way up.
It's not an entirely conscious decision. It's more of a compulsion. You're not sure what you're going to do when you get there, but you can't help yourself. The elevator doors slide open, and you step out into the hallway.
It's late. The lights are dimmed, and the only sound is the hum of the air conditioning. You walk down the hallway, your footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. You stop in front of the door. Apartment 1801.
You knock. There's no answer. You knock again, and this time, you can hear movement inside.
Miyeon opens the door, and for a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. She's dressed in an oversized white shirt, and her hair is messy, as though she's been asleep.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she asks, her eyes narrowed.
"I don't know," you reply, and it's the truth. You really don't know what you're doing here. You just know that you needed to see her, to be near her. Even if it's just for a moment.
"This is a bad idea," she says, and she starts to close the door. But you reach out and stop her, your hand on the door frame. You're not sure what you're expecting. Maybe for her to yell at you, or tell you to go to hell.
But she doesn't. Instead, she just sighs, and she steps aside, letting you in.
Things are a bit of a mess inside, you can't blame her, she's about to spend months travelling from city to city. Her suitcases are sprawled all over, clothes are laid out on the sofa, and the coffee table is covered in books and papers.
"You can't keep doing this," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've got my tour starting, and we can't keep doing this. I'm leaving the country soon, so I can't keep... seeing you. You need to find someone else."
"I know," you reply, and you do. You know you can't keep doing this. You know you need to move on, to find someone else. But it's hard.
You step closer to her, and she doesn't move away. Your hands find her waist, and you pull her closer to you. She doesn't resist, and for a moment, the two of you are just standing there, breathing in each other's scent. And you can't help but think of all the times you've been in this exact position, with your hands on her waist and her body pressed against yours. You think of all the times you've kissed her, touched her, fucked her. All the times you've shared.
"I just came to say goodbye," you whisper, and you mean it. You don't expect anything from her. You're not even sure why you're here. You just know that you need to see her one last time before you say goodbye for good.
She looks up at you, and there's something in her eyes that you can't quite read. It's not anger or sadness. It's more like resignation.
"Goodbye, then," she says, and she kisses you.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative. But it quickly grows more intense. Your hands slide down to cup her ass, and you lift her. She wraps her legs around your waist, and the two of you stumble backwards until you hit the wall. Her hands are in your hair, pulling at the strands as she kisses you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.
Beneath the shirt is only a pair of panties, tight against her ass. You run your hands over them, squeezing and groping, and she moans into your mouth. Her hips grind against yours, and you can feel her heat through the fabric of her panties. You want her, and you know she wants you, too.
"Fuck me one last time," she whispers in your ear, and you don't need to be told twice. Miyeon wraps her thighs high on your waist, making you crane your neck back a little to keep kissing her, but it means you can unbuckle your trousers and push them down. Your hands are back on her ass, pulling her panties to the side, and your fingers run through her lower lips. She's wet. She's already ready for you. She always has been, from the first time to this one.
She's so light that it makes it easy to step forward and turn, now it's her turn to be pinned against the wall. Holding Miyeon by that tight little ass, you lower her onto your cock and she fits so easily that she slides down the entire length. Her head is thrown back, and her mouth hangs open in pleasure.
There's a gasp, of both surprise and pleasure as you fill her. You can feel her walls stretching around you, accommodating your size. You give her a moment to get used to the feeling, and then you start to move. You pull out almost all the way, before sliding back in, and her moans fill the air. Her body is pressed tightly against yours, and you can feel her heartbeat racing.
Her shoulders are pressed square against the wall, it's enough to support her. Her legs are tight around your waist. Every time you pull back, you draw her hips away from the wall, only to drive her back against it with every thrust. She bounces between the hard surface and your cock. It's so forceful that you're worried you might break something, and that only drives you to fuck her harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin is loud in the apartment, and you're sure the neighbours can hear, but you don't care.
You're nailing Miyeon to the wall with the sort of rough recklessness that only comes at the end of a relationship. You have no more fucks left to give about the consequences, and you're making the most of your last hurrah.
Miyeon's moaning loudly, her voice rising in pitch with every thrust. You're hitting all the right spots, and you can tell she's close. You angle your hips in the way you know she likes, and she cries out, her body shaking as she comes undone around you. You keep going, fucking her through her orgasm, and it's not long before you're close to the edge too.
Miyeon's moans are in your ear, they're so familiar. The way her body moves with yours. It's a sensation that's been burned into your memory, and you can't imagine ever forgetting it. You feel her nails scratching at your shirt. It's not enough to break skin, but you'll feel it tomorrow, a dull ache in your back.
"Give me a night to remember," she whispers, her voice breathy and desperate. "Fuck me so hard that I can't forget."
You're stumbling towards the kitchen table now, and she's clinging to you as if her life depended on it. You set her down, planting her cute ass on the glass surface. You set her back with a gentle hand on her chest, lying her flat against the surface, her hair splayed out behind her. She's looking up at you with that regal stare, the one she gives in the magazines, but it's not the perfect image you've seen on the posters. No, Miyeon's flush, and she's all the better for it.
In the most loving way you can, you tell her, "I hate you."
"I hate you, too."
Your hands are on her thighs, pushing them apart, and she's so wet that you can see it glistening on her skin. You slide into her easily, and she cries out as you bottom out inside her. You start to move, but it's uncharacteristically slow. "Take off your shirt," you tell her.
Her hands are too shaky for the small buttons but she's trying her best, starting from the bottom and working up. Even with your controlled thrusts, Miyeon is distracted and her hands slip more than once. You don't help, you just keep your grip on her thighs and watch the show.
A few buttons later the shirt is falling open at her stomach. Slender and toned, but still soft. The years of performing have given her a body worth worshipping. Every little defined line is an accomplishment of its own, and you've been there to appreciate them. You plant a hand on her abs and push her down against the table. Her hands are still struggling with the buttons.
"Come on," you say. "You're taking forever."
"Fuck you," she gasps.
You can't help but chuckle, and then you pick up the pace, fucking her a little faster, a little harder. Her hands are shaking even more now, and you're not making it any easier for her. She struggles another one open, then another, and then her shirt is open, exposing her bare chest to you.
You're not in a hurry now. You're taking your time, enjoying the sight of her naked body. Her breasts are perfect teardrops, with small, pink nipples that are hard and begging to be touched. You take one in your hand, rolling it between your fingers, and she arches her back, pressing her chest into your touch. You pinch her nipple lightly, and she cries out, her hips bucking against yours.
You're still fucking her, still driving into her with long, deep strokes, and you can feel her body start to tense up as she gets closer and closer to her release. You want to make this last, but the thing about Miyeon is that she's just so easy to make cum.
She throws her hands above her head, showing herself in all her carnal glory, and her back arches off the table. Her mouth is open in a silent scream, and her eyes are screwed shut. It's beautiful, and it's also the reason you know you're not over her. Maybe you never will be. It's not just the physical attraction, it's something more, and you're not sure what it is, but it's there.
You take hold of her ankles, pulling her legs up so the underside of her thighs rests against your stomach, and her calves lie on your shoulders. Miyeon's ankles cross behind your neck, holding on tight while you keep fucking her.
Now every thrust is punctuated by a slap against her thighs, the sound is almost as beautiful as her moans.
It doesn't matter whether she loves you, or even cares about you, and you've long learned not to ask questions that you won't like the answer to. When you both need each other the most, you find a way back together. So maybe that's love. In a strange, fucked up sort of way.
There are tears in her eyes now, and you know that they're not from pain. There's a tremble in her body, and you can tell she's about to lose it. You want to take her through it, so you take a second to adjust the angle you're fucking her at, hitting that spot that drives her crazy. It's a simple change, a different hip placement, and suddenly, you're slamming against that spot, over and over, making sure every movement is perfect.
"Don't stop, I'm-" she tries, but her words trail off into incoherence. Her body spasms and her pussy clenches around you like a vice. She lets out a strangled moan, her limbs locked in place as she shakes and shudders, lost in pleasure.
You can only admire the spectacle of it all, she is a performer after all. Her body is a work of art, every curve, every line, designed just for your eyes. This is a sight you've had many times before, and each time it feels like the first, even when it's the last.
You can't allow it to end, it's a determined thought that you repeat over and over as you hold back your orgasm, instead opting to pick Miyeon up. You carry her just a few steps until you fall back onto the sofa. The show must go on.
Her legs spread wide around your hips. You let her sit back on your lap and slowly ride you, her hips moving lazily as she catches her breath. It's not fast enough to get either of you off, but it's enough to keep the fire burning. You're leaning back, just admiring the sight of her. She looks down at you with hooded eyes, biting her lip, lost in her pleasure. Your hands explore her body, roaming over her smooth skin, feeling her muscles flex as she moves. She leans back a little further, placing a hand against your knee to steady herself. That new angle hits a sweet spot inside her, and her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting slightly.
"You really want this to be the last time you ride me?" you ask. It's not much of an argument, but you don't want this to be over.
Her movements are languid, she rolls her hips sensually, the tempo steady as she grinds against you. "It's... for the best."
She sounds unconvincing, even to herself, and her voice trails off as she loses herself to the pleasure. She leans forward again, bracing herself with her hands on your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin. She picks up the pace, her hips rocking back and forth, riding you with purpose.
"That's it," you breathe, meeting her movements with your own, pushing deeper inside her. "Don't act like you aren't gonna miss this."
Her fingers dig into your shoulders even harder, and she rides you with renewed vigour, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth hanging open. You can tell she's getting close, her body trembling with the effort, her thighs quivering around you. Her perky little tits bounce their most seductive dance, drawing your hand towards one. You cup it so perfectly in your palm and Miyeon lets out the softest of whines.
"Miss it," Miyeon pants. "But we... we can't."
You take that as the cue, you grab her waist and thrust up into her tight, warm cunt. She cries out, and you do it again, and again, and again. You slam into her, your hips lifting off the sofa, fucking her hard and fast. She's panting now, her head thrown back, her hair a tangled mess. She's bouncing on your cock, her breasts shaking with every thrust. Her thighs clench around you, and she starts to cum, her walls convulsing around you. You keep fucking her, prolonging her pleasure, milking every last bit of bliss from her.
When she finally collapses on top of you, her body spent and exhausted, you roll her over and lay her out on the sofa. She's limp, barely able to move. Her eyes are unfocused, staring up at you with a dazed expression. She looks completely and utterly satisfied. It's almost a shame that she has a flight in a few hours.
With what little energy remains, she hooks one leg over the back of the sofa, presenting herself to you. You spread her legs wider and lower your head between them.
"It's not like anyone else can make you cum like I can," you say, running your tongue along her slit. She's hot and swollen from all the fucking, but she's dripping wet, and you lap up her juices eagerly.
"That's not the point," Miyeon groans right before she clasps her thighs around your head.
If the only way you could ever make your points was between Miyeon's legs, well that would be alright by you. But for now, you settle for latching onto her clit and sucking firmly, while she writhes beneath you, her back arching off the sofa. Miyeon tastes how only Miyeon can, and you lick, suck and slurp up every drop you can get.
You keep your hands busy, roaming her perfect skin, groping her ass, her thighs, and finally, when she's so close to the edge, slipping two fingers into her tight hole. The sensation is overwhelming. You can feel her walls tighten around your digits, squeezing them hard as you finger-fuck her. You twist and curl your fingers, finding that spot that drives her crazy, and her hips buck up to meet your hand, grinding against you.
The sensation is mind-numbing, but you refuse to yield. You keep licking and sucking, your fingers pounding in and out of her. She's a whimpering mess, her hands gripping the armrest of the sofa, her knuckles white. Her eyes are screwed shut, and she's biting her lip so hard you think she might draw blood. You can feel her walls clamp down around you, and you know she's close. You press on, doubling your efforts, determined to make her cum so hard that she forgets her name. You want to ruin her.
"Please don't stop," she begs. "Just keep doing that and I'm gonna-"
As if you'd stop now. You redouble your efforts, fucking her with your fingers, curling them just right, pressing against that spot that makes her toes curl. You feel a rush of wetness as she cums, her thighs clamping around your head, trapping you there. You don't stop, you keep finger-fucking her, extending her orgasm. Her body twitches and spasms, and you keep licking and sucking, drinking down every last drop of her pleasure.
When it's finally over, you look up to see Miyeon sprawled out on the sofa. "We can't keep doing this." Her chest heaving, and she's covered in sweat. She looks completely fucked out, and you love it. It's a moment to commit to memory whenever you happen across her image, so easily found these days. You want her to remember this too.
"One last one," you say, and she shakes her head, but you already know she'll give in. She always does. Because she needs this as much as you do. One more chance to enjoy each other. She doesn't resist when you guide her into position, flipping her over so she's on all fours, presenting her perfect ass to you. Miyeon reaches back, spreading her cheeks and inviting you in, while looking back at you from over her shoulder.
Miyeon doesn't moan, she squeals in delight when you sink inside of her. If it had felt good earlier, it's nothing compared to now. She's so slick and loose from previous orgasms that you slip into her with ease, filling her up completely. Your hands grip her hips, pulling her back onto you with every thrust, and she meets you eagerly, pushing back against you.
"Do you really think you're ready to give this up?" you ask, as you pound into her, your balls slapping against her clit with each thrust. "To never feel my cock inside you again?"
"Done it before," Miyeon responds through gritted teeth. She doesn't sound certain. You wrap a hand around her neck and pull her upright, holding her flush against you. With your other arm around her waist, you pin her against your chest while she desperately rolls her hips in search of stimulation.
"Yet you came right back, didn't you?" you whisper in her ear, before letting her go. Miyeon falls forward, catching herself on her forearms. Her hands grip the armrest and you plant a firm spank on her ass. "Always do."
Miyeon stops craning her neck to look back at you, faces forward and then says probably the last thing you would expect, "I have a boyfriend."
Your motions are seized, bringing the whole encounter to a sudden, crashing halt. You don't know what to say, so you just stay there, inside her.
"You weren't supposed to come here tonight," Miyeon mutters. "We weren't supposed to do this ever again."
"So... why did you?"
"Because I'm stupid. And I can't get enough of you. It's hard to say no when you show up with that look in your eyes."
She keeps talking, but you can't hear her. Your mind is racing. Jealousy stirs in the pit of your stomach, and the urge to claim what's yours takes over.
Your hands grip Miyeon's hips, pulling her back onto you roughly. She yelps, her body jolting as you slide deeper inside her. "Then tell me to stop and I will."
There's hesitation in her response. For just a brief moment, she hesitates, like she's actually considering it.
"Don't stop."
It's all you need. Your grip tightens, fingers digging into her flesh as you pull her back onto you again and again. Your hips snap forward with each thrust, burying yourself inside her completely.
You take hold of her hair, wrapping it around your fist, pulling her head back, exposing the elegant column of her neck, making her back arch. It's beautiful, like something straight out of a painting. She whimpers, a little mewl that's equal parts pain and pleasure, and the noise only spurs you on, driving you to fuck her harder, faster, your pace relentless.
"Don't stop!" she pleads, her voice ragged, desperate.
The room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the lewd squelch of your cock plunging into her wet cunt, and the creaking of the couch beneath you, all punctuated by her moans and cries, rising in pitch, her voice breaking. Each thrust seems to draw another sound from her, a symphony of ecstasy.
Her nails drag across the leather surface of the couch, as you drive into her petite frame with unrestrained abandon. You fuck her like a toy, like a tool built to extract pleasure from your cock, and she takes it because it's what she needs. What you both need. And maybe that's the root of your problem. The way you feed off each other. The way you're drawn together like magnets, no matter how hard you try to resist.
You reach under Miyeon with one hand, rubbing furious circles around her engorged clit, while the other wraps loosely around her throat. You apply pressure, not enough to cut off her air completely, just enough to make her aware of your power over her. The way she surrenders herself to you, trusting you to take her to heights of pleasure she's never experienced with anyone else, it's intoxicating.
And Miyeon knows it, the little tease. She uses it to her advantage. She uses you to fulfil her deepest desires, knowing full well that you'll oblige.
You should hate her for it. A rational person would.
You feel Miyeon tense up beneath you, her body stiffening as you relentlessly rub her clit, and you can feel her orgasm approaching, building deep within her core. She gasps, her breaths coming in shallow pants, her fingers scrabbling for purchase against the sofa. She pushes back against you, meeting your thrusts with equal fervour, her body desperate for release.
And you give it to her. Hard. Without relent. Your hand presses firmer against her clit, your other wrapped loosely around her neck, her delicate skin hot and sweaty against your palm, pulsing in time with her beating heart.
"Look at me," you grunt. Miyeon turns her head and it's all in those big beautiful brown eyes. Eyes you've gazed into so often. Eyes you've missed seeing these last few weeks. She's so close that you could lean forward and kiss her, but you resist, choosing to prolong her agony just a little longer. "Cum for me."
Miyeon obeys, surrendering herself completely. Her eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering shut as she crashes over the edge, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave. You don't let up, you keep pumping, driving her through it, keeping her flying high. Your fingers rub faster, harder against her sensitive nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. Her body shudders and shakes, her walls clamping down around you, milking you in waves. It's an incredible sensation, the way she squeezes you, and pulls you deeper into her depths, urging you to join her in ecstasy.
She's spilling down onto the sofa. Miyeon is rarely this messy, but it only happens when you really put her through the wringer, when she's so overwhelmed by pleasure that her body loses all control, giving itself over entirely to the blissful release.
She might be someone else's girlfriend now, but you're still going to fill her.
That thought pushes you past the breaking point. With a primal roar, you bury yourself inside her, bottoming out inside her depths, and you spill your seed deep within her core, coating her walls with your warmth, claiming her for yourself.
Miyeon falls limply to the cushions. She lies there, breathless, her chest heaving, her hair dishevelled. The sounds of her pleasure fade, replaced by the sounds of heavy breathing. Your chest rises and falls in rhythm with hers. You slump over her, supporting yourself on weak forearms so that you hover inches above her.
Her limp little body slips off you and onto the couch. Miyeon just lies there, panting, her chest heaving, her eyes closed. She's coated in sweat and her hair is plastered to her forehead. Her clothes are scattered all over the floor, and she lies in a pool of her own mess.
"You should leave," she whispers. You want to stay and argue the case, but you know that the ship has sailed. So you nod.
Miyeon doesn't watch you leave, she remains curled up on the sofa, with a mixture of your juices seeping out of her pussy and leaving a mess on the leather cushions. She waits until she hears the door click shut behind you to even move.
Once more for old time's sake. Once more for closure. It was fun while it lasted, but now it's over. 
Though, you would argue, it’s all just a matter of perspective.
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kalmidnight · 2 days ago
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(from The Book of Virtues, A Treasury of Great Moral Stories, an anthology by William Bennett)
The Magic Thread
Too often, people want what they want (or what they think they want, which is usually "happiness" in one form or another) right now. The irony of their impatience is that only by learning to wait, and by a willingness to accept the bad with the good, do we usually attain those things that are truly worthwhile. "He that can have patience, can have what he will," Benjamin Franklin told us, and this French tale bears him out.
Once there was a widow who had a son called Peter. He was a strong, able boy, but he did not enjoy going to school and he was forever daydreaming."
Peter, what are you dreaming about this time?" his teacher would say to him.
"I'm thinking about what I'll be when I grow up," Peter replied.
"Be patient. There's plenty of time for that. Being grown up isn't all fun, you know," his teacher said.
But Peter found it hard to enjoy whatever he was doing at the moment, and was always hankering after the next thing. In winter he longed for it to be summer again, and in summer he looked forward to the skating, sledging, and warm fires of winter. At school he would long for the day to be over so that he could go home, and on Sunday nights he would sigh, "If only the holidays would come." What he enjoyed most was playing with his friend Liese. She was as good a companion as any boy, and no matter how impatient Peter was, she never took offense. "When I grow up, I shall marry Liese," Peter said to himself.
Often he wandered through the forest, dreaming of the future. Sometimes he lay down on the soft forest floor in the warm sun, his hands behind his head, staring up at the sky through the distant treetops. One hot afternoon as he began to grow sleepy, he heard someone calling his name. He opened his eyes and sat up. Standing before him was an old woman. In her hand she held a silver ball, from which dangled a silken golden thread.
"See what I have got here, Peter," she said, offering the ball to him.
"What is it?" he asked curiously, touching the fine golden thread.
"This is your life thread," the old woman replied. "Do not touch it and time will pass normally. But if you wish time to pass more quickly, you have only to pull the thread a little way and an hour will pass like a second. But I warn you, once the thread has been pulled out, it cannot be pushed back in again. It will disappear like a puff of smoke. The ball is for you. But if you accept my gift you must tell no one, or on that very day you shall die. Now, say, do you want it?"
Peter seized the gift from her joyfully. It was just what he wanted. He examined the silver ball. It was light and solid, made of a single piece. The only flaw in it was the tiny hole from which the bright thread hung. He put the ball in his pocket and ran home. There, making sure that his mother was out, he examined it again. The thread seemed to be creeping very slowly out of the ball, so slowly that it was scarcely noticeable to the naked eye. He longed to give it a quick tug, but dared not do so. Not yet.
The following day at school, Peter sat daydreaming about what he would do with his magic thread. The teacher scolded him for not concentrating on his work. If only, he thought, it was time to go home. Then he felt the silver ball in his pocket. If he pulled out a tiny bit of thread, the day would be over. Very carefully he took hold of it and tugged. Suddenly the teacher was telling everyone to pack up their books and to leave the classroom in an orderly fashion. Peter was overjoyed. He ran all the way home. How easy life would be now! All his troubles were over. From that day forth he began to pull the thread, just a little, every day.
One day, however, it occurred to him that it was stupid to pull the thread just a little each day. If he gave it a harder tug, school would be over altogether. Then he could start learning a trade and marry Liese. So that night he gave the thread a hard tug, and in the morning he awoke to find himself apprenticed to a carpenter in town. He loved his new life, clambering about on roofs and scaffolding, lifting and hammering great beams into place that still smelled of the forest. But sometimes, when payday seemed too far off, he gave the thread a little tug and suddenly the week was drawing to a close and it was Friday night and he had money in his pocket.
Liese had also come to town and was living with her aunt, who taught her housekeeping. Peter began to grow impatient for the day when they would be married. It was hard to live so near and yet so far from her. He asked her when they could be married.
"In another year," she said. "Then I will have learned how to be a capable wife."
Peter fingered the silver ball in his pocket."Well, the time will pass quickly enough," he said, knowingly.
That night Peter could not sleep. He tossed and turned restlessly. He took the magic ball from under his pillow. For a moment he hesitated; then his impatience got the better of him, and he tugged at the golden thread. In the morning he awoke to find that the year was over and that Liese had at last agreed to marry him. Now Peter felt truly happy.
But before their wedding could take place, Peter received an official-looking letter. He opened it in trepidation and read that he was expected to report at the army barracks the following week for two years' military service. He showed the letter to Liese in despair. "Well," she said, "there is nothing for it, we shall just have to wait. But the time will pass quickly, you'll see. There are so many things to do in preparation for our life together." Peter smiled bravely, knowing that two years would seem a lifetime to him.
Once Peter had settled into life at the barracks, however, he began to feel that it wasn't so bad after all. He quite enjoyed being with all the other young men, and their duties were not very arduous at first. He remembered the old woman's warning to use the thread wisely and for a while refrained from pulling it. But in time he grew restless again. Army life bored him with its routine duties and harsh discipline. He began pulling the thread to make the week go faster so that it would be Sunday again, or to speed up the time until he was due for leave. And so the two years passed almost as if they had been a dream.
Back home, Peter determined not to pull the thread again until it was absolutely necessary. After all, this was the best time of his life, as everyone told him. He did not want it to be over too quickly. He did, however, give the thread one or two very small tugs, just to speed along the day of his marriage. He longed to tell Liese his secret, but he knew that if he did he would die.
On the day of his wedding, everyone, including Peter, was happy. He could hardly wait to show Liese the house he had built for her. At the wedding feast he glanced over at his mother. He noticed for the first time how gray her hair had grown recently. She seemed to be aging so quickly. Peter felt a pang of guilt that he had pulled the thread so often. Henceforward he would be much more sparing with it and only use it when it was strictly necessary.
A few months later Liese announced that she was going to have a child. Peter was overjoyed and could hardly wait. When the child was born, he felt that he could never want for anything again. But whenever the child was ill or cried through the sleepless night, he gave the thread a little tug, just so that the baby might be well and happy again.
Times were hard. Business was bad and a government had come to power that squeezed the people dry with taxes and would tolerate no opposition. Anyone who became known as a troublemaker was thrown into prison without trial and rumor was enough to condemn a man. Peter had always been known as one who spoke his mind, and very soon he was arrested and cast into jail. Luckily he had his magic ball with him and he tugged very hard at the thread. The prison walls dissolved before him and his enemies were scattered in the huge explosion that burst forth like thunder. It was the war that had been threatening, but it was over as quickly as a summer storm, leaving behind it an exhausted peace. Peter found himself back home with his family. But now he was a middle-aged man.
For a time things went well and Peter lived in relative contentment. One day he looked at his magic ball and saw to his surprise that the thread had turned from gold to silver. He looked in the mirror. His hair was starting to turn gray and his face was lined where before there had not been a wrinkle to be seen. He suddenly felt afraid and determined to use the thread even more carefully than before. Liese bore him more children and he seemed happy as the head of his growing household. His stately manner often made people think of him as some sort of benevolent ruler. He had an air of authority as if he held the fate of others in his hands. He kept his magic ball in a well-hidden place, safe from the curious eyes of his children, knowing that if anyone were to discover it, it would be fatal.
As the number of his children grew, so his house became more overcrowded. He would have to extend it, but for that he needed money. He had other worries too. His mother was looking older and more tired every day. It was of no use to pull the magic thread because that would only hasten her approaching death. All too soon she died, and as Peter stood at her graveside, he wondered how it was that life passed so quickly, even without pulling the magic thread.
One night as he lay in bed, kept awake by his worries, he thought how much easier life would be if all his children were grown up and launched upon their careers in life. He gave the thread a mighty tug, and the following day he awoke to find that his children had all left home for jobs in different parts of the country, and that he and his wife were alone. His hair was almost white now and often his back and limbs ached as he climbed the ladder or lifted a heavy beam into place. Liese too was getting old and she was often ill. He couldn't bear to see her suffer, so that more and more he resorted to pulling at the magic thread. But as soon as one trouble was solved, another seemed to grow in its place. Perhaps life would be easier if he retired, Peter thought. Then he would no longer have to clamber about on drafty, half-completed buildings and he could look after Liese when she was ill. The trouble was that he didn't have enough money to live on. He picked up his magic ball and looked at it. To his dismay he saw that the thread was no longer silver but gray and lusterless. He decided to go for a walk in the forest to think things over. It was a long time since he had been in that part of the forest. The small saplings had all grown into tall fir trees, and it was hard to find the path he had once known. Eventually he came to a bench in a clearing. He sat down to rest and fell into a light doze. He was woken by someone calling his name, "Peter! Peter!"
He looked up and saw the old woman he had met so many years ago when she had given him the magic silver ball with its golden thread. She looked just as she had on that day, not a day older. She smiled at him."So, Peter, have you had a good life?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," Peter said. "Your magic ball is a wonderful thing. I have never had to suffer or wait for anything in my life. And yet it has all passed so quickly. I feel that I have had no time to take in what has happened to me, neither the good things nor the bad. Now there is so little time left. I dare not pull the thread again for it will only bring me to my death. I do not think your gift has brought me luck."
"How ungrateful you are!" the old woman said. "In what way would you have wished things to be different?"
"Perhaps if you had given me a different ball, one where I could have pushed the thread back in as well as pulling it out. Then I could have relived the things that went badly."
The old woman laughed. "You ask a great deal! Do you think that God allows us to live our lives twice over? But I can grant you one final wish, you foolish, demanding man."
"What is that?" Peter asked.
"Choose," the old woman said. Peter thought hard.
At length he said, "I should like to live my life again as if for the first time, but without your magic ball. Then I will experience the bad things as well as the good without cutting them short, and at least my life will not pass as swiftly and meaninglessly as a daydream."
"So be it," said the old woman. "Give me back my ball."
She stretched out her hand and Peter placed the silver ball in it. Then he sat back and closed his eyes with exhaustion.
When he awoke he was in his own bed. His youthful mother was bending over him, shaking him gently.
"Wake up, Peter. You will be late for school. You were sleeping like the dead!"
He looked up at her in surprise and relief.
"I've had a terrible dream, Mother. I dreamed that I was old and sick and that my life had passed like the blinking of an eye with nothing to show for it. Not even any memories."
His mother laughed and shook her head.
"That will never happen," she said. "Memories are the one thing we all have, even when we are old. Now hurry and get dressed. Liese is waiting for you and you will be late for school.
As Peter walked to school with Liese, he noticed what a bright summer morning it was, the kind of morning when it felt good to be alive. Soon he would see his friends and classmates, and even the prospect of lessons didn't seem so bad. In fact he could hardly wait.
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sheeezu · 2 days ago
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Things to expect when you've mastered shifting
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This isn't the normal "oh you'll feel on top the world" kind of post which just hypes up everything and the sole purpose is to motivate. This is (???) the logistics, the indepth version of what you'll face psychologically.
I've shifted close to about a hundred times, whether it was from this reality, or shifting within a reality I shifted.
This is all from my personal experience, you might experience differently.
⋆ Disassociation: when you shift back to your original reality, you'll often times confuse both reality's memory, of course, we all know this, doesn't matter if you shifted or not. But what I've seen no one talk about is that sometimes events and certain objects from your DR will unintentionally manifest into your CR, just because of how deeply rooted they become in your subconscious. For example, I had maybe mentioned this somewhere else, but in my DR I had scripted expensive china cups, which broke on my second day being there. Well two weeks ago my family was gifted the same teacups (some details were off) and one of them managed to get a crack in them after we served the guests tea in it.
⋆ Weird Dreams: Not only is the concept of the dreams weird, but overall mechanics of it are unusual as well (I didn't shift unconsciously in my dreams, that's one boundary I've established)
For example, dreams with people claiming to know the future, telling me, and it coming true the next day, but it being minor details, people from my DRs channeling me, dreams which involves falling out of reality/finding the end of the multiverse.
Dreams which involves me floating, strong winds which blow away entirely of the void reality (CR), I had started getting this dream since I've wanted to permashift, the wind is so strong and I feel it, I'm usually at my college and or doing a mundane activity in my current reality, everything dissapears and I end up in the void state for the rest of the night.
Once my S/O visited me in my dream, he asked me to come back home, it was a lucid dream so I consciously agreed because I couldn't deny him; ended up in my home reality.
⋆ Feeling weirdly sad about your CR: this one might be personal to me. truth be told, I haven't studied a single day since I've successfully shifted. This year all of my classmates and age fellows are going to start looking at university applications, the ones they mention are usually universities I used to dream all day long about getting into, when I didn't know about shifting. It forms a pit in my heart, the passion I once used to have regarding hardwork by investing blood sweat tears into studying, pinterest board filled with quotes such as "some dreams are worth more than my sleep" not stirring anything within me. It's not that I think I can't get these things, i know i can just shift to a parallel reality and get it, but I just don't want to, I don't feel the same about this reality anymore, slowly letting it go, no matter how much I try to cling onto it, I know I was never meant to be here.
⋆ Personality changes: When you become an expert at shifting its no question that you'd shift very frequently. Those DR selfs would influence your personality, and people can think you're developing a split personality disorder.
Take me as an example, if you look at the posts on my blog, you'd notice a different tone in each one of them, some are in a more softer tone and the others feel clinical.
⋆ Putting your DR family first, even though they're not here: I don't know how to explain this one, so I'd just take an example out of my own experience again.
I was out shopping with my mother for sweaters, the ones we were coming across were really good quality, but I could only think of my S/O, she was pointing out the things she thought I'd like, but I kept looking at the men's sweater, subconsciously trying to pick one out for him, which weirded my mother out slightly.
...
Why am I crying.
Anyways I have planned to permashift out of this reality before new year, it was my childhood dream to blog, but I was too shy to do so and never had anything common with anyone. But I've finally completed the final thing on my list, alongside with meeting my cousin who I adored, I decided to add her to my DR.
That's it, I'll go on and answer the 50 asks in my inbox.
...
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certaimromance · 2 days ago
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𝜗𝜚 Collateral Damage.
Spencer Reid x Fem!reader
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Summary: When you accompany your husband to an interrogation, the last thing you expect is to learn that the woman who ruined your lives has gotten what you've always wanted: a baby.
Words: 3,7k.
Warnings & Tags: mentions of infertility, pregnancy loss, jail, hospital, therapy. reader and spencer are married yey. angst WITHOUT a happy ending. cat adams is warning all by herself. again, so much angst. spoilers for s12 e22 ("red light"). english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: This is incredibly sad and one of the first parts of me trying to clean up my drafts (I literally cried reading this last night, love it so much).
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“We’re pregnant.”
They were the words you had always dreamed of hearing, the words you had imagined sharing with your husband countless times in the quiet moments of your life. The dream of a family. The idea of motherhood. You had fought so hard against the crushing reality of your biological struggles. Every test, every disappointment, every doctor’s visit had carved deeper into your soul. But you had always held onto hope, clinging to the belief that one day, it would happen. You and Spencer would have a family. He would be a good father, and you would be a good mother.
But now…now those words came not from your lips, not from the man you loved with all your heart, but from the mouth of the woman who had shattered your world, who ruined everything good and pulled you two apart for months. Cat Adams. It was her. Again.
You couldn’t breathe.
Your body was frozen, rooted to the spot just outside the interrogation room. You and JJ stood in the dim hallway, watching through the glass, but it felt like you were miles away, like you had been pulled into some parallel universe where nothing in your life made sense. The world had tilted. Your thoughts tangled in a whirlwind of confusion, disbelief, and a deep, aching sorrow you couldn’t yet name.
You wanted to shout. You wanted to scream. You wanted to run into that room and demand the truth from her. How could he—how could she—say something like that? You wanted to storm in there and tell Cat that she was lying, that she was trying to manipulate him, that this couldn’t possibly be real. It was a very low blow, so unfair and cowardly even for someone like her.
But you were paralyzed. Your chest ached with a heaviness that felt like it would suffocate you. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Spencer’s face as his expression slowly morphed into something you didn’t recognize. He looked…lost. His brow furrowed, his lips parted as if to say something, but the words never came. His body language screamed confusion, disbelief, and a deep, gnawing fear. He was in shock, and you couldn’t blame him. The revelation was something you knew he had been wanting for years but not in this way.
“There must be an explanation,” Jennifer whispered beside you, her voice low but urgent, trying to cut through the suffocating tension. Her hand brushed against your arm, grounding you for a moment.
An explanation. Of course, there had to be one. Your husband would never…He couldn’t…But the sharp edge of pain and guilt gnawed at the edges of your mind, insidious and cruel. This moment was supposed to be yours, only yours.
Your mind raced, desperate to calm and find a way to rationalize what you had just heard. Cat was a master manipulator, a pathological liar who thrived on twisting the truth to suit her twisted games. This had to be another one of her ploys, another cruel trick designed to break Spencer. But was more, was a lower hint for you too. You were always the collateral damage, but this time it was hurting like hell.
Suddenly the guard of the prison entered, a folder clutched in her hands, her expression grim. She approached agent Jareau, handing her the medical records as if they were a death sentence for you. And the worst part was how your friend hesitated before opening them, glancing at you for a split second, her lips pressed into a thin line. The pity can be seen even for a blind person.
You didn’t need to see the contents of the folder to know the truth, to feel it inside. Jennifer’s sharp intake of breath told you everything. She flipped through the pages quickly, her frown deepening with every word she read. Finally, she looked up, meeting your eyes with an expression that was equal parts anger and more pity.
“She’s pregnant,” JJ confirmed, her voice low and reluctant. “Three months…it makes sense.”
The words made your knees weak. You reached out, gripping the edge of the table in front of you for support, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and torn your heart out, leaving behind a hollow, aching void devouring each of your other organs.
Inside the interrogation room, Spencer was still frozen. His hands rested on the table, trembling slightly, as he stared at Adams with wide, disbelieving eyes. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the single word. “That’s…that’s impossible. I would never—”
He would never cheat you. He would never touch or even think of another woman. He loved you like it was his life purpose since he met you.
“But you did,” Cat interrupted, her tone calm and smug, as though she had already won. She leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her stomach with a sense of triumph that made you want to scream. “You were so sweet that night. So trusting. But then again, I made it easy for you, didn’t I? You thought it was her. You thought Lindsay was your wife.”
Your breath caught, the implication of her words crashing over you like a tidal wave and making you want to scream. You felt JJ’s hand on your arm, grounding you, but it wasn’t enough to stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.
She continued, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “I mean, you didn’t even question it. And you, so desperate for a family, so desperate for her, fell for it. You let her in. And when the time was right…” Cat leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms smugly. “Well, you did what needed to be done. Now, here we are. You’re finally going to be a daddy.”
Finally. Finally. Finally.
Spencer’s head whipped violently, his fists slamming onto the table with a force that seemed to shake the very air around you. His voice cracked with disbelief, raw and desperate. “No,” he said again, but this time, it was louder, like he was trying to make the world believe it too, trying to make you hear it, feel it. “You’re lying.”
The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, her eyes glittering with cruel amusement, as if savoring every painful second. “What’s the matter? Not quite the picture you had in your head when you imagined your happy little family?” Her words sliced through the silence, her mockery dripping with venom. “I mean, let’s be honest—she was never going to give you a baby, was she? Not after what happened before.”
Before.
The word reverberated in your mind, jagged and relentless. You didn’t need to hear anything else. The floodgates opened and started to bleed again.
The sterile scent of the hospital room hit you like a tidal wave, the cold, mechanical hum of machines echoing in your ears. You could still feel the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on you, the cruel finality of them. Your body, it seemed, was incapable of carrying life. The crushing reality hit harder than you could ever have prepared for. Spencer’s face had been pale, his lips trembling as he squeezed your hand, his own sorrow mirrored in your tears.
“We’ll get through this, love,” he had whispered, his voice trembling but determined. “It’s okay. We’ll find a way. It’s okay.”
But now, as you stood there in the present, surrounded by the fallout of broken dreams, that promise felt like an empty echo in the vast, aching space between you. Nothing was okay. Absolutely nothing was ever to be okay again.
Cat had come for what you could never give him, and now she was twisting the knife, ensuring you bled with every word that left her mouth. She wanted you to drown in the aftermath, wanted you to suffer, to feel like you’d been erased. As if you hadn't suffered enough, as if you weren't yet broken and traumatized enough.
You stumbled into the hallway, your legs giving way beneath you as if the very foundation of your existence had crumbled. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick, suffocating. Tears burned your eyes, spilling unchecked as years of grief poured from a place you thought had long since healed. JJ was behind you, her movements steady but soft as she followed.
“Come here. Sit down for a second,” she urged, her voice gentle but firm, like a lifeline thrown to someone drowning. She wanted to pull you in, to cradle you, but you couldn’t even hold yourself together.
You shook your head, your breath coming in shallow gasps, each one too short, too sharp. “I—I can’t. I can’t breathe.” You pressed your hands against the cool wall, your palms slick with sweat, desperate for some grounding, for something solid to stop the world from spinning out of control.
Please, just make it stop.
She placed a firm but soothing hand on your shoulder, guiding you to a nearby bench. “Just sit for a moment. Take a deep breath. You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.”
Her words were kind, but they only made the ache in your chest burn hotter. You dropped your head into your hands, unable to hold it in anymore. “It’s not fair. She has everything,” you choked out without even thinking. “Everything I wanted. She took it. She—” Your voice faltered, the lump in your throat making it impossible to finish the sentence.
So, why'd it cost a woman like her anything? Was she going to give a better life to a baby than you could? Had you ever been such a bad person? Was that it?
Jennifer sat down beside you, not saying a word, just letting you find the strength to speak when you were ready.
When you finally did, your voice was broken. “You know…when Spencer and I moved in together, we picked the biggest house,” you said, the words spilling out in a torrent you couldn’t stop. “Not because we needed it, or because we wanted to live some fancy, luxury life—but because we were planning for the future. We talked about kids. We talked about filling that house with the chaos of family. We even set up a room…” Your voice faltered again, the memory of that room too painful to bear. “We called it the nursery.”
JJ’s expression softened, her eyes growing distant with empathy. She’d heard Reid talk about your dreams countless times—how he’d ask her for suggestions about baby names, recommendations for things he should know about raising kids, and everything to be a good husband and father at the same time.
“We bought baby clothes,” you whispered, your voice cracking again. “I still do it sometimes when I see something cute. Tiny little onesies, hats, socks…He always said we needed to be ready. That we’d want those things when the time came. And so we kept them, in a drawer, neatly folded. Waiting.”
God, you were so tired of always waiting.
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Do you know how many times I opened that drawer? How many times have I picked up those tiny clothes and imagined what it would feel like to hold our baby in them? To see Spencer cradling them, smiling the way only he can when he’s happy? Every time I see him with your kids, I want to see that for the rest of my life.”
Her hand covered yours, her grip warm and steady.
“And now Cat has that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “She gets to have a baby. She gets to take away the one thing I’ve been holding onto, the dream that kept me going after…after the loss.”
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the weight of what you’d never spoken about, what you’d kept buried ever since you walked out of that sterile hospital room. You had never talked about that day, not really—not since it happened. Not until now. Only in therapy, where the walls were thick, where no one could see you break, could you admit the rawness of it.
“I keep thinking about our house,” you continued, your voice distant and lost in memories. “How we’d sit up late at night, dreaming about how we’d decorate the nursery. We even picked names. Spencer wanted to name a boy after a scientist—he was obsessed with that idea. And I always thought, for a girl…we’d name her after his mom.”
JJ smiled faintly, though sadness lingered in her eyes. “You two still can do it and be the best parents in the world; don’t let her ruin everything.”
Having a good mom tell you that you were going to be a good mom was as filling as it was raw.
You shook your head, tears falling without restraint. You didn’t try to stop them. “How can I face him again? How can I look at him and not feel like I failed him? Like my body failed him, failed us, over and over again?”
Her voice was unwavering, strong, and full of conviction. “You didn’t fail him. You’ve never failed him, or yourself. This isn’t your fault. Spencer loves you. You’re going to get through this, together. And Cat…Cat didn’t win, okay?”
You wanted to believe her. You needed to believe her. But the suffocating weight of everything made it hard to see the truth. The face of the woman who had torn apart everything you thought you’d have was still vivid in your mind, her words echoing like a funeral bell.
“She said I couldn’t give him what he wanted,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “What if she’s right? What if—” What if your husband stopped loving you? What if he starts to hate you for not being enough? Can he?
“No,” she cut you off, her voice sharp but compassionate. “Don’t do that. Don’t let her poison your mind like that. He chose you. Not her, not anyone else. You. And this…this nightmare? It wasn’t his choice, and it wasn’t yours. But you’re going to get through it.” She knew what she was talking about.
JJ’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you close, her warmth enveloping you as the sobs you had been holding back finally broke free. She didn’t say anything more, just held you tightly, her presence a steady anchor in the storm. The sound of your sobs, the harsh, guttural sounds of a heart breaking, filled the hallway, but in her arms, you felt a small fragment of peace.
“I don’t know how to handle this,” you whispered into her shoulder, your voice trembling.
“You don’t have to handle it all right now,” she said softly. “Just breathe. I’m here, and I understand you, okay? It’s okay.”
For a moment, you let yourself collapse into the comfort she offered, letting the peace of her presence block out the memory of Cat’s cruel face, her words slicing into your soul. But that fleeting peace was shattered as hurried footsteps echoed down the hall, and then, just as suddenly, Spencer stood there with medical papers strewn on the floor and an agitated look.
His face was pale and a little sweaty, his fists clenched as if he wanted to throw the table in front of him away, and as soon as he saw you, everything stopped; he watched you with concern, and his breath caught in his throat. “Are you okay, love? I—I came as soon as I could, I’m sorry.” His voice was soft, almost a plea, as he took a tentative step closer.
You straightened, quickly wiping at your face, trying to pull yourself together. But the moment your eyes met his, the dam broke all over again.
Your husband moved to sit beside you, his hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching you, as though he was afraid he might hurt you more. “Hear me, whatever she said in there—it’s a lie. It has to be. She’s trying to get into our heads.”
JJ left quietly, her steps fading as she walked away, leaving the two of you alone. The silence between you and Spencer was suffocating, thick with the unspoken words, the weight of everything you were both feeling. You couldn’t look at him, not yet. Not when you knew the depth of his concern, the love in his eyes that you felt you didn’t deserve. Not when you felt like everything was unraveling and you had no way of holding it all together.
The moment his gaze softened, you felt it—a crack in the walls you had been desperately trying to keep intact. But you couldn’t—couldn’t carry it anymore, couldn’t wear that mask any longer. It was like trying to keep the ocean contained in a single glass jar.
You shook your head, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice thin and fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering. But even to your own ears, the words felt hollow. They sounded like a lie, and you hated yourself for saying them. “I just need to go home. I’m so tired. I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.”
His eyes searched yours, as though hoping he could find the answers to your pain somewhere in the depths of your soul. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face flexing as he fought to understand, to fix it, but you knew he couldn’t. No one could. Not with this.
“You don’t have to go alone,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent, the kind of voice that pulled at your heart, that made you want to reach out and hold on to him. “Let me be there for you. Please.”
You flinched inwardly, the urge to push him away overwhelming. If he touched you now, you feared you’d crumble entirely. “No,” you said, your voice cutting through the fragile silence that had fallen between you. The word hung in the air, sharp, like a weapon you didn’t want to wield. But you had to. You had to. “I just need to be by myself for a moment.”
His expression shifted, hurt flashing across his face. He blinked, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something—anything—to make it better. But what could he say? He couldn’t take away the hurt, couldn’t undo the mess that had built up over the last few months. The raw, searing weight of grief and longing, of losing something you’d never even gotten to hold, hung between you like a thick fog.
He opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “Please, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just…I need time. Please.”
He recoiled slightly, but then he nodded. Slowly. His gaze softened with an ache that matched your own, but there was also something else there—something deep and unwavering. Love. Love that hurt, love that clung to you even as you tried to push it away.
“I love you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I love you so much. And whatever happens, whatever she said or done…it doesn’t change that. Nothing will change that. You and me—we’ll get through this.”
The words pierced you, not in the way you wanted, not in the way that would have given you comfort. Instead, they felt like a reminder of everything you had lost, everything you might never have. You look at your ring, trying to hold on to the meaning.
“I need to go,” you whispered, your hand trembling as you touched his arm, just briefly. It wasn’t a comfort; it was a goodbye. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want to drag him down with you, even though you knew he’d follow you into hell if you asked. But you couldn’t let him. Not now.
Spencer hesitated, as if he might argue, but then he just sighed softly, nodding again, his face pale with worry. “Okay. But you know I’m here, right? If you change your mind—if you need me…” His voice trailed off, and he gave you a look of such pure concern that it almost broke you. Almost.
You nodded without meeting his eyes, wiping at your cheeks quickly before giving him a quick hug and walking away, each step a little heavier than the last. You couldn’t even look back.
The door of your car slammed shut behind you with a finality that sent a shiver down your spine. For a long moment, you sat there, the engine still off, staring straight ahead as the weight of everything settled over you like an oppressive storm cloud. You wanted to breathe, to take in the air, but it felt too thick, too heavy.
Finally, your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the tension. You pressed your forehead against the wheel, trying to still the trembling that was slowly overtaking your body. And then, just like that, the dam broke. It wasn’t a sob at first. It was a sharp intake of breath—a gasp that felt like it was being ripped from you. And then came the tears, hot and fast, flowing down your face without mercy. Your chest ached as the sobs wracked your body, each one pulling something from you that you couldn’t even name. The quiet of the car only made the pain more acute, the isolation more unbearable.
The tears didn’t stop—they couldn’t. You cried for the dream you’d lost, the dream you’d clung to for so long, the dream you had built with him. You cried for the tiny clothes, the nursery, the baby names you’d never get to say. You cried for Spencer, for all the ways you felt like you were failing him. For all the ways you felt like you were breaking him, too.
Your sobs grew louder, more desperate, until your chest felt like it might collapse in on itself. There was nothing left to hold onto, no one to fix this, no way out.
And as the tears kept falling, as the sorrow consumed you, all you could do was let it happen. To sink into the ache, to let it wash over you, until you were nothing but an empty shell of the person you once were.
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eregyrn-falls · 2 days ago
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ID. A series of screenshots from a tiktok by @ morkanslil_y.
First: a screenshot of a tweet from @ PsychosMarket of the background of the kid Stans' room from ATOTS. The tweet is captioned, "Oh."
@ 161qura replies with a very close-up image of the Lincoln Logs house on the floor of their room, with the caption, "ford built thr house he and stan dreamed of... fuck"
Over top of this screenshot is a caption, "ford modeling his house after an old house he and stan made". (That text appears to be added by morkanslil_y in the tiktok video, but it's unclear.)
Second: a screenshot from "The Time Traveler's Pig", showing the early Shack in winter, when Ford owned it. It's clearly the same shape as the Lincoln Logs house.
Third: a screenshot from "Carpet Diem" of Dipper in bed in Ford's old room. Dipper has taken the large painting of the tall ship (that hung over his bed in the attic), and put it on the wall. Over the screenshot is the text, "all the mentions of boats and pirate adventures in his room".
Fourth: a screenshot from ATOTS, a close-up of the wall in the kid Stans' room. It shows a model sailing ship, and a pirate treasure map hanging on the wall, as well as a ship's wheel leaning against the wall.
Fifth: a screenshot of younger Ford in Gravity Falls, looking down at the open Journal in his hands. (It's from his narration of finding the Cipher Wheel, in Weirdmageddon Pt. 3.). Over the screenshot is the text, "not to mention in J3 he helps stan remember their old memories with videotapes from their childhood. they must've been kept in PRISTINE condition for decades."
Below, on the same image, the text says: "Even after everything that happened to them, he refused to throw memories of his brother away; subconsciously thinking of him in every decision, every choice."
Sixth: a screenshot from Weirdmageddon Pt. 3, of Dipper holding Stan's hand as they enter the Shack, after Stan has lost his memory. Over the screenshot is the text, "How painful it must be to love, and deny that same love you hold dearly for your family even after you become strangers?"
Finally, at the bottom of the image, the text says (at a larger size and in all caps): "Yall downplay how much Ford loves his family bro the Pines make me so ill" (followed by two crying emojis).
End ID.
(I've often thought about this, and somewhere, never finished, I have gathered images to do some meta on how Ford is actually a very sentimental man, as evidenced by things he has around the Shack. So I'm not adding the next two details to disagree with the post or the tiktok's points.)
I just wanted to add two small corrections:
One, that the evidence of the painting of the tall ship, as seen in Ford's old room in the screenshot in the post, isn't a good piece of evidence for him having mentions/evidence of pirates and boats in his room. The tall ship painting hung over Dipper's be in the attic, and was only seen in Ford's old room briefly in "Carpet Diem", when Dipper moved it there when he claimed it briefly as his room. The painting gets moved back when he goes back to the attic.
(You can argue whether the painting was acquired by Ford, or by Stan. It's pretty unclear. I do like to think of it as having been Ford's though.)
Two, the mention that Ford helped Stan regain his memories with videotapes from their childhood, which must have been kept in pristine condition. This mistake doesn't surprise me, but -- videotapes weren't invented until long after their childhood. I think this was just an unconscious assumption by the maker of the video. In Journal 3, it just says "home movies", and Dipper's drawing includes a reel-to-reel film projector. THAT is the technology they would have had when they were kids!
Those can last for decades, but they do have to be stored carefully, and treated carefully. (They had a tendency to break, but if they did, you could physically splice them together and still play them.).
So the point stands! Ford kept those, and somehow kept them in good shape (despite heat, humidity, and cold in the cabin). He would have had to go to some effort to keep them able to be played in 2013.
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I saw this on tiktok and I want to kill myself!! Ford haters stay LOSING!!!!!!!
He loves very deeply!! You guys are just mean to him!!!!!!
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eechytooru · 3 days ago
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Not me actually going insane over there two <3
Couldn't help myself so I just made this thing
Some very fast doodles I made, want to draw others as well 💀
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ALSO DREAM PRODUCTION SERIES???? HHIII IT WAS SO GOOD I ACTUALLY WATCHED IT 4 TIMES ALREADY
Xeni and Paula are so awesome I'm just <333
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Finally passed my exams, still have 2 more to go, but I think I got it! Nothing can stop me when I have a hyperfixation
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verus-animus · 2 days ago
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Hot Massage
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"P-Please... S... S... Stop..." Jeremy tried to plead desperately, but his numb lips and face made it incredibly hard.
"Shhh... Don't speak. You'll only waste your energy." I shushed the handsome hunk that laid beneath me. Opening another bottle, I poured out the clear serum and massaged it into his firm chest. It quickly began heating up and his skin soften slightly.
"W-Why....." He asked. I could tell he was trying desperately to make his large muscles move, but unfortunately all it did was twitch his fingers.
"Why? I don't know, Jeremy... Maybe it's because of all those years back in high school that you bullied me and completely ruined my reputation and any chances of me getting into a good college, or maybe it's because of the 'accident' you caused which burned half of my face off... What do you think?" There was definitely a hint of anger within my voice, but I quickly calmed down and continued massaging his warm pliable chest.
"...I-I'm s-sorry...." He really meant it this time. Unlike all those other times he said it in front of his peers. But it didn't matter anymore.
"A bit too late for that, Jeremy... Even if I have forgiven you for all those years back then, the serum has already reached its full effect. There's really no going back now." I smothered my hands against his rippling skin and felt how they slowly began sinking into him. Into his flesh.
"...no...ah..." He gasped, as he felt me invade his very flesh. My elbows disappeared as I got closer and closer to his anguished numb face.
"Don't worry, you won't feel a thing. Once I push my head inside and overlap my brain onto yours, you'll never have a thought of your own again. From now on I'll control your every movement, your every breath, and your every heartbeat. It'll be my rugged hands running across these perfect pecs, my juicy ass squeezing dildos deeper inside, and my handsome scar-free face hungrily licking up all the residue from the bathroom mirror."
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I gave his glazed-over eyes one last look and pushed my lips against his soft ones, before I plunged my entire head inside his. His fingers clenched together and he began gasping for air, as I moved around inside him and positioned myself correctly. As soon as I settled down my mind suddenly exploded with all of Jeremy's memories, dreams, and aspirations. I felt them embrace me and flow into me, until I felt myself own them as if they had always been mine.
I opened my new eyes just in time to see the last of the rippling effect on my new large chest settle down. As it did, I felt a torrent of unbridled cum unleash itself underneath the warm blanket.
It was done. Jeremy had taken everything from me back then; my life, my reputation, my future, my face... Now, I've taken it all back; the successful life, the promising future, and even the perfect face. This was a brand new start for me, the new Jeremy...
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Happy New Year everyone! Thought I'd pop by and let you all know that I'm still around. I haven't been feeling very inspired lately, and with a lot of things going on in life I haven't really taken the time to properly write. Still, I thought I'd give you all a treat with this older draft I made a while back. Hope you all enjoy it, and perhaps you'll hear more from me this new year! /Verus <3
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yourmidnightlover · 3 days ago
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bucky that’s loves you and is desperate to please and have you any way he can…
!!!18+!!!
“tell me what you want, and i’ll give it to you,” he strains out as his cock is slowly rutting in and out of your pussy.
you grasp his metal hand that was on your tits, living the cold sensation it has, and drag it down your stomach to your clit, “please? i need it so bad, buck.”
“holy fuck,” he swears he has to start reciting old shakespeare in his head to not cum on the spot. “you’re so fucking good for me, doll. feel so good on my cock. tell me you love it, tell me you love my dick inside you.”
“i love it so fucking much, james,” one night is all you had agreed to with him. but with the way you said his name, not his nickname, not his last name. his first name.
god, he never wants to pull out. if staying inside of you will make you say his name like that again, he’d happily oblige.
“please don’t stop,” your hands moved to cup his face as his fingers continued to deftly work against your clit. you angled his face to look at your own, the eye contact forcing bucky to test his own stamina, question his ability to keep his fucking shit together.
the woman he’s wanted for so long. the woman he’s pined after for damn near two years, beneath him, saying his name in a way he’s only dreamed of, and looking at him in a way that’s better than he’s ever imagined.
“i’m not gonna stop,” his thrusts became harsher and deeper as your moans and whines became louder. “i’m not gonna stop until you cream all over my cock. gonna fuck you until i cum in this perfect fucking pussy. after that, i’m gonna fuck my cum back into you. not a single. fucking. drop. going to waste.”
“‘m so close,” you now rested bucky’s forehead against your own. with a high pitched whine, you wrapped your legs around his waist, licking your ankles together. “‘m gonna cum, oh my god! oh my god! please don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop. don’t pull out - need you to cum in me, jamie. need you to fill me up, please. oh fuck, please fill me up jamie! i need it so bad!”
“oh shit,” his hips were slamming into your pelvis as he pushed you over the edge, your eyes lost in his own before they began to roll back. your pussy quivering around his dick that made him question why he didn’t just propose to you on the spot. “that’s my fucking girl. i’m fucking cumming. i’m cumming in you, doll. holy fucking shit you’re so good! ung-fuck!” his hips kept moving on their own volition, fucking his cum that wouldn’t stop right back into your cunt.
his head moved from yours to your neck, the light sheen of sweat covering his body forgotten as you keep your legs wrapped around him. all that can be heard is your heavy breaths and heartbeats, now in sync, bucky notes.
he gives himself a few more minutes to relish in this moment with you. no fears, worries, no outside people to pressure the two of you in any way. once all other factors were removed, it was easy to be with each other.
after he decides that he needs to help clean you up a bit, he’s sure to be very gentle as he runs a warm washcloth over your sensitive pussy. he runs a bath - somehow at the most perfect temperature - and is sure to rub your shoulders with amazing pressure. it’s those damn hands… you always knew they’d be amazing.
and after drying off, the two of you don’t mention the fact that things will have changed between you two. you simply accept the others company - even if it might just be for tonight…
but, if it were up to bucky, he’d have you any way he can get.
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lavreblogblog · 2 days ago
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Tagged by @saywha413! :D
Last Song: ‘The Court Jester’ by thquib
Favorite Color: Purple!
Last Book: ‘I Don’t Want To Be Understood’ by Joshua Jennifer Espinoza (Poetry book for school! It was very very good…)
Last Movie: Wicked (saw in theaters :D)
Last Show: Ummmm….Trigun I think….?
Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Oh 100% sweet. I LOOOVEEEE sugary foods…
Relationship Status: FOREVER ALONE! >:D (single and happy and not interested in any kind of romantic or sexual relationship)
Last Thing I Googled: ‘How to build Zhongli’
Current Obsession: My original magical boy comic, Just A Dream, Genshin Impact, and LPS!
Looking Forward To: 5.3 Genshin Impact update! :D Can’t wait to see how the story shapes out this time…..
Tagging: @kuixotic @modpix-blog @ship-of-skitties @electric-borealis @reyroo @baggylag
Ten people I'd like to get to know better
Tagged by @marshmallow--shark Thanks for the tag!
Last song: Intro/Chamber The Cartridge by Rise Against
Favourite colour: Orange!
Last book: A Brief History of Intelligence by Max Bennett
Last movie: That Christmas (it was kinda weird and we didn't finish it)
Last show: Jentry Chau vs. the Underworld
Sweet/spicy/savoury: I don't have much of a sweet tooth anymore, but I used to. Savoury!
Relationship status: Happily single
Last thing I googled: "quality" synonym
Current obsession: Star Trek: Enterprise. This is my fallback obsession. Close behind is Jentry Chau as a very recent one.
Looking forward to: Seeing a concert and a musical next year!
Tagging: @ionamalachite @peculiarreality @thetachapel02 @deadheaddaisy @papercranesong @talshiargirlfriend @glitter-and-metal @dragons-in-spaceee @pearlypairings @strze-lec
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keepingitformyself · 3 days ago
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Hello, how are your day going?? could you please write a fluff natasha x reader where r loves to draw and paint and is very good at it? giving some drawings to nat, doodling on her arm when r is bored, drawing/painting nat thinking she isn't noticing (ofc she does baby is a super spy🤏) and having a sketchbook with a looooot of sketches and drawings of nat. R could try to teach nat how to paint while they have those cute dates where they do a painting of eachother yk? also, idk if you'll want to add that but after i finished Arcane, my dream was to draw Vi's back tatto on someones back, so if you want to maybe r could ask to make it on nat
hope you can understand my ideas, english isn't my first language :/
everything is blank until you draw me
A/N: hello! thank you for requesting. hope you enjoy :))
pairings: natasha romanoff x reader
genre: fluff
warnings: none
please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.
natasha first noticed your quirk on the way home from a mission.
it’s hot in cairo around this time of year. humid, sticky weather. everyone was suffering from mild heat exhaustion, suits were unzipped and shallow breaths were heard among the jet cabin.
it was a taxing mission. the team was silent in a quiet mourning.
but you sat in your seat in a far corner, barely showing any sign of the discomfort everyone else was in.
instead you had your face pushed into a leather bound journal in your lap, a pen in hand. the strokes you were making on the paper were far too wide for you to be writing something down.
no, you were drawing. natasha concluded.
no one else seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t care enough to point it out.
natasha didn’t really pay any heed to it. she was more concerned with passing around iv packs to the team, making sure they didn’t pass out.
when she got to you, you immediately closed the journal on your lap. her eyebrow rose at your behavior, but she didn’t question it. there was a boundary that you were entitled to, and she wasn’t one to cross any lines unless she needed to.
you looked up at her expectantly, wordlessly she handed you an iv pack, but you shook your head and pushed her hand away.
“i’m okay.” you said. “my body is good at regulating body temperature.”
natasha didn’t say anything, she already knew this, but call it good camaraderie. though, she tried not to notice the way your hand twitched in your lap, the same hand that covered the journal under it.
“save it for someone who needs it.” you added after a few seconds.
she considered you for a few moments. for the most part you seemed fine, aside from the slight twitch in your hand. she figured you just wanted a moment for yourself so she let you be.
natasha gave a curt nod before continuing on.
the quiet hum of the quinjet was the only thing that could be heard as she moved through the space. natasha had stolen a glance more than twice between you and her task at hand.
she wouldn’t pry but her fascination had grown more as she thought about the way your hands wrapped around the worn journal. how your fingers flicked at the edges of the frayed pages.
later that evening, when the team had finally settled back into the compound and were settled in their sleeping quarters, she found you again.
it was very late into the night. nearly nearing two in the morning.
this time you’d found a small nook by the large windows in the common room, you’d looked off into the night horizon, the pen in your hand making rapid strokes across the paper.
natasha didn’t try to hide her curiosity this time.
“drawing again?” she asked, her voice was soft.
you flinched at her voice and natasha noticed the way your hand tightened around the journal. your mouth opened and closed, as to find the words to ask how she’d noticed your recreation of putting pen to paper.
as if reading your mind natasha spoke up,
“i think you forget that i’m a spy and it’s my job to notice these things, Y/N.” she joked, plopping down on a seat near to you.
you glance down at the book in your hands, a sheepish smile graces your lips.
“it helps me…process.”
natasha tilts her head, elbows resting on her knees as she leans closer.
“can i see?”
you hesitate, but gulp down your nerves and slowly turn the journal towards her. the whole page was filled with dark shadows, lines to imitate the image of smoke, jagged lines to form silhouettes of crumbling buildings, faceless people running, catching their final moments of breath, and of them being carried away with help.
it was haunting, terrifying, but deeply fascinating all the same.
“is this from today?” natasha asked, voice careful.
you nodded. “it sounds weird, but…i remember things when i’m drawing them.” you pause, chewing your lip, “and i don’t want to forget them…not fully. so it’s like i take the weight of it and i trap it here, instead of…”
“…instead of carrying it.” natasha finished for you, her green eyes meet yours with a understanding.
you nodded again, looking down.
“it’s good.” she said after a moment. “you’re really good.”
the faintest smile graces your lips,
“i’ve been drawing since i was kid. but it’s kind of different now…it can be something really nice to look but sometimes it just gets really—”
“dark.” natasha finished again.
you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. natasha knew exactly what you’d meant.
over the next few weeks, the habit of drawing became something natasha couldn’t ignore.
on long missions, you’d often scribble quietly in a corner. at meeting briefings you’d doodle into the margins of notes. and once, she had sat beside you during a meeting when you’d wordlessly slid your journal towards her.
it was a sketch of her.
she was surprised, there was so much to look at. to unpack. she didn’t know whether to be impressed with how well you drew her or to be impressed with the way you’d captured her.
she didn’t how to place what it was; something vulnerable or strong, or both.
“you drew me.” she said softly.
you shrugged, a soft blush coating your cheeks.
“you’re interesting to draw.”
natasha smirked, she didn’t say anything, but she’d felt a small stir in her chest at your words.
then on you grew more comfortable with your sketches dedicated to your new muse.
it started off small—a simple sketch left on the table one morning before natasha had left for a solo mission. she’d found it tucked under her designated coffee mug. a doodle of a little black widow spider spinning on a web, with cartoonish eyes and a cute little bow on its head.
the detail was impressive, even for a quick piece, and at the bottom you’d written a small note.
thought your namesake could use a makeover. meet widow 2.0: terrifyingly adorable.
come back in one piece.
she smiled at your note, and without a word tucked the small piece of paper into her pocket.
after that, it became sort of a ritual. before a mission, whether it was long or short, you’d leave her something— sometimes a sketch of her infamous batons mid-strike, other times a miniature rendition of the team in cartoonish proportions.
there was one where you’d drawn a mini portrait of natasha smirking, with exaggerated sharp cheekbones and fierce eyes. the caption on it read,
don’t worry, i dialed down the intimidation factor…slightly.
they were ridiculous, but natasha loved it.
one day, natasha approached you in the common area, holding a new doodle you’d slipped into her jacket. it was a small portrait of her, but unlike the others, this one showed her more casual. more real. no weapons, no scowl, just her leaning with her arms crossed, a small smile playing on her lips.
she held it up with a raised brow. “you’ve been busy.”
you glanced up from your journal, a shy grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.
“you noticed.”
“i always notice,” she replied, and the warmth in her tone made your cheeks flush.
“just thought you could use the reminder,” you said, shrugging. “you’re more than just a fighter, you know.”
natasha stared at the drawing for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression. then she folded it carefully and slid it into the inside of her jacket pocket.
“thank you,” she said simply, but her voice carried the weight of everything she didn’t say.
other times, you’d hand her sketches directly, usually without ceremony. a scrap of paper passed her way while the team prepped gear, a folded corner of your journal you tore out just before a briefing.
they ranged from serious-battle-ready stances and sharp silhouettes to utterly absurd, like the one of natasha holding a massive sandwich, labeled
big hero energy.
and natasha kept every single one.
“you know you don’t have to keep these, right?” you teased her when you caught her slipping another into the pocket of her duffel bag.
“i want to,” she said without hesitation. “they’re like…good luck.”
you didn’t argue with her logic, but a small smile lingered on your lips as you turned back to your journal.
unbeknownst to you natasha had a growing collection of your sketches tucked away in her bedroom. a small metal tin, the kind where you gift holiday cookies in—where they’re carefully preserved.
she’d look at them sometimes. when nights were long or dark and life was too heavy, she’d pull one out and trace the lines with her fingers, remembering the way you handed it to her with that quiet, knowing smile.
eventually though, your art started to spill over the edges of your journal.
it became part of your rhythm together. a constant, quiet act of trust. but there were moments, especially in the middle of long missions, when you didn’t have your journal or anything to draw with.
it started as a joke.
one night during a stakeout, the boredom and restlessness started bubbling out of you, and you found yourself tapping your fingers against natasha’s arm.
she caught your arm mid-tap and raised and eyebrow.
“no journal today?” she asked, smirking.
“nope,” you replied, frowning as you remembered how much in a rush you were that you forgot your journal. you leaned against the wall with a sigh.
“guess you’ll have to entertain me instead.”
“or,” she said, producing a pen from one of her pockets, “you could make yourself useful.” she handed it to you with a playful glint in her eye.
you hesitated for a moment before taking the pen from her hands and uncapping it.
“don’t complain if i mess it up.” you warned, shifting closer.
“just try not to make me look ridiculous.” she said, but the slight curve of her lips said she didn’t really mind it.
after that drawing on natasha became the norm when under a circumstance that denied you paper.
on long flights you’d trace floral vines curling up her forearm, and she’d be asleep as it happened. and during long nights in safe houses you’d sketch constellations of the stars on the back of her hand.
natasha never washed them off until she really had to.
sometimes, you didn’t even ask anymore. you’d just give her a look and she’d extend her arm towards you, wordlessly inviting you to begin.
and as your pen traced her skin she’d sit still, occasionally glancing down to see the progress.
“what’s this one?” she whispered. you’d drawn a small sleeping wolf, curling under a moonlit sky along her bicep.
“strength.” you replied softly.
natasha didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened in a way that made your heart stutter.
your drawings become more than just a way to pass time. they became a language of their own. a way of grounding yourself, of tethering your anxious thoughts to something steady.
and natasha became part of that steadying force.
“do i ever get to draw on you?” she teased once.
“maybe,” you said leaning back to admire your work. “if you’re good.”
she chuckled, shaking her head. a quiet smile tugging at her lips.
it was a silent agreement between the two of you now. you’d find your solace in the lines you traced along her skin and she’d find hers in letting you.
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hwnglx · 2 days ago
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pick a pile - what makes you attractive?
welcome back lovely reader! let's take a peak into what makes you so attractive. breathe slowly, take your time and use your intuition to go with the pile that speaks to you the most. remember to take what resonates, and leave what doesn't. 𓆩♡𓆪
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˖ ࣪ ⊹ ꒰ঌ pile 1 ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
you're attractive, in the way you're interested in creating these meaningful and emotional connections to people.
you aren't the type of person who feels the need to place yourself above anyone, in order to feel good about yourself. your desire for balance and harmony in your relationships makes you highly attractive.
the way you're able to put yourself in other people's shoes, and approach them with empathy, is wonderful. you give them this precious feeling of being understood.
you're a person who has very comforting energy, and a soothing effect on others. someone who brings the calm after the chaos, and hope into situations that seem lost.
spirit keeps showing me this image of a bandaid.
your attractiveness lies in your gentleness. in your ability to mend and heal.
the fact that you've been through so much, but this inner spark of hope inside you still remained bright and dazzling in the end, makes you very special.
it's likely that a lot of you aren't fully aware of this, but your existence is dazzling, and extraordinary in many people's eyes.
you stand out. you're unique.
there's something about your presence that shines differently, compared to the people around you. it's almost like a butterfly that can't see the beauty of its own wings.
i believe a good amount of you, have gone through your own losses and heartbreaks in the past.
it's likely you went through different cycles, and various impactful stages in your life where you were forced to adapt and adjust. unexpected situations which caught you off guard and resulted in you needing to pick up the pieces by yourself.
but the way you've been able to bounce back, and still find this inner courage to keep going, despite the hurt, is impressive.
i believe you've come to a point where you've been able to move away from that state of sorrow, and turned it into something that fuels your power.
your ability to bravely deal with the things that life unexpectedly throws you head on, makes you very attractive.
you still have a more sensitive heart, and your core will always be a little soft and sweet deep down; but your character has gained a lot of strength throughout the years.
this is something you radiate to the outside now. your inner power makes you incredibly attractive.
you look at the things you've been through till now, as experiences which have shaped you immensely, and turned you into the person you are today.
a lot of you are also likely to be outspoken, and pretty straightforward. you like getting to the true core of topics, and aren't afraid to voice things others might shy away from.
your attractiveness lies in your ability to balance these two coinciding sides in you; one that is full of empathy, warmth and a kind heart, and one that is self-sufficient, ambitious and courageous.
˖ ࣪ ⊹ ꒰ঌ pile 2 ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
you're attractive, in the way you relentlessly work towards fulfilling your own dreams and goals.
you're willing to put in consistent effort, in order to build yourself the dream life you desire so badly.
i just don't see you liking to rely on anyone else to do the work for you. you're very self-sufficient, and recognize that in order to get to a place of satisfaction and contentment within yourself, you have to be the one to make the effort. there's nothing like enjoying the fruits of your own labor.
a lot of you are very sure of what you want for yourself. some of you might actively manifest, by imagining and picturing how you want your life to be.
creating moodboards on pinterest or something. creating folders of style inspiration, or interior design inspirations. this is how i want to be dressed, this is the place i want to live in.
you're not gonna be someone who throws the towel and gives in, just because someone else might label your dreams as impossible, or unrealistic.
it's almost like you'll tell them “well, i'll show you then”
you have high aspirations, standards and expectations towards yourself, as well as others, which makes you even more attractive.
you just do not settle for anything less than what you want.
people can't get to you too easily. you're guarded and careful about who you let in closely.
many people are likely to look at you as a person they can't quite decipher or fully figure out at first; someone whose facade they'd like to look beyond.
the fact that you aren't an open book who's constantly accessible and available twenty four seven, makes you highly attractive to others. you cautiously keep them at an arm's length, and people might have to work for your attention.
there might even be some people envious of you.
envious of the fact that you're so self-reliant, independent, and in no need of anyone's help or guidance in life.
and although you give off a more detached and colder vibe to some people on the outside, people who actually know the true you, are aware of how sweet and empathetic you can in fact be. you just have a genuine heart deep down.
you're likely to be someone with a lot of depth and layers, and the closer people get to knowing you in your entirety, the more they get to see of your more complex, introspective and sensitive sides.
you might be much more emotional, romantic and dreamy than what meets the eye at first; and this is likely to draw a lot of people to you.
like “wow, i didn't know you had this side to you”
there's this type of reversal charm, where you might pleasantly surprise some people with how soft you can actually be at times, compared to the first impression they had of you.
some of you might literally have an rbf, but a beautiful smile that brightens and lights up your face in a whole new way.
you also give me very very creative energy. i feel like you love to express yourself beautifully, in many artistic ways. and you see art as a way to live out your most authentic self.
˖ ࣪ ⊹ ꒰ঌ pile 3 ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
you're attractive, in the way you lead with your heart.
it's likely that you're a person who nurtures a strong connection to their vast and rich emotional world. you're someone who genuinely cares.
like.. i don't think you even know how to just not care about things, and go through life in a nonchalant “meh” way. most of the time, you're very chalant. (ㅜ same!)
this makes you much more attractive than you might realize.
you can easily get emotionally invested in plenty of your endeavors; whether that's your relationships, the choices you have to make, the different situations life throws in your way.
you feel everything in a deep and profound manner, and this makes you unique.
reason why i believe you might not be fully aware of this, is because you seem to have the tendency to see yourself as more lacking than you actually are.
you're likely to be a person who's very humble at their core. an eternal student of life.
someone who tries their best to grow continuously and better themselves through every situation they get confronted with; especially the disappointments, regrets, losses.
you're eager to pull the lesson out of every experience in life, and sincerely want to learn from your mistakes.
despite criticism hurting you sometimes, you're still trying your best to improve yourself through it all.
this hard-working, grounded, down to earth and modest energy makes you incredibly attractive.
i think you're slowly but surely trying to let go of certain limitations you habitually set yourself till now. you might've felt trapped in your mind and stuck for a good while, but you're progressively coming out of that place.
despite the exhausting struggles you've been through till now, you're still standing strong!
your endurance, resilience and inner strength makes you immensely attractive.
yes you're wounded, yes you don't see yourself as perfect, but you're still ready to fight. you are a true warrior.
even with your naturally modest character, i don't see you as a person who allows people to step all over them anymore. you're starting to learn to be more strict and clear with your boundaries.
people might see you as someone who's becoming more guarded and closing yourself off, but to you, it's what's necessary to protect yourself.
you're attractive in the way you're becoming more and more aware of your true worth and your value.
you shouldn't let people look at your inner softness as weakness anymore.
on the contrary, it makes you incredibly strong and attractive, if you confidently embrace that side of you. i can see you stepping into your true power, once you learn to acknowledge your qualities more.
it's very likely for the things you yourself see as your downfalls, to be your actual strengths. you might just see yourself in a negative light way too quickly.
for example, your emotionality and sensitivity doesn't have to be a flaw. it can be your asset. it makes you special.
not everyone is capable of emotional connection the way you are. not everyone has the ability to be so genuinely loving, caring and sincerely empathetic the way you are.
don't constantly see yourself for what you aren't, for what you lack, for what you can't do. but see yourself for what you are and what you have, what you can indeed do!
note; i was definitely the most passionate about this pile because i have to admit, i relate so much 🥹 sending you all my support and hugs sweet reader
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fairycoures · 2 days ago
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a little very self indulgent, but intimacy struggles with simon riley.
18+ minors do not interact — very vague descriptions of thoughts and negative past experiences with the topic of sex. nothing extremely detailed.
this was written with very little sleep and i've never written for the fandom before so let's see how this goes. also not written with a specific gender in mind but may lean more towards feminine i have not proofread this.
something about the beginning of the relationship, everything is fresh, all those feelings are new and neither wants to shatter that porcelain figure of perfection that this has all felt like so far. kissing, the bits of physical intimacy shared here and there, but nothing past light makeout sessions that always seem to get interrupted by the buzzing of simon’s phone for one reason or another.
the thing is, you could go past that. the barrier that divides the delicate from the ravenous, feral underbelly waiting beneath heated touches when things start to get heavier. but ironically, it’s for the same reason that both you and simon are utterly terrified of even bringing that up.
in simon’s mind, he doesn’t want to damage you. you’re the bloody fucking sun, and what is he? scarred hands that can never truly wash away all the blood, all the things he’s done in his life. how could he be the one to taint one as pure as you?
not to mention, it’s already set in stone that you’re going to run off once the novelty fades. once the idea of having this big, strong shadow always lurking, always protecting. always terrified that you’re the next thing that he’s going to have to lose. every little thing like yourself always dreams of having someone like him until they actually get him. once the honeymoon phase fades and you inevitably realize how damaged he is.
and if he lets you in, if he brings down those walls and grants you a side of himself that he doesn’t even show around his bloody team—the ones who have been by his side through so, so much—and then you leave? he’s already been torn to pieces time and time again and survived. he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to live a life without you in it if he lets you see behind the mask.
it would ruin him.
and you.
you, who have had awful countless experiences with men where, every time you show that side of yourself, the side who isn’t all pretty and perfect and wants to be ruined and put back together with gentle hands. every time things get into sex, they never come back from that.
every conversation has to be turned into a scenario. what were once sweet, affectionate words turn to the sole focus being your body. those rose-colored glasses come right off and you realize that yet again you’ve given your time to someone who was just holding off on showing you that the only thing he cares about is what you can do for him in the bedroom. how good you can make him feel. it was never about you.
simon has been all you knew you needed and everything you couldn’t have fathomed. even with the leaves, the inability to contact him on missions except for rare moments where he can get a cell reception, even with the way the man so far has showed very little of his past to you, it’s never mattered. he has made you feel seen in a way that no one has ever come close to doing.

and if it all turns out to be a facade, you don’t know if your heart could take that type of hurt.
neither of you wants to cross that line for fear of being left, of being hurt, and it’s not like you don’t want each other because god you do. who wouldn’t want simon? the man has arms as thick as tree trunks and thighs to match, he’s built like a brick house and the voice on that man is enough to make your head turn to warm syrup, warmth pooling between your thighs. and who wouldn’t want you? you’re an angel sent down to earth, sent to either bless or curse simon because with the way you plague his every thought, he has to wonder which is which.
but it’s also so much more than that for both of you, it’s just that it’s so bloody hard to look past what has been into what could be.
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tofics · 3 days ago
Note
Hi!! I was wondering if you could write something about dean reacting to you getting your 🍒's pierced or him even finding out that they have been. Totally totally okay if not LOVE your work 🫶
Eeeek, my first request ever!!! 🤩 For that alone I'm inclined to make this as perfect as possible, but due to post-holiday brain-rot I can make no promises about the actual quality of what I'm about to produce. 🙈 I immediately had two ideas when I read this, so you're getting both.
Version 1 is just funny, whereas version 2 has a slight bit of angst to it, still a funny ending though. Hope you enjoy! 🤗
Warnings: nipple piercings, bare titties, exposing your 🍒's in front of strangers (willingly), some bleeding, canon typical violence (monster death)
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POV: Dean finds out you got your nips pierced.
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Version 1 "Sam, don't! He could be the shapeshifter, for all we know!" Dean pulled his brother back by the jacket. "A - a what?" The man in front of you stammered, his eyes blown wide in fear. You quickly hushed him. "It's okay, just get in there!" You were convinced this guy wasn't the shapeshifter. You knew it in your gut, but you knew that explanation wouldn't fly with Dean.
The four of you quickly pressed into the small bathroom. Dean had his gun pointed at the guy's throat, who was nervously eyeing the weapon. "It's okay", you assured him in a hushed whisper. "We'll get you out of here. Just give him the spoon, Sam." You nodded at the younger Winchester, who in turn started prodding his jacket. One pocket, another, then a quiet curse.
"I must've dropped it!"
You glanced at Sam in disbelief. Dean grunted, though he didn't take his eyes off of the stranger.
"Now what?"
Sam shrugged. "I don't have anything else silver on me. Do you?"
"I got lots of silver bullets," Dean growled, still clearly convinced that the poor soul trapped in this bathroom with you was the monster you were looking for. The man yelped quietly.
"Not helpful, Dean," you hissed, but the hunter just grunted.
"You got any better ideas?"
Silence filled the air as all three of you pondered over your current predicament. Then a lightbulb went off in your brain.
"I do, actually."
With swift movements, you handed your gun over to Sam and then began pulling your sweater off.
"Uh - what are you doing?" Sam stared at you like you had lost your mind and even Dean was glancing over at you as you began peeling your top upwards.
"My nipple piercings are made of silver," you explained casually. Sam's eyes grew wide while a vein popped out on Dean's temple. The man you were trying to save looked like he was trying very hard to look anywhere but at you. "If Dean's bullets are the only other silver thing we got, then I don't see any other way than this. I'm not blowing some guy's brain out just to be on the safe side," you continued.
Your top went over your head, leaving you in nothing but your bra from the waist upwards. Sam's face had a funny color and Dean looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. His eyes briefly traveled down to your exposed cleavage, then quickly flicked back up to your face. "You can't be serious," Sam cut in.
"About my nipples being pierced or the piercings being silver?"
"About letting this guy touch you."
You brushed Sam's concern off with a tut. "Oh, hush. Don't be so prude. Now, go on," you said and undid the clasp of your bra with swift fingers.
Three loud inhales sounded as you revealed your boobs to the room. Sam's eyes immediately went towards the ceiling. The stranger briefly glanced at your tits with a pained expression before following suit with Sam, mumbling something about how surely, all of this just had to be a weird dream. Dean, however, took a good long look before a smile whisked across his lips.
"When'd you get this done?" He whispered with an appreciative tone.
"Couple of months ago," you replied, smiling back at him. "You like it?"
"Like it? Sweetheart, I-"
"Guys," Sam interrupted, eyes still glued to the ceiling.
"Right, right, sorry." You reached for the man's hand who jumped when your hand touched his. "Go on, dude. Just put a hand on it so we know you're good."
The guy made no move to do much of anything, so you gently lifted his hand to your chest until it made contact with one of your piercings. "Just a dream, just a dream," the man mumbled with his head still turned upwards and away from you. "Maybe I'm a shapeshifter too," Dean mumbled, his eyes on the man's hand pressed to your boob.
You grinned in reply. "See? He's good." The man's hand showed no signs of injury as you lifted it off of your chest again. "Now how about I get dressed again and we go find the actual son-of-a-bitch?"
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Version 2 Sure, people warn against getting body alterations done under the influence of alcohol all the time. It's sort of an unwritten rule, the kind of common-sense one is just expected to have. But as booze tends to do, it prefers to link up with mischief instead. Common-sense is just so boring. Such a goody-two-shoes. The nay-sayer of all genius ideas. And clearly, that's what getting your nipples pierced is: a genius fucking idea.
At least so you thought last night while out and about with Jo. The two of you had teamed up in an effort to drink your shared sorrows away: you'd just come back from yet another hunt during which you'd felt belittled by Dean yet again, and Jo was in the midst of another heated fight with Elle about being allowed out for a hunt at all - again. Each dismissal had lit the fire of injustice within the both of you, and while your first few drinks were meant to quench the flames, they had the opposite effect, acting like fuel instead.
Soon, both you and Jo were slurring your respective rambles about your 'suppressors'.
"Just isn't fair." Jo slammed her fist down on the bar top, earning herself a quick glance from the bartender.
You shook your head woefully. "It isn't. They just don't see us. It's like we're invisible. Or babies. Invisible babies."
Jo pointed her finger at you. "Exactly! Invisible babies. But we're not! We're grown women, god dammit! Women! Would babies have boobs like that?" Her finger swayed from your face to your cleavage, followed diligently by the guy who sat two seats down from you. Your chin dropped to your chest as you glanced at your own boobs before meeting the eyes of the sleazy guy two seats over. A sluggish grin crawled over your lips. "Nice, aren't they?" A toothy grin appeared on the other patron's face. "Sure are, baby, sure are," he called back, causing you to look at Jo with triumph in your eyes. "See? He agrees too. No baby would have boobs like that."
Jo nodded, her head bobbing up and down in a wobbly fashion. "Cause he sees us. Not like my mom. Or Dean." She scowled, then downed another shot the bartender had dutifully lined up for you at your signal.
"We jus' gotta find a way to show 'em," you slurred. "Way to show how badass we are. Hmm." You nodded to yourself like you'd just said the most profound thing.
A moment of silence passed between you two girls before Jo's face suddenly lit up. "I got an idea."
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As genius as it had seemed to you four shots in, the next morning, you weren't so sure anymore that piercing your nipples had been a genius move. It did look amazing (one glance in the mirror in the morning after waking up confused why your nips felt so damn sore had convinced you of that easily), but you still needed some convincing about the practicality of it as you got dressed and put on your clothes for the day. It proved as your first challenge: a bra was immediately out of the question after feeling how tight the material pressed against your sensitive and raw skin. You threw on a large, comfy t-shirt instead and paired it with an even larger sweater. Oversized clothes to the rescue.
As expected, your drinking spectacle of last night didn't go unnoticed by either of the boys. Sam's "Whoa, you look rough" got quickly followed up by a dry snort from Dean at the sight of you. "Jesus, you and Jo empty half a liquor store or something?" You only grumbled something unintelligible as a response while you fixed yourself some coffee from the small breakfast spread your motel offered.
While you nursed your coffee, Dean and Sam made a plan for the day. Their mission yesterday had been a bust - the empty factory had, in fact, not been the hiding place of the shapeshifter that the three of you were after, which left it still roaming about. You didn't partake in the planning process, partially due to your hangover, but mostly due to the fact that you were still hung up on your exclusion. For your own safety. Dean's reasoning had felt like a punch in the gut. Did he still not trust your abilities?
"Hey." You were pulled back to the present by fingers snapping in front of your face. "You with us?" Dean's eyes were searching your face as you zeroed back in on him. You grunt for a response had one of his brows raising, but he didn't comment on it, instead pulling you aside when the three of you headed out towards the parking lot.
"Are you okay?" You knew that look. Dean's scrutinizing gaze roamed over your face to look for the subtlest of clues. You'd made your protest heard loud and clear yesterday, and you read the subtext in his question with ease. Are we okay? You inhaled deeply as you stalled to answer. You were still upset with him, but you didn't have it in you to discuss his views on your involvement during hunts in your current state. Your head was pounding too much, and your nipples faintly felt like someone was holding a lighter to them. "Yeah. I'm okay," you responded with a sigh. Dean looked like he was about to object, clearly not buying your answer, but just then, Sam called out for the two of you.
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Genius fucking idea. You gritted your teeth as you sprinted after the shapeshifter. Of course you'd end up in action the one day you didn't wear a bra. As if chasing supernatural beings wasn't challenging enough, you were now forced to awkwardly press your arms under your boobs for support as you ran down the damp alleyway. Because of your makeshift-bra, your gun was holstered between your hands right under your tits, aiming directly forward. It wasn't a safe way to run, nor a comfortable one, but you didn't have time to ponder either of those facts. The shapeshifter was getting away, and you couldn't let that happen.
You saw it turning a corner a couple hundred feet ahead of you and dashed after it, tits squeezed together in front of your chest like they were your main weapon and not your gun. The fabric of your shirt rubbed over your freshly pierced nips like sandpaper on wood and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself focused on the monster chase instead of the pain.
When you skid around the corner, you found the shapeshifter trapped between yourself and Dean on the other end of the back alley. It's head spun back and forth between you and him like a trapped animal and for a moment, it felt like time had frozen. Your eyes briefly flicked over to Dean, whose brows were furrowed in concentration and determination, and he shook his head at you ever so slightly.
The flush of anger inside your belly was hot and instant, yet before you had time to react, a loud shriek echoed through the alleyway and the shapeshifter launched itself your way.
It all happened so quickly that you acted more out of instinct than on rational thought. The kicks and blows to your body barely registered before a gunshot rang through the air and the monster's lifeless body dropped to the ground in front of you.
You stared at it, panting. The adrenaline coursing through your veins felt like fire being pumped through your body. It took you a second to register Dean's voice through the ringing in your ears.
"Hey. Hey. You okay? Are you hurt?" Hands were gripping you by the shoulders and you were spun sideways. You blinked a couple of times as Dean came into focus in front of you, concern etched into every fine line on his face. "Talk to me," he urged as his eyes feverishly scanned you up and down. You shook your head faintly, still dazed. "I'm fine." You'd taken down the shapeshifter yourself. You'd done it. You'd kicked ass.
A slow smile spread on your face as the realization set in. You had taken down a shapeshifter all by yourself. In front of Dean, no less. Now he had to see you.
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"We got it, Sammy. Yeah. It's done. Uh-huh. No, she took it out." Dean glanced over at you as the two of you walked back to his car. You were still smiling smugly ear to ear. Dean looked like he'd been forced to eat a lemon whole.
"What d'you think? Of course not." He growled into the phone. You could imagine Sam's question without having heard it. You let her come? Dean had ordered you to stay in the car of course. But then you'd seen the shapeshifter run by. Who in their right mind would've stayed in their car at the sight?
"Uh-huh. Yeah. We'll meet you back at the motel." Dean hung up. Anger radiated off of him in quiet, shaky waves. Under any other circumstance, you would've been quaking in your boots right about now, wary of the storm that was about to come your way any second now. But not today. Today, you were flying high, fueled on by your win.
Dean settled into the driver's seat, but didn't start the car. Here we go, you thought. Speech incoming. Yet it didn't come. When you turned your head to look at him, you didn't find Dean staring you down, but frowning at your chest instead.
"You're bleeding."
Your own forehead crinkled up as you looked down on yourself. Two deep red spots were starting to bloom on your chest, right where... Crap.
You quickly slung an arm over your chest, covering up the two spots. "I, uh. It's fine." Though it felt anything but. You hadn't noticed it in the moment, but the monster had apparently struck you in the chest, right across your boobs. Your fresh piercings had seemingly not appreciated that move in the least. Now that you had been made aware of it, your nipples felt like they were on fire, pain striking through each boob like a spasm.
Dean's jaw tensed. In one swift move, he leaned in and plucked your arm from your chest, exposing the bloody spots on your sweater that were slowly growing in size. You could see his frown deepening as he examined your injuries. Warmth crept up your neck and into your cheeks.
"It's not fine. What did he do? I can't see puncture wounds. Why are you bleeding?"
Whatever triumph you had felt just a moment ago had ebbed away and was now being replaced by the icky sticky feeling of shame. You turned your head so he wouldn't see the embarrassment coloring you the same color as the spots on your sweater, but Dean spoke your name in a soft, yet stern voice.
You knew he wouldn't let this go.
You sighed deeply. "I got my nipples pierced." Your voice was barely above a murmur. Heat blazed from your cheeks and pain throbbed in your wounded nips.
For the first time ever since meeting Dean Winchester, he did not hit you with a quick comeback. The lack of a snarky reply was so jarring that you looked back at him, despite the embarrassment shining bright in your cheeks like Rudolph's nose.
Dean's face seemed to be frozen in a state somewhere between surprise and amusement. You stared at him for a moment before scoffing. "Just get it out." His eyes flickered from the bloody spots on your torso to your eyes and back, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Get what out?"
"The comments. Whatever you're dying to say. I know you've got some stupid shit already cooking in that brain of yours," you scoffed, and as if on cue, mischief glinted in his eyes.
"Actually," Dean started and flung a casual arm across your seat. "I think it's kind of hot."
The lack of reprimand caught you off guard so much that you could only stare at him.
"But I am gonna need details. Was it Jo's idea? Or yours?" Dean flashed a widespread grin at you and started the car. He was clearly enjoying himself.
You could only roll your eyes and groan.
"You know, I'll have to check when we're back. See how injured you are. Patch you up," he continued, the grin now stretching so wide that it almost went from ear to ear.
"Not a chance, Winchester."
Dean only snickered in return.
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Divider credit: @saradika-graphics
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questionablecuttlefish · 2 days ago
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Okay Fine Let's Talk Timebomb and Season Two.
I do want to talk about this because I have a Lot of thoughts and feelings and it has been building up and building up, not only based on what's happening in other social spaces, but what people keep bringing into mine despite my best efforts to avoid it.
This isn't any kind of hatepost, I don't think I could hate Ekko or the ship if I tried, I just want to explain my very mixed feelings about the whole thing.
My likely-to-be-very unpopular take on Season Two's Timebomb romance is that it left me feeling uneasy and uncomfortable.
Not with what was in the show itself, I feel like that was perfect. Powder and Ekko sold me completely. They made me feel things. I even liked how Ekko and Jinx's story ended. I think it was beautiful, poignant, perfect...
...until.
'The Discourse' since, the way the fan culture has exploded around it, and particularly some of the creators' commentary on it, has made me sour on the whole thing.
It feels like I'm suddenly part of an increasingly small subset of people who saw what they did with S2 Timebomb and applied our media literacy to what was on our screens and got something very different to what the fandom consensus seems to be.
For context, I semi-shipped TB before this. Though I've always been Team Lightcannon, I had a lot of respect for timebomb, I understood it, I had read a few very good fics, I was just in the space of "Jinx has hurt Ekko too much for him to ever fully forgive her for murdering his friends, they might come to an understanding, and there will always be a silent undercurrent of love beneath the hurt, they may fight together on the same side again someday, but whatever bond they had as kids is broken and they can't go back, and both know it."
I respected, and still do, people who shipped them romantically, but I've always seen them as a broken childhood friendship being a much more interesting dynamic, and being hot for each other lessening that to an extent and not really adding anything to it.
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All of his interactions with Jinx in season one are violent; she murders five Firelights point-blank in front of him in her intro scene, and Ekko reacts particularly upset to the pink-haired girl, Eve or Eva, whom Jinx shoots in the back. It's clear this isn't even the first time she's fought them. We don't know how many of Ekko's found family she's put on the Memorial Wall or how close he was with any of them.
Ekko is clearly convinced that "Powder" is gone, and the person who replaced her is a cold-blooded killer who can't be reasoned with. Leading to the Bridge confrontation, and this:
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This is the first time Ekko catches a glimpse of "Powder", yes, but more importantly, this is the first moment he recognizes Jinx's humanity. He's hurting her, killing her, and he can't do it.
....and she knows he can't do it.
So, to save him the weight, she pulls a grenade, with the intent to kill them both, foreshadowing quite neatly where Ekko/Jinx (but not Ekko/Powder) is going to go in S2.
Fast forwarding from Season One here, Ekko disappears for 2/3rds of the second season, completely offscreen.
When we catch up with him he's woken up in the S2E7 AU; the Powder Timeline.
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Here's where I start to get a little confused by the fandom take. Because, you know, I've seen enough Star Trek and Stargate and Supernatural and Batman the Animated Series and Quantum Leap to know exactly what this is.
This is the 'bottle episode', this is the 'Perfect World' trope, where the protagonists find themselves in an alternate universe - or trapped in a dream - or they've died or think they've died and this is their 'heaven' - where they have everything they ever wanted.
This is familiar storytelling and E2 follows a familiar pattern, the protagonist struggles to adapt to the surreal new circumstances, they are seduced by the illusion, particularly falling in love with someone in the Perfect World, but eventually, they start noticing something incongruous - something isn't quite right - (In this case, it's Vi's death, and Powder holding back her genius and hiding her grief to be support girl for others) - that reveals the Perfect World to be not as perfect as it seems.
And the hero has to choose to go home, because he realizes that this isn't real, it doesn't belong to him, he doesn't belong here.
Which is exactly what happens with Ekko in E7.
Which brings is to AU!Powder and Jinx.
And here's where I really start to struggle with the seeming consensus that the romance between Ekko/Powder automatically leads to Ekko/Jinx, like you can just transfer the one to the other.
I'm sorry, fam, I thought my basic media literacy was telling me that this girl:
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Is not the same person as this girl:
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....and I am not getting into any debate about "Jinx" vs "Powder" as identities within our current Jinx. I'm talking about Powder in the E7 AU.
AU!Powder is literally a different human being.
She may have been the same person up until the explosion in Jayce's laboratory, but from that fork in the timeline, she becomes a FUNDAMENTALLY different person to Jinx, shaped by different experiences, different relationships, different life events.
Powder's physicality with Ekko, as you can see in those GIFs, the casual intimacy, the clear affection, the way she touches him, looks at him, her awareness of him in her space, is so utterly opposite to the way Jinx interacts with him that if anything, it nailed home to me how savagely absent this kind of feeling is from his relationship with Jinx.
Powder loves Ekko. She leans on him, snuggles into him, touches his hands, dances with him, kisses him.
Jinx cares so little about him she barely makes eye contact and would casually kill him without blinking.
And I thought that was the point.
I really thought that was the whole point of E7. Being in the perfect world, getting his perfect love story with his perfect Powder, the girl Jinx could have been, but can never be, drove home for Ekko that his feelings for Jinx, both romantic and resentful, were tangled up in his illusions of "Powder", and it took living those illusions as a physical reality for Ekko to see his mistake.
To be true to himself, and true to her, Ekko had to let that go and go home.
To face his world's Jinx, and be there for her in her darkest moment, even if it meant giving up the love he'd found with Powder, a love that belonged to a different Ekko, for someone who could never love him back.
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To me that was Ekko's most heroic moment, an act of selfless sacrifice. But that's what it was - a sacrifice.
Meanwhile, Season Two Jinx is not aware of any of this. The last time she saw Ekko was on the bridge where she nearly killed him, and for all we know she might have thought she succeeded.
She never talks about, thinks about, refers to, or even has scribble-nightmares about Ekko, not even once.
Season Two Jinx is, instead, having a love story of her own.
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And Isha was and is a PUZZLE to me. Because she's more plot device than character, she isn't necessary except as a way to give Jinx a villain-to-hero arc and a way to reconnect to her humanity.
But she could have been Ekko.
If they really, really wanted us to have Timebomb Canon, instead of confining the entire arc to a bottle episode in an alternate timeline with a literally, physically different girl, they could easily have given all of Isha's considerable screentime to an Ekko and Jinx romance.
I'm sure Amanda Overton would have been on board with that. But that's not what we got. It's almost like reading two different fix-it-fanfics for the same character, put into the same show and running in parallel.
I'm not crazy, this is what's happening for Ekko in s2;
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While this is happening for Jinx at the same time.
But Jinx's love story, too, ends with a tragic sacrifice.
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And here's where the two stories finally intersect.
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When Jinx is in her darkest moment, her absolute rock bottom, Ekko comes back into her life, a miracle, impossible, a Boy Savior.
But she's still ready to kill him.
Because she didn't dance with Ekko. She didn't invent a time machine with him. She didn't sit and watch the city lights with him and share a tender kiss and a heartfelt gift.
That was Powder.
Jinx and Ekko are resuming right where they left off on the bridge, right back to "I pull this pin and we both blow up".
They've both loved and lost, but their stories are absolutely unknown to each other. Ekko Doesn't Know About Isha. Jinx Doesn't Know About Powder.
It's only when Jinx (a genius, a reminder here) sees monkeys of her own design inside the Z-drive - recognizes her own handiwork, but knows SHE didn't make those - that, I think, sheer curiosity stirs her out of her darkness.
She has to know what that was about. She hesitates, just long enough for Ekko to speak. And, though offscreen, he tells her his story, and maybe she tells him hers.
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And it's enough, just enough, to set Jinx back on her Redemption Arc, to become the hero Isha always saw in her.
Maybe even the hero Vi and Ekko saw in her, too. Her new costume is full of references to all of the people in her life who never gave up on her.
(side note, the yellow stars and crowns puzzle me, though - they're quite prominent, but who are THEY for? Isha? Maybe? Yellow isn't a color associated with anyone in Jinx's life, but that crown's identical to the one she scribbled on Demacia in Fortiche's map, is... this a very subtle future Lightcannon tease? Nah. I'm not that crazy.)
I mean her costume is also almost literally both a Fishbones and a Fiddlesticks cosplay, with her hair as Fiddle's tongue, so take from that what you will.
It's clear Jinx and Ekko war painted each other for the battle, but the Firelights are also similarly painted up, and (with Linke even confirming this) there really wasn't time to develop anything else, guys.
And I am, honestly, fundamentally angry at anyone who would suggest that, even if she'd been in any space to want it, our boy Ekko, one of the most genuinely good men in recent fiction let alone in Arcane, would take advantage of a girl he just talked out of suicide.
Moving on. During the battle, Ekko is knocked out and lying not far from Jinx. She doesn't even look at him, she leaps up to defend Vi instead.
And that's their final interaction on the show.
Instead of returning to Ekko, Jinx chooses one final act of sacrifice.
Ekko's final shot of the show is this.
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He's sitting, alone, burning a mourning paper, where he sat with AU!Powder - where he and AU!Powder kissed - a place that has no significance to himself and Jinx, whatsoever.
It's little wonder who he's thinking about here, and which name he's burning on that paper. The girl he truly loved and lost.
For all he knows, Jinx is dead. But it's not only her he's mourning.
Or maybe he does know, or suspect, she's alive.
But either way, he's making one final act of sacrifice, too, with that paper burning into the breeze.
He's letting her go.
He's choosing his own story.
He's staying where he belongs.
Jinx may have become a symbol of the revolution, but it's Ekko who is, and always will be, the true hero of Zaun.
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And this is Jinx's final shot.
Because let's face it, we all know she's on that airship.
She's "breaking the cycle". She's "walking away". She knows that Jinx has left too many scars on the people she still loves - on Vi, on Ekko, on the cities of Piltover and Zaun - for her to pick up the pieces.
She knows that if she's going to find out what "Jinx" might stand for now, she has to go very far away from everything and everyone. She has to leave it all behind and find something new.
Maybe even someone new?
And ultimately, that's why I feel the Timebomb we got was perfect, they shouldn't touch it, they shouldn't try to force it to be "Endgame", not because it couldn't have worked, but because that's the opposite of the story they told.
For the rest of my analysis, lol, this got a bit long but i have FEELINGS.
Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't buy Jinx and Ekko as a love story if they had actually told that love story. But they didn't. It had no screen time. They have less interactions in S2, maybe even in both seasons added up, than Vi and Loris. Let that sink in a bit.
We know it's Amanda's favorite ship, so she may have intended more, and may even actually give us all more at some point, but please, dear god, let's stop pretending they fucked or kissed or even held hands offscreen.
That's honestly a bit insulting to both of these characters, to insist hell or high water that this very important milestone in their relationship happened, but they just didn't even bother to depict it. That an entire love story (because it would be a whole one, remember, Ekko and Powder had a romance but Jinx did not experience any of that, she and Ekko are back at Square One) would just be cut for time.
They both deserve better than that.
Let's stop pretending there was some grand, horny, Forever Love story with 60 minutes of cut footage, all of it timebomb content, somehow left on the cutting room floor of an animated show where every single frame has to be deliberately hand painted.
Because if in some insane universe they had written, storyboarded, voice acted and animated an entire 60 minute additional timebomb storyline and then cut it from the show, that would itself be a searing indictment of the quality of the storytelling in that imagined arc, but that's not what happened. Anyone who knows how filmmaking works would shoot this one down, and the showrunners already have, so let's leave it behind.
I know Timebomb blew up hard, and I get it, but what we got on the screen is not confirmation that there is any relationship at all between Ekko and Current Timeline Jinx. If anything, Ekko and Powder's beautiful romance only highlighted the tragic 'never to be' of Ekko and Jinx.
And it's absolutely fine to look at the art book, look at the creator comments, and imagine what could have been. Draw the fan art, write the fanfic, imagine the what-ifs and the fix-its, those are all beautiful and valid expressions and deserve their space.
But don't go insisting it's "the canon" and going after the shippers of other ships for these characters as "not canon" or somehow offensive for existing, especially toward one particular ship that, yes, has been around much longer than timebomb, is uncool.
I think this is mostly people who are New From Arcane, it's Baby's First Ship and they don't know how to share space. The timebomb fans I knew pre-season two didn't do this, at least not often enough for me to notice or care.
But I'll just say to them, if a Timebomb follow up happens and they actually tell a good love story for Ekko and Jinx, I will accept it. Grudgingly, because I think Lux/Jinx is an untold, untapped story full of incredible character dynamics that would complete Jinx's story in ways that as much as I love Ekko, he's too tied to her past, he can't.
But I love Ekko, and I love Jinx, and I will accept it.
But I'll also say to them, if the followup doesn't eventuate, if things take a turn they don't expect, if Jinx's airship is heading for Demacia, maybe they'll have to experience just a taste of what it's been like for Lightcannon fans for ten long years.
And maybe that's healthy. Maybe that's okay. Maybe our endgames don't need to be 'canon' to have value and that's a lesson we should learn.
Maybe there's a new Light on her horizon, and that's okay too. Maybe Ekko won't be alone forever. Don't forget - until Arcane - his story had nothing to do with Jinx, and there was a whole lot of it.
More with the Firelights, maybe bring in the original Lost Children of Zaun from his old stories, his inventions, his parents, all could yet be in his future. Who knows? He might find a way back to AU!Powder - or she might rebuild what they worked on together, and come to him, no matter what butterfly effects that could set in motion...
But if Jinx is heading for a Light on her horizon, maybe Ekko might Explore some of his possibilities. Find a new Spark of connection. Just saying. Jinx isn't his only ship, either 😌
And it is okay for people to move on, and let go. Maybe, for two characters whose themes are letting go of the past, living in the moment, redefining their identities, and moving on, that's what their story should be.
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kurishiri · 2 days ago
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Mystery Bag 2025 ┊ Team 2: The trash bastards and the troubled fox
Harrison, Alfons, Jude, Nica
꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to narrative flow and characterization purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!
— the mystery bag 2025 sale is a story set sale where the guys are put into teams and participate in a relay event thing. this is one of three teams (i love al too much to pass this by aa orz)! you can read the prologue, translated by @.judesmoonbeauty, here.
— cw: mentions of drugging or spiking drinks, bribing, and groping.
——Group 2 for the preliminary contest: Harrison, Alfons, Jude, Nica.
—— Blue sky ——
Steering committee: Then, we will begin the round for group 2.
Steering committee: Who will reach the goal first and emerge the happy boy for 2025?!
Steering committee: Let us go all out! Take your places, and…start!
—— Park (day) ——
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Harrison: Oh, jeez, that was fast. So, why are you guys all standing there?
Alfons: Since the spectators are no longer in sight, so I figured if it was around now or so,
A: it would be a good time to drop this act of competing to the hardest and fullest.
Harrison: What? (O_O)
H: Or wait a minute, I’m pretty sure Al’s no exception; you guys are scheming something weird, aren’t you.
Jude: Who are ya gonna blame when ya don’t have a drop o’ evidence on ya? Way to make others out as the villain.
Nica: Agreed. I wouldn’t dream of scheming anything so bad in broad daylight, you know.
Harrison: Your lies are so damn obvious. I don’t even need to use my ability to figure that out.
H: If you all get caught, would you be alright getting disqualified?
Alfons: Oh, goodness, shiver me timbers. I’ll be honest, so hold your silence, alright?
A: I’m sure you’re aware there is a spot you can take a quick water break a bit up ahead, no?
A: I maaay or may not have pulled an ever so slight trick on the drinks.
A: Said trick being a sleeping drug that can knock one out immediately.
Harrison: You’re the worst.
Jude: Well, seems like somethin’ that walkin’ offense to public morals would pull outta his arse.
Alfons: And what of you?
Jude: Jus’ gave some money on a stick to the committee and told ‘em to tamper with the info and give us the win.
J: There’s been a wave o’ people, so it wouldn’t get outed.
Harrison: You’re no better.
Nica: I’d expect nothing less from the company president, dirtying your hands. Someone as well-bred as me could never.
Harrison: And? What’s up your sleeve?
Nica: Now don’t go lumping me together with that mirror man and president.
N: All I did was use my superior intellect and surveying skills. …Say, did you know?
N: This time, beneath the course there’s a sewer. One that’ll lead you right next to the goal.
N: So I was thinking of slipping underground, bide my time… and take first place.
Jude & Alfons: What a piece o’ trash. / Very much a lowlife.
Nica: You guys are the last ones I want to be called ‘trash bastards’ from.
Harrison: Damn, it’s trash bastards left and right.
H: So? What did you hope to gain from all this?
Alfons: Why of course, it’s to use Her Majesty’s authority to do this and that and aaall things in between.
Harrison: I was a fool for ever asking.
H: What about you, Jude?
Jude: Anythin’ goes. There’s a whole load o’ things I wanna do with the Queenie’s authority.
J: Well, I’d bet that bad guy over there would ask for somethin’ ridiculous.
Nica: As if. I’m just trying to earn what I very much love — money.
N: There’s never enough money to go around.
Harrison: If that’s what you really think, then I’ll leave it at that.
Nica: …Being able to pick up on lies, huh. You’ve got a troublesome ability on you, don’t you, Harrison Gray.
Harrison: They said abilities were forbidden. I’m just reading what you’re feeling.
Nica: You’re the only one who’ll ever know if you’re using your ability or not. I’d expect nothing less of the one Cursed by the Lying Fox.
Harrison: Thanks, I guess.
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Nica: ——Anyway, what are we going to do from now on?
Alfons: Whatever could you mean?
Nica: I mean, seeing as we all revealed our hands, I can’t imagine this will end nice and smooth.
N: For the record, I’m fine with taking each other down. Since I don’t hold back against bastards and all.
Jude: Ha, I like the sound o’ that. The last one standin’ wins. Simple, clear-cut, n’ easy to understand.
Alfons: Though I can’t say I enjoy such brutish things, I suppose sacrifices may be inevitable.
Harrison: Hey you guys——
Woman’s cry: Ahh!
Harrison: That voice…
Woman’s cry: Someone! There’s a groper— he groped me!
Nica: A groper, huh.
N: Yeah, I figured. There’s bound to be some stupid humans who can’t hold themselves back and take advantage of the festival.
N: I just don’t get it. Well, I’m sure with this crowd, he’ll get caught in no time.
Alfons: I’m sure a man foolish enough to grope others will be caught soon——
A: But as I recall, the direction that man is running happens to be toward the place Kate has come to cheer for us, isn’t it?
Harrison: …I’ll go. I’m worried about her.
H: You guys can do whatever.
Jude: Tch, can’t stand the thought o’ leaving ‘er alone and gettin’ yelled at.
Alfons: Ahha! Are the men who haven’t run that much before going full speed ahead now?
A: What are you going to do, Nica?
Nica: Guess I’ll go too? Standing idle around won’t do much anyway.
—— Alleyway ——
Groper: Dammit… why are you guys chasing after me! Ah——
Harrison: Okay, caught you.
Jude: Keep that trash bastard o’ a pervert restrained.
Harrison: That was my intention.
H: Ahh, you guys came too?
Nica: Ohh, so this is the groper, huh. Haha, now that’s a face that’ll probably stir up trouble with women.
Alfons: Judging by one’s outward appearance is nonsense. That said, though, he does sport a rather unfulfilled expression.
Groper: I didn’t do it! My hand just happened to touch her butt.
Groper: And besides! Aren’t you guys the one who’s got some unfulfilled desires, stirring up all this fuss all over this?
Alfons: Oh, you happened to, didn’t you.
A: On the way here, I caught onto something, you see.
A: As far as I heard, six women were bringing up how they were getting touched by you.
A: Why that is one hefty coincidence indeed, dare I say.
A: Or could it be your hands were implanted with a magnet that drew you to women’s rears?
Nica: And besides, we’ve got a handy lie detector right here.
N: So? Which is it?
Harrison: Everything you’re saying is a lie. There’s no doubt about that.
H: Well, that’s my intuition, at least.
Groper: …gh.
Groper: D-damn it all! Yeah, okay, I did it!
Nica: Okay, okay, I’ve heard just about enough of that bastard’s dirty voice.
Alfons: Now then, having confessed so honestly, what punishment shall we do?
A: Ahh, come to think of it, our abilities are off the table, aren’t they. Well then, Jude.
Jude: Show that nasty arse o’ yours. The one ya fondled with.
Groper: Guah!
Nica: Wow, that sounded brutal. His bones are probably broken.
Alfons: My heartfelt condolences. Well, what should we do with this knocked out man?
Harrison: Hand him over to the police.
H: Today we’re not Crown and Vogel, but rather just participants.
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Jude: Whatever floats your boat. I couldn’t care less.
An unclear cry: Ahh!
Harrison: Another one…? (O_O)
Alfons: What is it this time?
—— Bridge ——
Kate: Ah— guys!
K: There’s a big problem, all the participants who had the drinks from the break spot ended up falling fast asleep!
Alfons: Is that so?
Kate: And then a committee member started to reveal that they’d been threatened and bribed and——
Jude: Hmm.
Kate: And on top of that, it was discovered that someone was going to use the sewer as an unjust move!
Nica: Well, I’ll be.
Kate: Just who could be behind these? It’s too much like what a trash bastard would do, and I can’t look past that!
Harrison: Go on, Kate, keep it going.
Kate: Wha——?
Fin.
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team 1 team 2 team 3
ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍
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1980shorrorfilm · 17 hours ago
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eyes without a face
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please click! happy 2025 :]!! may this year bring u so much joy i love you
pairing…ellie williams x fem!reader x abby anderson
in which…your relationship with abby doesn’t stop ellie from liking you.
before you read…angst. modern au. pathetic losertron 5000 ellie :[ this is just me really wanting to write #that scene from tpobaw which is a warning within itself. truth or dare trope. established messy relationship with abby. dina gets mistreated by ellie </3 did i mention ellie is a loser
it’s not hard to make ellie uncomfortable.
throw her in a crowded party or put her in a room where you’re clinging to abby, and it’s done. easy. like now. her eyes are betraying her, not daring to blink or look away, while abby’s whispering shit in your ear that has you giggling sweetly.
she can’t hear you, the music and chatter are way too loud, but she already knows what the noise sounds like. it’s when she makes a stupid geeky pun as you’re studying in her dorm, that the light laughter turns her face beet red— another thing that’s not hard to earn from ellie.
not from you, at least.
when your fingertips trace her fern tattoo, leaf to leaf, ellie holding her breath and arm in place. showing up to hang out in one of her hoodies you have assumed are yours by now, she’ll let you believe it, because she doesn’t want to change it.
telling her how smart she is. how funny she is. and some vulnerable, teary-eyed, post-argument with your girlfriend nights, how you wish abby were more like her.
compassionate...understanding...kind. things your girlfriend lacks, you had told her. it was one of the more severe arguments and surely said out of resentment, but ellie secretly and happily took it as a win.
if she was blunt, free from nerves that taunt her regularly, ellie would agree. maybe free you from her. become a villain to abby and her friends, the loved group that already despises ellie and her too close proximity to you, and her entire ‘no good’ existence.
but she would be your hero. that’s how she would like to think of herself— but ellie is very self-aware and knows that’s not a reality in any universe. her confidence is nonexistent, and reaching out to you would be reaching for the stars. two things she will only dream of.
you’re with her, that ellie cannot change that. she shouldn’t even be so fucking invested in you or your relationship.
she almost has her own, after all. sort of. it’s complicated, her and dina never put a label on what they were. she couldn’t use the term ‘distraction’ without seeming like the biggest jackass in history, but that is what she is.
searching for the qualities that you beautifully possess, in an entirely different person, and being disappointed she cannot find them. ellie feels bad about it, but somewhere in between those guilty thoughts, she wonders if it’s the same for you.
if you looked at abby and tried to find her in there somewhere, if the same sad realization that they were nothing alike, and you're with the wrong person, hits you as it does her.
shamefully, the idea makes ellie happy.
watching abby lead you away, out of her eyesight, did not make her happy.
“got us drinks,” dina chirps, plopping down onto the couch beside ellie, the auburn-haired girl honestly not noticing dina had ever left in the first place. she hasn't been paying attention to much besides you.
“thanks,” ellie makes sure to tell her, taking the red solo cup, sniffing it, and scrunching her face. the fuck is in that punch? she doesn’t know, but the brunette doesn’t seem to mind, sipping while nodding her head to the beat of the music playing throughout the house.
ellie, trying to be normal, shows a smile and brings the cup to her lips, gulping down the harsh alcohol all at once. she hates it, and she’s surprised she doesn’t throw it up immediately.
“thirsty?” dina jokes, earning an awkward chuckle from ellie, who is still eyeing the crowd before her, waiting for your reappearance.
maybe it will be without her, and she can finally talk to you alone, free from the prying and judgmental eyes of your damn girlfriend. she could barely even greet you when she arrived, the blonde's arm wrapped around your shoulder, subtly pulling you away after ellie got a ‘hi,’ in. asshole.
she will never know what you see in her. why you complain about her one night and then fuck her the next. she understands you with everything, besides your relations with her— unless she is your distraction. she’s hot and everyone with working eyes can tell. you two look great together, but you don’t work great together. not in ellie’s opinion, anyway.
ellie starts to drift now, the muffled noise of whatever story dina was telling and the noisy crowd blending, a headache of a symphony. or perhaps it’s the vile drink already hurting her head. or both and she should just ask dina if they could leave this stupid fucking party.
then she sees you. alone, visibly upset, locking eyes with her for a split second, but that’s all she needs. you don’t stay still, you’re walking away once more, but ellie thinks of it as an invitation. you liked to be with her when you were sad, even if ellie sucked at processing emotions, or giving any sort of advice regarding them.
you noticed this when she kept her mouth shut after ranting about something wrong abby had done, and poor ellie just didn’t know what to say. she never seemed to. you didn’t take issue with it, because the most important thing was, that she listened to you. she let you sob and held you in her always welcoming arms. it was enough for you, and why you’ll always appreciate ellie’s friendship.
you find yourself in the snowy backyard, colorful lights thrown messily on a large tree that young adults stand beneath, smoking a joint. you’d join them if you had the energy to be around people, but your previously high spirits had now gone. it was something little-- but the little nitpicky things somehow always led to a dramatic feud with your girlfriend.
you let out a deep sigh, taking a few steps away from the door and leaning on the house, everything a bit more quiet. your thoughts aren’t, though, not until you see her from your perpetual vision, making her way toward you. her gaze is heavy, examining you and keeping a small distance as she also leans against the brick exterior.
“something happen?” ellie asks, knowing both the answer and the cause.
“what do you think?”
“right…” ellie nods, face flushing red at your bitter sarcasm, which you regret immediately. all she’s trying to do is help. ellie doesn’t take it to heart, though, recovering quickly with a joke. half joke. “want me to beat her up?”
it earns a light chuckle from you, ellie smiling to herself as result.
“no…no…she just…never mind.”
she chews her lip, keeping her focus on her scribbled converse, wishing you would elaborate. not because she specifically wants to hear about what happened, but so you would. you would say the words aloud, rehashing it, rethinking where your relationship stands with her. that’s what ellie wants most.
“i understand,” ellie says, a safe response. much safer than where she’s about to lead this conversation.
“where is she?”
“hm? i don’t know?” you ask back, confused about abby’s whereabouts being relevant to right now. you don’t even care, you don’t want to see her. you turn to ellie, “why?”
she opens her mouth, then shuts it, and opens it again.
“i mean…if my girlfriend and i fought at some stupid party…i wouldn’t leave her alone…” ellie speaks quietly, nervously, fiddling with her fingers, “especially you…”
you don’t get the last part. not how ellie wants you to, green eyes parting from her shoes and to your face, waiting for a reaction— for the realization that you’re standing out in the cold with her, not your girlfriend, who is seemingly pretending nothing happened while mingling with her group of ghouls.
but after letting her comment linger, you laugh slightly. “isn’t your girlfriend alone in there right now?”
“she’s not my—” ellie corrects you too damn fast, gulping, “we’re just friends.”
just friends. dina would probably wear that desolated frown if she heard ellie say that, the brunette was more interested in ellie than ellie to her, it makes sense ellie could never really help you with your relationship.
she was struggling with hers, or whatever she had going on with dina. you just hope she’s happy, and being taken care of, and feeling loved. you wouldn’t know, she doesn’t talk to you about any of that. like it’s too personal, but nothing was ever too personal between you and ellie. you hadn’t thought so.
“well, your friend is probably wondering where you are…you should go back in.”
“i want to be with you.”
again, she speaks too fast. you’re looking at her with unreadable eyes, and it makes her feel weird.
“i-i want to make sure you’re okay,” ellie adds, your lips curling into a soft smile that turns her pupils heart-shaped. always so selfless, putting you before her or anyone else.
you're not surrounded with many people like that, like ellie, making you feel like a priority instead of a burden. wanting to be with you, instead of feeling like she needs to simply because you're not okay. she's the sweetest girl you know.
“you’re my favorite friend, you know that?” ouch.
ouch ouch ouch. yeah, that’s what she is, but when you say it it sounds wrong. as if it’s diminishing what she truly is to you, which is so much more than that cursed f word. and still, she smiles, only half fake. at least she’s your favorite something, she thinks.
“dina is a lucky girl.”
the words take ellie back for a moment, mouth parting slightly despite not having a thing to say. it’s almost teasing her, surely not intentionally, but ellie would forget about dina— or any single person if you had wanted her to. if you wanted her. do you?
there’s a comfortable beat of silence between you two, the snow now beginning to fall lightly. it doesn’t bother you, but you do shiver, and ellie takes notice. she’s already peeling her brown trucker jacket off before you could protest, knowing if abby had seen it, it would start another fight.
abby thinks you’re closer than you should be, and if you truly believed it was solely a concern because of your relationship, you’d be a respectful partner and listen to her complaints. but it’s not.
it’s personal, a vendetta against ellie and everything that she was that you admired. a loser with hardly any friends, a nerd that doesn’t even belong to this party tonight, a freak that’s obsessed with you...abby wasn’t kind to her.
you defend her, but usually, it makes it worse. you couldn’t fix that— them. especially because it’s mutual, though ellie never flat-out said anything cruel about abby. she just never said anything nice either.
“thank you,” you tell ellie as her jacket engulfs you with warmth, and the spicy scent of sandalwood that you only associate with her. it makes you feel like you’re being hugged tightly by her.
it’s the perfect moment. the party is dying down, and the muffled chatter is even quieter. everything is hushed currently, the blanket of snow coating the ground making sure of it. it’s so peaceful— and intimate. maybe even romantic, ellie mesmerized by how beautiful you appear next to her.
she was always amazed by winter images, how the pale snow has a magical contrast to whatever object is in focus. and right now you look like an angel, one she'll be sure to draw in her journal when she gets the chance. immortalizing a nice memory while also impressing you. a win-win.
and the moment is interrupted. “there you are!”
both of your heads turn to dina, an enthusiastic smile on her face as she approaches you both. she notices ellie’s jacket on you, but unlike abby, dina doesn’t care. she had started messing with ellie well aware of her close relationship with you, actually finding it adorable how much ellie cared for you. dina thinks she’s a great friend; that’s it.
“here i am,” ellie responds, showing a tight-lipped smile. a cup is given to her from dina, the brunette then looking to you. “do you want mine?” she motions to the drink in her hands, “i would’ve brought another but—”
“oh— no, designated driver,” you inform her, dina letting out a quiet ‘oh,’ in return.
“okay, well,” dina redirects the topic, eyes drifting to ellie, “they are playing truth or dare and i want you to play with me.”
“i don’t—” “c’monnn.”
dina places her hand on the sleeve of ellie’s flannel, a gentle grip on her forearm as she attempts to pull her away. from you. ellie really doesn’t want to leave, especially to play a stupid fucking no-good game with people she barely knew, but her feet are already moving with dina.
“have fun,” you tease ellie, catching the rolling of her eyes.
then you’re lonely, again, and you despise it.
you accept the defeat of who will apologize first, pushing yourself off the wall and going inside the house. the music is turned off, a few people talking from the living room, and you scan the area hoping to see her.
you don’t— it’s her friends, a few faces you’re not too familiar with, plus ellie and dina. your eyes meet with ellie’s first, sitting on the wooden floor crisscrossed like a child. then her eyes drift behind you.
“hey.”
abby’s voice nearly makes you jump, hip brushing against yours as she stands next to you. she takes in the same sight, people giggling in a circle on the ground, while ellie williams is staring at her lap, appearing so out of place. abby snorts quietly to herself— you pay no mind to it.
“hey,” you copy, shifting out of the doorway and slipping into the kitchen, not wanting this conversation to be held in front of everyone, and ellie. she follows, somehow only now noticing the jacket that doesn’t belong to you clinging to your body. she forces herself to drop it for the time being.
“i didn’t mean to cause a fight. was stupid,” she apologizes without apologizing, folding her arms, bomber jacket tightening around her biceps. she’s right, it was stupid, so stupid you don’t even remember the exact reasoning, as it was so insignificant— a reason to just let it go.
“it’s fine, baby,” you reassure both her and subconsciously yourself, closing the gap between you two. her head is lowered, still feeling unsure about it, not looking you in the eye.
your soft hand cradled her jaw, tilting it upward, finally meeting those stormy irises of hers. they seem so distant, like you cannot look through her and understand anything she is feeling— or thinking. you can’t help but wonder if it’s due to the slowly fleeting tension, or something more. something too much to unpack in a house party.
your lip twitches, “we’re okay.”
abby accepts that, as do you.
the room over is suddenly and loudly in an uproar, abby and you sharing an exchanged look, knowing it was probably something very stupid— and probably abby’s friends. your friends.
“they’re having fun,” abby points on the obvious, a switch in her demeanor that you recognize. she’s tipsy and hungry for you.
you sigh her name when her hands find your sides, dipping her head into your neck to kiss the area. she's taking advantage of the empty kitchen, subtly walking you into the nearest counter, still devoted to the soft flesh of your throat.
you give in, shutting your eyes in bliss for a split moment, before the room over is once again in a loud fit of laughter. it’s too distracting for a make out session.
“let's just—” you gently push her away, ignoring the groan that came with it, “—join them.”
“wha—”
you pull her with you to the other room, dragging her to where ellie sits, and inserting yourselves in the game of truth or dare.
you, of course, next to her, knees nearly brushing, while abby is on the other side of you, a gap between you. the women meet eyes briefly, but leave it at that.
ellie is agitated— she feels hot, not in a good way. maybe it’s the mysterious alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact abby is by your side again. a sight she already dreads, but now, after you made it abundantly clear she had upset you, and you just move on from it. it was easy, and so hard for ellie to witness again and again and again.
dina puts her hand on her thigh, squeezing as she chuckles, bringing ellie back from her dire mind. she tries to mirror everyone else in the room, a bleak smile that doesn't make it obvious she's not enjoying her time here.
this is boring. she doesn't care about someone being dared to suck the toe of another or having to reveal some dumb secret from a truth. she cares about you— yet looking in your direction only bothers her; the girl next to you bothers her.
ellie hates this.
“earth to ellie,” her head snaps to the direction of the voice, recognizing it as one of your better friends made through abby, nora. “truth or dare?”
“i— uh,” she wants to say truth, but she means to say truth, but it doesn’t leave her lips. “d-dare.”
you’re surprised. she's surprised. ellie is often shy in settings like these, especially around your friends where she feels the need to watch everything she says and does. luckily, she's cheered on, everyone expecting her to play it safe, or in meaner terms, be a pussy.
you’re also glad ellie’s fate is in the hands of someone you trust, someone who wasn’t harsh on ellie or your friendship with her. it’s an easy dare, something that doesn’t embarrass her at all, and make her the laughing stock.
“i dare you to…” nora speaks, looking between ellie and dina, “kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”
such an easy dare, it’s almost lame, those aware of ellie and dina being a duo now, groaning to themselves.
but ellie doesn’t do anything.
she’s frozen, not even looking in dina’s direction, but rather yours. you think she’s searching your eyes for courage, but you don’t know what for. this shouldn’t be difficult. seconds are passing, everyone waiting for her to get it over with so they can continue the game.
just kiss her.
ellie can’t. she can’t break eye contact with you. and it’s not hard to understand why that is, your cheeks burning up while the rest of the room seems to go dead silent; also realizing what was playing out before them.
“i’m…i’m sorry,” she speaks hardly above a whisper, low mumblings from around her that embarrass her even more. judgement. it is possibly the worst thing she could’ve done, an awkward tension now between her and dina, and you and her. ellie wasn’t working up the courage to kiss dina in the first place. it was you.
but she wouldn’t do that— only in her head, watching the scene play out while everyone is watching her.
ellie quickly gets up, muttering something you don’t catch, and swiftly walks away. she heads to the front door, everyone’s short attention span already moving on, continuing the game. you cannot.
you stand up, a hand on yours holding you in place, preventing you from moving. you look down at abby and her pleading eyes, letting them do the talking. don’t follow her. stay.
you don’t. you retreat your hand, glancing at a distracted dina who was sipping on her drink, probably trying to ignore what ellie had just done, and you leave the living room.
you too exit the house, spotting ellie approach her truck across the street. you call her name out, the woman hardly turning her head over her shoulder, continuing to get inside the red vehicle. you understand she doesn’t want to show her face now, but she cannot hide from you. no, this has to be addressed.
even if you don’t really know what to say, or how to say it. you jog to her car, welcoming yourself inside, boring your eyes into her, while hers are on the windshield, snowflakes coating the glass.
“what was that, ellie?” you ask her, a soft tone as if you’re trying to understand her, rather than pass judgment. she’s sensitive, and she’s also shown empathy to you in times you’ve made mistakes. but that’s the problem— it wasn’t a mistake. she wanted to kiss you. there was no doubt about it.
“i’m with abby,” you continue when she stays quiet, “and you’re with—”
“no, i’m fucking not,” ellie cuts you off before her name leaves your lips, finally finding the strength to look at you. her brows are lowered, shaking her head, visibly irritated. “we aren’t— i don’t want —i want you.”
there it is. you mentally flinch at the confession, a confirmation on her feelings for you; something that cannot be undone and now will haunt you moving forward. it’s not like you can say the words back, because what you said is true. you are with abby.
your friendship with ellie is a friendship. you sigh her name, lowering your head. for some reason, ellie had hoped this moment would come and it would be different. something out of a coming-of-age film, you coming to terms with feelings she’d like to pretend you had for her. abandoning your girlfriend for her.
but you’re too sweet, and that simply is not happening.
“you...you know that i love you.”
she makes it worse. it has been said between you several times, but not like this. she means it in an entirely different, much deeper, meaning.
you don’t reply.
her brows tilt down, tears beginning to form as her body feels on fire. she’s not overcome with pure sadness, she’s frustrated. really fucking frustrated and confused and feeling alone with the feelings, wondering why you’re so calm— like you don’t care.
she thought you did, but she thinks lots of things about you. the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was mutual. you treated her like it was, you made her feel the most loved compared to everyone else in her life, because you knew the most.
the things that brought her joy, that you went out of your way to fill her life with.
a trading card from ebay. a vinyl she spoke about once. her gas station order after getting high together. the kindest things done with the purest intentions, and nothing more. she’s not ungrateful— she just doesn’t get it. she doesn’t want to.
“y-you can’t not feel something,” ellie sounds like she’s trying to convince you, stages of grief already settling inside her. denial, lots of it.
“ellie—” “you can’t.”
“i don’t,” you rush the words out, voice raising an almost unnoticeable level, but still makes ellie sink into her seat. those building tears are now free, a silent cry while she watches you, avoiding to look at her.
“i’m with abby,” you repeat, wondering why it feels like more of a reminder to yourself, than ellie. why it seems like a shield, protecting some sort of lie, or a truth. you take it further, “there was…never…anything between us…”
she talks beneath her breath, “fucking bullshit.”
“ellie.”
“you’re a liar,” ellie doesn’t care for the stern tone in which you spoke her name, a dark cloud of negative emotions hanging over her head. “she’s not fucking here and you’re trying to spare her feelings…what about me?”
you finally look at her, her glossy green eyes appearing so desperate. like you’re her life line. her heart in your hands. but you can’t give in, or give her what she’s yearning for. you cannot give yourself to ellie.
“you’re my best friend, ellie,” you say, watching whatever light leave her eyes at the comment, “and i love you…just not…”
you stop.
ellie holds her breath. a car honks in the distance. an intoxicated person shouts something inaudible. a chill from the cool wind seeps into her truck. the world is moving quickly while everything feels in slow motion for you. then she swallows thickly, “right.”
she wipes her tears, and you take off her jacket that was still on your body, holding it in your lap momentarily. your fingers trace the fabric, a small gulp before you speak in the quietest voice, “you should go…i need to get back before she gets mad.”
there’s a short, dry, scoff laugh from the girl beside you. “wouldn’t want that,” she mutters, “who would you run and cry to?”
there’s venom on her tongue that you’re not familiar with, hell, ellie doesn’t even know where it came from, biting her lip when you look at her with wide eyes; a cold stare that is equivalent to spitting in her face.
“i’m sorry—”
“i’ll tell them you were being stupid. they’ll forget about it next week.”
you had cut her off, a monotone voice that she despises. you open the car door, exiting despite ellie using your name, not wanting the night to end like this. the winter air sends chills down your spine, and yet it’s more comfortable than sharing the same space as ellie in her truck.
“y/n—”
“drive safe.”
her mouth hangs open, watching you shut the car door and walk away, no hesitation or looking back.
you return to the house, to your girlfriend, while she sits lonely in her pickup truck, not being able to turn on the engine. she can’t move. all she can do is cry; but she’s freezing and the tears feel like frost.
she wishes she had you to wipe them away, as she did for you.
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