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umamaki · 2 days ago

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HOW'S THE VIEW FROM UP THERE?

1/5 of my valentine's day event!

sylus x reader

CW reader with female anatomy, explicit smut, established relationship, kinda cutesy domestic imo, pet names, oral sex (f!receiving), oral slight teeth... wc. 0.9k

NOTE pls bear with me. drafting this was the hardest thing i’ve done and i think i genuinely forgot how to write.

You lean against the headboard, unmoving as Sylus lays on top of you. He’s on his stomach and his head rests just below your chin. You’d believe he’s asleep if not for his fingers absentmindedly tapping against your ribcage.

It’s out of the blue, but you can’t shake the urge to tell him the thought that just came to mind. A hand reaches down to play with his hair, lightly twirling his strands and scratching his scalp. He groans in contentment. The room’s silence had been broken and you take it as your chance.

“Y’know, Sylus…”

You trail off, vaguely shy. He waits before prodding you on, “yes, what is it?”

“I… quite like this view of you.” He raises his head now, still confused. You continue, “I mean, seeing the top of your head like this. I like it. I like it a lot.”

There was truth in your words. Sylus is typically the one who towers over you, the one is used to seeing the top of your head. And so you’ve grown to cherish the moments in which he feels comfortable to be in a vulnerable position around you, offering his body to you, allowing you to touch him wherever you please. Though, the thought of not doing so had never once crossed his mind.

So it intrigues him, what you had said. “Is that so?” You nod. He brings himself to hover face to face with you, “and what other times do you see the top of my head?”

You look up to think. He appreciates the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks and how your lips subconsciously pout when you’re lost in thought.

“Well… When you carry me on your shoulders, when you tie my shoelaces, or right now when you lay on me, and um,” your voice lowers in saying the last part; you’re still a little embarrassed.

But Sylus has never been a believer of shame. He’s smirks down at you now, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Could you repeat that last part for me, sweetie?”

“You heard me.” You stand your ground.

“I did not,” he feigned innocence, eyebrows raised, “please?”

“I said, I like seeing the top of your head when you.. go down on me, too.” Your hands come up to cover your face in embarrassment as quickly as Sylus raises his to remove them from your face.

“If you wanted me to eat you out, you could’ve just asked me to, dear.”

He laughs when you push his forehead back. The trail of kisses he leaves from your jaw to collarbone tickles and you give in, “fine, go on then,” your legs spread open for him, you sink back into the sheets, an invitation for him.

“Not feeling shy anymore, hm?” Of course he gives into your wishes, but it isn’t Sylus if he doesn’t at least ruffle you up beforehand. He licks a teasing stripe up through the fabric of your panties, eyes never breaking away from yours. “How’s the view now?”

His hot breath mingles with the wet patch on your underwear as he speaks directly into your cunt. You’re too pent up to entertain his teasing. An impatient hand pushes his face back down onto your heat, “view’s good, great. Please continue.”

You feel him smile into your cunt. He peels the fabric off, afterwards using his finger to separate the string of arousal that clung to your undergarment. The cold air of the room on your wet pussy makes you clench around nothing. “I can tell, you’re already drenched.”

He begins to lap at your slick folds before you can get a word back in. He eats you out like a man starved; never once coming up for air, but inhaling the scent of your heat so intensely that his back rises and falls with each deep breath.

His hands are splayed out on each of your thighs, keeping your legs apart, allowing himself to relentlessly continue lapping up your leaking juices, savoring your taste on his tongue. Your legs shake under his grip as he switches between flattening and tensing his tongue, pushing the muscle up your cunt and through your folds. His nose bumps into your clit, sending a jolt up your body.

“Oh my god—Sylus—” the stimulation draws out breathless moans and whimpers from your lips and he’s enjoying every sound of it, “Sylus, m’close.”

“Yeah? Gonna come on my face baby?” His red eyes lock with your pleading ones before shifting his appreciative gaze down to the marks on your tits and the crease in your tummy, then back onto your eyes.

“Mhm—”

“Now tell me,” his bruising grip on your legs pushes them up, knees reaching your ears, “you cumming because of the view? Or because of my tongue on your pussy?” He had always been so brazen with his words, never filtering his vulgar language. For some reason, the fact turns you on extraordinarily.

“B-both!” You had to stutter it out in between moans, using up the last of your coherence to respond to him.

“Good.” You’re immediately taken to your climax when he catches your clit between his teeth; he does it lightly, but the unexpected sharpness of it immediately sends your orgasm crashing through you. His tongue guides you through your release, unwavering, despite your thrashing body beneath him. The orgasm is intense and overwhelming, blurring your vision before finally making your body go slack against the sheets.

At last, he relieves you from the overstimulation. Your sheen covers the entirety of his chin, and he’s shameless in licking his lips clean when he catches you staring.

“Darling, I just might have a new favorite view after this.”

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@jin-fei @isagistar @venussakura @syluriar @shoyosthighs

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elryuse · 15 hours ago

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Press Record

Julie X Male Reader

Tags : Record Sex, Naughty, Romance, Obsession, Cowgirl, Sweaty

Words : 2,813 Words

This Fic Is Dedicated to My Friend @Pizza_anon. Thanks once again For the Commission My Friend. I hope You Guys enjoyed it.

The first time Julie glanced my way, I felt it like a jolt of electricity. Her green eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto mine across the crowded dining hall. For a split second, her infectious smile flickered, replaced by something darker, more predatory. I should’ve looked away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. That was my first mistake.

“You’re new, right?” she said, sliding into the seat across from me like she owned it. Her voice was low, teasing, and carried an edge that made my stomach twist. “I’m Julie. You’ve probably heard of me.”

I had. Everyone had. Julie wasn’t just a name; she was a reputation. The girl you didn’t cross, the girl who could turn your life into a minefield with a single smirk. But up close, she was magnetic—her messy dark hair, the way she leaned forward like she was about to share a secret, the faint scent of cherry lip gloss that made my pulse quicken.

“Yeah,” I managed, my voice steady despite the knot in my chest. “I’ve heard.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Good. Then you know not to waste my time.”

She stayed for exactly three minutes, just long enough to leave me flustered and confused, before disappearing back into the crowd. But that was just the beginning. Julie had a way of inserting herself into my life, like a storm I didn’t see coming. She’d show up at parties, corner me in hallways, and text me at random hours with messages that ranged from ”You’re cute when you’re nervous” to ”Don’t make me come find you.”

And then there was the night at her friend’s party. The night she pulled me into a bedroom, locked the door, and whispered, “Let’s film it,” like it was the most natural thing in the world. My heart raced, my hands trembled, and I should’ve said no. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because when Julie looked at me like that, with those piercing eyes and that devilish smile, I wasn’t just a target—I was something she wanted. And that was all it took.

Now, we’re alone in my dorm room, the air thick with tension. My roommate’s out for the evening, and Julie’s perched on the edge of my bed, her legs crossed, toe tapping idly against the floor. She’s wearing a leather jacket that’s too big for her, making her look smaller, more vulnerable. But I know better. Julie’s always in control.

“Let me film you,” she says, her voice low and steady, devoid of the teasing tone she usually uses. This isn’t a joke anymore. It’s a demand.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Julie…”

“Don’t ‘Julie’ me,” she interrupts, leaning forward so her face is inches from mine. Her breath is warm against my skin, and I can smell the faint hint of coffee on her lips. “You know you want to. You always do.”

“It’s not just about what I want,” I try, but she cuts me off with a sharp laugh.

“Bullshit. It’s always about what you want. You just won’t admit it.” Her hand finds my thigh, her fingers digging in just enough to make me wince. “You like it when I push you. You like it when I take control. Don’t act like you don’t.”

I want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong, but the words catch in my throat. Because she’s not wrong. Not even close. There’s something about Julie—the way she challenges me, the way she makes me feel alive in a way no one else ever has—that I can’t resist. It’s dangerous, intoxicating, and I know it’s going to end badly. But right now, I don’t care.

“Fine,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “But just this once.”

Her smirk returns, and she pulls her phone from her pocket, setting it up on the dresser with the camera angled perfectly. “That’s what you said last time,” she teases, sliding her jacket off and tossing it to the floor. “And the time before that.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I watch as she climbs onto the bed, straddling my lap with practiced ease. Her hands find my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin as she leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear. “Let’s see how loud I can make you,” she whispers, her breath hot against my skin.

And then she’s kissing me, hard and demanding, her tongue sliding against mine as her hips grind against me. I lose myself in the sensation, my hands gripping her waist as she takes control, her movements confident and relentless. I can feel the heat building between us, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it’s almost unbearable.

“Julie,” I groan, my hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. She responds with a low hum, her nails dragging down my chest as she breaks the kiss, her eyes locking onto mine.

“Say it,” she demands, her voice rough with desire. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” I breathe, my heart pounding in my chest. “I want you.”

Her smile is wicked, triumphant, and she leans in to kiss me again, her hands tangling in my hair as she moves against me. The sound of our breathing fills the room, mingling with the soft creak of the bedsprings as she takes what she wants, leaving me helpless to resist.

And then she pulls back, her eyes glittering with mischief as she glances at the camera. “Let’s give them something to talk about,” she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Before I can respond, she’s moving again, her hips grinding against mine in a way that makes my breath catch.

“Julie,” I gasp, my hands tightening on her hips as I feel myself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until I’m on the edge. She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath, and I know she’s not going to stop until she gets what she wants.

“That’s it,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry as she leans in close, her lips brushing against mine. “Let me see you come undone.”

I don’t last much longer after that. The tension snaps, and I’m lost in the sensation, my hands gripping her hips as I spill inside her. She doesn’t stop, her movements slowing but not stopping as she rides out the aftershocks, her eyes locked on mine.

“Good boy,” she whispers, her voice soft and satisfied as she leans in to kiss me. But before I can respond, she’s pulling away, reaching for the camera and turning it off. “Now,” she says, her smirk returning, “let’s see who’s brave enough to ask what happened tonight.”

I watch as she slips her jacket back on, her movements casual and unhurried, like we didn’t just… like this wasn’t… I shake my head, trying to clear the fog in my mind, but Julie’s already at the door, her hand on the knob.

“Same time next week?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that’s equal parts sweet and dangerous.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. Because we both know I’ll be here just waiting for her. And she’d love that more than anything…. “You’re not that hard to figure out,” she smirks, turning the door open and walking out with not a care in the world.

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving me alone in the silence of the dorm room. My heart was still racing, my mind a chaotic swirl of desire, guilt, and something dangerously close to obsession. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know how to feel. All I knew was that Julie had left her mark on me—again—and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to scrub it away.

The next week passed in a blur. I tried to focus on classes, on friends, on anything other than the promise of her return. But it was no use. Everywhere I looked, I saw her—her smirk, her eyes, her lips. She haunted me, even when she wasn’t there. And then, just like she said, she came.

It was late. The dorm room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside the window. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall, when the door flew open without warning. Julie stood in the doorway, her hair a mess, her eyes red and puffy. She looked wild, unpredictable, and more dangerous than ever. I froze, unsure of what to say, but before I could even think to ask what was wrong, she was on me.

“He fucking cheated on me,” she spat, her voice shaking with anger as she slammed the door shut behind her. “That piece of shit had the nerve to lie to my face, and I believed him. I actually fucking believed him.” Her hands were trembling, her chest heaving with every breath. She looked broken, but also furious—like a wounded animal ready to lash out.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even have time to process what was happening before she was in my face, her hands gripping the front of my shirt. “Do you know how that feels?” she demanded, her voice rising. “To give someone everything and have them throw it back in your face like it’s nothing?”

“Julie—” I started, but she cut me off.

“No. Don’t talk. Don’t say a fucking word.” Her eyes burned into mine, and for a moment, I thought she was going to hit me. Instead, she kissed me. Hard. Her lips crashed against mine, desperate and angry and raw. I could taste the salt of her tears, the bitter tang of her rage. She wasn’t asking for comfort. She was taking what she needed.

Her hands were everywhere—pulling at my clothes, clawing at my skin. I didn’t resist. I didn’t want to. There was something electric about her in that moment, something that made me forget everything except the feel of her body against mine. She pushed me back onto the bed, climbing on top of me with a ferocity that took my breath away.

“You’re going to make me forget him,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “You’re going to make me forget everything.”

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. She was a storm, and I was caught in her chaos. Her hands tugged at the waistband of my pants, and within seconds, they were on the floor. She didn’t bother with finesse or foreplay. She was too angry, too desperate. She straddled me, her thighs pressing against my hips, and I could feel how wet she was through the thin fabric of her skirt.

“Julie—” I started again, but she didn’t let me finish.

“Shut up,” she growled, her hands gripping my shoulders so tightly it hurt. “You don’t get to talk. You don’t get to think. You’re just going to take it.”

And then she was on me, sliding down onto me with a gasp that sounded more like a cry of pain than pleasure. She didn’t stop, didn’t pause, didn’t give either of us time to adjust. She just moved, her hips grinding against mine in a rhythm that was as punishing as it was intoxicating. She was fucking me, but it didn’t feel like sex. It felt like revenge.

Her nails dug into my chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was crying again, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or pain or something else entirely. Her body tightened around me, and I could feel every shudder, every tremor, every flicker of emotion that she was trying to drown out.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re fucking mine.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t even think. I just let her take what she needed, gave her what I could. Her body was slick with sweat, her skin hot against mine. The air in the room was thick, heavy, charged with raw, unspoken emotion. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against my ear, and I could feel her breath, warm and shaky.

“I hate him,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I hate him so much.”

And then she was coming, her body tightening around me in a way that made my vision blur. I followed her over the edge, unable to hold back any longer. She collapsed on top of me, her breathing ragged, her forehead pressed against my chest. For a moment, neither of us moved. I wasn’t sure if it was over, or if this was just another pause in the storm.

She lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine, and for the first time since she’d walked in, she looked vulnerable. “Don’t ever lie to me,” she said, her voice soft but deadly serious. “Don’t ever fucking lie to me.”

I nodded, unsure of what else to do. She stared at me for a moment longer, her eyes searching mine, and then she leaned in and kissed me. It was softer this time, slower, but there was still an edge to it—a reminder that she was in control, that she always would be.

“Good boy,” she whispered against my lips, and then she was pulling away, her body slipping off mine. She reached for her skirt, pulling it back on with quick, practiced movements. She didn’t look at me as she dressed, her face a mask of determination.

“Julie—” I started, but she cut me off with a sharp look.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice cold. “Just don’t.”

And then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving me alone in the silence once again. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my body still humming with the memory of her. I didn’t know what had just happened, or what it meant. All I knew was that Julie had blown through my life like a hurricane, leaving destruction in her wake, and I was already craving the next storm.

The first time she left, I thought it was over.

The second time, I knew better.

Julie had always been like this-hot, cold, here, gone. She never stuck around long enough to let things settle, never gave me a chance to ask what any of this meant. Maybe that's why I let it happen. Because I knew if I tried to hold onto her, she'd slip right through my fingers.

But she kept coming back.

The first time was a week after that night. My phone lit up at 2 a.m. with a single message.

Unlock your door.

And like an idiot, I did.

She didn't say a word when she slipped inside.

Just pulled me into her, fingers curling in my hair, mouth already on mine like she'd been starving for it. She never let me ask questions, never let me talk about what we were doing. She took what she wanted, and I let her.

It became a pattern.

Julie would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, and just when I started to think maybe I was finally free of her, she'd find her way back. A text. A knock on my door. A hand on my wrist when she caught me in the hallway between classes, her grip just tight enough to let me know she still had a hold on me.

And every time, I let her in.

Every time, I let her ruin me a little more.

But something was different now.

The first time she left, I thought she was running from me. Now, I wasn't so sure.

She started lingering after.

Not much-just a few minutes longer, just long enough to catch her watching me when she thought I wasn't looking. Just long enough to notice the way she hesitated before pulling her clothes back on, like she wanted to say something but didn't know how.

Just long enough for me to start wondering if maybe, just maybe, she was getting addicted, too.

Then one night, everything changed.

I wasn't expecting her. It had been two weeks since I'd last seen her, and I was finally starting to believe she was done with me for good. And then, out of nowhere, she was at my door, pounding so hard it made the walls shake.

When I opened it, she pushed past me without a word, her hair a mess, her hands trembling.

"Julie-"

"Shut up," she muttered, her voice unsteady. "Just -just let me stay."

And for the first time, she didn't touch me.

She didn't rip my clothes off, didn't press her lips to my skin. She just climbed into my bed, curled into herself, and closed her eyes.

And I knew, then and there, that I wasn't the only one craving the next storm.

She was, too.

And maybe-just maybe-this time, she was afraid of it.

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #kpop smut #julie #kiof #kiss of life #kiss of life smut #kiss of life julie #obsession #recording #press #record #kiss #love #romance

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forcaleb · 1 day ago

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bound by shadows — caleb

warnings — yandere caleb, written before i read the main story and his myth, saw some quotes on other apps, slight angst, no fluff

notes — knock knock its user raffswife here my old account is broken for some reason lets hope its not the same here </3 tags: @aomiiine

caleb doesn’t understand why you’re so afraid of him.

he’s keeping you safe from people who want to hurt you, from those who would use you for the aether core inside your body. his house is the safest place in skyhaven — no one can reach you here, not without caleb’s permission, at least.

so why are you cowering on your bed, looking at him with those fearful eyes? why are you leaning away from his touch? he wants to take care of you, not hurt you.

“caleb�� please let me go,” you beg for the tenth time today, refusing to take the food he’s given you. “i promise i’ll come back when my mission is done- just… please let me go outside.”

“can’t do that, princess,” caleb murmurs quietly. “you know how much i hate it when you go out by yourself. besides, didn’t i tell you how dangerous it is right now? people are coming after you, pipsqueak.”

pipsqueak. the nickname you used to love as a little girl now sends shivers down your spine. you hate it when caleb gets like this — possessive and obsessed with you. sure, having him around keeps the weird guys away, but that doesn’t mean you’re okay with him stopping you from going out and meeting your friends.

he gets ridiculously jealous. the first time he saw you hanging out with a male coworker — who, mind you, has a girlfriend (now fiancée) — he wouldn’t let it go for weeks.

it doesn’t make sense. what happened to the sweet boy you’ve known since you were five? the boy who used to cook your favorite meals when you returned from missions? the boy who promised he’d do anything to make you happy?

“caleb, i don’t want to be locked up in here forever!” you exclaim, pulling at his uniform, desperation laced in your tone. “i have a life outside of this. i-i want to be able to work, have fun, and live my normal life again. i don’t need you to-”

“you don’t need me? is that what you think?” caleb grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his uniform. “tell me. what do you need? we can go back to linkon if that’s what you want. if you want to return to our past, we’ll rebuild our old house and move in together.” his grip on your wrist tightens. “and if one house isn’t enough, i’ll build you a whole maze. i’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want,” he says, bringing a hand to your face and gently cupping your left cheek. “it will be the most beautiful, stunning garden you’ve ever seen.”

“caleb, you can’t just-”

“no one will ever find you again. i’ll protect you forever,” caleb cuts you off, his eyes showing no room for argument. you don’t even know what to say. caleb is terrifying when he (or the toring chip) acts like this. it doesn’t matter if he insists he’s the same old caleb from your childhood — he just doesn’t feel like your caleb anymore.

“caleb…” you whisper, tears spilling down your cheeks. you don’t know what else to say. it’s too overwhelming when he becomes like this. his touch, words, basically everything about him is suffocating.

“shh,” caleb says, gently wiping the tears from your eyes. “don’t cry, pipsqueak. you know i hate it when i see you cry.” he smiles softly as your tears begin to dry. “i promise you, once everyone who wants to hurt you or use you for your aether core disappears, you’ll finally be safe.”

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dualityvn · 2 days ago

Note

Keith would turn to hypnosis or brainwashing to make us love him if he’s fully snapped…?

Could I maybe please request a drabble about that por favor 🥹

Sweet Vacation

CW: kidnapping, brainwashing, fork harassment

Word count: 1345

You ignored the first signs that Keith wasn’t doing well mentally. When he’d turn his back to you at night and sob silently, you’d pretend not to hear it. When he’d spend his evenings staring out the window for hours on end, eyes glazed over, you’d find things to busy yourself with.

It did annoy you when he put a tracker on you. The fight that followed only made things worse. He became constantly paranoid, asking to hear your voice every hour you weren’t home, having breakdowns when you so much as left the room he was in.

There was no doubt that he wouldn’t accept it if you tried to break up with him. You never bothered to start the conversation. You simply packed your things one day, blocked his number and left.

Unfortunately, he’d used more than one tracker.

- - -

You awaken to an unfamiliar hardwood floor, head pounding and limbs stiff. So stiff, in fact, that you aren’t able to move them. Your eyes shoot open as you tug on the ropes tying your limbs to the chair you're sitting in.

The room you’re in is unfamiliar, a lavish living room with wooden walls and a large fireplace. A sweet, mind-numbing fragrance catches your attention. Possibly, the herbs burning in a bowl on the coffee table before you. All the curtains are drawn, so you fail to see anything outside. You can’t remember how or when you got here.

The sound of footsteps approaching brings your attention to the closed door. Keith appears from behind it, looking much more frazzled and unkept than usual. His hair is a bit messy, he’s not wearing the usual concealer under his eyes and his collar is askew.

“My love! You're awake!” He rushes over to you.

“Keith! What the hell did you do to me? Where am I?!”

He shushes you as he caresses your cheek. You want to scream at him, fight against your restraints, yank yourself away from his touch. But for some reason, as soon as those thoughts enter your mind, they fade away.

“Everything's alright, dear. You're safe now. I'm sorry about the ropes, but there was no other way. I'll take them off once they're not needed anymore.”

There is nothing sane in his gaze. His eyes are big and alert and his smile is too wide for comfort.

“Where are we?” you ask, much calmer than you'd like.

“Somewhere where nobody will bother us! Don't worry, it's just the two of us.”

You don't know what he's done to you, but your fear, anger and alarm are all much too mild.

“Oh! I've made you lunch! Let me grab it for you before it gets cold.”

He rushes off through the door, then returns with a plate of food and a fork. The sight and smell of it makes your stomach grumble. For how long were you out?

“I hope you like it! Open wide!” Keith holds some of it out in front of you.

Thoughts of turning away or refusing the food pass through your mind, then leave just as fast. You reluctantly open your mouth.

Even when he's crazy, he manages to make infuriatingly good food. You do not complain about being fed the entire plate. If you want to try to get out of this situation, you'll need the energy anyway.

“You ate everything! Good job!” he praises you cheerfully.

Then, he looks down at the fork in his hand. His eyes flicker between it and your mouth for a moment. Until they eventually settle on you as he brings the fork near his face and licks the part that's been in your mouth. Once his tongue reaches the tips of the tines, he sticks them entirely in his mouth.

You stare at him, dumbfounded. Before you can say anything about it, he sets the fork back on the plate and turns to leave.

“I'll bring you a glass of water! Can't let you get dehydrated!”

What the hell was that? How far gone is he?

You finally get your brain to cooperate and attempt to struggle against your bindings. Unfortunately, they're tight and secure. Looking around, you can't spot anything sharp enough to cut them.

When Keith returns, he's brought back not only your glass of water but also a small satchel. You eye it curiously as he helps you drink.

And once it's done, he sets down the glass and opens up the satchel. It's full of herbs, some of which he places in the bowl with the others. That mind number scent hits you again. Any thought you'd had of escaping is beginning to blur.

As if reading your thoughts, Keith answers. “Just a little something to help you relax! I know you're probably quite stressed.”

He puts the satchel away and picks up a book instead. “How about I read you something? That way you won't be bored!”

You want to say no, you want to reason with him, ask him to let you go, convince him none of this is necessary. But none of it leaves your lips.

“Okay,” you say instead.

- - -

It's been two days since Keith locked you up in this house. He's fed you and kept you hydrated. When he's not been taking care of you, he's been keeping you entertained or simply chatted with you.

Perhaps it's your fault you've ended up this way. You ignored the signs that he wasn't doing well. You weren't a very good partner overall.

This morning he made you heart shaped pancakes with strawberries. It was kind of cute.

Perhaps you don't need to escape, perhaps he will snap back to reality and release you himself. The two of you aren't good for each other.

- - -

Four days have passed since Keith brought you here. He untied you from the chair but kept your wrist handcuffed to his to make sure you don't run away.

It's a pretty nice vacation home. Apparently you're in the mountains. The view from the balcony is stunning. Although it gave you a bit of a fright when you woke up here four days ago, it isn't so bad.

Keith still insists that you let him prepare meals, despite you being able to help now. You can't believe you treated him so coldly before. When he discovered you had bruises on your wrists from the rope, he cried and kissed them better.

At night, when you get ready for bed, he asks if he can cuddle you. If you say no, he keeps his distance. When you do give him permission, he holds you tight and whispers that he loves you. He smells sweet, a bit like burnt herbs.

- - -

It's been a week since the start of your little vacation. You took a walk through the forest this morning, hand in hand with your beloved boyfriend. He told you about the plants that grow here and which ones are safe to eat. He's so smart!

When you got back, you made lunch together. He’s been a bit down and anxious the past few days, but today he was in good spirits. Though he still won't tell you where he got the new perfume he's been wearing. It's so sweet, it makes you want to hold him close constantly.

Now that it's evening, you're both sitting on the couch, cuddling as you watch TV. Keith holds you against his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. You feel safe here.

“I love you,” you murmur.

He stiffens at once. Thinking there must be something wrong, you pull away to look at him. A mixture of shock and joy battles on his features.

“I love you too!” Tears are spilling from his eyes.

You laugh and cup his face, holding it still so you can kiss away his tears. Your boyfriend is so sentimental. His hand brushes over your chin, silently asking you to lean down. His lips quiver against yours, soft and uncertain. You press in lovingly.

Even the taste of his lips is sweet.

#duality game #duality keith #duality drabble #yandere

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solxamber · 13 hours ago

Note

Hi! Trey, romantic, Casual by Chappell Roan:)

"Is it casual now?" || Trey Clover

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Casual by Chappell Roan

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 730

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Suggestive Content, Casual to serious relationship, Happy Ending

Trey doesn’t know what to do with you.

His friends say he should walk away. Riddle tells him he's being reckless. Cater tells him to live a little, but not this much. Even Ace, of all people, warns him not to get too attached.

"They’re just playing with you, Trey. You’re a good guy, but you’re not special to them. Something fun to pass the time."

He knows they’re right.

But when you text him at midnight, he still picks up his phone. When you tug him into your room, he still lets you push him against the wall.

When your hands are in his hair and your lips are on his neck, he still groans and gives you everything you want.

He knows how this ends.

You’ll tease him, take what you need, and then you’ll leave. And yet—

When you press against him in the dark, breath hot against his ear, when you whisper “You’re so good to me, Trey,”—he still hopes.

And he hates himself for it.

He should be stronger than this.

But every time he’s with you, his resolve cracks like fragile glass.

Because you never stay away for long.

You let him hold you after, even when you say this isn’t serious. You let him touch you, let his fingers linger, let him pull you back for one last kiss, then another, and another.

You tell him not to get attached, and then you slip your hands under his shirt, run your nails down his back, and he groans into your mouth.

You make it impossible for him to let go.

And god, he wants to let go.

Because you don’t belong to him. You never have.

But his shirts are still in your room. Your scent lingers on his skin. Your toothbrush sits next to his in the bathroom, and when he finds your favorite ring in his pocket one day, he swears he’s losing his mind.

He tries to be casual, too. He tries to play the same game.

But he still wakes up wanting more.

He wants to wake up with you in his arms, your legs tangled with his, your breath warm against his collarbone.

He wants you to drag him to brunch and introduce him as your boyfriend, wants to hear you say it like you mean it.

He wants lazy Sundays with you, wants you curled against his chest on the couch, wants to kiss you slow and deep without thinking it might be the last time.

Most of all, he wants you to want him back.

But he can’t pine alone forever.

So tonight, he’s ending this.

You’re draped over him, body warm and pliant, your fingers still tracing over his chest, teasing, tempting. You’re smiling like you know you have him wrapped around your finger. Like you know he won’t say no.

But tonight, you’re wrong.

“This is the last time,” Trey says, voice low and rough.

You pause, blinking up at him. “What?”

He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his messy hair. “I can’t do this anymore. Not if you don’t want something real.”

You stare at him. And then you shift, pressing your bare leg between his, your lips ghosting over his throat, the way you always do when you don’t want to answer a question. “Trey—”

“No.” His fingers grip your waist, holding you still. “Not this time. If I’m just a game to you, tell me now, and I’ll walk away.”

You don’t speak for a long moment.

Then, finally, quietly—

“…What if I don’t want you to?”

Trey stills. His breath catches. “What?”

Your fingers tighten around his arm, holding onto him like you’re scared he’ll slip away. “What if I want more?” You swallow hard. “What if I don’t want this to be casual anymore?”

His head is spinning. His heart is pounding so loudly, he swears you can hear it. “Say it again.”

“…I want you.”

And Trey breaks.

He kisses you, deep and hungry, pressing you down into the sheets, pouring everything he’s been holding back into you. His hands map over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, like he finally, finally has permission to love you.

Like he never wants to be casual with you ever again.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀�� valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #trey clover x reader #trey x reader #trey clover #twst trey #trey

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weirdblkgrl · 20 hours ago

Text

MODERN AU! SEVIKA HEADCANONS

cw: none i think. just fluff

an: please forgive me if this is trash, this is my first post. also this is barely proofread sorry :p. also here's my modern!sevika moodboard

modern!sevika who’s love language is physical touch. she’s not great with her words like… at all. she loves to wrap her strong arms around your waist and bury her face in her neck while you’re cooking or cling onto you while she's sleeping. she won’t tell you she loves you, but she’ll tell you in other ways.

soft giggles escape your lips. “what are you doing?” you question, as sevika holds you down on the couch. she peppers slow, soft, wet kisses in a trail from your cheek, to your jaw, and down your neck. “what, i’m not allowed to kiss my girl anymore?” she replies, a cheeky smile on her face.

modern!sevika who loves to watch cheesy rom-coms with her girl. whether it’s a k-drama or an old movie, she’s pretty much down to watch anything. not only does she watch it, but she’s invested in it. she’s definitely slammed her cup on the coffee table too hard, and a bit too many times. she can’t help it, how else is she supposed to react to such a riveting plot?

sevika watches the tv screen intently, eyebrows furrowed. “wait. the head nurse is her mom? and her mom killed his mom?! what the hell?!” you can’t help but laugh and feel amused seeing her so into the show.

(any its okay not to be okay fans? :p)

modern!sevika who is actually super sweet, but only extends that curtesy to her girlfriend. i mean, let’s be real, she has the meanest rbf you have ever seen and she’s the most romantic person, to say the least. but if there’s anything she knows how to do, is take care of what’s hers.

you can’t help but plop onto your bed and let out an exasperated sigh after the day you’ve had. long meetings, a heap ton of work, and constantly complaining bosses has finally taken its toll on you. you curl up on your bed, stray tears falling from your watery eyes and soft sniffles escaping you. you were so lost in your thoughts, that you didn’t even notice sevika had arrived home. it wasn’t until you felt a dip in the bed behind you, that your cries had paused.

“what’s wrong?” you hear behind you, in a low gravelly voice as the smell of cinnamon and sandalwood settle in the air. “just…work.” you respond weakly. she hums as she wraps a strong arm around you and pulls you closer. she leaves a gentle kiss on your shoulder. "need something?"

she’ll do whatever you need her to do. she’ll go out and get food, or cook your favorite meal. she cuddle you on the couch, and let you put whatever you want on the tv. all that matters is that her girl feels better, and when she finally gets a smile out of you, she can’t help but emulate it, tooth gap and all.

modern!sevika who can speak fluent hindi. she doesn’t speak it often, but she might mumble something under breath subconsciously since it was her first language. she finds it absolutely adorable when you try to repeat after her and totally butcher the pronunciation. she appreciates the effort. you’ve also picked up a couple phrases she says often, responding in english to whatever it is she said.

not only do you try to speak her language, but she’ll try to speak any other language you do, too. despite her confident demeanor though, she gets shy, so she'll just respond in english as well.

“tengo hambre,” you groan. she scoffs, though it’s more like a laugh. “go make yourself something to eat then.” a childish pout quickly forms on your face as give her a mean side eye. sevika rolls her eyes, knowing you’re too lazy to go cook yourself a proper meal. she’ll give in, not wanting you to be hungry. “next time you’re doing this yourself,” she’ll grumble.

(obviously if not spanish whatever other language you speak)

modern!sevika who's undeniably and astonishingly good with people. it makes sense, since she is a corporate manager for a large finance company. when your friends first meet her, everyone was, understandably, intimidated. but they were surprised to find she’s actually… charming. it's easy to have a conversation with her, but only if she wants to have one. she'll make it known if she doesn't.

a small smile finds its way onto your face as you leave your friend's event. "what?" sevika asks, confused, but amused nonetheless. "nothing... just... that went better than expected." she raises an eyebrow. "what? what'd you think was gonna happen?" she asks, skeptically. "to be honest, i'm not sure, but i didn't know you were so... personable." you give her a suspicious look, "have you been hiding this skill from me?" she rolls her eyes. "dont be an idiot. how'd you think i got you head over heels for me?" she says, as she smiles cockily.

ahh she's my fave i hope you liked it :D

#arcane #sevika x reader #sevika #arcane season 2 #league of legends #x reader

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revelboo · 6 hours ago

Note

This is all your fault. 🤣 They have been so much fun to put together!

I am loving all your stories, especially Everything is Alright. The boys are such asshats! I'm looking forward to Reader putting them in their place.

The Blokees are adorable, especially the minis. I kind of want to just accrue them and let them ride on my dash. And reader is definitely not happy with any of them right now, but is beginning to realize they have leverage

Everything Is Alright Pt 124

IDW Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Starscream expects you to yell some more. To get angrier. Instead you just offer them a flat, empty smile and make a show of looking over the edge of the berth. And a whisper of fear twists through his spark. Wings drawing tight to his frame, Starscream isn’t sure what that expression of yours is, but he doesn’t like it. Hadn’t meant to just say all that in front of you, but it’s out there now. Had meant to hurt Megatron, not you. And Soundwave is slowly approaching you, frame tense. What is he picking up from you?

• “It occurs to me that you two need me a lot more than I need you. And I’m just one little, helpless human, right? You can bully me into whatever you want and there’s nothing I can do.” Heart racing, you keep an eye on Soundwave. Because he’s clued in to your mindset and he’s edging closer in slow movements like you’re a stray he’s trying not to spook into running. Star’s wings flare out slightly with your words, but Megatron is just frowning at you. “But lots of things can happen to me. I could fall off of here. It’s a long way down, isn’t it?” Ignoring Star and Soundwave, you focus on Megatron. Watch those optics narrow. “I don’t think I’d cope very well if something happened to my world and my people, you know? But nothing’s going to happen, because you’re going to leave my world alone. As a wedding gift.”

• Wedding? A human thing? “You think you can make demands of me?” Megatron ask, fighting to keep from smiling as you stare him down. Why is your anger so appealing? Makes him want to provoke you just to see how far you’ll go, because he doesn’t believe for a moment that you’ll actually try anything. There’s your equally helpless sparkling you saddled him with to worry about. It’s an empty threat and maybe it bothers him that you’re scared enough to make it. Because you are right about one thing. Anything could happen to you and his life depends on you staying safe. And despite himself, he’d prefer you to be happy, so tired of fighting all the time and don’t want to fight you.

• “Not a demand. A present for your bonded mate,” you say, glancing at Soundwave as he stops short of you and holds out a hand. Asking you to come away from the edge, because he’s afraid you might accidentally fall. That Megatron might push you into something rash. “For our sparkling,” you add, look up at him, not Megatron. And it’s a relief when you place that little hand in his and let him pull you to him. Wishes you wouldn’t try to push Megatron, but understands why you’re doing it. “Because this is their home, too.” Understands the game you’re playing and doesn’t like it. And he’s the outsider here now, not bonded to you anymore because of Starscream. The first bond had been all need and desire. He hasn’t considered the consequences of his actions if you’d accepted him, but he still wants it. Still wants you. Even if it’s just this, trapped on the outside acting as mediator to keep you safe.

• Crossing the berth to you and Soundwave, his wings drop, flicking guiltily when you look at him. Knows you’re mad at him, too, but can’t stop reaching for you. And his spark aches when you take a slow breath and catch his hand, tugging him to you. “It’s a reasonable request,” he says, knowing it’s not his call to make, but he’d give you this if it would make you happy. Hadn’t really cared about this mudball beyond that you’re on it. Wants to ask what a wedding is, if it’s some kind of bonding ceremony, but he just looks at Megatron in challenge instead. Watches the warlord vent in exasperation at the three of you, optics fixed on you.

• Heart still racing as you lace your fingers with Starscream’s servos and glare defiantly up at Megatron. Still angry at all three of them, but Star and Soundwave are at least taking your side. Or they just don’t want you angry with them and are trying to get back in your good graces. It’s hard to tell with them sometimes. “You really are more trouble than you’re worth,” Megatron growls, shoving off the berth and striding to the door. “Mining and refining energon will continue as planned.” And your breath catches, fingers gripping Star’s servos as Megatron hesitates, back to all of you. “But I suppose this world could be declared a protected nature reserve. Since our species are compatible and I’d hate to wipe out any potential resources.” That’s sort of a victory, right? Why doesn’t it make you feel better, though? Because you might have saved your world but accidentally turned the Decepticons loose on your people to save their own declining race. Well, shit.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #starscream #megatron #soundwave

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heeluvv · 2 days ago

Text

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 ( ၴႅၴ

pairing ༒︎ yandere/psycho!kim sunoo x student!reader

genre ༒︎ dark romance

warnings ༒︎ stalking, possession, masturbation (slight), forced love, obsession, etc.

natty’s notes ༒︎ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

sunoo never meant to fall this deep.

he was just watching. studying. learning.

he memorized your schedule, your favorite snacks, the exact way your lips curved when you smiled.

at first, he was content with the distance. watching from the back of the classroom. listening when you spoke—soaking in every word like it was meant for him.

then, he started following just to make sure you were safe. just to protect you.

but then—he saw you with them. laughing. touching. letting someone else be close to you.

something snapped.

you were his.

you just didn’t realize it yet.

he thought he could be patient. he thought he could wait for you to see him but watching you with them—watching their hands touch what was his—he couldn’t take it anymore.

so he took you.

your head feels heavy. clouded. wrong. when you try to move, your wrists won’t budge. your vision is blurry, the dim light in the room barely enough to make sense of your surroundings.

and then—you hear it.

soft breathing. close. too close.

“you’re awake.” your stomach drops.

sunoo.

he’s sitting beside you, watching. waiting. loving. his glasses are slightly fogged, his lips parted in quiet relief. he reaches forward, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“you slept for so long, baby.” your blood runs cold.

“let me go.” his smile softens—as if you just said something silly.

“i can’t do that.” he tilts his head, eyes filled with something too dark. too tender. too in love.

“you’re finally where you belong.”

you struggle. scream. beg.

but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t react. he just watches because he knows you’ll break eventually.

one night, you hear it.

soft, shaky breaths.

the quiet sound of frustration and want.

you turn your head—and freeze.

sunoo is sitting in his chair, his back is to you, but you can see the tension in his shoulders.

his head tilts back slightly, a soft, broken sigh slipping past his lips.

“baby…”

his voice is wrecked. desperate. longing.

his fingers tremble against his skin.

you don’t have to see to know.

he’s thinking about you. he’s touching himself to the thought of you.

your stomach twists.

you want to look away but you can’t. not when he breathes your name like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. not when you realize—he’s been waiting for you to love him, but he can’t wait any longer.

the room is too quiet.

except for him.

except for his breath hitching, his soft, broken sighs, the quiet sound of frustration and want.

your hands tremble against the restraints. you shouldn't look but your body betrays you.

the way his shoulders rise and fall, his muscles tense as his fingers curl—digging into his own skin, his body tight with something unbearable.

his head tilts back slightly, a breath escaping in a soft, shuddering moan.

your name slips past his lips—raw, wrecked, desperate.

your stomach twists.

he's thinking about you.

no—he's consumed by you.

you move too much.

a soft creak of the mattress beneath you.

his breath catches.

he stills then—he turns his head.

your stomach drops.

his glasses slide down his nose, his wide eyes locking onto yours-lips still parted, pupils blown, face flushed with heat.

the room is too hot. too heavy. too much.

but sunoo? he smiles like he's won.

like you just gave him exactly what he wanted. his breathing is still uneven, his fingers still shaking, but his gaze never wavers.

"you were watching me." his voice is soft. breathless. smug.

you shake your head, your throat too tight to speak but his smile only deepens.

"don't lie, baby." he steps forward.

"you saw, didn't you?" your pulse races. he moves closer, until he's standing at the edge of the bed-so close, too close. his fingers reach out, brushing against your cheek, trailing down your jaw. his touch is warm. lingering. inescapable.

his voice drops to a whisper.

"it's okay."

his forehead presses against yours, his breath fanning against your lips.

"it just means you're finally starting to love me back." but your body betrays you. your breathing hitches. your fingers twitch. you feel trapped in his warmth, drowning in his scent, his touch, his presence.

his lips hover just above yours, teasing, waiting.

"see, baby?" his fingers trace down your throat, pressing just lightly against your racing pulse.

"you can't hide from me." his lips brush against your skin-your temple, your jaw, down to the base of your throat. his hands slide over your wrists, fingers grazing your pulse as if to remind you that he owns it now.

"don't fight it, baby." his breath is warm, intoxicating.

"i'll love you enough for both of us."

natty's notes ༒︎ okayyy i hope you guys like it or something, i appreciate you all for the likes and reblogs, tysmm!! (also if you guys have any request please send them in!)

#enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha #enhypen smut #yandere x reader #soft yandere #yandere enhypen #yandere enha #kim sunoo #enhypen sunoo #enha sunoo #sunoo x reader #sunoo smut

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i-dared-myself · 20 hours ago

Text

Skirt War

Requested by anonymous: Could I req a fic with the stray kids' ninth member being put in a short dress/skirt (you know those that don't look like it'll ride up if you move but it does and its annoying af??) for a performance with a dance dance - that she has to move around a lot and then she keeps trying to pull the skirt down but that piece of shit just keeps going back up. And she spends the whole performance playing tug of war with a bunch of fabric trying not to be indecent and humiliated. And backstage she feels shit bc she couldn’t dance well and looked pathetic and she's disappointed and frustrated and embarrassed and yk. Idk if this is understandable anymore

“Wow, Felix,” you say, “you look really good! The stylists worked really hard with this new set of outfits.”

Felix hums his agreement, adjusting his gloves. “Where’s yours?”

You glance down at yourself. You’re still in your normal clothes. “Ah, they haven’t called me back yet. I think they’re finishing with Seungmin now.”

Felix makes a small sound of understanding, reaching up to touch his hair. He stops himself and drags his hand back down to his side. “Should I dye my hair soon?”

You shrug. “Do you want to? Is your hair even alive at this point?”

You hear someone softly call your name, and turn before you head Felix’s response. A staff member is waving you over as Seungmin and Jisung walk by.

“Looking good,” you compliment them, smiling brightly. You’re excited for what you’ll be wearing for the performance.

So you’re handed the set of clothes that you change into. You don’t even get a chance to look at yourself in a mirror before you’re whisked away for makeup and hair.

You eventually step out, joining the others. It seems as if everyone else has finished with their own styling, and everyone looks great.

There’s one tiny little problem, though.

Your tiny little skirt.

Your shirt is amazing, and you can’t disagree with the fact that you look hot in it. But the skirt is as small as they get. You’re amazed that you’re even allowed to wear it.

You’re fairly certain it’ll stay in place during thr performance, but you really don’t want to take chances. So you do an experimental twirl, heart sinking when the skirt instantly flies up.

Hyunjin recoils when he sees you. “What the-“

“Watch it!” Chan warns, narrowing his eyes. He faces you, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh boy.”

You tug the material down, fiddling with it anxiously. “Is it that bad?”

Jeongin is averting his eyes, which does absolutely nothing to make you feel better. “Nope. It’s totally fine.”

“Did they ask you about this?” Minho frowns deeply, glancing out at the crowd between the curtains. The sound check is almost complete, so you’re running out of time to deal with this.

“No. I wasn’t aware that I’d be wearing this.” Your hands tremble. You feel sick with how short it is. You half believe you’re at risk of your most intimate areas just being on display.

Seungmin grunts a little. “Want my sweater? To tie around your waist?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Maybe later. I don’t want it to look like I’m disrespecting the stylists.”

“But it’s fine!” Jisung assures you. “These aren’t our usual stylists, and they don’t know our boundaries.”

“But we also don’t want to start something with this event,” you point out. They stylists had come with the gig, and you didn’t want to disrespect them if you didn’t usually work with them. It might ruin any other opportunities.

“Positions, everyone,” Chan suddenly says. He gives you a pitying look as everyone files into their assigned places. “You’ve got this.”

You’re not as confident as he is, but you force a smile. You tug the skirt down one last time before bounding out onto stage.

The music starts up and you begin to dance. Every movement that involves legs (pretty much all of them) has the skirt flipping up. Felix is behind you for the beginning, and when you catch a glance of his face it’s bright red.

You miss a hand gesture because you’re adjusting the fabric again, and your stomach tumbles. The media is going to have a field day with this. Everyone is going to be talking about how unprofessional you are.

Positions are swapped, and then you’re next to Changbin. He turns his gaze away to be respectful, but it just reinforces the idea in your head that the outfit is bad. That you’re indecent.

You blink back tears as you stumble over yet another move, too busy holding the skirt down to make it to the next spot in time. You’re falling behind, mind focused on your decency and not the dance.

Then your lines come, and your voice cracks. You’re lucky enough that you don’t have to hold your microphone up, because you honestly don’t have a spare hand.

It comes to an end, and you all bow. You walk off stage, perhaps the most humiliated that you’ve ever been.

Changbin loops his arms around you, tying his sweater around your waist. You mutter your thanks and wrench your headset off.

“Hey.” Chan gently grabs your arm and steers you back to the group. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You keep your head ducked, gaze locked on the floor. Your throat burns and you’re struggling not to cry.

Jeongin comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I think you did great.”

You shove him away. “Well I didn’t! I sucked because of this stupid skirt! I let it get in my head, and now everyone’s going to be talking about it!”

Minho sits on the ground and takes your hands in his. He gently pulls you down to his lap and lets your cry against his chest. “Yeah, it wasn’t your greatest performance.”

“How is that supposed to help?” Jisung hisses out.

“But Stay loves you no matter what. And if they don’t, they can go suck it.” Minho strokes your hair.

Chan clears his throat. “I might not have said it in those exact words, but he’s right. And from now on, I’ll make it clear to our managers and staff about our boundaries. Including those that we work with for the first time.”

You hiccup between tears, burying your face further against Minho. “Really?”

Chan hums. “Absolutely. And we have time to change before our next song, so why don’t you go to the stylists again?”

You sniffle and push yourself out of Minho’s grip. Seungmin gives you a reassuring smile as you wander off.

“Excuse me?” you hesitantly say as you approach one of the stylists. “Would it be okay if I got a different skirt? Or maybe some pants?”

He tilts his head, nose wrinkling. “Why? Is there a problem with it?”

“Uh, it’s just that-“ You toy with the material as you try and find the correct words. You don’t want to insult the man. “Dancing in this is very difficult. I don’t feel comfortable in this.”

He smiles mockingly. “Oh, really? Well it’s fine. It’s not even that short.”

“I just danced in it and it didn’t go that well.” You’re aware that you’re running out of time. You need to hurry up. “Can you please just direct me to-“

“Have you considered that maybe it’s just your skill?” he interrupts. He sighs and shakes his head, turning away. “But fine. I could find something else.”

You swallow thickly as you follow him.

Is it actually your own fault? Are you just not a talented enough dancer for these clothes?

“Is this good enough for you?” The stylist holds up a new set of bottoms, and you wince. It’s even smaller than the one you’re currently wearing.

“Ready yet?” Jisung comes sliding in, eyes widening at the skirt being held up. “Wow, that’s small.”

“Uh, almost,” you weakly tell him.

Jisung’s eyes catch on your face and trembling bottom lip. His arms shoot out to wrap around you, and he pats your back. “It’s okay!”

“Are you wearing this or not?” the stylist snaps.

“No, she’s not.” Jisung tightens Changbin’s sweater on your waist. “She’s wearing this and we have to go now, since we’re on in less than a minute. But I’ll be telling Bang Chan about you.”

The man pales. Having an idol complain about you was pretty much a death sentence, especially when that idol had as much influence as Stray Kids.

Jisung grabs your hand you the two of you dash out onto stage. You burst out and join the rest of the members, just in time for the music to begin.

This time it goes smoother. The sweater gives enough weight to keep the skirt down, and you’re able to focus on the dance. Your movements are fluid and well-executed, and you know even Hyunjin would be proud.

When you go backstage, you feel mildly more confident. You take a swig of your water bottle as Jisung tells Chan about the stylist.

Jeongin huffs, overhearing the conversation. “What an asshole.”

Seungmin hums his agreement. “A real dick.”

Chan holds up his hands. “Let’s watch the language, everyone. We’re professionals at work.”

Changbin snorts. “Right. If he’s a professional, why did he basically humiliate her?”

Felix hooks an arm over your shoulder. “It’s okay, I bet Minho will screw up soon and everyone will forget about today.”

Minho makes a sound of protest, narrowing his eyes. “Why me?”

Hyunjin wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Relax, it’s just an example.”

Chan calls the stylist over, who appears vaguely nauseated as he steps closer. He bows briefly to Chan before his eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second.

“I heard you had a bit of an issue with one of my members?” Chan blandly asks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. “Were you the one who put her in that skirt? Were you planning for her to humiliate herself and get kicked out of the industry?”

“Yeah!” Jisung cries out. He’s immediately silenced by Minho.

“S-Sorry,” the man mutters. “I just- I’m sorry.”

“No, no, continue.” Chan arches an eyebrow challengingly. “You just what?”

“Bet he just wanted to see her in it,” Seungmin drawls. “Is that it?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the stylist’s forehead. “Well- It wasn’t that short!”

“Would you feel comfortable wearing it?” Felix chimes in. “Because I thought it was pretty short.”

“Guys,” you say. “Let’s just go home. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Poor thing.” Hyunjin pats your head. “Wanna eat a whole bunch of ice cream with me?”

“Maybe,” you slyly say, walking with him to the van. You ignore the sounds of Chan still scolding the man.

“If you ever need my sweater again, just ask.” Changbin comes up from behind you to poke at the fabric of the borrowed clothes.

“Are we just stealing these?” Jeongin questions once everyone is in the van. Everyone is also still in the performance clothing.

Chan frowns. “Oops.”

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz #Skz are now thieves #They stole from that show #In the sequal they’re on the run from the police #(There’s no sequal guys)

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peachhcs · 2 days ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you could do an imagine where Will and Samy are maybe at the lake house or this could be when they were in high school and there is a spider or mouse in her room and she makes Will catch it and then stay with her the rest of the night. Maybe also Jack, Luke, and Quinn told her to just go to bed and to stop being dramatic but Will saves the day.

guys i’ve underestimated how busy i am so i’m sorry i haven’t been as active 😔😔 i’m trying really hard to get through the requests so if i answer any that were from so long ago i promise it’s not intentional

au masterlist

“jack! jack!” samy whispered yelled into her brother’s door. she stood nervously in the hallway waiting for him to open the door while glancing back at her own room down the hallway.

the door cracked open, “what?” jack asked in annoyance.

“can you come into my room for a second? there’s like a huge fucking spider in there,” samy rushed out, worried that the eight legged creature was crawling across her wall.

“samy, it’s 1 in the morning,” jack groaned.

“please? jack it’s too high and i don’t wanna kill it,” the younger girl pleaded, but her brother wasn’t budging.

“you kill it. you’re literally fifteen,” maybe if they were still 6 and 10, but samy wasn’t a kid anymore and jack fully knew she could kill the bugs in her room now.

“j, please. it’s freaking me out. it’s fucking huge,” the brunette begged, but jack wasn’t having it. he was exhausted and did not think this warranted getting woken up for.

“no, you’re being dramatic. just grab a paper towel or some shit,” the boy shut his door before samy could say anything else.

samy stood there in the quiet hallway in shock that jack just closed the door on her face. the girl frowned before moving onto the next door which was luke’s room. she figured him and will were still awake considering they never slept during the summer like ever. she knocked and prayed one of them would answer.

to her relief, the door cracked open and luke poked his head out. “what do you want?”

“can one of you please, please come kill a spider in my room? it’s literally fucking huge,” samy begged and of course, luke rolled his eyes.

“seriously sam? it’s a spider,” he complained like jack did minutes ago.

“please, it’s freaking me out. i can’t kill it. it’s too big,” samy pleaded and that’s when will finally gave in.

“i’ll kill it,” the blonde got up from the chair he was in.

“dude, we’re in the middle of a game,” luke complained.

“it’ll take like two seconds,” samy smiled gratefully at will as she led the hockey player back to her room. they heard luke’s door close and him mumble a whatever.

the girl slowly crept back into the room, her gaze scanning for wherever the demon went.

she found the thing stuck up in the corner and immediately clutched will’s arm. “see?”

it really was big. the body had to be the size of a piece of broccoli. will’s eyes wine ed when he laid his eyes on the insect, “holy shit you weren’t kidding.”

“i told you! it’s huge! there’s no way i can kill it with a paper towel,” samy cried and freaked even more when it moved a few inches.

“okay, okay, i can do it. give me a cup,” will determined. the younger hughes handed him one of her empty plastic cups and watched a bit fearfully as he slowly shuffled forward so he could stand up on her bed to reach.

“if it falls i’m gonna scream,” she so badly wanted to close her eyes but she knew she couldn’t.

“it won’t, i promise,” the hockey player carefully climbed onto samy’s bed, his movements slow and deliberate as to not spook the big spider.

samy nervously watched will slowly raise his arm with the cup in his hand. he zeroed in on the creature, his own fearful expression on his lips, but will knew he had to be brave for samy’s sake.

the two were dead silent as will carefully closed the cup around the spider. he hit the cup against the wall with a loud smack and samy couldn’t help her scream.

“got it!” will exclaimed. “give me a piece of paper,” he urged and samy quickly handed him notebook paper. he slid it between the wall and the cup to allow himself to ease the plastic cup away from the wall.

“throw that thing outside,” samy quickly pushed him out of her room.

will ran downstairs to dispose of the big creature while samy scanned her walls for anymore unpleasant bugs. will came back a moment later with two free hands.

“all gone!” he smiled.

“thank you. sorry for bothering you guys. i just got really freaked out,” the brunette frowned. she was glad the spider was gone, but it left a very erie feeling across her skin because how did a spider as big as that one even get into her room?

“it’s fine. that was a huge spider. i thought you were being dramatic,” will teased a bit and samy rolled her eyes.

“do you mind hanging around for a second? i need to like calm down from that,” the girl laughed nervously as she sat on her bed to calm her thoughts.

it was clear she was not a huge fan of bugs like that.

“yeah, sure,” will smiled and joined her on the bed.

samy’s heart was racing, so she tried taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. will watched her, not realizing how freaked out the girl got until now and he suddenly felt a little bad.

“remember when we were like 11 and our parents took us to the zoo and i completely started crying over the gorillas because of that one kid that fell into the enclosure?” the blonde said mostly in hopes that it would take samy’s mind off of the large spider.

“oh my god, yeah. you sobbed in front of everyone and no one could make you stop,” samy giggled.

“probably not my best moment,” will laughed too.

“it was soo funny though. it proved you had empathy though,” the girl poked him with a smile.

the two talked for a bit longer until at some point samy fell asleep without even realizing, except she had fallen asleep on will. the blonde flushed and felt bad leaving after seeing how freaked out she was, so he decided to stay. luke would be able to live without him for a night.

frankly, that was probably the best sleep will’s had all summer because he wasn’t staying up all night for once playing video games. plus, samy’s bed was way more comfortable than luke’s trundle pull out bed.

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transformers-spike · 2 days ago

Note

You put Breakdown with a gutbuster in my head, and now I need. For him to use it. On me. (Aka reader)

Bonus points if it's disgustingly cute and sweet and BD gets lots of love and praise. 🥹🥺

I overdid it. Again. Thank you @drunkeninlovesailor for beta-reading this fic and smacking some sense into me when self-doubt reared its ugly head. And I will go on to say @ss-shitstorm made me adore Breakdown so much more through Breaking Bread. I look up pictures of him and cry And yes, this is a sequel to Visitors - so back to the heatverse

Knock Out always goes first. Breakdown doesn’t mind it. At least he shouldn’t. He knows he’ll have his turn with you. Everyone does.

Second or seventh place, it doesn’t matter. He should be grateful to have a chance. Just like he should be grateful he didn’t lose more than one optic. Or the feeling in his left arm. Or his honor.

Again, it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. It’s his turn. No superior waiting at your habsuite, no humiliating dismissal (obviously, they don’t mean for it to seem humiliating – they’re his superiors after all, and he has to obey them) – only you in the midst of your heat cycle.

The “breeding room”, as you jokingly call it, is actually Knock Out’s old habsuite. Repurposed, yeah, but he’s been here enough times to recognize it. Any Con worth their ball-bearings can upgrade after reaching third class. Knock Out used to be a first class. Then he was promoted to Chief Medical Officer and skipped a rank. Breakdown is stuck in second class. Better than first. Better than being a vehicon. He should be satisfied.

You’re curled up in your oversized berth on top of the heating pad. “Hey, squishy,” he whispers, taking his usual place next to you. “Don’t tell me Knock Out tired you out.” Your answer is a snort. You stretch, flesh poking out from under your frame coverings. A common sight by now, but his cooling fans didn’t get the memo. His frame vibrates with their familiar hum.

“Like what you see handsome?” you ask and scuttle up to him, wearing that precious spark-warming smile. He returns it full force.

“What can I say? Even a one-opticced oaf can recognize true beauty.” “Careful, partner. There’s only so much I can take before jumping on your spike.” He barks a laugh. “It may come sooner than you think.” “Bring it. I’m ready to deepthroat until your system reboots. But first -” you huff as you climb into his lap, waving away the servo he’s offering. Once comfortably seated in his lap, you cheekily rub your aft against his interface panel.

“Spill the tea, sis.”

“Hmph…” He drums his digits over his thigh. “We’ve had a record break in the mines! I haven’t seen them this happy in quartexes. There was a small party at homebase, squad’s been celebrating with engex.”

“Homemade?”

“Nah – I’ve checked. I won’t let them pull that stunt again.” He winces at the memory. B15F. Poor scrapper’s been euthanized well before his time. There wasn’t much left to save. The engex melted right through his fuel tanks. Breakdown didn’t pride himself on morality anymore – none of them did. But it was the right call – even if the uncertainty is tearing through his circuitry like a horde of scraplets. Could Knock Out have fixed B15F? Or maybe it would’ve just dragged out his suffering for a chance at nothing. His conjunx had studied at a bigshot academy – Breakdown’s knowledge’s based around rushed medical training. “You okay, big guy?” He snaps out of it. “Yeah! Everything’s good.” You can’t see his reassuring smile with his massive chassis in the way. But maybe if he keeps it up he’ll really mean it.

“You sure? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” His smile falters. If a human has noticed it… who else has? Is this why Dreadwing’s been especially tolerant of his mistakes? Scrap, Breakdown almost misses his commanding officer’s reproaches. Could he get any more pitiful for frag’s sake? Proving himself after losing an optic to fleshies is bad enough. He’s not an invalid – he won’t be demoted to janitorial duties after working his aft off to make it this far.

“Workload’s been pretty intense. Been on my mind a lot.” He adds a chuckle to convince you – but he can’t see your expression with his chassis in the way.

“Bad enough for the vehicons to get blackout drunk again?”

“Found them recharging in mine carts.”

“Just like a college frat party, huh?” He has no idea what that means. Doesn’t stop him from laughing, though. “You should’ve seen them getting out! The sight brought lubricant to my optic.” “Scrambling like turtles stuck on their backs?” Oh – those, he definitely remembers. “Better. Remember that video you sent of the cat-looking thing surrounded by fermented fruits?” “The raccoon?” “Yeah! Struggling to sit up, then falling back in again!” You snort louder. “Ah. An absolute classic. You should totally film it next time, I would kill to see it.” “Oof. I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can do that while on shift. Ask Soundwave. Nothing escapes him.” Especially any contamination of the medbay – his processor shudders at the memory. At least it wasn’t Commander Starscream. Fooling around’s been kept to Knock Out’s habsuite ever since. And outside the ship, but that’s not the Intelligence Officer’s business.

“More than you know…” you say. Your tiny digits sneakily stroke the protomatter between his hip and thigh. The touch isn’t sensual. At least he doesn’t think it’s supposed to be. You’re not shy about squeezing, biting or running your glossa over it. This feels different. Hesitant.

“You know… you rarely visit first.” He sputters. “It’s not that I don’t want to or anything!” He shifts his frame and cranes his neck to take a good look at you. No success. “It’s that… I’m still a soldier, and they’re my superiors.” “I know that, silly. I’m talking about how you always let Knock Out have the first go at me before either of your shifts start. Why is that?” “I…” He shakes his helm. “Come on, second place doesn’t make any difference. As long as I get to pay you a visit, I’m happy!” His vox is strained. He meant to sound cheerful. What came out felt like rust being scraped off mesh.

You sink your digits into his thigh. Not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. A single fleshie can’t hurt a Cybertronian. But it’s clearly meant as a warning. Even he can tell that.

“Dude, just ask to go first. Knock Out is lovely and all, but you shouldn’t neglect yourself for his sake. I want you to come around and let loose before anyone else. Hell, you deserve it. Do you want me to ask Megatron personally? I can do that, no prob-” “No!” It comes out too desperate. “No,” he repeats. Softer. “The others don’t do well with favorites. Uh… except maybe Soundwave, but he doesn’t count.” Breakdown cringes. He wants no part in their power struggles, especially Commander Starscream’s. Else he’d end up at the barrel of his Master’s cannon.

“Okay… but my point still stands. Ask Knock Out to reschedule next time orr I’m bringing Megatron into this.” His vents huff, servos drawn into fists.

“Got it,” he relents. “I’ll talk to him, but if he refuses-” “He won’t refuse,” you say none-too-softly. “We’ve had a chat post-coitus.” He blinks. “You cannot be serious.” “Low and behold, I am. What? Did you expect me not to address it?” “He’s going to be furious at me.” “Like hell . If he so much as lifts a digit, I’ll be happy to inform Megatron and get him put in his place. He’s your superior in the medbay, not outside of it last I checked. And trust me, I’ve been checking.” He clenches his jaw and offlines his optic. “We’re not…” he starts gently, leveling his words carefully. “We’re not Newsparks. There’s a balance we’ve established on the Nemesis. All of us. Bringing Lord Megatron into this won’t offset the balance. It’ll destroy it. What we have here,” he gestures at the small habsuite. “Is thanks to his generosity. I don’t want to lose this because of some petty interface stuff. If he intervenes… I doubt we’ll still be able to visit.” There’s a long pause. He gives you the time to mull it over. An apology already on his glossa. “I understand. I know it’s not my place to call the shots. Part of me wishes that…” You swallow. “Part of me wishes that I could make things easier for you guys. You’ve all been through so much, and I know I’m only the ship’s resident pet or whatever, but I can throw my weight around a bit. You know, use my position for good?” “For good? Primus, you’re already doing us enough good!” “Hm, not exactly. You’re the ones helping me with my heat when he’s not around. Ugh – I would be suffering without you guys.” You squeeze his thigh. “Man-” you laugh nervously. “I hope I’m not getting too sappy. You’re, like, the only one I can have these conversations with.” His fans stutter. “Really? Not even Lord-” “Not even,” you repeat with finality. There’s a comfortable silence. Breakdown is smiling to himself.

“Hey, big guy.” “Yeah, squishy?” “Wanna kiss?” “Is that even a question?” he asks as he picks you up from his lap, servos cradling your fragile human frame. “Mmm, you know the answer.” You touch the sides of his face. His cooling fans flip to the second setting. Your hands are soft. Incredibly soft. His vents cease functioning entirely as you kiss him. Your glossa is warm and wet. His circuits crackle with charge. How could something so small push his systems into overdrive? When you pull away, he’s left cold and yearning. You don’t waste a klik undressing yourself, tossing your frame coverings over his servos and onto the berth. His lips find yours again. You devour his intake like your fuel tanks are empty.

Knock Out satiated you groons ago, but you’re already running hot with want. His heavy engine purrs. “Someone’s eager to get spiked,” he mutters against your intake. You ex-vent sharply and kiss again, grinning against his lips. He slides a digit between your legs, which you immediately part. There’s still feeling in this one, taking in the heat of your slick valve. There’s no trace of your last interface, only a craving for more. A hiss escapes you as he rubs the digit over your minuscule anterior node. Your hips buck into him, teeth grazing his lip.

“Please, stop teasing already. You know I can’t take it.” “I’m not a tease - that’s Knock Out’s job.” He swipes his glossa over your intake. “I’m the total opposite. So, what do you say? Is your little valve ready to take my spike?” Your optics widen, lubricating in excitement. “Oh finally!” You press your helm against his. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this! I’m so glad the recent energon haul got you enough to mass displace.” “Actually, I’ve been rationing my energon for a deca-cycle!” You step away from his helm and look at him in… strange horror. “You what?” There’s pity in your optics and disappointment furrowing your optical ridge.

Oh frag him! Why did he have to open his intake? “It’s nothing to worry about, I swear! I’ve done this plenty of times in the past – there was this time my unit was stranded in the Sea of Rust and there was no energon for almost a whole deca-cycle! Impressive, right? You don’t see any seekers surviving that!” Your horrified expression worsens. “What do you mean you’ve been starving yourself for weeks just to mass displace and fuck me?”

“Come on, it’s not really starving! We bots can deal with it better than you humans!” he stammers, engine revving in panic. “It’s not about that – it’s about sacrificing yourself for… for this!” you gesture at your body. “Fuck’s sake, you could have told me! I was waiting for you to ask! I could have gotten you the energon ages ago!” “Then why didn’t you?” The words smash through his intake before he can stop them, leaving him to clean up the mess.

His spark tightens when you flinch. It’s the first time he’s startled you. The first time he’s seen you scared. “I… I didn’t…” Your gaze falls. “Scrap, I’m so sorry! It’s not my place to say it, I didn’t mean-” “It’s fine,” you gently stop him. He immediately yields. “You don’t have to apologize. I just… didn’t expect it to be this bad.” A sigh leaves your intake. “I still want to help, though. If Knock Out can mass displace almost every time he visits, isn’t there plenty of energon to go around? Don’t you also work in the medbay on top of everything? You deserve at least the same amount of rations.” “It’s more complicated than that,” he mutters. “Knock Out outranks me.” “So? You’re just one bot, it won’t drain the reserves.” He presses a servo to his helm. “My frame type’s the issue. Us warrior class bots need far more energon than the average vehicon.” “Yes, and? You’re still just one more war frame. Who else is there? Megatron, Dreadwing – that makes three.” You bite your lip when you meet his optic. “Let me give you a hand. I’ll leave the whole thing with Knock Out alone if you let me help with this.” “I…” His vents huff. “Okay. I’ll let you take care of it. But, please tell him not to summon me. Else it’ll seem suspicious.” A smile tugs at the corner of your intake. “Got it. Easier done than said.” Hesitating, you reach out to touch his cheekplate. He leans in. You take a deep in-vent. “I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I’ve been so worried about everyone lately, I’ve overstepped so many boundaries. The energon thing just… drove me off the edge.” “It’s okay,” he says, unsure of his own words. “It happens to the best of us. If it’s any comfort,” he grimaces, “Knock Out’s been riding my tailpipe about my energon intake for the whole deca-cycle. That’s why I… tried to keep it a secret. Until now.” “Did it work on him?”

“Frag no!” He laughs. “For all his drawbacks, he’s the closest thing to a doctor on this ship. Noticing something’s wrong’s part of his primary code!” His laughter dies down. “Sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I definitely ruined the mood.” “Not at all.” You press your cheek against his. “If it’s any comfort on my part, I’ve been called someone else’s name during interface.” His optic buzzes in its socket. “Who?” he demands without meaning to. “Who?” He repeats, far softer – now a polite question. “No one in High Command, sadly,” you say like you’ve read his mind, adding an apologetic shrug. “Another human before the alien shebang happened.” “Ah.” He averts his optic to hide his disappointment. “Come on, man. You know I would have immediately rung you up if Starscream had been moaning Megatron’s name during overload.” He cracks a smile. “I guess you’re right.” “Gossip girls forever?” You offer your fist. “Gossip girls forever,” he agrees, tapping it with his digit. You both mimic an explosion and draw your servos away in slow motion. “Still not sure what explosive punches have to do with gossip.” “Shhh - it’s a human bestie thing.” You kiss him again. Gently at first, then harsher with his wordless encouragement – your hunger makes his engine rev. “Want to start with valve to glossa action? How about we keep mass-displacement for the final course?” “Like I’ll ever refuse a free refueling.” You snicker. The noise is so precious it makes his joints weak. Lying on his abdomen with you in his servos, you writhe as he presses his glossa to your valve. “Fuck,” you hiss. “You okay?” he’s unable to hide the smugness in his tone. “I thought Knock Out had the first taste.” “ Fuck , Knock Out. I need your glossa right now. No one else’s.” His fans shudder. Once, handling someone so small was circuit-frying. He’d been with plenty of minicons, but never an organic. Those bots could take a good pounding. Fleshies? Not so much.

“Fuck.” You shiver as his glossa rubs up and down your pretty valve. Your hips buck into it. He grins between your legs and licks again. And again. And again. Until he feels your servos on his crest. “I need to ride your face,” you say – more declaration than request. He blinks, grin widening. “That desperate, huh?” “Shut up,” you growl – too adorable for your own good. How he wants to squeeze and smother you against his face. Your legs are soft on either side of his cheeks, servos gripping onto his crest with impressive strength for a creature so small and frail. He holds his glossa out for you to use as you please, two digits holding your hips in case you tumble off. “How…” You pant. “How are you this good?” He shrugs with his free arm. His vents blast harder. “I’m not even doing anything,” he mumbles with his glossa out. “Of course you are. You’re being your sweet himbo self,” your words falter as you keep riding.

His cheekplates heat up. “Uh, a what now?”

There’s no answer, only your legs shaking as you furiously grind against his intake. You grip onto his crest, your entire frame shaking. “Breakdown!” you call out, vox breaking. A sudden burst of charge travels down his interface array. His pressurized spike clanks against his panel. “Frag,” he groans. His spike’s throbbing, Ugh, it hurts like he swung it against a wall.

At least you’re oblivious to his, uh, mishap – twitching against his glossa while trying to slow your ventilation. The plating of hips shifts and his panels release his array. His valve is soaking with transfluid, steam almost emanating off of it after overheating for half a groon. The cold air makes his spike twitch. “Is it… is it time?” you ask weakly, turning around to look at his lap. “Oh hey, so that’s where the noise came from.” He cringes, but still helps you get down. You scurry towards the middle of the berth and cheer out “Show me the goods, big boy!” Mass displacement is something he’d done in the past – back on Cybertron when there was plenty of energon to go by. Now it’s just a waste. Not for you, obviously! Primus, you’re worth every last drop. His working receptors buzz with sensation. System diagnostics appear at the corner of his vision. Mass conversion: successful

Warning:

Minimum energon required: 70%

Current level: 93% His joints are calibrated, there’s no ache in his processor, subspace feels fine – everything’s in working order. He can rest easy and focus on the important stuff. “Woah.” you beam at him. It’s uncanny to see you… so much bigger than he’s used to.

The hug is sudden but not unwelcome. Your helm comes up to his chassis, but only barely. It doesn’t take long for you to pull him on top (the close view is to offline for), and drag him into a kiss. His spark pulsates like never before.

“Please, spike me,” you beg. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He looks down at his spike. Then back at you. There are many things he’s learned as a nurse, one of which being: pick the smallest pair of forceps when operating on minicons. Sadly, he cannot replace his spike with a smaller one. But he can prepare you for the operation. “Hey, how about I get you started with something else before you get the hammer?” He lifts up the servo with functioning receptors and flexes his digits. “Promise you’ll rail me afterwards.” “Promise.” He grins.

He’s a denter first and all, but he’s always been careful with his servos back when brushing debris off his comrades after a busted demolition job. It felt like second nature to him. They were at the bottom of the scrapheap. Caring for others, even in small ways, made their plight bearable. His own at least. He pushes in, chuckling as you furrow your optical ridge, intake slightly agape. “Does it sting?” “No.” Another digit is carefully added. You whimper and grit your dentae. One digit and a half then. “What about now? How do you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?” “Oh shut up…” Your tiny valve is absolutely soaked, slick with human lubricant, struggling to accommodate him. If you’ve taken the entire High Command, you can take him. Sure, he’s been told his spike is a “weapon forged by Solus herself”, but Megatron’s definitely bigger. And you’ve fragged him. Everyone knows that. Your valve’s more durable than it seems.

You clench around his digits, expression so lovely it’s clear you’re about to overload. He cautiously curls a digit inside of you. The gentle pressure’s an easy way to make your valve calipers clam down on him. Another whimper escapes you as he rubs at the spot. Your pedes push against his thighs, a desperate plea to stop. But he knows better. “Cute,” he thinks as your sweet noises intensify. He never expected fleshies to be so adorable – but then again, you’re not like the other squishies. Lord Megatron picked the best one. “Please,” you whisper. “This is torture.” “Aw, I thought you wanted to overload.” “You and I…” You swallow. “We both know damn well you’re teasing me. I need your spike, not… not this .”

He laughs. “I keep my promises, don’t worry about it.” He pulls you flush against him, legs over his hips. Bracing himself on one servo, he’s got an arm cautiously wrapped around your waist. “Comfortable? How do you rate your position on a scale from 1 to-” “Breakdown, I swear to fu-” “Got it. It’s hammer time.” He grins. You grip onto his digits and offline your optics. He pushes in. You suck in a sharp in-vent. He pauses.

“Go on,” you say after a moment. “I can take it. I guess I didn’t expect it to be so big.” “Big?” He blinks at you. “You’re the one taking Lord Megatron. He’s larger than me.” “Not his spike.” You chuckle. He looks up at the ceiling in wonder. “Wow.” “Wow indeed. Now please put that spike to good use.” Like a good soldier and seasoned interface partner, he follows your orders. Ridge by ridge, you take him, grip tightening and dentae gritting until he reaches your limit. He shudders. You’re clenching around him like a cold press, crushing his spike harder than any minicon valve. You seem on the verge of shutting down. “You okay?” “...yeah.” “Do you want me to stop?” “Don’t you dare.” “Got it.” His smile widens.

The pace is incredibly slow. Yeah, Knock Out likes having his circuits rearranged – and yeah, most vehicons he’s been with want to get railed into oblivion. But taking his time with you feels just as good. Charge is building along his array. He wants to tell you so many things – how you’re so beautiful holding onto him like he’s the center of your universe, whimpering and repeating his name listlessly – or how he wishes this could last forever, that he can forget the war when your arms are wrapped around his frame, no matter how small.

Your optics come back online and meet his. Wordlessly, you beckon him closer. He leans down, now bracing himself on his arm. Your servos find his face. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” you ask, nuzzling his cheekplate. It’s not the first time you’ve done so. But at this moment, either from mass displacement or the sight of you sprawled out before him (or both), his spark throbs in his chassis. His array is pulsating with charge. He presses his forehelm against yours. “Yeah. You always do.” “Good. Because I love you.” Your lips meet his. The charge explodes. Your valve clamps down on his spike. Sparks shoot through his sensors – his engine roars. The world stands still.

Then, he breaks the silence. “By…” his vox crackles with static. He recalibrates his vocalizer. “By Alchemist Prime…” there’s still a buzz to his words. “What was that?” “You tell me,” you answer shakily. Neither of you move for a while. Diagnostics report: Energon level: 87% He pulls out of you, earning a wince. You loosen your grip on his neck and fall back. His optics widen at the load of transfluid trickling out, valve still twitching. He feels equal parts pride and wonder something so small took his spike. Should he tell you about it? You appreciate greatly when he says what’s on his processor. Not everyone does. “Good job,” he tells you, petting your helm like the human he saw congratulating its furry companion. Your expression spells confusion. Then, you grin wider than he’s ever seen and pet him back. His engine rumbles in content. “I would die for you,” you declare without a hint of sarcasm in your vox. He laughs nervously. “Please don’t, Lord Megatron would kill me.” “Then I’d kill him first.” “But you’d already be dead.” “I’d come back as a ghost.” He laughs again, twice as nervous. “Anyway, was it… good?” “You blew my back out.” “I – what ?” “You rearranged my guts.” “Wait, are you about to offline-” “Human euphemisms.” “Oh.” “It means it was the best frag of my life.” “I… oh wow.” He allows you to pull him back on top. “You’re the best I could have asked for.” His cooling fans are blasting. “Um…” “You’re my favorite blueberry popsicle.” “Uh, thanks?” “I love it when you’re blue in the face.” More energon rushes to his cheeks.

“Oh, um – you too!” Frag - that didn’t sound smooth. He hasn’t been this bad since he was newly forged. “Raspberry and blueberry,” you press your helm against his. “My favorite mix.” You kiss him again, less desperately – finally satiated for the next cycle. Or at least a few groons. “Can you cuddle in this form?” Or…do you have to turn back?” He hits his chassis with pride. “Another groon won’t hurt me – I’ll do just fine..” “Aw hell yeah!” He lies down and you quickly take your place at his side, burying your face in the crook between his neck and his chassis. You let out a hum when his digits stroke your back. He can sense the minuscule hairs on your plating. They tickle.

A klik passes by, but you can’t seem to sit still. You push his arm away, readjust yourself, then pull it back in, only to start again a nanoklik later. “Everything ok?” You make a noise of frustration – so adorable it makes his spark ache.

“Give me a sec,” you mutter.

He watches as you get up to fetch your blanket and pillows. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I barely managed to clean up before coming over.” “Don’t matter.” You cover his side in them. “I just want to cuddle you.” He bites his glossa. You’re too sweet for your own good. Once comfortable, his servo comes back to stroke your skin. You shiver. “Are you cold? Do you want me to get the heating pad?” “No. You’re warm enough. It just… feels nice to be with you this way. I meant what I said. I do love you. Maybe not on Knock Out’s level – he’s known you before my great grandparents were even born.” He affectionately taps your helm. “I mean, yeah – but what does that have to do with us? Do you humans have a monogamous contract or something?” Your expression says it all. “Oh,” he drawls. “Uh – it doesn’t mean that you can’t be with us, it’s that-” “I’m Megatron’s first and foremost,” you say, looking away from him and straight at the wall. “I… yes. But I mean that-” “I’m together with everyone. I know that.” You turn your attention back to him. “And no, it doesn’t bother me. I simply want to give you the praise you deserve. And the energon. Man, you need that so badly.” Resting your helm atop his chassis, you flash him a warm smile. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers prime #valveplug #maccadam #tfp breakdown #tfp breakdown x reader #heatverse

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allisluv · 2 days ago

Note

blurb idea!! your children (two girls one boy) plan a dinner date for you and finnick! they have a table set up on the porch and a whole menu (5 and 7 year old’s handwriting) of gourmet meals (grilled cheese and tomato soup) for the both of you. they dress up in their nicest clothes while they play chefs and waiter. i can imagine desert just being two scoops of ice cream and a chocolate chip cookie 😭. but nonetheless, the children receive all of the earned extra cuddles and kisses before bed for their effort🤗.

grilled cheese and tomato soup.

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship (duh), finnick and reader have three children (kai, cordelia and marina), set post war, not edited, minor angst at the beginning but it's only for like three paragraphs i promise, other than that, it's just pure fluff <3

word count: 1.4k

Summers are always warm in District Four, and beads of sweat roll down the back of your neck as you sit at your vanity table and slowly but surely add the finishing details to your latest project for work. The window is cracked open to let a breeze in, but even that in itself is warm.

Finnick is folding laundry and putting it away into the wardrobe. As the two of you work away in silence, you can hear the occasional giggle or squeal from your three children, reminding you that they’re fine in the other room.

You’re the first to notice that their laughter has seemed to fizzle out, and dread fills your veins as you pluck the pen from between your teeth and set it down on the table. “Finnick.”

He must take note of the panic in your voice, because he immediately stops what he’s doing. “Are you okay?” He asks, brows furrowed as he maneuvers around the king sized bed and stops at your side. He tilts your head in his direction and coaxes you into looking at him when he tips your chin upwards. “Talk to me.” His voice is steady and even, and it helps ground you.

“I can’t hear them.” You choke out, pressing a hand over your heart. Every single instinct in your body tells you to move, but your feet are rooted to the floor. “The kids. I can’t hear them anymore. I can’t hear them laughing.” You gesture to the bedroom door that leads into the other rooms.

Finnick strains to listen, and he realises that he can’t hear them, either. Still, he remains calm; he knows that freaking out will not prove to be any good for either one of you. “It’s okay. That’s more of a mischevious silence that anything.” He teases, mentally reminding himself that everything is alright. Coin and Snow are both dead. There are no more games. They’re safe now. “Come on. Lets go see what those three are up to.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat and grip his hand. Finnick squeezes once then twice, a silent reassurance that he is there with you.

When you don’t move an inch, he puts a steady hand on your lower back and steers you out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. The sound of childish whispering meets both of your ears and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in the first place.

Finnick offers you a small smile as he slowly feels the dread being pulled out of his body. “There. See?” He presses his lips to your forehead. “It’s all okay. I mean, they might burn the house down if we don’t go see what they’re up to, but they’re okay.”

You laugh and lean into his touch as he cups your cheek in his hand. He presses another lingering kiss to your forehead before using his hip to push open the kitchen door and stepping inside.

“Daddy!” Your youngest, Cordelia, screams, and abandons whatever she was doing in favour of running through the length of the kitchen towards her father.

Finnick lets go of your hand to catch Cordelia when she throws herself at him. Hoisting her onto her hip, he boops her on the house, and grins when she dissolves into a fit of giggles. “What have you three been up to, hm?” Cordelia buries her face in the crook of his neck instead of answering, and he lets out a hum. “Something mischevious then, I’m assuming.”

You shake your head fondly and peek your head around the corner, where the twins, Marina and Kai, are wearing their best clothes and arguing over the George Forman maker.

“I should do it!” Marina protests, cocking her hip out.

“I’m older!” Kai retorts with just as much overexaggeration.

“By, like, three minutes! And you’ve never used the grilled cheese maker before.”

“Then show me!”

“You’re seven.”

“So are you.”

You laugh from where you’re standing and their little heads whip around so fast that you wonder if they gave themselves whiplash. “Technically speaking, neither of you should be using that. It’s too dangerous. And get off that chair before you break a bone, please, Mari.”

Marina does as she was told and uses her brothers shoulder to steady herself as she clambers back down with a huff. She stirs a pot with something inside of it, while Kai tries his best to distract you with his award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

Kai tugs on the bottom of your sweatpants. “Mommy.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Come with me.” He demands. You raise a brow. “Please.” He adds, and you relent, letting him take you by the hand and lead you out of the kitchen. He collects Cordelia and his dad on the way to the back door, and then he pushes down on the handle and opens it, pushing both Finnick and you out onto the patio.

Golden fairy lights have been poorly strung up around the wooden bannisters that allow you a bit of privacy and a linen tablecloth has been draped across the patio table. Two chairs are perched on either side of the table, instead of the usual five, and an unlit candle is positioned in the middle.

Cordelia’s chewing on her fingers, but takes them out of her mouth long enough to say, “Ta-da!”

You look around incredously, trying to take in the transformation of your back patio. “What’s all this for, hm?” You ask as Kai pushes you to sit in one of the chairs and then moves to do the same with his father. Finnick laughs but goes willingly, settling in the seat opposite you.

Kai stands up straight before shooting his little sister a pointed look and gesturing for her to stand up and get off of their father’s lap. Cordelia pouts but does as asked, sulking next to Kai. “We have made you dinner.” He announces.

Finnick arches an eyebrow and glances at you from across the table. You shrug, instructing him to go along with it. “Is that so?” Kai nods earnestly. Finnick leans forward in his chair, rests his chin in the palm of his hand, and indulges his son. “So, waiter, what’s on the menu tonight?”

Kai pulls a crumpled pad of paper out of his pocket and you stifle a laugh into your hand. Kai looks at you, not impressed in the slightest. “It is not funny, Mommy.” You school your expression and nod to let him know that he has your full attention. Finnick snickers. “We have tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

You gasp dramatically. “No dessert?”

Kai rolls his eyes, ever the moody one. “That’s a surprise, Mommy.” He says as if it was obvious.

“Oh, yes, silly me.”

Kai pretends to look at his non-existent watch. “I got to go.” He takes Cordelia’s hand and leaves without another word.

You and Finnick break into hysterics the second your children are out of earshot and you reach for his hand across the table. He brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses your wedding band. “Well, at least we can’t say they never did anything for us.” He muses.

You laugh. “No, I suppose we can’t.”

The both of you sit in a comfortable, loving silence until Kai, Cordelia and Marina come out with a bowl of tomato soup and a bread roll for each of you. Cordelia sneaks back onto her dad’s lap, robs his bread roll, and munches away on it happily.

Kai pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters under his breath about how, “Its impossible to find the staff these days,” before marching back into the kitchen.

“I swear, that kid is an old man reincarnated,” You giggle.

Finnick hums his agreement and blows on a spoonful of soup to feed Cordelia.

As promised, the next course is a grilled cheese sandwich that is practically as hard as a rock and disintegrating in your hands. Nevertheless, both you and Finnick reassure Marina that you prefer it that way.

Cordelia spills the secret on dessert, but the two of you promise not to tell Kai and Marina that you know. Both of you put on your best surprised faces when two scoops of vanilla ice-cream and two chocolate chip cookies are served, and the kids are none the wiser.

Finnick gives the three of them a well-deserved massive slice of chocolate cake and a mug of hot cocoa each for their effort. You and Finnick take them to the beach to burn off some energy, and when you come home, they crash out, but not before getting the cuddles and forehead kisses that they earnt.

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writer-freak · 23 hours ago

Text

Spoiled Rafayel x bodyguard reader

Idea: Spoiled bratty rich girl x bodyguard who's forced to put up with it

Warnings: Gn reader, fluff, AU, strong reader, Rafayel being overdramatic, Rafayel being a tease and a bit of a brat, pretty short I just wrote down whatever came to me A/n: I had this little idea of for a spoiled rich girl x reader and who would fit better for this type of a scenario than Rafayel. Reader isn't really meant to be Mc and this is more of an AU. Maybe I'm gonna write some more for this idea as I find it pretty fun.l

"You're not carrying me?" Rafayel blinked at you, all wide, expectant eyes, his lips forming into a pout. "But my legs hurt."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Your legs don’t hurt. You just don’t want to walk."

He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d just stabbed him. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I—"

"You literally just told me that your custom-made boots are the most comfortable things you've ever owned."

"A betrayal of this magnitude... and from my own bodyguard!" He dramatically leaned against the nearest wall, resting the back of his hand on his forehead.

"Rafayel."

"Look at me, left to suffer. The streets are so—so dirty, and here I am, expected to walk like some commoner."

You were this close to walking away and letting him figure it out himself. But no, you were his bodyguard, and no matter how insufferable and annoying he was, you were stuck with him.

Unfortunately.

"Listen, your highness," you drawled, grabbing his arm and forcing him back upright. "You have two perfectly good legs. Use them. Or do you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you like a sack of potatoes?"

His eyes shined at that, a wicked smirk appearing on his lips. "Oh? How bold of you. Are you sure you can handle all this?" He gestured vaguely at himself. "I am quite the precious cargo."

You let go of his arm. "Walk."

"Ugh, fine." He sighed like you were asking him to climb a mountain instead of just taking a few steps. "But if my legs fall off, I hope you can live with the guilt."

This was your life. Babysitting a spoiled, dramatic, and entirely too attractive pain in the ass.

You weren’t sure exactly when things started to change.

Maybe it was the way he started listening to you more, actually taking your orders seriously instead of treating them like some funny suggestions.

Maybe it was the way he’d hover a little too close after a fight, his eyes scanning you for injuries, lips drawn into a rare frown.

Or maybe it was the way your heart didn’t jump in frustration anymore when he teased you, but instead, your heart jumped with some other more dangerous feeling.

"You know," Rafayel mused one day, sprawled across a luxurious couch while you stood stiffly by the door. "I think I've grown quite fond of you."

You arched a brow. "Oh? In a ‘you’re my favorite servant’ kind of way?"

He grinned. "In a my bodyguard is the only person I trust and also happens to be devastatingly attractive kind of way."

You stared at him. "Rafayel."

"Yes, my dear protector?"

You exhaled sharply, trying so hard not to let his words affect you. "You can’t just—just say things like that."

He tilted his head, his eyes glittering. "Why not? Does it fluster you?"

You turned away, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m leaving."

"But who's going to protect me from all the dangers of the world that are out to get me?"

"You'll be fine."

"Wait, wait!" He scrambled up. "Fine, fine! I won't tease you. At leasdt not as much." He looked at you, his gaze softer now. "But you are my favorite."

You sighed, but this time, you couldn’t quite fight off the small smile tugging at your lips.

Maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.

Divider by: @cafekitsune

#x reader #gn reader #gender neutral #love and deep space x reader #love and deepspace #love and deep space #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel imagines #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #lads x reader #lads #loveanddeepspace #lads rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x you #rafayel lads

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mrsnancywheeler · 2 days ago

Text

half return // finnick odair x reader

1.3k words

masterlist

summary: the capitol has its way of digging its claws in so deep that you're no longer even sure where it ends and you being. finnick tries to reassure you, even though you struggle to let him in.

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, reader is an unreliable narrator, mentally unwell, and emotionally shut off, victor!reader, allusions to things doing with the games themselves, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n, unedited and short, just a treat so I can really get back into writing finnick

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The Capitol had a way of taking everything for you. Where you were supposed to find comfort in being in your District, even after the years that had passed, it still didn’t feel like it had before. It was almost like a rebirth, but not in a way that felt refreshing. It was more like a baptism of sludge, it made you slow, and tired, like tearing your skin off your bones. That wasn’t the life you’d been promised. No, the Capitol made winning their Games seem so illustrious, so alluring, with a big house where the roof never caved, enough food for a while for everyone in your district to go without starving, and all the fame someone from a District could ever dream of having. All of that was true, but what was the cost? After all this time it still felt like your sanity had slipped down the drain, and you didn’t even know who you were anymore.

That’s exactly how you felt as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Letting the thoughts consume you as the feeling of zoning out of reality into the dissonance of your own thoughts made your face distort itself. Maybe, you thought, this distorted version of yourself was closer to who you really were inside than any picture. Those too closely resembled who you once were, who you were supposed to be. Oh, the things you would do to have that life back.

“Everything okay in here?” Finnick’s voice cut through your thoughts, broke the illusion of the mirror, and startled you back into the even sadder reality.

“Hmmm?” You glanced at him, eyes wide, like you hadn’t quite heard him, although the words really just hadn’t fully registered in your brain yet, “Yeah, everythings good, everything is fine.”

You offer a halfhearted smile that’s trying its best to be so real, he deserves real. You know that, after all he’s been through, all he’s done for you, even just for putting up with you, and yet the days creep in where you can’t give him that. All you can do is try and fake it until you make it. Almost like you’d had to do in the Games, but now it was to stop the attention. You didn’t need him anymore worried, scared about you spiralling, you were, but he didn’t need to know that. He deserved to have a partner, that’s what he signed up for, not to deal with another person’s emotional baggage and trauma. That’s at the very least the excuse you gave yourself in order to make lying about it feel okay.

“You’ve been brushing your teeth for at least 10 minutes.” He’s smirking, chuckling a little, pushing himself further into the bathroom from where he was leaning in the doorway.

“Just really getting in there. I really can’t help it if I have better dental hygiene then most, it’s just a burden I have to carry.” You look away, rubbing your neck, before adjusting your eyes back into the mirror. God, you’re a mess. Life is a mess. You used to dream of no longer being a child, of the freedom that would come with it, and now as you look in the mirror you resent younger you for that wish. Growing old has not been a blessing, and that makes the fact that you fought so hard for it even more tragic.

Finnick’s arms are around you, arm crossing your body, holding onto your other shoulder, he’s pulling you into him. Face pressed to yours, it’s meant to be comforting, and you hate to admit to yourself that it is. You want to push this down, not let him comfort you for it. “What’s going on?” His voice is so soothing, he smells like the ocean, and it draws you in. Yet you must resists in some capacity.

“Finnick-” You turn your face away and after a second you feel him start to pull away. You can hear him trying to suppress his sigh, feel the way his shoulders slightly slump, and suddenly your blood is running with guilt. He wants to be there for you, to help, you know that even if you want to shield yourself from that type of support. However, the idea of disappointing, of hurting the man you love by hiding those parts of yourself, makes the pit in your stomach so much heavier. You really can’t help but fold to him. “Come with me.” You’re turning your face back to his.

His eyebrows furrow together, “Where? What’re you talking about, sweetheart?” One of his thumbs is rubbing circles onto your skin that make you want to melt into him, to cry, but you haven’t let yourself cry in at least a year. You won’t let yourself start now.

“My house, my old house, I wanna go see it.”

If he was anyone else you would’ve expected him to say something about the fact you were both currently in your pajamas, or how late it was, but he’s Finnick, your Finnick, and so all he does for a second is look into your eyes as if he’s seeing into the depths of your soul that you desperately don’t want him to see. “Okay.” He nods, and is pressing a kiss to your forehead before letting you go. You can’t help but miss and crave his touch the moment it’s gone.

It’s even later into the night by the time you’ve both gotten dressed again and are leaving the gilded cage of Victors Village. You don’t care though. This is the first time you’ve let Finnick come with you on one of these escapades, usually you make them in the middle of the day anyways, but you’re letting him in on this little thing you do for yourself. The opening on who you were, what your life was before the Capitol came and sunk its teeth in, draining you of all that you used to be, all you thought you were. The two of you walk in silence, but it’s not one of awkwardness or stagnation, no, it’s just exactly what it needs to be. You can hear the ocean hitting the rocks and the shore, feel the wind, smell the salt air, and in the smallest amount it can it brings a sliver of unwanted comfort.

Then you’re there. The old, dilapidated house, roof caving in on itself, moss growing up its walls. No one has moved in since you and your family moved out of it, it’s like a reminder that one of the Victors came from it, what even the poorest citizen could come out of through the Games. In reality though, there was no point in buying a house like this, it was basically begging to crash in on itself, and then the owner would be paying more to repair the house then they’d spent to purchase it. So, here it sat. Dead lawn, broken fence, and a childhood’s worth of dreams.

“Every time I expect it to make me feel like me again or something, I know it’s stupid, but I just can’t help it. And everytime it does absolutely nothing, but I can’t stop coming back.” You’ve never told anyone that before, why you crawl back to the ruins of your childhood, of life before. Searching desperately for comfort, for understanding of who you are, only for it never to be found. “I just want it to tell me who I am.”

“It’s not stupid.” Finnick means what he says, so earnestly, and though you’ve told yourself you won’t cry. That you can’t let yourself do that anymore, something about that small reassurance has the tears slipping out once again, and once you’ve started you can’t stop. You’re trying to cover your face, hide it in the moonlight, suppress the way sobs make your body shake, but you can’t. Not from him, never from him. He’s holding you before you’ve even fully devolved. “Whatever you need to help you, you do. Okay? It doesn’t get any easier, I can’t lie to you about that, but if you really don’t think you know who you are, then just ask. I know exactly who you are, even if you think I don’t, I see every side of you."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Thank you so much for reading, sorry it's so short, kind of using this as a jumping off point to get back into writing Finnick fics. As always likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are much appreciated. Love you all so much 💋

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick fanfic #finnick odair angst #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair

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