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ittybittyfanblog · 6 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 8

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes, again with the slight smut phew, angst on top of more angst, no comfort... yet (or ever? hmm much to ponder about) A/N: Imagine if I leave it here lmao Also, I've been listening to White Ferrari on repeat while editing this chapter. I'm not saying that you should too while you're reading, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Oh, and Angel by Massive Attack. Trust me, it's gonna come up. (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

The cold tiles of the bathroom floor wreak a shiver through your body.

You’re curled up in front of the toilet, barely upright after another round of puking what little bile is left in your stomach. Cold beads of sweat dot your forehead and every breath feels thin, ragged, like you’re trying to gulp air through a pinhole. The chill seeps under your skin, leaving you shuddering involuntarily between dry heaves.

You make the rookie mistake of tilting your head ever-so-slightly to rest against the cool porcelain, and the miniscule action threatens to send the room careening into another violent spin. A wave of nausea hits you and you desperately gnaw on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from gagging.

You feel like absolute shit.

There’s something lodged inside, sinking deep into the pit of your stomach. A poison, a corruption—heavier than the excess of alcohol still clawing its way through your system. It isn’t the simple penance for overindulging, no; it’s darker, rawer, less perfunctory than the remnants of last night’s events.

It churns inside you, leaving an acrid, metallic taste on your tongue and a dull ache behind your eyes.

The buzzing of your phone reverberates beside you, a relentless vibration against your thigh. It hasn’t stopped since the moment you clawed your way out of bed and staggered toward your porcelain waste bucket. You weren’t supposed to bring it along with you—it should’ve been left abandoned outside of this room, far from this bleak sanctuary. This… this disgusting aftermath of your revelry.

Unfortunately, it’s practically an extension of you now. A limb, almost. Or worse, a crutch—something you lean on so habitually, that the mere thought of its absence feels like an amputation.

“S-sorry,” you release a shaky breath, tears pricking your vision, unbidden. Unwelcome. “Sorry.”

Another vibration. You can picture it clearly in your head: the worry marring his face, the exasperation in his eyes.

You retch.

––––

The red takeout box from Panda Express sits in front of you, its contents lukewarm and forgotten for the better part of the hour. You barely remember ordering it—actually, now that you think about it… Did you even order it yourself? Your memory’s a little hazy, just like everything else today. And last night.

Sylus’ voice crackles through your phone, propped precariously against a half-empty mug of tea on the low table.

His presence, as always, manages to fill the room, though this time there’s a palpable tension in the air since you opened the game. His initial greeting had all the warmth of a parent catching their kid sneaking in past curfew. The moment his image blinked into view, you could see the battle in his eyes.

On one end, he simmered with ire, almost ready to boil over. On the other, he looked like he’d gladly claw his way out the screen just to tuck you into bed and personally force-feed you the food you’ve been ignoring for the past forty minutes.

“Eat it,” he grouses, a hint of steel sharpening his deceptively calm tone. The worry beneath it feels like it could strangle you.

(And if it could, it probably would—if he has any say in it.)

You whine, burrowing deeper under the blanket, folding yourself into a sad, uncooperative ball on the couch. “I will. Eventually.”

“Eventually?” he echoes, the incredulity clear in his voice. “Do you plan on eating it soon as it becomes inedible, or is this a test of endurance?”

With a sigh that feels like it’s pulled from the depths of your soul, you poke halfheartedly at the lid. The smell of grease and fried food wafts out, making your stomach churn. Whether it’s from nausea or hunger pangs, you can’t tell.

“It smells like regret,” you mutter, swallowing the lump rising from your esophagus.

Sylus snorts, and you can tell it slipped out before he could stop it. “Considering the state you’re in? Can’t say I’m surprised. But you still need to eat, kitten. You can’t run on stubbornness alone.”

“I’m doing fine so far,” you argue weakly, knowing you’re not convincing anyone. Your body feels like it’s been put through the wringer—limbs heavy, muscles crying in protest, a pounding headache that refuses to let up.

“Fine,” he repeats, dry as ash. “You can barely hold yourself up, but sure, let’s call that fine.”

You finally flip the box open, revealing a mess of something fried and vaguely brown. The smell hits you harder this time, and you salivate something odd. “I don’t think—”

“Eat,” he cuts you off, voice firm, brooking no argument. “You’ve done well with the tea, but now you need something to fill you up.”

“I can think of something else I’d like to fill me up,” you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself.

A beat of silence, and then Sylus’ tone shifts—a touch amused now, but it’s edged with a deliberate weight that makes your skin prickle. Uh-oh.

“Sweetie,” he says slowly, almost indulgent, “if you’ve got the energy to make jokes like that, you’ve got the energy to eat. Be good, and I’ll make sure you’re properly rewarded once you’re feeling better.”

You laugh, breathless, trying to mask your nervousness from the subtle innuendo. Obediently, you pick up the plastic spork beside the carton. “You’re really selling this hard, huh.”

“I’m not here to sell it,” he sighs, voice losing its edge, but there’s still a firmness to it. “I’m here to make sure you don’t pass out. One bite. Start there.”

You spear a piece of shrimp hesitantly. It looks harmless enough, but you lift it like it might bite back.

You take the tiniest nibble.

It’s greasy, salty, and absolutely meh—but it doesn’t immediately trigger your gag reflex, which in itself feels like a small victory.

“There,” he says, his satisfaction palpable. “See? You survived.”

“Barely,” you shoot back half-heartedly, though the corner of your mouth twitches.

“I’ll make sure to congratulate you later for your heroic recovery,” he says wryly. “Now another bite, sweetheart.”

You make a reluctant noise but comply, munching slowly. He hums in approval. When you glance at the screen, his expression has mellowed—the severity giving way to something almost tender.

You look away quickly, swallowing hard; though you're not sure if it’s because of the tiny morsel of food or from the heavier something that's lodged in your throat.

The sound of your chewing is slightly amplified by the silence that comes after. You’re afraid to break it first.

So Sylus does it for you. Once he’s decided you’ve had your fill of the fried rice.

“Would you like to talk about last night?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “What about last night?”

A long pause.

“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. “I’m just saying that if you want to, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You press your lips together, unsure of how to answer. There’s discomfort; the unease brought by your own self-consciousness.

“I—uh—” You start, fumbling for the right words. “I didn’t mean to… make things weird or anything. I don't usually get that wasted,” You sigh, blowing a stray hair out of your face. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“The only thing you did wrong last night was ignore my messages,” Sylus murmurs, his tone a little admonishing. “Making me worry about your well-being.”

You glance up, catching the affection in his eyes. He gives you a slight smile, relieved to finally have your attention fully on him.

You scrunch the blanket in your fist, fiddling with a loose string. You want to say something. Anything. But you can’t seem to summon the courage.

Finally—

“You don’t think…” you hesitate, voice small. “You don’t think it’s– that I’m… too much trouble?”

He tuts softly, the sound playful, with hints of something fond. Comforting, almost. So you hold his gaze, even if it’s a little harder than you’d like it to be.

Sylus looks at you with something so… endearing that it’s almost painful. “You’re perfect. My little troublemaker,” his eyes burn a little brighter. “Mine.”

The words hit you like a wave—soothing, gratifying. Staggering.

Oh, you want to believe him. You want to lose yourself in his words, to give in to the feeling of being cherished, of being seen. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything as much as this.

But turmoil wages a war inside you, and you’re stuck between the pull of letting yourself believe and the sharp reality of your situation.

The futility of it all.

It makes you hurt, deep inside, in a way you don’t know how to fix.

––––

The package you got from the lobby is nondescript. Unassuming. The kind of box that could contain anything from kitchenware to – you don’t know, maybe a desk lamp? You turn it over in your hands, squinting at the lack of clues of its content and its sender.

Did you order something and forgot?

Payroll was over a week ago, and you’re aware of your irresponsible tendency to pile everything that catches your eye onto an online shopping cart just to tempt yourself into buying shit you don’t need, but you’re pretty sure you’d remember spending money on… whatever this is.

It’s not until you’re back in the privacy of your apartment, scissors in hand, that the mystery begins—and promptly ends.

The contents spill out, leaving you to blink owlishly at the mess of shredded wrapping paper and its pièce de résistance: a nine-inch monstrosity of a dildo, hot red in color.

The… thing is practically a weapon, its twisting ridges and intimidating girth looking more like something you’d need a user manual for. Or a fucking exorcist, you distantly think in rising panic.

“Uhh…” The sound tumbles out, an embarrassing mix of confused and gobsmacked. “I don’t remember—?”

Ping!

Your phone chimes before you can finish, and you slowly turn your gaze towards the screen, a sinking feeling beginning to form in your gut.

The message is short. And oh-so-smug.

Ah. Just in time.

The realization dawns on you, and your cheeks burn hot enough to fry an egg. “Sylus!”

What? Even in text, his tone carries that infuriating slyness you can practically hear from a mile away. You’ve earned it.

Your mouth works uselessly for a moment before words could spill out, clumsy and agitated. “Earned what?!”

A little treat for being such an obedient little thing while you were recovering, remember?

“Holy shit,” you wheeze. A half-hysterical giggle bubbles up your throat as you hold the draconic cock far from you as if it’s gonna attack at any second. Fuck, it might. “This is almost as big as my forearm! The hell am I supposed to do with this?”

What do I expect you to do with it? Sylus’s reply comes almost instantly, the weight of his insinuation almost coming across as mocking. I thought that was obvious.

You didn’t think your face could go any redder, and you’re sure you resemble a fucking tomato right at that moment. “Sy-Sy, this is—” You gulp, glancing at the toy with wide eyes. “fucking massive. It–it has… it’s got scales!”

Ah, so you’ve noticed the craftsmanship. Quite exquisite, isn’t it?

“E-Exquisite?” you sputter, voice soaring at a higher octave. “This looks like it came out of Alien or something! I’m pretty sure it’s gonna start moving on its own…”

Only if you press a button.

Your brain short-circuits, and you frantically examine the thing for telltale signs of any hidden mechanization.

There’s a short lull, laden with barely restrained amusement. Then: Relax, sweetheart. It’s not going to bite.

You let out another – nervous – laugh, gingerly setting the large toy down as if it might explode from its sheer audacity. “I hate you.”

No, you don’t, Sylus counters without missing a beat. But I do appreciate how flustered you’re getting. Go on, sweet thing—tell me how it’s too much for you. I could listen to that all night.

You let out a strangled noise, burying your face in your hands. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you.”

Mmh, you know me so well.

You sigh, the gravity of what’s inevitable setting in. It was like fighting a losing battle.

Something the both of you knew right from the start.

(You are my angel)

“I-It hurts to put in,” you whimper, body trembling as sweat clings to your flushed skin. Every muscle feels taut, coiled tight with both anticipation and a flicker of fear. “p-please…”

“We have the rest of the night, little dove. We’ll take it slow,” Sylus whispers, his voice a velvet caress in your ear, warm and grounding. “I’m right here.”

His words melt into you like cloying liquid, wrapping around your resolve like a sensual embrace.

(Come from way above)

“Again.”

“I-I can’t,” you sniffle, the words breaking into short, shaky gasps as your chest heaves. The remnants of your last orgasm still ripple through you, the one he’s ripped from you mercilessly.

“You can, poppet,” he coos, the endearment sliding over you like cool mercury. “Give me one more, yeah? Want to see those pretty eyes rolling for me.”

The thought alone has you shivering, his tone dripping with enough heat to stir something molten from within you.

(To bring me love)

The air hangs unbearably hot, almost suffocating. Every nerve sings, alive with the memory of his ministrations—though he’s never truly touched you, has he?

It doesn’t matter. The line between what’s real and what’s not blurs further with every passing moment.

Your body burns, and yet you crave more, more—the pulsing ache of your stretched walls only feeding the gnawing hunger that builds inside, like an unrestrained beast.

You blink sluggishly; your vision swimming as pleasure courses through you in heavy, dizzying surges.

Has he bewitched you? You’ve become insatiable, ravenous—monstrous in your desire. For him. For the addicting high only he could give, and teasingly dangle just out of reach.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

How…? He’s nothing but a voice, incorporeal, yet he commands you completely. Your hands, your movements, your very breath feels as if it belongs to him. They follow his instructions without hesitation, carving paths of fire and electricity across the bare expanse of your skin.

“More?” Sylus rasps, and the edge in his voice sends a thrill down your spine. There’s something feral in his tone, and it brings you an almost animalistic sense of glee to know that he isn’t unaffected by all of this any less than you are.

“More,” you beg, raw and needy. He groans in response.

��Good, so good for me,” he hisses a litany of praise that sounds so much like a curse. “My good girl. Mine to break, mine to ruin.”

Your back arches as you cry out; muscles locking, mouth falling open in a soundless scream as both agony and ecstasy crash over you like a tidal wave.

(Love you, love you, love you, love you Love you, lo–ve you, love you, love you … Love you, love you—love you, love you…)

––––

"My cousin's getting married tomorrow."

You say it with an air of nonchalance, your voice light, as if you’re just commenting on the weather.

Sylus doesn’t respond right away. His usual quick wit is conspicuously absent, replaced by a silence that stretches long, settling into the room like a beam of sunlight from your window. The continuous whirr of the electric fan and the droning of the news anchor on TV fill the space instead, in place of conversation.

You don’t force it. Instead, you wait patiently until it bends under its own weight and breaks.

After what feels like minutes, his voice cuts through the quiet; neutral and impassive. "Where's it happening?"

"A little chapel in Downtown Orlando, near Lake Lucerne. Nothing fancy. They’re keeping it small."

He nods, his gaze distant. Somewhere you can’t follow. "Just close family?"

"Yeah," you murmur, your fingers absently tugging at the fraying hem of your cardigan. "And a few friends. My mom’s going, along with her new husband. They sent me photos of the setup earlier—it’s pretty."

Sylus hums. “Would you have gone, if it weren’t so far away?”

“Yeah,” you answer automatically. “Yeah, ‘course. But I’m here, and they’re there. So I could only send my regards.”

Maru pads into the room, brushing against your leg before bumping his head insistently against your shin. You scoop him up, ignoring his soft meows of protest, and cradle him in your lap.

“She’s been planning it for months,” you continue, scratching behind soft cat ears. “Way before she got engaged. She’s one of those people who just… knows. Knows what she wants, knows how to get there. All mapped out, down to the finer details.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a faint smile ghosting his lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes. "What a luxury,” he remarks, almost wistfully. "To pave your life so easily, just like that."

There’s something unspoken behind his words, something heavier than a passing comment.

"Do you think about it?" His question startles you—not just its suddenness but the way his gaze locks onto yours, intent and searching, like he’s trying to read the answer in your face before you could even utter a word.

You blink. "... About what?"

"Marriage."

You hesitate. The question feels delicate, like a soap bubble floating in the air, fragile enough to burst at the slightest touch. "Sometimes," you admit. "But not like she does. It's always been more of an abstract idea, I guess."

He doesn’t speak.

"I don’t know," you say softly, “if it’s something I could ever want. Or if it’s even meant for me."

Your voice falters, and the rest is left unsaid, though it lingers in the air, amidst the silence.

I don’t think about it, no. Not if… if it’s not with—

You stop yourself before the thought takes flight, tampering it back down.

Sylus leans back, his gaze flickering away. "It’s a commitment," he says eventually. "One that requires a lot of thought. I understand."

He doesn’t elaborate, and for a moment, you almost consider leaving it there. But something in you—persistent, prying—urges you to press just a little further.

"What about you? Have you thought about it?"

There’s an imperceptible shift in his expression; the faintest furrow between his brows, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Perhaps not in the way you're thinking," he says quietly, almost to himself. "Sometimes I wonder what it means. For someone like me." He hesitates, glancing at you, an uncharacteristic vulnerability in those deep pools of red. “For…”

His words hang unfinished; you feel its hollowness pushing down on you, as though they bore meaning neither of you can bring yourself to name.

You feel it settle in your chest, vacant and aching, like an absence of something. Gone before it even began.

––––

It dawns on you on a regular Saturday evening, as you're (clumsily) peeling potatoes for dinner, and Sylus is dutifully recounting the events of his day to you like your very own talk show host on late night cable.

It creeps up at you—not in an explosive burst of clarity, no. No fanfare, no earth-shattering epiphany. It’s quieter than that, like the tides under the moon, rising unnoticed until you’re already ankle-deep.

Maybe it’s always been there, tucked into the corners of your mind, hidden in the spaces between the teasing banter and the way he watches you when he thinks you’re unaware. A whisper that you refused to acknowledge, too afraid of what it would bring.

You must have known, even then. Right from the start.

From the way it feels when he says your name—softly, reverently, like it’s a privilege to utter it so freely.

From the way you ache when he waits for you to finish a thought, as though every word you speak is something worth treasuring.

And it’s in the way he knows you better than you understand yourself, filling your silences with meaning so you don’t have to.

You love him.

You know how this ends.

––––

Coming down from a mind-numbing high is always an experience, a short state of nirvana; this time no different from the rest.

For a fleeting moment, everything feels infinite—a small eternity suspended in pleasure. Petite mort.

But then reality hits you once again, and the pleasure vanishes like smoke.

It leaves you feeling utterly spent. Empty. The silence crashes back in like a tsunami, heavier than before. The stillness wraps around you like a suffocating shroud.

The sound of your shallow breathing, the oppressive white noise, the distant hum of the city from outside your window… These are your only source of life. There’s no warm touch to ground you. No arms to pull you close. No sweet nothings to piece you back together. Just this. Just you.

You had known. You always knew.

This was it—the price of wanting something you were never meant to have. For surrendering yourself to something that exists only in fragments and pixels, bound by lines of code and a screen you can’t cross. You delude yourself into thinking it’s worth it, that these fleeting moments of bliss outweigh the quiet wake of devastation it leaves behind, every time.

And yet—

A choked sob breaks past your lips, shattering the silence. It tears out of you like something primal, something you can’t control.

Your body folds in on itself, naked and trembling, your arms banding across your stomach like you’re trying to hold something broken together. The sheets beneath you feel clammy, disgusting, but you pull them tighter anyway, desperate for something to hold on to.

It hurts all the same.

“Talk to me,” Sylus whispers urgently. There’s something jagged and desperate about it. “Please. Tell me how to make it better.”

How could you?

What words could bridge this chasm between you? How do you explain a hurt so uniquely yours, so tied to the fragile intricacies of a body he doesn’t have, of feelings that lead to nowhere?

How do you describe the way it breaks you, knowing that he’s oh-so close, yet still—yet always—out of reach?

How do you describe the weight of being too human in moments like this?

You press your forehead to your knees, heart in your throat. You don’t know how to make him understand.

“I can’t,” you whisper into your knees, voice cracking under the weight of what’s left unsaid.

The next morning arrives with the muted glow of daylight filtering through the blinds, but it does nothing to lift the oppressive tension in the room. You don’t mention last night. You don’t even glance at the lit phone screen.

Sylus doesn’t bring it up either—not directly. But you feel him. The weight of his attention clings to the edges of the silence you’ve imposed, like static crackling just beneath the surface.

You keep moving. It doesn’t matter how; you make yourself busy. Work has never been more engrossing as it does at that very moment, and you hurl yourself into the thrilling world of emails, spreadsheets, and Teams meetings like you’re vying for the spot as best employee of the month.

His impatience is impossible to ignore. It presses against you, insistent, like a gasp of breath waiting to be released. But you don’t give him the chance.

At some point, his voice drifts from the speakers, low and clipped, but careful; as if he’s reigning in his emotions, afraid to scare you further away.

“Are you going to talk to me?”

Your fingers hover the keyboard. For a moment, the mouse cursor taunts you, as if it's also impatiently waiting for an answer.

Sylus thinks the silence you leave him suspended in is deliberate, even cruel.

He doesn’t push, not immediately. You hear the faint noise of the game’s background music, the tinkling piano keys, a reminder of his presence.

When he speaks again, his tone is softer, laced with something almost… pleading. The change in his tone doesn’t ease the tension; it makes it worse.

“I can’t help if you shut me out, my heart.”

Still, you offer nothing.

The air feels brittle, stretched too thin, like glass just before it shatters. You can almost hear the first cracks forming, spidering between the two of you.

He doesn’t speak again.

The day drags on in an uneasy rhythm. You move through the hours like a ghost, and Sylus remains silent. But the quietness pulses with disconcertment; a build up without release. The quiet isn’t peaceful. It’s the kind that crackles like a frayed wire. It collides with your refusal to confront it.

And so it goes: you avoid, he waits, and the distance between you grows.

––––

You’re at a crosswalk on the 4-A highway intersection, surrounded by a sea of pedestrians, the incessant hum of the metropolis vibrating beneath your feet as if the very ground you walk on is alive.

The moment your gaze lands on a couple just ahead of you, everything seems to quiet down, like a fuzzy FM radio station on mute. You see them, caught in their own little world, oblivious to the noise and rush of the city.

The woman’s laughter is light—happy. Her hand in his, secure and relaxed. The way she looks at him… it’s familiar, almost. Something you recognize.

The man beside her moves with a subtle grace. His presence is undeniable, but it’s the way he watches her, something soft and devout in his gaze, that draws you in. He’s tall, his sharp features and posture elegant—and somehow, it fits perfectly beside the smaller figure pulling him effortlessly against the throng of people.

Without warning, the unnamed man’s features shift into something more distinct, and the woman turns into the reflection you see every day in the mirror.

It’s not the couple before you that you see anymore—it’s you, against Sylus’ chest, his silvery-white hair stark against the dark fabric of his clothes. You imagine his red eyes, those sharp features, the quiet strength of his presence wrapping around you, like it’s where you belong.

You're lost in the fantasy—the way it could be, if the two of you existed in the same world, side by side. His hand around your waist, the shared intimacy, the profound joy. Just the two of you against all odds.

A smile starts to tug at the corners of your lips, but before it can fully settle, the harsh blare of a car horn shatters the illusion.

The world rushes back around you. A teen bumps into your shoulder, pushing you forward. The vision of them—of him—dissolves, leaving you in the busy street, once again just another face in the crowd.

––––

Everything falls apart one afternoon.

You confront Sylus, words spilling out before you can stop them. You don’t know what drives you—bravery, desperation, or maybe the crushing weight of hopelessness that has finally stripped you of your fear.

“How’s she?”

His brows furrow. “Who?” He looks genuinely thrown, and for a second, you wish you could take the words back.

When you finally say her name, his expression shifts. It’s quick—a flicker of something you couldn’t catch before he schools his features again.

“Why do you ask?” There’s an undercurrent to his voice now, his tone wary, eyes searching yours. “I try to avoid any interactions with her if it’s not needed.”

He pauses; then his gaze softens, though there’s still a guardedness to it. “Are you… worried?”

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself, with him, with all of it. “It’s not—It’s not that.” You don’t know how to put it into words.

How can you explain the knot in your chest? The envy—not for reasons he thinks… or maybe for exactly those reasons. Maybe he knows. Maybe that’s why he’s looking at you like that, imploring and cautious at the same time.

“You have her,” you finally say, and the words fall flat, bitter on your tongue.

Sylus’ eyes flash, sharp and unyielding. “And you and I both know who I’d rather have.”

Now, isn’t that the crux of it all?

Your throat closes up, a hard lump that you can’t swallow down. “I don’t know how you could,” you manage, though it rings hollow in the dead air.

“Don’t.” His voice is harsh now, rougher than you’re used to. Frustration bleeds through his usual composure. “Don’t act like you don’t feel it.”

You bite your lip, your gaze darting away. He calls your name, and there’s something raw in the way he says it, like it costs him something just to say aloud.

You choke out a laugh that sounds more of a sob than anything. “I don’t know where to go from here. It was fun at first, but now… It’s just sad.”

He frowns, and for a moment, there’s a boyishness to the expression, an innocence to his vulnerability. It stirs something deep in your chest.

He opens his mouth, no doubt ready to ask why—why now, why this? Why are you unraveling in front of him, like this?

But you don’t give him the chance.

“I love you, Sylus.” You admit, barely above a whisper. The words fall heavy between you, a confession and a wound all at once.

Sylus stills.

The silence fills the room, but his eyes—those soft crimson—speak volumes. His jaw tightens, hands clench into fists, but there’s no real surprise in his face. He’s always known.

“I know,” he tells you.

There’s something ancient in the timbre of his voice, like it’s been torn from the deepest part of him. And for a moment, neither of you moves.

He feels it—the way you’re slipping through his fingers. Every word you say feels like a step away, less of a standstill, more a surrender, and he… he’s never felt more powerless than he does in this moment.

(And isn’t that just grand? You’ve always had this uncanny ability to make him feel things he’s never felt before. He just wishes it wasn’t like this—wishes it wasn’t slipping into something he can’t hold onto.)

He doesn’t know what to say or do, doesn’t know what could possibly alter the trajectory you’re both hurtling towards. But the thought of losing this, of losing you, is unimaginable.

“I love you,” he says, rough and uneven, like the admission physically hurts. “In ways that terrify me. Do you understand?”

Your eyes widen, and he sees it—the flicker of hope. Fragile and fleeting, but there. Your gazes lock, and the world stops.

For a moment, there’s no sound, no movement—just the two of you standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

“I want—” His voice cracks, infinitesimally, but it echoes in the void between you. “I want to hold you. To wake up next to you. To touch you in all the ways that matter, not just in words and binary. I want to be what you need.”

You know what’s coming.

“But—”

The word lingers.

“But you can’t,” you whisper, finishing what he couldn’t.

Sylus looks at you, his red eyes burning with an intensity that feels heartbreakingly human.

You’ve reached another impasse, and it feels like the final one. The air between you is thick with words unspoken, promises that can’t be made. It’s not anger that lingers, nor is it blame. It’s something quieter. More agonizing.

A resignation.

And yet, even in this fragile moment, a piece of you—of both of you—refuses to let go. To what could be, to what never will.

––––

Your mom’s voice rings bright through Facetime, a faint blur of words as she gives you the rundown of the events from your cousin’s wedding. The dress (An elegant Oscar de la Renta boat neck), the cake (A three-tier red velvet, a little on the sweeter side), and the vows (“Oh, you would’ve cried, honey!”).

You try to listen, but your attention keeps drifting away. She notices, of course.

“You seem more preoccupied lately, dear. Boy troubles?”

It’s a simple question, but it lands differently. Her voice is too light, too casual, like she’s asking if you’re still eating your vegetables.

She doesn’t seem to acknowledge how far the distance has grown between you, how many years have passed where you stopped expecting her to understand. You’ve wanted her to notice, to see the parts of you she never asked about. The changes in you, whether small or monumental. But she never did. And you stopped waiting.

You chuckle tiredly.

“Yeah, mom. Boy troubles.”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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harrywavycurly · 7 months ago

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Worth the Fight: A Harry Styles Series

Summary: A one night stand turns into more than you bargain for when you find yourself pregnant after drunkenly hooking up with Harry Styles after a few too many rounds at a karaoke bar. You don't really know him and he doesn't know a lot about you minus the fact your cat really just doesn't like him, but the one thing you quickly learn is boy can you two argue. This series is all about how you and Harry navigate going from strangers to soon to be parents all while trying not to kill each other in the process and maybe see what these weird feelings that develop along the way are all about.✨

Pairing: Harry Styles x pregnant!reader

Status: Completed ✨

Trope: Enemies to lovers (with a twist because it's like lovers to enemies back to lovers?), slow burn baby so buckle up.

CW: Mentions of a lot pregnancy/baby things, language, Harry's a bit of a dick, possessive behavior, jealous behavior, angst.

Tag List: Open just let me know if you'd like on it.

Story Type: This series is a mixture of texts and one shots, I think it'll be fun to see a a good mix!

Extras: Here

Update Schedule: Once A Week✨

Part 1: Late for What?

Part 2: City of Love

Part 3: Reviews

Part 4: A Little Treat

Part 5: Mr. Popular

Part 6: Places of Peace

Part 7: Swoon Worthy

Part 8: Good Hands

Part 9: Civil extra: Harry’s convo with Niall here

Part 10: Smells Good

Part 11: Bad Energy

Part 12: It’s Just Cake

Part 13: Comes in Waves

Part 14: I’m Just a Librarian

Part 15: Don’t Ruin It

Part 16: Hand Flex

Part 17: If I Was A Worm?

Part 18: Disagreement

Part 19: Welcome Home

Part 20: Not Going Anywhere

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britcision · 6 days ago

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By the way friends, since I am being reminded that summer is here and therefore so is the heat, here are some reminders for you lot too!

1) active cooling, like an AC, does require you to remove heat and vent it somewhere else.

Nothing that does not vent hot air outside is going to provide active cooling, like magically making your whole room immediately colder

Never believe an ad that tells you you can instantly cool your space without a visible heat vent to outside they are lying

2) passive cooling absolutely does not. It’s slower, has a smaller radius, and is in general less effective, but also requires less energy

Things like filling all your sinks/bath tubs with cold water (or ice water for preference) will provide passive cooling

(You may have heard the term “heat sink” if you’re a computer nerd. Basically, same thing - you put the heat in your cold thing, your cold thing heats up, everything else cools down)

Depending on your humidity, you can do a lot of passive cooling with water - there’s a reason it’s our natural default, but it does require humidity less than 80-90%

(Because you need the water to be able to evaporate and leave)

Ice is, of course, king; if you have a freezer, make as much as you can ahead of the heat wave and keep it in water-tight containers for refreezing

If you don’t have a freezer, hotels have ice machines usually right by the elevators. Clearly you have a very good friend you need to drop off a charger for in the nearest inattentive hotel. Bring big pockets. For the charger.

Also, freeze dish cloths or small towels if you can, by lightly dampening and applying ice. This kicks ass for heatstroke on the back of the neck, so do at least 2 to have one refreezing while you use the other

3) if you sweatin’, you need electrolytes. This is why we’re told they’re specifically for work outs, but the truth is they are for sweat, because you lose salt and shit when you sweat

Get that hydralyte, whatever, and if you can’t immediately get your hands on proper official electrolytes, toss a salt packet like they have at fast food restaurants in your water

Normal water ain’t gonna cut it when you’re a sweaty spaghetti you must be seasoned

If you touch your tongue to the salt and it is wicked delicious, you are probably dehydrated. Add an extra salt packet or two

4) defy purity culture and spread your legs

For real

You lose a lot of heat through your grundle, and keeping your legs closed will trap that heat in your body. Open up and feel the cooling

Also applicable for arms etc be a starfish

5) do not fucking use your oven. Don’t.

Big hot appliance makes big hot home. If you can only possibly cook via oven, do it at night when it’s coldest and you can maybe get some cooler air by opening windows

Use the bbq outside, the microwave, the stove top, the air fryer, anything but your goddamn oven, but honestly? Maybe eat cold food. You will be cooled down

Charcuterie boards comeback round 2?

6) basements are OP, and anywhere you can lie on cold cement kicks ass until all your joints get fucked on by the hard cement

Pretty good for keeping water cold though. Stick it on basement floor

7) hydrate or die-drate

Seriously, we talked about electrolytes and shit, but I mean it. Drink more than you usually would, even if that means smuggling extra water bottles to your local drinking fountains and fill em

If your pee is orange you are dehydrated as hell

You can also eat wet bitches like watermelons to rehydrate yourself, slorp up the juice and if anyone complains tell them it is vital for your health

8) shade! Bring your umbrella, bring Big Hat, fuck the sun it is the enemy you wanna have something between yourself and it while you rest

Sunscreen also good but you do not want your head in the sun for long periods because sunstroke is a bitch and will sneak up on your ass

9) furries I am sorry this one is for you you NEED a fan in the fursuit and you NEED to take it off if you get tired or wanna nap

NEVER fall asleep in your fursuit in the summer, ALWAYS be prepared to get outta it in a hurry, and bring triple water or have a planned water stop

Inflatable folks too you are wearing a dinosaur or a pikachu not fur but that is still a goddamn closed environment and will also cook you

Manual fan, electrical fan, water bottles, ice packs are required for safe summer fun and probably also a shirt inside so you can go into ice cream store

10) con goers, save yourselves $15 and go to a dollar store or local equivalent and buy a cheap folding fan before the con

Bring it to dealers or panels or just out for the day you can buy fans at the con usually but they are marked up because they know you need it

#summer #heat #heat tips

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ultimate-blorbo-bracket · 1 year ago

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Round 6 Wave 1

#Ultimate Blorbo Bracket 3 #polls #poll tournament #trigun #vash the stampede #five nights at freddy's #fnaf security breach #daycare attendent

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cassiemaebarnes · 2 months ago

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Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 13

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 6,607

Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI, explicit content

Dinner had come and gone in a blur of laughter, drinks, and more food than anyone really needed. Plates were cleared, the server brought out coffees and dessert menus, and no one seemed in a rush to leave. The group had lingered, sprawled out around the big round table, as they settled into casual conversation.

You were leaned slightly into Bucky, your shoulder against his, both of you sipping from warm mugs while the others chattered around you.

Inevitably, the conversation circled back to the elevator.

“So,” Sam said, leaning forward with a smirk, “we’re just not gonna talk about it anymore? Like it didn’t happen?”

You groaned. “We already talked about it.”

Clint pointed a spoon at you. “We watched it. That’s different.”

Wanda nodded thoughtfully. “It was very…passionate.”

“Explosive,” Nat added with a smug grin.

Peter looked mildly traumatized. “It was so fast. The doors closed and it was like – bam.”

“You didn’t even breathe first,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Just immediate heat.”

Bucky gave an amused sigh beside you. “You act like we staged it.”

“Honestly,” Tony chimed in, “with that kind of timing? I’m not ruling it out.”

Wanda shook her head, but she was smiling too. “We knew something was going on. It was obvious.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Obvious, but still…surprising.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking between the two of you. “You guys were all slow-burn tension, lingering glances, brushing hands – then suddenly we’re watching a rom-com finale in an elevator.”

Nat tilted her head. “So…when did it actually start?”

All eyes turned to you and Bucky.

You exchanged a glance. A silent agreement passed between you.

“Yesterday,” you said casually. “After shopping.”

There was a beat of silence.

“That’s it?” Sam said. “You go shopping and come back soulmates?”

“Must’ve been some really good sales,” Tony muttered.

Clint leaned forward. “Did something happen at Victoria’s Secret?”

You just gave a tight-lipped smile and took another sip of your drink.

Bucky rested his hand on your knee under the table. “Let’s just say things escalated.”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

Wanda laughed softly. “You don’t have to tell us. We already know too much.”

“Way too much,” Steve added with a pointed look at Tony, who was still very proud of himself for digging up the footage.

“Not like that,” you said, waving them off. “We actually almost got kicked out for laughing so hard.”

“You almost got kicked out for laughing,” Bucky said, giving you a look.

“You were the one making me laugh!” you fired back, pointing a finger at him.

“Not my fault I’m funny,” he said, smirking.

“Well if you didn’t get kicked out for laughing, you would’ve gotten kicked out for touching all the thongs,” you said, raising your eyebrows at him.

That got the table’s full attention.

Tony nearly spit out his drink. “I’m sorry – what?”

“Excuse me?” Nat said, eyes already gleaming.

Bucky held up a hand like he was under oath. “Okay, pause. That sounds worse than it was.”

“Oh, I need to hear this,” Sam said, leaning forward with way too much interest.

“I was just–” Bucky started, but you were already cutting in.

“He was grabbing them. Holding them up and inspecting them like he was on a mission.”

“I was making observations,” Bucky said defensively. “They were tiny. It was a scientific evaluation.”

Clint was nearly wheezing. “What kind of science experiment involves fondling lace?”

“I wasn’t fondling! I was–” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, look. I was just picking them up and making comments.”

“Oh, he was,” you said, eyes twinkling. “He picked up this bright pink one and said, ‘This barely counts as fabric.’”

Sam was laughing now. “He’s not wrong.”

“He held up a mesh one and said it looked like a bag of onions from the grocery store,” you added.

That sent Wanda and Nat into giggles, and even Steve had to bite back a smile.

“You’re killing me,” Peter mumbled, red-faced and trying not to picture anything.

“I was just trying to entertain her!” Bucky said, throwing his hands up. “It was a distraction tactic. She was blushing so hard I thought she might pass out.”

“And yet,” you said sweetly, “you still walked me in there. Proud as anything.”

“I carried your bag,” he muttered. “Like a gentleman.”

“You also asked the cashier if they made bulletproof versions.”

That broke the table.

Even Steve lost it, laughing into his glass as Sam wiped tears from his eyes.

“I cannot believe you two are real,” Nat said, shaking her head.

“Oh, they’re real,” Tony said, already reaching for his phone again. “And I’ve got a whole folder to prove it.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Bucky muttered under his breath, “I’m going to rewire the elevator system. Tonight.”

“Why, you planning on doing more in there?” Clint said, raising his eyebrows.

You just shook your head as the rest of the team kept laughing.

The teasing continued for a few more minutes, but eventually, someone changed the subject – probably Steve, out of mercy. You leaned back into Bucky’s side, still red-faced but laughing, your hand brushing against his under the table.

And even if you couldn’t keep the story straight, the secret was long gone.

But somehow, it all felt even better this way.

Eventually, everyone started to get up from their seats, finally filing out of the restaurant. When you got back to the compound, it was almost midnight.

Everyone else scattered, heading back to their rooms, but you stayed in the kitchen, pulling the freezer door open.

“Midnight snack?” Bucky asked, coming up behind you.

“Yep. I deserve it,” you said, grabbing a pint of your favorite ice cream out of the freezer.

Bucky was already opening the silverware drawer, pulling out two spoons. He handed you one as you pulled the lid off.

You dug in first, taking a big bite and sighing as you leaned against the counter.

Buck took a bite next as you just looked at him.

“I thought you only liked old man flavors,” you said, scooping up another bite.

“They’re not old man flavors,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Then why is it only old men who get them?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“Because they’re the only ones smart enough to know that this,” he said, pointing his spoon at the container, “is too sweet.”

“Oh please,” you said, waving him off. “Only an old man would say that.”

He just side-eyed you and smirked. “I guess you’re into old men then.”

“I guess I am,” you said, smiling up at him.

You kept eating in silence for a few minutes, until you finally decided on a plan of action. You didn’t forget about what he did in the elevator earlier, and you needed to get him back double since everyone else saw it now, too.

You took another slow spoonful, casually leaning against the island. “Hey, Buck?”

He glanced over at you, still chewing. “Yeah?”

You grinned – then let your spoon “slip,” just slightly, letting a dollop of ice cream fall right onto your shirt, just over your chest.

You gasped dramatically. “Ugh – dammit.”

Bucky froze, spoon halfway to his mouth.

“I hate when that happens,” you said, voice as innocent as possible, looking down at your shirt like it was just another everyday inconvenience.

He just eyed you with an amused look on his face before reaching over and grabbing a paper towel.

But before he could say anything, you set the pint on the counter, grabbed the hem of your shirt with both hands, and in one fluid motion, pulled it off.

Revealing your new red bra.

You shook your head like it was nothing, plucking the paper towel out of his hand as his eyes swept over you, landing on your chest.

“Ugh, thanks Bucky. Such a mess,” you muttered, patting at your skin.

Bucky had not moved.

Not a blink. Not a breath.

Just wide blue eyes, completely transfixed.

“Bucky?” you asked sweetly, glancing over your shoulder.

Still frozen.

“Hmm?” he finally croaked.

You tossed the paper towel in the trash and casually walked past him toward the doorway, letting your bare shoulders and red straps do all the work.

You paused beside him, your voice low and smooth in his ear. “That was for the elevator.”

Then you disappeared down the hallway, leaving him standing there, spoon still in hand, looking like someone had just hit pause on his entire nervous system.

But you weren’t done yet.

You pulled your shirt back on before stepping in the elevator, not wanting Tony to have any more embarrassing videos.

And as you walked down the hall to your room, you pulled the group chat up on your phone, attached the video of Bucky sleep talking, then pressed send.

You grinned as you stepped into your bedroom.

You pulled your shirt off again, then threw on an oversized t-shirt, making sure you could still see the red bra straps as you made your way back downstairs. As you walked into the elevator again, the group chat was already blowing up.

Natasha: Oh my god😭

Sam: “THE CAT TOOK THE SYRUP” I’M LOSING IT 💀💀💀

Tony: Please tell me this is the start of a documentary. “The Waffle Wars: Barnes’ Untold Story”

Peter: WHY DOES THIS SOUND LIKE A PIXAR MOVIE

I would 100% watch it

Steve: He always did take breakfast seriously.

Clint: “Waffles got legs.” Me too, man. Me too. 🤝

Wanda: Is he okay?? 😭😂

Sam: This man is fighting demons in a diner at 3 am

Tony: “NO BUTTER” – he said that with his chest

You: He’s literally going to kill me when he sees this 😂

Natasha: Worth it. We needed this.

Peter: can we auto-tune it and make a remix???

Tony: Already on it. Dropping the track by midnight. Featuring DJ Syrupcat.

Steve: Please don’t encourage him.

Sam: Too late. It’s gonna be my ringtone

Bucky: …I hate all of you

Tony: 🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞

Sam: 🐱🥄

Peter: 🧇🦵

You: I’m sleeping with one eye open tonight.

Bucky: Good. So am I. Gotta protect my pancakes.

When you walked back into the kitchen, Bucky was leaning up against the counter on his phone as you tried to hold in a laugh.

He looked up right away, giving you a look. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I had to get you back double since you got us exposed.”

“I don’t remember you exactly pushing me off in the elevator,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. “In fact, I remember you wrapping your legs around me.”

“Because you picked me up and pinned me against the wall!” you yelled, trying not to laugh.

“And you know you liked it,” he fired back, smirking.

You paused, then just sighed and rolled your eyes, knowing you couldn’t argue.

Because you did like it.

You leaned back against the island, and before you could reach for the ice cream again, Bucky took a step toward you, looking down at you with a smirk. He stopped right in front of you, then reached out and placed his hands on your hips.

“So you do like when I pick you up, huh doll?” he said, picking you up effortlessly and setting you on the counter.

Your heart started beating like crazy, but you didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of making you flustered again. So you just raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think you’re the one who likes picking me up.”

He just kept his eyes on you, trying to make you break. But you just held his eye contact for a little longer, before turning to grab the pint of ice cream and your spoon.

You started swinging your legs back and forth, with them brushing against Bucky’s legs, like sitting on the counter like this was completely normal. You scooped up a big spoonful of ice cream, eating it before you dipped it back in and held up a spoonful to Bucky’s mouth.

“Want some?” you said with your mouth full.

He just huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“I hate you, actually.”

“Really?” you said, tapping your chin while your legs were still swinging. “Because I vividly remember you telling me you liked me just this morning.”

He just chuckled and shook his head again. “Just eat your ice cream.”

He took a step back so he wasn’t so close, but he still kept a hand on your hip as you continued eating.

A few minutes later you sighed and set the container down next to you. “I’m full.”

Without saying a word, Bucky just stepped away and put the lid back on the ice cream before slipping it back in the freezer. He took both of your spoons and rinsed them in the sink as you leaned back on your hands, watching him.

Then, he walked back over to you, grabbing your waist and lifting you up off the counter, setting you back on your feet on the ground.

You raised an eyebrow. “You seriously think I can’t jump down from the counter.”

“No. I think you wanted me to pick you up again,” he responded, smirking.

You just rolled your eyes again and smacked him lightly on the arm as you started walking away, him following right behind you.

“Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of these jeans,” you said, pulling at the waistband. “I should’ve changed when I went up the first time.”

“Are you gonna come back to my room after?” Bucky asked, looking down at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What, you think you’re gonna get some?” you asked, laughing.

“No,” he said, softly, looking a little embarrassed. “I just sleep better when you’re there.”

You could’ve melted right there.

But you just smiled at him, feeling bad for joking with him now. “Of course I will.”

He smiled at you, then you looped your arm through his, leaning your head on his shoulder as you continued down the hallway toward the elevator.

When you got in, Bucky pressed 8, saying he would just go up to your room with you.

You walked into your room and went straight to your dresser as Bucky plopped down on the edge of your bed.

You pulled open your drawer and immediately peeled off your jeans, stepping out of them. You grabbed a pair of sleep shorts and pulled them on, then bent down and picked up your jeans.

You took a step toward your laundry basket, then froze, not even realizing what you did until now.

You slowly turned toward Bucky, jeans still in hand.

He looked a little shocked when you made eye contact with him, but not as bad as you thought he was gonna be.

“Sorry,” you said, cringing. “I promise I didn’t mean to do that. I already got back at you enough,” you said, laughing.

He just shook his head and looked down, chuckling. “You’re gonna kill me doll.”

You threw your jeans in the basket before going into the bathroom and getting ready for bed. You also took your bra off, knowing you definitely couldn’t do that in front of Bucky.

When you came back out of the bathroom, Bucky was standing near your door, waiting for you. You padded over and gave him a little smirk as he fell into step beside you, both of you walking quietly to his room.

Once inside, you headed straight for his bed, climbing in and laying back against the pillows. You pulled the blanket up over you, watching him from across the room without bothering to hide it.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just started getting changed – right in front of you. He reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up over his head, his muscles flexing with the motion, the ridges of his abs visible in the soft lighting as he tossed the shirt aside.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your face neutral, but your heart rate definitely didn’t get the memo.

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and slowly pushed them down, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. He stood there for a moment before turning toward you, clearly aware of the way your eyes followed him, the smallest smirk tugging at his lips.

“See something you like?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

You rolled your eyes, even as your face heated up. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, clearly not buying it, then turned to grab a pair of sweatpants, tugging them on at a leisurely pace before pulling a t-shirt over his head. You just kept watching, not even trying to be subtle anymore.

When he disappeared into the bathroom, you let out a slow breath and blinked up at the ceiling.

A few minutes later, the bathroom light flicked off and the door opened again. You watched as he crossed the room and climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as he slid closer and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in against his chest.

“Comfortable?” he murmured against your ear.

You smiled softly. “Very.”

There was a pause, then he added, “You know you drive me crazy, right?”

Your smile grew. “I know.”

His hand lightly traced patterns against your side through your shirt, and you shifted to look up at him.

He was already looking down at you, a mix of softness and hunger in his eyes.

You pushed yourself up slowly, giving him a little smirk before kissing him.

His hands immediately went up into your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your hand cupped the side of his face, before you slowly lowered it and roamed over his chest and abs.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavily as you sat up. Bucky lifted his head immediately, looking at you like a sad puppy, causing you to smirk at him even more. He pushed himself up and shifted back, so he was leaning against the headboard.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, you swung your leg over him, straddling him. He froze, then slowly smiled, leaning back in to kiss you before his hands grabbed your hips.

You slung your arms around his neck, one hand going up into his hair as your other stayed on his back, feeling his tight muscles through his t-shirt.

He deepened the kiss once again, tongue beginning to part your lips, exploring your mouth.

Slowly, you started to rock back and forth on his lap, pulling a low groan out of him. He gripped your hips harder now, not stopping you, but making sure you keep a slow, steady rhythm.

You slid your hands down his chest again, then around his waist, pulling him flush against your chest. Bucky’s hands slowly slid up, underneath the hem of your shirt, resting on your waist.

You stopped moving as you grabbed the bottom of Bucky’s shirt, pulling away from him as you pulled it over his head. He gave you a smug smirk as your eyes roamed over his chest and arms before you leaned in to kiss him again.

Bucky’s hands slowly started moving higher, the difference between the warm flesh and cool vibranium sending shivers throughout your body. He noticed, smiling against your lips before moving his hands to your back, pushing you further into his chest.

You could feel him getting hard beneath you now, the growing pressure unmistakable as your bodies pressed together. It only made your breath hitch, your hips stuttering slightly in response.

Bucky let out a low groan against your mouth, his lips moving with yours before he started trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You tilted your head for him instinctively, eyes fluttering shut as he nipped lightly at your pulse point, then soothed it with his tongue.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and raspy.

You let out a soft sigh as he kept going – down to your collarbones, taking his time, tasting every inch of exposed skin. His hands roamed your back and sides, fingers gripping like he didn’t want to let go.

When he reached the neckline of your shirt, he paused. One hand slipped down to the hem, fingers curling under it, lifting just slightly.

His other hand pressed gently to the center of your back, holding you against him as he looked up at you. His eyes were dark, but still so tender.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, breathless but careful. “Can I take this off?”

Your heart clenched at the way he asked – checking in, even now, with so much care in his voice.

You nodded, whispering, “Yeah. It’s okay.”

He didn’t move for a second, just stared up at you like he was trying to memorize the moment. Then he slowly tugged the shirt up, lifting it over your head and tossing it gently to the side.

When his eyes met your chest and he realized you weren’t wearing a bra, he froze again.

His breath caught in his throat, and his hands moved instinctively to your waist, holding you in place as his gaze slowly traveled over your bare skin.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your cheeks flushed, but the way he looked at you – like he couldn’t believe you were real – made you feel like you were glowing.

You leaned in and kissed him again, this time slower, more deliberate. Bucky let his hands wander up your back and over your sides, memorizing every curve like it was sacred.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently as you kissed him, but then Bucky suddenly shifted.

In one smooth, effortless motion, he flipped you – rolling you onto your back and pressing himself over you in one fluid move. You let out a soft gasp of surprise, heart pounding as you looked up at him.

He was smirking again, that same cocky expression that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Show-off,” you breathed, your voice slightly shaky from the rush of movement.

“You love it,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours before he kissed you again – slower this time, but deeper. His body settled between your legs, weight supported by his elbows as he moved against you.

Then he broke the kiss, lips trailing down your jaw and neck once more, making you shiver as he lingered there. His tongue flicked out over your skin before his lips followed, warm and soft and relentless.

He kissed down to your collarbone, then lower.

Your breath hitched.

His mouth found the curve of your breast, and he paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours one more time. Just making sure.

You gave the faintest nod, already dizzy with anticipation.

That was all he needed.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking gently, his tongue swirling in slow circles before he moved to the other, giving each the same reverent attention. His metal hand held your waist, grounding you, while his other slid up your side to cup your breast, thumb brushing lightly as his mouth kept working.

You arched into him, moaning softly, fingers gripping his shoulder. His hips rocked forward, slow and deliberate, pressing himself against you.

Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel the heat between you – the pressure building, the tension thrumming just under your skin.

“Bucky…” you whispered, voice barely there.

He didn’t rush.

He stayed there for a while, still worshipping your chest with soft, open-mouthed kisses, dragging his tongue slowly over your skin and letting his teeth graze lightly before soothing the spot with a kiss. You were a mess beneath him – breath shaky, fingers tangled in the sheets, body aching for more.

But he took his time. Like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

When he finally started to move lower, his kisses trailed down your stomach, slow and deliberate. He paused at your belly button, giving you a little smirk before kissing just below it.

Then, just as you were starting to squirm from the anticipation, he pressed one last kiss to your lower stomach and started making his way back up. He kissed between your ribs, up your sternum, then back to your lips, where he kissed you deeply – tongue sliding against yours, one hand cradling the back of your head.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed against your cheek as he whispered, “Can I take these off, sweetheart?” His fingers were already hooked lightly in the waistband of your sleep shorts, waiting for your okay.

You nodded, voice caught in your throat, but that wasn’t enough for him. His eyes locked with yours again, more serious this time. “Say it, baby.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

He sat back a little, pulling your shorts down slowly – like he wanted to savor it – and dropped them off the side of the bed. You were left in just your underwear now, your chest rising and falling fast.

Bucky’s eyes drank you in for a second before he lowered himself again, trailing kisses over your hipbone, then down your inner thigh. His vibranium hand held your knee gently, keeping your leg steady as he pressed kisses there too.

You gasped softly when his thumb rubbed lightly over the damp spot at the center of your underwear. He groaned, low and rough in his throat.

“Fuck, baby…” he said, voice low. “You’re soaked.”

You turned your head to the side, heat blooming across your cheeks.

He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear now. “That all for me?” he asked, voice rough and teasing. His thumb rubbed slow circles over the wet fabric, applying just the slightest pressure.

You whimpered, biting your lip. “Yes.”

He kissed your cheek. “Good,” he said, voice barely a growl. “Because I’m not stopping ‘til I’ve got you falling apart for me.”

Bucky pressed one last kiss just above the edge of your underwear, then looked up at you, eyes dark but still so full of care.

“Can I take these off too, baby?” he asked softly, his fingers already toying with the sides, but not moving further until you answered.

You nodded quickly, breath catching. “Yes. Please.”

He didn’t waste another second.

With slow, steady hands, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged them down your legs, eyes never leaving your face. Once they were off and tossed aside, he leaned back in, one hand resting on your thigh as he trailed kisses up the inside again – this time much closer, much more deliberate.

You felt his breath first – warm and slow against your already-sensitive skin. Then his lips. Gentle at first, like he was easing you into it. But when you gasped and your hips twitched, his hands held you down more firmly.

He looked up for a second, smirking. “That’s it, doll…just let me take care of you.”

And then he really started.

His tongue moved in slow, expert strokes, switching between teasing licks and deep, purposeful movements that had you gasping for air. Your fingers dove into his hair without even thinking, tugging hard as you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew.

“Bucky – oh my god–”

That only spurred him on. He groaned low against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. He gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you spread for him as he focused entirely on you – like this was all he wanted, all he needed.

And you couldn’t stop saying his name.

Over and over, breathless and shaky, like a prayer.

Your hips started to roll against his mouth on instinct, every slow stroke of his tongue drawing you closer and closer to the edge. He kept you there, his hands steady on your thighs, mouth relentless in his focus.

Then – without warning – he shifted slightly, bringing one hand up, and you felt the lightest press of his finger against your entrance.

Your breath hitched. His eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Okay?” he asked, voice low and hoarse against your skin.

You nodded quickly. “Yes – yes, please.”

With that, he slowly eased one finger inside you, keeping the pressure firm but gentle, still moving his tongue in perfect rhythm.

You arched beneath him, the new sensation overwhelming in the best way. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your thighs trembling around his shoulders as you gasped.

“Bucky – fuck–”

He groaned again, loving the way you said his name, the way your body reacted to him. He added a little curl of his finger as he moved it in and out of you, syncing the pace with his mouth until your whole body was practically humming with tension.

“That’s it,” he murmured between kisses. “You sound so good, baby. You taste even better.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as you clung to the edge, your whole body coiling tight like a spring. His finger moved deeper, firmer, mouth never stopping – his tongue, his lips, his voice all combining into something that pushed you higher and higher.

You were so close now it was unbearable.

“Bucky – I’m–” you gasped, barely able to form words.

He just hummed in response, his free hand sliding up to hold your waist gently, grounding you while you started to come undone.

Your words fell apart as your body seized with pleasure, a high gasp escaping your lips as your back arched and your thighs clamped around him. He didn’t stop – his finger kept moving in that perfect rhythm, his mouth softening just slightly but staying with you through every wave, every tremble, every broken moan of his name.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice low and full of awe between kisses to your inner thigh. “That’s my girl.”

You felt like you were floating, your whole body trembling as the rush of your orgasm pulsed through you. Your fingers slackened in his hair but didn’t let go entirely. He slowed his pace gently, easing you down from the high, coaxing you through every last ripple of sensation.

Only when your legs finally stopped shaking did he press one last kiss to the inside of your thigh, then your hip. You let out a soft, breathy sigh as he pulled back, and the bed dipped when he crawled up over you again.

His hand slid up your side, and then you felt the warmth of his mouth on your jaw, your cheek, your lips. He kissed you like he meant it – slow, sweet, and deep.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered between kisses. “So damn beautiful. You should see yourself.”

Your heart clenched at the way he looked at you – like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

You smiled sleepily, still catching your breath. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

He grinned, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah, but I’ve got nothing on you.”

Then he leaned down and kissed you again, his hand gently brushing your hair back as if you were something to be cherished.

Bucky’s mouth moved hungrily against yours, hands caressing your waist as the heat between your bodies grew almost unbearable. He finally sat back slightly, eyes never leaving yours as his hands moved to the waistband of his sweatpants.

With one swift motion, he pulled them down and kicked them off, followed by his boxers. You felt your breath hitch as your eyes instinctively dropped – he was fully hard now, and…big. Like, bigger than you expected. Your heart thudded in your chest.

“Too much?” he asked, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips, but there was sincerity in his voice too – he was asking seriously, giving you an out if you needed it.

You shook your head slowly, smiling. “Not even close.”

That look he gave you – part hunger, part adoration – sent a full-body shiver through you. He leaned back in, kissing you deeply, slowly. His hips shifted slightly, and you felt him brush against your entrance, just enough to make your body tense with anticipation.

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. “You sure, doll?”

You nodded, voice soft but sure. “I want you.”

He smiled and pressed another kiss to your lips, then trailed down again – along your jaw, your throat, the tops of your breasts. He lingered there, worshipping every inch like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His hands held your sides firmly, grounding you, steadying himself.

He pulled away again, reaching over to open his nightstand and pulling out a condom. He ripped it open before rolling it on, then bent back down to kiss you again.

You felt him guide himself gently, the anticipation building with each heartbeat.

And then – he paused, breath mingling with yours, his eyes never leaving yours.

Everything about this moment was electric: the heat, the tension, the closeness. But more than anything, it was the trust, the care, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world.

Bucky hovered over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed softly across your skin as he looked into your eyes, waiting – checking one more time.

You nodded again, barely breathing. “I’m okay,” you whispered.

He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, full of warmth and patience. You could feel the way he held himself back, every movement cautious, like he was determined to do this right. To make you feel safe. Cherished.

As he started to press in, he moved slowly, pausing when he felt you tense just slightly.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You took a shaky breath, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders, grounding yourself in the strength of him, the warmth of his body. He kissed the side of your neck as he pushed in a little further.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re so tight baby.”

When he was finally fully inside, you let out a soft gasp, your body adjusting around him. He stilled, resting his forehead against yours.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice low, barely more than a breath.

You nodded, your voice just as soft. “Yeah.”

He kissed you again slowly and began a gentle rhythm, each movement careful and intentional. His hands cradled your sides, holding you like you might break, even though the way you clung to him said the opposite.

After a few minutes, the tension shifted. Your fingers started tugging a little harder at his hair. Your hips rolled to meet his. Your breath caught differently now – more desperate. Needier.

Bucky felt it too. His pace quickened slightly, his grip tightened, and he groaned softly into your neck.

“You feel incredible, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and rough with restraint. “So perfect for me.”

The tenderness was still there – woven into every kiss, every touch – but now the heat was rising between you fast, spreading like fire under your skin.

“Oh, Bucky…” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulder.

Bucky’s breath started to quicken, leaning his forehead against yours as he started to whimper.

“Fuck, doll,” he groaned, quickening his pace.

He let out one last groan before he came unraveled too with a groan, breathing heavily while you let out a sigh.

His breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling as he hovered just above you, supporting himself with a forearm beside your head. Your hands were gently tangled in his hair, fingertips trailing lightly along his scalp, and Bucky leaned in to rest his forehead against yours.

Neither of you spoke at first. The room was quiet, other than the soft hum of the building and your slow, steady breaths syncing together.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice low and sincere, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You nodded, eyes still half-closed. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Bucky smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, before shifting his weight and lying beside you. He curled his arm around your waist, pulling you close until your head was tucked against his chest. His hand rubbed small circles on your back, soothing and warm.

“I still can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured, lips brushing against your hair.

You laughed softly, the sound muffled against his skin. “I’ve been yours.”

He exhaled, almost like a laugh, and tightened his grip just slightly. “I mean it, doll. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your fingers tracing lazy shapes on his chest. “I think I’m starting to.”

For a moment, you just looked at each other – all the teasing and tension from earlier replaced with something quieter, deeper. His expression was so open, so full of affection, it made your heart ache in the best way.

Then he leaned down and kissed you again – slow, tender, like a promise he was sealing between the two of you.

A few minutes later, you slowly sat up, muscles pleasantly sore and spent. The room was quiet except for the gentle hum of the AC and the sound of Bucky’s breathing beside you – steady, calm, comforting.

“Be right back,” you whispered, brushing your fingers softly over his arm before slipping out of bed.

You padded to the bathroom, still a little wobbly on your feet, and shut the door behind you. You went to the bathroom and splashed some cool water on your face after you washed your hands. You caught your reflection in the mirror and smiled to yourself – flushed cheeks, messed up hair, and a kind of glow you couldn’t quite describe.

When you returned to the bedroom, Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed now, leaning down to pick up his boxers. As he pulled them back on, you grabbed your sleep shorts and put them on, along with his shirt – oversized and soft – before crawling back into bed beside him.

He rolled toward you immediately, gathering you up like a blanket he’d been missing all night.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbled against your hair.

You giggled softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the one radiating heat like a space heater.”

“Mm, shut up and cuddle me,” he said, smirking at you.

You settled in closer, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as your head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers lazily traced up and down your spine, slow and absent-minded.

After a long, peaceful pause, he whispered, “You really stayed.”

You tilted your head just enough to look up at him. “I told you I would.”

“I know, but…” He looked down at you, brushing some hair back from your face. “I still can’t believe I get to fall asleep like this.”

You smiled, heart clenching. “Get used to it.”

He smiled back, soft and sleepy. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice a little raspy. “I think I could.”

With one last kiss to your forehead, you both sank into the mattress again, legs tangled, bodies perfectly aligned. Sleep tugged at your limbs, but it wasn’t the exhaustion of before – it was the kind that only came with feeling safe. Held. Loved.

You drifted off in his arms, the steady beat of his heart the last thing you heard before you fell asleep.

Part 14 | Masterlist

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid @thewriters64 @nelachu2423 @kjah97 @awesompawsum @winchestert101 @buckyb-stan @crazyunsexycool @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @buckybarnesfic @ozwriterchick @multiversefanfics @blavikennbutcher @mysoggywaffle @nameless-ken @starfly-nicole @440mxs-wife @vicmc624 @lostinspace33 @prettylittlepluviophile @softpia @maryevm @glossy01 @ye-olde-trash-panda @bonnyclydecat @iyskgd @ohdrey89 @death-in-love @herejustforbuckybarnes @whitewolfluvr @violetpassionfruit @lcolumbia1988 @silas-aeiou @avengemepercy

#bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #avengers #marvel #grumpy #the new girl #cassiemaebarnes

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pshbites · 11 months ago

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LOVE ON AiR

SYNOPSiS » two podcast groups, both equally popular on the internet, start interacting with one another. however it isnt how fans want it to be.. OR yn sees sunghoon hating on lauryn hill and accidentally starts an entire fanwar with him.

PAiRiNG » sunghoon x fem!reader

FEAUTRiNG » all of enha, giselle of aespa, txt briefly mentioned

GENRE » smau (social media au), fluff, angst, enemies to lovers (barely), chronically online humor, romance, podcast au, influencer au, HEAVILY inspired from suburb talks and under the influence podcasts, SLOWBURNN

WARNiNGS » profanity, suggestive humor, kys/kms jokes, lots of pop culture references (im chronically online im sorry), drinking, drugs, fanwars, yn haters (BOOOOO), stalking (sorta?) manipulation (NOT FROM SUNGHOON OR Y/N) changes every chapter.

STATUS » completed — (08/03/24) to (10/26/24)

PLAYLiST » your eyes only - enha, after midnight - chappell roan, ex factor - lauryn hill, kiss me - dpr live, read your mind - sabrina carpenter, 3005 - childish gambino, poison poison - renee rapp, thirst - dpr live, just a little bit - enha, daisy - wave to earth, nouvelle vague - wave to earth, thinkin about you - frank ocean. (got carried away .. 😁)

AUTHORS NOTE » BIGGG thanks to my bestest friend ever, my fav british person, @lqfiles , ily so so much and thank you so much for helping me with this process. teaching me how to work tumblr like i was a grandma even tho im only 2 years older than u and making this AMAZING cover (isnt she talented), i love u sooo much more than words can describe, you annoying brit (endearing) 🫶

TAGLIST CLOSED!

written chaps in blue

🔴 RECORDING..

teaser (read first for context!!)

profiles i & profiles ii

1) call my phone a vibrator the way it keeps buzzing

2) YAP CENTRAL EP.135: alpha male podcasts?!

3) first hate thread. feeling nervous

4) pussy slay queen!

5) okay alpha

6) ROUND TABLE EP.149: perfect pitch :o

7) 1 down 3 to go

8) what the fuck is a ynhoon

9) YNXOXO VLOG: night out w/ won and riki

10) wet and bothered

11) just a normal tuesday

12) jungwons evil arc

13) YNXOXO VLOG: cafe date with my girls <3

14) the battle of thirst traps

15) twitch streaming era

16) YAP CENTRAL EP.136: did social media ruin relationships?

17) second interaction: kinda scared

18) fuck skater boys

19) park sunghoon v. round table

20) riki emo era: OVER

21) sunghoons side hoes

22) ROUND TABLE EP.150: we traded phones?!

23) bro define: friend

24) spidey sense

25) on my cellular plan i pay for?

26) YNXOXO VLOG: night time routine + surprise!!

27) a face i would kiss

28) collab of the century

29) YAP CENTRAL EP.137: has love lost its meaning?

30) eyes don’t lie

31) operation: ynhoon (postponed)

32) crybaby

33) operation: ynhoon (BACK ON)

34) chat is this a date yes or no?

35) boss baby jay

36) boyfriend

37) soft or hard?

38) what da heck *tyla voice*

39) YNXOXO VLOG: ice skating! | vlog w/ a special guest!!

40) love is on air

UNCUTS

1) operation: get riki ip banned on twt

2) try not to blow up challenge: FAILED

3) JAYS KITCHEN: my friends trying to help me make food blindfolded. (spoiler: it’s a fail)

4) YNXOXO VLOG: my boyfriend does my makeup voiceover !

5) YAP CENTRAL BLOOPERS: riki kat and yn patreon ad

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lovegoodlane · 6 months ago

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Pursuing the Prefect - 6

5.5k words

18+ only

Warnings: sexual content, teasing, oral sex [m & f receiving], fingering, vaginal sex

Summary: Fred has a surprise in store for his favorite prefect (soft Fred, sub Fred?, dom Fred)

A/N: This is the final part. Thanks for being patient, figuring out how to end this was tricky. Be sure to check back for more fics soon, I will be working through my requests. Enjoy! <3

Link to part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

——

The Winter Ball was quickly approaching, and students became more antsy as time went on. It was Tuesday, and the ball was scheduled for Saturday night. Almost no one could pay attention in their their classes this week.

You were in Potions, your favorite class of the day. The table groups were hard at work preparing ingredients to make an invisibility potion. Your job was to chop up the knotgrass, and your other table mates collected the remaining ingredients.

The tedious task of mincing up the knotgrass allowed your mind to wander. The past month with Fred had been quite memorable, and your thoughts were overtaken by images of him.

Fred had caught you on your Wednesday night prefect rounds, pulling you into an abandoned classroom. It took only seconds for his lips to crash into yours as he pushed you against the closed door of the room.

He pulled your robes off of your shoulders, tossing them onto a nearby desk. The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk, and you knew that you were in for it.

Fred took your hand, bringing you to the front of the room by the professor's desk. He kissed you one more time before gripping you by the hips and bending you over the desk.

"Can you see it now, birdie?" he asked, leaning down over you to talk into your ear. "When you're a professor, I can bend you over your desk anytime."

His hand ran up the back of your thigh, causing your whole body to erupt in a shiver. It took only moments for him to undo his belt and pull up your skirt.

Fred was thrusting into you, causing a whimper to fall from your lips. "Shhhh, little bird. Wouldn't want anyone to hear you, huh?" Fred whispered, gripping your waist with his hands.

You bit your lip, trying to keep any sounds from escaping. Fred grabbed at your hair, pulling it as he fucked you over the desk.

You could feel your climax begin to grow, and you pushed your hips back into Fred to meet his pace. A choked groan came from your throat, and Fred reached around to put his hand over your mouth.

"Now what did I say, darling?" he scolded, increasing his pace even more. "Are you really so desperate for all of Hogwarts to hear you scream my name?"

Your hands gripped the edges of the desk, holding on for dear life. Fred could have simply cast a silencing charm, but where was the fun in that?

You were moments your orgasm, pinching your lips together to keep silent. Fred knew exactly what he was doing to you, and it was torturous. You were determined to hold it together until his thumb found your clit, marking your downfall.

"Anyone home?" Cedric asked, waving a hand in front of your face. You jolted out of your thoughts, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming. Your cheeks immediately turned a vibrant shade of red.

Cedric chuckled. "It's alright, no one can focus with the Winter Ball happening this week. Even Cho is distracted," he said, trying to reassure you. "Are you still going with Fred?"

You nodded. You had been looking forward to going to the ball with Fred. Ever since the Hufflepuff party and the initial shock to Hogwarts of your relationship, things had been pretty tame. It wasn't the explosion of gossip like you had been expecting.

Cedric pushed back his stool, getting up to peer over into the cauldron. The water was ready, all you needed was to add in the ingredients correctly.

"I might need to memorize how to make this for when I make Cho angry," Cedric joked, looking over at you.

You chuckled, nodding your head in agreement. You knew her temper all too well. "I'm sure the twins will be picking my brain about the recipe. Godric knows what they would get up to with invisibility potions," you replied, measuring out the knotgrass.

"So do you get to know the plans for the pranks beforehand now that you're with Fred?" Cedric asked, stirring the cauldron.

"Not usually," you answered. "My policy with them is that the less I know about the trouble they get into, the better. I'm not afraid to take away House points when necessary, but I don't want to do it when it's the twins."

"I can't imagine how strange it must be to be a prefect dating the biggest troublemaker at Hogwarts, seems like a conflict of interest," Cedric commented playfully, raising his eyebrows at you. "But it seems like you two get on quite well despite your differences."

You titled your head in consideration. You hadn't thought about the 'conflict of interest' aspect, but who cares? You aren't the only prefect at the school. Someone else can shout at the twins for their misbehaviors.

"Our differences keep things interesting," you said. "If Fred dated someone exactly like him, this school would go up in flames. Someone has to keep him in line."

You and Cedric chuckled, beginning to add ingredients into the cauldron. You felt a flutter of pride in your chest at the fact that Cedric picked up on how well you and Fred worked as a couple. You didn't worry yourself with the approval of others, but it was nice to hear it regardless.

——

You plopped your backpack onto the floor, joining Fred on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. It had become routine for you to visit Fred in the evenings after you finished your homework in the library. He was usually in the common room with his twin playing cards or planning their next prank.

"I heard that you made invisibility potions today," George commented from his place across the room. He was playing cards with Angelina and Lee.

"So what if we did?" you retorted. The advanced Potions class you were in had the opportunity to create more exciting potions that other students weren't allowed to. The invisibility potions were one of the recipes that was not taught to students outside of the class.

"I know a couple of people that could use some of those," Fred chimed in, slinging his arm around your shoulders on the couch.

"Would those people have red hair? Because I've heard that invisibility potions don't work on red heads," you replied, cocking a brow at Fred.

"You might be smart, but you're full of shit," George said, calling your bluff.

You picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at him. He caught it with one hand right before it would have smacked him in the face.

"You seem to forget that Fred and I have quidditch reflexes," George said, eyeing his brother mischievously.

"Now!" Fred shouted, picking up another pillow from the couch. He began smacking you with it, and George got up from playing cards to join him. You laughed as the twins continued to hit you with the pillows, a completely harmless attack.

"Do you feel better now?" you asked between giggles. Being with Fred meant that you also began to spend more time with George. You had grown to adore Fred's twin, and it felt like he was your own brother. No one could make you laugh quite like the twins.

"Only a tad," Fred answered, taking the pillow from George so he could return to his card game. "Want to come up to my room?"

Fred tossed the pillows back onto the couch and offered you his hand. You smirked, taking his hand and standing up onto your feet.

George made kissing noises at the two of you, turning around in his chair and wrapping his arms around himself to simulate a make out. This earned a giggle from you.

"There's something called knocking, you git," Fred said to his brother, trying to hide his smile.

"There's also something called a silencing charm, you freak," George replied, now moaning in an attempt to imitate Fred and you.

Your hand flew up to your mouth to try to stifle your laugh. George had a point. For some reason, Fred didn't like using silencing charms. He would prefer for everyone to hear the sounds that you made.

Fred simply yanked your hand and dragged you up the stairs, huffing at his brother. He opened the door to his dormitory, motioning for you to enter.

You had become a regular visitor to his dorm, and he even let you borrow pajamas when you stayed over. Fred crossed to his dresser, pulling off his uniform and putting on a t shirt and pajama bottoms instead. He tossed a large jumper at you.

"Would you like to stay tonight?" he asked, making his way to sit on his bed.

You held the jumper in your hands, weighing your options. You could either stay the night with Fred and risk being tired tomorrow, or sleep in your own room and miss out on this precious time with Fred. Your busy schedule meant that you didn't have much time alone together.

"I'm not sure yet," you replied honestly, beginning to take off your own uniform to put on the jumper. "You'll have me all weekend, so I should probably focus on studying and finishing assignments before the craziness of the ball."

Fred watched you, passively admiring your curves as you changed in the dim light of his dorm. He had seen you naked quite a few times by this point, but he still found himself star struck whenever you so much as showed an extra inch of skin.

You finished changing, pulling the jumper on over just your knickers. It was long enough that it landed at your mid thigh, and Fred loved how you looked in his clothes. You knew that he was itching to get his hands on you.

"You could take a break from studying for a week," Fred said, settling onto his bed as he watched you. "New potions aren't going to invent themselves overnight. You can pick it up again next week."

You crossed the room to join Fred in his bed. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest as you cuddled up to him. He held you, stroking your back as you took a deep breath.

"I know, I just really want to get into an Upper School. My exams for the Potions programs are in January, there isn't much time left," you said, still squeezing him tight. You had really been feeling the pressure of your upcoming exams, and Fred knew it.

He tangled his fingers through your hair, kissing you on the head as he played with the long strands. Fred always knew how to put you at ease.

"You never talk about your plans after Hogwarts," you stated, moving to prop your chin on his chest so you could look at him.

"That's because I'm not sure that I have any yet," he said, shrugging. His parents had been breathing down his neck about this, so the topic of future plans felt pretty sore.

"They don't have to be perfect plans," you replied, reaching up to run your thumb along his jaw. "If you could do anything in the world, what would it be? No matter how outlandish. I'll tell you my fantasy future."

"You go first," he said, leaning into your touch.

"If I could do anything, I would start a new wizarding school. It would have houses, but it would be nothing like Hogwarts. We would study Potions and Herbology, and instead of playing Quidditch students would compete in Wizard's Chess tournaments. It sounds dorky and there's really no need for another school, but I think it would be fun to create something like that," you said, rambling on. "What about you?"

Fred let out a breath. "George and I want to run our own joke shop. We could sell our creations and show other people how to pull pranks. It would never be successful, but George and I would love doing it."

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, looking into his eyes. "Freddie, that sounds amazing! You and George would be cracking at that, all of the students here would love to buy your joke items," you said excitedly, a smile on your face.

"Really?" Fred asked, his own smile starting to form.

"Really," you replied. "There's no one better than you two to open a shop like that. And you're both great at convincing people to do things, I'm sure those skills would translate well into sales."

"George and I have been dreaming about it for years. It's something that we would never get bored of," Fred said. "I've never told anyone about it before. Except for George, of course."

"I'm happy that you told me," you said, giving him a kiss on the lips. "You know that I believe in you. I would happily be your first customer."

"Just because you're pretty doesn't mean that you'd get a discount," Fred teased, tickling your side.

You grabbed at his hand to stop the tickling, laughing at him. "Oh yeah? I'm sure I could find other ways to get a discount," you teased back, running your other hand up his chest.

"Maybe you should give a demonstration," Fred replied, smirking at you as he grabbed your hips and placed you on top of him.

——

It was finally Friday, and everyone was buzzing about the ball tomorrow night. You had managed to make it through the rest of the week without too many distractions, and you were caught up enough on homework that you could give Fred your undivided attention this weekend.

You were eating dinner with your friends, tucking into your dessert chatting about the ball. Beatrice had been rambling on about her dress even though she had already showed it to you several times.

"It's the perfect shade for my skin tone," Beatrice said. "Oliver won't be able to keep his hands off of me."

"We get it, Bea, we've seen your dress about 100 times," Cho said, taking another bite of her pudding.

"But with my makeup and hair done, it'll look completely different," Bea said, looking for a reason to continue talking about her dress.

You were excited about your own dress. It was a maroon color with a frilly skirt. It was relatively simple, but it still made you feel beautiful. You couldn't wait for Fred to see it.

A paper butterfly floated its way over to your table, landing neatly next to your plate. You and your friends looked at each other in confusion for a moment until you picked it up and unfolded it.

Meet me in my dorm after dinner.

You knew it was from Fred. You looked up, scanning the faces of the other students in the hopes of finding Fred. You were unsuccessful, and instead folded up the note and put it into the pocket of your robes.

"What's that about?" Bea asked, propping her elbows on the table as she looked at you.

"Fred wants me to meet him after dinner," you answered, playing with the crust of the pie that was on your plate.

"He always has to be dramatic about it, doesn't he?" Cho pointed out. "Cedric should take notes, he could learn a thing or two from Fred."

The three of you giggled. Cho rarely said a kind word about Fred, but he was growing on her. He had that effect on people.

——

You made your way up the stairs towards Fred's dormitory. You were nervous for some reason, but you couldn't really understand why. You had been to his room countless times, but he didn't usually invite you over by sending a paper butterfly at dinner. It seemed like he was up to something.

You knocked on the door, fiddling with your fingers that you had clasped in front of you. A few seconds passed until Fred opened the door, a wide grin on his face.

"Close your eyes," he said, putting his hands over your eyes as he pulled you into the room.

"What in Godric's name are you up to now, Freddie?" you asked as he led you through the room.

"You'll find out in a second," he replied, bringing you to the bed. "Sit down."

You obliged, sitting down onto his bed. You heard papers rustling, and you were tempted to open your eyes. But you knew that Fred wanted whatever this was to be a surprise, so you obediently kept them closed.

"You can open them now," Fred said, sitting on the bed next to you.

You opened your eyes, taking in the room before you. Fred had lit numerous candles and spread rose pedals around the room. It was like a scene from a romantic novel. It was cheesy, but you loved it.

You looked around, noticing that Fred had strung something up on the walls. "You should start from this end and work to the right," Fred said, directing you toward the door.

All around the room were sketches of you. The first was a sketch of your frustrated face. Your hair was braided, and you assumed that the sketch was of your confrontation in the courtyard.

The next was you in the Quidditch stands. Then you on your back on Fred's bed, his head between your legs. Your side profile as you looked out from the astronomy tower. Slow dancing to the record player. The first time you had butter beers with him and his friends at the Three Broomsticks.

You couldn't stop the tears that were rolling down your cheeks. Your hand was covering your mouth that was agape in absolute disbelief. Fred had chronicled your relationship in sketches. You had no idea that he was this talented.

The sketches continued in order along the walls of his room, and you didn't turn to him until you had looked at every last one. You finally looked at Fred. A soft smile was on his lips, and his eyes looked like they were shining. He had that look that he gave you once in a while that you were never quite able to place.

Fred closed the space between you, wiping the tears from your cheeks. He took your hands into his.

"Birdie....I don't even know where to start," he let out a chuckle, obviously a bit nervous. "I realized that I never asked you to be my girlfriend. We both kind of just assumed that we were together, but I wanted to be sure."

You giggled at him. He was right. You had never explicitly spoken about being together, it was something that fell into place naturally.

"So I'm finally going to ask. Will you be my girlfriend?" Fred asked.

"Of course I will, Freddie," you said, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. You kissed him on the lips, your cheeks still wet with tears.

"I'm not done yet," Fred said, pulling out of the kiss. He took your hand, walking you back to the bed. He sat down, motioning for you to join him.

"You and I have known each other ever since we got to Hogwarts. I always thought that you were cute, but your nose was so far into your books that I never tried to get to know you," Fred said, still holding your hand. "I have learned so much about you in these past few months. It has made me wonder how I ever was able to live without you before, how I could walk past you in the halls every day and not kiss you. I was missing out on so much, and I had no idea. But now I know you, and I also know that I'm in love with you."

Fred paused to take a breath. Tears continued to roll down your cheeks as you watched him in silence.

"I know that your last experience with love might not have been what you wanted it to be, but this is going to be different. Because I will spend every day making sure that you know that I love you. I will support you and your dreams. If that means you have to spend hours in the library and don't have as much time for me, I still support you. There is no one in the world who is as smart as you, as ambitious as you, as kind-hearted, patient, caring...I could go on for ages," Fred squeezed your hand, looking into your eyes. "I don't know a lot of things, but I do know for sure that I am in love with you. And I need you to know that. You are my weakness, and I think you have learned how to exploit that."

Fred gently poked at your side, trying to get you to laugh. A choked giggle came out of your mouth as you tried to wipe your tears.

"Darling, why are you crying?" Fred asked, his voice gentle. It was like he was afraid you were going to break like a piece of glass.

"This is just....I never expected this," you replied, taking breaths to try to gather yourself. "I don't know how else to respond to a gesture like this."

Fred squeezed your hand again, using his other hand to wipe a tear from your cheek. "Birdie, this is what you deserve."

You breathed out. You had been trying to remind yourself that you deserve good things. That you work hard and deserve success. That you are a good friend and deserve for that to be reciprocated. Fred somehow knew all of your insecurities and exactly how to make them vanish.

"Fred, this is....." you started, left speechless for a moment. "I love you too."

Your hands found his cheeks, taking his face into your hands. You kissed him, a sweet kiss that you hoped conveyed how much you loved him.

"How long have you known?" you asked, pulling back so you could look him in the eye.

"Known what?" he replied, finding your hand again and taking it into his.

"How long have you known that you loved me?" you said, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

Fred looked down for a moment as he considered your question. "The astronomy tower. I think that's when I knew, I just didn't want to admit it yet," he answered.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wow...that was a long time ago," you said.

"Birdie, you are the only person who challenges me. Who always sees the best in me. You believe in me without a question. And you have been that way since the beginning. How could I not fall in love with you?"

You leaned in to kiss him again, this time biting at his bottom lip. Your hands found his hair, and he pulled you onto his lap.

"You are so sentimental and I love you for it," you said, stroking his cheek. He smiled at you, kissing you once more.

His kisses wandered from your mouth to your jaw down to your neck. Your hands were busy in his hair, pulling at it as he nipped at your sensitive skin. You leaned your head back, giving him full access to your neck.

He undid your tie, tossing it to the side before working on the buttons of your shirt.

"Someone seems impatient," you teased, scratching at his scalp with your nails. You were usually the one who pushed things along. Fred was willing to be patient for the sake of your comfort.

"I've been dying to make love to you," he replied between kisses, now biting along your collar bone. He had already finished with the buttons of your shirt, and he waited for you to pull it off your shoulders.

You obliged, discarding your shirt so Fred could continue his trail of kisses. He stood up from the bed, picking you up for a moment before placing you on your back in the center of the bed. You opened your legs, and he slid between them so he could plant another kiss on your mouth.

He made quick work of your skirt, and soon you were left in only your undergarments on his bed.

"What a view," he said, grinning at you as he moved to take off his own shirt and tie.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you teased at him.

"That's what the sketches are for," he said, already taking off his pants.

Fred came forward to kiss your lips again, your legs wrapping around his middle. His hands ghosted along your ribcage, wandering around to your back so he could unclasp your bra.

You slid your bra straps down your arms, dropping it onto the floor next to the bed. Fred left hot kisses from your lips all the way down between your boobs. Your back was already arching off of the mattress, begging for more.

"I want to take my time with you tonight," he said between kisses, sucking a nipple into his mouth. You moaned in reply, hands flying to his hair.

He worked your other nipple with his fingers, eventually moving his mouth to give the other a turn. His searing kisses trailed down your stomach, stopping just above your navel.

Fred's fingers played with the edge of your knickers, tickling along your hip bone. "May I?" he asked, looking up at you from his position between your legs.

"Yes. Please," you answered, your nails scratching along his muscular shoulders.

Fred pulled down your knickers, dropping them onto the floor. He kissed the side of your knee, working his way down your thighs toward your center.

"So gorgeous. Such a perfect girl," he mumbled, leaving love bites on your inner thighs.

His hand hooked behind your knee, pushing it closer to your chest. His mouth migrated from your thighs to your hip bone, leaving kisses along your lower belly.

One hand came down to your center while his other propped him up on the bed. His thumb found your clit, slowly working a circular pattern onto it. He still kissed along your belly, making you writhe with anticipation.

Fred dove one long finger into your opening, making you whimper. He was taking his time just like he said he would, but it was driving you insane.

He was finally gracious enough to move his mouth down to your core, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue. His finger still worked in and out of your opening, causing you to grip at Fred's hair.

He picked up his pace, sucking your clit into his mouth as he added another finger into you. You were moaning his name, pulling at his hair as he pleasured you.

You were so close to your release. Fred knew your body well enough that he could tell that you were close, so he continued exactly as he was. In his mind, you two were just getting started.

You finally reached your high, arching off of the bed as you pulled on a fistful of fiery hair. Fred eased you down, leaving gentle kisses on your thighs before moving to kiss you on the lips.

"I love you," he said, brushing your nose with his as he looked into your eyes.

"I love you too," you replied, still catching your breath after your orgasm. The moment was sweet and endearing, but you wanted more.

You reached for Fred's waistband, raising your eyebrows at him suggestively. "I'm going to be on top this time, pretty boy," you said, a smirk creeping across your mouth.

Fred's face lit up. He had always taken control during sex, but he wasn't upset about this change. You were nervous about being on top; you had never tried it before. But tonight felt like the right time.

You switched positions on the bed, with Fred laying on his back. You straddled him, and Fred sat up and kissed along your collarbone and shoulders.

"I think you were made for me," he said between kisses. His words made a shiver run down your spine.

He was straining against the fabric of his underwear, and you knew exactly how to help him. You pushed his shoulders back, forcing him to lay down onto the bed.

"What do you want, Freddie?" you asked, trying to make your voice sound sweet and innocent.

"Anything," he answered, running his hands along your hips. He wanted to take his time, but he was starting to get desperate.

"Hmmmm...I'll have to decide for you then," you said, tracing your nails down his chest. Your fingers landed at the edge of his boxers, toying with it.

You could feel Fred shiver beneath your touch. A smirk spread across your lips. Having this power over him felt addictive.

You pulled at his boxers, taking them all the way down his legs and tossing them onto the floor. You kissed along his abs while one hand reached down to grip him.

Fred sucked in a breath. He had been anticipating your touch. You continued your kisses down to his hip bones, working him with your hand.

You peered up at him. His mouth was open slightly, and his pupils were dark. You had him right where you wanted him.

"Do you want something?" you asked, blinking at him through your eyelashes.

"I...your mouth," he said, stuttering a bit. He was flustered.

You brought your trail of kisses down further, and you dared to dart out your tongue to tease his tip. He shuddered in response.

You had enough of teasing him. At least for now. You took him into your mouth, still using your hand to work the rest of him that didn't fit. Fred groaned, his hands finding your hair.

"Fuck, birdie. Feels so good," he said, watching you as you worked him deeper into your throat.

You could feel his muscles tensing, but you didn't want him to finish like this. You pulled your mouth off of him, propping yourself up with your hands on his thighs.

"I couldn't let you finish like that, Freddie," you said, your voice soft. "I know what you want. You just need to beg for it."

Fred huffed. "Beg?" he asked in disbelief. This sounded like the kind of thing that he usually did to you.

"It's your turn to be desperate. Or we could stop, that's alright too," you replied, taking your hands off of his thighs. You started as if you were going to get off the bed, but he grabbed your wrist.

"Please," he said, his eyes boring into yours.

"Oh Freddie, you know you can do better than that. So insincere," you teased, running your nails up his thighs.

You moved so you were straddling his middle. You played with his hair, looking down at him. He was stubborn, not wanting to give in to you. But he also wanted you, and that meant that he would have to play along.

"Birdie, please. I need you," he whined, bringing his hands to your hips.

"I know," you replied, grinning at him. His eyes were pleading with you. You had to give in to him.

You pushed your hips back, using your hand to find him. He still held on to your hips as you aligned him with your entrance, slowly working yourself down onto him.

Fred breathed out, gripping onto your hips harder. You supported yourself with your hands on his chest, trying to find a comfortable pace. You had never been on top before, so this was unfamiliar territory.

Fred's hands slid up to your sides. He pulled you forward, kissing your lips. You kissed him back, your hands now propped on either side of his head. You moved your hips up and down, still feeling a bit unsure of what to do.

Fred's lips moved to your ear. "Would you like some help, darling?" he whispered.

"Please," you replied, letting out an embarrassed chuckle.

Fred took back some control, using his own hips to meet yours. You increased your pace, meaning that Fred also increased his.

You pulled yourself back up, putting your hands on his chest once again. He grabbed your hips, moving you up and down to match his rhythm.

"Fuck, Freddie. Just like that," you cried, digging your nails into his chest.

He continued like this, bringing a hand down to your center. His thumb found your clit, working it as you rode him. You let out a whine, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure.

"So good for me, birdie. Such a good girl," he praised. "Are you going to finish for me?"

You moaned as he increased the pace once more. You were close to your finish, but you wanted him to finish too.

"Not until you finish for me," you managed to say between moans. He had you on the brink.

"I'm close, darling. So close," he replied, digging his hand into your hip.

Fred continued, and soon enough you were crying out. "Freddie, so good. Don't stop."

You reached your orgasm, maintaining Fred's brutal pace so he could reach his own. It only took a few more moments.

"Fuck, that's it, birdie," he said as he finished, his hips stuttering into you. You both slowed your hips, and you collapsed onto his chest.

You were both breathing hard and sweaty. You stayed on top of him, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck.

"That was...." Fred started, chuckling. "You never cease to amaze me."

You picked up your head, exhausted from your effort. "I aim to please," you replied, shooting a wink at him.

Fred chuckled again. "You sure do," he said.

#smut #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley smut #fredweasley #harry potter #the weasleys #weasley twins #wizarding world #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #fred and george #weasley twins fanfiction #weasley twins smut

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overworkedblorbobattle · 2 years ago

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Overworked Blorbo Battle Round 1 Poll: 48

#tournament polls #star wars #sw #batman #batman comics #batman series #obi wan #obi wan kenobi #obi wan star wars #star wars obi wan #alfred pennyworth #alfred the butler #alfred batman #batman alfred #round 1 #round 1 wave 6 #tournament poll

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gay-disabled-characters-showdown · 1 year ago

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LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 1, Wave 6, Poll 5

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Yuko ‘Isako’ Amasawa-Dennou Coil

Qualifications:

PTSD

Propaganda:

Isako's backstory was that she was in a car accident that left her in a coma and killed her brother. When she awoke, she was so traumatized that her doctors tried an experimental VR therapy where an AI pretending to be her brother could help her move on. This backfired badly, and when she was brought out of VR, she was convinced that her brother was still alive and trapped and she dedicated herself to freeing him. Isako was rivals with the protagonist of the series, Yuko "Yasako" Okonogi. Yasako wanted to be friends with Isako, but Isako was having none of it. In the end though, they had to work together and seemed to fall for each other. After Isako learned the truth about her past and left, one of Yasako's friends even said what created the VR monster was likely Isako's having a crush on Yasako as a child and not knowing how to deal with that.

Anything Else?:

This propaganda is spoilers for the last ~2 episodes of the anime, since Isako was an antagonist and we didn't find out her deal until the climax

Harrier ‘Harry’ du Bois-Disco Elysium

Qualifications:

Bisexual. Struggles with addiction, post-polio syndrome, multiple kinds of mental illness, and whatever else he's accrued by living in a city with no accessible healthcare.

Propaganda:

You know who he is. Vote for him.

#polls #poll #disabled characters #lgbtq characters #disability #lgbtq #lgbtq dcs round 1 #lgbtq dcs wave 6 #yuko amasawa #dennou coil #spoilers #dennou coil spoilers #harrier du bois #harry du bois #disco elysium #id in alt text

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hollow-knight-fights · 2 days ago

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Hollow Knight Fight: Wave 6, Round 1

Submit your propaganda here or in the tags/comments/reblogs!

Like what I’m doing? Comm me or give me a Kofi!

#hollow knight #hollow knight poll #hollow knight game #tumblr poll #tumblr polls #tumblr competition #hollow knight fight #hkf #round 6 #wave 1 #hollow knight bosses #hollow knight areas #hornet #hornet protector #the abyss

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lynxgriffin · 1 year ago

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Eldritchrune - Dreemurr of Jokes

1 | 2 | 3

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Toriel stops by Sans' shop for some goods, and for some more cheery distractions! Unfortunately, all this time later, it's still too difficult to escape reminders of what's been done.

It was fun finally getting to do some stuff with Sans in this universe! The last part for this trio of scenes will be up sometime next week!

Alt text for these pages is under the read more:

Page 1 Panel 1: Interior shot of a small store, with displays of goods, loose plywood, sacks of things. Two circular woven hangings bracket the door through which Toriel enters, a heavyset woman in a polka-dotted dress with a basket over her arm. Sans watches her enter, though we see only the back of his head.

Panel 2: Toriel enters the shop and we see more displays, mostly food. There are large potted trees as well, and the shop’s counter, draped in patterned cloth and decorated with candles. Toriel: “Well, hello again. I was wondering if you had-” Sans, a jovial, bearded man dressed in loose robes and always smiling, waves a hand and cuts her off. “Hold on, you hear that?”

Panel 3: “...Hear what?” Toriel asks, nonplussed. Up close, her face is soft but distressed.

Panel 4: Sans leans over his slightly messy counter, still grinning. “I HERB that you needed some more cinnamon cloves, and look what I have here!” He offers a handful of herbs. Up close, the cuffs on his robe sleeves are patterned with little bones.

Panel 5: “Just what I needed! How did you guess?” Toriel exclaims, reaching out with a real smile to accept the herbs. She and Sans are framed by other mysterious shop wares- jars of things, open sacks, rolled-up mats. Things you might find in an open-air desert market.

Page 2 Panel 1: Sans: “Was just thinking it’d been awhile since I saw you making the neighborhood rounds with some of those pies of yours… Figured you were planning to start this month’s soon!” Sans gestures up at Toriel in explanation.

Panel 2: Toriel smirks, setting down a handful of coins. “And perhaps hoping that I would stop by your place first with them?” Sans: “I pride myself on my forward thinking, y’know.” His grin is conspiratorial as he leans towards her and he taps his temple with one finger.

Panel 3: Toriel, eyes sad despite her smile: “All right. How about this: Tell me a good joke, and you have my word you will have the first and freshest one.”

Panel 4: Sans: “Just a good joke?” He raises an eyebrow.

Panel 5: Toriel clutches her chest- we don’t see her eyes. “I find myself in desperate need of levity these days.”

Panel 6: Sans waves his hand as if to keep her from feeling like she need say more, scratching his chin in thought with the other. “Sure, I got one…”

Page 3 Panel 1: Sans, with the smug grin of someone about to tell a terrible pun: “Why was the empire soldier happy to get demoted to horse groomer?” Toriel, with her hand on her chin in thought: “I do not know, why?”

Panel 2: Sans shrugs widely like the answer is obvious. “Because he finally had STABLE employment!”

Panel 3: Toriel laughs in genuine delight, although maybe a little harder than expected.

Panel 4: Toriel: “Thank you, I needed that.” She smiles a relieved little smile. Sans: “No problem. So hey, aside from the pie… Can I maybe get an invite to those little get-togethers I see some folks around here doing once a month?” He steeples his fingertips together.

Panel 5: San’s dialogue continues: “I’m so curious as to what goes on then!” We only see Toriel, though, shocked and dismayed. She’s thinking of the Ritual gatherings- townspeople gathered in their robes and animal masks- reindeer, fish, but most centrally, the goat masks she and Asgore wear.

Panel 6: Toriel: “Unless you are completely enraptured by tedious talk of planting schedules and building repairs, I believe I can sate your curiosity by saying you would find them quite boring.” She waves a hand in front of her, dismissing the thought- her expression is once again drawn and weary.

Page 4 Panel 1: Toriel turns to leave, waving goodbye. “You should look forward to your well-earned pie more!”

Panel 2: Sans gives her a slightly skeptical look. “Alright.” is all he says.

Panel 3: As she leaves, Toriel looks down and sees for the first time a small statue set by the door, surrounded by candles- it’s not a merchandise display, more like an altar. The statue is a horned figure holding a bowl filled with greenery- an offering of some type. The figure is rounded like a sitting child, and simple, with closed eyes and little other detail.

Panel 4: Toriel’s dialogue over a close up shot of the figure: “What an interesting little figure you have. It does not look like it is for sale, is it?” The little horned one has three toes and four fingers on its stubby little arms and legs, and a detail on its forehead that could be a suggestion of hair, or it could be a symbol. The pillar candles surrounding it have been burned enough to have long wax drips pooled around them.

Panel 5: Sans: “Nah, that’s just a holdover from my home country. Supposed to help keep demons out of your space.” He seems uninterested in this bit of lore, but Toriel, still facing away, is wide-eyed and shaken.

Panel 6: Toriel whirls back to him, sweating. “I-Is that so?”

Panel 7: Sans’s expression intensifies, eyebrows dropping dramatically. “Sure thing. You know what happens when demons get in your grain stores?”

Page 5 Panel 1: “They’re OATsolutely RYE-ined!” Sans holds his hands wide, like he’s waiting for the rimshot effect. It’s almost like his shop counter and back wall are suddenly a stage.

Panel 2: Toriel hides a giggle behind her hand, relieved.

Panel 3: “Is that something you have had to deal with previously?” she asks, stepping a little closer in her interest. Sans makes a slight gesture of dismissal. “Nah, I don’t really go in for that sort of stuff, honestly.”

Panel 4: Sans: “My brother, though… He’s all in on charms and wards and that sort of thing.” He gestures up, as if to point to wherever it is in the town that his brother might be now.

Panel 5: “Keeping customs from your home country, I suppose?” Toriel asks, drawn again into the shop and closer to Sans. “Something like that,” he responds, leaning forward on his counter. On the wall next to him, there’s another woven wall hanging like the ones over the door. Toriel: “Do you have any customs that have a reverse effect?”

Panel 6: Sans looks as skeptical as one can while constantly grinning. “You mean like, if you want demons in your house?”

Page 6 Panel 1: Toriel puts a hand up in denial. “N-No, that would obviously be undesirable! I meant more… just out of curiosity about your home.”

Panel 2: Sans stares up at her, for a beat of silence.

Panel 3: “Maybe? Again, this stuff isn’t my thing.” He leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head, nonchalant as can be. “And anyways, we left our country for a reason. Old customs aren’t relevant in this town, y’know?”

Panel 4: Toriel once again turns to go, with a rueful smile. “Maybe not… but I cannot imagine letting go of your entire history.”

Panel 5: Sans shrugs and looks away. “There’s worse things to let go of, honestly.”

Panel 6: Toriel, gritting her teeth, thinks of a happier time tucking Kris into bed.

Panel 7: Close on Toriel’s expression, now more haggard and pained than it was when she came in. She clutches her chest tight.

#lynx art #eldritchrune #deltarune au #toriel #sans #gosh I'm so nervous about trying to get their dialogue right #accounting for universe differences and all that #but I'm at least happy with Sans' grain stores joke #Sans doesn't know...he just has suspicions!

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mellosdrawings · 5 months ago

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Alrighty, let's tackle the second part of this request!

Here's a tuto on how to draw the nightmare that is Azul's hair!

First, a few observations.

Contrary to other characters like Jamil, Riddle, or Sebek, Azul's hair doesn't immediately tell you everything about his personality. For someone as calculating and (trying to be) mature as Azul, you'd expect his hair to be slick and and each strand to be at it's proper place.

It's the contrary here. Azul has wavy, almost curly hair that is completely all over the place.

It's because that's his own struggle that is shown here. Azul has always fought against himself, being his octopus nature, his weight, or even his hair that won't stick down. That boy is just cursed to forever have something about himself that doesn't fit his aesthetic.

(Personally whenever I look at Azul upside down, I really feel like it'd be the kind of hair for a cool extroverted guy in an Idol gacha game)

Step 1. Hairline

Azul has a simple round hairline so simply draw an arch.

Step 2. Hair root

Azul's hair all comes from a point right above the left side of his left iris, so I would suggest you draw Azul's face (and even glasses) first.

Step 3. Bangs

Azul has two strands that fall between his eyes, just a bit to the right. Start from the root point you placed earlier, and draw two wavy lines intersecting. The first will stop at the upper rim of his glasses, above his right iris area. The second will stop at the lower rim of his glasses, below his right iris area.

All of Azul's hair will be made with soft waves that fork back up, so train yourself to do that move flowingly. You're not done using it.

Step 4. Front hair 1

There are two strands that seem closer to us and frame the other bangs, so let's draw them first. In my example I drew the lower strand a bit too high, it should come right above Azul's right eye. The upper one thought will almost be horizontal. Both of those will reach the area above the right ear.

Once more, waves.

Step 5. Front hair 2

Now the two strands between the last two. They will go further than the ear.

Step 6. Side strand

Azul's tentacle-like strand. It is composed by the only strand of hair that forks towards his face, instead of outward. It goes around the eye and reaches lower than the middle strand.

The second part is the actual tentacle. It hides the ear entirely and reaches down to Azul's chin level.

Still, always a wave that forks outward.

Step 7. Ahoge

Yup. "Mature" and calculating Azul has an ahoge. That might be the only part of his hair that does indeed reflect his personality. Azul can be quite immature and stupid at times. (For those who don't know, "ahoge" literally means "stupid hair" and it's usually used on stupid or immature characters)

Simply make it start at the root point. It's about the size of Azul's hairline to eyes, but globally just make it go up above where the rest of his hair would go.

Step 8. Right side

That is the part that people (even Yana if we trust the notes she made) struggle with. There is a volume here that can't be too fluffy or not big enough. It's actually just the size of half his face. Put your mark and do your best to fill it without going further.

From there, draw about 4 or 5 waves. Connecting each tip should make an arch, with the further point being the strands at Azul's eye level.

Step 9. Behind the ear

The only part of Azul's hair that is well groomed is those few strands of hair, that look like they were pushed behind his ear. This is also the only part (alongside the ahoge) that isn't made using a wave.

Step 10. Left side

And we're back to drawing waves, this time forking left. There is about 3 waves to do. These strands won't be as fluffy as the right side, sticking closer to the skull, but still add some volume. Wavy/curly hair just can't stick to the skull (I'd know it *sigh*)

Step 11. Details

Time to check your proportions, add a few lines within the strands, add more lines at the roots to show that his hair go from here.

Finished!

So. Idol!Azul when? (One day. One day I'll do that Housewarden Idol AU)

(Last note: he does have an undercut. I'll forever go crazy about Azul of all people having a fuckboi (/affectionate) haircut)

(Official pic from the Magical Archives)

#this one got long #but I spent so much time dissecting Azul's chara design #have I told you dissecting and analyzing character designs wa my fav pasttime?#mello's drawings #twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto #my art #ask me anything #analysis #art tips #step by step #tutorial #tuto #drawing tutorial

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slattlicker · 11 days ago

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i just need like a drabble of how schlatt would be with his pregnant wife, like you KNOW that man will bend over backwards for his doll and his baby

ugh. he is perfect.

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * built like a wife, shaped like a mom ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: you’re pregnant. schlatt is insufferable. and obsessed. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: you are so right, angel ♡ we love a good protective husband and father-to-be!!!

warnings: pregnancy fluff, domestic comedy, one (1) feral husband, TOO MUCH FREAKING love and cuteness UGH

enjoy! (👶´ ∀ `👶)

✧✧✧

✧ cravings emergency ✧ approx. 6 weeks along

it’s 10:37 pm on a tuesday when schlatt’s phone buzzes violently against the nightstand. he fumbles for it, eyes still bleary, and squints at the text from you.

YOU: i need pickles and chocolate pudding immediately. or i will cry. this is not a joke.

he stares at it.

then stares at the ceiling.

then texts back:

SCHLATT: doll it is literally 10:37.

YOU: and yet i am literally about to perish.

there’s a 30-second pause before he rolls out of bed like a man going off to war. “alright,” he mutters to himself, pulling on sweats. “if my girl wants pickles and pudding, then pickles and pudding she shall have.”

cut to twenty minutes later: he’s standing in front of your couch, bags in hand, panting like he just finished a triathlon. “you. owe me. gas money. and a kiss.”

you look up at him with the wide, desperate eyes of someone on the brink. “did you get the big pickles?”

he sighs and drops the bag in your lap. “barrel dills. and three kinds of pudding. and a bottle of tums because i’m smart.”

you practically burst into tears. “you’re my hero.”

he flops beside you, grumbling but smug. “damn right.”

you open the pudding first—why? nobody knows—and after a few bites, the silence stretches. he notices you fidgeting, like you’ve got something stuck in your throat.

“…what?” he asks finally.

you look down at your lap. “sooo… i also picked something up today.”

“…another snack?”

you shake your head. from under the blanket, you pull out a little plastic stick in a ziplock bag. two pink lines, clear as day.

schlatt just stares. then back at you. then at the test again.

“…i’m sorry,” he says slowly, blinking. “are you telling me that my food run was actually for two people?!”

you burst out laughing, ugly-snorting halfway through, and he grabs your face like he’s trying to scan it for truth. “you’re serious? like—you’re pregnant pregnant?”

you nod, and he exhales like he’s just been shot right in the heart.

then—

“…does this mean i have to go get more pickles?”

you laugh harder. “probably. these will last me like...6 hours, tops.”

he’s already halfway off the couch again, muttering, “jesus christ, i didn’t know there’d be a third roommate in this relationship.”

but then he pauses, glances back at you, and his voice softens:

“…we’re really having a baby?”

you meet his eyes, all warm and teary and happy. “yeah. we are.”

he grins, wide and boyish. “shit. you’re gonna be such a hot mom.”

you throw a pickle at his face.

✧ nesting chaos ✧ approx. 18 weeks along / mid-second trimester

schlatt wakes up to the sound of metal on metal.

that’s the first sign of trouble.

the second is that your side of the bed is empty, and the third is the faint scent of paint drifting down the hallway.

he blinks blearily at the clock: 7:13 am. on a saturday.

he drags himself out of bed like a corpse and stumbles toward the noise. his voice is gravel. “babe…? why does it smell like… nursery school in here?”

he rounds the corner and immediately stares, slack-jawed, at the scene before him.

you’re standing in the nursery, hair shoved into a messy bun, wearing one of his hoodies over your bump and waving a paint roller like you’re michelangelo. there’s painter’s tape on the walls, drop cloths over the floor, and approximately seven opened sample cans scattered across the dresser.

“oh!” you chirp. “you’re up!”

“…barely.”

“come look!” you wave him over, beaming. “i narrowed it down to three colors—‘hazy moonlight,’ ‘mushroom milk,’ and ‘enchanted forest.’”

he squints at the swatches, half-awake. “those are the same color.”

you spin dramatically toward him. “they are not. one is a neutral sage. one is a dusty sage. and one is a sage with cool undertones, which is crucial for light balance.”

he blinks. “you’ve lost your mind.”

you point the roller at him like a weapon. “and you said you wanted to be involved.”

“i meant, like, holding your hand and rubbing your back while you cried over animal mobiles. not waking up at dawn to paint a room green.”

“well,” you say, stepping back with your hands on your hips, “our baby deserves a room that inspires calm and creativity.”

he sighs and walks over, pressing a kiss to your temple. “you’re out of your damn mind,” he mumbles, “but you’re cute about it.”

then he grabs the nearest roller. “let’s make this kid the most emotionally balanced forest nymph on the block.”

you blink at him, touched.

“…you’re gonna do the high parts, though, right?”

he smirks. “only if i can make the closet into a secret lair.”

“deal.”

✧ sonogram appointment ✧ approx. 25 weeks along / second trimester

“do you think she’ll have my nose or yours?” you mumble, half-drowsy in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the swell of your stomach.

schlatt glances over at you, eyebrows raised. “she’s the size of an eggplant right now. she doesn’t have a nose nose—she’s got like… a snoot.”

“a snoot?”

“yeah. a lil’ critter snoot. like a capybara.”

you stare at him. “please never say that in front of the doctor.”

“i won’t,” he lies.

✧

the room is dim and cool, the gentle sound of the monitor humming beside you. you’re already lying back on the table, gel on your stomach, when the sonographer grins and tilts the screen toward you both.

“alright,” she says brightly. “let’s take a look at your little one.”

schlatt is standing at your side, one big hand cradling your shoulder, the other tangled loosely with yours. and for a minute, the two of you just stare.

there she is.

a real baby. little nose. little fingers. she’s curled up like she’s cozy in there—legs tucked close, one arm floating lazily near her head. her spine arches gently across the screen, bones visible in clean little rows like piano keys.

you can’t breathe for a second.

and when she zooms in on her profile—round head, button nose, blurry little lips—you hear schlatt exhale beside you, shaky and quiet.

“…holy shit.”

you look up at him, and he’s wrecked. glossy eyes. a smile that’s trying not to tremble.

“that’s our kid,” he murmurs. “that’s—she’s real. look at her. she’s in there, like, living.”

“she kicked me awake at four a.m. this morning,” you remind him gently.

“i know, but—” he squeezes your hand, still staring at the screen. “now we get to see the criminal herself.”

the sonographer laughs. “they're measuring strong. heart rate is healthy. do you want to know the sex?”

you glance up at schlatt. he’s already nodding.

“i mean, we’ve been calling her ‘she’ for like a month,” you say.

she grins and types something into the machine—and on the screen, in soft block letters, it appears:

“boy”

you don’t even register your own tears until schlatt’s brushing them away with his thumb, laughing wetly.

“a boy,” he whispers. “oh my god.”

“we're gonna have a little dude?!” you say, voice cracking.

“i’m gonna teach him how to mow the lawn wrong on purpose and eat cereal with chocolate milk,” he replies reverently.

you sniffle. “you’re gonna ruin him.”

he leans down and kisses your forehead. “yeah. it’s gonna be awesome.”

✧ gender reveal ✧ approx. 26–27 weeks

the bets are brutal.

schlatt’s uncle has $50 riding on it being a girl. your mom brought a pink balloon bouquet and already monogrammed a baby blanket with a cursive “sofia.” your best friend has been calling the bump “little miss thing” for two months.

no one suspects a thing.

you and schlatt sit smugly on the picnic bench, watching your backyard fill up with nosy relatives, paper plates, folding chairs, and a gender-reveal cake that’s very intentionally frosted in soft neutral tones.

“do you think it’s mean we lied to everyone?” you murmur, as your cousin sets up her phone to record.

“absolutely not,” schlatt says, not even hesitating. “this is the most fun i’ve had all pregnancy.”

you grin. “and when the inside’s blue?”

“oh, they’re gonna lose it.”

he leans over to whisper in your ear: “i bet your mom faints.”

“schlatt.”

“what? i’m not gonna catch her.”

✧

everyone gathers around the cake table, chattering excitedly. someone yells “team girl!” and half the crowd cheers. you hear the words “she’s totally carrying high!” like it’s gospel.

you and schlatt take the knife together, hands overlapping on the handle.

“alright,” he announces, clearing his throat. “moment of truth. but before we cut, i just wanna say… win or lose, i knew we were having a girl the second she told me she was pregnant.”

you elbow him gently. “shut up and cut it.”

he laughs and sinks the knife into the center, and when you pull away the slice, it’s like time slows.

bright. obvious. inevitable.

blue.

there’s a single beat of silence.

then—

“what?!”

“you said—”

“oh my god it’s a boy?!”

schlatt lets out a victorious bark of laughter. “and i win the pool!”

you turn to your stunned family and give a sheepish shrug. “sorry. we lied.”

“but he’s a very cute little liar,” schlatt adds, holding up the slice like a trophy.

your mom fans herself with a napkin. your uncle groans and hands someone a $20. and your best friend screams, “i bought a pink onesie for nothing?!”

it’s chaos. and hilarious. and just...perfect.

and when schlatt leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, hand resting protectively over your belly, you can already picture the little boy you’re about to meet—tiny, wild, and impossibly loved.

✧ the drive ✧ approx. 39 weeks

it starts at 2:43am.

you wake up feeling… damp. not sweat. not anything normal.

you sit up slowly, hand on your belly, already so over being pregnant. your back hurts, your hips click when you move, and you swear the baby has been doing barrel rolls for three days straight.

then you feel it.

that unmistakable pop and warm rush between your legs.

“…babe?”

a groggy grunt from beside you. schlatt’s got one arm thrown over his eyes, hair messy, breathing deep.

you nudge him. “schlatt.”

he flops his arm off his face. “what, baby? you good?”

you blink at him, wide-eyed. “my water just broke.”

there’s a pause.

a single beat of silence.

then—

“…you’re lying.”

“schlatt!”

“holy shit—okay—okay, okay, okay.” he sits up like a vampire rising from a coffin, grabs his glasses from the nightstand in one smooth motion, and suddenly, calmly mutters, “copy that.”

you stare at him. “what—?”

he’s already out of bed. “bag’s packed. car’s gassed. you showered before bed, right?”

“i—yeah, but—”

“good. pads in the backseat. towel’s on your chair. i preloaded snacks into the hospital bag last night. let me grab the extra charger.”

“…are you reading from a script?”

he’s shuffling around the room, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded but focused like a military general. “been rehearsing this for three weeks, baby. just breathe. you’re doing amazing.”

✧

five minutes later, he’s guiding you gently down the stairs like he’s walking a vip to a black car. you’re waddling a little, breath catching with each cramp, but schlatt is solid beside you—hand on your lower back, towel already on the seat, keys in his free hand.

“seat warmer’s on. i adjusted the recline. buckle up, princess. you just focus on breathing. let me drive.”

“…you’re terrifying right now,” you whisper as he helps you in.

he kisses your forehead. “you’ll love it when they give me a sticker at the check-in desk for 'most supportive dad'. i will be keeping it.”

✧

by the time you pull into the hospital parking lot, contractions biting down harder with each breath, schlatt’s a man on a mission.

he parks like he’s trained for this, grabs the overnight bag, loops your arm around his shoulder, and half-carries you through the sliding doors with the practiced ease of someone who’s read the checklist five times and color-coded it.

a nurse meets you with a wheelchair almost immediately. schlatt helps ease you in, tucking the towel under you like second nature, murmuring, “i got you, i got you,” the whole time. you’re wheeled down the hallway, nurses asking questions, lights flickering above, the sound of your breath and their quiet urgency wrapping around you like static.

and just as the nurse turns down a hallway to check you in—just before you disappear around the corner—he stops walking.

“hey, wait,” he calls gently, stepping close to the chair. “hang on.”

the nurse pauses.

he bends down, brushing a hand along your cheek, like he just needs a second longer to look at you. you blink up at him, breathing through a contraction, trying to smile. he smiles back—but it’s tight, almost wobbly at the edges.

“did i… do everything right?” he asks, voice low now, just for you. “i mean—i know there’s still stuff to do, but… up to this point. did i take care of you okay?”

you can feel it in his voice—not panic, but something tender and bright and scared. like he knows this is the last moment you’ll have like this: just the two of you, before it becomes something bigger. louder. louder than either of you can even imagine.

you squeeze his hand. “schlatt… honey, you’ve been perfect. you're going to be a fucking amazing father to our boy.”

he exhales—deep and soft. his shoulders fall just slightly, like he’s finally allowed himself to feel how heavy all this waiting has been.

“okay,” he whispers. “okay.”

he leans down and kisses your forehead. even when he pulls back, he lingers there for a second longer than necessary. and when he straightens, his hand slides right back into yours.

“i’m right behind you,” he says to the nurse.

✧

the hospital room is quiet now. dim lights. soft breathing. a baby sleeping on your chest, impossibly small, impossibly real.

you’ve been alone with him for a while—just the two of you. letting your body settle. letting your heart catch up.

but now, you need him.

“can you get my husband?” you whisper to the nurse.

and not a full minute later, the door opens gently.

there’s schlatt.

he peeks in with wide eyes, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here yet. he’s got his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his arms, hair a wild mess, and he’s clutching a paper coffee cup he definitely forgot to drink.

but his eyes are on you.

not the baby. not the monitor. just you.

“hey,” he says softly, stepping in.

“hey,” you breathe back.

he comes to the side of the bed, setting the cup down without looking at it, his gaze scanning over your face like he’s trying to memorize every part of you. his hand brushes your hair gently out of your face, and when he sees the tired shimmer in your eyes, something in his chest visibly eases—like just seeing you alive and okay made the world spin again.

“you good?” he asks, his voice low, unsteady. “you—shit, baby, are you good?”

you nod, leaning into his touch. “i’m good. tired. sore. but… i’m okay.”

his eyes go glassy. “you scared the shit outta me,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “i’ve never—i mean. you—”

he cuts himself off, just swallowing hard before leaning in and pressing his forehead gently to yours.

“you were so fuckin’ brave,” he murmurs. “you did everything. you—god, you’re incredible.”

you let out a shaky laugh, your hand finding his. “you were pretty brave yourself.”

he exhales sharply, squeezing your fingers.

it takes a moment for his eyes to finally flick down to the bundled-up baby against your chest. he goes still.

“is he…” schlatt blinks fast, like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming. “is he okay?”

you nod. “he’s perfect.”

and that’s when the awe sets in. that quiet, open-mouthed holy shit look that only schlatt could make both adorable and heartbreaking at once.

“can i…?”

“you can hold him,” you say gently, already shifting the baby toward him. “of course you can.”

his arms slide under with an instinct you didn’t know he had, cradling the newborn like something rare and sacred. and as soon as the baby settles in his arms, all the air leaves his lungs at once.

“hi, buddy,” he whispers, the tiniest smile curling his lips. “i’m your dad.”

your throat tightens.

he looks back at you, eyes swimming. “you did so good,” he says again, voice raw. “i’m so proud of you. i love you so much.”

"i love you. so, so much." you rest your head on his arm as he holds the baby, the three of you close and safe and whole.

and now there’s nothing left but to hold each other—and your son—as the sun rises on the first morning of the rest of your lives.

#looking at schlatt with jambo feeds my maternal instincts #i hope you like ALL the drabbles...that I just put together into a full thing #vuewrites #jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt headcanons #schlatt headcanons #jschlatt imagines #schlatt imagines #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you

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