#help im forgetting my tags im sorry

[dizzybizz]

autism been spiking lately hm

[drrobobitch]

God Im so obsessed with him idek what it is….

Character is Lord Carnvion from Shining armor asmr..dont ask just know I eat that shit up 💀

[sonknuxadow]

wishing that the hype for sonic 3 would just die already because im tired of hearing about it vs knowing that the suffering wouldnt truly be over because theyre talking about making a fourth movie . hell on earth

[cybercritterinyourcomputer]

writing this on a whim because my brain is torturing me about it for some reason and i figured what better place to go than tumblr [this is somewhat sarcasm]. i do not particularly know why i am writing/asking this but im chucking it out there to ease the thoughts so i can go to sleep

to any systems or whatever or really anyone reading who found this through the tags i put here, how did you know you were a system. or plural or how did you start questioning it how did you figure it out. bear with me its past 2 am my writing is atrocious . how did you know if you never knew before?

i dont think im plural, but something wormed its way into my brain today or yesterday and i dont know why or when and and its not the first time this has popped into my brain i think. the thought of what if what if what if but im me. its my me it there its me its my thoughts and there is no other people in my brain just me myself and i. its not quiet it never is but it is just me

i think a clearer question i want to ask is: how can you tell if something is just dpdr[because i fear i may have that, unfortunately it is very likely] or this? this as in osdd or did or whatever

it would appear simple but unfortunately for a lot of my life my sense of self has been so broken and so messy because. fuck all everything happening i guess but its just me, truly. i talk to myself, i draw different versions of myself together, i split myself into many parts to cope with things, to highlight the different parts of me, variants. the wolf, the puppy, the robot, the hermit, the hollow, the dragon, and whatever the Me is i dont know who or what i am when im so many things and nothing at the same time. i didnt completely think about this but also how heavily i relate to certain characters in media but this may just be a nonhuman thing. i see so much of myself in certain characters and so much of them in me sometimes to the point where i dont know where i start and they end. but again i think that is just a nonhuman thing or a coping thing. because its still just me here

where does the age regression and nonhumanity start and where does it end when i rely on my creations of myself to keep me afloat. i only talk to myself through thinking and drawing, i dont talk to anybody else in my head, its all me. and unfortunately theres a pattern where i learn of something and i think about it and i go, "oh, no, no no, that is absolutely not me, never would dream of it! even thinking that i could be that is a crime to all the ones that truly have that!" and then it ends up being too true. the depression, the adhd, the age regression, the therianthropy, the hard denial of abuse, the hard denial of possible autism. my friends speculate i have ptsd or cptsd. i dont want to go down that line of thinking with this, i *know* i dont have it, but the fear

its annoying because ive never really been here present in my body im never really here and the horrors dont end and theres always been something wrong with me but i know its other things. i wont share the details, but the situation ive been in the past 8? months has been horrible horrid no good on my brain i hate being awake. and it feels like someone else took the reins but im still feeling the hurt i still have the memories but they dont feel like mine. my memories have never felt like my own but theyre mine and i have to write everything down or i will forget. i go to work i listen to family shit on me i go to work i do something all day but its not me im still in my room playing a game in my pjs but that was almost a year ago but im still there but i went to work but it wasnt me

because my mind is empty, its just me. it really truly is just me. i think im just lonely. and hoping someone could take me away from everything im always going through or for someone to be there. in my head

there was never anything to make me think this before, a couple times i have but years ago, for no reason, im quite sure its just me. i had imaginary friends as a kid which is normal for kids. i still kind of do but its just me talking to me, im saying two things. i think i just have a lot of possible trauma[i dont believe im traumatized but my friends are quite firm that my entire life has been a shitshow since i was born] and a lot of coping mechanisms plus the fact that i have to pretend for my family and me being trans and me being nonhuman and me so its mostly just that

i dont really know what exactly im even asking. i think im just throwing out a bone and praying for someone to go "yeah dude thats normal youre fine, youre normal" and for my brain to stop ruminating and its annoying. or for someone to ease my curiosity and fear and dread. im throwing out a bone, im begging for someone to glance my way, im begging for someone to tell me its okay. not the begging to be okay but to say that my brain is okay and that my life is okay

[ribbonknot]

sometimes i feel like rn it's really understated just how bad things could be if trump wins. like, actually. i feel like it's being forgotten that despite how bad things are right now, they would surely get WORSE.

[dizzybizz]

sleepy gill and gill with the bubbled evil cat

[cosmical-flowers]

oh yeah i forgot that you can add friends on enstars. ermmmm MUTUALS WHO PLAY ON THE ENG SERVER ADD ME (7299459275)

@maoisarap @transgender-eichi

[linabirb]

felt too tired to get out of bed and didn't know what to do until i suddenly went "huh.. i feel like i had a tumblr acc but im not sure" which made me feel so shocked i literally jumped out of bed bc i couldn't believe i forgot about this acc

[volfoss]

Actually perks of liking popular characters is you go into it being like wow ^-^ the source material is so so great and amazing. I really understand this character and they're so in depth. I really can't wait to see meta in the tags -> 30 x reader fics about how this character is so yandere

[sulfur1c-4cid]

voids this is just like 2 years ago isnt it

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Perfect All American

♥ masterlist | request rules | based on this request

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!american!driver!reader

♥ synopsis: you and oscar decided to make your relationship a secret in hopes to not stir up any “conflict of interest” rumors. however, he just couldn’t help being a proud boyfriend when you won your first race for williams as a rookie. 

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: once again, i’m so sorry this took so long for me to write but i really hope it was worth the wait anon <3

-October 2023-

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, susie_wolff and 879,593 more

williamsracing We're incredibly pleased to announce that @/yourusername has signed a three year contract deal with us starting this following F1 season. She will line up alongside @/logansargeant and will be the first woman to drive a Grand Prix since Lella Lombardi in 1976. We are absolutely honored to have you. Welcome to the Williams family 💙

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yourusername its a perfect all american grid

user6 I understood that reference

user5 🦅🦅🦅

user1 USA USA RAHHH 🇺🇸🗽🏈

user8 WOOO

user2 following in susie's footsteps :')

prema_racing we’re so proud of you

yourusername <3

oscarpiastri I’ll see you in melbourne 😉

user12 it’s the wink for me

user4 im gonna miss prema era y/n

user5 @/user4 ok but the trio is back together !!! y/n, oscar, and logan

user6 @/user5 you’re forgetting about fred

user9 fred vesti always the bridesmaid never the bride

user10 need me some williams gear asap

user14 💙💙💙

logansargeant excited to finally have a fellow american on team torque

yourusername me 🤝 logan

alex_albon 😐

georgerussell63 and here I was thinking you were happy to join me at mercedes

user13 I’m a child of the britcedes-sargebon divorce

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Williams' Rising Star: Y/n L/n-

Williams has announced that American F2 Champion, Y/n L/n will be making her Formula 1 debut next year alongside Logan Sargeant. She has been making waves in the world of motorsports for over a decade now, and it seems that all of her hard work has finally payed off. She's already been placed in the history books for her impeccable talent on track and her inspiring work off it. Not only has she broken plenty of records in feeder series', but she also contributed to the creation of F1 Academy.

From Long Beach a to Monte Carlo

Early in her karting career Y/n was scouted for the Mercedes Junior Drivers Team and she's seemed to have a close relationship with Toto and Susie Wolff ever since. She uprooted her life from California to London as a young teen, taking a huge risk in hopes to accomplish her dreams.

What does this mean for F1?

With rising representation in all areas of f1, we can hope to see young women getting more opportunities to make their mark on the sport. Let's face it, the future of F1 is female.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, williamsracing, liablock, and 583,502 more

yourusername POINTS?!?!

tagged; @/bah_int_circuit

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williamsracing starting off this year strong!

frederikvestiofficial WOOOO !!!

yourusername WOOOO 🎉

arthur_leclerc way to go y/n

yourusername ty artie my favorite leclerc 😍

charles_leclerc hey ??

user1 @/yourusername what about oscar piastri-leclerc

yourusername I CHANGE MY ANSWER

oscarpiastri I'm so happy for you

yourusername <3

user2 ...

user3 👀

logansargeant lets gooo 💪

yourusername 🦅🦅

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by mclarenracingf1, landonorris, yourusername, and 983,012 more

oscarpiastri maiden win

comments are limited

yourusername never beating the polite cat allegations with that smile

oscarpiastri :]

yourusername I'm so proud of you btw 🫶

oscarpiastri 🫶

landonorris congrats

oscarpiastri thanks mate

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Dutch Grand Prix-

"Plan A, Y/n. Plan A," your race engineer said to you on the radio.

"What about plan C? I think it will work," you responded.

"Uhm, as of right now we don't want to risk your position, so plan A, Y/n, plan A." they spoke softly.

"I can hold the tires, I swear. We're already at the back of the pack, we have nothing to lose."

"I think that's the first time I've heard a driver try to argue their way out of the main strategy," Crofty laughed on the broadcast.

"Box, Y/n. Box."

You sighed, thinking you've reached your defeat. You pulled into your pit box and noticed the green ring on the tires.

They're putting you on inters.

They're following your strategy.

You clicked the radio button back on, "Thank you," you screamed to your team.

You were briefed with everything a few days ago, but you couldn't help but come up with your own plan after getting the weather report for the weekend.

The rain was about a minute away now and you begged the team to put you on intermediate tires right at this time. You knew it would be difficult to drive on a barley damp track like this, but if it worked you could be looking at a podium.

You only had to drive a single lap before it started pouring and your plan payed off. Almost the entire grid struggled with their dry tires in the new track conditions, giving you time to create a lead as they had to slow down and pit.

Every lap you completed as race leader made you more anxious than the last. You held your breath as you reached the last corner of the last lap, vaguely able to see the chequered flag. Tears filled your eyes as you crossed the finish line in P1, the Williams garage being shown on the big screen sprinting out to congratulate you.

-

Before you had the chance to jump into the arms of your team, Oscar was running up to you. He picked you up and pressed his soft lips to yours right in front of the cameras. You smiled into the kiss, happy tears still streaming down your cheeks.

He pulled you into a tight hug, "I'm so proud of you. I love you so much," he mumbled into your hair.

"I love you too, Osc." you laughed through your crying.

He pulled away, cupping your face in his hands, and kissing your forehead. You smiled as he wiped your cheeks with his thumbs.

"So... instead of us interacting with each other online to keep our relationship private, you decide to make out with me in public?"

Oscar laughed and hugged you again, "Just enjoy the moment.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by kimiraikkonen, sebastianvettel, williamsracing, and 6,394,625 more

F1 Y/n L/n makes history as the first woman to win an F1 Grand Prix and the first win for Williams since 2012. Well done 👏

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yourusername fact is walter white james vowles couldn't have done it without me 🗣️

georgerussell63 so true 🔥

logansargeant LETS FUCKING GOOOO

yourusername RAHHHH

susie_wolff I'm so proud of you 💗

yourusername <3

user7 the way susie was recording her on the podium like a proud mom :')

user8 ROOKIE WIN

user4 🐐🐐

lewishamilton @/yourusername incredible drive today. congrats on the win, it was well deserved

yourusername tysm lew 🫶

jensonbutton thats literally my daughter

youruseranme DAD 🫂

user3 I thought she was supposed to be Toto's daughter...

user6 @/user3 toto, lewis, nico, jenson──they're all related one way or another

user2 family tree is a wreath

mercedesamgf1 all hail queen y/n

user9 y/n to Mercedes 2025 !!!

liked by yourusername, landonorris, logansargeant, and 1,203,284 more

oscarpiastri y/n l/n. my best friend, the love of my life, and a formula 1 grand prix race winner. this is such an incredible achievement and I am so happy for you. I know you are out there inspiring so many young women and I couldn't be prouder. you are the most incredible girlfriend, driver, and person I have ever met. congratulations on the win, you deserve it. I love you ❤️

tagged; @/yourusername

comments are limited

yourusername osccc 🥹 you've been my #1 fanboy since our karting days and I can't thank you enough for all the support you've given me <3 I love you so much

♡ by oscarpiastri

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: tysm for reading <3 don’t ask me about the real life mechanics behind the tires bc im obviously not qualified for that 💀 i based that scene off of the strategy i use when i play gran turismo and i see the clouds get grey (it’s never failed me)

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, okay? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Okay, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, okay?” Your eyes are shining.

“Okay,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, okay?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you okay?” he asks after a second.

Okay? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[wcnderlnds]

bae bae | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: after a night out at club pentagon you end up in bed with your friend who has zero shame ・❥・word count: 1.6k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, thanos is rough. swearing. mentions of drugs, female reader. ・❥・ authors note: ... this is pure filth, im so sorry. also this is pre-squid game <3 i also havent added my taglist in case people dont want to be tagged in smut but if you do let me know!!

The whole night had been a blur. How you’d ended up back in your own bed you had no idea but thankfully you’d made it home safe. The music from Club Pentagon still echoed through your ears like an anthem constantly playing in your head. You opened your eyes, your hands coming up to rub them with the palm of your hands. What time was it? You leaned over, grabbing your phone off the bedside table to see it was 3am. With a groan, you buried your head back into the safety of your pillow making a mental note to yourself to never drink so much again. All you could remember was that it had been a rough day, so bad that your friend Su-bong had decided a night out at his favourite club was the perfect remedy. So much for listening to him. That was on you, really. None of his ideas were ever good. They mostly consisted of drowning feelings in alcohol or taking one of his colourful little pills to forget what was going on.

As your thoughts drifted to him, a quiet groan filled the room causing you to perk up. It was coming from next to you so you just had to assume it was Thanos making noises in his sleep. He did that often – his nightmares coming frequently. If he was next to you that meant he had been the one to bring you home. A big thank you was in order for him in the morning when you could handle being awake. If your pounding head was anything to go by, you were going to have one hell of a hangover. Your eyes closed once again as you tried to drift back off to sleep. Just as you were on the verge of falling asleep, you heard a grunt.

Okay, what was going on here?

You turned around, sitting up slightly as you took in the scene before you. Yeah, there Thanos was. Everything seemed normal until you saw his chest rising and falling rapidly, movement under the blankets catching your eye. Your brows furrowed. This man wasn’t doing what you thought he was doing in your bed, was he? Only one way to find out.

Maybe it was your hungover mind but the thought of what you might find excited you. The way he was biting his lower lip to keep quiet only fueling your intrusive thoughts. Your fingers grasped the blanket, pulling it off. Well, you were right.

There he was, hand wrapped around his cock as he jerked himself off. Your eyes fixated on his hand that began speeding up, his hips bucking off the bed for more friction. Oh, he was really into this. How had he not realised you’d caught him? Part of you wanted to watch him finish, the throbbing between your legs thinking for you more than your brain. You hadn’t even realised how into this you were until you caught yourself slipping. There had been moments in the past where the two of you had almost hooked up but it had never gone past making out. Something always got in the way whether it was his friend Nam-gyu interrupting or his need to take another pill – it never led anywhere.

You cleared your throat deciding it was better to let him know you’d caught him than let him carry on. His eyes flew open, his hand still as he looked at you. He wasn’t embarrassed – you were certain he didn’t even know that emotion. He just looked at you expectantly, pushing himself to sit up slightly, his erection still standing for the world to see. 

“What?” He asked unbothered, annoyed even that you’d stopped him.

“I just caught you jerking yourself off and you don’t care?” You blinked at him. This was Thanos, of course he didn’t care. He had no shame.

“Why the fuck would I? Now, you gonna let me finish or help me out here.” He gestured towards his cock, his hand slowly stroking himself again.

As you watched, you couldn’t help but be transfixed. He knew what he was doing and it was working. The cogs in your brain were working overtime as you fought with helping him or ignoring him and letting take care of himself. He could see it, the smirk on his face making him look even more attractive. ‘Fuck it’, you thought. 

“Fine, you’ll owe me one, though.”

“No problem, Senorita. Now get those pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

You didn’t have time to react before his hand came up to your head, pushing you down towards his hardened length. Your tongue darted out, teasing the head but he wasn’t having it. He was too horny for teasing. He needed to have his cock stuffed down your throat or he was going to go insane. So, without warning, he pushed your head down onto him. It took you by surprise, almost choking but you steadied yourself, hands gripping his hips as you finally found a rhythm. Your lips moved up and down his length, tongue flattening out against the underside of his cock.

“Mhmm, just like that, pretty girl,” he rasped in that deep voice of his, his fingers tangling in your hair pushing you down onto him. You felt him hit the back of your throat almost gagging on him before he pulled you back up. “You’re doing so good.”

The praise was turning you on more than you’d like to admit. Your lips wrapped around him again, taking him as deep as you could without choking but it wasn’t enough. His hips bucked up into your mouth, his hand firmly tangled in your hair. You decided to give up and let him have his way. He felt your mouth slacken, the feral grin on his face letting you know he was more than willing to fuck your mouth stupid.

His grunts and groans filled the room as he thrust up into your mouth at a rapid pace. You could feel his cock twitching each time he hit the back of your throat. Tears sprang at the corner of your eyes as you gagged on him, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

Just as you were sure he was about to finish, he yanked your head off him, pushing you back down onto the bed. In a frenzy, he pushed the skirt up you were wearing, pulling your panties to the side. He slid his index finger along your pussy, almost groaning at how wet you were when he hadn’t even done anything. You were so damn desperate, he loved every second of it. “Wanna come inside this sweet, little pussy. You gonna let me, baby?”

He dragged his cock along your folds coating himself in your slickness and that was game over for you. Frantically, you nodded your head. That was all he needed. He pushed himself inside you in one deep thrust. The loud moan you let out surprised you, Thanos’s eyes almost rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of finally being inside you after all this time. No interruptions, no need for a high. This was the only high he needed. He’d been missing out. He pushed your legs up and over his shoulders, pulling his cock almost all the way out and thrusting inside once again. His pace was anything but gentle, the tight grip he had on your hips sure to leave bruises. Your hands gripped the bedsheets below you as he pounded into you. There was no way you were going to last long if he kept this up but then again neither was he. You could tell with the way his eyebrows scrunched up that he was holding back. At least he wasn’t selfish in the bedroom.

“Su-bong,” you moaned, back arching as you felt your orgasm fast approaching. The moaning of his name was almost his undoing.

“Yeah? You like that, huh? Like being fucked stupid by your best friend?” He panted, the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoing off the walls of the small room. The bed occasionally banging against the wall with the intensity of his thrusts. Your neighbours were definitely going to have something to say about it in the morning. “Come for me. Wanna feel you squeezin’ the life outta me.”

One particular hard thrust and that was it. A loud, almost pornographic moan fell from your lips as you saw stars. Your fingers pulled at the sheets, legs quivering as your orgasm washed over you. Thanos didn’t let up his pace, his eyes drawn to where your bodies were joined as he fucked into you. The feeling of your walls squeezing around his cock bringing him closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck, fuck. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up real good.”

It took one, two more thrusts when he stilled inside you, his cock twitching as he came harder than he had in his life. He was sure he saw the whole damn universe, throwing his head back as he groaned. His hips shallowly thrust into you, pulling out once he’d finished. Did he clean you up? Nah. He flopped back down next to you, grabbing his vape off the bedside.

“We should’ve done that a long time ago,” he chuckled, taking a puff. He handed it over to you, his lazy eyes meeting yours. “Do I still owe you one?”

You took a hit of the vape, nodding your head as you passed it back to him. “Oh, hell yeah you do. Not getting out of it that easily.”

“Was hoping you’d say that,” he winked at you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and bringing you into his side. It wasn’t cuddling but it was something to show you his appreciation. Better than nothing.

[chuulyssa]

drunk and driven. (light yagami)

↷ A/N ─ happy belated birthday to light and me !! i hope you enjoy this :) again, this is NOT rape/non-con. the reader is as sober as light here. written by a zombie-me at 4am. also im sorry if the camera topic is overused, i just couldnt help myself fantasizing about this

★ COUNT ─ 2.5k

!! TAGS ─ f!reader, dom!light, drinking, smut, fingering, spanking, unprotected sex, p in v, nicknames (good girl, pretty girl, etc.), edging, begging kink, voyeurism

★ PROLOGUE ─ your boyfriend punishes you for almost letting slip his real identity

SMUT, 18+, MDNI

The dim glow of the television cast shadows around the room. You had been at your high school's farewell party, and had too many drinks there to stumble back home in one piece. It was almost midnight, so there was also no way your boyfriend, Light Yagami, would have let you out of his sight, especially with how tipsy you were. He was quite protective of you, but he was right. You let out a drunk sigh and looked away, silently accepting the fact that you'd have to meet his parents in the morning and share a few awkward exchanges.

Light had had more drinks than you at the party, but he looked far from as drunk as you currently were. He was quietly watching a movie on the TV, stroking your hair lightly. Your gaze went up from Light to the flickering screen. A sudden surge of courage rushed through you.

"Light," you whispered, breaking the silence with your hoarse voice.

"No, you're not going home tonight," Light replied without looking at you.

"No, it's not that," you said frustratedly.

Light raised his eyebrows, hearing you slur your words due to the effects of the alcohol. Still, he did not look at you.

"How much did you drink?"

"Less than what you drank," your throat burned, your eyes drooping slightly.

He ignored you, seemingly engrossed in the movie, but you knew it was all just an act for the cameras L had set up.

You continued, "And it doesn't matter how much I drank, because either way, you refuse to give me attention."

Ryuk snickered in the corner.

Light frowned, finally turning his attention towards you as his eyes trailed down your body. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the redness of your cheeks, and the slight swaying of your body.

He looked at you for a few more seconds with a calculating look before sighing and setting the remote on his table. He stood up, "You should really get some sleep."

"No," you repeated.

"I-" Light was starting to get annoyed. "Are you crazy? Don't you want to go home tomorrow?"

"I just- I-" You sighed again, leaning back against your chair and almost falling off.

"Idiot," Light muttered, catching you before you fell. He carried you to his bed and lay you down gently before covering you with his blanket. "Are you comfortable? Do you want me to sleep on the floor?"

"No, no, I need cuddles," you smiled drunkenly, completely forgetting what you were going to say back when you had gotten some "courage".

"Of course, you do," Light said proudly. "You need my cuddles to sleep."

You hummed in response. As he snottily took his shirt off before lying down next to you, you closed your eyes slightly. They were burning, as if trying to stop you from both closing them and keeping them open.

His hands made their way to your back, gently pushing your neck to his bare chest. You finally shut your heavy eyelids and snuggled closer to him. This was what you always wanted. Just you and Light. Alone.

You furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes still tightly shut, your face pressed against him. Alone? It was laughable that you thought even for a moment that you two were alone right now. Well, for one, there was a God of Death in the same room as you, trying not to pass out from the lack of apples in his digestive system. Second, a great detective was watching the two of you, possibly along with your boyfriend's own father.

Light pulled you even closer to him, inhaling your scent deeply. Soon, the two of you drifted off to dreamland, and L was left questioning whether the seventeen-year-old star student really was a murderer.

You woke up, limbs tangled with Light's. You checked your wristwatch. About four hours had passed, and as you tried to sit up, your head felt heavy from an early hangover. Light's eyes jerked open. He had always been a light sleeper.

"Hm?" he mumbled in his sleep, no longer feeling the presence of your head in the crook of his neck. "What's the matter, honey?"

"I... had a dream," you said slowly.

"Nightmare?"

"Kinda."

Light sat up slowly and reached out for a glass of water to hand to you.

You peeked into the glass, rubbing your left eye until you saw stars.

"Vodka?" you said hopefully.

"Water," he replied calmly.

You pouted pleadingly; more alcohol was what you needed right now, but you eventually had to resign to your boyfriend. You drank the water, and instantly felt much more sober than you were before. Your sleepy eyes fell on Ryuk, his legs and hands in a rather uncomfortable position, perhaps due to not having apples for such a long time.

For a moment, you, for the second time that night, completely forgot about the existence of the cameras.

You turned to Light. "How long is he going to go without apples?"

"Who, honey?" Light's eyes flashed warningly, but you were far too sleepy to notice.

"Ryuk, your Shini-"

Your words were cut off by a sharp kiss. Light had completely thrown himself at you, and you fell back down on the bed due to the sheer force of his abrupt kiss. The empty glass landed on the floor with a loud clink, but he ignored it. His hands reached under your shirt, his nails digging into the skin of your hips as if daring you to talk further.

You attempted to prop yourself up on your elbows, to gain some kind of control over what was happening. But Light pushed you back down, pulling you by your hips and roughly throwing your head down on the pillow.

He pulled away eventually, the pupils of his eyes completely red, and you cursed yourself mentally. This was not your Light. This was Kira.

He leaned away from you, got up to pick up the thrown glass and filled it with water again, but as he offered it to you, you rejected it. "I'm sober enough for this, Light."

"Very well then," Light whispered and leaned in closer to your ear. "I hope you remember you're being watched. Make sure you put on a show."

You nodded slowly, letting his hands roam around and make their way to the hem of your skirt, twirling the fabric around his fingers. He brought another hand to your top and slid it under the cloth, feeling the material of your satin bra.

"The one I gifted to you?" he raised his eyebrows, a little smirk on his face.

"Yes," you whispered, pulling his bare chest against your clothed one. "Strip me, Light."

"What's the magic word?" he teased, hand slipping under your bra and cupping your breast.

"Please," you whimpered when he pinched your nipple.

Ryuk snapped his eyes open and tumbled out of the room clumsily, perhaps to give you some privacy.

"Good girl," he didn't hide his smirk this time as he pulled your top off completely, throwing it to the side where it landed on his chair next to his own shirt. He ran his hands down your back, grabbing the zipper of your skirt and slowly pulling it down. Light slid the skirt down your legs, leaving you in a matching set of satin underwear and bra.

"Pretty," he murmured, his hand grasping his growing bulge tightly.

"Let me help you with that," you sat up on all fours and leaned in closer, a hand stretched out to touch his crotch.

You rubbed him lightly, slowly increasing your pace before unbuckling his belt and slipping your hand under his boxers. Your constant touching of his tip made him groan, hand reaching out to yank you by your hair and push you back down to the bed. You grabbed his hands and brought them to your breasts, pressing them against your chest.

"Take my bra off."

"I'm not a man to be told what to do," he said, bringing his lips down to your neck. "But I will allow it this time."

Light freed his hands from your grip and brought them to your back, unclasping the hook of your bra and letting it fall to the floor. He cupped your breasts in his hands, lowering himself so that his mouth sucked on one nipple while his hand squeezed the other.

"Fuck," you moaned, pushing his head against your chest.

He grabbed your hand and brought it once more to his crotch, letting you feel the bulge in his pants again.

"You're not the only one who's needy right now."

"You're so- god, I can't wait to feel you inside me," you said, rubbing his dick through the fabric.

"Patient girls are rewarded," he said, dragging his lips from your neck to your collarbone, his free hand ripping your panties off.

"Hey!" you whisper-screamed.

"I'll buy you another set," he said calmly, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them up and hitting your g-spot.

"Yes," you moaned, pushing his hand against your pussy. "Faster."

He brought his other hand from your nipple to your clit and started rubbing it in circles, simultaneously fucking you with his fingers.

"Fuck, I'm going to come," you whimpered after a few minutes, feeling your orgasm build.

"Mhm, do it, what a good girl," he said, rubbing your clit faster, aiding your release. You came hard on his fingers, arching your back, bucking against his hand and moaning loudly. Your legs shook, while he pulled his fingers out of your pussy and brought them to your mouth. "Clean them."

You nodded, sucking on his fingers, your teeth digging into his skin. Light smirked.

"Don't you think you should be punished?"

"Huh-? For what, Li-?"

Your words were cut off once again when he pulled you onto his lap so that your ass faced him and you lay on your stomach, pussy pressed against his crotch.

_ _ _ _

"L, I don't think we should be watching this," Soichiro Yagami kept his eyes away from the screen, where his son, his perfect little son, was busy fingering his girlfriend. He hadn't even known he had a girlfriend, let alone the fact that they were so... intimate with each other.

"There has to be some meaning in what the girl said," L racked his brains, eyes scanning the scene, now showing you in Light's lap and his hand rubbing your ass. "Apples?"

"For god's sake, it may be some sort of safeword for when they- for when they do- this," Soichiro yelled, his eyes on the floor.

"It's not a mere coincidence, Mr Yagami," L said thoughtfully. "Apples? Kira told me 'Shinigamis' loved apples earlier. This is not a coincidence, Mr Yagami."

_ _ _ _

"You're going to be punished for fucking everything up," he whispered in your ear before smacking your ass hard. "Count."

"One!" you yelped, feeling the sting of his hand on your ass. "Two!" "Three!" "Four!" "Five!"

He kept spanking you, alternating between your ass cheeks. You could feel his dick hard against your stomach, and ignoring the pain in your ass, you started to grind against it.

"Six!" "Seven!" "Eight!"

He spanked you harder, and you could feel your ass getting red. You were breathing heavily, and your pussy was so wet that it was dripping onto his lap.

"Nine! Ten!"

_ _ _ _

"Can we stop watching this now?" Soichiro groaned.

"There has to be some hint," L traced the screen with his fingers which showed you getting spanked hard by Light now.

Soichiro let out an uncomfortable sigh.

"Mr Yagami, you can close your ears and eyes," L said without looking away from the screen.

_ _ _ _

"Good girl," Light said, rubbing your ass. "Now, a reward."

He slid his pants and boxers down to his legs and wiggled out of them. He brought his dick to your pussy, rubbing its head against your clit and earning a moan from your pursed lips. He flipped you over, pinning you under him on the bed again as he continued to tease you.

"Please, Light," you begged, trying to reach out for his dick so you could push it in.

"Please what?" he said sweetly and you groaned in annoyance.

"Please fuck me."

He smiled and pushed his dick inside you slowly, savouring every inch of your tight pussy.

"Oh!" you wailed, feeling his cock stretch your pussy.

He started bucking his hips in and out, fucking you harder as his balls slapped against your clit, doubling the pleasure. He was careful not to make a sound, but he didn't stop you from letting your strangled moans out. This would be your punishment, facing his mother in the morning after getting fucked so hard by him at night.

You tried very hard to suppress your lustful sounds, eyes welling up at the thought of facing his family in a few hours, but you couldn't. He was too good. He knew just how to get under your skin. Slowly, you felt your second orgasm approaching.

"Ah, ah! I want to come," you clasped your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. He was going so hard on you, of course, his mother and his sister would wake up if he continued.

"No, you're not. Hold it in," Light commanded. "You're going to come when I say so."

He kept fucking you harder, and you could feel your orgasm building. This was torture. There was no way you could hold yourself in when he was going so hard on you.

"Please, Light," you begged, feeling your pussy clench around his dick. "I can't hold it in anymore."

"Hold it in, I said," he said, flipping you over again and spanking your ass hard. He increased his speed, and you buried your head in a pillow to muffle your screams. "I'm going to come inside you now. Understood?"

You could feel his cock twitching inside you, and you knew he wasn't lying about his orgasm. You nodded slowly, voice still distant because of the pillow.

He let out a long, satisfied groan as he released his juices inside you, pushing his dick deep inside you. You could feel his cum filling your pussy, and it sent you over the edge.

"Now, come for me, pretty girl," Light said in a hoarse voice.

"Yes!" you screamed, feeling your orgasm wash over you. His cum was dripping out of your pussy, and you could feel his cock softening inside you.

"Good," he said, pulling his cock out of you. It was scary how calm and composed he was when a minute ago, he had spanked you so hard. He grabbed a towel and wiped your pussy clean.

_ _ _ _

Soichiro blinked at the abrupt ending of the sounds. Still refusing to look up at the screen, he asked, "Is it over now?"

"They're both still naked," L said, analyzing the place, feeling his own dick harden at your bare figure, panting and sweating as Light got off you and laid next to you, throwing the towel somewhere insignificant.

"Well then?" Soichiro said.

"Well what?"

"You made me watch my son... doing- doing stuff with his girlfriend," Soichiro said in a shaky voice, his hands behind his back to avoid pulling his hair out in frustration. "What have you understood from this?"

"What I've understood?" L said thoughtfully, his gaze unconsciously reaching his growing bulge. "Your son is quite romantic, I suppose."

© chuulyssa, 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[wholemeallbread]

u think ur sneaky huh bc why was this so obvicous 🫵

Wait guys…. Ermmmm is it too late to do like for an indirect… aha… head scratch

Like for indirect ig..

btw guys only if i actually know who you are!!!

[howiswhatawhy]

things we don't say (i) - clark kent x reader

Summary: Clark Kent was always there throughout your life. So when he wasn’t, it became hard to un-know him. After years of quiet distance, missed calls, and unspoken truths, his public reveal as Superman confirms what you always feared.

Word count: 3k

tags: ex childhood bestfriends to lover, slow burn, hurt/comfort, emotionally constipated losers in love, yearner x yearner, absolute idiots in love.

A/n: thank you @sharknutz for bringing up the sunshine nickname. You have officially ruined any other nicknames for me. I originally wanted to wait until I finish writing this fic from start to finish but I just can't contain myself. Hoping I'll post p2 soon! (im already writing it.) Also please interact with me<3 I have no one to talk to about my deep deep deep love for clark kent. Not proofread.

part 2, part 3

You can’t recall a time when you didn’t know Clark Kent. For as long as you remember, in every memory that you have, he’s never too far away. He was there when you were 5, having picnics with your stuffed animals in the backyard, pouring imaginary tea and calling your teddy “sir”. He was there when you were 7, hiding under blankets during thunderstorms, whispering stories to help you forget about the thunder. 

He was there again when you were 10, standing at the bottom of the hill when you jumped off the shed roof with your arms stretched out like wings. You’d seen Clark fly, just for a second, when he thought no one was watching. And you wanted to impress him. You wanted to be special, too. Instead, you scraped your knees and knocked the air out of your lungs. He ran to you, panicked, asking if you were okay over and over, then scolding you for being reckless, his voice shaking. And he was still there when you were 18, crying in all your tangled thoughts and stubborn silences, and he promised he’d come back often and call everyday. And you believed him. Told him you’d move to Metropolis right after graduation. That you’d follow him. 

Clark was always there throughout your life. So when he wasn’t, it was hard unknowing him. 

At first, he kept his promise and called every night. Even with the noise of Metropolis in the background, he made time. He’d tell you about classes, the weird people on the subway, how he missed the stars out in Smallville. You’d talk for hours sometimes, until one of you (more often you than him) fell asleep on the line.

But promises aren’t made of steel, not even his. A skipped night here. A shorter call there. “Sorry, something came up.” “Long day.” “I’ll call tomorrow, I promise.” He always meant it. You could hear it in his voice. But sometimes, the phone just didn’t ring.

You tried not to take it personally. You told yourself he was just busy. There’s always something to be busy about in Metropolis: internships, papers, roommates. Maybe there’s even someone new in his life. God, you hoped that’s not it. But even if it was, it’d be okay. That’s normal. That’s expected.

But sometimes, you caught something in his voice. A hesitation. You knew Clark better than anyone, but you just couldn’t figure out what he’s hiding from you. And once, he ended a call mid-sentence. No goodbye. Just gone. You didn’t hear from him for three days. When he called again, his voice was tight and tired, like he hadn’t slept. He didn’t explain. You didn’t have the guts to ask.

But later that same night, you saw something on the news. A building caught on fire in downtown Metropolis. The anchors kept saying it was a miracle no one had died. That someone had gotten people out before the fire department arrived. But no one saw who. You thought about Clark. You never said it out loud. Never asked him directly. But deep down, you already knew.

Clark Kent was still trying to save the world. He just hadn’t figured out how to carry it yet.

Days turned into weeks, and the calls grew fewer and farther between. When you did hear from him, his voice was heavier. It was no longer the familiar warmth you remembered, but clipped, exhausted, almost guarded. You knew he was out there, doing things no one else could, saving people in ways no one else even knew about. But every time you thought about reaching out, about asking if he needed you, your heart clenched.

You couldn’t, and wouldn’t, add to the weight he was already carrying. So you stayed silent.

Sometimes when missing him felt too heavy, you slept over at the Kent’s. Martha would make tea without asking, and Jonathan would leave the porch light on like he was expecting both of you home. His room hadn’t changed. You’d lie on his bed, stare at the ceiling, and pretend he might walk through the door any minute, tired but smiling.

You told yourself it was better this way. That he needed space. That he was doing something important. That maybe, someday, he’d find his way back to you. You told yourself you can’t be selfish. You needed him, but so does the whole world. 

So you let others have him. The people in danger. The strangers in burning buildings. The ones crying out in the dark. You gave your Clark to them without complaint, without question, like it was the only thing you could do. Because how could you be the one to ask him to stop? To come home? To choose you, when he was out there saving lives?

But just because he broke his promise, doesn’t mean you broke yours. You moved to Metropolis, just like you said you would. You weren’t sure if it was for you, or if you were just being stubborn. Maybe part of you still wanted to keep the promise, even if he didn’t. You didn’t reach out. You couldn’t. It had been a year and a half since the last real conversation, and reaching out now felt... wrong. Heavy. Like you’d be asking for a version of him that no longer existed. So you built a life. A small apartment, a job as a nurse at Metropolis General. A routine that’s enough to keep you grounded. You learned your way around the city. Made some work friends. Bought groceries on Sundays. 

Then one morning, during a rare quiet moment between shifts, you glanced up at the TV mounted in the break room. The newsroom was buzzing with something unusual. The screen showed a figure standing tall against the Metropolis skyline. Red and blue, cape fluttering in the wind. The voice was steady, calm, filled with a strength you’d never heard before. 

“I am Superman,” he said. The words echoed through the room and through your chest. And you swear you feel the echo of it deep in your chest. The way his voice, calm and sure, cuts through the static. It’s a voice you’ve known all your life. It’s him. No question.

But now the world is seeing what you already knew:

He isn’t like anyone else.

The rest of your shift passes in a daze. Everyone’s talking about it. Patients, doctors, people passing by on the street, they all talk so loud. The words come fast and sharp, overlapping each other.

You can’t bother to listen to them. Not when your heart is pounding in your ears and your knees feel like they might give out any second now. He can’t seriously be doing this. Not when the threats keep showing up nonstop, now more than ever. Not when each one is more dangerous than the last, like the universe is testing how much he can take before he finally breaks.

You knew Clark was good. Always trying to help. Always doing what he could. He’s capable. He’s strong. You’ve seen that.

But that was pulling people out of a burning building. Guiding a lost kid back to their parents. Climbing a tree to rescue someone’s cat.

Not… whatever this is.

You’re not even sure what to call it. What do you call creatures that crash from the sky like meteors, tearing through concrete with claws? Or things that speak in sounds that rattle your bones? How do you fight lasers, or collapsing cities, or things that don’t bleed? You don’t know. And you’re not sure if he knows, either. What you know is he’s out there, putting himself in danger, over and over again. And with him coming out like this, he’s basically screaming for those things to come and get him. Well maybe that’s fine for him. Maybe he can handle it, that it’s no sweat for him. You don’t know how strong he is. He might be stronger than you can even begin to understand. 

But he’s still Clark. The Clark that used to run to you whenever he felt out of place. Your Clark, if you can still even call him that. 

So the next steps you take are a bit of a blur. You don’t remember leaving the hospital. One minute you’re taking off your scrubs, and the next, you’re on the subway. The screech of the tracks is nothing compared to the noise in your head. You don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re standing in front of the revolving glass doors of the Daily Planet.

This is a bad idea. You know that. You haven’t spoken to him in over a year. You don’t even know if he wants to see you. But you don’t have time to think it through.

Martha’s voice echoes in your mind then, warm and full of pride, from that quiet night you stopped by for tea.

“He’s doing great, sweetheart. You should see the pieces he’s been writing at the Planet! He even had one front page last month. Above the fold!”

You step inside, and the receptionist looks up. “Can I help you?” You weren’t expecting her to speak. For some reason, you thought you’d just… slip through. Like maybe if you didn’t look directly at anyone, no one would look at you.

“Uh…” Your voice comes out thin. You clear your throat. “I’m looking for Clark Kent.” She blinks at you. “Is he expecting you?” You shake your head. “No.” There’s a pause while she types something. You can hear every click of the keys. It suddenly dawns on you that all of this is very silly. What are you supposed to say to him? Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a while but—

“He just went out. Might be for a story—” She frowns a little. “Looks like he badged in a few minutes ago. Try the newsroom. Fifth floor.” You nod, mumble a thank you. Your mouth feels dry.

The elevator’s to your left. You make yourself walk toward it. You hit the button and try not to look like you’re about to crawl out of your own skin. Too late to turn around now.

It’s hectic inside, that’s the first thing you noticed. Phones ringing, printers whirring, the low buzz of conversation layered with the occasional bark of an editor trying to chase down a quote. But you can still hear his voice. Calmer than it should be, considering everything. 

He’s talking to someone, just behind one of the taller cubicle walls to your right. You don’t mean to listen, but your body leans toward the sound before your brain catches up. “…No, I’ve got time. Just send me what you’ve got and I’ll take a look.” The other person says something you can’t quite catch. Then a quiet laugh, soft enough that it doesn’t match the world-ending images still burned into your memory. You follow the sound. Slowly. Carefully. 

And then there he is. Tall as ever. Talking to someone else you can’t bring yourself to care about. His back is facing you, but you’re sure it’s him. “Clark…?” At the sound of your voice, he turns around sharply. There’s something different about his face. He’s wearing glasses, which is new, but there’s also something else that’s different that you can’t quite put your finger to. He freezes when he sees you. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Not like you gave him enough time to talk anyway. “Please tell me it wasn’t you.” The words hang in the air like you shouted them, even though you barely whispered. Clark doesn’t answer. Just looks at you, eyes wide now. Not with shock, but with something closer to alarm. You see it the second it registers. Not just what you said, but where you said it.

He moves. Not fast enough to draw attention, but faster than anyone else around him. He steps in, closes the space between you in two strides, and gently, but firmly, takes your arm. “Not here,” he says, voice low, barely audible over the hum of the newsroom. You let him lead you past desks and columns. He doesn’t look back, but his hand stays steady on your arm, not pulling exactly, just enough to keep you close. No one stops you. No one even seems to notice.

He stops in front of a door that’s unmarked, tucked between two filing cabinets. You barely catch a glimpse of fluorescent-lit shelves inside before he opens it and nudges you through. Storage room. The door clicks shut behind you. And his arm doesn’t let go of yours.

“Sunshine,” he says, voice unsure, “what are you doing here?” You scoffed. Sunshine. How can he still call you that? Like nothing changed. You want to ask him that, ask him where has he been the past 19 months? Where did he go? Did he not trust you enough to share his burden? There’s a million and one questions that you want to ask him. But a more important issue lies.

“You need to tell me right now that the man in the news wasn’t you.” You pull your hand away from his. He sighs. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just stares at the floor. “I…” His voice catches, then falters. 

“Please,” you whisper, voice breaking. “Please tell me that you aren’t putting yourself in danger like that.” You reach out, grabbing his hands, desperate for him to understand. “Please.” You’re not sure what you’re begging for anymore. It’s obvious that it’s him from the start. 

He pulls his hands gently from yours but stays close, his eyes steady on yours. “I know you’re scared,” he says, voice low but firm. “But I’m stronger than you think. Stronger than those things out there.” He pauses, his thumb reaching up to wipe a tear you didn’t know was there. His voice softens, but the strength behind it doesn’t waver, “You don’t have to worry about me.” You blink, trying to hold back the flood, but it’s no use. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you just stand there, caught between a kind of relief and disbelief. You wonder: Is he fucking dense? Or just immensely stupid? How can he even say that? How on Gods’ green earth does he expect you not to worry???

At the sight of your seemingly unstoppable tears, his expression shifts. Subtle, but immediate. His shoulders go tense, his mouth parts like he’s going to respond, but nothing comes out.

“Wait—no, why are you—” he stammers, eyes darting between yours, searching, scrambling. “Did I say something wrong? Please don’t cry.” His hands lift, like he wants to touch you again but suddenly doesn’t know how.

“I just—I'm trying to tell you that I can handle it. That I’m okay. Please believe me.” You shake your head, tears hot now. You’re not even sure if you’re angry or terrified, probably both. Your hands are trembling before you even realize you’re reaching for him. And then you’re there, stepping into him, closing that last bit of space, pressing your face into his chest. His shirt’s soft but still smells faintly like smoke and city air and him. You clutch it in your fists like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He freezes for a second, and then his arms wrap around you. Carefully at first, then tighter. You cry into him, full-body, silent sobs that shake your shoulders. And you both stay like that for a while, until your sobs die down, leaving only the sound of his breathing and the faint hum of the building outside the door.

His hand moves slowly, smoothing over your back in careful circles. You don’t know if it’s to comfort you or calm himself. When he finally pulls back, his hands don’t leave you completely. One stays at your waist, the other hovers just above your arm. “Are you…” he starts, then stops. His brow furrows, and when he tries again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer right away. His eyes flicker nervously, searching yours for any sign. “I didn’t know if I should’ve said something sooner. I didn’t know if you even—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “But I missed you,” he admits, almost like it hurts. “Every day.”

You’re not sure how to answer to that. The way he said it sounded like he meant it. But your mind is too tired to think because of all the crying that you just did. “Sorry,” you sniffled. He looks at you confused. You gesture weakly at the damp patch spreading across his chest, “about your shirt.”

His brows lift slightly, it takes him a second to even register what you mean. Then he glances down, sees the mess you’ve made of it, and looks back up with a barely-there smile, eyes warm and aching. “I don’t care about the shirt,” he says, so quietly it almost doesn’t reach you. “I care about you.” The words land with a softness that makes your chest ache all over again.

He reaches up, not to wipe your tears this time, but just to cradle your cheek in his hand. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he adds, voice soft. “You never have to be sorry with me.” You wipe at your face, palm clumsy and damp. “Yeah, I know,” you mumble, breath hitching a little. “I just…” You trail off. The silence stretches. “I’m hungry,” you say finally. “And I miss you. So much”

Clark blinks at you. You don’t meet his eyes, just stare at the buttons on his shirt. “Can you cook me that beef stew you used to make?” you ask. “The one with the cumin.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath this entire time. “Okay,” his smile is so bright it might actually blind you. “Let’s get out of here.” 

No one notices when you leave. The newsroom is still humming, phones ringing, people darting around, chasing deadlines. Clark, as you realized, is quite good at being invisible, especially given how big he is. 

Outside, the sky has turned dark, and the walk back to (what you guess is) his apartment is quiet, but not uncomfortable. The city moves around you—horns blaring, people chattering, the distant hum of helicopters circling the skyline—but between the two of you, there’s only the occasional brush of his arm against yours.

part 2