#i can go one day without food feeling normal but then when I wake up on day 2 I am almost incapable of moving my body so yeah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mariamlovesyou · 1 year ago

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tuned into Plestia's live with Rahma Zein's second account (she got shadowbanned). key moments:

plestia talked about her adjustment to living in australia. "it's 1:30am now and it's normal for me and many palestinians who live abroad to be awake hours into the morning. i am scared of sleeping. because of the time difference, i'm scared if i sleep i will wake up to bad news. in gaza i was scared of the sound of the bombs, here i am scared of the quiet."

contacting family and friends in gaza is near impossible. "sometimes i feel like a crazy person, calling 20 times in a row hoping that on the 21st time the call might go through."

on the destruction of entire communities and neighbourhoods: "i'm scared when i go back to gaza i won't recognise it anymore. someone sent me a picture of my neighbourhood, and i couldn't tell it was mine at first. all my favourite places, cafes where the aunties used to give me extra food and ask about my day, have been destroyed. i dread looking at my gallery or seeing snapchat memories because most of these people in the pictures are no longer alive."

rahma asked plestia to talk about one story that stuck with her. plestia said "i remember walking one time on the 'safe corridor', that's what they called it anyway, and i saw an older woman clutching onto a donkey cart where her son's body was, refusing to let go of it. i asked my colleague what the smell was, he said it's dead bodies under the rubble. it was the first time i familiarised myself with the smell. the son's body was decaying and the woman told me about cats and animals eating away at it. i've had children talk to me about birds eating away at their parents' decomposing bodies and not being able to chase them away."

"it seems so silly to go to hospitals for minor sicknesses now. i can't even think about how many palestinian children are going to be terrified of hospitals now. there was a girl who was taken to the hospital to get treatment for injuries by one of the bombs, and while she was in the bathroom another bomb landed nearby. the impact from that sent the ceiling crashing down on her.. she got another injury while getting treated for her first one."

"i hate how people talk about our resilience - as if it's okay that this is happening to us. we are only surviving because we have to, because we have no other choice."

rahma brought up the way family homes are set up in palestine and asked plestia to elaborate. "basically, there are floors. someone will live on the ground floor, and then their married son lives with his children on the floor above them, and then their successors above them and so on. so when family homes are targeted, they wipe out entire families. many families officially no longer exist."

"i used to wear my journalist helmet and vest all the time, felt naked without it, even slept with the vest on sometimes until i realised it only made me more of a target. they didn't give me any protection, only headaches and back pain."

"i am an optimistic person, i loved covering sweet sentimental things, like at my graduation asking parents of top graduates how they feel about their children graduating. that's what i love reporting on. i wanted to cover things like that when i came back to gaza, show the beautiful side of gaza that the media didn't really show, but i didn't have the chance." "do you think they'll give you right of return?" "i can only hope."

plestia mentioned how hard it was being a journalist with limited access to the internet, charging facilities, no mics, lack of equipment and how difficult it was uploading things. rahma asked her what's one story that wasn't really recorded or posted due to these constraints; plestia said "the evacuations. sometimes they informed us about them, sometimes they didn't. you have no idea how hard it was, everyone looking for their family members, making sure every one was there, taking to the streets in 5 minutes and not knowing which way to go. i remember i went to my friend's house for shelter for 30 minutes before the first evacuation was announced and we ran to another family's house, stayed there for 2 days before another evacuation was announced. me, my friend, and that family all evacuated together to another family's house. there were already so many people there seeking shelter, it wasn't just one family staying there. none of us knew how long we had in any place."

before october 7th, palestinians were used to limitations on electricity. plestia used to plan her day's tasks around when the electricity was working. "for example when the electricity was on from 12 to 4, i would say i will do my laundry and charge the phones during this time. life wasn't exactly 'normal', but all of us pray to have those days back in comparison to what we are experiencing now." plestia also said that cars are running on cooking oil now because there is no fuel.

on hygiene: "many pregnant women have to give birth without any pain medication or medical attention. once we ran out of medicine, that was it. women who had to get C-sections couldn't stay to recover or get followup treatments because someone else needed the bed. we have no water, no tissues, no pads, barely any bathrooms. in the shelter schools you have to wait an hour before even getting to use the bathroom because of how many people are there."

"something you don't hear about is how many people die because of sadness. there's so many ways to die in gaza, because of the bombardment, because of starvation, the lack of resources, but i also know many elderly people who died because their hearts couldn't take it anymore. i have been in gaza before and lived through 4 aggressions, but nothing compared to this one."

a recurring sentiment that was echoed in the video: "sometimes i thought to myself: who am i recording this for? because we've already shown everything, we've already talked about everything. everything has already been said, the proof is everywhere, nothing i talked about today is new." rahma said the first video posted about what's happening in palestine should've been enough.

she is 22 today. plestia's closing words: don't stop talking about us, don't stop boycotting, don't stop protesting, please don't get bored of fighting for palestine.

#this is all off the top of my head if i remember other key points i will add them

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innerfare · 3 months ago

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I Love You - Part 1

Summary: Who says I love you first? How do you say it?

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

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Luffy: He showed it first, asking you to join his crew, making sure you had a safe and healthy place to be yourself, fighting anyone who stands between you and your dreams, saving his funniest jokes until you're around to hear and giggle at them, even going so far as to share a little (really, only a little) bit of his meal with you, but you were the only who actually said it first. He gets severely injured after a nasty fight, and you stay by his side while he sleeps it off like he normally does, though it takes him longer than usual to wake up. When he does finally wake up looking for you and something to eat, you fling yourself on him and tell him how much you love him. You didn’t intend on confessing, but you were so worried about him and the words fell from your lips as soon as you knew he was okay. Your brows are still furrowed, and when Luffy asks why, you voice your insecurity that he doesn't feel the same way. Luffy just laughs at that and ruffles your hair. “Of course I do.” With that, he crawls out of bed in search of food. He quickly falls into the habit of telling you in the morning when you wake up, and it fills you with so much joy, it’s like he’s giving you a happy vitamin to start your day. And saying those words bring him so much joy that saying them is like he's taking a happy vitamin, too.

Zoro: To your surprise, it was Zoro who said it first. Though Zoro seems the type to bottle up his emotions, he’s actually not, he just doesn’t seem emotional because he’s really good at dealing with his shit. And he knows all too well how temporary arrangements can be, how quickly life can be snuffed out, how easily the people he loves and cares about can be taken away from him. So one late night when he’s alone in the shower, washing his hair (using Nami's expensive shampoo and conditioner because she left it in the shower and Zoro just uses whatever's within his reach) and thinking about you, he realizes how he feels, and he doesn’t even consider not telling you. He climbs into bed afterward in just his boxer briefs, his hair still damp and smelling extra good, shakes you awake, kisses you a few times, and mutters that he loves you in your ear before passing out, not even waiting for you to say it back. He doesn’t say it often after that because he doesn’t thinks actions matter more than words, but he always says it when one of you is injured or after an argument.

Sanji: Sanji technically confesses first, but you’re the one who actually says those three words. He’s holding your hand in both of his, clutching it close to his racing heart, as he looks down at you, telling you all the ways you make his life better, all the things he’s looking forward to doing with you, all the energy he’s going to put into keeping you happy, healthy, and safe. And the words just sort of fall from your lips. He stops mid sentence, eyes wide and mouth open. The seconds drag on in silence before he’s pulling your lips to his. Both of you are very generous with these three words, saying them often and in public. If you ever hang up the transponder snail without telling him you love him, he’s calling you right back to make sure everything is alright. (Also, not really relevant, might do a separate post about this, but Sanji is definitely a heart-shaped jewelry sort of guy. He just is. Certified lover boy.)

Ace: Your first, more implicit confession came one night before you two were ever in a relationship. You noticed he was a little off and saw him slip away from the crew as they were drinking the night away. You found him sulking by the water and sensed he was hurting, especially when you asked to say and he told you he’d rather be alone. Before you leave, you tell him, “I just wanted you to know that I’m happy you’re alive.” You had no idea that it would strike a nerve, just got the feeling he needed to hear it, and this was confirmed by him grabbing you by the wrist as you walk away and pulling you into his arms. You continue finding implicit ways to tell him you love him such as, “I think the world is a better place with you in it,” and, “I’m so glad you were born,” and Ace is never really sure how to respond, but he soaks your words up like they’re sunlight and he’s a plant. This culminates in him blurting those three words out one day when you’re sitting in a tree together, Ace avoiding your eyes for fear you’ll reject him. When you lean in and kiss his cheek, instead, he almost cries (and he does when he’s alone later on, your love the purest thing he’s ever known).

Sabo: Sabo is always taking risks. He lives a dangerous lifestyle as the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army, and on top of being one of the most wanted criminals in the world, he is an incredibly reckless individual who thrives when his life his threatened. He does not, however, thrive when your life is threatened. So accustomed to being the one others are fretting over, so used to Koala telling him off for taking this risk or making that dumb decision, he is completely blindsided by the anxiety he experiences when he finds out you’ve been captured. Naturally he launches a rescue attempt, and when it succeeds, he wraps you in his arms and tells you how much he loves you. He always makes sure to say it after that, telling you in the morning when you wake up and at night when you go to bed together, the memory of not having you there to hear it all too fresh.

Law: Law is pretty bad with words, and, for lack of a better term, he sort of lacks a bedside manner. Needless to say, this carries over into other aspects of his life, including his love life (or lack thereof; Law has little to no experience in this arena). One afternoon, though, the two of you are fighting because you want to accompany Law somewhere and he insists it’s too dangerous despite all of your qualifications and skills as a fighter. You keep pressing and pressing, demanding to know why he won’t let you go when you are perfectly capable, until finally he blurts it out. “I love you! Alright? And I won’t lose you.” You aren’t even in any sort of relationship at that point, the two of you just sort of stewing in unresolved tension. His irate confession is the tipping point, and you become an item after that. When you hear it from him after that, it’s always in private, usually in the late hours of the night when he slips into bed and buries his face in your neck. Other times, it’s when you two pass each other in the hallway aboard the Polar Tang and he catches your hand in his, placing a warm kiss on your knuckles, muttering the words, and moving along quickly for fear someone might see despite the entire crew knowing about your relationship.

Kid: You say it first. You say it a couple of times, actually, before you ever hear it back. You’re sitting in his workshop watching him build something, and you just sort of blurt the words out. You swear Kid hesitates before picking up the next piece of metal, but he gives no real acknowledgment you uttered those three words. Knowing exactly the sort of man he is and not expecting to receive anything in return, just wanting him to know how you feel in the moment, you aren’t actually offended, but you are wondering if he didn’t hear you. So, the next day in his workshop, you say it again, once more receiving no response. The third time you say it to him, catching him while he’s painting his nails, you receive a grunt in response (Kid is a man of grunts, not a man of words). Only in the heat of battle do you hear it back. He catches you around the waist and picks you up, and you fight thinking it’s an enemy, only for him to say, “I love you,” in your ear before deflecting a canon ball headed straight for the two of you and then setting you on your feet like nothing happened. From that point forward, he’ll say it, but only at inopportune times.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

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theplotdemandsit · 5 months ago

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When Five finally makes it back home with his siblings, finally makes it back to the right timeline, he finds he’s still holding his breath.

“Is it really over?” He thinks out loud.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” comes Luther’s response.

So they do. And everything seems…normal?

But as much as Five wants to sleep for ten days straight, he can’t help but feel on edge. He spends his time visiting each sibling, popping in for dinners or briefly making sure they haven’t felt anything out of the ordinary. One day Allison asks him if he actually wants there to be an approaching apocalypse. His eyes fall onto Claire who’s catching him up on High School Musical the Musical the Series.

“No,” he answers. “I really don’t.”

They make time for family dinners every Sunday. They still bicker and maybe swing some fists every now and then, but everyone is fast to apologize and laugh again. With room to breathe again without high stakes, the hurt finally begins to heal. They had been family before, but it slowly begins to feel like a real family.

And for the first time, they really get to know each other. For all the crap they gave Luther about the moon, they listen as he shares the misery and loneliness and betrayal he felt. Allison describes her time as a Black woman in the 60s without her voice. Literally. Viktor tells them about what it was like growing up powerless only to end the world twice. How he lost his memory and found the one he loved only to lose that too.

Klaus manifests Ben (who is still a ghost but as alive as he could get) and together they tell of their adventures growing up and the cult Klaus accidentally created. In between laughs, they also learn about Klaus’s harrowing experiences with drugs and death.

And Five? He has over 40 years of stories, and at first he doesn’t want to share any of it. His time in the Apocalypse, his time in the Commission, murdering for the sole purpose of survival in order to get back to his family—it’s not a side to him he wants his family to know about.

But at the same time for reasons he can’t explain, he does want them to know. For the first time, he wants to talk to his family, the family he worked tirelessly to save.

Little by little, he does just that. Every now and then he will start a sentence with, “Back in the Apocalypse…,” during dinner or his visits with them. Silly ones at first, like the time he had the nasty Twinkie. The time he sang all the Beatles songs he could remember and pretended he was having a concert. The time he found Umbrella Academy action figures and reenacted missions with them.

When it’s just him and another sibling, he starts sharing some of the hard stuff too.

He tells Allison how he starved during his first winter alone and hallucinated that she had helped him find food. When he woke up he found himself in a storage house full of canned goods and bawled his eyes out.

He tells Diego about the first time he killed someone. How the scariest thing was that he wasn’t shaking.

He tells Viktor how he sometimes still wonders if he deserves everything he got for messing with time in the first place. How he’s afraid that one of these days he’ll wake up and be alone again.

He tells Klaus about the time he thought about giving up and ending it all.

He tells Luther about Dolores. About how even though he knew he was crazy for talking to a mannequin, Dolores was the better part of him that salvaged his sanity.

He tells Ben (and Klaus, by default) that his biggest regret is not being there. That he tries not to think about how things might have been different if he’d stayed.

Slowly, slowly, bit by bit, the tension eases from his shoulders. He stops worrying so much about the world ending and how to keep everyone alive. Instead, he spends his time going to the park with Claire, helping Diego and Lila with the babies, having midnight food outings with Klaus, and listening to Viktor play his music.

At their weekly family dinner, Luther tells Five he has a present for him and pulls out a box of Twinkies, saying, “I know you want to try one.”

Five gives him a practiced glare and says, “I would rather swim in a pot of boiling oil.”

Before, his family might have stared at him like he grew two heads, but now they laugh and think his retort is hilarious. Luther opens the box and pulls out a bag of marshmallows instead, and Five can’t help but crack a smile.

One day they ask him what his plans are—what’s next for the oldest sibling.

Five warms his hands on a hot mug of coffee. “I’m tired of thinking about the future,” he tells them. “Right now, I just want to spend time with my family.”

That earns him plenty of “aww”s and “You’re such a softie, Five.” He waves them away and tries to duck out of their hugs, but they get him in the end. And even if he could teleport, he doesn’t want to.

He hadn’t been looking for happy, but he found it anyway.

Now cross-posted on Ao3 under the same handle!

#this is what I wanted #They deserve to be happy #and heal #I wrote this cause I'm upset about S4 #diego and lila are happily married #thank you very much #fix it fic #the umbrella academy #I like ghost ben #tua season 4 #five hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #luther hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus hargreeves

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hyunniesgirl · 11 months ago

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My cat likes you

Pairing: Lee Know x gn!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: your cat is behaving strangely lately and a walk outside your apartment shows you exactly why.

Warnings: none

A/N: I saw a video on Instagram with a cat rubbing on the floor when they saw a cute guy and I was like "why is this so Lee Know coded?" And had to make something like that with him heheheh

It's been a few days since your cat started behaving strangely, she'll wake you up early in the morning meowing at your room’s door. At first you thought she did that because she was hungry, but when you put food in her bowl she ignores it and keeps meowing.

You realized then, that she wanted you to follow her as she twirled and rubbed on the floor. She would wait for you at the door and would keep scratching it, waiting for you to open it.

“It's too early for a walk, Bo-mi”, you tell her, shaking your head and turning around, going back to your bed to try and sleep a little bit more before work.

She keeps insisting on the early morning walks, but you don't give in, you can't have her get used to going out when it's still time for you to be sleeping.

After a few days, Bo-mi starts having that same behavior late at night, when you are already in bed, ready to go to sleep. She meows for minutes straight until you get up and walk with her to the door.

“Bo-mi, we can't go out now, I'm already in my pjs”, you sigh, patting her. But she keeps scratching the door and meowing for you to go out. “Tomorrow is Friday, okay? So I can stay up late to take you out for a walk”, you tell her before going back to your room.

You spend the next day trying to figure out why she's acting this way. You think about the possibility of her being sick, but she's eating and drinking water normally and she's sleeping the same amount as she always did. Her last check up wasn't even two months ago, even so, you should definitely make an appointment with the veterinarian.

You arrive at home and Bo-mi comes running to you, purring and rubbing herself on you. After you pet her, she goes back to the couch, getting comfortable there again, she doesn't even try to go to the door. Why does she just want to go out when it's late? Or early in the morning? It’s just strange.

Thinking too much about it won't help you find out what's going on, so you give up on the thoughts and just go to the bathroom to take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes since you have to take the lady of the house for a walk in a few hours.

Everything kind of makes sense when you open the door and Bo-mi goes running to the corridor, however, she stops at your neighbor's door, sniffing a bit. The sound of the elevator takes you out of your thoughts and your cat walks in that direction finding a strange man coming out of the elevator.

He looks at her and smiles, trying to go past her but she throws herself in the ground, showing her belly to him and rubbing herself on the floor.

Before you can speak, the guy bends down, petting and making her meow. You look at your watch to see that he's arriving at the exact time that Bo-mi tries going out every night. The weirdest thing is that she hates strangers, especially men.

“I’m sorry”, you finally get out of your head to say something, “she has been acting strangely lately”

“It's okay”, he says, without looking at you. Hypnotized by your cat's little meows and cuteness. “I actually saw her on the balcony one of these days, but couldn't pet her because of the distance”, he chuckles. “What's her name?”

He finally looks at you when asking that and for a moment it seems like the world stops for the both of you. He's the most handsome man you have ever seen in your entire life, with cute boba eyes and an innocent look.

“It's Bo-mi”, you tell him, feeling your cheeks a bit warm.

He clears his throat, petting your cat for the last time before standing up again, fixing his clothes. He didn't look at you at first, but you are so pretty it actually left him speechless and that is a hard thing to achieve. He was even going to make a joke about cats, but couldn't even manage to get that out while looking at your face.

“I'm sorry to ask, but do you also go out around five a.m.?” You ask out of nowhere, making him look at you suspiciously.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I think my cat is in love with you”, you tell him, pointing at Bo-mi, rubbing herself on his legs. “She always tries to go out around five in the morning or at this time of the night, I guess she wanted to see you again”

You really understand Bo-mi on that, you would also want to see him everyday if you had the chance.

“Oh”, he smiles, “I'm Minho by the way, I moved here two weeks ago”, he says pointing to his apartment.

“I'm y/n”, you give your hand for him to shake, “I know it's weird to ask this, but can I bring her out sometimes so she can see you?” You ask, shyly, making Minho chuckle.

“Yeah”, he nods, “maybe you can also meet my cats”, he says, feeling his ears warming up. “I mean, in a housewarming party, of course”, he completes.

“I would love that”, you smile and he feels like he could melt just with that, “I'll take her home now”, you catch Bo-mi in your arms even though she struggles to get out of your grasp and go back to Minho, “I'll wait excitedly to meet your cats”

Minho watches you go into your apartment, waving to him before closing the door. Now, how the hell does a housewarming party even work?

#lee know scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know x y/n #lee know x you #lee know x reader #stray kids lee know #skz lee know #lee know scenario #lee know imagine #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #k-labels #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #lee know fluff

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meazalykov · 13 days ago

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the season to (not) be jolly

barcelona femeni x esmee brugts x reader

summary: you hated christmas, and your teammates figure out why

warnings: childhood neglect, trauma, angst, financial poverty, etc

the excitement rings through the barca locker room like electricity, bouncing off the walls and between your teammates.

the holiday break is just around the corner, only one training session and ninety minutes of football separating everyone from flights to faraway places like back home, home-cooked meals, and quality time with loved ones that only get to see them from the stands at important games.

it is a cheerful chaos—laughter echoing, jokes being thrown back and forth, and plans being laid out like promises.

"we’ll be in norway,” mapi grins, slinging her arm around ingrid as she sits beside her.

“ingrid’s parents already have the cabin ready. a real winter wonderland, i shall say.”

“it’ll be nice to be home,” ingrid adds softly, her smile as calm and steady as always.

you sit at your locker, head tilted down as you lace your boots, pretending to be engrossed in the task as their words float around you.

it feels safer to keep your eyes on your hands, watching how your fingers move—pull, tighten, tie. over and over again. anything to distract yourself from the sting in your chest.

you feel it every december. that heaviness. that punching ache in your ribs when people start talking about their families, their holiday traditions, and their childhood memories.

you can’t relate. you never could.

to your left, keira and lucy are chatting animatedly about spending christmas in england, lucy teasing ona about the inevitable cold since ona will be going with her. to your right, patri and claudia are arguing over who will get more gifts from their loved ones, both wearing matching grins as they playfully push on each other.

but you? you just exist in the in-between, silent, invisible.

the noise grows louder. the locker room feels smaller. your throat tightens, that familiar burn rising behind your eyes. you push it away. this is not the time to fall apart.

alexia’s voice cuts through the chatter again, light and teasing as she looks ahead at you.

“nina, you’ve been quiet. what about you? where are you headed this christmas?”

you freeze for half a second. it’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, but the question lingers in the air like a heavy fog. you glance up, forcing your expression into something neutral—something safe.

“nowhere special,” you say with a small shrug, trying to keep your voice steady.

“just staying here at home. might catch up on needed sleep without needing to wake up for training.”

“no plans with family?” mapi asks, brows furrowing slightly.

you hate that. you hate when people ask about your family. after leaving your home to live in paris, where you played for a season and a half with psg (before leaving when the barcelona offer came up in 2021), you stopped talking to your mother who wanted nothing to do with you.

your answer has never changed, and yet, every time it feels like a fresh wound being prodded.

“yeah,” you mutter, looking back down at your laces.

“just after christmas though.”

thankfully, mapi doesn’t press further. her attention shifts back to ingrid as she brings up the norwegian christmas markets, and you’re left to sink back into your silence, drowning in it.

you look over at the corner of the locker room to see esmee, your girlfriend, looking right at you. jana sits beside her, laughing about a joke sydney made while esmee notices the sadness in your eyes.

the look in your eyes can be hidden from the team, but you can’t hide it from esmee.

she notices—of course she does—because she knows you better than anyone, even after just eight months of being together. normally, you’re her sunshine, a steady source of warmth no matter what the day brings.

you’re the first to crack a joke after a tough training session, the one to steal food off her plate at team dinners just to see her roll her eyes, the one who sneaks kisses when no one’s looking and holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

but now? now you’re quieter, smaller. you smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and your laughter sounds hollow when it finally comes.

“i don’t have to go, you know,” she told you last week as you sit together on the couch, her thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of your hand.

“i can stay here with you.”

you shake your head almost immediately, forcing a smile as you press a kiss to her knuckles.

“no, es, you should go. your family wants to see you. they miss you.”

you don’t tell her the rest—that you don’t want her anywhere near the dark place that december always drags you into. she’s too bright, too good, to get caught up in the emptiness you feel during this time of year. so you push her away gently, telling her you’ll be fine, that you’ll call her every day and send pictures of maple– your cat— curled up at the foot of the bed.

esmee doesn’t look convinced. she squeezes your hand tighter, leaning her forehead against yours.

“you’re not fine,” she whispers, eyes searching yours.

“i am, esmee.” you say.

you’re just tired, you convince yourself. however, the words stick in your throat because you know she won’t believe them. this is the first december you’ve spent together, the first time she’s seen you like this, and it terrifies you—being vulnerable in front of someone you care about so much.

you’ve always hated christmas. as a kid, it was just another reminder of everything you didn’t have. no presents waiting under a tree. no stockings hung by the fire. no warm meals shared at a crowded table.

instead, you had an empty house, cold and quiet.

your mom always worked. always. christmas, birthdays, weekends—it didn’t matter. “we need the money,” she’d say coldly, pulling her coat on as she hurried out the door, leaving you behind.

sometimes, she’d forget it was even christmas until days later.

“we’ll celebrate next year,” she’d promise. but next year never came.

you can still remember what it felt like to see the other kids at your academy, showing off their shiny new boots, their expensive kits, their gear from nike or adidas. their parents would stand proudly by the sidelines, bundled up in warm coats, smiling as they cheered.

then there was you, wearing a pair of cleats one size too big—scuffed, worn, bought secondhand with the crumpled euro bills you’d earned from mowing lawns or shoveling snow after training each afternoon. you’d tuck your hands into the pockets of your thrift-store jacket to hide the holes in the seams.

your academy teammates didn’t know how lucky they were.

you hated them for it, sometimes. hated their laughter, their joy, their easy lives. mostly, you hated yourself for feeling like you didn’t belong. for being the girl who showed up every day with nothing to show for it but grit, raw talent, and determination.

now, years later, that feeling lingers.

you’ve worked hard—harder than anyone—to get here. to wear the barcelona crest on your chest. to play alongside some of the best players in the world. to prove to yourself, and to everyone else, that you deserve this.

no matter how much success you achieve, no matter how many goals you score or games you win, you can’t outrun the past.

christmas will always be a reminder of what you never had.

you pull your boots off, methodical and slow, as the locker room continues to cheer around you. your teammates don’t notice the way your shoulders slump or how you turn away slightly, shielding your face.

“hey,” a voice says quietly beside you. it’s aitana, sitting beside you since her locker is beside yours. her tone is softer than usual, like she’s noticed something.

“you okay?”

you nod quickly, too quickly.

“yeah. just tired.”

she doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. aitana never does. she just nods and goes back to her boots, letting the moment pass without making it heavier than it already is.

you’re grateful for that.

you finish changing, moving through the motions on autopilot, your mind elsewhere. the noise in the room feels muffled, like you’re underwater, and when you finally leave the locker room, stepping out into the cold december air in your new training gear, you inhale sharply—like you’ve been holding your breath all along.

the sun is already setting as you leave training hours later, streaks of orange and pink blending with the darkening sky. your breath comes out in clouds as you walk toward your car, hands stuffed deep into your coat pockets.

you stare at the horizon for a moment, watching the city lights flicker to life in the distance. it’s beautiful, you think absently. and yet, it makes you feel so small.

tomorrow, the break begins. your teammates along with your girlfriend will board flights, heading off to homes filled with warmth, love, and laughter.

and you? you’ll stay here. alone.

you’ve grown used to loneliness over the years. it’s familiar. like an old coat you can’t bring yourself to throw away.

that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

you sit in your car for a long time before starting the engine, the radio playing faintly in the background. a christmas song—cheerful and bright—fills the silence, and you quickly shut it off, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

you hate christmas. you hate the way it makes you feel. like you’re still that little girl, watching the world through a window, longing for something you’ll never have.

turning on the radio, you hear, “walking around the christmas tr–” before slamming your fingers on the mute button. there was no christmas tree in your apartment, nothing in your space shows that it is even december.

not like alexia’s apartment that clearly shows that is is the holiday season. the scent of cinnamon candles and fresh pine greet esmee like a warm hug as she visits alexia.

soft music plays from a speaker in the corner, and the living room is an organized mess of wrapping paper, ribbon spools, and tape dispensers scattered across the coffee table.

“es!” mapi’s voice is the first to cut through the scene, grinning up from where she’s sitting on the floor, tape stuck to her sleeve.

“about time you showed up. come help me wrap ingrid’s gift before she figures out what it is.”

“you’re impossible,” ingrid mutters beside her, laughing as she ties a bow on someone else’s gift. maybe vicky’s since esmee saw the ipad that the younger girl asked for.

esmee smiles at the couple teasing eachother, kicking her shoes off and settling onto the floor, careful not to disrupt the organized chaos. across the room, olga – alexia’s girlfriend – sits on the couch beside alexia, scissors in hand as she trims the edges of wrapping paper, while salma sprawls nearby, half her attention on the gift she’s wrapping and half on her phone.

“is mine here?” esmee teases after a moment, eyes narrowing playfully at the pile of brightly wrapped boxes beside alexia.

“it’s already done,” alexia replies without looking up, focused on folding the paper perfectly around a large box.

“you’re not getting any sneak peeks until new year’s eve like everyone else.”

“como no,” esmee groans dramatically, earning a laugh from salma and mapi. she leans back on her hands, soaking in the cheerful atmosphere for a moment, but the weight in her chest pulls her down before she can fully enjoy it.

the smile fades from her face, and her gaze drops to her lap.

“what’s wrong?” alexia asks, finally noticing the shift in her demeanor.

esmee hesitates, chewing her bottom lip. “it’s... about y/n.”

the room quiets slightly, everyone’s attention turning toward her. mapi raises an eyebrow, already halfway to smirking as she leans into ingrid.

“trouble in paradise?”

“no, no,” esmee says quickly, shaking her head.

“it’s nothing like that.”

olga sets down her scissors, studying esmee carefully.

“then what’s wrong?”

esmee swallows hard, fiddling with the corner of a ribbon.

“i feel like... i need to stay in barcelona for the holidays. with y/n. she’s—she’s going to be alone.”

alexia frowns slightly, confused.

“no, she’s not. she told me she’s going to see her mom and family eventually.”

esmee’s heart sinks, her brows furrowing as she glances up at alexia. “that’s not true,” she says softly, shaking her head. “she hasn’t spoken to her family in nearly five years.”

silence falls over the room like a heavy blanket. alexia looks stunned, her brow creasing deeply as she processes esmee’s words. salma sets her phone down, staring in disbelief, while mapi and ingrid exchange quiet glances.

“she told you that?” alexia asks carefully, her voice softer now.

“yeah,” esmee nods, her voice steady but heavy with concern.

“she doesn’t want anyone to know. i think—i think she told you that lie so you wouldn’t feel bad for her. she hates christmas. she’s always hated it. i don’t know why, but i can assume that it has to do with her family.”

“joder,” mapi mutters under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck.

“y/n’s gonna be alone? she didn’t tell anyone?”

“she wouldn’t,” esmee says, guilt rising in her chest as she looks around at them.

“she acts like everything’s fine, but it’s not.”

ingrid exhales slowly, her face softening with quiet understanding. “we can’t just leave her like this,” she says firmly.

“esmee’s right—she shouldn’t be alone.”

“what do you suggest?” alexia asks, her voice sharper now, edged with determination.

“we go to her,” mapi says immediately, pushing herself to her feet as if the decision is already made.

“right now. if she won’t talk to us, we’ll make her.”

“she’s going to hate me,” esmee says quietly, worry flickering across her face as she stands, too.

“she doesn’t want anyone to know. she’s going to be so upset that i brought you all into this.”

alexia crosses the room in a few strides, stopping in front of esmee and placing a hand on her shoulder. her expression is calm but resolute, a quiet authority in the way she looks at her.

“she won’t be upset at you,” alexia says firmly. “i won’t let her be.”

esmee lets out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as the others begin to gather their things. the cheerful hum of the evening is gone now, replaced by a silent determination that hangs thick in the air. alexia is the first to head for the door, already pulling on her coat, and one by one, the others follow—mapi, ingrid, olga, salma.

as esmee pulls her own coat on, she sends up a silent hope that you will understand. she knows how fiercely you guard your heart, how much you hates people seeing the parts of yourself that are broken.

esmee also knows that you deserve more than an empty apartment and silence on christmas day.

back to you– the steam still lingers faintly in your bathroom, curling around the doorframe as you pad out into your apartment, feeling the lingering warmth of your everything shower settle into your skin. your matching red plaid pajamas feel soft and clean, clinging to you in that perfect way that only comes after freshly washed laundry.

you won’t admit to anyone that the red plaid feels a little festive—that maybe, on some level, you allowed yourself to indulge in something resembling the season.

your hair is pulled back in a loose, low braid, wisps escaping around your face, and your apartment is spotless. floors vacuumed, counters wiped down, blankets folded neatly on the couch. if you couldn’t have christmas, the least you could do was make sure the space felt fresh and ready for the new year. clean, organized, empty. just like you wanted it.

you hum quietly as you step into the kitchen, reaching for the bowl of fruit on the counter. you’d planned to snack a little while watching a movie tonight, something non-festive—maybe a thriller like friday the 13th– anything that didn’t mention families or magic or joy.

before your hands can reach the fruit bowl, there’s a knock at your door.

you frown slightly, the sound cutting through the quiet apartment like an unexpected jolt. you assume it’s esmee—she’d mentioned she might come by to say goodbye before she left for the netherlands in the morning.

“coming,” you call softly, feet shuffling toward the door.

when you swing it open, your breath catches in your chest.

standing in the hallway, crammed into the small space outside your apartment, are esmee, mapi, ingrid, alexia, salma, and olga. esmee stands closest to the door, just beside mapi, her expression tinged with worry that makes your stomach turn.

everyone else has the same look—soft, cautious, and far too knowing.

“what’s—” you start, forcing a smile to smooth over your features.

“what are you all doing here?”

“surprise?” mapi tries, her voice lighter than the rest, but even she falters when your eyes narrow slightly in confusion.

“can we come in?” alexia asks softly, her tone careful.

you nod slowly, stepping aside to let them file in one by one. salma gives you a small smile as she passes, and olga pulls you into a quick hug—her familiar warmth a brief comfort.

“it’s good to see you,” she says, and you force another smile, nodding.

“you too. it’s been a while.”

as the door clicks shut and you turn back to face them, the knot in your chest tightens. their expressions don’t match their usual energy—not the teasing, playful banter you’re used to. instead, they’re quiet, gentle. worried.

“is everything okay?” you ask, scanning the room as they settle awkwardly around your small living space. you go on sit on your grey colored sectional couch as everyone follows you.

alexia is the first to speak.

“y/n... are you really going to see your family this year?”

the question hits you like a punch to the gut. your heart drops, and your eyes immediately dart to esmee, who looks at you apologetically. you don’t even need to say it—your expression screams ��did you tell them?”

esmee shifts slightly, opening her mouth to speak, but mapi cuts in before she can.

“she can’t save you from this conversation,” mapi says gently, though there’s no humor in her voice.

“we know you lied.”

you take a small step back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “i’m fine,” you say quickly, the words rushing out before you can think.

“i don’t have christmas plans, and that’s okay.”

“it’s not okay,” ingrid says firmly, her voice soft but resolute.

“y/n, it’s clearly not fine.”

you feel the walls closing in, your heart pounding in your chest. the room feels too small, the air too thick. flight or fight mode kicks in—you want to run, to get away from their prying eyes and gentle words that feel like they’re picking you apart piece by piece.

“there’s nothing wrong,” you stammer, shaking your head as you back toward the couch.

“i don’t know what you’re all talking about. i’m fine—”

“hey,” esmee’s voice cuts through the panic, soft but steady, and when you look at her, the tension eases ever so slightly.

“it’s okay. nobody here is judging you, okay? you’re safe. you’re not in trouble for lying to ale.”

her words ground you enough to sit down, curling into the corner of your couch. you hug your knees to your chest, wishing you could shrink into yourself, disappear completely.

you don’t want to be here, in this moment, with all their eyes on you.

“i just hate how everyone gets to have a good holiday except me,” you mumble, the words spilling out before you can stop them. your voice wavers, cracking slightly as the truth seeps through the cracks in your armor.

ingrid is the first to move, crossing the room to sit beside you. she doesn’t say anything—just wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you gently. olga comes next, kneeling on the floor beside the couch and resting a hand on your arm.

“what do you mean by that?” olga asks softly, her voice a careful whisper.

alexia moves to sit in front of you, dropping to her knees so she can look up into your face. her expression is open and kind, patient in the way only alexia can be.

“what happened, y/n?”

you close your eyes tightly, your fingers digging into your knees as you try to fight back the sting of tears. you don’t want to tell them. you don’t want anyone to know. but the words are already there, clawing their way out, demanding to be heard.

“i never had christmas, my birthday afterwards did not seem important either..” you whisper finally, your voice so small it’s almost lost to the room.

“i don’t even know what the happy feeling is supposed to feel like.”

alexia’s brow furrows, and mapi leans forward, her voice quiet but gentle.

“can you explain?”

you take a shaky breath, the air trembling as it leaves your lungs.

“growing up... it was just me and my mom. we didn’t have money for christmas. no tree, no presents, nothing. she worked all the time—she had to. bills came first. even with that, she was never nice to me. she made it seem like i was asking for too much.”

your throat tightens, but you force yourself to keep going, to let it out.

“when i was in the academy, all the other kids would come back after christmas with new cleats, new gear, new jerseys. i’d still be in hand-me-downs from thrift stores. i’d use money i got from doing yard work to buy boots that were a size too big to make sure i could fit in them for a few seasons– because it was all i could afford.”

the room is silent as you speak, the weight of your words settling over everyone like a blanket. ingrid’s arm tightens around you, and olga gently rubs your arm as tears sting the corners of your eyes.

“i hated it,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“i hated watching everyone else have families, have traditions, have... love. i hated feeling like i did something wrong, like i wasn’t good enough to deserve it.”

you bury your face in your knees, unable to look at them. your shoulders shake slightly as you try to keep yourself together, but the truth is out now, raw and ugly, and you feel exposed in a way that terrifies you.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” esmee says softly, sitting on the floor beside alexia now.

“none of that was your fault, y/n.”

you don’t respond, but the tears slip free, hot and silent against your skin. you feel alexia’s hand settle on your knee, grounding you, and ingrid presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“it’s not fair,” you whisper.

“it’s not fair that everyone else gets to be happy except me.”

“but you deserve to be happy, too,” alexia says gently, her voice firm with conviction.

“you deserve love, and joy, and traditions, just like everyone else.”

“we can’t change your childhood,” salma adds softly.

“but we can change this year and every year after this one.”

you lift your head slightly, looking at her through blurry eyes.

“what do you mean?”

“you’re not spending christmas alone,” ingrid says simply, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“none of us are going to let that happen.”

“you’ll come with me and olga,” alexia says.

“we’re having dinner with her family on christmas eve, and you’re coming. no arguments.”

“and before you say no,” olga adds quickly, smirking slightly, “it’s not a pity invite. it’s a ‘we want you there because we care about you’ invite.”

you look around the room, at all of them—esmee, alexia, mapi, ingrid, olga, salma. their faces are open, kind, and so full of love that it makes your chest ache.

“you don’t have to do this,” you say quietly, but esmee shakes her head.

“we want to,” she says softly.

“you’re not alone anymore, y/n. you have us now, you have me.”

something shifts in your chest at her words, the weight you’ve been carrying for years lifting

you don’t know what christmas will feel like this year, but maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so bad.

esmee shifts beside you, reaching for your hand, threading her fingers through yours as you lay your head on her chest. her touch is soft, steady, and when you glance at her, you see something unwavering in her eyes—love, determination, all of it laid bare.

“i’m staying in barcelona,” she says quietly, her voice gentle but firm.

your brows furrow immediately, and you sit up slightly.

“esmee, you don’t have to—”

“no,” she cuts you off, shaking her head with a small smile.

“i’ve already decided. my family is coming here instead on the day after christmas. we’ll celebrate together, and you’ll be with us.”

you open your mouth to protest again, the instinct to push her away rising, but before you can say anything, alexia’s voice chimes in, calm and final.

“again, that’s not up for debate,” she says softly, kneeling back onto the floor to look at you, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“you’re family to us, y/n. esmee’s family loves you just as much as we do. and that’s final.”

you glance back at esmee, your heart tightening, your walls cracking just a little more as her thumb rubs soothing circles over your knuckles.

“you’re not alone anymore,” she says again, her voice barely above a whisper.

“this year, you’ll have a real christmas. with me. with my family. with our family.”

you stare at her for a moment, overwhelmed by the weight of her words, by the love in her gaze that feels so foreign yet so familiar all at once.

"okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as the beginnings of a smile tug at your lips.

“okay.”

esmee leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as alexia gives your knee one last reassuring squeeze. the rest of the room seems to exhale in relief, the energy softening into something warm and safe, like a blanket wrapping around you.

for the first time in years, you let yourself believe it.

you’re not alone.

and this year, christmas will be different.

masterlist

#barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #esmee brugts #alexia putellas #aitana bonmati #mapi leon #ingrid engen #salma paralluelo #olga rios

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dinogoofymutated · 9 months ago

Note

ik you just wrote for Kurt but if I could request some sfw headcanons for him? 👉🏽👈🏽 he'd be such a cuddly man especially with that tail of his

Sfw! Nightcrawler/GN!Reader

YES OFC!!! I was just thinking about this !! With how cuddly he was in the latest episode it had me all giddy and shit AAUGHH!! THIS MAN!!!

I also may or may not have gotten carried away with the fic half of this because I'm actually in love with him.

-Ps- @bl1ngringz You sent an ask for more Kurt, and I'm working on more but I figured I'd tag you in this one!

TWs: none that I can think of atm.

Touch is 100% one of Kurt’s love languages. If you're close to him, he's going to be touching you in one way or another

He really likes to wrap his tail around your waist to pull you closer to him, and it's always surprising because how is his tail that strong?? The sensation of his tail being wrapped around you in one shape or form starts to become such a comforting sensation.

If you're anxious and picking and your fingers in a social situation, he'll take hold of your hand and press a kiss to your palm, and if you're less comfortable with pda, he'll snake his tail in between your hands instead. Afterwards he always checks your hands and cuticles, just in case.

Sometimes he'll have really rough days and will just really need you to hold him. He'll teleport you out of your office if he feels like you've been gone too long and he starts to worry about you. It's surprising at first, but you quickly get over it when the furball snuggles into you, quietly pouting about how long you've been gone. It's easy to tell other things are on his mind, but you know he enjoys the silence when you choose not to press him, and simply hold him tightly.

Kurt isn't just a cuddle bug. He's a cuddle MONSTER. On the couch? He'll plop down on top of you, falling asleep on you like a cat who only ever manages to fall asleep right when you need to pee. In bed? Again, no pee breaks. He usually has such a tight grip on you, only able to fall asleep buried in your arms. It doesn't matter how hot it is, if you roll away he'll feel bad. He knows you don't hate him and that you're just moving in your sleep but :( come back. He can't sleep without you!

You wouldn’t consider yourself a morning person, but sometimes you’d wake up and simply be too restless to fall back asleep. Sometimes it was anxiety, other times excitement, but today you woke up simply content. Kurt’s arms were wrapped around you loosely, which was a surprise. He’s normally fully wrapped around you, limbs tangled tightly with your own, tail wound around your wrist, ankle, or hand in his sleep. You smile as you turn around, brushing hair out of his face. He doesn’t even stir, nor lean into the warmth of your hand. You’d be freaking out if it weren’t for his steady breathing, but the two of you had a rough couple of days. If he’s sleeping this deeply, he deserves the rest.

It’s easy to slide out of his arms, quietly padding out of the bedroom barefooted. You flinch when you reach the cold wood floors of the hallway, early spring still inconsistent with its bouts of cold weather. After quietly closing the door, you make your way to the living room on the search for a pair of slippers. You had a bad habit of losing them, sometimes stealing Kurt’s instead, but you find yours set aside neatly. You smile as you slip them on, knowing that you most certainly weren’t the one who put them there.

It’s still dark outside when you start to preheat the oven, and you know you must be up way too early. You laugh a little, with how early Kurt tends to rise, you can only imagine the time. You glance at the oven clock and notice it’s a little after 5 am. You grimace just a little, deciding to ignore it for now. Might as well make breakfast.

You feel like you’ve forgotten how to make breakfast food. Kurt always manages to beat you to it, waking you up in the morning with the smell of coffee and baked goods. You used to feel bad about it, telling him that he didn’t have to. That he didn’t have to go through with the effort. You felt guilty about such a simple thing, feeling like an inconvenience to him. That feeling didn’t last long, however. Kurt had insisted that you were worth the effort, worth his love, and much more. You don’t fight him on it anymore, having taken over lunch preparations instead. He still tries to beat you to that too, though. It’s become a competition as of late, and you smile in a giddy manner, excited to see his pout when he realizes you managed to beat him to breakfast.

The sun has risen by the time you’ve finished the biscuits and set them out to cool. You’re scrambling some eggs when a tail wraps around your waist and a warm chest presses against your back. Kurt nuzzles into your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin.

“Guten morgen.” His morning voice is groggy, and to be honest, he sounds like he’s about to fall back asleep right here in the kitchen, holding onto you like a pillow.

“Good morning,” You giggle, turning your head to kiss him sweetly. He’s pouting when you pull away, leaning his cheek on your shoulder.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up.” Kurt mopes. You mimic his pout with a poorly hidden smile, kissing him a few more times. They were chaste, as you didn't want to get distracted and burn the eggs.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep, and I didn't want to wake you up.” You turn your attention back to the eggs in the pan, and Kurt sighs dramatically at your words, beginning to smile a bit himself. You see an arm sneakily reach over to take the spatula out of your hands, but you’re quick to hold it away from him. He smiles widely when he’s caught, pulling you flush to his chest as he tries to snatch it again with his other hand.

“No!” You giggle. “Kurt, stop it! I’m not letting you finish the eggs!” You may have the willpower to keep the spatula away, but Kurt still has the upper hand with longer arms and an extra limb. His laughs are infectious and he fights you for the utensil.

“Penance, then! For leaving me in a cold bed, I could have gotten sick, you know?” You gasp as Kurt manages to slip the spatula from your grasp. He rejoices in victory, holding it above your head as he turns back to the eggs. He kisses you on the cheek, holding you squarely in his grasp as he finishes breakfast for you, as he always does.

Today was a good morning indeed.

#x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men 97 x reader #x men headcannons #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler #nightcrawler Headcannons #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner #kurt wagner headcannons

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leighsartworks216 · 3 months ago

Text

Sweet Tooth

Sylus x gn!Reader

I was nodding off while writing this cuz 1. I need a nap so bad and 2. It's just so peaceful the vibes of this fic are really nice

Edit: fixed some minor phrasing

Warnings: biting, kissing, established relationship, fluff, food/baking

Word Count: 1,771

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

No matter how long you spend with Sylus in the N109 Zone, your sleep schedule remains persistent. Sure, you stay up as late as you can to spend the night with him while he’s up and about, but the darkness, warm ambiance, and your body’s own internal clock turn against you sooner or later.

Sylus does the same for you, too. He grumbles about it, but he does enjoy spending the morning with you when you’re extra cuddly, searching for the last vestiges of your sleep before you have to get up. He’s better at staying awake, but you catch him dozing a lot, head tilted back and eyes closed as he lounges in a chair near you. It’s adorable. You love the effort you both put into trying to maximize your time together.

But today, Sylus is conked out. He was gone for most of the night and came back worn and weary. He didn’t have any visible injuries, but when you cupped his cheek and used your Evol, you could feel how drained his own was. He nearly fell asleep right there, eyes closing dangerously as he leaned into your touch and the soothing warmth of your ability. You dragged him to his bedroom, kissed his forehead, and told him to sleep. He mumbled vague threats about you waking him up, but they fell into silence before he finished any of them.

With the mansion to yourself for the day, you have to find ways to occupy yourself.

The twins and you play Kitty Cards for a bit, but they cheat so horrendously and tease you for losing, so that’s out until Sylus can sit behind you and glare at them any time their fingers try to slip more than one card from the draw pile.

You go through his books. A few are interesting; texts about Protocores and Evols stealing your attention for a time. But they have you yawning and wanting to crawl into bed with Sylus.

You even go to his dedicated exercise space, but without a partner to spar with, you don’t even work up a sweat before leaving.

Normally, you aren’t so restless. Any other time you had to spend the day with yourself, you were able to settle on something for long stretches of time, even into the night if you weren’t careful. Now, you can’t sit still for 30 minutes.

You check the time. 9:56. It’s not even 10 yet and you’re already struggling to come up with things to do. You fall into a couch in one of the lounge rooms with a humph, pulling out your phone and preparing to fall into a doomscroll through old Moments posts.

Fortunately, one of the first few posts is the perfect motivator not to: a recipe promising to be the number 1 rated chocolate chip recipe. You click on the article and scroll through until you reach the comments.

These are the best cookies I’ve ever had!!!

mmmnn wanna eat the dough raw its sooo gooooood

Tossing my store-bought cookies out rn I will only be making these from now on

It seems promising enough… You look at all the ingredients you need. It also seems simple enough for you to manage without burning the place down. You’d be surprised if the kitchen wasn’t already stocked with everything listed. But just in case…

You head down to the kitchen where the chef is coming up with meal suggestions for dinner. He’s jovial, always red in the cheeks and bright eyed. You wonder how he got hired on. You ask for help gathering the ingredients you need, and he’s happy to bounce from cabinet to fridge getting everything. Once they’re all laid out on the counter, you thank him and ask if you can have the kitchen to yourself. He bows and tells you to have fun, going over his list of notes as he leaves.

You turn the oven on, setting it to the correct temperature and letting it preheat. You forgot to ask the chef about bowls and measuring cups, but you find them easily and set them on the counter with the ingredients. Once you have music playing (quietly) on your phone, it’s easy to lose yourself in the process.

The world hones in on each step. You measure out the flour and sugars, mixing them together with a whisk. Without any preplanning, you have to soften the butter in the microwave before you can add it. Eggs are cracked against the countertop, calcium-rich shells scraping quietly as you set them aside to throw away later. A dash of vanilla, and a generous amount of chocolate chips, and the dough is ready.

You find a couple baking sheets and line them with parchment paper. As you roll small amounts of dough in your hands, you bounce on your feet, excited to taste your sweet treats in just 15 short minutes. You pinch off a little extra from one dough-ball and pop it into your mouth. If this was a preview for the finished product… You hurry to get them into the oven and set a timer.

To distract yourself from constantly checking the time, you clean up your mess. You put away what you remember the designated locations of, and set the rest aside for somebody else to deal with.

Hm, you should probably leave some for the chef, as a thank you for letting you borrow the space. And save a few for Luke and Kieran, or else they’d bug you for “forgetting” them for the rest of your days.

You open up cabinets until you find plates. There’s a set, the perfect size to divide the batch of cookies between three parties. You reach for it, stretching to be on your tip-toes. You gasp as a hand comes into your vision. When you try to back up, you hit a wall of muscle. A clingy wall of muscle, if the way his arm wraps around your waist and holds you there is any indicator. He grabs a plate from the stack.

“Ah, I need three,” you quickly tell him. He sighs, but does as you say, bringing down three plates and setting them on the counter. As soon as his hand is free, you’re being fully embraced by Sylus, both arms holding you close to him as he presses his face into your neck. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair. “Did I wake you up?”

It doesn’t seem like he’ll answer for a moment, until he breathes in deeply and presses a soft kiss along your shoulder. “No. I could smell whatever you’re making through the whole mansion.” His voice is quiet and rough, affected by his slumber.

You smile and turn your head to kiss his forehead. “I’m making cookies,” you say. “They’ll be done soon. I was gonna leave some for the chef and the twins. But most of them will be just for us.”

You glance at the timer, anxious to know how much time is left, but you still have several minutes before you need to worry about it. You tap his arms and he reluctantly loosens his hold, enough for you to turn around and hug him back. His arms tighten once more.

“You’re clingy when you’re tired, you know that?”

He huffs a laugh against your skin. “As if you haven’t insisted on having me carry you around everywhere before because you were, quote, ‘too tired to walk anymore.’”

You tug playfully at his hair. He groans and bites your neck. It’s not harsh, but it does sting. You’re sure it’ll leave a mark regardless.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he growls.

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “Only a little. I think it’s cute.”

He doesn’t answer. His teeth nibble lightly along an invisible path, interspersed with light kisses. One of your hands combs through his soft hair, scratching his scalp lightly as you pet him. The other trails slowly along his back, side, and around to his stomach, searching for injuries hidden beneath his clothes. He notices, but he says nothing.

“Are you okay?” you whisper to him.

He pulls his mouth from your skin, finally lifting his head to look down at you with half-lidded eyes. The striking red of his irises seem softer right now, like the delicate plumage of a cardinal. “I’m alright.”

You study his face, as if you’d know if he was lying to you. But you believe him. So you nod and press a feather-light kiss to his lips. He sighs at the contact, like he’d never been touched so sweetly for hundreds of years. It’s such a beautiful sound.

The oven’s alarm startles you out of the moment. Sylus groans with a frown, letting you go and stepping away until his back hits the kitchen island. Your hand squeezes his side apologetically before you pull away.

You don a couple of oven mitts and open the oven door. The cookies are all aligned on the baking sheets, golden brown and slightly oozy from the overkill of chocolate you added. You excitedly pull each pan out and set them on the stovetop, before turning off the oven.

The recipe says to let them cool for five minutes… but you don’t have the patience for that today. You grab one of the plates from the counter and a spatula from a drawer, and carefully deposit some cookies onto the plate. You’re positively beaming when you bring them over to Sylus, holding the plate up to him.

“Want one?”

He hums. “Yes, but…” He takes the plate from you and sets it behind him. “You’ll burn your mouth if you eat one now.”

You half-heartedly glare up at him. “C’mon, Sy, I’ll be careful. I worked hard on these!”

“And you can stand to wait a few more minutes to taste the fruits of your labor, sweetie.”

“You just want more cuddles, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He grins. “Is there any better way to pass the time?”

You sigh, long and dramatic. But you wrap your arms around him, resting your head on his chest, right over his erratic heartbeat. He tangles a hand in your hair this time, cupping the back of your neck to hold you in place.

He feels the exact moment you go to reach for the plate and snatches your hand away from it, holding it captive by intertwining your fingers together. “Sneaky, but I’m not tired enough to pull that trick, kitten.”

You chuckle and press your nose against his septum. “It was worth a shot.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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504py · 4 months ago

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A day in a life with Ivan. [ONESHOT]

Warnings below the cut 。。。

⚠️ NSFW, yandere content, alcoholism, reader got tradwifed, stockholm syndrome, domestic violence, Ivan is very blatantly sadistic, size difference, dacryphilia, vague breeding kink, no use of Y/N, forced feminization(?), gender neutral reader.

hey yawll!! i drew this since i wanted to play more with the painting style and color palette i did in my last post, but since i hit 800 followers recently, i decided to write something to go along with it too!

thank you guys so so much for putting up with my bs and enjoying the slop i create LOL. hopefully this will be enough to thank you all and to satiate you guys till i come back from hibernation again 🩵🙏

also!! while this is a gender neutral reader, ivan still refers to you as a housewife. this is pretty much an extension of the headcanon post i did on him.

MAN I NEED TO RECONNECT WITH NATURE AFTER THIS 😭😭😭

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

The average heart rate of a rabbit is a hundred and eighty beats per minute. Much, much faster than a human's at only a hundred, the little hearts of rabbits pump virile blood into their vulnerable bodies in order to outrun the cursed life of a prey animal they have no choice but to live.

Living with Ivan feels the exact same way. You, a human, were reduced to nothing but a prey animal whose only line of defense was either freeze or flight. Ivan prefers the freeze response. Tries to squeeze it out of you as much as he can.

The morning begins normally. You wake up next to his large, minimally clothed body, while you're bundled up as much as physically possible. You don't understand how he's so comfortable in the cold, but you've learned not to liken him to humans. You gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. It takes a while for Ivan to wake up, he's a heavy sleeper, but when his violet eyes finally open and dilate at the sight of you, the first thing he does is smile and pull you in to trap you in a strong bear hug. Don't struggle, he'll just tighten his grip. Then he kisses your cheek, and just holds you there without saying anything. He'll grumble a little when you tell him you have to leave bed to make breakfast, but he eventually will let you go.

It's a little sick how your current living situation makes chores the best part of your day, given how it allows the most proximity between you and Ivan. Cooking in the early morning is your favorite, since it takes Ivan a long time to recover from his hibernation. Thinking about what to cook is a bit of a meditative process as well, allows you to think thoroughly about anything other than your way of life and the man keeping you here.

Today, you decided to make something simple and similar to something you ate growing up. Luckily, Ivan is not a picky eater, even though he rather obviously prefers Slavic food. He'll eat whatever you make happily, but he'll be in even better spirits if you make something familiar to him.

You do not cook in silence. Silence has quickly become one of your biggest pet peeves since your captivity, and you do anything to drown it out. This damn empty mansion, the way Ivan is so terrible with his words and chooses instead to crush you with his actions, the bleak snowy landscape that greets you if you dare try and find any solace outside of this cage and your captor– It's enough to drive anyone insane. So, you pass the days by drowning out your thoughts with music and movies.

Ivan doesn't allow you a cellphone, or anything remotely modern at all. His home has a terrifying dedication to being so analog, you'd think you'd been transported to the 90's if not for the TV with a few streaming services on it, the only modern piece of technology he allows. He likes to collect cameras, radios, and old phones. Ivan's menagerie of antique goods is so expansive that it earned itself its own room. It's almost like a small museum, and you're very glad he allows you to look at and touch them as you pleased– with care, of course. He can actually be rather charming when he acts as your "museum guide" in this room. One of the few times you find yourself thinking anything remotely positive about him.

Ivan's voice is soft, it always is, but when he talks about these things he's so passionate about and so engrossed in, it takes on a bit more of a stern, confident tone that is easier for you to listen to. And when he's looking at the objects he's explaining, you can admire his side profile more openly. He's caught you multiple times (he has surprisingly sharp senses), and you're met with a flustered smile instead of the usual so-sweet-to-the-point-it-looks-fake type of smile.

"What are you looking at?" He'd ask, his voice quieting back down to that syrupy tone.

"Just you." You'd reply, which makes him pause in surprise for a second, before it earns a soft giggle from the towering man.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Vanya." The nickname makes him melt. "You just looked pretty."

The smile falls from his face, and his cheeks redden even more than you thought possible, before his grin returns tenfold. He laughs and looks away.

The memory of such interactions make you feel like buttering up to the man instead of rejecting him so much, then you realize you're just describing stockholm syndrome. As crazy as it is, it feels like, at this point, it'd be better to let it happen than to be aware and hateful every day you live here.

As if your thoughts had alerted him, you hear Ivan's deceptively soft footsteps descend the stairs. He doesn't say anything, and just makes his way to the kitchen to watch you.

He's dressed in more clothing now, a dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants. His neck is left bare around you. When you first met him, his clothing that purposefully covers his neck always went unnoticed by you, because such clothes fit him so well, like they were always meant to be there. It was only after your capture, when he took off his scarf and you saw the bandages around his pale neck did you start to question it.

You've never outright asked him, you worry the subject is too volatile. He just... decided to stop hiding it one day. It was after a shower when you first saw it, the ligature marks around his neck and a few faded pink scars on the front of his adam's apple. Ivan noticed you staring, and you've never seen him look so small and insecure before.

"Is it bad?"

"No." You shake your head. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

And that was that.

You finish plating up two dishes, one with a significantly heftier portion than yours considering how much he eats. You quickly place the chopping board and all the pans you used in the sink to wash later, and you bring the dishes to the table.

Ivan yawns, rubs at his eyes, and without much event, just picks up a knife and a fork and starts eating. You do the same only after fetching some tea from the samovar.

Breakfast is always quiet besides the background noise of whatever media you chose to play.

"Mm. Ёжик в тумaне?"

"Yeah. I like this one."

"A little somber, isn't it?"

"The hedgehog is cute. I relate to it a little bit."

Ivan takes his eyes off of the television to look at you, and ponders what you said a little more. He doesn't say anything, and continues eating.

"What will you be doing today?" You ask, in case you needed to iron some clothing or prepare extra food for guests.

He hums in thought for a moment. "I'll be going out in the evening to drink with the other nations."

"What will you be wearing?"

"What I usually do."

You nod, "I'll have it ready soon."

"What about you?" He asks.

"Hmm... I'll wash the dishes, then iron and press your clothing. After that, I'll think of what to cook for lunch while cleaning the house, and I'll prepare a meal for you before you leave. Then while you're away, I'll clean up some more and prepare dinner. And if I have some time, I'll sit and watch some more movies."

Ivan hums in satisfaction. He enjoys how strict to routine your lives were. Familiarity and stability are what he desires most, and he believes you're the only one who can grant him that wish.

"Perfect." He smiles, petting the crown of your head with a large, broad hand.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You adjust the dusty pink scarf around his thick neck after finishing wrapping the scars on his throat with bandages. You do it neatly and comfortably, as opposed to how Ivan does, quickly and efficiently, learned from decades of routine, yet it's still so much more uncomfortable compared to when you do it.

"How is it?" You ask. Ivan replies by taking your smaller hands in his and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You do it perfectly, любовь моя." He sighs, before pouting slightly. "I wish I could just stay home."

"You'll be alright, Vanya. Alcohol is like water to you anyways."

He snickers and rolls his eyes. "That just means it'll be boring for me, then."

"Just try to have fun and relax. I'll be safe and quiet here."

A mousy smile appears on his pink lips. You've said exactly what he wants to hear. "Alright. I'll just get it over with." He presses one last kiss to the top of your hair before leaving.

"Don't cause any trouble!" Ivan sings, before exiting the living room and closing the door behind him. You get a glimpse of the blindingly white outside world, and a gust of stinging cold air brushes against your skin like a warning.

You let out a taut breath, finally feeling like you're able to breathe without his crushing presence. You dust off your hands, from nothing in particular, before going off to do just as you said to him earlier. It bothers you how much he still affects you without even being around.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The sky is dark, and all that is heard is the droning of soft music and the burbling of something boiling on the stove. Its tranquility is broken by the door opening with more aggression than usual.

"Vanya?" You call out, hoping the sweet usage of his nickname would quell whatever spawned this roughness within him.

All you hear is something vaguely resembling a groan and a sigh, and his heavy, thudding footsteps. Your heart starts to race a little.

"Is something wrong, Vanya?" You ask meekly, approaching him with caution. He reeks of alcohol, and his movements seem all sluggish. Jesus, how much did Russia of all people need to drink in order to get this wasted?

"I'm alright." He huffs, taking off his gloves and his coat with slight difficulty. You step in closer to help him undress, taking off his scarf. You don't miss how he tenses up, so you freeze and meet his constantly intense stare to gauge his expression. His eyelids are low, pupils contracted, eyes darker than usual, and cheeks flushed like they always are. He seems to be pouting a bit. He doesn't do much else, so you continue, stripping him of his large overcoat. All he's left in now is a black sweater and thick brown slacks.

"I've made dinner. You can just sit wherever you want and I'll bring it to you–"

Ivan leans in so quickly, you couldn't even register it in order to dodge or deflect his kiss in time. This time, it lands on your lips. He doesn't do this usually at all, unless he was planning something. The blood drains from your face when his large hand finds the back of your neck, and holds it stiff, preventing any chance of backing out.

His skin and the inside of his mouth are impossibly warm, and the bitter, sterile taste of vodka is the only damn thing invading your senses. You grip the fabric of his knitted sweater, it makes him part from your lips to pant like a dog and take said piece of clothing off, now left in a dark gray shirt.

"V-Va– You taste like alcohol–"

"Get drunk off of me." He whispers, before grabbing the sides of your arms and kissing you tongue first, lapping at your lips, and at this point, you learned better than to deny him. With all the mental fortitude you could muster, you rigidly part your lips. Despite all your efforts to be as pliant as possible to try and guarantee your safety, you can't help the shiver of revulsion when his tongue invades your mouth like a parasite and rubs against yours.

It feels like time slows down, you can feel the milliseconds before your instincts kick in, and each millisecond feels like a year of dread. Unable to stop raw instinct, you bite down.

Your heart stops when you hear him grunt, and feel his grip around your arms tighten before he shoves you away. He gasps, cursing under his breath in his mother tongue before setting his sights back on you.

Doe-eyed and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you begin to plead.

"N-No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Vanya, please–"

He approaches, kicks the back of your knees, before you are grabbed by the scruff of your shirt. The collar of your blouse is yanked back and presses the fabric tightly against your throat as he drags you to the front door. You're coughing and struggling to regain your footing, and the moment you can breathe, you beg.

"Please! Nonono– Vanya please don't do this I'll be good–" The words tumble out like unorganized clutter using the one short breath you were able to catch.

With one more harsh tug, you fall to your knees again, and the door opens. The sight of the snow immediately triggers something within you, and you begin sobbing.

Ivan takes a peak at you, seemingly taking pity.

"Only for a few minutes."

You shake your head in a frenzy, not believing a word he says. Even if he was saying the truth, you'd much rather continue to humiliate yourself over being outside for even a few seconds. What if he forgets about you? What if that door never opens again? What if you die a miserable death, separated from your survival by just a few inches of wood?

That's why, the moment he throws you out, you scramble to your feet and shove that damned door open before he can fully close it. You know you're in deeper shit when you hear the door slam against him, and the deep yelp that follows it. You run for your life into the confines of his house.

You quickly make way to one of the bathrooms, the only rooms in the house you're still able to lock from the inside. You knew even that meant nothing, since you're sure Ivan could and would break them down without a second thought. Yet, it was still your best shot.

You lock the bathroom door and sit on the flooring right next to it. You try to calm down your heartrate and your heaving so you could try and listen in on whatever was going on outside this room.

Eerie silence is what greets you. You hate it, hate it so much. Shuddering, you hold your breath and strain your ears just a little more.

And that's when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

You have to bite back a scream from how much raw fear that little sound sends shooting through your nervous system. Makes your skin crawl so bad that it almost hurts.

Ivan's clearly not in any rush, but FUCK did you wish he'd just get it over with and sprint right at you. You're sure he knows where you are, he just likes to freak you out, you can tell. That sweet smile he always puts on is nothing short of sadistic, constantly has this look in his eyes, some kinda weird sparkle that tells you he enjoys watching you struggle beneath him. Knowing you'll be face to face with those very eyes shortly makes your ribs squeeze around your quaking lungs and heart.

The footsteps approach. You brace yourself for a rough kick to the door or a pipe slamming through it.

Instead, he knocks. This was wrong, what was happening? Oh, god, this was so much worse.

"I won't ask again."

Scrambling to the door, not even sparing any time to actually stand up, you open it. You wince when you strain your neck to look up and see the damage done to him by your outburst. A nasty, bloody bruise on the bridge of his tall nose and that same crimson liquid streaming down his nostril. Your chest shakes like a dying sparrow's.

"I-I'm sorry. Please."

And he smiles.

Ivan is actually, genuinely, extremely pleased right now. He's wanted this all along, for you to fear the outside world so much you'd do anything in the world to stay here, right by his side. He doesn't give a single shit about the injuries you've caused him now and in the past, he's strong, he can take it, and he'll always forgive you over and over again. Of course, it makes him annoyed, because what good housewife would beat their husband like that? But he understands that your circumstances aren't exactly normal, so he'll endure it with irritation. At the rate he's breaking you in, though, you'll soon be as pliant and obedient as he expects you to be. Perhaps you'll even start to love him back. Just the thought of it raises goosebumps on his porcelain skin and makes his hands tremble in excitement.

You don't understand why he's giggling right now.

He sighs your name, and crouches down to meet your stare. You flinch as a droplet of blood hits the tiles. Ivan's grin only widens when your shaking hands reach for his face and try to wipe the blood away.

"O-Oh, Ivan," You whine uselessly, getting up on boneless legs to grab the first-aid kit. He watches with bright, amused eyes. He knows you won't try anything anymore. He's confident in your compliance to him.

As carefully as you can, you wipe off the blood with paper towels, crying harder when it smears instead of going away completely like you'd hoped. It felt like your mistakes were going to be impossible to fix.

Ivan's cheery gaze never falters. Maybe this is the happiest you've ever seen him, despite the blood streaming into the gaps of his teeth and forming a grotesque image. Dusty eyelashes frame his smiley crescent moon eyes, cheeks ruddy as little alcohol-stained puffs of air pollute the cold atmosphere. You jolt when he chuckles throatily.

"What's wrong?" His voice is as sickly sweet as it always is.

"Y-You're mad– I made you mad. I'm sorry." You choke on your own words, trying your best not to drop the bottle of disinfectant in your weak hand.

"What did you do?"

"I–" You hiccup, "I d-didn't– I didn't listen to you. I wasn't good."

Unable to hide his pleasure, he laughs and leans in to give you a chaste, bloody kiss.

"It will be okay. I love you."

You're glad your crying masks the gag reflex that almost makes itself apparent when you know what you have to say next. You steel your nerves and dryly swallow the taste of Ivan's blood.

"I love– I love you too."

He gives you a pleased, closed-mouth smile, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking the bottle of disinfectant from you. He begins to tend to his own wounds.

"This does not mean I forgive you, though."

Just as you felt your whole world crashing down around you, Ivan saves you.

He breathes out a laugh, "No, I won't throw you outside again. It's much better staying inside with me, yes?"

You nod in a frenzy. "Yes! Y-Yes, much better. Please don't."

"Well," Ivan prefaces, disinfecting the cut on his nose before placing a bandaid on it. He turns his head to the side and spits out the blood left in his mouth. "You will have to tend to this wound. Kiss it better." And before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his tongue lolls out, brandishing the red bite mark from earlier.

Disgust registers for only a second.

Like an automaton made solely to serve, you lean forward, grasp onto his biceps, and press a needy, desperate kiss to his drooling tongue. He laughs while you lap at his tongue like a wounded dog, warm, alcoholic breaths brushing against your face.

After relishing in the feeling of your worship for a little longer, he gently pushes you to the ground and crawls over your jittery body, placing a hand against the small of your back to hold you up and closer to him, with the other gripping the outside of your thigh.

"You will not bite me this time?"

Nodding fearfully, praying the conviction in your eyes will be enough to warrant his forgiveness, you wrap your arms around his neck.

Sighing happily, he presses his cold lips against yours, taking the lead happily as he moans into the kiss. The sound was more out of the satisfaction of establishing his dominance rather than the actual physical pleasure.

Ivan doesn't usually indulge in sexual fantasies or acts, which surprises you considering how touchy the man is. His mind usually favors daydreams of a stable, domestic life with you. Ivan prioritizes establishing your relationship over anything else, so he doesn't really find the time to lull over menial things like sex. Marriage is one thing, but your total submission is another.

Then again, this doesn't mean that he fully doesn't have any carnal desires when it comes to you. It's you, for christ's sake. When his fantasies of dominance come into play, it seems only obvious that sometimes his thoughts wander into the bedroom.

Ivan fantasizes a lot about having you desire him as much as he does you. He wants you to need him like air. Wants to have you mewling his name and clinging to him like your life depended on it, which would quite literally be the case right now. Wants to see your pretty, pretty tears reserved only for him. Wants to see you fall apart in his arms over and over again while comforting you so meanly and kissing your crying face.

Ivan tries his best to not let these thoughts make themselves apparent, but fuck, do you make it so hard sometimes. How could any man not be affected by the sight of their adorable little housewife in an apron? Takes so much for him to not just grab you by your hair and bend you over the counter. Whenever you cry for whatever reason, he almost feels guilty over how instantly horny it makes him. Almost feels guilty when all he can think about is licking those tears off of your face and making himself the cause of them. God, he wants to play the role of a nice doting husband so bad, but he can't help but feel you up and breathe down your neck when you try on the dresses and lingerie he buys for you. He can't help grabbing your waist and pressing his erection against your ass– not on purpose, he just wanted to be close to you.

While aggressive in his approach, Ivan never forces any sexual acts that you refuse. Even if he's left high and breathing heavy, he still wants to be someone you don't completely hate. Be a good husband, be a good husband. He always chants to himself. All his prayers proved fruitful when he quite literally cried tears of joy during your first time together.

Ivan doesn't know what was different that day, he didn't expect anything, just to make out and have you reject him after a bit, but you just... kept going, until he was ramming into you, hands tight around your sweaty waist and fucking into you like you were just a fleshlight. He's never seen himself like this, moaning and gasping like a girl and feeling so fucking good that all that he wanted– all that he could think of was breeding you like a bull and how beautiful your family would be. God, the memory of you struggling, doing your best to take his thick cock and crying so cutely just trying to bottom out is engraved into the grooves of his brain. It makes his stomach feel all warm whenever he thinks of it. He wants to carve it under his eyelids so he can see it every time he blinks.

Ivan laughs a lot during sex, call him creepy, it's genuinely because he is just so damn happy that he can't hide it. Why should he hide it from you? He wants to show you just how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. You make him feel so damn happy and complete that all he could do was chant IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou– while whimpering, giggling, his tears dripping onto your face.

Maybe he'll get lucky again.

Without parting, Ivan carefully lowers your back to the tiled floor, straddling your body and snaking his long fingers under your blouse, resting them against your heated abdomen. He smiles into the kiss when you jolt away, tickled by how frigid they are.

The ends of his feathered gray hair tickles your wet face, your body shivering at all the different sensations attacking you simultaneously. The cold tiles, his freezing hands, his hot tongue, the faint taste of blood, the warm drool seeping out the side of your mouth, his arid breathing, the smell of alcohol–

Your hands, still by the back of his neck, reach up to ever-so-slightly tug at his hair to signal you needed a breather. Ivan makes a small noise of surprise, before pulling away.

He looks absolutely dazed, lips shiny with remnants of a spit trail, and lavender eyes heavy and glazed over with a feral lust. His breathing is labored, muscular chest rising and falling as he intently watches every minute expression your face makes. Despite the blatant lack of nudity, this might be the most erotic sight you've ever seen. Fuck, why does he have to look so good when you're supposed to hate him?

Right now, you were so exhausted you couldn't even remember what reason you'd have to hate him, despite there being enough that you could spend the rest of your life listing all of them down.

And just when you try to refuse by backing up, your thigh brushes against his boner and he lets out the most heated, breathy, shivery moan you've ever heard. The vocalization sounded like it was tailor-made to tantalize you, to tempt you into biting the fruit. And you know what? You were a sinner anyways.

"Bed– B-Bedroom."

A toothy grin appears on Ivan's face, and he exhales a breathy laugh. He looks absolutely delighted, and starved.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, and carries you to the closest one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next morning begins normally. Your body is sore, and covered in bite marks. That was one of the best sleeps you've had in recent memory. Ivan seems to think so, too, with his arms cradling your torso and a hand resting over your lower abdomen. The ache reminds you about what happened yesterday, you can still feel him in there somehow.

You woke up a little later in the morning compared to usual. Since you're still a little too exhausted to get up and begin cooking, you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet howling of the wind outside. You wonder when was the last time you heard any birds chirping.

Thinking of the outside world brings you a bit of dread, don't really like doing it. But when your life is so isolated and so alone, misery can become a form of entertainment.

The more and more days go by, the more and more do you forget what your life was like before meeting the Russian. The longer you live with Ivan, the more does it feel that he was just always there, and that your life before meeting him was a falsified memory. You're not even sure how much time has passed since, it's always snowing outside, every day feels the same.

That's the one thing you remember from before this life, the feeling of warmth. You're not sure you remember the feeling of it, really, but you're well aware of the absence it leaves behind. Maybe when spring finally comes around, you can open that door, and...

Eyebrows furrowing as a migraine starts to set in, you shake your head weakly. You didn't like thinking about the outside.

Turning over to face Ivan, you gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. He eventually stirs from his sleep, hugs you, and you do not struggle.

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

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bagofshinyrocks · 1 year ago

Text

Period Comfort

Prompt: How the boys act when their S/O is on their period. [Requested by @weebumochi]

Featuring: TF141 and Los Vaqueros - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Alejandro Vargas, and Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: reader menstruates, but no mention of genitalia; menstruation discomfort; nothing else i can think of, but lemme know if there's more

John Price

Always gets you water and a fresh cup of tea once your cups looks a little low.

Finds out what meals are best for someone on their period and focuses on making those for the week.

You two would make food with beef, eggs, and fish (if you eat them); spinach, squash, and brussel sprouts. All the nutritious stuff.

And then he would make treats for you, especially dark chocolate on almonds or walnuts. Bring you bananas, berries, figs. You felt like ancient Mesopotamian royalty. All things that were also good for you, but were more traditional period comfort food of “sweet”.

If you really needed to eat half a family sized bag of barbeque potato chips, he would fetch them and put them in a bowl for you. No questions asked. No movement in the eyebrows. A loving smile as he asks what movie you two were going to watch.

But for dinner, he’s making something without so much… sodium.

Does everything he can to make your period easier on you.

Simon Riley

Doesn’t tell you that he knows you’re on your period, but that shit is on the calendar. Doesn’t want to make you feel like he’s all “oh is it that time of the month?”. So he pretends nothing is different.

He’s always so sweet to you, but he’s especially so when you’re on your period.

There are absolutely no gibes or pokes at the tender part of your heart. And whenever you’re most hormonal (which is also on the calendar), he might not tease you at all. Because one time he was a little snarky with you, and normally it would roll right off, but you were just a teensy bit too hormonal. And you got quiet. And your lip quivered. And he didn’t stop apologizing the whole day.

Any shows or movies he normally sighs about (but still sits down and watches… and gets invested in, the lying shit), there is no fussing.

“Alright, lovie, sounds good. Do you want another cuppa while I’m up?”

Need some quiet time by yourself? He has some errands to run, let him know what you want for dinner.

Just does his best to make sure you never feel crazy when you’re on your period.

Kyle Garrick

When the worst of your period comes in, it becomes the typical night in.

The dumbest movies that you two love. Dessert eaten before dinner. Favorite takeout and all the accoutrement available. A glass of wine or some other treat beverage. Matching pajama sets.

Kyle had almost fallen asleep when you massaged a yummy-smelling hair mask into his scalp, and then pulled a ‘oh I was just resting my eyes’. And then he returned the favor, painting a luxurious facial mask on you. Making hearts on your cheeks, then spreading them out. You were fairly sure he drew boobs on your forehead, but then smeared it out and insisted you were just imagining it.

You give each other manicures, and hand feed the other food whilst their nails dried. Kissing chocolate and strawberries off each others lips and chins.

Once his hair was wrapped up, he’s all snuggled up in your arms. The heat and weight of his body against your abdomen was soothing. And the gentle snoring of the love of your life.

Everything he can to make you feel comfortable and attractive in your own skin.

Johnny MacTavish

He gets up at the ass crack of dawn to go for a run (like a fucking psycho). Once you wake up, he wants to go to the gym with you. Whether or not you work out, or just poke his butt because it’s funny, he wants you there. But not today. Your cramps, or just the general yuckiness of menstruating, makes you want to not leave the house.

So he hops on the internet, and finds the workouts, stretches, and yoga poses that would help you feel better.

The most gentle workout he’s had in his life. Stretching with the speed of tai chi, leaning against your back and chatting quietly.

Kisses wherever he can reach as you two figure out the yoga poses. Sticks his ass out as far as he can so you’ll poke it. Whistles whenever you begin a pose that’s even marginally suggestive. Waggles his eyebrows and maybe even cops a feel.

Double checks that you aren’t overexerting yourself. Stops for water (and kiss) breaks and asks how you’re feeling. What’s helping, what’s not helping? Time to stop, or keep going?

Helping with the physical and visceral symptoms so you’re more comfortable.

Alejandro Vargas

If he can, he’s clearing the schedule for the worst day of the week. Does grocery shopping and laundry before, so there is essentially nothing to do that day when Mother Nature is curb-stomping you.

Spoils you with a long lie-in. The sun has long since come up by the time you wake up to massages and kisses.

You join him for breakfast and a quick rinse off shower, and then you two crawl right back into bed. Leaning against him as he kneads the skin and muscles of your abdomen or back, a movie or the radio as ambient noise.

Maybe you fall back asleep. Maybe you watch an entire TV show. Maybe you putter about and do some light home-making. The goal is that you are fully rested.

I bet science says that you can’t “catch up on sleep”, but it’s still nice to have a day where you sleep for most of it. Especially when it’s curled up in bed with your sweet lover. His hands on you for the entire day, closely followed by his lips.

His whole body squeezing you tight when you try to leave, and wrapping around you again once you return.

Just physically reminding you of how much he loves you.

Rodolfo Parra

Once he sees a menstrual product wrapper in the bathroom trash can, he’s off to make the most professional grocery run you’ve ever seen.

Knows exactly which products you use, and checks which are low. Buys the right medications or products. The snacks that you love (that won’t betray you later with a stomach ache), and the little drink treat that’s for special occasions.

You swear that he hears the crinkle of a wrapper in the bathroom and marches to the store.

Puts the groceries away while you’re finishing up the breakfast dishes and then offers you the little beverage and maybe a treat.

He guides you to the couch or back to bed, sidling up next to or behind you and kisses you deeply. Arms roaming and then settling in a way that keeps you as close as possible. Pressing against you as if you could become one.

Cuddles in the way that is most comfortable, whether you’re in his lap or laying down. Kisses you all over. Hand feeds you until you’re giggling too hard.

He never wants you to run out of the supplies you need, or feel any less sexy while menstruating. Because you are always so sexy to him.

Posted: 2024 January 7

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loganlermanstanaccount · 2 years ago

Text

Touch (Part 2)

Miguel O'Hara x reader

GIF by milesmoralespilled

(AO3 Mirror), Part 1, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel tries to win you over. It doesn't go as planned.

warnings: pwp!!, light f-dom, praise kink, fem receiving oral, slight m-sub, lots and lots of begging. Miguel is a switchy mess bc i said so. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: I am so normal about him!

wc: 2.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You avoid him like the plague.

The next day, he wakes up to an empty house with you leaving for work earlier than usual. He traipses around the apartment, looking for you before he realises he is chasing your ghost: the traces of scent left on sheets. And he is shameless when he walks into your shared bedroom, rolling around in your heady perfume and pressing the rumpled bedsheets to his nose. Aching, always.

His own work takes him out of the apartment for most of the day, but he makes a point to slip away early. Little things, mostly: the bodega down the street for your favourite noodles, fresh lilies from a florist on the way, and some chocolate and sweet things to say sorry. He sets up in the kitchen, putting the flowers in water; hands flying on the chopping board to make dinner in time for when you come home.

Miguel is a careful man; very particular about the way he lives his life. As such, he hunkers down a plan to apologise, showering you with affection and attention to make up for the past few weeks. He wants to be home when you get back, welcoming and warm before he slips out for his… night shift. His other job, that you are just as important as, a fact he wants you to remember.

He can hear you a couple floors down, the tell-tale click of your heels down the corridor and into the elevator. He scrambles to the front room, lounging on the sofa but ready to take your coat off and ask about your day. To go through the routine you had before all the late nights and lonely evenings.

"Evening, mi vida." He looks expectantly towards you as you walk in. "How was work?"

You kick off your shoes and breeze into the bedroom - without so much of a glance at him. Deflating, he watches as you shut the door behind you. Miguel sinks into the sofa cushions, sighing in frustration.

~~~

And it stays like that for the next couple of days: you make it a point to ignore him. Short curt responses after work; Yes Miguel, No Miguel, I put it on the counter, Miguel. He misses the pout of your lips, the pet names, hell, he'd take it if you shouted and screamed at him to take the edge off. Nary a Miggy in sight. You give him nothing.

Ever perceptive, he notices the little things. You still make his lunch when you can, and leave out food for him when he has a late night and forgets to eat. Small, gentle reminders that you care for him. Not that he ever doubted it, of course.

When he clambers in through the back window, the one you always leave open for him, it's late. He clutches his side, groaning at a nasty bruise at his ribs. His mask comes off in the dim light, and he rubs his temples. Sore and exhausted, he pads through to the kitchen.

Despite the lack of adrenaline, his senses are perfectly attuned. He smells it first: the sticky scent of arousal, so fresh he can taste it in the air. There's rustling, and as he pads closer to the bedroom door, he is almost bowled over by the obscene sounds of your fingers buried in your cunt. The door is slightly ajar, and he watches you on silk sheets with the light of the moon spilling onto your frame. One hand clamped over your mouth, the other curling into your pussy, and your eyes screwed tightly shut. His legs weaken at the knees when he realises you're in one of his sweatshirts, desperately humping your hand for release.

For the past week, you've barely spoken to him, let alone touched him. He's reminded of that when his cock throbs in his suit. He palms himself absentmindedly, the heel of his hand providing juust the right amount of pressure, before catching himself. He feels like a pervert, watching you get off like this, desperate to bury his tongue between your thighs. Space, you need space, and he is trying his hardest to give it to you. Shaking his head, he tears himself away.

Until he hears a heart-wrenching moan erupt from beyond the door, that is. You curse quietly, Spanish swear words you've clearly heard from Miguel. He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry when you quicken your pace - trying to chase that high. You're frustrated, he can tell, removing the hand at your mouth to squeeze your tits through his sweatshirt.

With a flash of pink tongue, he wets his lips and gently opens the door wider, leaning on its door frame. You are too occupied to notice him watching, hand on his cock through his suit. And he just waits for a moment, eyes hungry as he matches your speed when he rubs himself through the fabric. Your hips arch slightly, making his cock jump.

"Mierda, baby." He breathes and your eyes snap open, as you remove your hand with a hiss.

Miguel stands at your door, windswept hair, beautifully flushed and ruined - all from just watching. He continues to palm himself shamelessly, never breaking eye contact.

"S'not enough, is it?" He says, shakily.

He's right and you know it. You can't cum, no matter how hard you try, because it's not the same. Not the same as your boyfriend's long fingers and thick cock pounding into you, persistent.

He stalks closer and repeats himself. "Not enough for my princesa, hmm?"

You groan, covering your face. "Miguel-"

"-fuck off, I know, I know." He sinks to his knees in front of you, by your side of the bed. "Let me help you, mi vida."

You hesitate. He looks gorgeous in the half light: hair tousled, looking up at you through heavy eyes. Despite your better judgment, you get closer, legs spread and hanging off the edge of your bed.

"You want me to beg? Because I will, princesa, I will. Te necesito tanto, tan desesperadamente. I need you so much it hurts. Look, please," He reaches over to paw at your thighs with big, gloved hands. The scent of your cum is overpowering this close - heady and addictive with his enhanced senses.

"...l-look at what you do to me. Turn me into a mess, can't think about anything else. Solo en ti, princesa. Only you."

You card your fingers in his hair and he is reverent. Migeul babbles in broken English like a madman, barely taking a breath. You feel the familiar heat of arousal in your gut. He's making you wet, without even trying.

Cruelly, you jerk his head into your pussy, and he laps you open with a ready tongue. He moans into it, sucking at your clit and lips as you hump his face. His own hips cant at the same pace you've set, rubbing his tented lower half onto the bed frame for some relief.

Slobbering and messy, he moans into your cunt - hands on your ass to push you further onto his face. He's eating you out like a man starved - and the noises he makes are pornographic. You squeeze your thighs around his head, and he almost cums right then, his hips bucking dramatically upwards with a groan. Watching him unravel is too much to bear, and so you tug at his hair, separated with a wet pop. Head tilted slightly back, chin and mouth glistening with your wetness, he flashes his fangs at you with a lazy grin. You're both panting, breathless from the carnality of it all.

You clench around nothing; so, so close.

He wipes his slick mouth with a forearm, before placing his head by your knees.

"Look how pretty you are, mi sol." He slaps your pussy, watching it pulse in response. "So wet. Is this all for me?"

Hesitantly, you bite your lip and nod. Miguel rubs circles into the meat of your thigh, sucking hickies into the skin.

"I can make you feel so good," He whispers into your skin - so tender it makes you shiver. "I just want to make you feel good. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. Sé que soy tuyo para siempre mi señorita hermosa. I'm yours… fuck… I-I'm yours…"

You won't be able to wrench him from your cunt; you know that much. When he gets like this, delirious from the heat of your two bodies together in the low light, he turns into something else entirely. Maybe it's to do with his changed DNA, something more than human at the crook of his chest - animalistic and primal.

You cradle his cheek, so he's forced to look up at you.

"I want you in me, Miggy. Want it to hurt."

His eyes flutter shut as he nods frantically, moving to stand up. You help him out of his suit, snug around his crotch until his cock springs free. His tip is an angry red and weeping so much precum it spills onto the sheets. His frame is delicious; broad shoulders and strong arms, stocky with the muscle of his thighs and solid middle. Miguel is beautifully tan, with the prettiest cock you think you've ever seen. Long, thick, and curved to the side. You've dreamt about the way he hits your spongy walls in all the right places.

He helps you out of his sweatshirt, with expert fingers. He practically drools at the swell of your tits, kneading them with one palm as he clambers over you. There's a content sigh as he rubs his cock, sticky with precum, over your slit; head back and hips moving like water. He pulls a moan out of you when he finally - finally - fills you up in one swift movement.

"Mierda, baby, does that feel good?" He croons, rubbing slow circles into your clit. His answer comes when you clench around his cock, creating a creamy ring around its base. He crouches to nip at your skin with his fangs, rolling his hips into yours.

He knows your body better than you do, and it feels good. You claw at his back in pleasure, babbling his name into the crook of his neck. But it's not enough. It's like he knows when you're on the edge, about to come, slowing his hips until they simply grind on your clit, rutting against you. It's cruel, and it causes tears well up in your eyes.

"F-Faster. Please." He just keeps grunting, barely speeding up. A slow, steady, relentless pace, picking up his hips until his cock is almost out of your hole, before filling you in one firm movement.

He keeps going, and going, until your hips shake and your bodies heave with the effort. His back is red and raw with scratches as your pleas fall on deaf ears.

"Harder, Miguel. Please, baby, I need it. F-Faster. Want it to hurt." You sob softly, drunk on pleasure.

He kisses up the tears that fall. "I know, mi vida. But it's not what you need right now, hmm?"

He whispers soft praises into your tits, your collarbone, the fat of your cheeks. Anywhere and everywhere that needs it: so he can tell you how beautiful you are and how much he cares for you. He swallows up your moans with his lips on yours, sending you over the edge. That tight string at your gut snaps, and you cum so hard you see stars.

He doesn't stop, picking up the pace in the aftershock of your spasms. You can tell he's trying hard not to follow, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. When your orgasm subsides, he pulls out with a shaky moan.

"One more, f'me, baby. Una más para mí, just one more."

You hum into his kiss, and he hooks his hands under your knees. Placing your legs over his shoulders, he sinks back into you with a satisfied grunt. Now, he pounds into you - the slap-slap of your ass against his hips resounding in your little bedroom. You make a mess, creamy cum spilling where your bodies connect. You force him deeper, harder, with a hand on his neck.

"M'close, Miggy." You tug the hair at the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

"Good girl, good fucking girl." His hips stutter when he feels you clench at his words. "I want to cum with you, princesa. Can I cum? Please, baby, c-can I cum?"

Gently nodding, you wrap a hand around his throat and pull him in for a kiss - so consuming and heady it makes you want to sink into his skin. You clamp down on his cock, and his pace slurs; before Miguel spills his warm cum deep into your cunt. His hips still, and he curls into you, deepening the kiss.

Exhausted, you separate, side by side. Still sticky with his cum, he wraps you up in his arms, pressing shaky kisses to your temple.

"I love you." He says, gently.

"Doesn't feel like it, sometimes." You breathe.

You both lay there, completely still. He furrows his brow, terse with the words he wants to say but can't. All he can do is pull you closer, and envelope you in the warmth of his skin.

"Miggy?" You say after a while.

He hums.

"I love you too."

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #light angst #cuz i can't help myself #kat_writes😼#miguel o hara x reader

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