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moonstruckme · 10 hours ago

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hi mae! i have an idea for emt!marauders. i’m imagining something traumatic happens to the reader and it triggers panic attacks that cause them to scratch themselves. the marauders help them (maybe they have to restrain them so they can’t hurt themselves) and explain to the reader why it’s happening.

Thanks for requesting!

cw: minor car wreck, panic attack, potential self-harm triggers because reader scratches herself while panicking

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Your fingers are tingling. You can’t quite feel the tips. Tears prick your eyes, multicolored lights blurring and smearing across your vision as you sit down on the gravel outside your car door.

You try to breathe as the sound of the siren cuts off, leaving only your heartbeat.

“Hey, everything alright there?”

The voice sounds like it comes from far away, but when you look up there’s a man right in front of you. He’s striking, dark hair and fair skin silhouetted by blue ambulance lights. When he slows his footsteps and squats in front of you, you can see an inky moon peeking from the edge of his uniform sleeve.

“I’m Sirius,” he says, pretty teeth showing as he flashes you a smile, “I’m with NHS. Having any problems here?”

“I’m—” You try to get the breath to tell him.

“Hey, no, no,” Sirius tuts at you. Suddenly your hands are in his grasp, the inside of your arm stinging. “What’re you doing that for, darling? Don’t hurt yourself.”

You look down, seeing through unshed tears the angry lines you’ve scratched into your own skin. You didn’t even register you were doing it.

“What’s the matter? Are we having some trouble breathing?” Sirius puts two fingers to your pulse, keeping your hands held in his. “Are you in pain?”

You don’t know how to answer all of his questions at once. You feel hardly in this world. The numbness is spreading up the lengths of your fingers, eating you away to nothing.

“I’m—having a panic attack,” you manage.

“Okay.” Sirius nods like this doesn’t surprise him. His eyes are large and liquid in the darkness. “Let’s go sit in the grass, okay? Remus,” he calls, helping you stand. Another paramedic looks over, and Sirius juts his chin to where you’re going.

Time moves like a scratched film, like sludge in some places and speedy in others. The grass is still warm from the sun when it flattens beneath you.

“There you go, doll. We’re going to make sure you’re okay, yeah? You don’t need to worry.” Sirius is rubbing the inside of your wrist, tingles emanating from his touch. He steers clear of the damage you did yourself further down. “This is my mate Remus, he’s just going to get your vitals to make sure everything’s working properly.”

You don’t process what he’s said until a large boot lands on the grass in front of you. You startle, craning your neck to look up at the man Sirius had called to earlier.

“Easy.” Sirius puts a hand behind your back to prevent you tipping over. “I know he’s very tall, but he’s really not as scary as he seems. Just don’t ask him how the weather is up there.”

“Sirius,” Remus mutters warningly, though his expression when he crouches in front of you is gentle. “Hi, love. I’m going to take your temperature, is that alright?”

You shake your head. He hesitates, already taking a thermometer out of his bag.

“It’s a panic attack,” you insist.

“Hey, we believe you,” Sirius promises. He catches your gaze and holds fast. “Remus is just making sure that there’s nothing else going on. But you and I are going to breathe, okay?”

You suck in a breath, shaky. It doesn’t get far. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” says Remus, seeming genuine. “Alright, let me know if I’m bothering you. We’re not in any rush. We can pause any time you need.”

As you nod a tear falls from your eye, leaving a blazing hot trail down your cheek. Sirius squeezes your hands to recapture your attention.

“I know it’s scary,” he says, “but we’re here to help you. We’re going to breathe in for four, hold for four, and then breathe out for the same, alright, lovely? Four, four, four. Can you do that for me?”

“I—”

“You can. You’ve got this, it’s alright. In for four now, here we go…”

Sirius doesn’t make you count. It’s impossible for most of it anyways; he holds up four fingers for you to see as you inhale and hold, and then counts out loud for the both of you on the exhale. Remus’ movements fade into your periphery. Occasionally he’ll touch you gently to signal that he’s going to do something, or Sirius will give you a small nudge when Remus needs your hand, but it’s not really enough to distract you. Sirius never breaks pace.

“There we are, perfect,” he says after a while, voice slow and sure. “You’re so good at this, doll, you’re a natural. Is that a bit easier now?”

You nod, exhaling. Your face has become tacky with tears. “Yeah.”

“You sound much better,” Remus encourages as he affixes the plasticy clamp over your finger again. You’re all quiet while numbers fluctuate on a device in his hand.

Remus catches you looking to where your car and another are parked on the side of the road.

“Everything’s alright,” he reassures you. You meet his eyes. There are freckles you hadn’t noticed before scattered across his nose. “The other driver seems fine, our partner is just checking her over to be safe. Nobody was hurt.”

Sirius hums. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.” He turns over the hand still in his, inspecting the scratches in your arm. “What’s the deal with this, hm? What happened?”

Your shoulders gravitate inwards. “I think it just helps distract me.”

“Well, I can understand that,” he tsks, “but there are better ways.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you mumble, self-conscious.

“Nobody’s upset with you, love,” Remus says with a pointed look to Sirius. “We’re just glad you didn’t hurt yourself worse.”

A low whistle startles the both of you. Sirius sets a hand on your shoulder when you jolt, you and Remus turning to find a third paramedic standing behind you.

“What happened here?” he asks, oblivious to your fright, eyes on your arm as he stoops to see better. “That doesn’t look like it was done by a car.”

“It wasn’t,” Sirius agrees. “Grab us a wipe, will you?”

“This is James,” Remus says to you, taking pity on your disoriented expression. Having so many attractive men moving around you and paying you attention is making your head spin in a different way than it had been. Sirius’ hand is still on your shoulder.

“I am James,” James agrees. He lets his bag drop from his shoulder, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the grass next to you as he begins to rummage through it. “Sorry, lovely, I just got too distracted by your arm for manners. Did you run across a mean cat after your car wreck? Because that is shit luck.”

“I’m the mean cat,” you admit, mumbly.

Sirius tuts, rubbing his thumb over your skin familiarly. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, beautiful. You’re a delight.”

You huff a weak laugh. He grins, his eyes softening.

“She had a bit of a panic,” Remus tells James quietly, “and hurt herself by accident.”

James makes a rather adorable frowny face. “I’m sorry. Way to add insult to injury, eh? It’s—oh, you’re alright. It’s okay.”

James’ face had distracted you from his hands, so the sting of antiseptic comes as a surprise. He grabs your wrist when you flinch, voice softening with apology. Remus makes a low pitying sound.

“Sorry,” you laugh wetly. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

James sends you a sheepish smile. “That’s my bad, I should’ve warned you.”

“Please don’t cry again,” Sirius pleads. “I think we’ve had enough of that, haven’t we? You’ll dehydrate yourself.”

You laugh again at the alarm in his voice, wiping a knuckle under your lashes. “It stings,” you defend yourself.

“It’s James that’s the problem, then?” he asks. “I’ll send him away, doll, just say the word. I’ll hit him for you if you want.”

James’ eyes flit up from his task like this is a threat Sirius might hold to.

“Alright, give her a bit of breathing room.” Remus gives Sirius’ shoulder a light nudge, encouraging him back from where he’s leaned in close to you. “She’s allowed to cry, Sirius, Christ.” “She might be allowed to, but I don’t have to allow it.”

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katethewriter · 3 days ago

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Just For A Picture

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Words: 2.6k~

Summary: Based on the song Smile by Morgan Wallen

Warnings: grab your tissues my friends, depression, anxiety, all the sad feelings, I wrote this instead of sleeping and haven't proof read it, so there are probably many, many errors

A/N: I actually listened to the lyrics of this song for the first time, and they hurt my feelings. Jokes aside, idk if this is how he meant to write the song, but I heard it and thought, "that's exactly what it feels like to love someone with depression." The song got stuck in my head, and... well... this happened. It was actually really cathartic to write. I hope you enjoy!

When you began getting ready for the party, they were surprised...

...pleasantly.

Natasha and Wanda share a small smile before continuing their own prep. Wary that a larger reaction may cause you to change your mind.

Yesterday, you had told them you would go to the party, but they weren’t sure if you would still feel the same today.

It had been so long since you had gone out with the team.

You’ve been able to keep up with training and missions for the most part, but everything else is just too much. Socializing, exercising, cooking, chores, bathing, eating, even getting out bed some days just seems impossible.

The last few months being the worst you’ve had in a while.

The team does all they can. Your girlfriends most of all. They try to take as much of the burden for you, but they know there are some parts of this they can’t take from you, no matter how much they wish they could. So, they do what they can and enjoy whatever moments they are able to share with you.

Which is why tonight means everything to them.

I can’t remember the last time you looked as happy as you did tonight.

The team has the entire place to themselves.

Carol is on Earth for a few days, and Tony had bought out the entire bar to celebrate.

Wanda and Natasha stand with you at a table to the side of the bar. Each of you have a drink in front of you, even if you hadn’t taken a single sip of yours.

They can tell your uncomfortable, but you’re trying.

For them, right now, that is enough.

“Thank you for coming out with us tonight,” Wanda wraps a careful arm around your waist.

Natasha reaches across the table to take one of your hands in yours, “we’re so proud of you.”

You give them a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching your eyes and bring your glass to your lips.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” Carol asks, coming up and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Just a little quieter,” you answer her with a small smile.

The blonde steps away from the table pulling gently on your arm, “come take a picture with me?”

You give a quick glance to your girlfriends, before allowing yourself to be pulled away.

Your tipsy friend grabbed that bar tender, gave him her phone and pulled you over there with her.

Carol hands her phone to the guy behind the bar and pulls you close to your side.

You’re not particularly fond of pictures, but seeing as she is your best friend, you oblige her. You ready yourself to make your best fake smile.

As the bartender holds up the camera, Carol whispers a joke in your ear.

... and for the first time in a really long time, a genuine laugh bubbles up from your throat.

He counted to three, and baby I haven’t seen that side of you in forever.

From the table, your girlfriends watch as the two of you pose. They know you dislike photos, but they also know Carol, as your best friend, is capable of talking you into doing anything.

They watch as the bartender counts 1...2... You smile.

Most people would probably think nothing of it. They would see that smile and think you’re the happiest person alive.

But not the two of them. They know you. They know that smile. They know it's the mask you put on when that's the best you can do.

Just before he gets to 3, Carol says something they can’t hear, then the most beautiful sound cuts through the air.

A laugh.

Your laugh.

Your real laugh.

The bartender snaps the picture and captures you smiling ear to ear.

A smile they barely remember but still takes their breath away every time they see it.

Natasha and Wanda relish in the sight. The concern ever present in their chests lifting, if even for a second.

I hate it's the truth, but baby you never do when we’re alone together.

As the night goes on, the weight on Natasha and Wanda continues to lift as you become more yourself then you’ve been in months.

You don’t order your own meal, but you help both Wanda and Natasha finish their plates.

You even take up Yelena’s offer to taste her mac ‘n cheese. Normally the blonde would never share with anyone, but you having any kind of appetite is more than worth it for her.

You tell Carol about the new book series you’ve read since she was last on earth. She makes you pinky swear to let her borrow them before she has to leave again.

You playfully debate over the correct order to watch the Star Wars movies with the guys.

You roll your eyes when Clint and Kate let you win a game of darts.

It takes a couple drinks, but they are eventually able to get you on the dance floor for a bit.

When the dj slows the music down, Wanda and Natasha wrap their arms around you and sway softly to the music.

“Are you having a good time?” Wanda asks gently.

You nod your head with a smile. The alcohol has turned your brain a bit fuzzy. The thoughts that normally cloud your consciousness are quiet. You feel like you can relax. ... like you can breathe. It’s not weighing you down. It's not unbearable.

“Are there plans for tomorrow?” you ask quietly, resting your head on Natasha’s shoulder, feeling just a bit sleepy.

“Do you want plans?” Natasha answers your question with a question of her own.

You don’t answer verbally, only nodding.

“Ok,” you can hear the soft smile in Wanda’s voice, “what about brunch and maybe a walk in the park?”

“Does that sound good?” Natasha asks.

Again, all you give them is a nod, this time with a smile to accompany.

They share a look full of relief and hope.

Relief that you have this break from the demons in your head.

Hope that better times may finally be on the horizon.

It was good to see you smile. Girl, you know it's been a while.

Natasha had woken first like normal. She slid out of bed, kissing both yours and Wanda’s heads without waking either of you.

Her regular morning run seemed so much lighter today, like she had an extra pep in her step.

She knows the culprit.

You.

You at the party last night.

You agreeing to go out with them today.

You finally coming back to them.

This wasn’t the first depressive episode you’ve had since the three of you had been together, but it was the longest.

They know this mental illness isn’t you.

Just a thief.

A thief that comes and takes your joy. Takes you from them for a time.

They know this. They know all they can do is love you in every way they can, until the thief releases you again.

They take advantage of those times. Cherish them, every second.

When she returns to the compound, Natasha pulls out her phone. She calls your favorite brunch spot, making a reservation for three at your favorite table by the window.

She ends the call just as she reaches the door to your shared room.

She opens the door as wide as the smile on her face.

She’s met with a look of despair on Wanda’s face. Her green eyes are glassy as her arm wrap around you. Your face is buried into Wanda’s chest. Your hands gripping her night shirt. Your shoulders shake tremble with the sobs you struggle to restrain.

Natasha’s smile falters as reality sinks in.

The thief had returned.

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, but you ain’t said one since you woke up.

Wanda shushes you gently, rocking a bit, rubbing your back. Anything she can to bring you even the smallest bit of comfort.

Natasha lays behind you wrapping her arm around your waist, “no spoons?” She uses the same analogy you had when you explained your depression to them the first time.

You shake your head as a shaky breath claws its way down your throat.

“That’s ok,” she comforts, “I’ll go steal some for you.”

You chuckle lightly at her usual response. She knows it's not that simple. If only it were, you would never know a moment’s misery.

But just knowing she’s here, that they're both here is enough for now.

Silly me, thinking we could make it work, but can you blame me for getting my hopes up?

Wanda holds back tears as she holds you together in her arms.

The thoughts in your head are too loud for her to block out, and they tear her heart apart. The way you think about yourself.

She’d give anything to take them from you, especially because she can. Her powers give her that ability, but it would require her crossing a line she doesn’t have permission to cross. So she won’t.

But it take everything in her not to. Especially after last night. The glimpse. The reminder of life when you aren’t being weighed down by the demons in your head.

When you get to be happy again.

You know it took me right back to how it used to be.

Wanda and Natasha step into the kitchen. They didn’t want to leave you by yourself, but you assured them you were ok. You just wanted a minute alone, and they should go eat.

“Morning.” Steve raises his cup to say hello.

Natasha heads for the coffee maker, while Wanda goes to the fridge gathering a few ingredients for breakfast, “good morning.”

“Is Y/n coming down?” Yelena asks. Everyone’s eyes turn to Natasha and Wanda, hopeful.

Neither can bring themselves to voice it. They glance to each other for a moment, before Wanda gives them a tight-lipped smile followed by a shake of her head.

A collective sigh of disappointment settles over the group.

There’s a sweet sadness they feel together. They all miss her. She is their family. Without her, they feel like something is missing.

Last night, they felt complete.

“She did really good last night,” Clint says, sending Natasha a small supportive smile.

She nods, “she did.”

Baby seeing us like that, is still a little bittersweet.

“Hey, can I show you something?” Carol asks, sitting down while Wanda and Natasha began to eat their breakfast.

The pair nod and lean in as the blonde holds her phone, “I got a few pictures last night.”

As she flips through the pictures, tears gather in both Wanda and Natasha’s eyes.

First is the picture of you and Carol that the bartender took. Then a selfie of you, Carol and Pepper. A group shot of several of you around a table. You aiming a dart with Clint and Kate cheering you on behind you.

The last picture is of you, Wanda and Natasha on the dance floor during a slow dance. You’re standing in their arms. Natasha in front of you, Wanda behind. You’re laying your head on Natasha’s shoulder. Their heads are resting on yours.

They had no idea the picture was being taken, but you did.

You are looking right at the camera with the softest smile.

“I can send them to you if you’d like.”

Wanda quickly wipes away the tears that have fallen, “please.”

If someone were to see this, they’d think everything’s alright.

Wanda stares. She can’t stop.

Everyone else has finished breakfast and left the kitchen. The only one with her is Natasha who is cleaning the dishes.

Wanda stands at the counter holding her phone in her hands. The last photo from last night fills her screen.

There’s an ache too deep for words that settles in her chest.

The aching wish that she could keep you in that precise moment the photo was taken.

There on the dance floor, between the two of them, with that smile.

Completely at peace.

No raging thoughts. No anxieties. No feelings of inadequacy.

The longer Wanda stares the stronger the ache gets. Tears fill her eyes until she can’t keep them at bay. Her lips quiver, and her face collapses in pain.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Natasha quickly wraps both arms around Wanda from behind, “I know, I know.” She tries to provide comfort as her girlfriends cries.

Wanda drops her phone onto the counter and leans back into Natasha, “I just want to help her.”

“I know.”

They both look down to the photo.

“I miss her.”

Natasha holds her closer, “me too.”

At least we got a pretty little moment frozen in time.

They returned to the room a little while later. After they had put themselves back together well enough to be there how you needed them to be.

They find you still in bed, curled up on your side.

“Can I lay down with you?” Natasha asks, wanting to respect your space if you still need it, but you don’t. You just need them.

You nod, and she curls herself behind you again.

Wanda kneels beside the bed with a bowl in her hands, “I brought some fruit if you think you’re up for it.”

You shake your head and just reach for her hand instead.

She sets the bowl on the nightstand hoping for better luck later. When she lays in front of you, you curl into her chest as her fingers card through your hair.

“I’m sorry.”

“For not eating fruit?” Wanda questions.

“You never have to apologize for that,” Natasha kisses your head, “we know you can’t control your appetite-”

“No-” you interrupt, “for being like this.” They try to hush you, but you continue, “for being sad all the time, and not being able to do anything. I’m sorry you have to take care of me. I’m sorry you have to see me like this-”

“Shhhhh, what do you mean see you like this?” Wanda takes your face into both of her hands. She brushes away your tears with her thumbs, “can I show you how we see you?”

After a moment of looking into one another’s eyes, you nod.

She gives you a kiss on the forehead, and suddenly you’re not in your bedroom in the compound. You’re at the bar from last night, but not in your perspective. You’re seeing through Wanda’s eyes.

You watch as Carol drags you away for a picture you don’t want, but then you watch yourself laugh, truly laugh, and you can feel Wanda’s relief in that moment. You watch as Wanda shows you the rest of the night. You can feel the way she delights in your happiness. You watch your friends gravitate towards you. The way they look at you. The love they feel. The happiness to just have you with them.

Then you’re on the dancefloor. The vision fades away and you’re left with Wanda’s feelings and emotions of holding you like you are the most precious thing there is left in this world.

“We love you so much.”

It was good to see you smile. Girl you know its been a while. It was good to see you smile.

They lay in bed with you all day.

They hold you as you doze in and out of sleep.

You always sleep more on your worse days.

So, they hold you.

Praying that at least in your dreams, you get to smile again like you did last night.

Even if it was, just for a picture.

a/n: how did I do? I know it's been forever since I've posted anything new. Of course I come out with an angsty heavy hitter lol thank you for reading!

#wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wanda x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat #wanda x y/n #natasha x y/n #wandanat x y/n #wlw #katethewriter #kate remembers how to write?#read all the fics 😍

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wandasaura · 14 hours ago

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THERES NOTHING HOLDING ME BACK

summary — as the promise of summer begins to warm westview, you and wanda cherish the stolen moments of quiet before the chaos begins

warning(s) — established relationship, married couple, mayor!wanda, westview, dom/sub dynamics, stern!wanda, handy lesbian wanda, domestic dominance, subspace, slight sexual tension, teasing, oral fixation, biting, pet names, praise kink, cuddling, showering, light bratty reader, slight punishment (not really), whining/whimpering, kissing, agathario mention, fluff fluff fluff, men/minors dni

The warm sun was the thing you missed most about summer. It poured into your master bedroom, warmed the floorboards and the countertops in the kitchen when it became a heavy blanket over the countertops as the sun rose every morning to the East, which always put it right in the palm of your backyard. The sun sets to the West, toward the garage and barbecue area that she hosts people in at least once a weekend around during the riptide of warm weather and pre-planned activities on days off.

Summers with Wanda are always a circus. She’s the kind to cram as many days full of activities and genuine quality time as she can while the weather permits your sensitive bodies to slip outside without any pre-preparation or sacrifices. Heavy jackets and wool scarves weigh you down for a healthy majority of the year, but summertime is where Wanda makes up for all those date nights trapped inside by looming blizzards and flash flood warnings.

It’s hardly even begun, whatever season you’re in still balancing delicately between Spring and Summer. The low sixty degree days have ended officially, but the rain of springtime still haunts Westview days on and days off every time you think summer is officially upon you. It rained all last week, heavy downpours that flooded your backyard and the community park around the block, but the sky has cleared up and the ditches have dried out and there’s no chance of rain in the foreseeable forecast yet. It’s a good sign.

Yesterday, you’d helped Wanda take the cover off the pool leading up to your first official summer party that always happened on Memorial Day; rain or shine. She always did fall into her head when she had a project to manage and directions to throw around — mostly to herself, but sometimes she called you in for assistance. You lost her to a craft often, whether that be painting, or gardening, Wanda was a women easily lost in the things that she cherished. That included you. Your body, your mind. If something could be undone and put back together in her hands, Wanda Maximoff knew how to play it, and you were her favorite hobby to fall into.

In the wake of removing the cover from the twelve-foot in ground pool, salt water of course because Wanda was particular at best on her good days, and running out with her to the chemical supply store to pick up whatever was necessary to shock the water system, something had been ever so slightly more tensed about her reserve. You truly had no clue what she’d dragged you all around town for, she was the one who wanted the pool and knew all the right was to keep up with it from months of research, but you knew that nothing had gone wrong with any sales associates to put her in a bad mood. It wasn’t even a negative tension in her jaw, it was just pressure that had no reason to exist.

It followed you everywhere after that. That pressure in her jaw, how her eyes became clouded with something akin to glittering specs, you knew exactly what it was once you’d unlocked the front door and she’d told you to leave your shoes by the bench like it was second nature to remind you of the rules you’d enforced in your house.

You weren’t with her on that playing field, not when your day had consisted of the typical workload before you’d come home early to help assist her, but you let her have her moments when she couldn’t seem to control herself anymore. You sat beside her at dinner instead of across the table at the head, giggling with your hand in hers as she spoke some love-drunk poem at you from memory. You cuddled in close on the couch, which wasn’t something different, but Wanda held you tighter when she was wrapped up in dominance. It wasn’t possessive, but it had more passion behind it than any embrace she gave when it was just the two of you against the world together; equals in your dynamic and more best friends than true wives even on your worst days.

You’d fallen asleep with your head on her chest and a smile on your lips. You’d known Wanda was still wide awake when you closed your eyes, deciding that you were just going to rest them instead of staring straight ahead at the reflection of her side profile in the window pane. You’d just cleaned the master bedroom, pulled out the swiffer and the squeegee and all because the sight of pollen collecting on the baseboards was nauseating. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the soft rubbing of her hand on the small of your back was lulling, and Wanda knew what she was doing even if you weren’t nicely in the palm of her hand, all small and pliant the way she liked.

When you woke up, Wanda was already gone. She never did sleep well when you let her marinate in that headspace, especially alone, always worried about hypothetical situations, always on edge, never able to find peace even though it’s always been just you. For a woman terrified of vulnerability, you find it both astonishing and inspirational that she seeks it out in her every day routine so fearlessly. It doesn’t bring you any comfort to know that she’s downstairs, probably making breakfast out of her restless energy, hands constantly moving, subconsciously counting down the minutes until you wake on your own, or it reaches an acceptable hour to wake you herself. She replaced her chest with the pillow you only use when she’s away, sprayed with just enough of her perfume for it to not be overwhelming.

There’s a longing ache in your belly, a desperate need to find her, to be with her, to be the thing that keeps her hands busy for a couple of hours. You’ve both been so busy lately, between work, getting the house in order for summer and the gatherings that it brings — you wouldn't have it any other way —, and party planning for Memorial Day, there had barely been a minute to steal where your energy could be focused on just each other. Last year’s party had been a hit, but sending Wanda and Yelena out for beer in the middle of the afternoon after you underestimated Tony’s gut had been a monumental waste of time. You’d be prepared for Tony’s gut and Natasha’s thirst for vodka this year, even if it meant crunching numbers trying to find the best premium price instead of washing dishes with your wife because this is what your life has come down to in adulthood; beer bargaining.

The hardwood feels eerily cold beneath the soles of your feet warm from hours tucked beneath thick blankets. It’s getting warmer in Westview now, the humidity’s rising with the tide and UV levels. You’re going to need to switch out the comforter for the quilt pretty soon, already feeling a sheen of dampness coating your limbs like your a blade of grass. It’s only sixty something outside, but you're gross and clammy. The floor is a tundra the farther you step, but when you get the the door, your hand bracing the brass doorknob, pulling it open with only Wanda on your mind, a wall of heat hits you and it dawns on you that nobody had turned the air conditioner on last night. A miserable pout frames your features, sealing your mood for the day whether you intentionally planned to hold the grudge or not.

Wanda’s coddling last night had apparently been working against you discreetly, beneath both of your noses and her soft caressing hands; though you suspect by the time you’d fallen asleep on her chest, clutching desperately to her silk bubblegum pink nightgown with white lace to frame the sweetheart neckline, she’d had an inkling of a clue at least. Your head feels head now, slightly disoriented. You can see through the fog, enough to get down the stairs without tripping, but everything else feels out of reach. It panics you for a moment. You never did like being alone in this state; in this… concoction of love and affection and utter hopeless devotion. It’s a hard thing to name, the rush of feelings that comes over you at one time until all you can register is the consistent sting of tears in your eyes and the sensitivity in your heart. Your head hurts, just a little, just enough for it to almost feel like the tickle of butterfly wings shooting through you. Anything can unmake you in this state. Anything can bring those tears to the surface, but just as easily as you sink into this feeling of weightless despair because you just love her so much, how can it even be possible, you can fall out of it, and that’s devastating. Wanda hates the days she can’t get to you fast enough to protect this headspace and feed it with hers. She hates when you're two ships passing in the night instead of the star bound lovers you were destined to be after enduring so much pain and suffering in your lives individually and as a couple.

Wanda has senses as sensitive as a bunny, though she would claim they’re as sharp as knives. The duality of her always confident persona is immaculate, because you can’t even conceptualize her soft curves having any edge to them as she bounces on her feet to face you. There’s no tail, but her hair is knotted into a bun, and it bounces at the nape of her neck when her head spins, eyes searching to meet yours, confident and strong but laced with desperation.

“Oh, hello.” It doesn’t take her a single moment to recognize the softness in the way you look at her, your hands curled into the fabric of your tank top that you’d stolen from her, that you think she’d borrowed from Kate after a paint and sip night at the Grove, who stole it from Yelena, who initially stole it from Natasha’s closet in high school. It had lived many lives, seen many phases, many tumultuous breakups and harrowing deaths. One day soon it’s destined to leave your position, to move onto Maria or maybe even Lila Barton whose grown to be quite tall since two summers ago when you acquired it, but for now you cherish being involved enough in Wanda’s life to have such a statement of her friendships in your closet. It brings another wave of tears to your eyes, and your lips quiver as your center of gravity betrays you.

You can’t establish which way is up or down. You can’t tell whether if you take a step forward it’ll lead you to Wanda, or if you’ll wander off into the middle of town disoriented and out of place. You wobble slightly on your feet, attempting to move, to get your brain working enough to complete the one task in your head, but she’s looking at you with so much power and affection and devotion and love that you can’t even begin to paddle with the tide to try and escape the ripe current that’s pulling you down deeper, deeper, deeper — you’re drowning in her.

“Come here.” She coaxes, seeing your desperate need for order, for tender direction and expectations. She’d been craving this since last night, since you’d let her guide you through the motions of removing the pool cover, since she’d bossed you around the chemical supply store and you hadn’t even seemed to notice that her grip on your hip was guiding and unavoidable. You hadn’t tried to get away from her to know that she’d been playing with fire ever since you got in the car and she’d buckled your seatbelt with a charming smile.

It takes a minute to register in your head that she’s speaking to you, that she’s given you something to hold onto and pull yourself toward her with. When it does click, when her words float to you on a kayak in the middle of Lake Superior, the sky a crystal shade of blue, probably straight out of Walt Disney’s Cinderella, your feet scramble to comply faster than your brain can process actually moving. You stumble over your naked feet, your toes painted yellow, soon to be stripped and painted white for the holiday and bikini attire event ahead, crashing into the floor.

Wanda giggles at your misfortune, and your lips crumble. “Oh, my love.” She says nothing else, she probably doesn’t know what to say other than the few million reasons why she loves you, why she thinks you're adorable, why its so sweet to see you cry because she knows you're quite literally overflowing with love for only her. Her ego is big, probably dangerous, but it’s so undeniably charming as she looks at you with a near predatory gleam in her sage eyes.

It doesn’t register in your head that she’s using small sentences because she knows anything bigger will overwhelm your system entirely, and she’s not keen on spending the entire day wrapped up on the coach coaxing you back to health like her little baby bird, though she would if it came down to it. She wanted to keep you like this though, on the cusp of knowing everything you’ve ever wanted is at your fingertips, and so absorbed with love you never thought you deserved to have that you can’t even think of anything but her without gentle coaxing. The way you crave her direction, the way you let yourself obey her just because you love her, and you know without a doubt she has your best interest at heart, even if she likes to take her own pleasure first sometimes. The point is, she can do anything to you, and that fills her with power.

When you do crash into her chest, it’s like everything in the world feels right. She’s already changed out of that nightgown, never one to prance around the house in those specific kinds of pajamas. She’s traded it out for a pair of soft shorts,your shorts, the ones you’d picked up from Walmart when you’d taken a trip out of town with Pepper because you couldn’t keep ruining your good biking shorts on hikes with Kate and Lucky. Fanny respects your lululemon shorts; Lucky thinks they’re a napkin. Her t-shirt is insignificant, one from the athleisure company she loves and you can’t pronounce. It’s not a tight fight, but it's the dry fit material that catches on the rough patches of your palms and you whine irritably when it does just that.

“Hey, shh. I need you to use your words, pretty girl.” The pet names do little to subdue the fog, or even slow it down the slightest bit, but you can gather enough that she doesn’t intend to make this easy for you. It’s the subtle cruelty that initially drew you into her, the pointed harshness and the delicate condescension that isn’t just disgusted by praise and sweet love, it’s entirely derived of it. Wanda Maximoff is a snarky little shit, but she’s the softest bleeding heart you’ve ever had the pleasure of being addicted to.

“I hate this shirt.” You huff, the diamond on your engagement ring snagging on the fabric next when you aim to drag your nails down her back petulantly, never knowing how to express your feelings in this state, opting for whatever's easiest in the moment. It drives Wanda crazy, but you’ve always persisted even after all these years together. “You have a bra on already.” You whine, head clearing, your eyes focusing as you realize that you’ve already slept through your chance at coping a feel while she sips her coffee that’s steaming on the edge of the counter.

In a single moment, both of your wrists are in Wanda’s grasp, her state level and what you would most definitely describe as menacing. A whimper rises in your throat, that sinking feeling claiming you again with something different, something more. It’s not just blind love that sends you floating down the river anymore, its submission; complete and total submission. The fight isn’t always long, but the satisfaction of winning never feels any less glorious to Wanda.

“I know you’re not trying to hurt me, ange. Are you?” She furrows her brows, feigning innocence. You swallow thickly, nodding your head, willing to do whatever she wanted if it meant she kept looking at you. “Words.” She corrected, tightening her grasp on your wrists until you whined, squirming in place. It wasn’t tight enough to hurt, hardly even enough to be anything but unrelenting pressure, but in your sensitive state it was enough to drive you crazy with overstimulation.

“No.” It’s a petulant whine that has Wanda clicking her tongue. She never did accept the whining and the whimpering with a reason, and there was no reason to be carrying on between her grip when you’re the one that had tried to sink your claws into her like a kitten. “I need water.” You tell her softly, cheeks flaming. You’d turned the air on in your bedroom last night, thankfully, though without the fan also running it did little to really keep you cool beneath the comforter, but what it did accomplish was spreading pollen throughout the bedroom even though you’d just cleaned.

”And how do you ask? Have you forgotten all of your manners overnight?” Wanda settles you with a glare, and you drop your eyes, sighing softly as you try to align your thoughts enough to answer her properly.

“Please.” You add, and she smiles proudly, leaning in to kiss your head before she ushers you to the counter. There’s already a stack of pancakes on a plate, cooling down though they’re still steaming just slightly. Enough to tell you they’re probably the perfect temperature to dive right in without burning your tongue. There’s a dry wheeze at the end of your plea, and Wanda frowns as she navigates the kitchen, throwing a glance back at you when you hum, fingers pulling apart a pancake that you dunk into the bowl of syrup she’s set out.

“Use a fork.” She chides, because even if you’d taken a shower last night and your sheets had been washed the afternoon before you’d gotten home from a meeting, the circulation of pollen through the room meant that everything needed to be washed, including your sleep and sweat flush body.

You complied easily, kicking your legs as you reached for the fork she’d set out, forgoing individual plates. After years of practice, she’d finally figured out how to make just enough pancakes for the both of you to eat comfortably, filling in the gaps with fruit on days when your appetite was bigger than your eyes. Sometimes she made eggs, or sausage patties, but neither one of you felt like standing around the kitchen today when the sun was shining brightly outside.

“Do you want tea?” She asked softly after she slid a glass of water across the counter, smiling delicately at you when you eagerly gulped down half of its contents, the heavy pancakes and dryness in your throat an uncomfortable sensation. Your head bobs at the offer, and Wanda doesn’t chastise you for forgetting your words this time, laughing amusedly as you shovel another bite of pancake into your mouth before she can even turn her back to reach for a second mug.

She guides you through breakfast, occasionally feeding you a bite when you get distracted by tracing your fingers up her thigh. She leads you up to the shower when the dishes are piled up in the sink, stored away for sometime later on in the day when you have the patience to wait for her and she has the control to be away from you. It’s been too long since you’ve given over yourselves like this. Since you’ve just existed in the same space to keep each other afloat.

Wanda washes your hair in the shower, coaxing you through the process when she accidentally gets soap in your eye, your head not tilted back far enough to accomodate the stream of water pouring down your face. The coconut scented conditioner cleared both of your heads, but when it was paired with the watermelon body wash with moisturizing pearls, it sent you into endless bliss, your nose buried in Wanda’s neck as she let the stream do all the work in washing off your bodies.

When she got down on her knees, your core tightened, but all she offered you was a cheeky smile as she reached for the razor and shaved your legs, knowing that you liked to keep them smooth for optimal sporadicness during the summer months. Her hands had lathered you so dutifully with the vanilla cashmere shaving cream, adding to the medley of scents in the steam filled bathroom.

She giggled when you wiggled away from her fingers attempting to tickle your ribs when you raised your arms for her to get the rest of your body and preferred inches of skin, taking advantage of your easy vulnerability as she held you between her hands so intimately.

When you’d stepped out of the shower, shivering and teeth clattering even though Wanda had thrown your towel on the warmer by the door and wrapped you in it tightly, she’d insisted that you throw on your newest orange bikini even though you couldn’t take a dip in the pool until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. The UV wasn’t strong enough to provide any sufficient color to your pasty skin from winters unforgiving reign, but it was warm enough to accept the wardrobe and Wanda was good enough with that.

She lathered you up with lotion, and in turn she allowed you to put some on her, though she guided you through that process too, always telling you when she thought you missed a spot even if you hadn’t missed a single inch of her skin. It was all apart of her game, of making you feel like you needed her for every little thing.

By the time you wandered down to the kitchen again, dressed and ready for the free day ahead of you, your fingers laced with hers, it was time for lunch, already approaching half past noon. So, without missing a beat, Wanda packed up sandwiches and a container of cut up strawberries and pineapple and brought it outside to the hammock with her Stanley of water that she’d initially protested carting around with her every day, but after a game of White Elephant, she’d become obsessed. You loved the little things about her, but in these small stolen moments of magical worlds protected in your head, you noticed them even more.

You’d eaten your sandwiches sitting criss-cross on the grass. Wanda had painted your nose with strawberry juice that dripped onto her finger before your tongue accommodated the weight of a strawberry being placed heavily on the center of your outstretched tongue. There’d been a mischievous, wicked smile blooming on Wanda’s lips as your eyes hazed over you whimpered pathetically when she pulled her fingers away and told you to chew.

There was a truly sinister smile on her face when she told you to swallow, her thumb holding your chin, her fingertips feeling the bob of your throat as you did just that, remembering moments when it hadn’t been something as sweet as a strawberry rolled in pineapple juice on your tongue.

Somehow you ended up on the hammock, your body slotted between her legs, your head on her chest, her hands holding onto your ass. You watched the clouds roll by, and when your teeth sank into the flesh of her wrist when she moved a hand to brush baby hairs out of her eyes, her fingers pinched at your ass exposed by the cheeky cut of your bikini bottoms. You yelped, whining when she reprimanded you, sinking deeper into her until the sound of her heartbeat was enough of a distraction. Wanda rolled her eyes, kissing the top of your head as the hours rolled by.

Neither one of you noticed, too wrapped up in the quiet of the moment, in the serenity of your found peace in Westview. The only reason you knew it was time to go inside was because Agatha came out into her back deck with Rio, both of them bickering, cigarettes lit and their hair pulled up. Your head was clearer then, your smile softer but more present. Wanda’s head was clearer then too, no longer consumed with a need to make sure you knew you were hers. The need to fall into these roles would come again soon. The constant social exchanges, the planning, and the cleaning up, it would inevitably separate you until you exploded and ended up here, but for now you were content to fill the shoes of who you were at your core and through the eyes of the law; wives.

“How much do you want to bet Lilia’s going to file another noise complaint against them tomorrow?” You sighed when you stepped through the sliding glass door, settling into Wanda’s chest as you both lulled to a stop, not in any rush to keep moving and change into comfier clothes for the evening.

“She’s not even going to make it to the morning.” Wanda snorted, already anticipating the call from Westview’s most acclaimed Rio Vidal hater.

#wanda maximoff #dom!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff oneshot

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pumpumdemsugah · 6 hours ago

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Literally shut the fuck up. You people have taken how racism impacts Black women to insist we're not longer victims of bog standard misogyny. Black women have the worst maternal outcomes in the UK and USA. Do you hear yourself? One of the core issues feminist of colour have always had was getting woc to take misogyny as seriously as racism because people like to convince us we're not impacted by misogyny as all and if we are its not actually misogyny it's something else and here you are doing that hiding between pretending its some sisterhood moment.

We've taken discussions about Black women being seen as aggressive to pretend that it functions like misgendering because it makes for a neat little vital moment instead of talking about Black female suffering as it really exists. Black women do not get misgender for different reasons than everyone else and there is literally an issue of Black femicide in the USA. Again, are you out of your fucking mind?

You literally wouldn't know what we experience because you lot don't even read what Black feminist have to say and none of them come to the conclusion that misogyny and sexism are non-issues. The discussion about Black womanhood was about gender roles and not being ladys of leisure like rich white women because they had to work. The gender roles Black women were subjected were different from Black men, even when doled out by white supremacists, because misogyny has always been an issue for us.

It's funny because if we switched Black women out of Black men, you'd realise how cartoonishly racist you sound. Racist talk about Black men as animals so are they outside the human binary? Use your brain

How the fuck would you know how men see Black women when you're out here acting offended and telling us we're not subject to misogyny? Can white trans people try not to behave parasiticly and tell other people what their experiences are for a single minute? The average Black woman lives in mostly Black communities so do the Black men who oppress them not count as patriarchs ? The average Black woman who lives around white people isn't treated like Black men because we're impacted by misogyny. Learn to talk about transphobia without subsumming the Black female experience as one without misogyny because you've only ever interacted with discussions about Black women if it's a piggyback point to talk about other people.

You lot want Black women's experiences to be about everything but misogyny and then act stupid when we tell you we do not have the same experiences as Black men.

Many of you want to collapse the complexity of what Black women experience down to misgendering that's identical to white trans women because it's politically useful. You're confused because you're not used to thinking about Black women as complex or our experiences as more than cheap quips

People like you go on about terfs being racists but deny Black women's experiences of sexism and misogyny. Black femicide, sexual assault and abortion access are massive issues for Black women in America but you think patriarchy just skips over Black women? Are you dumb?

You lot want to make misognoir interchangeable with transphobia because like a lot of lazy white people, you have no idea how to defend your ideas so either copy and paste even if it doesn't make sense or insist it works the same way it works for your experiences because why would you ever bother learning about Black women beyond a quip? You'll just tell us

You genuinely think this is solidarity by telling Black women that a screenshot about things that happen to Black women doesn't happen to us because you've convinced yourself the totality of Black womens experiences is a cheap mirror thats just like yours with Black skin because you've never bothered to read anything about us because you don't care

#i hate these ppl so fucking much #Patriarchy is now irrelevant to use ladies because this dumbass says so #you lot arent even bothering to bring up core black women issues #pathetic

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radioactive-alien-thing · 1 day ago

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HIHIHIHHI!!!! COULD WE GET AHEM 1x4, DUSEKKAR AND/OR TAPH (SEPERATE) X KILLER READER HCS WHER READER IS ALWAYS IN AT LEAST A BIT OF PAIN AND DOESN'T SPEAK OFTEN OR WELL???? BYE!!!!!

taph, 1x4 & dusekkar x killer! reader w/ chronic pain & speech issues

AAAHHHH yayyy omegosh best lineup ever thank Yuo for requesting nonners!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ ✦

💥taph

taph obviously understands what it’s like not to be able to speak. way better than the other survivors actually. but the thing is, with him, you don’t need to speak. sign language, subtle signals, or quick hand cues are more than enough. honestly he prefers it that way! it feels more private, more personal, and if it makes you feel more comfortable, that’s all that really matters anyway.

taph can read your expressions as if they’re simply second nature to him. he notices every little twitch in your face, every flicker of emotion. unfortunately, there’s not much he can do to ease your pain, but he insists on helping where he can. which usually means offering a shoulder to lean on, effectively working as a crutch. taph will even carry your weapon for you to lessen the load.

🦴 1x4

1x4 finds it kind of... endearing, that you don’t always feel like talking. he’s another one who doesn’t mind it much. although communication between you isn’t always clear, and things can get a little fuzzy every now and then, he mostly understands what you’re trying to convey. he’s not completely clueless. 1x4 does enjoy the silence, it’s the one thing that actually helps him relax, really.

he’ll proke & prod about your condition to try and figure out what’s causing your pain and why it keeps happening. he doesn’t pry too hard, but he’s curious and just wants to understand. eventually he gave up and shifted his focus to just being there for you in other ways. he doesn’t always know exactly how to help, and sometimes gets it wrong, but 1x4 does genuinely care for you. much like taph, it shows more in his actions than words.

🎃 dusekkar

you and dusekkar are pretty much always in sync so communication isn’t really much of an issue on this boat either! he might gently encourage you to use your voice sometimes, maybe even offer to do lessons with you to help you improve, but he’d never want to push you or make you feel uncomfortable. he knows your limits, and respects them. he’s quite in tune with your emotions and has no trouble reading you anyway!

if there was anything dusekkar could do to take away your pain, like using his magic, he would do it in a heartbeat. but sadly, it’s just not that easy. dusekkar’s abilities are limited under the spectre’s influence and there’s only so much he can do. but he does, in fact, take the time to gently massage the areas that ache most, and he’ll offer to meditate with you too, or maybe something else similar. he swears it works!

#forsaken #forsaken x reader #taph forsaken x reader #taph x reader #dusekkar forsaken #dusekkar x reader #1x1x1x1 x reader #1x4 x reader #forsaken 1x4 x reader

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crushpunky · 2 days ago

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actress!reader gets asked about drew

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. a sort of compilation of y/n telling cute stories <3

Y/n settled in the chair opposite the podcast’s host, Claire, adjusting the mic as the interview began.

“Hello and welcome to another episode of Chit-Chat with me, your host, Claire Hale!” Claire said cheerfully before turning to face y/n. “Today we are going to be talking with the wonderfully talented y/n y/ln. Welcome!”

“Hi, thank you so much for having me.” Y/n smiled, smoothing a hand along her pants as the two of them launched into casual conversation, ranging in topics from y/n’s childhood to her favorite movies and her morning routine.

“So, I think the people are dying to know, how is married life?” Claire said, dropping her jaw open exaggeratedly. Y/n laughed, absentmindedly fidgeting with the diamond ring adorning her finger.

“It is great.” Y/n smiled. “I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy, y’know? Like I thought that I was happy before we got engaged, but actually being married is a whole other level.”

“Ugh, that’s so cute.” Claire swooned, causing y/n’s cheeks to warm as she thought back to the memory of waking up this morning in Drew’s arms. It was something that happened nearly every morning, but each time it made her heart flutter and fall impossibly more in love with him.

“I’m not even trying to over exaggerate or put on an act, I am just genuinely so happy right now.” Y/n continued, folding her hands in her lap as she smiled to herself.

“I think we are all so happy to hear that.” Claire nodded. “You and Drew have been together for such a long time, it’s so nice to just see two people who truly love and care for their work and each other. Speaking of, how do you guys sort of find that balance between work life and personal life, with both of you spending so much time away acting or away on projects?”

“It’s taken a lot of practice,” y/n chuckled. “Lots of hours of late night FaceTime calls and missed dinners until we both kind of decided that we needed to set up some boundaries and some of what we call ‘no excusers’.”

“‘No excusers’?” Claire asked, leaning in intently with a quirk of her brow. Y/n nodded, thinking back to when Drew and her had originally come up with the term. It had been after Drew missed a dinner with y/n’s parents, a dinner he had promised to be at amidst his busy schedule, just a day after y/n had to cancel on one of their preplanned coffee dates.

“Yeah, Drew and I sort of set up this system where we have certain things that we call ‘no excusers’.” Y/n explained. “They are things that the other person has to be at, or at least help to reschedule to be at, no excuses.”

“Both of us have such busy schedules, so it can just be super easy to retreat into yourself and just say ‘oh I’m too busy’ or ‘I can’t’, but we both knew that we wanted to be there for the other person when they needed it most, even if it was hard.” Y/n continued. “So, with the ‘no excusers’ we are sort of making a promise to the other person that we can count on them to be there for us, no excuses.”

“Really making sure to set aside time for you guys and your relationship and what’s important to that relationship.” Claire clarified.

“Yes.” Y/n agreed. “Neither of us had really been in a relationship with another actor or person in the industry, so we knew we had to make time for each other in our busy schedules if we wanted to keep this relationship.”

“That’s really sweet.” Claire grinned. “So, speaking of busy schedules, how did you guys find time out of yours to get married? I mean both of you had such huge and busy years last year, so I think everyone was pretty shocked to hear that you guys got married.”

“I think we were pretty shocked that we found the time too.” Y/n joked, causing Claire to laugh. Y/n remembered back to all the hectic planning on sets and over FaceTimes, getting dresses tried on between meetings with producers, tasting different cakes from the comfort of their home, pajamas on.

“No, but in all seriousness, I think we were both just so excited to get married that we were going to find time for it no matter how busy our schedules were.” Y/n said. “Both of us could barely wait a minute longer, like I remember that we had a countdown on the whiteboard in our kitchen, ‘Days Until We’re Married’, and we just made a huge deal of it each day counting down. Music, dancing, cheering, the whole shabang.”

“Stop, that’s so funny.” Claire chuckled.

“Our neighbors probably hated us, but we didn’t care.” Y/n giggled. “Like, did you expect me to not be excited to marry the love of my life?”

“No, you’re right, I can only imagine how excited you guys were.” Claire nodded. “I mean, you’ve been together for so long, like, four years?”

“Publically, yes, but privately about five.” Y/n giggled as Claire’s eyes widened.

“How did you guys even manage that?” Claire asked incredulously. “I mean, Outer Banks, like, blew up during that time, you must’ve had so many eyes on you.”

“Ha ha, yeah, that was certainly a very interesting time.” Y/n chuckled, remembering how the two of them would try and sneak around downtown Charleston, ducking into darkened allies to kiss like teenagers.

“It was during COVID, so for a while we just stayed inside. There weren’t very many opportunities to catch us, aside from the occasional social media post or livestream, but I think that we kept it pretty lowkey. I mean we already lived together, so we weren’t going back and forth between each other's places or anything like that.” Y/n continued. “But when things kinda started going back to normal, and we were going out more and more eyes were on us, it certainly became a lot harder.”

Y/n thought about a particular time in which a fan had snuck a picture of the two of them sitting on a bench just off the beach. The two of them shared AirPods, chatting casually. They hadn’t even realized that y/n had ended up perched in Drew’s lap, his hands resting on her hips as their faces sat just inches away from each other. They were too caught up in the moment, and in each other, to realize they were in public until they saw the photos later that afternoon.

“There were… multiple times where people pointed out something or noticed something that we hadn’t even thought about and we thought like ‘oh shit, we’ve been caught’, but we always managed to sorta weasel our way out of it.” Y/n giggled, brushing a bit of hair away from her face. “It was hard, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“Yeah,” Claire nodded. “That sort of situation definitely helps you guys to keep the relationship real, y’know? How did you guys decide to keep it private for so long? Was that a mutual decision?”

“Yes, yes it was definitely something we both agreed upon.” Y/n said. “I think we both wanted to make sure that our relationship was authentic and real, not just something shaped by other peoples’ perspectives or opinions. I really do think that that time where we kept things between ourselves helped to shape our relationship.”

“I know you said you kept it between yourselves, but other people definitely knew, right? They had to.” Claire asked.

“I honestly think that some of them knew before we knew ourselves.” Y/n laughed. There were so many moments and stares shared by the people around them who recognized the very obvious feelings between y/n and Drew. So many friends and family members would comment on the almost magnetic attraction the two exhibited, practically unable to go anywhere without the other.

“But in all seriousness, yes people knew.” Y/n continued. “We kept it just between us for like… a month, month and a half maybe? But then we shared it with our friends, the Outer Banks cast, but they kinda already knew since we were all living together. Then a little after that we told our parents on FaceTime— because of COVID— and they also kinda had their suspicions.”

“That’s so funny.” Claire grinned. “Well, y/n, I really appreciate you taking the time to Chit-Chat with us! It was so much fun!”

“Thank you so much!” Y/n grinned. “Thank you for having me, it was a lot of fun.”

“Once again, thank you for watching and thank you for Chit-Chatting with us!” Claire said, her and y/n waving goodbye to the video and listeners at home.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #actress!reader #drew starkey social media au #drew starkey x actress!reader social media au

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towasdandelion · 3 days ago

Note

Can you also make a part two with sinostra frostheim and mortkranken with hickey smau?

👉👈

Yes! Here it is, the last part basically hehe. Hope you like it! Warning suggestiveeee

Sinostra, Mortkranken and Frostheim ghouls when they leave a hickey on you

Taiga... Do I even have to say anything? He treats biting you like a full time job. And he doesn't care about his surroundings either. You can be minding your own business taking a walk around the campus and he will just appear out of nowhere and bite your neck, getting a very embarrassing sound out of you. Shame? Not in his dictionary. So yeah, don't expect him to take your whining seriously in any way. It's not going to change anything whatsoever. But hey, at least he's usually careful enough not to hurt you with his sharp teeth!

Romeo will literally lie through his teeth. He always says how unhygienic and weird it is and how he would never bruise your skin like that but then somehow, mysteriously some marks appear on your neck. Naturally you just had to confront him about it. And behold, there's your one in a million chance to see Romeo embarrassed. He's annoyed with himself. Why couldn't he just resist? What was so good about it that made him think about doing it again? Well, I advise against teasing him too much or he will legit get upset. If it happens again don't bring it up either. Just accept his love bites.

Ritsu hmm I guess he would sneak one in here and there when he's feeling extremely affectionate. Or when you two are studying and he catches a glimpse of your exposed neck. He's not really embarrassed about it either. It's just one of the ways to express his love after all, so your reaction is a bit confusing. Oh, so it's about your image? You do have a point then. As the best lawyer, he cares about his appearance a lot after all. It won't really make him stop biting you though, no. He will just leave his love bites somewhere no one else can see them from now on.

Don't ask me why but I see Jiro being addicted to biting you. He just loves seeing and tracing the small bruises with his fingertips whenever it's just the two of you. He genuinely doesn't realize the effect he has on you. Affection is a normal part of every healthy relationship, isn't it? You could say it's very straightforward for him. He doesn't see the point in hiding anything. If he likes someone, he shows it - fair and simple. So long as you're okay with it, he won’t stop marking you with those subtle signs of how much he cares.

The "this is unsanitary!!" guy number two - Yuri. He swears he would never do something like that, adding how's there are many better ways to show affection. And yet... One day you see a small purplish mark on the back of your neck. (Yes he was trying to be sneaky hoping maybe you wouldn't notice it there) Let's just say he's less than pleased when you bring it up. It's just for science he says! (Science my ass he's just delusional and won't admit his desires for you) Well, he understands your embarrassment because he's pretty embarrassed himself. Probably won't do it ever again unless you reassure him it's okay. You should also promise him that you won't be bringing it up each time it happens.

Jin’s definitely an actions speak louder than words kind of guy, so marking you is right up his alley. He loves reminding you that you’re his whether it’s his hand on your waist everywhere you go, or draping his jacket over your shoulders like it’s second nature. Though his favorite is actually marking you. He doesn’t see why you’d get so embarrassed about it. To him, it’s just natural and instinctive. A quiet, physical way of saying mine without needing to say a word. And if you catch him glancing at it later with that faint smirk? Yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Tohma usually goes for kisses rather than hickeys, so you might feel caught off guard when you notice a small mark on your collarbone peeking from underneath your unbuttoned shirt. Oh, so at least he was considerate enough to leave it somewhere a bit less visible. When you ask him about it later, he’ll just smile, asking you to show it to him. That one picture from you makes him sure - this is not going to be the last one. It’s rare for him to act like that, but now that he’s started? He’s definitely not planning to stop.

Lucas isn’t the type to act on impulse, especially not with you. He’s always measured, always gentle, so when you catch a mark low on your neck it genuinely catches you off guard. You send him a photo later, asking if he’s aware of what he left behind. He doesn’t deny it of course. He feels a little embarrassed getting exposed like that but that's something he can put aside. What he can't however is your reaction. He's hoping he didn't make you feel to uncomfortable or weird. What can I say, sometimes even someone like Luca will give in to his desires

Kaito is not exactly known for bold moves. Don't get me wrong he wants to make a move here and there but often he just.. chickens out, thinking its probably not a good moment. And so the tiny mark just under your collarbone unexpected, to say the least. He’s more the type to apologize for breathing too loud. You decide to confront him about your finding. The 'read' appears immediately but there's no reply. He's probably screaming into his pillow right now. Five minutes later your phone buzzes with a flood of texts - panicked, and awkward. He may be spiraling but deep down he’s also a little proud, smug even. Just too scared to admit it out loud.

#tokyo debunker #tokyodebunker fics #romeo lucci #ritsu shinjo #taiga hoshibami #jiro kirisaki #yuri isami #jin kamurai #tohma ishibashi #kaito fuji #lucas errant

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shower-thoughts-last-responder · 16 hours ago

Text

Imma be so for real. I do not understand the point of apologies, and I genuinely think they're a massive waste of everyone's time and energy. Don't get me wrong, I do apologise when I've caused harm or upset to someone because clearly it is important to most people, but I just don't care about receiving an apology myself nor do I understand why anyone else does. The way I see it, either:

It was an accident, and I don't see any need to hold anyone "accountable" (unless it was the result of deliberate carelessness/thoughtlessness) for something that by definition, was not done on purpose or intended to cause harm. It seems like a ridiculous waste of time to try and "hold someone accountable" for essentially the whims of fate and expecting an apology for something that wasn't really anyones fault seems pretty selfish to me.

You've taken on bord what you did wrong, how it caused harm and in future are going to make a conscious effort to ensure it doesn't happen again. In which case, why would I need to hear the words "I'm sorry" from you? It's just words, you've already done the important bit so why do we need to fuck about with the I'm sorry I forgive you song and dance?? Again, it just seems like a waste of time and energy that could be better spent elsewhere; words are meaningless without action to back them up and if the action has already be carried out why do we need to bother with the words? The important bit has already been done, so why don't we just leave it at that?

You're not going to change the behaviour, it is going to happen again, and even if you do feel genuinely remorse for the situation, you're not interested in taking the nesseary steps to prevent future harm. In which case, I don't want your hollow apology, and I'm not interested in assuaging your guilty conscious. As far as I'm concerned, if you're not prepared to do the work to fix it, then an apology is frankly a little insulting. "Oh, I know I caused you pain, but I don't care enough to actually do anything about it, but I do feel bad, so if you could make me feel better by accepting my apology, that'd be great". Like, no, obviously, I don't want your hollow apology, you made this bed and you can fucking rot in until you're prepared to do the work to get out of it.

In all three situations, I just don't see any need to bother with the apology. Also, given that the actions to back it up are so much more important than the actual words themselves; why should I, as the wronged party, have to commit myself to the emotional labour of accepting your apology, just so you can feel better about it all? You're the one who fucked up, yet somehow I have to go through the ordeal of listening to you trying to absolve your self of your actions, and then provide you with comfort, grace and reassurance so you can feel better. Instead of all that ridiculous pantomime, you could just go fix what damage has been done and do what you can to make sure it doesn't happen again. That's enough for me, and frankly, I do not understand why it isn't enough for everyone.

Hey has anyone talked about how when neurodivergent people give an apology alongside a justification for their behaviour, it's usually a sincere attempt to explain why they acted incorrectly, but is usually dismissed by NTs as "making excuses" and attempting to escape responsibility

But NTs will often provide an "apology" accompanied by an excuse that absolves them of any actual responsibility in their incorrect action, and then get upset if any ND person points this out

#that turned into a little bit of a rant #venting about neuro typicals and their need for everything to be done their way #honestly i fucking hate the entire concept of apologies they're a waste of time and effort

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marauder-misprint · 1 day ago

Note

hii!!! omg congrats on reaching 1,000 followers! that’s so exciting and i absolutely adore you’re writing, you more than deserve it.

i was wondering if i could request a remus x reader with the prompt from “what were we” “nothing. we were nothing”??? just in need of some good remus angst.

thank you so much !!! congrats again!

Hi! Thank you ❤︎ We love love love Remus angst. And that was my main thought through writing this. "Angst, angst, angst" ❤︎

1,000 Followers celebration

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Not official

Remus Lupin x reader

2k words

cw: angst, smidge of fluff, cheating (not reader or Remus), Y/N

You were the one who ended things with Remus. If you can even call it that. You were never official official, but it was understood. If his arm was around a girl, it was you. If he was kissing a girl, it was you. You were more than friends, less than dating, but it didn’t feel like friends with benefits. It was enough of something that when Stubby Boardman started flirting with you, you told Remus you needed space.

You walked away from Remus as soon as you told him. You didn’t want to have any awkward conversation that would’ve ensued. You didn’t give Remus a reason for the space, but that was obvious within days as you stood in the corridor with Stubby’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist.

Remus was baffled with how quickly you disappeared from his circle. You had been friends before the first time he kissed you, but now you were never around. He could always find you though. If he could find Stubby, he’d find you. And that rubbed him the wrong way.

He would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t frustrated with the situation. You could do so much better than Stubby Boardman. Remus would go as far to say that he was better than Stubby, but that only angered him more because you left him for Stubby. Remus knew you better than Stubby would. He understood you. Or he thought he did. He thought you were happy with how things were going between you.

“No Y/N today?” Sirius asked when he walked into his dorm.

You had made a habit of working on Transfiguration homework in their dorm every Wednesday. You never missed a Wednesday. Until now.

“Obviously…” Remus grumbled.

“Where she at then?”

“Check under Boardman.”

Sirius coughed. He stared at Remus, trying to figure out if he was being genuine. Based on his extra grumpiness and slouched posture, it was either the full moon soon or you were with Stubby. Sirius knew the full moon was just last week. He frowned.

“Boardman, huh? When’d that happen? And what happened to you?”

Remus glared at Sirius. He didn’t really want to talk about it, and certainly not with Sirius who easily charmed his way around girls. You were special. You were special to Remus personally.

He sighed and rubbed his face rather aggressively. “Don’t know specifics about when. At least Sunday? I don’t know. The more I think about it, the less I know. So I’m kind of done thinking.”

“Wow, Remus done thinking? Has someone alerted the Daily Prophet?”

Then James and Peter came into the dorm.

“Oi, have you heard this rubbish about Y/N and Boardman?” Sirius asked the two boys.

Remus groaned, but patiently waited for their reactions. He couldn’t imagine that he was the only who noticed your absence before today, nor the only one who saw the way Stubby’s hands gripped you. That image was painfully burned into his mind.

James shrugged before falling onto his bed. “Saw them talking yesterday? What’s the rubbish?”

“I’m assuming the rubbish is the fact that she’s snogging him by the bell tower and not flirting with Moony in here,” Peter said nonchalantly.

“They’re snogging?” Remus asked, his voice strained.

It had been mere days. Days. And you were already snogging him in public? That couldn’t be right; it wasn’t right. Sure, your first kiss with Remus had been semi-public – a Gryffindor party – but you weren’t the only ones kissing and it was barely PG-13. Remus tried to recall if you talked to Stubby very much before last week. He just couldn’t picture it.

“That or he’s trying to dislodge a popcorn kernel with his tongue.”

“That’s just not right,” James said. “By the bell tower? Couldn’t find a nice broom closet or something?”

“Can we… Can we not talk about them?” Remus asked, louder than he meant to and even worse, his voice cracked. He firmly pressed his lips together for a few seconds before adding, “The Transfiguration assignment. Let’s talk about that? Due tomorrow.”

You tried not to look at Remus, but it was something you had to actively do. Your eyes drifted to him out of habit in the Great Hall, during classes, across the library. You always found him. He looked sad. Tired. He usually looked tired, but this was a different kind that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. If you hadn’t asked for space from your almost-kinda-something, you’d ask him what’s wrong and pester him until you got some sort of answer that at least sounded believable. But you had to physically distance yourself from Remus. You knew if you stayed too close, you’d fall into old habits too easily.

Stubby had already gotten to doing the one thing that Remus never did: he asked you to be his girlfriend. You accepted. You had no reasons not to. Stubby was handsome, smart and moderately funny. He was a decent kisser. He was more possessive of you than Remus was, which makes sense why he wanted to label it quickly.

Somehow with all the times your eyes went to Remus, he never caught you. Every time you looked away, his eyes were on you. He watched you and missed you. His heart clenched every time he saw you near Stubby, which was often. The boy walked you to classes and sat next to you during nearly every meal and watched you do your homework. Remus had yet to see him with anything more than a closed book in front of him. Remus got nauseous every time you kissed him. He wanted to gag when you hugged him. Just hearing his name was becoming enough to bring on a headache.

The boys couldn’t ignore how Remus was more melancholy than usual. They didn’t know how to help. He just buried himself in his assignments, putting all of his focus on that so that maybe, just maybe his mind wouldn’t wander to you, and to how Stubby had you. He just didn’t understand what happened between you so he clung to what he could understand: academics.

You seemed happy. Days passed and you were always smiling when Stubby was around you. You didn’t mind his friends and he got along fine with yours, but you did find yourself missing the chaos that was the Marauders. How could you not? You spent so much time with them over the years. But you knew that they were Remus’ friends before they were yours.

Stubby was too good to be true. He was good to you. You felt good. But just as you were fully completely settling into your role of girlfriend, the rug got yanked from under your feet. Your Charms class was dismissed early and you walked into the Great Hall. You immediately spotted Stubby. What you saw made your heart stop: him kissing another girl. Great. You stormed up to him and the girl; they broke apart when they felt your presence.

“Oh, hey Y/N,” Stubby said slowly.

“Fuck you.” You grabbed a cup from the table and dumped it over his head.

You went to spend your free period in your dorm. Your friends didn’t bother you, but they knew what happened. It didn’t take long for everyone to hear about what happened; gossip spread fast from anyone who witnessed it.

Remus couldn’t take his eyes off of you for the rest of classes. He was worried about you. You appeared wholly unbothered, but he knew that couldn’t be the case. It had to be bugging you that a guy who asked you to be his girlfriend and had his arm around you every second he could was kissing someone else. And yet you walked from class to class, to your dorm to dinner and back, like you didn’t have a worry in the world.

He couldn’t not worry about you. He stared at your name on the Marauders’ Map from his dorm. Your marker was in your dorm for most of the evening, mainly stationary. You occasionally paced, but that was something you did when you were thinking deeply on an assignment. Remus allowed himself to work on his assignments, but the map was open next to him. You stayed in your dorm until late. Then Remus watched you leave your dorm and head to the Astronomy Tower.

Remus packed up his homework.

“Where are you going, Moons?” Sirius asked from where he reclined on his bed.

“Astronomy Tower.”

“Why?”

Remus didn’t say anything, but he paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“Moony… Why?” Sirius repeated, propping himself up and eyeing Remus cautiously.

“Y/N’s there,” Remus said quietly.

“And you’re going?” Peter asked.

Remus didn’t answer vocally. He just turned the knob and walked out.

You were sitting in the Astronomy Tower, happy to be alone and just looking at the stars. You couldn’t bring yourself to cry though. You just sat in your feelings. Somehow you weren’t good enough to be someone’s. Remus never asked you out and while Stubby did, you weren’t enough for him. You sighed. You were enough for yourself. That’s what mattered.

You didn’t hear Remus’ footsteps as he climbed the stairs. You didn’t hear him approach you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still standing a little bit away from you. He wasn’t sure if he was someone you’d want to see right now. He would’ve been a few weeks ago.

“Been better,” you said.

Remus took a few steps closer to you before sitting down. You sat in silence for a few minutes. You didn’t know why he was there.

“Can I ask something?” he asked.

You hummed, not looking at him. You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the sky.

“What were we?”

You scoffed. He had the audacity to ask that?

“Nothing. We were nothing.”

“Nothing?” Remus repeated. “We were nothing?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Huh,” Remus said. “I thought we had something.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything about it?” Your voice cracked as you tried to blink back tears. You still stared at the sky. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“What we had, it was working? Wasn’t it?” he asked.

“No. It was just fun. That’s all I was just fun to you.”

Remus sat up a little straighter. “You weren’t just fun to me.”

You shrugged and said, “Felt like it. You never actually asked me out.”

“I-I… I thought it was implied. We were together all the time.”

“But I could never call you my boyfriend. I was never your girlfriend. So what we were was nothing.”

“What if I had?”

“Had what?”

“Had asked you out? Asked you to properly be my girlfriend? Would that had made a difference or would you still have asked for space?”

You didn’t answer right away despite knowing your answer. You finally looked at him and the look on his face was almost pathetic, like he knew he had had something good and let it get away. You’re sure how you’re feeling is painted across your face.

“I would’ve seen where it went. If you had asked me, Stubby probably wouldn’t’ve flirted with me in the first place.”

“What about now?”

You tilted your head and furrowed your brow. “Now?”

“If I asked you out. Now. I know the timing isn’t great, but I’d like to try again. You and me. Real dates. Labels. The whole shebang.”

“You’re right, the timing isn’t great.” You looked away from Remus.

Him saying that hurt. Why was he asking that now and not a few weeks ago? Months ago? Even years ago? You’ve been around and he’s waited until now, and he picked a pretty shitty time to ask.

“Do you want-?” he started to ask.

“I need a little time, Remus. But, would you mind sitting here? It’s better than being alone.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll stay.” Remus scooted a little closer to you, close enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder.

You’d stay like that for a while. Until you were ready to go to bed.

Remus would ask you for real next week, and you’d say yes.

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #request #remus lupin fic #remus lupin #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you

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razorblade180 · 1 day ago

Text

A Musical Memory

Weiss*reading*

knock knock knock

Weiss:It’s opened.

Jaune:*walks in* Hey Weiss.

Weiss:!? Jaune? *stands up* H-Hi! Are you okay? Is there a meeting going on or…

Jaune:No, it’s been pretty quiet the last couple of hours. I just haven’t gotten the chance to tell you happy birthday.

Weiss:Oh! Right, I don’t know how that slipped past me.

Jaune:Has no one told you?

Weiss:They have. Ruby did her best to make my type of coffee. It was a whole thing; I probably have to brush twice as hard to get all the sugar. Hehe, I guess I sorta put the rest of the day behind me.

Jaune:Yeah. We’ve definitely been busy one way or another. But I’m relearning the importance of taking a moment in. On that note… * pulls out gift*

Weiss:You bought me something!? Aw, you didn’t have to do that. Thank you. *takes it*

Jaune:You haven’t even opened it yet.

Weiss: Call me an optimist. We need some of that these days.

She unwrapped a small rectangular box and opened it. Inside was something she had long since forgotten; it was pendant in the shape of her family crest, but the complex sigils inside were replaced with a single music note.

Weiss:A Snow Note. This is from my first major recital. They came with albums. Jaune, how did you-

Jaune:Was walking around the market today. Plenty of people have been selling and praising things they took before leaving Atlas. My family has actually been to a few of your performances so I recognized it right away. Thought it would be a shame if it didn’t end up with someone who really appreciates-

The smallest tap on the cool metal brought his attention back to Weiss’s eyes and the tears that flowed like a river. Not even she had realized at first that she was crying until she noticed the boy’s worried expression. Her hand brushed across her face to reveal the reason for his silence. Weiss sat back down on the edge of her bed, frantically rubbing the tears away. It didn’t take long at all for Jaune to sit by her.

Weiss:I’m fine! Totally fine! Wow that… hehe, really snuck up on me! I’m sorry.

Jaune:Nothing to apologize for. If you wanna talk, I’m here for you. If that’s okay?

Weiss:It just kinda hit me how long it’s been since I’ve been on a stage; me standing front and center. Ready to sing my heart out. Don’t get wrong, there was a lot of functions and recitals that I wouldn’t greatest. My father sure planned a lot to save face. If there was one thing that was genuine though, it was the music. Hours of singing and lights before crisp air outside of a coffee shop for another well done performance.

Jaune:You were drinking coffee that young?

Weiss:Back then it was hot chocolate. Extra syrup. Wasn’t really good for the vocal cords, but Klein always made sure it made it in my cup. Siiigh *frowns* It’s ironic really. I spent so long running away, now every day I miss that frigid air; those plowed roads that made walls tall enough to duck for cover in a snowball fight. Can’t believe it’s all gone….

Jaune:….Alright. I’ve decided. I’ll help you rebuild.

Weiss:What?

Jaune:Yeah. Eventually when this is all over, people are gonna rebuild their lives as best as possible. That includes the kingdoms. Never really thought about what I should do when the fighting is over. Now I do.

Weiss:You choose to help rebuild a kingdom you’re not even from?

Jaune:Yeah! I mean you’re probably going to help Vale along with your home. It’ll be a perfect use of my time. Someone has to help plan and organize job priorities as well as task management. And I just so happen to have decades of experience. *grins*

Weiss:You- pfft, hahaha. Yeah, I suppose you do.

Jaune:*grinning* It’s a perfect use of my skills! Brick by brick. Day by day! We’ll build a better place meant for Atlas and Mantle locals! That includes a nice big stage the day it’s finally completed where you can welcome everyone back home. I’m talking spotlights and ribbons; people watching the girl that helped saved the world with her own two hands pick up the pieces, and redefine her name sing like an angel while dancing to beat. Big smiles everywhere followed by clapping as everyone thinks, “Wow, she really can do it all.”

Weiss:*blushing*Is…that what you think of me?

Jaune:…Umm, yeah. I think you’re pretty amazing. *red* A gift that keeps on giving.

Weiss:Ah, I see. I’m happy you think so highly of me. *puts pendant away*

Jaune:Not wearing it?

Weiss:I’d be beyond furious with myself if something happened to it. I want it in perfect condition, so I’ll wear it on stage when the day comes. Though if that’s the goal, I should start singing again. I’m sorely out of practice. It’s actually embarrassing. You’d also need to brush up on guitar most likely.

Jaune:Me!?

Weiss:Yes you! A grand stage gets lonely. Plus it’s also your achievement. Celebrating together would only be right. I recall your skills being pretty good all things considered.

Jaune:Is that so? Huh… didn’t realize you heard them so well through the slammed door.

Weiss:Okay, we didn’t have to bring that up! *grins* Way to kill a mood.

Jaune:Really? You’re smiling again.

Weiss:…You’re so ridiculous.

The both of them shared a light hearted smile and laugh. Any reason for tears felt forgotten. As the laughter faded, they found themselves closer than before. Not only emotionally, but physically; how long have their hands been touching?

Something told Weiss to lean closer ever so slightly, watching for a response.

Her heart started sinking when Jaune didn’t move. Heat rose to her face and she began to retreat, only to notice a sadness grow in his as she did. All it took was a subtle flinch forward by him for Weiss to take the plunge. She leaned in again, stopping at nothing until warm, anxious lips gently pressed against hers. Time itself seemed to stop for this moment, capturing it for the rest of their lives until Weiss slowly leaned back again to see his face match her. Was his hand shaking, or was it hers? Weiss had no clue, but her heart was definitely pounding. Suddenly she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Instead she stared at the hand she held.

Weiss:I…I know things are very weird and crazy and… a lot right now. There’s so much to do all the time but I really need you to know I uh, I really like who we are. What we’re trying to be as people. Having these talks about anything and everything, they make everything easy to carry. You make everything easier to carry. This doesn’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want but…I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel something wonderful.

Jaune:…Every night I spent alone, there wasn’t a moment that went by where I didn’t miss you all. That being said, every time I thought of your smile and how I probably wouldn’t see it again, the ache in my chest grew worse. Weiss, I like who we are too and our talks. I like…us.

Butterflies. That’s all she could feel as she raised her head to see the same fear in his eyes that was in her heart. Weiss’s lips quivered between smiling and crying again as her eyes watered. All the same, she leaned in again. This time his arms wrapped around her torso and her jewel while her hands cradled Jaune’s face. For the first time in a while, loneliness didn’t feel so overwhelming. How could it with someone close enough feel all of you; to hold all of you down to your soul. Both of them knew this was only a step into a direction they wanted and not the solution. Still, this moment…

It was a gift Weiss was dead set on keeping. And who knows? Maybe one day, it’ll be her first love song.

#rwby #weiss schnee #jaune arc #rwby whiteknight

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fresh-bag-of-ham · 3 days ago

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THANK YOU. I also found that post and read the study just after the OP turned off reblogs. I shared it with a few friends, and we also concluded it was a trainwreck of a study.

I mean, just from personal experience, I could tell you that reading aloud is a completely different cognitive process for me and I genuinely absorb nothing of what I'm reading while I'm doing it. Hell, I can tell I process what I'm reading completely differently even with just the expectation pressure of my partner holding up a book to show me a passage he thought was interesting. And that's without constant interruptions! I am not a cognitive science person but from what little I know about working memory from going through ADHD testing and diagnosis, I am confident cogsci has something to say about asking subjects to decode and analyze complex written text, while reading aloud, while being interrupted and prompted by another person. These students cannot possibly be demonstrating how they read on their own under these study conditions.

But maybe my biggest critique is that these are the first 7 paragraphs of a 900-page novel -- when I'm starting any novel, I expect a thousand new things to be thrown at me at once, I don't expect to understand them all immediately, I am filtering to find anchor points like the main characters and the setting, and I also, crucially, expect most of my initial questions and confusions not only to be answered as I continue to read the novel, but I understand many of them to be my response to the author's purposeful techniques to pique my curiosity and induce me to continue reading their novel to find the answer.

Reading through confusion is literally part of being a skilled reader! This isn't a lease or a contract -- this is a story where information is typically being strategically supplied and withheld to create dramatic effect. I am certainly not picking up a dictionary until I've read at least a chapter of a novel and found my bearings in a new text -- I first need to have a framework to know where to slot any additional information before I'm going to bother seeking it out.

Also the idea that readers "don't expect what they're reading to make sense" doesn't really follow from their responses. Maybe this is a story where cats are lawyers and dinosaurs roam the streets -- I don't know how much the participants were told about the excerpt they were reading from, and after only two sentences, I don't actually have enough information to rule that out as ridiculous yet. I have certainly read books where both those things happen! Americans will clock "Michael" of Michaelmas as a common name and a "caboose" as part of a train. Drawing on previous knowledge and making quick temporary assumptions to test as you go are also part of processing what you're reading! To come to a different, correct understanding very quickly is absolutely possible... if the reader is allowed to continue reading and processing without being interrupted.

To that point, I also could not explain off the cuff to a researcher in words what a Chancery or a Lord Chancellor does. But do you know where I'm pretty confident I could find a far more thorough answer than I could get from a quick internet search? In 900 more pages of a Dickens novel on the subject.

So I decided to read the actual study (link) - it's totally free. TL;DR: the study is testing how well people in the 21st century can understand the specific nuances of 19th century London. This is not "reading comprehension", they are testing whether you know things like what a "Michaelmas Term" (Wikipedia) is. This is... to put it politely, not a normal part of reading comprehension in any sort of day to day task. This study is exclusively about your ability to read and be familiar with the nuances of 19th century English Literature as a specific body.

The study structure was 20 minutes to read aloud seven paragraphs. So, while one was allowed a quick Google or a peek at the dictionary, there isn't really time to do any sort of deep dive - this is a test of whether you are already familiar with this sort of work.

---

Oh, but it wasn't just 20 minutes to read it out loud: every few sentences, the facilitator would poke the subject to explain the last few sentences. Not summarize, no: they wanted a full dissection. "Dickens is setting the atmosphere by describing the fog" was considered a failure of comprehension. The only explanation they provide that counts as a "pass" is almost twice as long as the actual passage itself!

It's not even really clear if they made it clear to the subjects that they were looking for this sort of verbose summary - the facilitator just replies "O.K." regardless of how detailed their response is.

I cannot imagine I would do terribly better, given 20 minutes to read aloud 7 paragraphs, and being constantly prodded to regurgitate the material at random intervals!

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I really do NOT consider it worth reading, but here's a link to the original post for posterity's sake: https://www.tumblr.com/prettyboysdontlookatexplosions/783379386552516608?source=share

#also 'subjects failed to go back and slot in newly gleaned meaning into previous points of confusion'#you are making them read aloud sentence by sentence. why would they think to jump back to something without direction #none of it makes any CENTS

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yesimwriting · 2 days ago

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I really like to think about bestie and armand just being a silly little couple if/when they finally get together and doing silly couple stuff...

also I love your writing, I'm obsessed with them and their dynamic !!

this is such a cute concept, their dating/together era would be so sincere, i feel like that sounds kind of vague but their relationship is just so genuine, like there's no ulterior motives to the way that they are with each other

here's a list of couple-y things bestie and armand do when/if they ever lock in and get together:

When discussing labels, bestie is inclined to use the word 'boyfriend' because it's familiar. Armand finds the term much too fleeting and dismissible and would be ready to call bestie his companion after a single openly romantic outing (maybe before then tbh).

Regardless of any debates on what to call each other, bestie is so happy to show off/introduce Armand to her friends and family. Also, I think Armand is extremely polite around bestie's relatives. Best behavior for the in-laws <3

Bestie becomes so adept at deciphering how Armand's feelings, that a single glance in his direction is enough for her to know what kind of mood he's in. She also knows when to try to make him talk about what he's feeling, and when to just silently sit with him.

Armand's yearning somehow gets worse after they're officially together. He's constantly treating her like she hung the stars in the sky.

Armand reads about 95% of the books that bestie reads without being asked to so that he can talk to her about them.

He also brushes up on whatever art style/medium bestie is currently working with to make sure that he's familiar/up to date on whatever bestie's working on.

Speaking of bestie's art, she paints Armand regularly. He doesn't tell her how significant these paintings are to him until she's made a few.

Also, I think it'd take some time for Armand to tell her some of the details about his trauma, but once he does, he tells her more specifics than he's told anyone else. He'd also tell her about the ways in which it still affects him.

He regularly pledges his loyalty to her and means it, which, sometimes, feels more significant than saying "I love you".

They don't think to have a conversation about living together, they just end up always sleeping in the same place.

Bestie and Armand are like magnets. They constantly gravitate to each other without realizing it. Even when they're both doing independent activities, they end up in the same room, and then eventually, holding hands/touching each other in some way.

Despite their different schedules, they become semi-dependent on sleeping next to each other.

I believe that Armand has some trauma when it comes to abandonment, and while anxious attachment tendencies and jealousy can be a lot, bestie understands why Armand struggles with these things. She'll reassure him as much as she needs to, and genuinely doesn't mind.

Bestie is incredibly protective of Armand's mental an physical well being. He likes noticing flashes of that protectiveness more than he'd ever admit to.

Also, after they're finally together, sometimes they'll discuss something that happened in the past and bestie randomly realizes that Armand has been pining for her.

Armand discusses eternity with her extremely casually.

Any vampires that know about bestie's existence know not to mention her in front of Armand for their own safety <3

----

this became way longer than i thought it'd be omg

#they're so obsessed with each other #thanks for the ask <3 #bestie reader verse #iwtv x reader #iwtv x fem!reader #armand x reader

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elliespassagerprincess · 2 days ago

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The song save your tear - the weekend reminds of a fwb situation, could you make a ellie williams x reader one?

Maybe one where ellie didnt want to have a relationship with reader and treated her like a friend so now reader treats her like a simple friend and rejects ellies advances

(if you want to make it dark you can! But i leave that up to what you think its best!)

Thank you babes!

Save your tears - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i hope you enjoy! i wrote 2 versions to this. This and a darker version, lmk if you want that one too!!

this story is based off the song Save your tears by the weeknd, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: friends with benefits dynamic, angst and emotional manipulation, power imbalance (emotional), jealousy and toxic behavior, alcohol use

Summary: Ellie Williams never wanted commitment. When you first tangled in each other’s sheets, it was her rules: casual, no strings, no complications. You agreed—half-heartedly. But feelings grew in the silence between skin and shadows.

masterlist

The first time it happened, you were both drunk.

Not the sloppy kind—just loose enough to forget the warnings stitched into your better judgment. Ellie’s hand on your thigh, the glint of a dare in her half-lidded eyes. “We don’t have to make this a thing,” she said against your neck, casual like it was just another Friday night. “Just... fun, yeah?”

And you—foolish, soft, already hooked—nodded. “Yeah. Fun.”

It became a pattern. Late nights, tangled limbs, and laughter that always faded too quickly when the morning sun hit. Ellie would slide on her hoodie, brush a kiss to your cheek, and mutter, “Don’t catch feelings, alright?” Like it was a joke. Like she wasn’t the one carving space inside your ribs.

You told yourself it was enough. That the warmth of her body beside yours was worth the cold that followed when she left.

But the thing about pretending? Eventually, someone forgets it's not real.

The night everything shifted, you were at Dina’s.

A party, crowded and loud, red cups everywhere. You didn’t expect Ellie to show up—she hadn’t texted in three days—but there she was: leaning against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, her gaze flicking over the crowd until it landed on you.

You were talking to someone else. Some girl from Lit class. Laughing—genuinely, for once. Ellie watched, her expression unreadable.

Later, when she cornered you outside, her breath visible in the cold, her voice cracked. “Who was that?”

You blinked. “What?”

“That girl. You were flirting.”

You laughed, bitter. “Isn’t that what we do, El? Flirt with people we don’t care about?”

She flinched like you’d slapped her. Then she kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

You let her. Of course you did. But something inside you stayed locked this time. You didn’t fall into her like before. You didn’t cry when she left.

After that night, Ellie started showing up more.

Texting. Calling. Bringing you coffee “just because.” She’d sit too close on your couch, her hand brushing yours like a ghost of what used to be. But you didn’t let her in.

You stopped waiting for her messages. Stopped rearranging your world to fit around hers.

When she said, “Let’s hang out tonight,” you told her you had plans. No explanation. No apology.

Ellie looked stunned, almost hurt. “With who?”

You shrugged. “Does it matter?”

That night, she posted an old photo of you on her story. Just your hand in hers. No caption.

You blocked her for a week.

She showed up at your apartment. Rain-soaked. Eyes red.

“I miss you.”

You looked at her like a stranger.

“You had me,” you said softly. “And you didn’t want me.”

Ellie didn’t know how to mourn something that was never officially hers.

She spent nights lying awake, replaying your laugh, your voice, the way your fingers curled into her shirt in your sleep. She used to pretend she didn’t notice. But she did. She noticed everything.

Now, she notices your absence.

The silence in her apartment is thick with your ghost.

She tries to move on. Hooking up with someone else—a distraction. But when she touches her, all she feels is how different she is from you. The wrong perfume. The wrong laugh. The wrong everything.

She leaves before it’s over.

Back in her car, knuckles white on the steering wheel, Ellie whispers to herself, “What the fuck did I do?”

You see her again at the art building.

She’s leaning against the wall, sketchbook in hand, pretending to draw. Her eyes dart up when she spots you, and there’s that flicker of hope—raw and real.

You approach. Calm.

She straightens. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Silence. She breaks first. “Can we talk?”

You nod. “Sure.”

You walk beside her, down quiet paths where words feel louder. She tells you everything. How she was scared. How she didn’t think she deserved you. How she messed it all up.

“I’m ready now,” she says. “For real. I want—”

You hold up a hand.

“Ellie…” You meet her eyes. Steady. “I don’t want that anymore.”

She freezes. Like her heart stops.

“You—what?”

“I don’t want to go back,” you say. “Not after how it felt to be your ‘almost.’ I won’t do it again.”

You see it hit her. The panic. The grief. And still—you don’t flinch.

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” you whisper. “But I stopped waiting for you.”

Later, Ellie listens to “Save Your Tears” on repeat.

She finally understands the lyrics now. Every word.

“I broke your heart like someone did to mine…”

She used to think heartbreak made her immune.

Now, she knows it just made her cruel

You move on.

Not with anyone else—not yet—but with yourself. You go to therapy. You heal. You fill your days with things that make you feel whole again. Not dependent on someone’s half-hearted love.

Ellie tries, once more. She leaves flowers. A letter.

You don’t read it.

You leave the flowers on your doorstep until they wilt.

It’s not about punishment—it’s about peace.

You don’t cry for her anymore.

She watches you from a distance sometimes, wondering if she ever really knew you. If she ever deserved to.

She doesn’t chase again.

She finally learns what it means to lose someone who loved you completely.

You let Ellie into your apartment one night, not out of love—out of curiosity.

She stands awkwardly near the door, like she knows she’s trespassing somewhere sacred.

“I’m not here to mess things up,” she says. “I just… needed to see you.”

You nod slowly, arms crossed.

“I never knew how to love you right,” she says, voice low. “But I never stopped wanting to try.”

You tilt your head. “Ellie, wanting to try means nothing when I was begging for it before.”

Her face crumples.

You let her cry.

But you don’t hold her this time.

You just say, gently, “Go home, Ellie.”

Two years later, you meet again. Different city. Different lives.

She looks older. Softer. Worn down in the way heartbreak shapes you.

You talk. Lightly. Carefully. Like a bandage being peeled.

“I never loved anyone after you,” she admits.

You smile. “I loved myself after you.”

There’s silence.

And then, for the first time, Ellie smiles too.

No expectations. Just understanding.

Sometimes love isn’t a second chance. Sometimes it’s knowing when to let go.

You sit in your apartment, tea in hand, the rain tapping against the window. You used to cry every time it rained.

Now it’s just weather.

You think about how far you've come.

How love isn’t meant to be begged for, or bargained with.

And if Ellie ever really loved you, she’ll learn that too.

You close your eyes. You are whole.

And finally—

You don’t miss her.

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