#like there ARE things where you kind of have to figure it all out at once is my point there

[wroetolando]

𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where netflix interviews you about your relationship with lando

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: you are in love - taylor swift

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The room hums with quiet anticipation as the Netflix production team makes their final adjustments. The bright white walls and minimalist décor give the space an almost clinical feel, but the warmth of the overhead lights makes it slightly more inviting. A few feet away, the interviewer shuffles through her notes, her well-rehearsed smile never faltering.

You sit in the plush white chair, Lando’s hoodie draped over your frame like a protective shield. You hadn’t meant to wear it—well, maybe you had. It had been an early morning, and in the rush to get ready, you grabbed the first thing that felt comfortable. Now, as the cameras adjust focus, you wonder if people will notice, if fans will recognize it from the countless Twitch streams and Instagram stories. They probably will.

The cameraman counts down from three with his fingers.

“And… rolling.”

The interviewer’s smile widens. “Alright, let’s get started.” She flips open her folder, her pen poised between her fingers. “You’ve been around the paddock for quite some time now. Fans have seen glimpses of you, but you’ve managed to stay relatively low-key despite being in a relationship with one of the most talked-about drivers on the grid. How has that been for you?”

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your hands clasped together in your lap. “I don’t really think about it too much,” you admit. “I mean, I know people are curious, and I understand why, but I’m not here for the attention. I’m here for Lando.”

The interviewer tilts her head slightly. “That’s interesting because, whether you like it or not, you have become a figure in the F1 world. From being spotted in the McLaren garage to celebrating podiums with Lando, the cameras have taken notice.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that too.”

She flips to the next page of her notes. “Let’s go back to the beginning. When did this all start? How did you and Lando first meet?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. It wasn’t like some dramatic love-at-first-sight thing. We were just… friends for a long time. It was always easy between us, you know?”

“Friends to lovers?”

“Yeah.” You nod, the memory of it still so vivid in your mind. “It just sort of happened over time. I don’t think there was ever a moment where we sat down and said, ‘Okay, we’re in love now.’ It was just us, and at some point, we realized we couldn’t imagine life any other way.”

The interviewer smiles. “That’s really sweet.” She glances at her notes again. “Now, Lando is obviously a very public figure. His fanbase is huge and passionate, and with that comes a lot of attention—not all of it positive. How do you handle being in that world?”

You take a slow breath, choosing your words carefully. “It can be overwhelming sometimes,” you admit. “I try not to let it get to me, but there are days when it’s harder than others. Some people are really supportive, but others…” You pause, debating how honest you want to be. “Let’s just say not everyone is kind.”

There’s a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “Does that ever affect your relationship?”

You shake your head. “No. At the end of the day, I know Lando, and he knows me. That’s all that really matters. It’s easy to get caught up in the noise, but when we’re together, none of that exists.”

The interviewer leans forward slightly. “So, let’s talk about race day. You’ve been in the paddock for some of Lando’s biggest moments, including his first podium and some really close battles. What’s that like for you?”

You let out a small laugh, already feeling your heart rate pick up at the thought of those high-stakes races. “Stressful,” you say with a grin. “Really stressful. I trust him completely, but watching him go wheel-to-wheel at 300 km/h? Yeah, that’s terrifying.”

“I imagine it’s quite an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Oh, absolutely.” You nod. “There are days when he’s on top of the world, and there are days when it’s devastating. And you feel all of it with him.”

The interviewer watches you carefully. “And how do you support him through those tough days?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. “I just remind him that one race doesn’t define him. He’s so hard on himself sometimes, and it’s easy for him to forget how incredible he is. So, I try to be the voice that tells him it’s okay to have bad days.”

She smiles. “That’s beautiful.” There’s a brief pause as she flips to the next question. “Now, fans have picked up on how he looks at you, how protective he is. There was even that one moment on Twitch where chat thought it was adorable how he made sure you were okay. Do you ever notice those things?”

Your cheeks warm slightly. “I mean, yeah, I notice,” you say with a soft laugh. “But that’s just him. He’s always been like that, even before we were together. It’s just who he is.”

The interviewer grins. “Well, fans love it. And speaking of fans, you’ve gained quite a few of your own. Do you ever think about that?”

You blink in surprise. “Not really.”

“Well, you should. People adore you.”

That makes you smile. “That’s nice to hear.”

She sets her notes aside. “Alright, last question—where do you see this going? The future?”

Your gaze flickers toward the door, where you know Lando is probably waiting just outside. Then, you smile, your answer coming easily.

“Wherever he goes, I’ll be right there with him.”

The cameraman signals that the recording is over. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The interviewer offers you a warm smile before thanking you for your time, and as soon as you step out of the interview room, Lando is there, leaning casually against the wall.

“How’d it go?” he asks, pushing off and slipping an arm around your waist.

“Not too bad.” You glance up at him. “They asked a lot about you, obviously.”

He smirks. “Well, of course. I am pretty great.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, he tugs you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thanks for doing it,” he murmurs. “I know it’s not your thing.”

You lean into him. “It’s worth it for you.”

And as the cameras pack up behind you, fading into the background, you realize that no matter how many interviews come your way, no matter how bright the spotlight gets, this—being here with him—is what matters most.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[effervescentwolf]

nothing impossible <- ao3 link

“Hey, Buck!” Eddie practices in the car as he enters LA. “Christopher’s finishing his school year so I’m—”

He gets stuck in standstill traffic. He’s gotten used to it, used to any obstacle really, driving around in Texas, kind of expects it. Before, he’d complain to Buck about every little inconvenience on the road until Buck wrestled the keys from his grip.

“If you wanted me to drive, you could’ve just asked,” Buck would say, fondness all over his face, and Eddie’s whole body would go warm.

There’s a crash up ahead so he sits there, windows down, breathes in the smell of this place. El Paso and LA smell similar in a lot of ways, but there’s a difference he can’t quite put his finger on. There’s also an ease to the way he sits here rather than there, a rigid line of tension that he can’t find anymore when he searches for it.

There’s a difference between traffic there, where it would build up inside him, where everything was building and building, and traffic here where he’s a puppet cut loose, where he can simply sit and breathe and think.

He thinks of Buck when the traffic starts moving again.

“Buck?” he imagines calling, if he used the spare key safe in his pocket, trying to figure out where Buck would be in the house when he gets there. He glances at the time, nearing 4 PM. Buck isn’t on a shift today, he reasons. He probably went to the gym in the morning, got groceries sometime after. He didn’t have anywhere to be for lunch today, and there was nothing special in his calendar. “I’m home,” Eddie says softly, trying to imagine saying it in about thirty minutes, which is how long it’ll take him to get home if his estimate is accurate.

“Missed me?” could be on the table when Buck opens the door, and Eddie will grin wide and hold his arms open for a hug he kind of desperately wants.

Or, “Is there enough for two?” because dinner might be on the stove, or in the oven, and Eddie will be able to smell it from outside the house. Buck will turn, wearing that blue apron of his, and his eyes will widen, mouth in a perfect o, and Eddie will laugh, then.

“He’s coming home,” Eddie might say first because he knows that’s on their mind. That would happen after a silent hug, after Buck takes one look at him and maybe cries as he pulls Eddie in. If Buck cries, Eddie will too, and he gets a little emotional just thinking about it, them crying together on the doorstep, holding each other, and then laughing together at how ridiculous it is.

The minutes whittle down to streets and it hits Eddie suddenly that he’s home. He’s not nervous to see Buck the way he was nervous to see his parents, wiping sweaty palms on his pants, smoothing down his hair in his rearview mirror, over and over.

No, here, he parks, walks easily up to his door, grinning already, and all the debate about what he’s going to do dissipates. He knocks on the door because Buck isn’t expecting him. He’s not sure how Buck believed Eddie’s fumble of a lie about going out today and not being able to call, but he did, though he texted him throughout the day anyway.

Eddie waits a minute. Taps his foot, turns with his arms folded and surveys the neighbor’s houses. Knocks again, and frowns this time when there’s no answer, and then he lets himself in.

It’s quiet inside. “Buck?” Eddie calls anyway, halfway through kicking off his shoes when he looks up and realizes it looks the same. Different, because it’s not his furniture, but things are where they were when he lived there. He’d suspected over FaceTime, but it feels like Buck’s been preserving a little of kernel of him, and all of a sudden it hits Eddie that he’s really home. That he belonged here, and belongs, that he’s about to see Buck, and he’s going to have his kid, and that he has it, everything he’d ever wanted.

He swallows down the lump in his throat, runs a hand over the couch as he passes, says quietly, “Can I crash here?” That’s what he’ll say first, a joke about the couch, or Buck taking over his house, when Buck gets home.

He makes his way to Christopher’s room, opens it a sliver, sees it’s empty, and then closes it, putting his forehead on the door. Buck kept him too in his own way. Kept both of them there while they were gone. He didn’t replace them.

He doesn’t bother knocking on what used to be his own bedroom door, just opens it and oh, there’s Buck.

He’s sprawled out on his back, one hand on his stomach, not even under the covers. He hasn’t shaved today, Eddie can tell, and he doesn’t really think when he comes forward and sits next to him. Over FaceTime, he couldn’t see as much as he can now. Couldn’t watch the way Buck’s chest rises and falls with every breath, the scratch on his knuckle he whined about yesterday. Eddie can see it now, a little white mark on Buck’s hand, and he thumbs over it absently, not sure why he has to touch it, only that he does.

There’s a breadth to Buck that a phone could never approximate. A realness. He’s right there, in his bed in Eddie’s room, all of him, down to his socked feet. Eddie feels oddly emotional over seeing his socks, and he’s not sure why, but he’s been feeling emotional at a bit of everything these days when it comes to coming home.

“I missed you,” Eddie says, and he’s glad those are the first words he says with intention in this house, even if Buck isn’t awake to hear them.

His hand is still resting over Buck’s. He doesn’t move for a long time, just watching Buck breathe, and breathing it all in, and then he goes off to shower.

Buck is still asleep when Eddie walks back in with wet hair, barefoot, wearing shorts and a t-shirt he scrounged from the closet. Droplets roll down the back of his neck to dampen the collar of the shirt, which feels good after the heat of outside. He’d forgotten how much he missed that particular brand of shampoo, and the way the light in his bathroom looked on him in the mirror. Even the squeaky faucet, the way the door stuck a little when Eddie pulled. It’s like discovering everything anew, and it’s also like he never left.

He rummages through the fridge, discovers leftovers, and piles up a plate that he takes back to the bedroom so he can sit next to Buck and eat, munching thoughtfully as he mentally rearranges the house.

“I was saving that,” Buck mumbles, voice rough with sleep, and Eddie nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Warn a guy, would you?” Eddie says, turning to look at him once he’s swallowed, heartbeat still a panicked pace in his chest, and then he thinks only, that’s not how it was supposed to go.

Buck yawns, blinking blearily at him, rubbing at his eyes. “Where’s—”

“Finishing the school year,” Eddie answers, easy, and then he doesn’t want to eat anymore. He just wants to look. He wants to look at Buck looking at him. “You can have the rest,” he offers, something squeezing at his chest.

Buck ignores it. “But he’s coming back?” he asks, earnest. Sincere. Eddie can't put into words how much it means that someone's right there with him.

Eddie nods, manages to put the plate on the bedside table, and then Buck is sitting up next to him and pulling him into a hug. “Oh, Eddie,” Buck says, and Eddie breathes him in and holds him tight, and he thinks, I did good. I did good.

“Proud of me?” he mumbles, like he can’t feel it in the way Buck is squeezing him.

“You smell good,” Buck says instead, and there’s a little thrill that runs up Eddie’s spine at that. “Have you been back for a while?”

“An hour, maybe,” Eddie answers, face tucked into Buck’s shoulder. “I showered.”

“Mm,” Buck says, nosing at his ear, and Eddie’s stomach swoops like nothing else.

"Buck," he complains, words soft around the edges. He doesn't mean it, and he's reminded that Buck knows him better than anyone because he doesn't move an inch, rubbing Eddie's back comfortingly, and that’s where it all catches up to him.

"Yeah?" Buck says, smile all over his voice. Eddie can hear the rumble of his chest from here, and that wasn't captured on FaceTime either, and he can hear Buck breathing right next to his ear. “I didn’t know what I was going to say to you,” he confesses into the safety of Buck's shoulder. “I was practicing in the car.”

Buck doesn't say anything for a moment. “Anything you said would’ve been good,” he offers, like it's obvious, voice warm all the way through, and there’s something different about Buck’s warmth than the sun on his skin in El Paso, something that cuts the last string keeping him there, that tames something within Eddie’s chest that has been begging to be let out.

Eddie sniffles, just a little. "Not anything," he protests weakly.

Buck's next breath is a little shaky, and it takes Eddie a moment to realize he's crying too. "Anything," he repeats, sure of it, and Eddie forgets standing on another doorstep, practicing what to say, fumbling over the words and feeling small under his own failures. Here, he has a million things to say, none of them impossible, but he only needs to reach up and squeeze the back of Buck's neck for Buck to say, everything like home, "Eddie."

[glazedcroissant]

Been thinking about Galacta knight and his use of fire. I've actually got a few headcannons about it if you want to have a read!:

So! I've actually got a whole system worked out for how I think magic in the Kirby universe might work, but let's just look at this goof first. *puts him under a magnifying glass*

To start, every mage has their own unique form of Energy magic. It's essentially their "default" manifestation of mana; the caster's most natural state of magic. It is generally seen as the safest type of magic to use, easily channeled through the body and moldable enough to use in a wide range of spells. As a bonus, its drawbacks are small, requiring a mage to burn through nearly all their mana reserves before they'd have to deal with any advirse effects. Galacta knight uses this type of magic for things like his energy swords and abusing the laws of nature by using his own mana as an ill advised substitute for sleep.

Some find their Energy magic limiting on its own, prompting research into other forms of magic to tie into their spells, such as elemental magic.

Fire magic, like all elemental magic, can be quite costly against its user if not used with caution. Every use raises the caster's body temperature, leading to sweating and eventual coughing. Abuse of the element will envitably cause minor to severe burns at channeling sights, depending on one's tolerance and overuse. It is important to time attacks and casts far enough apart from each other to allow the body time to cool down again. Some learn counter elemental spells to cut down on this recovery time—such as water or ice magic to counter fire—but such rapid heating and cooling is dangerous and harmful to the body.

Galacta knight is an incredible fire mage, having a natural aptitude for it, given his affinity. The vast majority of magic users are born, or soon develop, an affinity to a specific kind of magic. They're brought into the world with an innate understanding of that type, though it may take some time before they realize what it is. Galacta knight's being fire gives him a better tolerance to its effects than most. Even so, he is not immune, and manifesting blisteringly hot flames within one's core is, generally, unrecommended (nevermind setting your whole body alight in a blaze of glory). It's typical to see mage's using weapons or heatproof gloves as their channeling sights to help prevent self-inflicted burns, and Galacta will typically use his lance or shield for this. However, spells can often be charged and fired off faster and more powerfully when expelled through the body alone. That, and breathing fire looks cool as hell. Galacta figures a parched throat and dry eyes for a couple hours is worth the payoff. He's tried the whole counter element deal to cool off faster, but Water magic doesn't mesh well with him. He lacks the the serenity and steady flow at his core to understand it.

Also! As a fun little addition. If you're wondering why I ting his fire pink, it's because that's the color of his natural Energy magic. Elemental magic is still dependent on the user's own mana pool, with it's appearance changing from mage to mage depending on the individual's natural magic properties.

This is just my own thoughts I've scraped together into the doughy mixing bowl of my brain, of course. And, like dough, these thoughts are subject to change and grow later on. I've got some thoughts on the ins and out of How elemental magic, and the other types, are cast in terms of the technical (l say loosely cause it's literally magic) aspects of them, but I don't have all those details ironed out yet. My mind is a fickle thing, never wanting to settle on one headcannon or another. It's part of the reason I hesitate to write and draw longer character scenes and interactions, my opinions of them constantly shifting. But! I do think I'm getting to the point where I can keep them somewhat consistent in my head. Thus, my little fire magic spiel.

[wowzerwyrm]

Okay, I'd like to start an open discussion here of some sort. Main problem being, I'm not really sure the best way to do that. Reblogs aren't really great for a discussion, comments are a little janky, and a direct message seems rude for multiple reasons and also isn't really open, since what I want to do is to get these thoughts out there for anyone to read if they want. So I guess what I'm settling on is I'm going to have an open discussion with myself here, directed at no one in particular but reblogged from this post since this is the thing that sparked it, and if anyone wants to comment on my thoughts with their own, either criticism consideration that would be neat (though I can't guarantee I'll have the energy/attention span later to actually respond, even if I'll do my best to) All that out of the way, this post makes me feel bad. Why does it make me feel bad? Let me figure that out, because my emotions are not what determines the morality of a situation, just what I'm already predisposed to think. I'm not an AI artist, I don't use GenAI for my own art or writing. But I also don't personally see GenAI as inherently a bad thing. Is it simply my proximity to the idea, so I feel as if I'm being called a nazi supporter? Maybe, it could be as simple as that. So, it's probably a good idea to analyze my understandings about GenAI art and the claims being made to see if I feel bad just because it sucks to be unfairly compared to something bad, or if it's because I'm feeling some cognitive dissonance that I don't like. (Ergo, am I a nazi supporter?) Regarding the claims in the post, how do my understandings and beliefs line up?

AI art is a great tool for people who think art's only purpose is to look good

Okay, so... this is objectively true, yeah. AI art is a great tool for people who think art's only purpose is to look good. But for some reason, it still feels inaccurate even though it is true. Let me break down the idea and look at some of the implied and inverse statements this one creates. 'People who think art's only purpose is to look good' definitely has a lot to unpack in it. As an artist, I'm familiar enough with the idea that art is so much more than just the end-product visual medium and how technically proficient it is. Along with the fact that 'good' is a distinctly difficult idea to nail down. Given the reblog about nazi art ideals, I think it's okay to assume that 'good' in this case is along the lines of 'good vs evil', black and white thinking, and the fascist view of cleanliness and purity. Something that decries art that doesn't meet the same specific stylization and standards as not just different, but 'wrong' and 'bad.' And is AI art a good tool for people who think like that? Yeah, sure. (though also I'm starting to think No, after getting into more of the comments and tags on this post and similar ones, but I can get into that later.)

But it will create very smooth, clean, 'sterilized' pieces of art, for sure, and that is definitely something that fascists want.

It's a neat sort of post, where a fairly straightforward statement is also a clever turnaround idea that is supposed to help you get the idea of what is really going on. I do tend to like those kinds of posts, where it's a statement that doesn't quite fit the mold of what you assume (in this case, as an artist that frequently expresses distaste and disgust for GenAI (along with just being in the general zeitgeist of anti-AI sentiment), it's odd for her to post something about AI being a good tool in any way, and that oddity makes you think, and the careful phrasing of the post draws your eye to the 'only', which reminds you that art's purpose isn't only to look good, which then puts the first half of the sentence in a different light.) If, for example, she had posted that "AI art is a great tool for people who think art is supposed to look good." That would have much different implications, as would just posting. "AI art is a great tool for people who want to make art that looks good." Which leads to another interpretation of the post

AI art is [only] a great tool for people who think art's only purpose is to look good

This is, objectively, not what the post is saying. It literally does not say this. OP even said in another post that there's nothing inherently fascist about wanting to create better art. But I think it's a reasonable assumption to make that this was the idea a reader was supposed to land on, and the implication the OP was trying to make. (I could be wrong, and please let me know if that is the case.) And I think this is where the post started feeling bad to me, because that specifically is something I disagree with. Sure, it absolutely can and has been used to make sterilized, clean, 'good' art for people who don't see any other purpose or understanding in why and how people create. But I also truly think that that is not it's only or best use. I think it can and often is used to create powerful, interesting, thoughtful and clever pieces of art. It takes it's own process to do, much like how hand-drawn art or photoshop takes practice and knowledge to create the thing you want to see in your head. A lack of skill in any of these will produce something uncanny and unsatisfying, just in different ways. (But it's still worth doing, because practice is good and art isn't just about how it looks and is also about the process and about your experience with it.) Is it being used for terrible, annoying, and fascist things right now? Yeah, absolutely. But pencils and paint and chisels and cameras and brushes and digital art programs are also great tools for people who don't think art has any purpose but to look good. Terrible, annoying and fascist movements are going to create terrible, annoying and fascist products using whatever tools they can, and that doesn't make the block of marble itself fascist. And the biggest thing, in the end, is that Fascism and nazis are bad because they destroy things they don't like. The problem wasn't that everyone all of a sudden started just creating the same bland, clean, sterilized style of art because it was easy or fun. The problem was that powerful people decided that this one specific type of art (and person) was 'correct' and then outlawed, destroyed, and slaughtered everything and everyone who thought otherwise.

AI art is... not doing that. Companies and industry were already paying as little as possible for bland and simple art to use for their marketing and using people in other countries with looser labor laws for their call centers, because that's what companies do, because art in marketing is only about what looks good. I remember countless ads with all the same artstyle not because it was created by AI but because it was created by an artist who was being paid to create something bland and simple and sterilized for the purpose of advertising and drawing in customers. AI may have been the next tool that made it even easier, but that was the same of each iteration of increasingly user-friendly art programs, all the way from cameras to Clip Studio. Fascism may be on the rise in the US, but even right now GenAI art itself is not forcing other people to only do that one sterilized art style any more than the brush forced people to create nazi propoganda. And, in the end, AI isn't even doing that good of a job for them. It's too good at doing exactly what it's told. Previously, little pieces of humor and 'soul' and interesting design would sneak into those bland pieces of advertising because the artists they would hire like to create, they would go do a little extra or experiment a little and occasionally that wouldn't get stomped out by the executives and so it would make it through. Now, the executives skip out on the practiced artist and create something themselves. In the past they didn't do that because actually putting pen to paper for the first time is a frustrating experience that shows you don't really know what you're doing yet. But because GenAI can create something that looks how they imagine something is supposed to look, what they want, they don't question it, and they send it out as is. But that's not the AI's fault, that's the fault of a lack of experience. It's the equivalent to a CEO firing their artist, then picking up that artists pencil/paintbrush/digital pen and slapping together a hasty sign that says 'buy my product' with a smiley face on it. And the public can tell that this is the case, and so they don't buy the product, and so it backfires on them. When an experienced artist uses a tool, it can create something interesting and thoughtful and purposeful. No matter the tool, paint, photoshop, or GenAI. (Of course, this doesn't go over how LLMs have been used in marketing and for google searches and pre-installed on every computer, or the biases and racism present in a lot of currently-created LLMS, and that's kind of a completely different conversation and is totally fucked because they don't look up facts they just make stuff up. It's also not a conversation about whether or not AI is theft, which I don't believe it is, but am willing to chat about.)

AI art is a great tool for people who think art's only purpose is to look good

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤ──── sorry doesn’t fix stupid ❞

ㅤㅤ♱ summary: inspired by this idea by the iconic @muwapsturniolo <3

chris knew he’d fucked up the second he saw y/n’s face that night; it wasn’t just a regular screw-up, like forgetting to text back or eating her leftovers, no, this was the kind of colossal, earth-shattering fuck-up that deserved its own wikipedia page.

her art gallery opening, her first solo exhibit, the one she’d been grinding for since she picked up a paintbrush, was the one night she’d asked him to show up for. not just show up, but be there, front and center, clapping like a proud boyfriend.

he’d promised. pinky-sworn, even, because she’d made him do it over tacos one night, laughing about how serious he looked. and what did he do? he ditched her for a sweaty, pointless pickup game with his loud-ass friends, rolling in three hours late with grass stains on his jeans and a goofy “my bad, babe” that didn’t even land.

y/n didn’t scream. she didn’t throw a drink in his face or call him out in front of her artsy friends sipping overpriced wine. she just stared at him, eyes cold as a freezer burn, and said, “get out.”

no inflection, no second chance, just a flat, final order. he tried to stammer something—an apology, an excuse—but she’d already turned back to some guy in a beret, laughing like chris was a ghost she’d exorcised. he slunk out, tail between his legs, and spent the next two hours pacing his room, replaying the look on her face and cursing himself for being so goddamn dumb.

by day two, she was gone. not just mad-gone, but gone-gone.

she’d packed a duffel bag, left his hoodie on the porch with a sticky note that said “donate this” in her neat, loopy handwriting, and blocked him on everything—phone, instagram, even spotify, which he didn’t know you could do.

he tried texting her from his buddy jake’s phone, but she’d sniffed that out too and sent back a single “lose this number” before blocking that one too.

chris was a mess: hair unwashed, living off stale doritos, staring at the ceiling like it’d tell him how to fix this. it didn’t. but around 2 am, fueled by a fifth red bull and a desperation he hadn’t felt since his dog ran away when he was nine, he decided to write her a letter. not a text, not an email—a real, old-school handwritten apology. he figured the effort would hit her in the chest, crack that icy wall she’d built.

he poured his heart out, ink smudging from his sweaty palms, and slid it under her door at dawn, praying she’d at least skim it.

she didn’t just skim it. she dissected it.

dear y/n,

i know i messed up. like, catastrophically. i don’t even have words for how sorry i am, but i’m gonna try anyway because you deserve that much.

[“catastrophically” is cute. did you borrow it from a thesaurus? also, “gonna” isn’t a word, genius. write “going to” like an adult. and “deserve that much”? vague. try harder.]

i should’ve been there for your gallery thing. it was your night, and i blew it so bad i hate myself for it.

[“gallery thing”? it’s an EXHIBIT, you absolute walnut. my literal blood, sweat, and tears went into it, and you call it a “thing”? “blew it” doesn’t cover it; you torched it, stomped on the ashes, and spit on the grave.]

i got caught up playing ball with the guys, and i lost track of time, and i know that sounds like a lame excuse, but it’s the truth.

[oh, wow, the truth? how noble. doesn’t make it less pathetic. your “guys” are a pack of overgrown toddlers. comma splice after “guys”—should be a period. basic grammar, chris.]

i’m an idiot. a complete moron. i don’t deserve you, not even a little, but i’m begging you to give me another chance because i can’t stand this.

[finally, some self-awareness. “moron” tracks—gold star for honesty. “begging” is a choice, though—kinda sad. also, “not even a little” is redundant. pick a lane.]

page two is where it gets real deep.

i stayed up all night thinking about how much you mean to me. you’re my everything, y/n, and i know i don’t say it enough.

[what are you, a soundcloud rapper? “everything” is lazy—name one specific thing or it’s just noise. and you don’t say it enough because you don’t show it, period.]

i remember the first time we met, at that coffee shop, and you spilled your latte on me and laughed, and i fell for you right then and there.

[run-on sentence, my guy. should be: “we met at that coffee shop. you spilled your latte on me and laughed.” also, i laughed because you squealed like a teakettle, i thought you’d cry.]

i can’t lose you over this. i’ll do anything—therapy, time management classes, hell, i’ll tattoo your name on my forehead if it proves i’m serious.

[“can’t” needs an apostrophe—can not, you caveman. therapy? you need a lobotomy. and a forehead tattoo? don’t tempt me to say yes just to watch you regret it.]

page three is me promising i’ll never let you down again. i swear on my life, on my mom’s life, on every stupid basketball i own.

[“never let you down again” is a bold lie since you’ve flaked 23 times, i’ve got receipts. “swear on my life” is dramatic and legally meaningless. also, your basketballs are trash—swear on something valuable.]

i love you. please, just talk to me. i’m dying here without you.

[comma after “please” is pointless—cut it. “i’m dying” is a you problem, not a me problem. and “talk to me”? i’d rather talk to my houseplant—it shows up when i need it.]

yours (if you’ll still have me),

chris

[“yours” is delusional at this point. parentheses in a signature? weird flex. also, sign it “christopher”—“chris” is too casual for this mess.]

y/n found the letter when she got home from a late-night diner run with her girls, still buzzing from fries and petty gossip about chris’s latest flop. she saw the envelope under her door, his messy handwriting scrawled across the front, and almost kicked it into the hallway trash chute, but curiosity—and maybe a tiny flicker of boredom—won out.

she grabbed a glass of pinot noir, plopped onto her couch, and tore it open. the first line alone made her snort. by page two, she was cackling, red pen in hand, slashing through his words like a professor grading a failing essay. she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt; chris had earned this, and she was too good at being petty to let it slide.

she spent an hour on it, sipping wine and muttering to herself.

“catastrophically? who does he think he is, shakespeare?” she circled every misspelling, every lazy contraction, every desperate plea, her notes dripping with sarcasm and shade. by the time she hit page three, her handwriting was a little loopy from the wine, but her spite was razor-sharp. she folded the letter back up, grabbed a neon pink post-it from her desk, and scribbled a reply that felt like a mic drop:

“hey christopher, your little sob story’s a trainwreck. grammar’s atrocious, logic’s nonexistent, and i’m not your therapist or your mommy. you wanna grovel? fine. rewrite this garbage and fix every single error i marked, make it coherent, and hand-deliver it under my door by tomorrow, 6 p.m. sharp. no typos, no excuses, no sad puppy eyes. if it’s halfway decent, i might unblock your sorry ass. might. clock’s ticking, clown. don’t test me.”

she taped the note to the envelope, strutted to his house three blocks away in her fuzzy slippers—because she wasn’t dressing up for this fool—and left it on his doorstep. she even knocked twice, loud, just to make sure he’d hear it and panic. then she walked off, smirking, already imagining him scrambling to meet her deadline.

chris, meanwhile, was sprawled on his couch, halfway through a bag of cheetos, when he heard the knock. he stumbled to the door, orange dust on his fingers, and saw the envelope. his heart jumped—maybe she’d forgiven him? then he read her note, saw the red ink bleeding through the pages, and groaned so loud his neighbor banged on the wall.

he opened it, skimming her edits, and felt his soul shrivel. “uncultured toaster”? “lobotomy”? she’d even counted his screw-ups—23 times? he didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or burn the letter and move to canada.

but chris was stubborn. and maybe a little masochistic.

he wiped his hands on his shirt, grabbed a fresh pen, and cracked open a notebook. he had 23 hours to rewrite the apology of his life—and he wasn’t about to let her win this round.

not yet.

︶ ͡ ۫ © stxrsniolo & eclipsturns's all rights deserved ! /ᐠ - ˕ -マ

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ⚡︎ ㅤ𝑀𝐘 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ..! @courta13 @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy @oopsiedaisydeer @v4lsturn @pair-of-pantaloons @idkwhatthisevenislol @sturn777 @whore4mattsturniolo @madifilipowiczisthebest @fratbrochrisgf @ivysturnss @mattsatellite @sturnsblogs @izzylovesmatt @allisonclairee @m4gz-png @mr-wrinkleton @bluestriips @surprisecurlyfriesbackup @immaqulate @wysmols @chrepsi @mattslolita @ribbonlovergirl @milo-the-dog @madisturni @ariestrxsh @myluck4u-com

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version) IX

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You wake up after passing out

TW: discussions of eating disorder, mentions of self harm through dance

Waking up from being passed out isn't how it's portrayed in action movies.

There's no jerk reaction. There's not much clarity. There's absolutely no brilliant idea you have immediately when you awake.

It's slow and kind of painful, one side of your face throbbing with pain from where it's pressed onto the hard wooden flooring of the practice room.

You come back into consciousness confused.

You were practicing before you fell, practicing until your feet ached and your head spun and until you can feel your toe pads grow wet with your own blood.

Spin.

Spin.

Spin.

Jump.

Spin.

Spin.

Spin.

Again. Again. Again.

Over and over again.

No rest. No breaks. Not a moment of peace for yourself as you practiced.

You didn't deserve it. Not yet anyway. You were just a members of the Corps. You weren't a soloist. You weren't a principal.

They could rest because they've already made it. They're at the very top. They're the greatest they've ever been.

You're not that. Not yet anyway and those that aren't the best have to keep practicing so that's what you do.

You practice again and again until you're bleeding and bruised and-

And you're on the floor with a throbbing face, utterly confused.

You haven't fallen. You've never fallen. You can't have fallen.

You haven't though.

You passed out, midway through your practice and now, as you open your eyes and blink, there's someone with a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey," It's the woman that works at receptionist," Don't try and get up, sweetheart. I've called your mother. She's on the way."

She's speaking to you. You can definitely hear her but it sounds like she's miles away. Miles away and deep under water. Or maybe you're the one that's under the water.

"My...What?"

The woman smiles at you, slightly strained as she drinks in your prone figure. "Your mother. She's on her way here now."

"I..." Your befuddlement must be written on your face as you try to make sense of what she's just told you because she gives you a kind smile and hands you a sports drink.

It's one of your favourites from the vending machine and you don't want to think about how many you've drank instead of actually eating.

Your stomach is completely empty, feeling more like a trench in the deepest pit of the sea than anything else.

It's a feeling you're familiar with. One that you can grasp onto because of that familiarity as you try to claw yourself out of the confusion that's haunted you since opening your eyes.

"I-"

"Have a sip," The receptionist tells you," That's it. Small sips. Take it slow."

The bottle is still half full by the time the door swings open again.

Alexia looks manic, eyes wide and hair not at all neat and tidy like it usually is.

"Thank you for coming," The receptionist says, stepping away from you finally to approach your mother," She's had an electrolyte drink but that's about it. I'd give it another ten minutes or so and then try to get her in the car." She glances briefly at you before lowering her voice just so Alexia can hear. "I know it's not my place but perhaps you want to talk to her about going for a session with a member of the support staff? They specialise in eating disorders."

Alexia nods grimly. She doesn't particularly like being told that, that this older woman can tell so clearly you're suffering from an eating disorder while she, herself, hadn't noticed for weeks. But, still, Alexia nods and agrees.

"Hey," She says softly, helping you to prop yourself up against the mirror, staring at the blank wall ahead of you both," How are you feeling?"

"My face hurts," Is the only thing you offer up.

"Let me look, bambi."

Gently, Alexia takes your face in her hands. She checks you over softly, turning your head around in her grip so she could get a good look.

"Just as beautiful as always," She teases, running a soft finger down the bridge of your nose like she always did when you were little.

"Mami," You complain," That's not what I meant."

"You're not bruised just yet," Alexia tells you," But we'll put some ice on it when we get home. And you don't seem concussed. Can you tell me what day it is?"

Your lips quirk up, just briefly. "Would it be too soon to say that I don't remember?"

"Yes. Unless you really can't remember?"

"I remember," You say," Today is the day Jaume wanted to stay late at practice and you didn't let him."

Alexia hums. "That's right. So, you're not concussed. Just ice when we get home and a good, hearty meal."

The soft, quiet atmosphere is shattered in an instant - shattered into millions of tiny little pieces and you tense from your position under Alexia's arm.

"I'm not hungry."

"Really? Because you just passed out."

"Heat," Is the excuse you come up with, mind spiralling with attempts to push this conversation away," It's hot in here. Especially when I'm dancing."

Alexia doesn't look convinced though. She's always been able to see through you, always been able to needle and wheedle her way into finding out things you really didn't want her to.

"I'm sure," She says," But I'm also sure the lack of food didn't help either."

"Mami." You voice is firm as you speak," Drop it."

"No." Alexia's voice is just as firm as yours as she keeps you under her arm, pulling you even closer until your cheek rests on her shoulder. "Sometimes, we need to have hard conversations that we don't want to have."

"We really don't."

"We do." Alexia's voice is still firm. Firm and tense. "We can have it at home or we can have it here. It doesn't matter to me where we have it but we're having it tonight."

"Mami-"

"No," Alexia cuts across you before her tone softens again," I love you, y/n. I love you so much but you're hurting. You're hurting in a way that I can't understand but I can help, alright? I want to help you. You have to let me. We don't have to talk now but we do have to talk."

"I...I know, Mami," You say, trying to swallow down the tears building in your eyes," Mami...I know."

A soft kiss is pressed onto your head.

"We'll talk when we get home," Alexia promises you," And we are going to be grabbing a milkshake and nuggets on the way back. No arguments."

"I wasn't going to...Can we get mozzarella sticks too?"

That shocks a laugh out of her. "Of course, bambi. Extra mozzarella sticks."

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Fault Lines Ch. 1

request: wanted to know if you could write something where the reader is a ex-winter solider (just like bucky, but maybe she doesn't lose her arm) and how she struggles to accept Joaquin. An overall angst to fluff.

pairing: joaquin torres x ex-super soldier!f!reader

contents: canon typical violence, blood mention, illusions to abuse and torture, ptsd and other mental illness, enemies to lovers, angst

wc: 1,479

an: this series is based off of this request here! this series has truly poured out of me and is nearly done, and with all the other bits i've been writing, i'm probably just going to post it as quickly as i can as not to lose steam. i hope yall like it, i'm a little nervous as i've avoided writing this time of character before in fear i wouldn't do her justice. pls be kind!

fault lines masterlist

Someone has been ahead of Sam and Joaquin at every turn. Once might’ve been luck. Twice was suspicious. Three times? That meant someone else was hunting Hydra too—and winning.

And while Sam, Joaquin, and everybody at S.H.I.E.L.D wanted Hydra wiped out, they also wanted to know who was doing it and why.

They don’t know where this person is getting their intel. A mole, a hacked database, or maybe just a particularly desperate, sloppy faction of Hydra. Either way, it’s getting frustrating—because every time Sam and Joaquin show up, ready to extract information, all they find are bodies cooling in pools of blood.

Not today. Today’s a setup.

There’s snow on the ground, crunching beneath their boots as they grow closer to the rendezvous point. It’s still falling, freckling their dark clothing as they slip between the trees, far enough from each other to not garner attention but close enough in case things go awry. 

“Whoever this is, they’re dangerous,” Sam mutters, voice low in Joaquin’s earpiece. He scans the abandoned Hydra hideout from the cover of a half-collapsed outhouse, gunpowder and metal still thick in the air. “They’re calculated. They know what they’re doing.”

“So do we,” Joaquin counters, shifting his weight as he waits for the signal to continue moving through the treess.

“Yeah, but listen. As far as we know, it’s one person. And they’ve taken down whole squads of Hydra. No stray casualties. No blood spilled but the ones they were after. Who do you know that can do that?”

“If you let me upgrade the suit—”

“I’m serious, Joaquin,” Sam cuts in, sharp. No room for their usual back-and-forth. “Whoever this is doesn’t just have tech. They have something else. It’s inhuman.”

Joaquin swallows hard, the words settling in his chest like a weight. Sam’s instincts are good. If he thinks something’s off, it is.

The plan is simple: lay low, watch the meeting point where Hydra’s last known contacts are supposed to regroup, and wait for their mystery hunter to show up. If things go south, they intervene.

Joaquin already has a feeling this won’t be clean. Minutes pass. The winter wind howls through the wreckage, biting at their cheeks and rattling loose metal. 

It’s subtle. A shadow flickers at the edge of his vision.

Joaquin goes still with focus, eyes locking onto your figure as you slip through the ruins with silent precision. Even with the snow on the ground you don’t make a sound, its almost as if you’re floating. You move like a ghost—controlled, effortless. A hood hides your face, but everything else—your stance, the sharpness of your movements—radiates readiness. Like you’re expecting a fight.

He sees your shoulders rise and fall and then, you strike.

Hydra operatives barely have time to react before they’re taken down with brutal efficiency. A knife flashes once, twice—only when necessary. The rest fall under precise, bone-breaking force. No wasted movement. No hesitation. It’s methodical. Programmed into muscle memory long ago.

Joaquin feels his stomach turn, not even the cold air can keep his head clear. He’s seen this before. This kind of combat. The precision, the control. The lack of wasted effort.

“Sam,” he whispers, tension winding tight in his spine. “This isn’t just some ex-agent cleaning up loose ends.”

“I know,” Sam says grimly. “I’ve seen that kind of fighting before.”

The last Hydra operative collapses with a wet groan. Blood pools at your feet, staining the snow but it doesn’t phase you as you remove your knives from bodies and clean them on your sleeve. You pause, breath steady, then turn your head slightly, surveying the space around you. You can feel them watching. 

Sam doesn’t hesitate. He moves first because he knows the last thing they need is for you to find them first. That only ends in more blood. “We’re up.”

The second they step forward, you react like you were trained to. Like a cornered, wild animal. Your body pivots fast, hand already reaching for another knife—but Sam raises his hands in a rare show of non-hostility.

“Easy,” he says. “We’re not Hydra.”

“I know who you are,” you cut in. Your voice is even, but the weight behind it is enough to make Joaquin’s pulse jump. “And I don’t want to hear it.”

Because yeah, you know exactly who Sam Wilson is. You know his green little sidekick, too. And more than that, you know his boyfriend—how he went from committing some of the worst atrocities Hydra ever assigned to shaking hands with senators. How his sins were washed clean because he had the right people to vouch for him.

You don’t have people like that. You’re not Bucky Barnes. And you don’t think you want to be.

“You have to hear it,” Sam says, regret laced through his voice. “Or we’re gonna have to take you in.”

You scoff. “Try it.”

Joaquin takes a slow breath as Sam glances at him. A silent you’re up.

You’re quiet, weighing your options. And then, with an almost imperceptible shift, you move. Fast. One second, Joaquin is standing his ground and the next, he’s dodging a strike that would’ve knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Damn, alright, shit—” he manages, stumbling back, hands up. “Hold up. Hold up. We’re the good guys here.”

You don’t lower your stance, but you hesitate when he doesn’t try to fight back. It’s slight, but Joaquin sees it. Despite your speed, your breathing is even. Controlled. Regimented.

He exhales slowly, heart still hammering. “You haven’t killed a single innocent person. That tells me you’re not the monster they tried to make you.”

Your face shifts for a moment but whatever is there is too fast for Joaquin to name. His voice softens. “I’ve seen people who fight like you. You were trained to be something you didn’t ask to be. That’s not who you are, right?”

His words somehow sneak their way past the walls you've put up and strike you in your heart. Because he’s right, you didn’t ask for it and its not who you are. Its who you were made to be and you’re just finishing the job. He sees it in the way your shoulders shift, in the microexpression you aren’t able to hide this time.

After a long beat, you lift a hand and push your hood back— he can see you clearly anyway. “No, it’s not.”

Joaquin’s breath catches.

He wonders if this is what it felt like for Sam when he and Bucky finally were able to connect and see each other as human. He can feel the weight of all you’ve experienced and all you haven’t just in once glimpse. From it, Joaquin feels nothing but sadness for you, imagining all you endured in your captivity. 

“Come with us.”

Sam steps forward. “Whoa, Joaquin–” 

You give them both a bitter smile, cutting Sam off, “Don’t worry, captain, I‘d rather die of frostbite out here anyway.”

“You're not helping.” Joaquin scolds you, looking between the two of you before pulling Sam to the side, his expression confused. “Sam, c’mon. What would Bucky do?”

“Don’t bring him into this, man.”

“I didn’t bring him into this, he is this.”

“He was,” Sam says firmly. 

“He was, and you helped him out.”

Sam sighs– Joaquin was right. It hadn’t started out that way, Sam had needed Bucky’s help. He doesn’t even remember when or how the lines began to blur; he just knew that when he was with Bucky things felt…right. They’d been lucky though, finding that in each other.

 “So what, you wanna try to save her?”

“Don’t you?”

You clear your throat behind them, and they both turn around to meet your gaze. “One; I can hear you. Two; I don’t need saving.”

“I bet you could use some back up though,” Sam insists, looking at you over Joaquin’s shoulder. “Whatcha think about that?”

He’s not wrong. You could benefit from a free ammo re-up. It’d be nice to sleep in a place where you know there are harmless, good guys. Where the walls don’t morph into haunting faces and close in on you. 

“I think there better be a hot shower and meal for me when we get there,” You start towards their tracks but when you don’t hear them moving you glance over your shoulder at them. “You princesses coming?”

“How’d you know which way?” Joaquin asks, brows knitting together.

“The tracks,” You answer easily, taking a couple more steps in that direction. You hear a soft purr. “And now the engine.”

Sam glares at Joaquin. “You left the car running?”

The two start their usual bicker and you lead the back, wondering what you’ve just gotten yourself into. Maybe something as good as what Bucky’s got— most likely none of that and more pain. That’s all you’ve ever known.

> ch. 2

let me know if you'd like to be on the joaquin torres taglist!

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[maryellencarter]

"What is it about Pokemon specifically that you can't seem to get into?"

You know, I think that's what I'm kind of trying to figure out. It seems like it should be my jam. I didn't grow up gaming -- I'm the right age for the Pokemon phenomenon, give or take, but I was extremely sheltered and had never even picked up a video game controller until about four years ago. (I did get into Mass Effect on PC about twelve years ago, but for a long time that was the only video game I'd ever played.)

I mean, I'm an incurable completionist: I own every single purchasable furniture item in ACNH except one I haven't tracked down yet. I'm all about mathy combat: I calculate potential sneakstrike damage in my head to choose the optimal weapons in Breath of the Wild. I love adorable tiny creatures and evolving them into other slightly less adorable creatures: I have a complete Kanto dex in Pokemon Go, although my increasing mobility issues and the growing pay-to-break-even nature of the app have discouraged me from playing anymore.

But I've tried Let's Go Pikachu, Brilliant Diamond, Scarlet, and Violet, and I haven't gotten past the late midgame in any of them. Partly that's because they really try to force you to have a friend group that plays -- I actually resold my Let's Go cartridge because I was so upset when I found out Gengar was a trade evolution so I wouldn't be able to get one (Gengar is my favorite pokemon, it's so fat and happy and Halloween) -- but I don't think that's the whole reason?

I've been chewing on this for a while, and I'm thinking... it seems to me like a big part of it is that I mostly play games where the devs are more or less on your side. Prepare for the fight the way the game tells you, and it'll be challenging but you'll have good odds of winning. Pokemon has an almost soulsborne attitude where it expects you to go into the fights from about the third gym onwards and *lose* at least once, because there was some kind of clever gotcha with dual-typing or move coverage where they set you up to fail -- you brought a Psychic type to the Fighting gym like the door greeter said, and got owned by Dark moves or a Lucario that has only Steel-type weaknesses.

And that's... probably a good type of game to exist for children? Learning that you're not always going to have all the information, that you will fail, that you might have to step back and refine your plan based on new data and try again, those are all good things to practice. Even as an adult.

But the game never tells you, and the general cultural attitude around Pokemon never tells you, that that's the kind of game it is. You go into a soulsborne, you know from the tutorial area that your ass is there to get kicked. You go into Pokemon being told it's a fun cozy game you can beat while playing like a five-year-old who just picked the mons they liked the best, and the first couple gyms bear out that impression before they flip the script on you.

And I know a big part of the problem is that that is a lesson I could probably use, that it's okay to fail. I tend to be far too much of a perfectionist as well as a completionist. But because it's a game, and I'm aware it's a game that has designers making all these decisions, finding out each new way I've been set up to fail always feels like a slap in the face. I play games when I want something I can succeed at, because god knows the rest of my life isn't that.

So why do I keep coming back? Mainly because it is The franchise for collection completionists, I think. Even that gets annoying, with version exclusives and time-limited mythicals and what all manufactured FOMO, but it's so tempting.

I am kind of interested in learning how to play the older games on emulators, but I'm not sure where one starts with that. I have a gaming laptop that I'm sure could run an emulator, but every time I google it I suspect I'm going to have to finally give in and make a Reddit account in order to access the communities where they teach you about those things.

(A bunch of people have recommended I try Legends Arceus as a different sort of pokemon experience, and I really appreciate the suggestions! I've watched a bunch of Legends Arceus gameplay, and with all the respect in the world, I tend to wind up at "if I wanted to play Breath of the Wild, I'd just boot up Breath of the Wild". The influence is... very apparent. I don't even mean that as a slight -- literally every franchise has been trying to catch up to the ways BotW revolutionized what game worlds are expected to be! But if I'm going to fall in love with Pokemon, it's going to be for the things that make it the most itself? Whatever those are, which I think is what I'm really trying to figure out here.)

Tussling with yet another failed attempt to get into the pokeymans (I think rationally it's probably a genre that is Not For Me, like platformers, but that seems so fucking *stupid*), and I have Some Questions for People. Unfortunately I can only put one poll per post, so please be patient while I stack some reblogs.

[jaegerbby]

➳ someone older: chapter one

--͙[kento nanami x female! reader]-͙-

╰┈➤ word count; 4420

╰┈➤ rundown; you can’t have everything you want but you definitely can’t have your best friend’s dad.

╰┈➤ caution; best friend's dad! nanami, age gap (20s & 40s), dirty talk (descriptions of a blow job/face fucking), grinding, alcohol consumption, mentions of family issues.

| chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 |

you like to think that all the things life has thrown at you have not influenced you.

perhaps, it has changed you in one way.

you want the things you cannot have.

one of those being the blonde man sitting before you.

nanami is gorgeous.

to an insane degree.

you are mesmerised every time you see him.

he is narrow eyes and sculpted cheeks. chiseled jaw and pink lips. he is enthralling and kind. he is stern but you find his humour one of his most attractive qualities.

he is dress shirts and khaki pants galore, you barely saw a glimpse of his body but the muscles of his back are so defined you can see them etched through his shirt.

his back is broad, his biceps are wide and you want to see it all in the absence of clothing.

he is your obsession although he should not be.

right now, the scent of alcohol intermingles with his enticing cologne.

right now, his daughter is sleeping upstairs while you are standing a foot away from him.

his daughter happens to be your best friend.

she has done nothing but be there for you and treat you with utmost affection so why is it hard for you to resist the one man you should not be around?

the truth is, nanami is one in a million. the more you dwell on the thought of him, the more you realise, there is no one like him.

"nanami." you call. his eyes open immediately, his head raises from where he leans on the couch.

he finds the bare skin of thighs, your sleep shorts hardly do anything to conceal you. he straightens up, avoiding your figure once he comes to his senses. he clears his throat but you step closer.

"can i join you?"

"i don't think you should." he brushes his hands over his face. you both tip toe around the tension that surrounds you. every time your eyes meet, every time you are in a room alone.

it manifests in the way you stand a little too close to him or smile a bit too wide. in your fingertips brushing his skin as he passes a dish to you when you stay over for dinner. in you calling his name a bit more excitedly than you should.

you sit beside him regardless of his answer. your thigh presses to his, you see him glance down although he does not tell you to move.

you glimpse over the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. his fingers fidget before he reaches for the glass. he swirls the liquid then downs it in one go. your eyes do not leave him for a moment.

you memorise the way his adam's apple bobs while he consumes the contents, the way his forearm flexes and his veins raise.

it clicks against the table and he fills it up again. his expression remains unchanged despite the bitter liquor.

"i want some." it is not the alcohol you are referring to. he knows it but nanami has a bad habit of ignoring things.

"it's not good for you." he speaks softly and lowly.

"so?" your hand finds the rim of the cup, bringing it to your lips. nanami cannot think as your mouth rests on the same part his did. your eyes squeeze as the liquid burns your throat.

he leans back, his legs spreading and his hips tilting up as he adjusts himself. his leg pushes yours without much trouble. you swear he is doing it on purpose. the material of his pants strain against his built thighs and the shirt he wears is held together by only a few buttons.

otherwise the fabric loosely drapes over his skin and you can see most of his chest.

"you don't listen."

"never." your tongue slips out to dampen your lips, you wish you could taste the whiskey off his instead of your own. you hardly think, maybe you do not think at all when his hooded eyes are on you. "do you have a crush on me?"

his lips pursue, his lips that you so badly want to kiss. "i'm too old for that."

"you aren't denying it." you perk up.

nanami's finger brushes against your knee. almost like an apology for the words that follow. "you don't like me y/n. you don't. you have things going on at home and you want some place to run to." it makes your chest hurt. "you want somebody to treat you the way you deserve." his thumb slowly drags over your knee and the softness of his voice has your heart beating faster.

his gaze is too affection for you to be mad at him. although you want to be.

"maybe i do. maybe i'm just fucked up. is that why you sound like you want to take care of me?" you are crossing a line. "cause, kento, i'm a mess. i don't know what's good for me but you're the sensible one." he grips your knee tighter, you called his name. it might be the best thing he has ever heard. "shouldn't you do what's right?"

"i am. i'm doing the right thing." he forces out.

"really?" you lean over him, your hand on the knee furthest from you. his eyes follow as your palm moves higher, his muscles shifting beneath it. his shoulders jolt when your soft lips meet his chest. "i like you. it's not some misplaced affection. if it was, i would never come near you and you know that."

he does. he knows you better than he should.

you trail wet kisses across the broad expanse of his chest, moving along his neck until you finally meet his angular jaw.

you mouth feels too good him and you are too close for him to think properly. your scent invades his senses and destroys his resolve.

"do you want me to be your baby?" you puff, there is barely an inch of space between you. you are practically falling into his lap and the weight of your little hand impresses dangerously close to his erection.

"don't ask me that." he clenches his jaw and he has to reach down to adjust his cock. he hates that you lick your lips because of it. he hates that it makes him harder.

"why? you're a man and a girl is throwing herself at you."

his features contort in something close to irritation. his fingers slowly find your hair, stroking it with affection. "i don't just want to fuck you. you're not some random girl, you're not a hook up."

your eyes flutter, nanami cannot help but like the way your lashes look. he likes the way your face looks this close. your finger hooks on his shirt together exposing more of his chest.

"i want you, more than i should, more than i'm allowed to."

your eyes flit from his hooded ones to his lips. you reach up to brush your fingers along them. you want to kiss him. you feel like you need it to breathe.

"you're drunk."

"no, i'm not."

"then everything you say, will you take it back later?" you swallow hard.

"no." he draws you closer, nudging your nose with his. you swear you stop breathing when he leans in until your lips meet the other side of your fingers.

"don't hate me for this." he tugs your hand from between you and he softly pecks your lips. how could you ever hate him? there was no plausible scenario that would ever change the way you feel about him.

"that's not a real kiss." he tilts his head, brows raising at your miffed tone.

"what kind of kiss do you want?"

"i want to taste you as much as i feel you." you jolt when strong hands grip your waist and he's bringing you onto his lap.

all you can focus on is the way you are perched on him after never getting this close before.

"like this?" he caresses your cheek and then his mouth finds yours. nanami kisses like he has done it countless times.

it is slow and gentle. it is sweet and kind.

you tightly grip his shirt as he tilts his head and his mouth languidly caresses yours. he separates for a second then his lips meet yours again.

this time his tongue enters your mouth.

this time his tongue claims every inch of his mouth.

he tastes of alcohol. you do not want to ever stop kissing him.

"yeah, like that." you quietly say as he leans away. his hands settle on your lower back, you are all too aware. they are so warm. you hold his jaw to repeatedly peck his lips.

once, twice. he flashes you a smile that completely diminishes your self control before his lips are pressed to yours again and again.

you undo the button of his shirt, moaning into his mouth and nanami surely approves because he kisses you harder. you glimpse down at bare skin, his body is far from what you would expect someone his age to look like. you wetly kiss him before your lips find his neck.

you suck on the pale skin, nipping it as you pull away. his skin bruises easily, it turns red with every bite. nanami only grips you tighter. his head tilts back allowing you to kiss down the column of his throat with no obstructions.

you leave a flurry of kisses along his warm skin. it is impossible to not like him. it is an insane request to ever ask of someone.

when your mouth covers his again, his tongue messily coats over yours. he kisses hard. he kisses until your lips are swollen and your hands have disheveled his hair.

your hips shift along his, the bulge straining against the confines of his pants pressing against your aching cunt. you have only just begun to appreciate the feeling. you hands have only just started exploring uncharted territory.

"y/n." a tired voice calls from the staircase.

you are terrible.

you scramble off of nanami like he burns you, swiping spit from your mouth and trying to distance yourself.

nanami looks aghast. he tugs one of the pillows over his lap then hurriedly buttons his shirt. there is nothing he can do to hide his kiss swollen lips or the hickies you left.

he swallows the glass of whiskey as yua enters the living room. you stand immediately upon her entrance. she is rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"i was wondering where you went." she does not seem suspicious but the thought of how close you were to getting caught has your stomach churning. nanami cannot bring himself to look at his daughter as she draws closer.

"i was just." your hands are clammy with sweat "tasting some of your dad's whiskey." she pursues her lips.

"ew, don't drink that old man alcohol." she dramatically says with a disgusted expression. "let's go upstairs." she does not have to say it twice because you walk in that direction like you were awaiting a cue.

"night, dad." she calls and you faintly hear him say it back.

you wonder what he is thinking.

you lie next to yua with the feeling of kento's lips etched into yours.

---

nanami is avoiding you.

without a doubt.

the last time his stony eyes met yours was that night he so raptly kissed you.

the same night he told you he would not take back the things he said.

his actions show anything but that.

nanami does not stay in the room when you are around.

he picks yua and you up from university and he does not spare you a glance.

he does all those little things to create distance but he has not stopped asking you about your day. he has not stopped making sure you are okay.

that is why he is everything to you.

yua is not home but you are. you are at nanami's house like it is your own.

you are clad in a pink dress. one you have worn before, one kento has seen you in. you have the memory of his eyes roving over your figure before he looked away.

his eyes lingered on the fabric flowing around your thighs, and the exposed skin of your legs. he knew it was wrong.

you perk up when the door opens and he steps inside. his shirt is rolled up to his elbows, the tan material of his pants conform to his thick thighs, you are breathless. he stills for a moment when he sees you, glimpsing away as he slips off his shoes.

he slackens his tie as he walks towards the living room. your eyes focus on the way his forearm flexes. nanami is too handsome for his own good. you wonder if he knows just how attractive he is.

he pauses, focusing on your dress but he's more concerned with asking a question you have been longing to hear.

"are you doing okay?" he lowly mumbles. for the past few days he has not let you speak past saying you are fine.

he has not let you bind him up in your web like he knows you will if he spares you a few minutes of his time. if he hears your voice for long enough nanami is going to let the part of him aching to have you win.

"i'm not." your heart quickens when his concern etches over his features. his brows contort and his eyes grow alert.

"what's wrong?" he comes closer, you can hear it in his voice. how worried he is.

"everything." you have nanami wrapped around your finger.

he only comes closer and closer. "did something happen at home?" you do not answer him. he sits beside you, his hands reaching for yours.

"tell me if something happened."

your eyes trail over his expression, his straight nose and defined jawline, his pink lips and sunken cheeks.

how can you not like him?

you wonder if he can see how willing you are to give yourself to him. that you would let him have you anyway he wants. that you would do anything if it meant he would be yours.

nanami jerks when your hands pull away and you lower yourself onto your knees in front of him.

your fingers find the stiff muscle of his thighs and he tenses when you look up at him.

"what are you doing?" his voice is low, you can practically hear the forced restraint.

"there's something i've wanted to say to you." you bat your pretty lashes and nanami swears he is on the precipice of no control. he swears he is about to give into the sick and twisted part of him.

he can't do this. he can't let you in. even though every part of him is begging him to.

his jaw locks, he breathes an exasperated breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. "yn." he always says your name with such affection but right now you can find an ounce of it in his voice. "this can't happen. if you don't get over whatever this is, i'm going to make it hurt."

his voice is so stern, it makes your thighs press together and despite his effort to ward you off, your hands trail higher on the planes of his toned legs. you can feel the stiff bulging muscle beneath his khaki pants.

"then make it hurt."

nanami narrows his eyes.

"i know that it's wrong to want you but you make me feel okay. you're the only man who makes me feel safe, kento." his fingers ball into fists. you are pouring your heart out. "i know everything i feel for you, you feel for me too."

his gazes trails over you, nanami is being ripped to pieces and each of them are being crushed. he should not but he is looking at your lips. he is looking at them while they form every word and his thoughts are straying.

his thighs flex beneath your palms. nanami wonders what you are getting out of this beside wrecking him. besides witnessing him fall apart.

he does not say a word but he does not push you away and that is all you need to continue.

"and i can be anything you want." his jaw clenches so hard if aches as your eyes drop to the bulge impressing against his pants. "i only see you, i only want you. i can be your woman, kento." he swallows hard when you finish.

you hands trail further on his thighs, you can see his jaw clenching. he breathes harder.

"how?" his voice is low, it's hesitant like it's fighting to get out when he wants to stay mum.

"i'll get on my knees for you." you already are. you perched on your knees between his legs and all kento can think about is seeing what you would look like gagging on his cock. "i'll let you fuck me."

"you'll let me fuck you." he rolls the words around in his mouth. this is wrong, it is all so wrong. then, why does it feel so right? and why does he craving the feeling of your slick cunt wrapped around him rather than imagining it.

"how long have you wanted to tell me that?" he pauses, he cannot put together his words. he cannot form a coherent thought. "how long have you been waiting here... in that dress?"

nanami has thought about you in this dress more times than he would like to admit. his gaze weighs heavy on you. it is so intense you feel like shrinking away but you do not because this is nanami.

"i've wanted to say it since i met you." your voice comes out softly.

finally, finally he leans in. finally his large hand finds the strands of your hair and he comes closer. "you want to be my woman? then what should you do when you're in this position? what should you do when you're on your knees?"

you shiver at his words, a shaky hum vibrating through you. your back arches almost instinctively, your hands tightening on his thighs but they are so big and so tense you swear your grip is slipping.

"you'll open that mouth for me? you're going to part these pretty lips like you're begging me to stick something between them. won't you?"

"i will, kento." the way your body aches for him is far too intense. his cheek bones tighten at your agreement. at how easily you give in.

nanami wishes you would at least tell him no because he would leave you alone. you do not tell him no. you never do. it is like every time you ask him for more.

denying you is only getting harder.

his hand slips lower, grazing your neck and all you can think about is that he is touching you. he is touching you and you will think about it forever. you will memorise every line on his hand and every callous on it and keep it in your mind.

his biceps strain beneath his dress shirt, somehow, someway, he looks bigger when his hands are on you.

"tell me what you're opening your mouth for."

"your cock."

nanami grits his teeth. he has to close his eyes to gain some sort of composure.

your eyes trail over to his erection and you can clearly see it. the imprint is tight against his pants and begging for some relief. his cock begs for your attention.

his chest heaves. he shakes you by your nape to bring your attention to his face. where his glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose and his eyes are dark. where he looks too gorgeous.

"you can't have it."

your brows raise, your lips part and nanami wants to kiss you. he wants to feel your mouth on his again.

"why?" you think he will spew you the same story that this is wrong, that he cannot be with you and you know exactly why. you are not prepared for what he does say.

"because it's too big for you. it won't fit in this little mouth, you won't be able to suck it how i like. you can't." you shake your head in protest. you want to tell him that you can. you will.

"cause my cock is too thick and too long, for you. your hands won't be able to hold my cock properly, your fingers won't touch when you wrap around me. you think your mouth will? your little mouth can't take it, baby." he strokes your hair, his tone soft. "and you can't take it either. if i put my cock over this pretty face, it would touch your chin and go past your forehead with so much left. you can't take that so how will you be my woman?"

your mouth is full of sticky saliva and your panties are soaked. they are far from damp, in fact they are drenched with slick. your cunt pulses and your stomach is turning.

your entire body feels feverish.

"i can. i promise i will. i'll learn!" you are already salivating at the thought. "i know it's big, kento." why are you saying his name so salaciously? "but i just need to do it a few times and i'll be able to take it all."

his expression contorts in something you do not quite understand. his eyes are on your lips. like he can picture it already.

"you'll open your mouth whenever i want it? you'll suck my cock as many times as you need to get to the base? you'll let me stretch your lips even though it's too big for you and you can't handle it, until you can take every inch?"

your nails claw at his thighs, the air feels too thick to breathe.

you swear nanami has destroyed you.

you nod, a low whine in your throat.

"right. you'll suck my cock. it'll be so hard and so swollen. but you'll wrap that little mouth around it. you'll let me stuff it so full with my cock because i want to see it in your throat. i want to see how far it will reach because you want something that's too big for you. you can gag and drool and cry but all i'll care about is getting deep in this throat." nanami's hand grips your jaw, his thumb stroking over your lips that are damp with spit. "i know you'll be dripping everywhere, i know that pussy is going to make a mess between your legs while i take your mouth because she wants it too."

you are short circuiting. your brain has dissolved to mush and it is leaking from your ears. when he talks like that, how can you let go? how can you stay away?

"you're going to cry and i know you look so pretty when you cry. and you're going to try to get away when i have your lips wrapped around my cock. it's going to be so far in that tight throat, you won't be able to breathe, baby. all the spit dripping down your jaw and all the juice leaking from your cunt will mess up this pretty dress."

he is breathing so roughly, you can feel it hit your face, you can feel each huff.

you can see his chest heaving.

and you.

you are a mess. you are a catastrophic disaster. your pussy is sticky, no amount of clenching your thighs will rid you of the pulsating between your legs.

tears are leaking down your face and your mouth is webbed with saliva. you feel too hot, it washes over your entire body.

"you'll let me pump my cock into your mouth until i'm shooting cum in the back of this tight throat and you'll swallow every drop. won't you? you'll be good and drink it all down. you'll keep it in your belly, right?"

the whine you let out is whorish, it is so desperate. "i will, i will. i'll drink it all, i'll be good and take everything you give me."

nanami is angry, he is so angry.

"why are you agreeing with all the disgusting things i tell you?" he forces out through gritted teeth. his nose flares, his jaw is tight and fuck, he looks so sexy when he is mad.

your lips part but he does not let you speak. "do not let me talk to you like that. do not let me treat you like some slut because that's not what you are. understand me? the way i just spoke to you, never let someone speak that way again, not to you."

his hands gently coax through your hair. he is so gentle you want to melt. "i want you to go home and i want this to be the last time anything like this happens. that night and today, it can't happen again."

"i don't want to leave." you do not want to be away from him. it seems everything he tells you, goes in one ear and out the next.

"then i will." you swear you could cry when he releases you. you feel sick now that he is not touching you. you feel sick now that you cannot feel his fingers through your hair.

you stare up at him, silently begging for him to stay.

"i can't have sex with you." he lowly mutters.

"just once. once is enough." you are desperate. you grip at his thighs. truthfully, once would never suffice. you would never be content with having him once.

"who is it enough for? i'll have you once and that's it?"

all you want is to please him, all you want is to make him happy.

"then we can do it as much as you want!"

"do you hear yourself right now?" he forces out. nanami tugs off his glasses to swipe his hand over his face. you hold his arm but the second he stands you lose your grip.

you cannot truly stop nanami despite wanting to.

"i want you to remember this. i hope you remember that i turned my back on you and i walked away. that's happened to you before, right?" there is no conviction in his voice but your body tenses where you are still perched on your knees.

you really just might cry.

been thinking abt this nanami for a whileee

[dresshistorynerd]

I don't know what motivated you to write out that super detailed response to the Choctaw kindness to the Irish, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your dedication to sharing humanitarian acts of kindness. I'm a trans guy in the US american south and I feel so alone and despised, but things like that story give me hope that someone, somewhere, will understand and give compassion. Thank you for sharing humanity.

Thank you very much for this lovely message. I'm really sorry things are looking so bleak for you. I'm not USAmerican, but I've been watching the the situation there spiral into fascism with horror. Things are not looking so good here in Europe either, in general, it's quite a dark moment in history.

I write about history because it gives perspective for times like these. Every time I read about a horrific moment in history, the horrors are not what stay with me but the endless human resilience that lead humans to endure and build something beautiful from the ashes. Human kindness, bravery and resilience - humanity - shines brightest in inhuman times. We have survived so many terrible times and we will survive this as well. One of my best friends is a trans masc German, a proof that even genocide can't erase trans people, so neither will this US administration. Knowing we are not the first people to face such times, nor to survive such times, makes me feel less alone. So maybe I can tell you some stories of trans and queer history in the US, and perhaps that'll make you feel tiny bit less alone.

The period of New World chattel slavery is one of the darkest periods in history, but Black people were able to survive even that and create vibrant cultural expressions from the ashes. People always resisted slavery. There was not a moment, when everyone gave up. In Caribbean, slaves escaped all the time and became Maroons, who found home in the insular communities of the surviving indigenous Taino people of the genocides against them. They formed mixed settlement of indigenous people and escaped slaves, where their languages and traditions were mixed together to create a new culture, that preserved two traditions under threat of annihilation. They resisted constantly the tyrannical colonial powers, waged guerilla warfare against them and assisted in slave rebellions even when the punishments for them were extreme and severe. There were maroons in US as well. They didn't have dense jungle islands where they could hide their settlements in the US South, but they had swamps they used in a similar way. In the swamp settlements the maroons also were joined by indigenous people escaping the genocidal onslaught as well as other outcasts of the colonial society. Together they survived and resisted. In US too the slaves didn't just escape to freedom, they orchestrated numerous slave rebellions from the very beginning to the bitter end.

There were also some white abolitionists too, who did the right thing. John Brown was of course one of them. He believed it was his secret duty as a Christian to wage war against US until slavery was abolished and he gladly died for it. But I want to shout out a trans masc abolitionist, Public Universal Friend. Public Universal Friend has possibly the most wild and interesting story ever. The Friend was a Quaker. Quakers have always been abolitionists, even in England before slavery was banned there. The Friend lived from 1752 to 1819 in New England, dressed mostly masculine, rejected gendered pronouns and used instead The Friend and PUF as pronouns (though some of the Friend's followers referred to the Friend with he/him), became a Quaker cult leader, made the Friend's cult followers to free their slaves and preached about gender equality, universal salvation and abolition of slavery. Basically the Friend was a cult leader for good. Truly chaotic good alignment. I write about the Friend more in my post about some cool historical queer figures.

Another story starts with a pioneering American trans man, Alan L. Hart. He was born in 1890 and presented as a boy from a very young age. His parents and grandparents accepted him as a boy. In school he was forced to present as a girl, but in college he fully presented as a man. He became the first recorded trans man to surgically transition in US in 1917-1918. He was not only pioneering as a trans man, but as a doctor as well. He was instrumental in developing x-ray screening for tuberculosis, which at the time was one of the leading causes of death. His contribution has saved thousands of lives.

He was undoubtedly a trans man (he expressed it to his doctors to gain access to medical transition and in an interview after he was outed once and in all the possible ways he could really), but still couple of decades after his death in 1980s and 90s, trans-exclusionary lesbians "reclaimed" him as a historical lesbian figure. This caused a battle in the Portland queer community. Trans people, who had of course been part of the community forever, did not take such blatant erasure lying down and protested the organizations, who insisted on misgendering Hart and touting him as a "lesbian hero". They were not alone though. After being presented with the historical facts, the Lesbian Avengers joined their trans siblings in the fight. Eventually the organizations, which had kept misgendering him relented, but some trans-exclusionary lesbians still kept bringing doubt to his very clearly expressed gender identity even afterwards.

Lesbian Avengers, a direct action group, has many amazing stories in their history. One of those is told in Weird Little Guy's podcast episode Fire Will Not Consume Us. The podcast is about fascists, and this particular episode tells the story of how KKK waged a war against a rural gay bar kept by a local elderly straight couple, who had lost a child to AIDS. Their gay patrons called the lady their mom. The Lesbian Avengers showed up to stand with their gay brothers against the KKK. They chanted "Fire will not burns us. We'll take it and make it our own." to burning crosses and a KKK preacher telling them they would burn in hell. They had an fire-eating act, during which they chanted that chant, they had started after Hattie Mae Cohens and Brian Mock, a lesbian and a gay man, had been murdered with a Molotov cocktail thrown into their apartment. I really recommend that episode, it's a beautiful story of solidarity and resistance.

The lesson I take from these stories, and history in general, is that survival is resistance and we survive with solidarity. Alone we are outcasts, but together we are strong. I can only imagine how lonely it must be for you right now, but you are not alone. You have never been. Behind you is a long line of trans and queer ancestors, who stood in the same ground before you. Around you are so many facing the same enemy.

[harrysgal]

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (11)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

I’m really sorry if this part sucks. I really tried my best. Also I’m sorry I didn’t get to tag people, I was in a rush and didn’t have enough time to check I wasn’t missing anyone and ended up giving up.

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

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

PART 10 // MASTERLIST

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

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 11) — NYC

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

liked by bestfriend, harrystyles, jefezoff and 45,671 others

yourinstagram well hello hello. its two am and im still awake bc i was hanging out with my fake friends and fake ex-boyfriend celebrating the end of another wonderful and amazing very real show <3 i thought i’d let you know since apparently what truly happens in nashville is the new online entertainment now. also fyi today i was allowed to leave my hotel room and i also behaved very politely and didnt run outside to cry. a real angel, i’d say. its too bad my attempts to fake date harry styles didnt work, tho. i mean i thought it was a great and innovative plan tbh but as you might’ve read already he officially called things off so that’s all gone now. boohoo. im not sure what im supposed to do on tour now. maybe i’ll have to actually learn how to use a camera and start to actually film things during shows… idk… i’ll figure something out tho. if you have any ideas or suggestions pls let me know. for now i’ll enjoy my freedom. it’s was very kind of them to even allow me to open the window and breathe some fresh air. so, so amazing!

btw, congrats ＠popgossip on finding such reliable sources. also the fact checking was impeccable. there was nothing left for me to hide. keep it up with that journalism! that’s clearly how you go from amateur to professional. im taking notes now! anyway, have a great life and tysm for your kindness and all your thoughtful consideration to my real human feelings 🥰 there’s nothing like getting back to the hotel and seeing those many great things being said about me. thanks a lot. hope the same treatment finds its way back to you along the way! xoxo lots of love, yn

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user2 😲 user2 holy molly…  user2 I think you absolutely ate this? left no crumbs behind? 

↳ yourinstagram haha thanks?

harryfan3 GIRL!!!!! im so shocked i dont even know what to say or where to start or

↳ yourinstagram lol 💋💋💋

harryfan5 miss yn ilysm you made me laugh so hard like this is so confusing but so great i truly truly love you  

↳ yourinstagram miss emma you made me smile so hard rn thank you thank you hope to see you again at another show someday!

ynrryfan calling out that account so openly is so bold of you omfg im so proud

↳ yourinstagram thanks im so proud, too 

bestfriend ok but did they feed you today? gave you some water?

↳ yourinstagram yes. i had two glasses of water and one banana ↳ bestfriend wow! they be treating you like a princess now ↳ yourinstagram i know it wasnt easy but they finally agreed to make some improvements 

harryfan7 yn babe are you drunk or something? wth is all this? lmaooooooo

↳ yourinstagram lol maybe a little tipsy but no regrets at allllllll

lookitsnyoh  does this mean I am finally allowed to stop hanging out with you?

↳ yourinstagram no. your contract still says you’re forced to have at least one lunch a week with me and one drink every two shows ↳ lookitsnyoh well then ＠jefezoff let’s talk about this? Please? ↳ jefezoff I’m sorry but I’m afraid that’s not negotiable ↳ anthonypham I tried too ＠lookitsnyoh unfortunately I’m stuck with her friendship, too :( ↳ pillowpersonpp me too ↳ paulithepsm me three ↳ harryfan9 the way yn is such a stronger person than me bc i could never handle this much teasing from my friends like i’d be thinking it’s real and crying under my pillow for months  ↳ harryfan2 maybe she should bc doesn’t feel like “just” teasing to me ↳ yourinstagram it’s not ＠harryfan2 is right & everyone really hates me  harryfan10 ? How old are you? 8? ↳ yourinstagram 28, actually. you? 

harryfan4 to put popgossip on the spot like this it’s rude and uncalled for. like this isn’t funny. also what’s going on with all these comments? don’t you have better things to do than being here replying to people?

↳ harryfan7 im sorry, but uncalled for? are you serious? lmao she’s bringing them up because they made a full post with nothing but lies about her own life cmon ↳ harryfan4 still, she should’ve done this privately or something ↳ yourinstagram you’re right this isn’t funny and i don’t have nothing better to do. im sorry. im really very sorry. ↳ harryfan6 being sarcastic isn’t funny, girl ↳ yourinstagram oh, i thought it was. im sorry. wont do it again.

harryfan8 I mean, what are you even trying to accomplish here? Are you not embarrassed at all to behave like this?

↳ yourinstagram i am. very very embarrassed, actually. im sorry :( shame on me.

user3 Honestly, things are so different around here now that I almost forgot how fun it used to be to keep up with your posts. I’m glad to see real you back! Stay strong and don’t listen to the noise. 

↳ yourinstagram what noise? ;)  ↳ yourinstagram (thank you 💗)

user1 ok I know this isn’t at all related to the post but… no sightseeing this time? :(

↳ yourinstagram omg yes! are you kidding me? i always make time for sightseeing haha i’ll actually get to it tomorrow!  ↳ user1 ahhhh this is great! I love it! Hope you enjoy the city, then!  ↳ harryfan12 is this your way of letting people know where you’ll be so they can find you and see you with harry? 🥱 ↳ yourinstagram oh damn, you caught me! 

harrystyles ok. screen time is over now

↳ yourinstagram :( five more minutes, sir? ↳ harrystyles request denied. they’re heading to your room to take your phone away right now ↳ yourinstagram 😭 ↳ yourinstagram after all we went through? unbelievable ↳ harrystyles it is what you’ve signed up for ↳ yourinstagram cant fight with that ↳ harryfan9 helloooooooo??? ↳ harryfan11 HAJSHBAJSDH WTF IS HAPPENING TONIGHT ↳ harryfan13 sprinting to the gc RIGHT NOW to scream at this interaction bc what the fuck what the fuck WHAT. THE. FUCK.

user15 this whole thing was actually so refreshing to see! Please don’t ever stop standing up for yourself. It’s good for your soul but it’s also great entertainment for mine lol

harryfan0 guys I’m so confused… what is all this? haha can someone please fill me in?

↳ harryfan3 @/popgossip posted a lot of stupid things about yn. to sum it up, they said harry tried to end their pr relationship and yn didn’t take it well, so that’s why she was crying outside the hotel the other night. and they also said she spent the day at the hotel bc harrys team didnt let her leave… just nonsense like that. there are more details to the story that you can check on their last post, but it’s all clearly fake and not even worth the read (I promise)  ↳ harryfan11 also, can I just say they didn’t JUST create stuff, they were also unnecessarily aggressive with the lies? I mean, they said her crying was “a manipulative tactic to get his attention and also keep the rumors alive” !!!  There was absolutely no need for that?!? or to write that harrys team advised her to stay inside and away from him or “there would be consequences” ??? I mean wtf ??  ↳ user17 👆 this. THIS. is the reason why this post has become my favorite thing she’s ever done 

Oct 2, 2021 •

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liked by bestfriend, ynrryfan and 33 others

ynupdates After such an eventful night, Yn just posted this on her stories, meaning we can all relax now and catch a break from the madness 😅

Also, ＠harryfan9 shared with us a really nice screenshot of a conversation she had with Yn a few minutes ago! We asked what she’d comment on Yn’s post for her to say that, and she told us she’d said: “the way yn is such a stronger person than me bc I could never handle this much teasing from my friends”. The fan also said that Yn ended up replying “everyone really hates me” to a comment underneath hers, which is why she thinks Yn felt guilty and dmed her right before she posted the story.

To be honest, we loved to see this kind of Yn tonight. How do you guys feel about it?

view all 9 comments

harryfan5 this was just soooo great! for a moment I couldn’t keep up with it anymore lol it was so crazy but so great harryfan1 stop she reached out?? she’s soooooooooo sweet  user11 good for her! I feel like she’s finally owning the narrative and maybe now people will calm down a little

↳ user13 I hope so! I’m low-key kinda worried it’s actually going to make things worse ↳ user11 idk. people were hating on her nonstop anyway so… tbh I think she should’ve done this way sooner lol

ynrryfan the way she posted her texts with harry !!!!! also “so you know I mean it” !!!!! PLEASE 

↳ harryfan17 how do you it’s him?? no hate i swear just genuinely asking ↳ ynrryfan I just figured by the “screen time is over” bc is what he left on her post… but I might be wrong idk 😬

harryfan3 wish I could see when those behind popgossip wake up and find out about all this lol

Oct 2, 2021. •

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liked by bestfriend, yourbrother, gemmastyles and 23,114 others

yourinstagram GOOD MORNING nyc your wonderful wonderful city!! im so unbelievably excited for tonight!! my fake friends and fake ex-boyfriend are playing madison square garden and i KNOW it’s going to be sosososo great!! let’s do this CMONNNN!! 

view all 117 comments 

harryfan1 im sooooo excited too!! harryfan3 so jealous! I wish I could go  lookitsnyoh SO EXCITED  harrystyles weren’t you supposed to let me know? 

↳ yourinstagram i was and i can explain why i didnt, but please don’t expose me like this??! ↳ harrystyles then reply to my texts??!  ↳ harrystyles please??! ↳ harrystyles and thank you??! x  ↳ ynrryfan i cant 😭😭😭

bestfriend text me back too !!!!!! 

↳ harryfan7 lmao not yn being called out by everyone  ↳ yourinstagram istg you are all so damn impatient  ↳ yourinstagram (but also yes!! I will!! im sorry!!)

Oct 3, 2021. •

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liked by annetwist, bestfriend, harry_lambert and 30,109 others

yourinstagram hi, hellooo!! posting twice in less than 12 hours I KNOW but jenny lewis is about to start anytime now and i just wanna say that everyone looks sooooo pretty tonight!! you always do but there seems to be something extra special tonight <3 got to film so many sweet people already, but if you see me walking by and you wanna be a part of this ultra mega secret lot project pls dont be afraid of letting me know! (im the one jumping around in this outfit — minus the flowers unfortunately) id love to film as many of you as i can!! okay lets go now CMON LETS DO THIS cant wait to dance to canyon moon tonight!!! 🕺

view all 135 comments 

harryfan1 does harry look pretty, too?  user1 girl you’ve come so far this is so beautiful to see  bestfriend so happy so jealous so sad so proud so emotional rn

↳ harryfan3 cant believe you havent gone to a show yet!! ↳ harryfan5 fr you should be there rn

harryfan7 THANK YOU I LOVED MEETING YOU TONIGHT THANK YOU THANK YOU  harrystyles count me in  

Oct 3, 2021. •

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liked by anthonypham, bestfriend, harryupdates and 357,189 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. New York City, NY. I

view all 13,571 comments

harryfan1 im so so proud  harryfan2 best concert ever cant wait to do it all over again tomorrow  harryfan3 i miss you already harryfan4 LOOKING SO HOT OUTFIT IS ON FIRE 🔥  harryfan5 why is she never here lol

↳ harryfan7 i ask that myself every time lol

Oct 3, 2021. •

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— — — — — 

PART 12 — (soon)

— — — — — 

[nebuliix]

​im very late to this but i’ve been reading the notes on this for a while and ive not really seen anyone talk about my favourite ship, temenos and hikari, so far so im gonna yap about them for a bit. (this is basically my first time formatting a tumblr post (it ended up being way too much to keep in the tags) and im scared so i hope the cut works)

i really like the parallels between temenos and hikari about how they both lost absolutely everyone and never had time to confront or process that. in their pasts, with hikari losing his mother and temenos losing his brother, roi; their first chapters, with hikari losing his father/king and temenos losing the pontiff (also a father figure and leader) but neither of them getting a chance to grieve because they’re both put on their journeys so quickly afterwards; then, later in their stories, hikari losing ritsu and a whole lot of other cherished people throughout the war, alongside temenos losing crick in stormhail because of a conspiracy he got him involved in. i personally subscribe to the headcanon that temenos is a descendant of the kal people, so to me his crackridge chapter contributes to that personal sense of loss too. then, later, when both of their stories are complete and things seem to be settling down for both of them, the endgame comes along and rips kazan (oboro) from hikari and sister mindt (arcanette) from temenos, both with no warning and a strong sense of betrayal that they never get closure for.

both of these characters simultaneously get their worlds torn from them in extremely similar ways again and again and again as the game goes on and, what with hikari fighting a war and taking on the leadership of his entire kingdom afterwards as well as temenos uncovering the church and the sacred guard’s corruption and working to stop a death cult from literally ending the world, neither of them ever truly sit down and take care of themselves or process their grief as it happens.

i love pairing them together for this because they both care enough about each other as fellow travelers that they’d help each other get through it all and hold each other accountable. temenos is ignoring his grief and pushing it down, but hikari won’t stop being so gentle with him and before you know it they’re having a heart to heart about it. hikari doesn’t think he deserves to treat himself to his favourite foods amidst his responsibilities, so temenos asks him to treat him instead and now they’re sharing. temenos is pulling ANOTHER all-nighter trying to piece together this cult situation, but hikari’s having night terrors so they cuddle and oh would you look at that now they’re both sleeping great. amazing gorgeous stunning you’re doing incredible i love you both.

this is already so long so i won’t go into details (and i don’t have the poetic language to do it justice anyway) but i haven’t even started on the ‘guy raised in divinity but kind of shuns it a little bit because its done nothing for him’ vs ‘guy with a bloodlust shadow curse that keeps making him kill people but still maintains his connection to the light’ themes like COME ONNN im obsessed with them. i like to imagine shadow hikari comes out with a vengeance only for temenos to say something so absolutely insane-yet-profound-yet-baffling that it just stops him in his tracks. then he gets put in shadow-timeout like a naughty cat. go think about your actions young man. also special mention to the endgame scene where they were the last ones back to the camp. its very funny to imagine they were late because they were making out but as an aroace i also like to imagine it was a petting session (since i played with hunter hikari please give this lad some ear scritches PLEASEE he deserves them)

ok. im done now. if anyone took the time to read it thank you. my other favourite ships, in no particular order, are primrose/h’aanit/ophilia, alfyn/therion, therion&h’aanit platonically (beast tamer vs feral cat vibes letsgo), therion/cyrus/olberic, therion/primrose (she is absolutely on top. throw h’aanit in there with her animal-trainer energy as well for maximum effectiveness. im begging for literally anyone to see my vision), throné/agnea, and the very specific dynamic of every ot1 traveler in a polycule except for tressa who makes fun of them for it

[holding up catboy hikari] you all will look at him and pet him

I miss octopath yapping with people so uh yknow what! We’re gonna play a game!!

Explain in the notes what y’all’s favorite ships are and why you like them!!!

Only rules are

1) do not explain why everyone should think your ship is canon, as that is not the point of this post 2) do not put any other ships down bc that is also not the point of this post 3) ALL games are included (yes including cotc) 4) ANY SHIPS ARE ALLOWED!!! GO NUTS!!!!

[givetomurasomechapstick]

Random Period Headcanons ♥ 🩸💔

Boy, cramps suck.

Notes: MHA X Reader. Maybe short and not too much characters because of my own pain never mind, Fem!Reader, ngl I had fun making it tho. Reader is referred to 'you'. I guess it could be PG if you don't know about female anatomy.

Remember that this is all my opinion! You can feel free to think how you like!

INCLUDES: Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki, Kirishima, Kaminari

Izuku

Okay, first things first, Izuku did know about menstruation cycles. He just never delt with someone having it first hand.

Sure he knew about the blo0d, the mood swings, the cramps, what you need, all that stuff.

May or may not have a notebook filled with all your period needs. Maybe like your favorite chocolate and favorite pad brands, when it'll come, etc.

If you get your period and your out of pads and ask him to get some, make sure you specify exactly what you want. Or else he'll have two packs of every kind of pad in sight at he store.

Extremely careful about what he says to you. He has heard about mood swings before and doesn't want to deal with it.

Try not to get emotional and cry because he'll 1000% join you. He won't even know what your crying about.

Cuddles cuddles cuddles

I feel like he does more psychical affection, so get ready for lots of hugs.

If you get clingy it's fine by him...

...Unless your dragging him down. That might be a problem.

Katsuki

Yes, he knows what a period is. But just like Deku, I don't think he's ever delt with it first hand.

You're probably thinking I'll say 'He will be careful about what he says to you', well your WRONG. You better watch your tongue with him, mood swings or not.

Its almost scary how he always knows your going to get it as soon as it comes.

If you want something, get it yourself... Unless you start crying. He's considering running out to the store to by every. single. thing. you want.

If something happens where you don't have pads and you ask him to get some, he literally got every kind in sight. He doesn't care if you said you don't need it all or not.

Good thing the money was from your account 😃😃😃

Just kidding!

Crying? Get ready for OOC Bakugo affection. Maybe he'll offer to go to his dorm and turn on your favorite movie.

Unless it's a drama.

He swears on his mother he'll never turn on a drama movie during your period. Because he's already made that mistake.

But if you are clingy,

"GET THE **** OFF OF ME!!!"

In a nutshell I just explained the definition of chaos.

And maybe, just maybe he'll let you pull on his sleeve and follow him around like a lost puppy.

Shoto

"You're on your what?"

Doesn't even know what a period is. Try to explain it to him.

Also keep tabs on your moodswings while your explaining, he will 100% think something bad happened when he wasn't looking...

Or you're upset because of your tummy.

Maybe both *shrugs*

Explained to him or not, he's still confused why your so emotional, the anger kind or/and the sad kind.

After he gets the hang of it, he'll start writing down when it comes and has a ton of pads just... Stored away... Somewhere...

Buying everything and anything you ask for.

I mean, he can even get you that new 2026 phone you've been wanting (Endeavor's credit card will be getting a beating-)

Tell him which kind of pads you like/need PLEASE. He would just stand there in the aisle eyeing all the brands like one of them will jump off the shelf and be the one you want.

If you are crying, even if it's over nothing, he starts questioning and interrogating you. To figure out who and what bothered you.

Clingy? No problem . It doesn't really bother him if you pull on him or not. But if you start getting aggressive, he draws the line.

Ejiro

I honestly don't know who's better. Kirishima or Deku.

Yes he knows but it was like a myth in the back of his head since he never delt with someone who had it before.

And of course, a man is supposed to know when his girl is going through menstruation.

Wake up and it's the day your supposed to get it? Hey what're those chocolates doing on your counter...? (Spoiler alert! It was him! *Continues to Disney point towards Kirishima*)

Deals with moodswings like a Chad. Don't ask me how or where he learned to do it.

Need pads? Don't have any? You don't even need to step outside. Actually, neither does he. He always prepared for your period so his bathroom has a hidden stash of your favorite pads just waiting for you.

Very good with calming you down, angry or sad. Like I said, Chad of moodswings.

Also loves psychical affection. Definitely more than Deku.

And enjoys it if you are clingy to him. He doesn't mind and hey, he thinks it's kinda cute.

Denki

Another one who doesn't know what a period is.

Actually gets freaked out when you tell him what happens.

Five minutes of avoidance and he's back to his clingy self.

But he tries but never remembers when you're suppose get your period. He always says he knows even if he doesn't tho.

Absolutely just spoils you. Would buy to world for you if you asked. (We just gotta make sure he has the money...)

You cry or get angry at him? He thinks you hate him. No like, seriously. He doesn't even know (or remember if you told him) what moodswings are.

He doesn't even know what pads are. But after you explain, he's like "So that's what those things were!" (When you pass by the health products section and always see pads but never know what they are)

Actually just terrible at dealing with moodswings. Like, below zero.

He enjoys it if your clingy. He likes feeling like the center of attention from a girl-

[fairy-writes]

ECHOES OF YOU, HEART OF MINE

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Solo Leveling

Prompt: “You’re the most important thing to me.”

Pairing(s): Sung Jinwoo x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Angst, Hurt no Comfort (kinda), Arguments (more one-sided tho), Major Character Death

Notes: I’ll just say this now… I have no idea what I’m doing. Like, legitimately, I’m an anime-only watcher and am on… like… chapter six of the manhwa.

This is a collab! Specifically, with my good friend @straykidsnerd255 :) Her oneshot is HERE

Basically, we both had the same character, the same prompt, and wrote something!

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 EP 11

__________________________________________________________________________

You weren’t happy about it, being dead and all. Then again, no one was, at least to your knowledge. It wasn’t as if you had been a ghost before. 

But that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

Jinwoo’s shoes crunched the drab, gray gravel of the cemetery grounds as he stepped through the wrought iron gates. Unconsciously, his hand tightened around the flowers in his grip. Gravestones and upright headstones dotted the ground, but he paid none of them any mind as he searched for one in particular. 

Yours. 

It had been two weeks since Jeju Island. 

Since every Korean hunter came home alive but two. 

Min Byung-Gu, the S-Rank healer. Someone you had told him about before. 

And you. His best friend. His confidant. The only other one who knew about the System because when he was smaller, and weaker, more of a failure, he had to tell someone for fear of going crazy. 

But you trusted in him. You believed him. 

The cemetery was quiet. He could practically hear the shadows within his own shadow chattering until they realized just where they were. Then… One by one… They all went silent. He could feel their unease. Their discomfort. Their distress. 

Most of them knew who you were. 

What you were to him. 

And therefore, they knew why he was here. 

At your funeral, he had commanded some of the foot soldiers to carry your casket because there was no one else. You had no family. You had no friends except for himself and maybe Jinah. And he didn’t want anyone touching your casket because of the guilt he felt. So, he had your casket carried and lowered into the ground by his soldiers. There had been barely enough of a body to be embalmed and buried. 

Tank hadn’t done much; just let out a single mournful cry when the funeral was over. 

Igris stood stoically at Jinwoo’s side, ever the quiet knight. But, he had bowed his head as you passed by in a closed casket in respect for what you had done for his master. What you had been for him. 

Iron seemed in distress, but that almost made sense. You had always joked that he was your favorite out of all of Jinwoo’s shadow army. The funeral was publicized because, of course, it was. You were an S-Rank hunter, for hell’s sake. You were a beloved figure of the community, always kind, always brave. 

He hadn’t batted an eye when summoning his soldiers.

Who cared about the world knowing about his shadows when you weren’t there?

Why?!

Why hadn’t he gotten there sooner?!

Why couldn’t he have gone with you in the first place?!

If he had, maybe you would’ve survived. 

Maybe you would still be here!

He was yanked from his pitiful wallowing by something that made his heart stop dead in his chest. 

It was you, sitting on the gravestone with your name, bloodied and bruised and still in your armor, for heaven’s sake. It was as if you had escaped Jeju Island. As if you were alive. But something was wrong… You were… transparent?

All of that didn’t matter as you looked up, and your eyes met his. 

You froze when you saw Sung Jinwoo appear around the corner of the cemetery, a bouquet of flowers in hand, looking just as shocked as you felt. 

Perhaps looking shocked wasn’t the word you were looking for. His face didn’t change. But you could tell in how he held himself that he was two seconds away from crying. From running forward. From turning back into the emotional E-Rank, he used to be.

“Why are you here.” The cold greeting has his shoulders tensing, and you almost feel bad. But then you remember. 

Blood. 

Carnage.

Byung-Gu dead. 

Cha Hae-In gravely injured. 

And then…

Darkness. 

You had died. And no one saved you. 

Not for lack of trying, Baek Yoon-Ho had tried to staunch the bleeding, but he was bleeding and injured himself. And your injuries were much more severe.

Jinwoo didn’t say anything. He just walked forward and put the flowers at the base of your headstone. 

Dahlias, you realized—your favorite. He had told you once that they symbolized eternal love and commitment. 

It just made a flash of anger flow through you, like the Ant King gutting you before you died. Your lips curled in a sneer, and you tried to kick the flowers away. Keyword being tried. Your foot just passed through the blooms, and you almost fell over. You would’ve laughed at your blunder had you not been so upset. 

The entire time, Jinwoo just watched, something unreadable in those eyes of his that you loved so much. 

But you can’t muster up the courage to tell him that. And now you would never be able to. Even if you did, there was nothing you could do about it. Because you were dead. 

All you remembered was the pain and Baek Yoon-Ho begging you to stay awake before nothingness. 

Finally…

“Get out of here.” You snarl, and he stiffens. 

“Why?” He says, and you grit your teeth. It doesn’t hurt, of course. Nothing would hurt like that ever again. 

“Do I need a reason? Go away!” You shout, but again, he doesn’t move. You feel hot, angry tears in your eyes, and now he looks pained. 

It's almost as if he feels bad, but that doesn’t matter anymore. 

“I won’t.” He says, and you clench your jaw tightly until you would’ve been dizzy from pain had you been alive. 

“And why not?” Your voice is low and full of fury.

“Because. You need me.” He tries, and you bark out a harsh laugh. 

“I needed you two weeks ago! I needed to live! I wanted to survive!” You cry, and unwillingly, you remember something he told you when you first met in a dungeon when he was a nobody. 

“Your fear keeps you strong. It keeps you alive. You do better and perform better if you’re scared. Trust me. I’m afraid all the time!”

Sticky tears run down your cheeks and drip into nothingness on the gravel. 

“You promised me. You said my fear would keep me strong, that it would keep me alive! But I died afraid and alone and so, so scared! You made me trust you, and when it mattered the most, I was let down! You said I was the most important thing to you, and you lied!”

Your fists pass through Jinwoo’s chest as you try to hit him. Touch him. Anything! 

But that is all meaningless because you are alone now. Forever alone and in pain and scared. 

You will forever be—

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, hands going around your shoulders as if to hold you, but they just pass right through your form. It’s as if you don’t exist. As if you don’t matter.

But you know you mattered to Jinwoo. He was one of the only ones who cared anymore. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I am so so sorry.” He said, his voice cracking in the first show of outward emotion you had seen from him since his mother woke up. He tried to hold you again, to kiss you, something that showed he cared.

But he couldn’t anymore. 

He couldn’t ever again. 

“You have my heart. Now and forever, and I am so eternally sorry for not being there. You are the most important thing to me.” He all but whimpered, and it tugs at your dead heart. You fall to your knees, sobbing, hands gripping your head as you try not to sink into despair. 

“Don’t leave me.” You wail, and he just watches you with a heartbroken look on his face. He can’t comfort you, can’t say anything to make it better. He just has to watch as you cry and cry and cry.

Now, and forever more. 

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER FOUR: UNSHACKLED

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 4K

WARNINGS: Talks of past trauma, minor injuries, tiny bit of fluff, long overdue hurt-comfort

A/N: How are we feeling with all the Thunderbolts/Doomsday announcements?! I’m so excited!! Now without further ado, here's the next chapter! Hope you guys enjoy! <3

previous chapter || next chapter

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

Upon hearing the faint, rhythmic beeping of medical monitors, your eyelids fluttered open slowly, the light too harsh against the blurry haze in your vision. Your body screamed in protest, aching like every muscle and bone was protesting being awake. Despite the pain, you pushed through the fog, using every ounce of strength to prop yourself up on what felt like an unfamiliar cot.

The effort was too much, bad idea!

Almost immediately, the world around you tilted and spun violently, as if gravity itself had shifted in a cruel game of its own. "Woah, be careful," A voice, thick with an accent you couldn't quite place, called out sharply. You blinked rapidly, attempting to focus, and slowly, the figure of a young woman came into view. Her face was gentle, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern. She hovered close, almost like she was ready to catch you should you fall again.

You met her gaze, your mind still foggy, but there was something about her presence that felt oddly reassuring. She was probably around your age, her features soft but hardened with something unspoken, as though she had seen far too much already. "Where am I?" Your voice was rough, barely a whisper, as confusion still swirled around in your mind. "Wakanda," She muttered softly, her tone gentle yet confident. "You are safe." The words barely registered. Wakanda? The name triggered something deep in your mind.

Yet it quickly dissolved as your thoughts wandered back to the last thing you could remember. Bucky, Steve, your dad, that video, Zemo, a gun. The images flashed one after another, each one a sharp stab to your chest. "I... What happened? How—?" Your breathing quickened as you tried to clear your mind, pushing the fog aside to focus. "You have a minor concussion, a broken wrist, and a few fractured ribs," The girl interrupted gently, her eyes never leaving you as she assessed your every movement, waiting for signs of distress.

"But nothing more serious. You are lucky." Her words felt like a fragile assurance, but they didn’t ease the tension gnawing at your insides. Before you could stop it, the question spilled from your lips. "Bucky… and Steve… are they okay?" Your heart hammered in your chest, a mixture of hope and dread clashing inside you. Before she could respond, you saw a shadow moving in your peripheral vision. Instinctively, your eyes snapped toward it, and there he was—Steve. His figure stood framed in the doorway, and with just his presence, the tight coil of fear in your chest began to loosen slightly.

A wave of relief washed over you, but the exhaustion still weighed you down. Without thinking, you pushed yourself up from the bed, your legs unsteady beneath you, but you didn’t care. You limped toward him, the sharp ache in your side forgotten as you reached for him, enveloping him in a tight hug. "I've got it from here." His voice cut through the moment, low but commanding, as he spoke to the girl in the room. She hesitated for a second, but then, with a nod, she quietly left, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving the two of you alone. As you pulled away, the breath caught in your throat.

His face was now marred by a series of dark, blossoming bruises. You swallowed, trying to suppress the nausea that crawled up your throat. "What happened?" He offered you a faint, reassuring smile, the kind that didn’t quite reached his eyes. "My dad did that, didn’t he?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the bile rising in your throat as you forced yourself to speak the words. The weight of them settled heavily in the room, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe. "Nothing I can’t handle," He muttered, but there was a tremor in his voice, a crack that betrayed the bravado. You wanted to believe him, but the doubt lingered.

You hesitated, eyes searching his face as a fresh wave of fear surfaced in your chest. The one question you’d been avoiding bubbled to the surface. "Zemo, is he—" Steve’s jaw tightened so sharply you thought it might crack. "He won’t hurt you or anyone else again." His words were low, firm, but something in the way he said them made you feel like there was more to the story. However, you decided to drop it for the time being. “Is Bucky okay? Please tell me my dad didn’t manage to get his hands on him.” You whispered, the tremor in your voice betraying you.

Your breath caught in your throat as the thought of Bucky lying hurt or worse at the hands of your father's blinded rage. A tight knot formed in your stomach as you waited for an answer, your chest tightening with every passing second. “You could see for yourself.” Without hesitation, you nodded, your body moving almost on autopilot. You allowed him to gently guide you, his hand steady on your arm as he carefully maneuvered you down the dimly lit hallway toward a room you didn’t recognize. Each step felt like an eternity, but you followed, desperate to see for yourself that Bucky was alright.

When you finally reached the door to the room, the sight before you felt like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from your chest. Inside, Bucky sat slumped on a medical bed, his posture defeated, as though the weight of everything that had happened, everything he had endured was too much for him to carry. His face was marred with deep, dark bruises across his jaw and under his eyes. His usual, sharp features were softened by pain, and the once unshakable Winter Soldier now looked vulnerable, shattered even. You winced, the sight of him so broken sending an ache through your chest.

But it was his left arm or, more accurately, the lack of it brought up more questions. Your mind screamed with confusion, and a sense of helplessness that only deepened as your eyes shifted around the room. In the center of the space, a cryo-chamber stood ominously, the metal casing reflecting the harsh lights of the room. It was a chilling reminder of what Bucky had been subjected through. Almost as if sensing the shift in your gaze, Steve's eyes followed yours, and without a word, he urged you forward toward Bucky, the weight of unspoken understanding passing between the two of you.

Only then did Bucky stir, lifting his head with a slow, painful movement. The moment his eyes met yours, your heart broke. “You sure about this?” Steve’s voice echoed through the room softly. Bucky’s laugh was a dry, hollow sound, a forced exhale that barely escaped his chest. "I can't trust my own mind," He muttered, his words heavy with exhaustion and defeat. His attempt at a smile faltered before it even began. "So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing," He paused, his gaze drifting to you, settling there, and something flickered in his eyes.

"For everybody." A cold shiver ran down your spine, and you swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. But you couldn’t ignore the part of you that still clung to the hope that there was something, anything that could bring him back, that could save him from the darkness of his own thoughts. “Steve," You found your voice, and it was softer than you had intended, trembling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. "Do you think I can talk to Bucky alone?" Steve gave a subtle nod, his face unreadable as he silently left the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click that echoed louder than anything. In the silence that followed, Bucky braced himself, his body tense, rigid.

He knew the look in your eyes too well, the look of someone who had every right to be angry, to lash out at him for the things he had done, the choices he had been forced into. And he was sure, so sure that as soon as you were alone, you’d finally do what he feared most. You’d strike him, unleash the fury he’d deserved for too long. But when you finally moved toward him, it was not with the anger and fury he anticipated. Instead, you sat down next to him, the space between you barely enough to count. The proximity made him stiffen, his heart hammering in his chest, the air thick with the tension of everything unsaid.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you directly, so he stared at the floor, steeling himself for whatever was coming. But when you did meet his eyes, it wasn’t with hatred or disgust. It wasn’t even with pity. Instead, there was only softness, tenderness, a quiet understanding. And then, without hesitation, you placed your hand on his, on his flesh hand, the one that hadn’t been replaced, the one still capable of feeling warmth. Your touch was gentle, but it carried more than just comfort; it carried a message that Bucky wasn’t sure he deserved but needed more than anything.

You squeezed his hand lightly, a small, simple gesture, but it was enough. For the first time in years, Bucky didn’t flinch at the touch. His body, usually so conditioned to retreat from even the slightest form of contact, melted into your warmth. The walls he had so carefully constructed over time, built out of fear and trauma, seemed to crumble under the simplest act of kindness. He could feel the warmth of your hand seep into his skin, calming the storm that raged inside him. "Bucky," Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it felt like a lifeline.

His eyes flickered from your face to where your hands were joined, a silent question in them. He could hardly believe what was happening. How your simple touch was making him feel something other than numb. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything else faded away, the room, the pain, the guilt. It was just you and him. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe there was still a chance for something good to come from all of this.

"Bucky," You repeated again, softer this time. It was almost as if you were pulling him out of a fog, trying to anchor him to the present. His eyes were distant, somewhere far away, and for a moment, you wondered if he could even hear you. But then, after a long, aching pause, his cerulean eyes slowly lifted to meet yours. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the layers of guilt and shame that he couldn’t quite shed. The soldier, the man, and all the ghosts he carried within him, the pain was written all over his face.

And in that moment, you knew you had to say something that would shatter the walls he had so carefully built around himself. You needed him to hear you, to believe you, even if it was the hardest thing for him to do. "I want you to listen to me very carefully," You coaxed, your voice steady but laced with an emotion that made your chest tighten. Your hand still holding his, trembling slightly tightened its grip. It wasn’t a forceful move, but it was a silent plea, an unspoken promise that you would be there, that he wasn’t alone. "And I will say these words as many times as you need me to, until you believe me."

Bucky’s breath hitched as your words sank in, but still, you could feel the weight of his skepticism, the doubt that clouded his thoughts. He had heard too many lies, too many things that weren’t true about who he was. And yet, you pressed on, because you knew you had to. "None of what happened was your fault." The words hung between you, thick with an emotion that made it hard to breathe. Saying them was one thing. Believing them, hearing them from someone else was another. But you couldn’t hold back now. Not after everything he had been through.

"You, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, are and will always be an innocent man who did nothing wrong." A small shudder ran through him, and his eyes flickered with a storm of conflicting emotions. There was disbelief, shame, but also something deeper something that looked a lot like hope, even though he couldn’t fully reach for it yet. The words, though true, seemed to weigh him down more than they lifted him, as if he didn’t feel worthy of hearing them. As if his past had branded him forever, leaving a scar that no one could erase, not even you.

And then, almost as if he couldn’t bear the tenderness in your voice, he spoke, his words raw, vulnerable, and laced with guilt. "You should hate me." The sentence hung between you both, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t a question. It was a confession, a truth he carried like a burden. His voice cracked, just slightly, betraying the jagged edge of pain buried within him. “I’ve done… things. I’ve hurt people, people I cared about…” His eyes dropped to the space between you, avoiding your gaze, as if ashamed to meet your soft, understanding eyes.

But you refused to look away. You wouldn’t let him shrink into the darkness again. "No, Bucky," You whispered, shaking your head, your voice firm, steady despite the overwhelming tide of emotions crashing over you both. "I don’t hate you. I could never hate you." Your voice was filled with an intensity that made your breath catch, the truth of it sinking deep into your own soul. "I will never hate you." Your eyes locked with his, your gaze unwavering, as if to silently say that you weren’t going to let him carry that burden alone.

Not anymore.

Bucky swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. The vulnerability in his eyes, the fragile hope that flickered there, was something you would never forget. He had never allowed himself to be this open with anyone, especially not when it came to the parts of himself he felt were broken beyond repair. But there you were, holding him together with your words, with your mere presence. "You’re not a monster, Bucky," You added softly. "And as long as I'm around, I won’t let you believe that."

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. The kind of silence that wasn’t heavy, but full of everything that had yet to be said. Bucky’s gaze softened, just a little. It wasn���t much, but it was enough. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be forgiveness. Maybe he wasn’t as lost as he had thought. "Thank you." The words were soft, a little unsteady, but sincere. It was a rare vulnerability, the kind that was hard-earned and even harder to give.

As if guided by an unknown force, Bucky’s fingers tightly curled around yours, and for the briefest of moments, the world seemed to stand still. It was him who initiated the touch, a gesture that carried with it a thousand unspoken words, an offering of trust that he had withheld for so long. And as his hand gently pressed against yours, a flutter of warmth and something inexplicably light spread through you. However, the moment was short-lived. Bucky’s fingers slipped from yours, the warmth of his touch fading as he gently let go. It was a small, deliberate movement, but one that sent a subtle pang through your chest.

Before you could fully process the loss of that connection, Steve re-entered the room, his presence pulling you both back into the reality of the situation. “You ready, pal?” Steve’s voice was casual, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken, in the way he looked between you and Bucky. His eyes caught the soft flush on both your faces, and you could see the flicker of amusement he was trying unsuccessfully to hide. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he quickly masked it with a more serious expression, as though he didn’t want to intrude on the delicate moment that had just passed between you two.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Steve, the briefest hesitation in his gaze, before he nodded slowly, deliberately. With a final glance in your direction, he turned away and walked toward the Cryo chamber, his footsteps soft but purposeful. As he approached, the chamber hummed to life, the metallic walls shimmering in the faint light. The cold, mechanical hiss of the doors opening seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, a sharp contrast to the warm, fragile connection that had just been forged only moments ago.

Bucky stood at the threshold for a moment, the weight of everything he'd been carrying settling into his posture. Then, without another word, he stepped inside. The gust of cold air enveloped him in a rush, the wind sharp and biting, but his expression remained unchanging, serene, almost tranquil. The whirring of the chamber grew louder, a steady, mechanical sound as the freezing process began. For a moment, you could almost see it in his face the way he surrendered to the cold, allowing it to swallow him whole. He looked at peace, the turmoil that had once defined him slipping away.

You couldn’t say how long you stood there beside Steve. Time felt like it had slipped away, leaving nothing but the quiet hum of the Cryo chamber in the background. After all, Steve had just gotten his best friend back, only to lose him again, only this time to a sleep that might stretch on for days, months, or even longer. The silence between you stretched, thick and palpable, until Steve finally placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. The gesture, simple as it was, anchored you in that moment. With a slight nod, he led the way, and you both exited the room, walking in silence down the hallway.

As you moved further down the hall, the glass gave way to a breathtaking view that overlooked all of Wakanda. The vibrant landscape stretched endlessly below, the jungle below alive with color and the city shimmering in the distance. For a few moments, you both stood there allowing the weight of everything to settle over you. You watched the horizon, lost in thought, until the sound of footsteps broke through the stillness. Your gaze instinctively shifted, meeting the piercing eyes of King T’Challa as he approached. His posture was regal, confident, yet there was a kindness in the way he regarded you.

"Miss Stark," He greeted, his voice as smooth and measured as ever. You straightened, instinctively reaching out to shake his hand. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before moving to Steve. Steve didn’t even flinch, his eyes still fixed on the view outside. "Thank you for this," Steve muttered, his voice low and earnest. T'Challa nodded. “Your friend and my father, they were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace…” You watched as Steve’s gaze finally shifted from the window, locking with T’Challa’s.

"You know if they find out he's here, they'll come for him." T’Challa’s response was calm yet held purpose. “Let them try.” In that moment, you realized that this place was not just a refuge for Bucky, but a place where, perhaps, even the most broken of souls could find peace. "So you're a fugitive," Your voice cut through the quiet. You swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising panic, but the uncertainty clawed its way to the surface. "Where does that leave me?" The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t think anyone would answer.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel the tension knotting in your stomach. There was no chance of reaching out to your father now, not after everything that had happened in Germany and Siberia. No, you were alone now. You had known that this moment was coming, but now that it was here, it was more terrifying than you could have anticipated. One of your greatest fears, the thing you had tried so hard to avoid, was finally real. You officially had no safety net left. "Hey," Steve coaxed almost as if sensing your inner turmoil.

“You’re not alone, as far as Ross' concerned you weren't involved in any of this." His words were meant to soothe, to ease the panic that was slowly suffocating you, but it wasn’t enough. Before you could muster any response, the familiar voice you'd heard earlier pierced the silence. “Y/N Stark, NYU transfer studying abroad for the remainder of the semester.” You whipped around to the sound of her voice, as everything started to slowly click into place. You hadn’t been able to see it before, but now, with clarity, you realized who she was. Shuri, princess of Wakanda.“I never had the chance to apply to NYU.” Your voice came out in a disbelieving whisper, your mind still trying to piece together how this all fit.

“You’re not the only one who can hack into other people's phones,” She declared smugly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her lips. Oh, you liked her already. She handed you something, and you took it instinctively, your hands trembling slightly as you unfolded it. Your eyes scanned the words, disbelief taking root in your mind. An official acceptance letter from the Department of Psychology at NYU. Your dream school. It was almost too much to process, too perfect, too unreal. But the reality of the letter was in your hands, in black and white.

“They won’t come looking for you,” She insisted, her voice firm, reassuring. For the first time in a long time, you were speechless. This wasn’t just about a school or a chance at a degree. This was about a future, one that no longer seemed impossible, one that you hadn’t even dared to hope for in years. Your Mind-Weaver was still just an idea, a prototype in desperate need of a better name. But now? Now it didn’t feel so far out of your grasp. “After all, we’re going to need your assistance,” Shuri coaxed, her smile warm and purposeful. “When you aren’t studying, that is.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Anything. Name it.” The words came out before you could stop them. It was the least you could do after everything they had done for you, after how they had practically saved your life. “When Sergeant Barnes wakes up, he’s going to need a new arm,” She stated matter-of-factly, her gaze steady as she looked at you. “Care to live up to your reputation?” The weight of her words settled in your chest, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the crushing pressure of your last name holding you back.

In that moment you weren’t “Tony Stark’s Daughter”. There was no legacy to live up to in that moment, no expectations suffocating you. You were you. And you could feel the spark of hope flickering inside of you, growing brighter with every passing second. As you turned to face Steve, the look on his face was more than just reassurance. Maybe this was exactly what you needed, what you had always needed. To be somewhere you could be yourself, without the weight of family history pressing down on you. Maybe, just maybe, Wakanda was the place where you could find peace.

thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3

[devdozes]

Heyyy, I found your account two days ago and damn I love it❤️ I’m not sure if i’m doing this correctly ( it’s only my second time requesting), but could you please write spidey Phainon. We don’t know that he’s the spider-man, but one night the reader was in the city, trying to get back home from a hang out with her friends, then suddenly an enemy attacks the city, Phainon is already fighting it, but somehow the reader gets caught and held a hostage and that’s where our hero gets serious. 🔥

Don’t overwork yourself, take care and ty❤️❤️

Put. Her. Down.

AA THANK YOYU FOR UR CARE AND PRAISE ILYILYY AND NO PROBLEM REQS ARE ALWAYS OPEN :D

The neon glow of the cityy flickered against the wet pavement as you walked alone through the quiet streets, the distant hum of traffic filling the air. The night was cool, crisp, the kind that made your breath mist faintly in front of you. The usual vibrancy of the city felt a little muted—something about the atmosphere had shifted, though you couldn’t quite place why.

Maybe it was just exhaustion creeping in from a long day of laughter and teasing with your friends. You had gone out for a late dinner, indulging in greasy food, painfully stupid jokes, and chaotic behaviour that left you breathless from laughter. It had been fun. A perfect night, really. And now, all you wanted was to crawl into bed and let sleep take over.

But as you turned down an empty street, a strange prickling feeling settled over your skin, an instinctual warning you couldn’t ignore.

Something was wrong.

The realization hit you just as a sudden explosion shattered the calm.

The shockwave sent you stumbling backward, heat licking at your face as glass and debris rained down from a nearby building. A ringing sound filled your ears, drowning out the screams erupting around you. Panic gripped your chest as smoke curled into the sky, the acrid scent of burning metal thick in the air.

People were running—shoving past you, desperate to escape whatever had just happened. And then you saw him.

A towering figure emerged through the smoke, his armor gleaming under the city lights, his eyes glowing red. His body was covered in dark, jagged plating, almost mechanical, with massive clawed hands that looked like they could tear through steel. He wasn’t just a threat—he was something out of a nightmare.

And then, like a blur against the destruction, another figure dropped from the sky.

Spider-Man.

He moved like a liquid shadow, his black, white, and blue suit standing out against the chaos. His golden accents shimmered under the city lights, making him look almost ethereal. With effortless agility, he shot out a web, swinging low before slamming both feet into the villain’s chest, sending him skidding backward.

“Y’know,” Spider-Man quipped, flipping in the air and landing gracefully on a bent streetlamp, “I was really hoping for a quiet night, maybe some ice cream. But nooo, you just had to show up and start breaking things.”

The villain growled, his voice distorted by some kind of mechanical filter. “You’re a fool if you think you can stop me.”

“Buddy, I’ve been called worse.”

Then, they clashed.

Spider-Man moved with terrifying precision, dodging every lethal strike with fluid grace, countering with webbing, acrobatics, and sheer speed. It was mesmerizing—a deadly dance of power and skill.

You should have run.

You should have turned and disappeared into the crowd like everyone else, but something about the battle had rooted you in place.

And that’s when you made your first mistake.

A second figure—a masked subordinate of the villain—stepped out from the shadows behind you. You didn’t even get the chance to scream before a cold, metallic arm wrapped around your torso, hoisting you off the ground as if you weighed nothing.

Your stomach dropped.

The grip was tight, almost suffocating, your feet dangling as your captor lifted you higher, positioning you as a human shield.

“Let’s see if your hero can fight when there’s something at stake,” your captor sneered, their mechanical claws pressing against your ribs.

Spider-Man froze.

The moment his eyes landed on you, his entire body went rigid.

The playful air around him vanished.

His usual easygoing charm, the teasing remarks, the casual confidence—it all evaporated in an instant.

The city around you fell silent.

Then, he spoke.

“Put. Her. Down.”

His voice was lower than you had ever heard it. No jokes, no lightheartedness—just a warning.

The villain holding you only laughed, tightening their grip. “Or what? You gonna shoot me with your little webs?”

Spider-Man’s hands curled into fists.

For the first time, you felt something dangerous in him.

His breathing was controlled, but you could hear the underlying tension—like a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap. He took a step forward, his entire body coiled like a predator about to strike.

“You have three seconds,” he said, voice cold as steel. “Three seconds before I make you wish you’d never touched her.”

The villain’s laughter faltered slightly. They hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected the change in him.

One second.

A web shot out.

Before you could blink, Spider-Man had yanked the villain’s mechanical limb clean off, the metal sparking as it hit the pavement. You barely had time to react before he was there, moving with a speed that was inhuman, snatching you from their grasp with terrifying efficiency.

His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against him as he shot a web to the nearest building and launched the both of you into the air.

Your breath caught as the wind rushed past your face, the city lights blurring below. You clung to him instinctively, your fingers digging into the fabric of his suit.

It was only once you were safely on a rooftop that he finally let you go—reluctantly, almost.

His hands lingered, fingertips ghosting over your arms like he was making sure you were real.

“…You okay?” His voice was softer now, but still laced with something raw.

Your heart was still racing, adrenaline still flooding your veins, but you managed a breathless nod. “Y-Yeah. Thanks to you.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair—only to freeze when he remembered he was still wearing his mask.

“God, you—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have been that close.”

“It wasn’t like I planned to get kidnapped,” you shot back, your voice steadier now. “But, uh—” You hesitated, your gaze lingering on him. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That.” You gestured vaguely. “The whole… 'put her down’ thing. You were scary.”

Spider-Man didn’t answer immediately. He turned slightly, looking out over the city, his posture unusually tense.

“…I don’t like it when people mess with things I care about.” "Wait no, uh I meant as in you are a citizen of this city so of course I care about you-"

Something in the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unspoken, before he took a step back.

“I have to go finish this,” he said, voice gentler this time. “Stay here. Please.”

But as he prepared to swing away, you couldn’t stop yourself from calling out—

“Wait—”

He hesitated.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “…Be careful.”

His head tilted slightly, as if considering something. Then, with a soft chuckle—one that held the ghost of the usual him—he saluted lazily.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the night.

But even after he vanished, you remained there, staring at the skyline, heart pounding.

Because you may not have known who was under that mask.

But something about him felt terrifyingly, painfully familiar.

HOPE U LIKED IT IM SORRY IT WAS SHORT THOUGH :(