#something something replacing every part of yourself to try and become someone and/or something else | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peanutalergy · 1 month ago

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pushing it down and praying ୨ৎ s.r. × reader

in which you see your ex fiancée again after months of pretending someone else can replace him

tags: angst, nothing explicit but this is def 18+, fem!reader, ex!spencer, post prison maybe?, no cheating but like lowkey...?, mentions of periods, sad. idk. there's this weird random guy i made up ? idk. pushing it down and praying by lizzy mcalpine

w/c: 2.4k

a/n: I genuinely hate this so much I'm sorry guys idk what to say. this reminds me of that shitty poetry book pls tell me you know what I'm talking about . whatever idc I hate it sorry.

steven. your boyfriend of nine months. his name is steven. he reads occasionally and he's not really the smartest, but the glasses sitting on his nicely sculpted face are enough; his bony hands with slender fingers are enough; the way he has his coffee with too much sugar is enough; his converse are enough; his messy long hair is enough.

the letter s on the necklace that sits on your collarbone stands for steven. he gave it to you as a gift last month. it's enough. he's enough.

sure, he can't tell you where your birthmarks are, his eyes are a little bit lighter, he's put off by your mismatched socks and by the smell of your favorite tea, he hasn't read your favorite books, he doesn't understand your jokes, and he can't quite reach the same spots he could.

but you've always heard you're creative. if you let your mind travel far enough away at the right moments, he's enough.

there's times his understanding (or lack thereof) of you is annoying; when he doesn't know what flowers to get, when he forgets small but fundamental things about you as a person. there's times you're glad he isn't smart enough to realize why you shut your eyes every time. why you stare at the s on your neck whenever you look at the mirror.

he never knows how you like your eggs. he's never seen you blowing out your hair, never watched you enough to learn how to do it, but at least that means he'll never see any of the doubt in your eyes.

you love him. he doesn't work a job that puts either of you at risk and he doesn't get home at three in the morning. he's stable, he's safe. you love him.

it's what you tell your friends. it's what you tell yourself.

someone on the internet says if you repeat something too many times it becomes true. your beliefs shape your reality. so you lie your head on his chest and you believe it. you hold his hands and you believe it. you tell him you love him and you believe it. you tell the mirror you love him and you believe yourself.

you sit at your favorite library when he's out with his friends, reading a book he'd hate while you drink the coffee you're trying to like. the taste is similar to the bitterness you've had in the back of your throat for the past year. you try not to think too much about what happened the first time you were here with a similar book in your hands and an almost identical outfit on your body. the time you bumped into a guy reading war and peace in french.

the time you spilled your tea on his shirt and insisted on paying to get it dry cleaned.

you stare at the paper not reading any of the words as the hand not holding the book fidgets with your necklace. the s is for steven.

you take a deep breath. the air smells the same. you blink, being careful not to keep your eyes shut too long because you'll be back on that day if you do.

the day the library became your favorite.

your therapist says it's not healthy to only think about the good moments. it gives you a distorted view on it all, makes you forget about the bad parts. plus, it's bad to think nicely about your ex when you're with someone else, isn't it?

so, whenever you find yourself thinking too much about the flowers he bought before he got down on one knee, you make sure to remind yourself of the hundredth time he canceled plans last minute, or every night he got home when you were already asleep, or when he would give you those same flowers as an apology for not being there on an important date. but at least he knew your favorite flowers.

with a sigh, you look up from the page to distract you from whatever rabbit hole you burrowed yourself into. the library is warm, a harsh contrast to the wind outside that hurt your nose as you walked here. it's also quite empty, considering the time: there's an old man smelling of mildew nearby, a couple of teenagers holding hands as they buy books for each other, a child trying to read the hungry caterpillar to her mom, and a tall dude who looks way too young for the clothes he's wearing.

you mentally scold yourself for thinking of a joke related to his clothes being borrowed from the first man. he doesn't even look bad, you've just found that recently, your first instinct is to be mean. maybe it's the winter that feels endless, maybe it's two year-long lasting premenstrual syndrome that doesn't seem to have anything to do with your cycle, or maybe it's the fact you still see his face everywhere.

maybe you made fun of him (for a second, to yourself) because he looks a lot like the man you haven't forgotten.

he starts walking in your direction, head low while he looks through the book in his hand. that's funny. he really looks like the man you haven't forgotten. so strange.

he's a few feet away from the table now, probably planning to sit in one near yours. he mutters something to himself; you can't hear it, you're not close enough, but you can see the words in a foreign alphabet on the back of the book he picked up and you can smell his cologne and it brings a weird lump to your throat and oh my god it is him.

no, it's not. you're insane. you want it to be him, so so so badly, so you see him everywhere you go, in everyone. he's probably somewhere in new york right now, chasing a serial killer the way he did in all the stories he told you.

you look back down, trying not to make it show how your heart dropped. it's not him. you had just spent almost a continuous minute staring at a random man and your eyebrows had probably done that weird thing they do when you're about to cry. you force yourself to read the words in the page but the font is so small and it's so hard to read and you can smell it and it is him.

you settle for taking a sip of the coffee you still don't really enjoy. tastes like spen steven. the grip on your necklace involuntarily tightens when you start thinking of him.

the s is for steven.

steven. your boyfriend of nine months.

he likes video games, coffee, the pub near your apartment. his favorite cereal is fruit loops. he doesn't like bananas. he doesn't text you during the work day. he loves chocolate but he's lactose intolerant and he's allergic to pean–

your thought train is cut off by the small sound of your name being called out, the same way one calls out “god?” when they're dying. the familiar voice heard in such a familiar tone made you not want to look up. you stare at the page. his name is steven.

he calls your name again, you can't pretend he's not here anymore. you hold your necklace like one would hold a cross before walking into hell while you slowly look up.

you look at each other for a moment in silence.

“spencer.” you mutter, a slight disbelieving tone in your breathy voice.

“hi.” he says just as quietly as you.

there's another moment during which you just stare at each other's eyes trying to make sure this is real. he gives you a hesitant smile. you squeeze the necklace again. steven.

you tell him to sit down. it's awkward at first, neither of you know what to say. he asks how you're doing, you ask about the book. he's looking at you like he regrets every choice he's ever made. like he knows he's to blame for what happened. you talk about your job, he doesn't even mention his. you talk about the irony of seeing each other after all of it at the same place you first met. you hope he doesn't know that's the reason you're here.

after thirty minutes, when it's almost normal again, you're smiling and laughing as he talks and vice versa. he looks down at your chest. he's not the kind of guy to stare so blatantly. he’s not looking where you, even if for a second, hoped he was. he's staring like a deer in headlights at the shiny letter hanging from your neck.

“his name is steven.” you whisper after a second or two, “stands for steven.”

he looks back up at your face again, chuckling awkwardly and nodding, “yeah. that… yeah, that makes sense.”

when he changes the subject again, a bit more unsure, you repeat it in your head. steven.

he talks about his mom, you talk about yours. a topic related to his coworkers comes up, but he doesn't say too much when he has to mention the fbi. aside from that, he hasn't changed a thing since you last spoke. you wish you had.

when you pick up the paper cup with the bitter black liquid that makes you wince at the taste if you don't put enough sugar in, he stops talking and tilts his head. with furrowed brows, he says, “you don't like coffee.” you shake your head “no” while you swallow it like it's some sort of poison, “why are you drinking it? what happened to the tea?”

“steven doesn't like it.”

“you stopped drinking tea because your boyfriend doesn't like it?”

“mhm.”

you wish you just could talk to him like you did before. have a proper conversation that doesn't turn awkward every couple of sentences. but how are you supposed to talk normally to a man you once went wedding dress shopping for? how do you talk to him about your new boyfriend when you had a venue booked with him?

“you shouldn't have to.”

“i know.” you whisper with a nod.

you bring up the bau. he blows it off. it's like he's trying to make up for every time it got in the way of you two, especially the time it was final. when you argued for the nth time about it. when you made him pick between you and the job, and he took a minute too long to answer; by then, you were already out the door.

you don't talk about it. you don't bring up the cancellation fees you two split, you don't ask about the ring and he doesn't ask about the dress. you're glad he doesn't apologize.

you give him the rest of your coffee, you can't stand it anymore. he likes the amount of sugar. you don't tell him how similar he is to steven.

as soon as silence falls between you for longer than ten seconds, you're staring into his eyes and thinking about giving it all up and running back to him. you can tell he's thinking the same before he even mumbles, “we could work it out, you know.”

it's stupid, you know you would have your face buried in his pillow as soon as he had another case, soaking the fabric with tears that always felt like they had a lower ph level than they actually do, tears that burn your eyes as they leak, and that wouldn't be there when he came back. you know you'd grow to resent it all over again, his job and his love for it, and eventually, him.

before you say no (or yes), the intro to apple bottom jeans starts playing, the muffled sound coming from your phone lost somewhere in your purse. it's the custom ringtone you gave steven's contact. it's the custom ringtone derek gave your contact when he stole spencer's phone a few years ago.

the way he looks at you makes you want to cry. reminds you of when a child sees their best friend playing their favorite game with another kid at recess. you excuse yourself to pick up the phone with shaky hands.

you breathe like it's never enough air, the tiny bathroom you locked yourself into barely has any oxygen left by the time you say “hey, babe” with a cheery voice that doesn't let the tears clumping in your eyes be known.

all you understand from him is “can i go pick you up already?” and all you can answer is a small “yeah” as you stare at the mirror and repeat to yourself you love him and you love being with him and you can't go back to spencer and he's enough. you don't let the tears fall, you can't ruin the makeup you spent so long doing this morning.

if you found out you were in that bathroom for hours, you wouldn't be shocked.

when you go outside again, spencer isn't there anymore. seeing the table you were sitting at empty makes your heart drop somehow even lower. on it, there's only the empty coffee cup, the book you were reading, and a french copy of war and peace with a post-it note on top. if you read it, you'd cry. you pick it up and tuck it into the back of your phone case after putting the books back into their spots.

steven drives you back to your apartment and you eat together the nice dinner he cooked for you. you can't pretend he's spencer when he has his mouth open. so, after you're done eating, you shut him up by kissing him and taking your clothes off. a routine you've had for the past few months. it's almost fever dreamish, how you can close your eyes and spencer is the one on top of you instead and it feels a hundred times better, instantly.

of course, it's not the same. it could never be. spencer knew you so well, in a way no one else ever could. the man has an eidetic memory, for god's sake. he knows everything about you, what and where and when and how he could make you feel like the most important person on earth.

steven isn't the same, but if you close your eyes, he's enough.

does it make you cruel? maybe. does it make you sad? definitely. but it doesn't make you strong enough to go back to the lifestyle spencer’s job gave you. so you hold steven close and you hope he doesn't hear it when you mutter another name under your breath.

“i really enjoyed seeing you again. hope it can be different next time.

you can always call me if you need it. i can try to change if you give me another chance.

you shouldn't stop drinking the tea. :)”

#fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #angst #love u

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magical-reid · 4 months ago

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The Mark of Us

Paring: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 900

Prompt: 20: I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met.”

Summary: In the cold, shadowed Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy confronts his darkest self, tormented by his past and the weight of the Dark Mark. Despite his self-loathing, the reader refuses to abandon him, offering unconditional support, and declaring that even in his worst moments, he is still the most beautiful person they've ever met.

The Room of Requirement had conjured itself into a cold, dimly lit space tonight, its walls echoing the weight of the secrets it had witnessed. The usual warm, inviting glow was gone, replaced by shadows that flickered faintly with the low fire burning in a corner. You stood near the doorway, watching as Draco paced with restless energy, his back hunched under the invisible weight he carried.

He hadn’t said much when he’d dragged you here, his hand gripping yours with enough force to make your fingers ache. His silence, normally icy and calculating, was now fractured and sharp, like he was holding something inside that might rip him apart.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said suddenly, his voice rough and flat, the words slicing through the tense quiet.

“Then why did you bring me?” you asked, your tone steady despite the storm building in your chest.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn to face you. Instead, his head tilted forward, blond hair falling over his eyes. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching as if they couldn’t decide whether to curl into fists or stay open.

“Because I’m selfish,” he said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I wanted—” He cut himself off, shaking his head violently. “Forget it. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Draco.” You stepped closer, heart pounding as you tried to decipher the emotions rolling off him like crashing waves. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he barked, spinning around. The sheer anger and desperation in his eyes made you take a step back. “You don’t understand, alright? You think I’m someone I’m not. You look at me like—like I’m still worth something. But I’m not. I’m nothing. Worse than nothing.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his voice, but even more by the tears that threatened to spill over. “You’re not nothing, Draco. Why would you—”

“Because I’ve done things,” he hissed, his voice breaking, “things that you can’t fix with kind words and blind loyalty.” His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as if he’d run a marathon. “You don’t know what it’s like to—to hate yourself so much that you can’t even look in the mirror. To know every choice you’ve made has only made things worse for the people you care about.”

“Then tell me,” you urged, stepping closer again. “Let me help you—”

“You can’t!” he exploded, yanking up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark was stark against his pale skin, black and malevolent, twisting like a brand that refused to let him go. It seemed alive in the dim light, a cruel reminder of what he’d been forced to become.

Your breath caught, not in fear, but in heartbreak. Draco’s arm fell to his side, his sleeve still bunched around his elbow as he looked away, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

“There,” he said bitterly. “That’s who I am. A coward. A Death Eater. My father’s son.”

He turned his back on you again, his hands trembling. “Do you still think I’m worth saving now? Or do you finally see what everyone else sees?” His voice dropped, hollow and cold. “A monster.”

Your heart shattered at the raw pain in his words. You could see the way his shoulders shook, how he was trying so hard to hold himself together even as he unraveled. The boy who always prided himself on control was breaking right in front of you, and you refused to let him fall apart alone.

You stepped forward, gently placing your hand on his arm. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. Slowly, you turned him to face you. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a kind of despair that made your throat tighten.

“Draco,” you said softly, your voice steady even though your own tears threatened to spill. “I could see the worst parts of you and still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

He froze, his breath hitching. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered, his tone almost pleading, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of your words.

“I do.” You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you even as his eyes darted away, ashamed. “You think this Mark defines you, but it doesn’t. I see you, Draco. Not the choices you regret, not the mistakes you’ve made. You.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the walls he’d built so carefully over the years crumbling with every moment you held his gaze.

“I don’t deserve you,” he croaked, his voice breaking completely.

“Maybe not,” you said, your lips quirking into the smallest, softest smile. “But you have me anyway.”

That was all it took. He let out a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as he reached for you, his arms pulling you close like you were the only solid thing keeping him from drowning. His face buried in your shoulder, and for a long time, the only sound in the room was his quiet, broken cries and the soothing words you whispered in his ear.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, your hand threading gently through his hair. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on you tightened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe it might be true.

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yolli-es · 8 months ago

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I’m so sorry I loved your yandere jinx headcanons I was just wondering if we could get a alphabet yandere jinx since we both love it

Yandere!Jinx alphabet 💥

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, mentions of death, mentions of blood, PROBABLY some points were misunderstood by me due to not knowing the language. LET ME KNOW IF I GOT IT WRONG!

Yandere!Jinx was liked by so many people :D

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Physical contact is number one on her list of "how to show people you're not disgusted by them." She certainly showers you with attention before the relationship begins, but you will notice a dramatic difference once it's official. Jinx tried to keep her boundaries and stay away from you for at least a couple of hours. But why would she do it now? You always hold hands, even when it's awkward and uncomfortable. Even if you're in the middle of a shootout right now, don't worry; she has a gun that she can use with one hand.

Most of the time, Jinx's hands reach out to you unconsciously. She doesn't worry about it much.

Another way Jinx speaks is by suddenly becoming talkative. She is usually not eager to tell anyone anything about herself, even if it's something insignificant like her favorite food or what she did that day. But with you, she can't shut up, she wants to tell you everything, preferably twice. You'll notice that at some point she'll stop talking right in the middle of her story, awkwardly looking down. After the question "What next?" she starts to beam and continue as if nothing happened. She likes it when you really listen.

Over time, Jinx will become greedier about this, and if you tell her "no," she will get angry.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Not really much messy. Jinx definitely won't just watch someone try to beat the crap out of you, but she won't destroy anyone who looks at you the wrong way either. More often than not, it ends with just one shot to the shoulder or knee. That was, is, and always will be the most clear explanation of why you shouldn't be killed.

She won't let them repeat what they started if one warning wasn't enough.

However, sometimes the voices get loud, and in a fit of rage, Jinx can kill a couple of people. Insecurity and doubts overcome her at such moments, and she sees no better way than to simply remove the threat and competition. She won't be sorry, but it certainly won't be part of her plan or desire.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Find yourself a replacement for Jinx, say you're going to leave, and she will kidnap you. She will never let you go so easily; it will not happen. Jinx will console herself with the fact that you are simply naive and stupid, that the other person took advantage of this, and now she is simply saving you from an irreparable mistake. After all, in reality, you do not want to leave her, and no one except her is really interesting to you, isn't it?

But Jinx isn't stupid after all. She knows what she's doing, and you definitely won't be thrilled by that. Jinx will be patient. As much as Jinx can be, of course. Yell at her, call her names, and try to break free; she will endure all this. Until you say that you will leave her forever, like everyone else before you. Her emotional breakdowns won't take long to come. During this, Jinx may scream, get angry, and even swing at you. But she will never hurt you, even if you are a pain in her ass. Even if you try to fight her, she will patiently endure the blows, simply immobilizing you and not causing additional damage.

Jinx didn't want to resort to it, and she's really worried that she's only made things worse.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Jinx will definitely control your every move and will be aware of everything that happens in your life. She sees nothing wrong with forbidding you to walk alone, communicate with certain people, and do dangerous work.

At first you'll even like it, but later you'll understand how suffocating it is. She won't leave you alone even in the shower, won't let you communicate with your childhood friend, and won't let you do your favorite archery. What once seemed like concern to you turned out to be just the whims of her insecurity.

"All this is too dangerous; you know that I want the best for you, trinkly?" Jinx will say for the thousandth time with the most innocent eyes in consolation, knowing full well that your opinion about this is of no interest to her. You know this, but you still fall for it, unable to escape its trap.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Jinx tells you a lot, but not everything. She finds it hard to be vulnerable with you, even though she knows how warmly you embrace her flaws. Whenever she thinks about telling you about her past, Mylo shuts her down. Jinx can't help but think that her past makes her a weak Powder, and you only need a strong Jinx. And she can't be a disappointment for you, that's what Claggor said to her.

Only once will she be able to tell you her real name.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Surprise, adrenaline, pride, affection and a strong desire to suppress it.

She appreciates your fighting spirit, but she can't ignore your attempts at resistance, no matter how much she wants to. After all, it could become a problem in the future, and Jinx genuinely doesn't want to confront you in a serious fight. No matter how strong you are and how seriously you attack Jinx, all your attempts will be a joke in her eyes. You will never compare to her sister in this.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It depends on her mood, the weather, her plans for the day, and the noise level of the voices in her head that day. Jinx is very unpredictable, so one moment she's laughing and counting to ten, and the next she's threatening to amputate your legs. You know these are just threats, so Jinx has to chase you around the building until she catches you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

That moment when you told her you didn't need her and wanted to leave for the first time. That was when she kidnapped you, and you so desperately wanted freedom.

Jinx had definitely gone crazy, and the echoes of your words still tormented you both. Unfortunately, you said it too confidently, viciously, and sensually. Jinx was silent for a couple of seconds, while her breathing stopped, her pupils became wider, and her face turned pale. After realizing how serious this was, Jinx jumped up from her seat and rushed towards you. But not with the purpose of hitting, but only to put your tied hands on her throat. She didn't even cry while she frustratedly told you to kill her since you didn't need her under your hysterical screams and requests to forget about it. She looked so apathetic, broken, and disappointed that you began to hate yourself for it. Why did you say that? Do you hate this fragile girl so much? You couldn't stop thinking about it while you tearfully begged Jinx to stop strangling herself with your hands.

You apologized more than a hundred times that day, and you will never forget this the scene. It is truly traumatic to watch your beloved girl strangling herself with your hands because of the cruelty of your own words.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Next to her, and the rest is completely unimportant. Jinx never thinks about the future, wanting to live in the present. It is difficult for her to follow the plan in Zaun, so she can only hope.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

She's jealous as hell, and there's no better way to deal with it than to blow something up. Someone, to be precise. She won't be able to do this and will simply shoot them. Jinx is very insecure and thinks that everyone around her is a better option than her. She is afraid that you will also realize this as you become more sociable, so Jinx does everything possible to prevent this.

Jinx herself doesn't realize how jealous she is. Just doesn't want to realize. She won't take responsibility for it, so denying the problem is the best way to survive it.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

If you're here, it means Jinx is nearby and everyone knows it. She'll be back in a few minutes and let everyone see Jinx obsessed, dependent, and loving again. She won't hesitate to hold your hand, body, or even your ass in front of everyone. She doesn't indulge in kissing often, but sometimes Jinx feels the need to do it, even if it's awkward for you while everyone is watching.

She can't stay too far away from you; it physically hurts her.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

What would seem romantic and loving in Zaun? Protection and shelter for free. That's what Jinx did first. It seemed most logical to her to do it in a way you understand and only then resort to the romance she knows. Without saying a word to you, Jinx will sort out your problems as deftly as she creates her weapons. Still, the years with Silko take their toll, and even the most fearsome thugs are just children to her. Don't think too much, and just enjoy caring from Jinx before she gets too much.

Then don't be surprised when you see burning buildings in Piltover with the words "love my trinkly <3" written on them.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Jinx with you and Jinx without you are completely different, strangers to each other.

People who have never dealt with Jinx and see her for the first time with you mistakenly think that she is just a petty idiot and everyone around is afraid of her for nothing. Never shows violence, uses small guns, and is just busy with you most of the time.

And then they meet the real Jinx. She still seems harmless, but her aura is suddenly completely different. You don't know what to expect. Laugh at her, but don't shout too loudly when she jokingly rips your arm off because you weren't paying attention to her instructions. "Oh, it's not fatal; don't whine like that. Shut up and listen," Jinx smiles tightly, making funny faces. She'll give him the shimmer, but not right away; maybe it'll teach him to take life-threatening situations right in front of them more seriously. Only then do they get it.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Not too cruel, something like "no dessert this time." Jinx doesn't see you as particularly dangerous or serious about escaping.

But what if she senses it? Jinx will lock you away somewhere for an indefinite period of time again. If you were close to escaping, be prepared for heavy security measures and possibly no chance of ever getting out. There are no windows, minimal furniture, and belongings; your hands and feet will always be chained to the wall. Don't make her do soft upholstery in the room; don't hit yourself the walls.

Jinx may punish you during sex, but it will be playful and for pleasure.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

It's easier to say that you will be allowed to do basic things like eating food, have a safe hobby, go outside, participate in safe deliveries, attend negotiations, and help Jinx in the workshop. Of course, all this together with Jinx and nothing more.

Remember, she does all this out of caring.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

As I said, as patient as Jinx can be. She forgives you a lot of things. A lot, but not everything.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. This will be the end for her.

One can only imagine what she will do. Kill herself? Go completely mad? Blow up all of Piltover? Start a war? Perhaps she will do all of these things in order. Jinx's psyche is cracking every day, and you were the only one who supported her. Someone who would always be there and who she could rely on in difficult times. She did everything she could just to know that you would feel all the love, care, and acceptance from Jinx. If you abandon her like everyone else after all this, then what is left for her to exist for? All the good will be destroyed by her own hands, and she will not be able to forgive for it.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

She let you go when you confessed your love to her, and your relationship became official. Of course, not right away and only after Jinx was convinced of it. Sometimes she even doubts her sensitivity to the emotions and real desires of other people.

She regrets that abducting you, but she'll do it again if she feels the need. Jinx just hopes it doesn't affect you too traumatically and that you understand why she's doing it.

For love and only for love.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Jinx has always had her own peculiarities, and after Vi and Silco left her, they only made the problems she already had worse. Insecurity, a sense of worthlessness, and weakness haunt her every day. She desperately needs to have support, someone she can trust and not be afraid of being abandoned again.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Shit. It's like her soul was turned inside out.

Jinx is very good at understanding people's emotions and their intentions. After spending a lot of time with you, Jinx can tell by just one look that something was wrong with you. And she immediately starts feeling the same way. No matter how good she feels, everything changes if you feel differently. So when you scream, cry, and are completely broken, Jinx feels the same way. It's hard for her to be supportive at that moment because grief has overwhelmed her too. But she still will be there, always. And no matter how shitty or super good you feel, Jinx will always share your feelings.

Only once did she manage to look at you blankly while you cried and screamed, pleading with her to forget your words.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

While other yandere act by the rule "you will be mine!", Jinx is more like "I beg you to be mine".

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

None. Sorry, but she is too smart and sensitive to understand your true intentions. All that remains is to hope for her mercy.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

No, no, and no again. Jinx wants you to stay, not break.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

You are the only one who looks good in her eyes in any state and the only one who attracts her sexually. She will definitely idolize you, although she may not tell about it.

Jinx will also do anything. Tell her to make you president, and she will. Don't be silly about it; Jinx will take your task seriously and will expect love and appreciation in return.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap? (This is the question that I couldn't understand, so the answer is short)

Not for long. Jinx is impatient, and her feelings weigh on her more than most people.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

No matter how carefully Jinx treats you, no matter how loving and patient she tries to be, you will still break. It is impossible to be sane when your entire world is filled with just one person. There will be too much Jinx and too little of the other world. You will also face a lot of manipulation just to stay with her, many of which will be traumatic.

And yet, you love Jinx. You did.

I spent 4 hours of my life on this, and I'm still not happy with the result. It could have been better, but I'm just tired of writing this, and it might be noticeable in the end..

#arcane x reader #jinx x reader #arcane jinx #arcane jinx x reader #jinx arcane #jinx x fem!reader #arcane #arcane headcanon #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix #yandere jinx #yandere alphabet

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rottenherbs · 2 months ago

Text

Fractured Letters

Paring: R.W x Reader Tags: Angst / Hurt-comfort / Fear of Loss / Second Chances / Romance in War / Self-Doubt Request: Could you write something for Ron where he and reader are dating but while he's in grimmauld place he can't write a lot and all his letters are sort so she starts to overthink a bit and when they reunite she confronts him? W/C: 4.5k A/N: LONGGGG. honestly kinda a sad one ! but hopefully a good one all together. [masterlist] Much love, Saige

The ink stains are fading now. Every letter, once carefully penned by Ron’s steady hand, now seems too brief, too impersonal, and every word that once comforted you now sends a shiver down your spine. You try to push it out of your mind, but you can’t. You can’t stop thinking about the way his letters have changed.

When Ron first left for Grimmauld Place, the letters were long. Pages filled with his voice, teasing, joking, confessing little bits of himself in every sentence. You could almost feel his presence as you read them, the warmth of his affection wrapping around you with every word. But now… now the letters are short. The words are clipped, rushed, the penmanship erratic. It’s as though there’s something more behind them, something unspoken, something you’re afraid to acknowledge.

You’re sitting in the small flat you share with him back in London, staring down at the latest letter. It’s barely three lines long. Your fingers curl around the paper, frustration bubbling up from your chest.

“Y/N,

Sorry, this is short. Things are busy here. I miss you. Can’t wait to see you soon.

Ron.”

You read it again. And again. And again. The same sentence, the same empty promise that somehow, with each reading, loses its warmth. The words don’t feel like him. It’s not his usual playful tone or the deep affection he’d always managed to weave into every letter. It’s not enough. The silence between letters is growing longer, the words becoming fewer.

You can’t help the panic that sets in, the knot forming in your stomach. Is he losing interest? you wonder. Has something changed between us?

You try to brush it off, telling yourself that he’s just caught up in the war. But still, the doubt gnaws at you. Does he even miss me? Or has he found someone else to confide in?

When the day finally comes for you to see him again, the anticipation feels like a heavy weight on your chest. You try to quiet the storm of uncertainty, but it rages on.

When you step into Grimmauld Place, you don’t see him at first. There’s a slight panic, and your heart quickens. And then, you hear his voice from the corner of the room.

“Y/N.”

He’s standing there, looking as if he hasn’t changed at all, yet somehow, everything feels different. The usual warmth in his eyes is there, but it’s shadowed by something you can’t quite place.

Before you even think about it, your feet are moving. You walk toward him, heart thundering, throat tight, and as soon as you’re in front of him, your arms are around his neck, holding him like you never want to let go. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, but it doesn’t feel the same as before.

You pull back, your eyes searching his face. The words you’ve been holding in come tumbling out before you can stop them.

“Ron,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Why have your letters been so… so short lately?”

His brow furrows, and you can see a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by guilt.

“I’ve been busy, Y/N,” he says, his voice gentle but strained. “There’s a lot going on. You know how it is.”

You nod, but it feels like the distance between you has grown even wider, something unsaid hanging in the air. “I know,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “But it’s not just that. You used to tell me everything. You used to—” You stop yourself, suddenly feeling exposed. “You used to make me feel like I was a part of your life. Now it’s like… like I’m not even there anymore.”

Ron stares at you, his face slowly falling into a look of regret. “Y/N, it’s not like that,” he begins, but the words sound hollow, like he’s not entirely sure himself.

But you can’t help it. Your emotions are raw, and you need answers. You need something more than the half-hearted apologies. “Then what is it, Ron? What’s happening?” Your voice cracks on the last word, and you bite your lip to keep from sobbing.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The tension is unbearable.

Finally, he steps closer, reaching out to touch your cheek, and for a moment, it almost feels like everything is going to be okay. But then, his hand falls away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N,” he says, his voice small now, as if he’s lost his confidence. “I’m just trying to get through this. I’m trying to make it back to you, but… it’s hard.”

Your heart stutters at his words, but the anger in you rises again, sharper than before. “Don’t you think I’m trying too? Don’t you think this is hard for me too, Ron?” you cry, unable to hold back the frustration and hurt. “Don’t you think I’ve been sitting here, overthinking every letter, every silence, wondering if you still care?”

He looks like he’s been slapped, his eyes widening. “Y/N… I never meant for you to feel that way. I swear.”

You can feel the tears welling up again, but you try to hold them back. “Then why, Ron? Why have you been so distant? I don’t understand. I just… I need to know that you’re still you. I need to know that you still want me.”

The room feels like it’s closing in, and you’re both caught in a whirlwind of emotions.

Ron reaches for you again, this time pulling you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurts. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like that. I miss you more than you know. I don’t want to lose you.”

You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, trying to steady your racing heart. For a moment, everything feels right again. But then, his words sink in, and a fresh wave of doubt crashes over you.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Ron,” you whisper, barely able to speak through the lump in your throat. “But I need you to show me. I need you to fight for us.”

And, for the first time in what feels like forever, Ron pulls back, looks you in the eyes, and nods. “I will,” he promises. “I’ll fight for you. For us. I swear.”

You want to believe him. You need to believe him.

And for now, that’s enough.

————

Title: Fractured Letters (Continued)

Days pass, and while the tension between you and Ron has simmered down, something still lingers in the air. The words he promised, the ones you desperately needed to hear, feel like an echo now, fading with every breath. You want to trust him, but you can’t shake the feeling that the cracks in your relationship have only deepened.

The letters don’t come right away. The silence grows again, as if he’s retreating back into the shadows where you can’t reach him. Every day feels like a waiting game. Is he coming back? Is he thinking of me? But the letters remain sparse, and when they do come, they feel more like a duty than a desire.

“Y/N,

Busy again. I miss you. Hope you’re doing well. Things are a bit tense here.

Ron.”

It’s like a slap to the face. It’s not the Ron you know, the one who would send you late-night notes that made you laugh and feel loved. The words feel empty. Detached. You read them over and over, trying to find the warmth that was there before, but it’s not there anymore. It feels like he’s fading. Like he’s slipping through your fingers, and no matter how tightly you try to hold on, he’s pulling away.

You stare at the letter in disbelief, your stomach twisting. You want to scream. You want to throw the letter across the room, but instead, you fold it carefully, as if it’s too fragile to be torn. You push it into a drawer and shut it, hoping the silence will stop gnawing at your insides, but it only grows louder.

Each day, you’re haunted by his words—or lack of them. His absence looms in every corner of the flat you once shared. The quiet is oppressive. Every little sound reminds you that you’re alone, that the man who once made you feel like the center of his world is now a stranger.

And then, one day, another letter arrives. You can’t help the flicker of hope that burns in your chest, but as you tear open the envelope, that familiar sinking feeling crashes over you again.

“Y/N,

Sorry I haven’t written much. Things are complicated here, and I don’t want to drag you into it. I’ll be back soon. I hope.

Ron.”

Shorter. Still empty.

The frustration rises again, sharp and biting, and it takes everything in you not to tear it up immediately. The more you think about it, the more it eats away at you. Complicated? You want to scream. What’s so complicated that you can’t even write me a full letter?

You stare at the letter for what feels like hours, a hollow ache spreading through your chest. Is it the war that’s making him distant? Or is it something more? You can’t help but wonder if he is the one who’s changed, not the world around him. Maybe it’s easier for him to hide behind vague words, behind the distance, because it’s easier than facing the truth.

But what truth is that?

As the days bleed into each other, you start to feel like you’re losing yourself. The girl who used to wait for Ron’s letters with a heart full of excitement, the girl who believed in his words and his promises—she feels like a memory now. It’s like you’re fading with every letter that comes, only to be replaced with doubt and pain.

Then, on a stormy night, another letter arrives. You can feel your pulse quicken as you open it, but once again, that hollow emptiness is waiting for you inside.

“Y/N,

I miss you. I really do. But I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. It’s not. I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe when I get back, we can talk. But until then, I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep.

Ron.”

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. I don’t know how to fix this. The phrase echoes in your mind, the meaning unraveling your heart piece by piece. I don’t know how to fix this. And it makes you wonder, what if he’s already decided that it can’t be fixed? What if he’s already given up?

You throw the letter down, and for the first time in weeks, the tears fall. They burn as they slip down your cheeks, hot and relentless. You feel foolish for thinking you could wait. Foolish for hoping things would go back to the way they were.

You’ve given him everything. You’ve held on, even when it seemed like he was slipping further and further away, but now, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest any longer. You don’t know how much more of this you can take.

It’s late when you finally pull yourself together, and as you lie in the bed you once shared with Ron, the room feels emptier than ever. You can hear the distant sound of the rain tapping against the window, a sad rhythm that matches the feeling in your heart.

The next day, you write him a letter.

It’s not full of anger or frustration, though every word feels like a weight in your chest. Instead, you write it like you’re saying goodbye, as though this will be the last thing you’ll ever say to him.

“Ron,

I’ve been waiting. I’ve been patient. But I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You keep promising things will get better, but every time I hear from you, I’m left with more questions than answers. I can’t keep living in this limbo. I need you to show up. I need you to fight for us, or I don’t know how much longer I can wait.

Y/N.”

You fold the letter carefully, just as you did with the others, and place it in an envelope. And then, for the first time in what feels like forever, you leave the house. You walk to the post office, fighting the lump in your throat with every step.

As you drop the letter in the box, something in you feels like it’s breaking. Maybe it’s the finality in your actions. Maybe it’s the feeling that this letter, this goodbye, is the only thing that will reach him now.

But as you walk back home, the familiar ache in your chest doesn’t go away. Instead, it deepens.

A part of you still hopes he’ll find a way to fix it. But another part of you knows, deep down, that the letters were never enough to keep you both whole.

Maybe this is the end. Maybe you’re already too far gone.

And yet, despite everything, you can’t stop thinking that Ron is still out there, somewhere. Still out there, writing you letters, but never finding the right words to make it all better.

————

The world is spinning out of control.

You hadn’t expected it, but the war has crept closer to you, always lingering at the edge of your life, reminding you how fragile everything is. The letters from Ron have slowed even further, and your thoughts, once consumed by doubts about your relationship, are now consumed by something far darker: the fear of losing him altogether.

But you hadn’t known just how close you were to the edge.

It’s late. The battle rages in the streets, shouts of curse and counter-curse reverberating in your bones. The Death Eaters have come to the area, pushing through the defenses, and you’re caught in the midst of it all. You hadn’t meant to be here—hadn’t meant to be fighting—but when the call for help came, you couldn’t stay away.

Now, you’re running. Your heart pounds, your breath ragged in your chest, the sounds of destruction around you echoing like a nightmare. You can hear someone behind you, footsteps closing in. You turn a corner too quickly, and your feet slip on the wet cobblestones. Before you can recover, a figure appears before you.

A Death Eater. Masked, shadowed, his wand raised.

You freeze, your mind spinning as panic claws at your throat. You try to summon your magic, but fear has taken hold, and you can’t focus.

The man’s voice rings out like a whip. “Crucio!”

Pain explodes across your body—searing, unrelenting. You gasp, unable to stop the scream that tears from your lips as the curse locks your muscles in place. You can’t breathe. You can’t move. The world narrows, darkness closing in at the edges of your vision.

You don’t even hear the footsteps of the person running toward you.

It’s only when the curse lifts, the sharp agony receding slightly, that you realize someone’s grabbed you. Strong arms, pulling you to your feet, steadying you.

“Y/N!” The familiar voice, frantic, breaks through the haze. “Y/N, come on, stay with me. Stay awake.”

Ron. His voice. It feels like life itself, like the only thing that’s real anymore. You can barely focus on him, your vision swimming, the world tilting as he pulls you into his arms.

“You’re going to be okay, alright? I’m here.” His words are desperate, trembling, and it shocks you—this panic in his voice.

But it’s not just panic. It’s fear. The raw kind that can only come from the thought of losing someone you can’t live without. The kind that you’ve been feeling for days, weeks, even months now—only you hadn’t known how deep it had truly run in him.

You blink, trying to clear your vision, trying to find the strength to speak, but your throat is dry, your body still trembling from the curse. “Ron… you—” Your voice cracks, and you gasp for air. “You… were going to lose me…”

He shushes you, his hand gently cradling your face. His thumb brushes across your cheek, desperate as if trying to hold you together. “No. No, I wasn’t— I’m not going to lose you, Y/N. Not like this.”

You can barely focus, but his words are like a lifeline in the storm. You stare up at him, blinking through the tears that threaten to spill over, your chest tight with the realization. This is it. This is the moment. The moment you had feared, the moment you had almost lost him for good.

But the strange thing is, it’s not just fear that wraps itself around your heart—it’s something deeper. Something that hits you in the core of your being.

You’ve been questioning him, doubting him for so long, and yet here he is. Fighting for you. Fighting to keep you alive. This moment, his desperate need to save you, to hold on to you, is everything you needed. Everything you wanted to believe in, but hadn’t known how to voice.

For the first time in ages, you finally understand.

The letters had been empty not because he didn’t love you, but because he couldn’t find the right way to express the depth of his feelings while he was surrounded by constant danger. He couldn’t say the words you needed to hear because he was too scared of losing you before he could say them.

He’s been holding back, not just from the war, but from his own fear. His fear of losing you.

As your body shakes, still recovering from the curse, you reach up and touch his cheek, finding strength in the contact. “Ron…” Your voice is weak, but you know it’s enough.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to yours. “I’m here. You’re not alone, Y/N. I… I need you.”

You close your eyes, letting the truth of his words sink in, a weight lifting off your chest. You don’t know if the world around you is safe yet, but in this moment, in his arms, you feel as if the battle has already been won.

But then, another scream rips through the night, and the moment shatters.

Ron pulls away, his eyes flashing with renewed determination. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’m coming right back.”

You nod, dazed, and he hurries into the fight, but you can’t help the wave of fear that crashes over you again. You know he’s going to fight, but what if he doesn’t come back? What if the next time he’s too late?

Seconds feel like hours, and it’s only when you hear a crack and the sound of Ron shouting your name that you know he’s close.

Your heart stutters. You open your mouth to call out to him, but a figure steps out of the shadows—a dark figure, masked and cloaked.

A Death Eater. Another one.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Y/N!” Ron’s voice is distant, but you can hear the panic.

Without thinking, you summon every last ounce of strength. You scramble to your feet, your wand already raised, but your body is still weak from the curse. You barely manage to deflect the curse that comes your way.

But it’s not enough.

The next moment is a blur, and you feel the sharp, searing pain of a curse slicing across your arm. You scream, your knees buckling as the force of it sends you crashing to the ground. You can feel the blood seeping through your shirt, the coldness of it starting to take over.

And then, Ron is there, his body like a shield between you and the Death Eater. His anger is palpable, his magic powerful as he fights to protect you. You can hear him shouting, fighting, but the world around you is fading. Everything is slipping away.

“Ron,” you whisper, barely able to keep your eyes open.

He turns to you in the chaos, his face pale, the realization hitting him like a wave.

“No, no, no!” He’s at your side in an instant, hands shaking as he tries to stop the bleeding, his voice breaking. “Y/N, stay with me, please. You can’t—”

Your vision blurs, but you force your eyes to focus on him, the only thing that matters now.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ron,” you whisper, the words almost lost in the sound of his frantic breathing.

But you can see it now. He’s scared. Scared in a way you’ve never seen before. His hands tremble as he presses against your wound, his face pale with fear.

And in that moment, everything changes. The distance between you vanishes as the truth dawns on both of you.

You are his world.

And as you finally lose consciousness, the last thing you hear is his voice, low and filled with desperation.

“Y/N, please… don’t leave me.”

The world is dark. Your thoughts are fragmented, like shards of glass scattered across a broken floor. You hear the distant echo of Ron’s voice, but it sounds far away, as if coming from another world, a world that’s slipping further from your grasp.

Please… don’t leave me.

The words are like a whisper in the storm, tugging at your consciousness, pulling you back from the void. But everything is so heavy, so cold, and you feel your body resisting, like it’s lost in the quiet pull of death.

Then, warmth.

Familiar arms.

You can feel them, pulling you close, lifting you against a chest that smells of sweat, rain, and something entirely Ron. You’re not sure how long it’s been. Seconds? Minutes? It feels like an eternity.

Through the haze, you hear him again, his voice cracking, raw with emotion. “Y/N… please. Don’t you dare leave me now.”

Your eyelids flutter. The pain is a dull ache in the back of your mind, a constant reminder of the curse, but it’s not as sharp now. The coldness is fading too, replaced by his warmth—by the way he holds you so carefully, his arms trembling like he might break if he lets go.

You struggle to draw in a breath, each one harder than the last. But you do it. You breathe, and then… you move.

Your hand twitches, and that’s enough for him.

“Y/N!” Ron gasps, his voice thick with relief, and you hear the tremor in his words. “Oh God, you’re alive… you’re alive…”

He pulls you into him, cradling your head against his chest, his heartbeat racing as though it could somehow bring you back to life faster. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he whispers, his voice thick with the weight of everything he’s been holding inside.

It’s all too much. You can barely process the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you, but there’s one thing that’s crystal clear—the desperate need in Ron’s voice, the raw panic that you’ve just heard in his words. You try to lift your hand to touch his face, to tell him you’re okay, that you’re not leaving him, but your body feels heavy, like it’s made of stone.

His hand moves to your arm, gently lifting it so it rests on his shoulder. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath ragged. “I couldn’t lose you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking in that way that makes your heart twist. “I couldn’t live with myself if I lost you.”

And then, the tears come. Not from you—though they well up in your eyes, threatening to spill—but from him. You can hear them in his voice, even as he tries to steady himself, trying to hold it together for you.

You don’t need to say anything. You can feel everything in the way his hands shake as they gently press against your side, holding you close, as if he’s afraid you might slip away again.

He pulls back slightly, his hand tilting your chin so you’re looking at him, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, his eyes wide with fear and something else—something deeper.

I should’ve told you earlier, Y/N,” he breathes, his voice thick. “I should’ve said it a million times, but I didn’t… I was so scared of losing you that I—”

You cut him off, shaking your head as best as you can, your throat tight. “You don’t need to say it now, Ron,” you rasp, the words coming slowly. “I know. I know, and… and I was scared too. I’ve been scared of losing you… of losing us.”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking to your face, like he’s searching for something in your eyes. Something that tells him that it’s not too late. That everything is still okay.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, your voice fragile but steady. “I’m right here, Ron. I’m right here.”

He exhales a shuddering breath, relief flooding through him. His face softens, though the worry doesn’t leave his eyes completely. He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a long moment, as if trying to reassure himself that you’re really here. That you’re alive.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let out a soft, tired laugh. “I’ll try not to.”

And in that quiet, dark alleyway, surrounded by the echoes of distant battles, you find the calm in each other that you’ve both been longing for. The warmth in his embrace, the gentle press of his lips to your skin, are all the promises you need now.

You close your eyes, letting yourself melt into him, feeling the weight of your exhaustion finally catch up to you. There’s so much you’ve both been through, so much left unsaid—but for the first time in a long while, none of that matters.

He’s here. You’re here. And for now, that’s enough.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you murmur, a weak smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Ron chuckles softly, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You rest your head against his chest again, letting the sound of his heartbeat steady you, grounding you in a way you haven’t felt in so long. You both know that the war isn’t over. There will be more pain, more loss, more fear, but for now, you have each other. And that’s something you never thought you’d have the chance to hold on to again.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough to fight for.

#ron wealsey x y/n #ron weasley x you #ron weasley headcannon #ron weasley x reader #ron weasly x reader #ron weasly imagine #ronald weasley #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter headcanon #harrypotter #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts

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widowromanova · 4 months ago

Text

Sniper (part 1) - Natasha x Female Reader

warnings: mentions of violence (guns etc.)

word count: 1244

You've been trying to catch and stop Natasha for as long as you can remember; you finally see her again, after 3 years.

a/n: inspired by a prompt I saw on TT that suddenly gave me insane motivation to write

Your former work for SHIELD, coupled with the glowing recommendation Fury had written for you, had opened doors you never thought possible. High(er)-level intelligence agencies had practically lined up to recruit you, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself entrenched in a new world of operations and classified missions. Your current boss, a calculating and ambitious higher-up with ties that ran deep, had recently assigned you to a high-priority duty. The mission was clear but personal - the kind that made your pulse race and your resolve waver. After three years of chasing her, she was finally within your grasp.

Natasha Romanoff had become chaos, her cunning mind orchestrating a series of events that threatened to destroy global stability. She manipulated world leaders, sowing distrust among allies and tearing apart her long-standing professional relationships. Whispers of a bio-weapon project capable of targeting populations only added to the growing unease among those who suspected her involvement. Yet, to the public, and even some former allies, she maintained an innocent facade, always frustratingly one step ahead. She had made her plan clear to you all those years ago:

Natasha had locked her piercing gaze onto yours. "You know how bad it's gotten, Y/N. The leaders are puppets, and the people-” she paused, “they don’t even realize they’re asleep.”

“You can’t seriously believe getting rid of all of it is the answer,” you’d argued, the weight of her words settling uneasily. Her lips had curved into a faint smile, not of humour, but of certainty.

“It’s not about belief. It’s about necessity. Only through destroying one thing can we rebuild something that works. Governments, alliances - they don't work. They need to be erased.”

“Erased? Do you even know what you sound like, Natasha? And replaced with what? You?”

She paused.

“If that’s what it takes.” Her voice had been calm, no sense of hesitation, her conviction chilling. “Survival of the fittest. No corruption. No weakness.”

At the time, you’d thought it was just frustration talking, the cynical musings of someone who’d been through too much. But now, you realised she’d meant every word. Natasha wasn’t just dismantling the world’s structure - she was forging it into her vision of perfection. And you had been too blind to stop her then.

From then, you knew every move she made was deliberate - you had known her to be an incredibly smart woman ever since you met her. And of course, your history with her proved to be of convenience to organisations, though you were frequently hesitant to speak her name.

The night air was cold, the city sprawled out beneath you in a labyrinth of lights. The sniper rifle before you felt like an extension of yourself; "That sounds ridiculous," you thought, but every inch of the weapon's polished surface was familiar to you. You leaned into the scope, propped up on your elbows. Silence, broken only by the occasional hum of traffic below. You knew, of course, that Natasha would never trust anyone else to do work for her, she was after all a self-proclaimed "lone wolf" (you had always made fun of her for that). You couldn't see her yet, but you knew she was coming.

Your superior had instructed you simply: to wait, and then take the shot when you saw her. Each minute that passed, the tension in your shoulders grew, your thoughts tightening into a knot of uncertainty.

You adjusted the focus on the scope, making sure every inch of the room was visible, your pulse steady. You felt your warm breath mix with the stinging cold of the air around you, manifesting into a puff of smoke.

There you saw it, her gleaming red streaks of hair.

For a moment, the city below seemed to disappear, the noise fading into a distant hum. All that remained was the image of her, framed perfectly in your sight. Your heart beat a little faster, not from the tension of the mission, but from something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years. The memory of her, the way she used to make you feel. You held your breath, the moment heavier than anything else you had ever done.

And then, as if she could sense your gaze, she turned. Her head shifted slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the window across the street. You froze as her eyes locked onto yours through the scope. The world blurred around her stare, and everything you had told yourself about this mission - about her - faded into the background.

She knew. The realisation hit you like a punch. She had always been sharper than anyone gave her credit for, but in this moment, it wasn’t just about strategy. It was a silent acknowledgment, that you were no longer just playing a game of cat and mouse. Her lips barely parted, as if she were about to speak - though the words never came.

The silence between you was deafening, the weight of it pressing in from all sides. You didn’t know if she would move, if she would even give you a chance to make the shot. The corner of her mouth was slowly tugged up her face, the faintest smirk forming as if she knew exactly what you were feeling: she could sense the panic radiating from your skin. Of course she knew, she always knew.

Your trigger finger twitched, the red spot on her forehead suddenly becoming painfully obvious. She slowly raised her empty hands up to the air as if to surrender, the smirk still prominent on her face. Her right hand began to form a gun shape, her fingers curling into a mock trigger, and with a playful yet mocking precision, she brought it to her temple. She paused, and then, with a small grin, mimicked pulling the trigger, the "pew" sound escaping her lips exaggeratedly. It was a cruel game of control. The image of her - carefree, taunting - causing your finger to tense on the trigger.

You watched as she lowered her hand slowly, the smirk still playing on her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. "Come on, you still have it in you, don’t you?" she taunted through the wiring in the room feeding directly to your ear, her voice a low, amused whisper.

The mockery squeezed at every nerve in your body. Every instinct told you to act, to end this, but you faltered. She was still the woman you once knew, the one who had shared everything with you, and now she was daring you to pull the trigger.

"You know where to find me," she whispered again.

In an instant, the room’s lights flickered, a low hum filling the air. Before you could react, the lights completely blackened, plunging you into suffocating darkness. The only sound that filled the silence was your own breathing, shallow and sharp, as rage set in once again. The weight of the rifle in your hands seemed heavier now as you dropped onto your arms in sudden exhaustion.

The lights flickered back to life, but the room was empty. Your heart skipped a beat as you scanned the space, your eyes darting from corner to corner. Nothing. As if she had never been there at all.

You lowered the rifle slowly. She had just given you the slip again. You clambered up, kicking your equipment out of your way in your anger.

"Fuck."

a/n: part 2 coming soon ;)) (promises of SMUT SMUT SMUT)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #wlw #lgbt #natasha romanoff fanfic #romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow smut #marvel #mcu

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year ago

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Hi hi! Can I request an angsty/fluff piece with Jason? Maybe he hasn't told her that he's Red Hood yet, and they want to tell him that she loves him for the first time, but with his constant disappearances at night they're thinking that he's starting to get tired of them?

This went a little too long when I decided to stop, so I might need to split this into two parts if needs be 🦦

‘Hey honey,’ you greeted Jason with a peck to the cheek, pulling away smiling brightly. ‘Are you all ready for movie night tonight? I’ve already got a couple films set up and ready to go and I promise none of them will make you cry like last time.’

Jason grimaced. Shit, he knew that something was happening tonight but couldn’t remember what and -like a dumbass- had agreed to going out on a patrol with Dick and Damian later on. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry chipmunk I can’t do movie night tonight. Can we do it next week?’ Jason hated how he was the one who made the smile upon your face disappear as quickly as it came, he hated how he was the reason why the excitement left your eyes, only to be replaced by a look of poorly concealed disappointment.

Jason hated how it seemed as of late that his commitment to being a vigilante had been the leading cause of your unhappiness. While he was out clearing Gotham almost every night, you were left in your shared apartment, left to sleep alone in a bed that was designed for two people and ponder how things could’ve gotten to this stage; wondering whether this was a relationship worth being in after all.

You sighed, trying to be understanding but how could you when this was the third time Jason had bailed on you this week. It didn’t seem fair to keep trying at this point when it seems as though you’re the only one who is actively trying to make time for each other. You had planned to tell Jason you loved him tonight but all that was thrown into the bin, all because he apparently forgot all about it. ‘It’s fine Jason, I’m sure whatever you have going on is inherently more important.’ You said, feeling more hurt than anything as you clenched your jaw to stop yourself from saying something you’ll inevitably regret.

‘I’ll make it up to you-‘

‘Would you like to know how many times you claimed that you’ll make it up to me but never have?’ You asked Jason rhetorically and watched his face further become into one of guilt. ‘Three. Times.’ You told him, holding up three fingers. ‘Once is excusable, but three times Jason. I thought you were over making false promises, much like how I’d trick myself into thinking that you would actually like to spend time with me in our own apartment, but it seems like I was wrong as per usual.’ You scoffed.

Jason tried to reach out for your hand to console you, but you immediately took it away before he could and put a good deal of distance between the two of you to show that you were in need of comfort but not from him. ‘Y/n, I’m sorry-‘

‘Don’t bother. Just make sure to have your keys on you before you leave because I wont stay up for you anymore.’ Was all you said before leaving the room to go into your room, where you’d stay until he left for the night doing god knows what. His disappearing act didn’t bother you at first but when it become more frequent and grew more obstructive when you wanted to spend the night with him, a pit in your stomach grew and it had been growing ever since followed by thoughts that doubted Jason’s loyalty to you.

Were you boring him but he didn’t have the heart to tell you? Is that why he’s been disappearing almost every night or so? Just so he could meet up with someone else behind your back and shit talk you? If that was the case then he could stay out for all you cared, you’ve given him your heart but it didn’t seem as though he couldn’t bring himself to even fake in giving a shit.

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

Meanwhile Jason felt like the biggest dickhead ever. He could tell that you were reaching the end of your rope with him and he wasn’t so sure that he could go back to living by himself if you were to ever leave him, he could try but it wouldn’t be the same when you were the reason his apartment felt like an apartment at all. And yet he has no one else to blame for this but himself.

He was the reason you could’ve have a simple date night at home.

He was the reason for your frequent disappointment.

He was the reason you no longer felt loved by him but that just wasn’t true. Jason loved you so much it physically hurt and scared the poor man of what he was willing to do for you. Jason’s love for you burned him in the most delicious way imaginable, he was left wanting for more, hooked on your love as though it was an easily addictive drug sweeping the streets of Gotham. However even Jason couldn’t ignore the wedge between him and you, a wedge that only seemed to get worse the more Jason bailed on you for his vigilante business.

As he was sulking in the fact that this might be the end of your relationship, Jason got a text from Dick asking where he was and all Jason could think of whilst grabbing his keys and leaving the apartment, was how he was going to make up for every night that you felt as though you were abandoned by him; and if anyone who knew Jason best knew he was anything but a quitter.

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

Movie night was depressing as shit when you were having it all by yourself as a way to cope with the fact that you might not be enough to keep Jason interested.

You were bundled up in bed, hugging your childhood plushie tightly against your chest as you watched a movie adaptation to one of Jason’s most favoured book out of Jane Austen‘s body of work. Hell most of the movies you’ve picked out were based on Jason’s favourite author but you weren’t enjoying it as you would if he was beside you, muttering the lines alongside the characters under his breath as he held you against his chest as though you were something precious; even going so far at to using the excuse that when a kissing scene happens you should be kissing too for a more immersive experience.

He was such a dork but he was your dork and now it feels as though he didn’t want to be called yours anymore.

You didn’t know what it was that you did for him to get bored of you but it hurt like a motherfucker and the more you thought about it the more your eyes began to well up with unshed tears. ‘What am I doing wrong snuffles?’ You brought your plushie to face you with its beady button eyes. ‘Am I really that much of a bore that he can’t bring himself to just end it? What does he get out of dragging me along? Is this some sick joke to him?’ You asked and you asked but got no response, then again that’s what you get when trying to seek answers from a weighted plushie.

‘Who am I kidding.’ You uttered defeatedly as you put down your plushie, switched off the tv after seeing that there was no point in having it on in the first place, and stared up at the ceiling as you tried to will sleep to hurry up and claim you. ‘Did you know that I was planning on telling him that I loved him?’ You asked aloud for no one in particular, smiling weakly as you wiped your eyes. ‘How stupid was it of me to think that we’d ever last. He’s obviously found someone else who doesn’t bore him as easily as I do…so why should I stay?’ You felt yourself wanting to cry again but you were too tired to give your body what it wants and tried to ignore the lump in your throat by forcing your eyes shut.

*knock, knock, knock*

#jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #dc x y/n #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc fic #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

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pinkslaystation · 1 year ago

Text

[Part 2] If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Here's part 1 hee hee hee hee Here's part 3 You believe Simon's changed his ways after your sister's engagement. After his actions, you still want him, but does he want you? Word Count: 3.6k

A half naked woman running out of Simon's flat? A surprise indeed it was.

You really thought he reciprocated the same feelings as you did at one point, for once in your life feeling as if someone truly did want you for you, but that fantasy had dried out, and it was clear Simon had no intentions with you.

Your replacement proved it.

Before you began to weep in front of the Brit again, you hurried to your flat door, rummaging through your sweatshirt pockets for your key, wanting to wallow back into a state of depression in the comfort in your own home.

Simon didn't follow you, instead he just leaned against his door frame, sexily might I add, intensely watching you clumsily rip out past receipts and snotty used tissues from your pockets. He wanted to say something, ask you how your day had been, even thought it just turned 9 A.M.

Then it hit you.

You think back to your previous steps. You woke up at 8:30, you read the texts from your sister, made yourself some coffee, which you definitely think had gone off, and left your home, feigning a state of happiness.

You didn't take your keys with you. They sat on your kitchen counter, almost like they were mocking you for being so careless.

Banging your head against the door, you curse, "Fuck's sake...."

You mentally note that this is probably one of the most humiliating scenes you've found yourself in, nearly as bad enough as your 18th birthday, when your parents congratulated your younger brother instead of you accidently.

Simon exhales a puff of smoke towards your direction, you were so fixed on trying to get inside, you didn't catch him lazily eyeing you whilst lighting a cigarette into his mouth.

"You...wanna come inside?" He asks nonchalantly, looking at the sky, avoiding your gaze as if to seem cooler than you.

"Why would I do that? I don't wanna know where that bitch has been..." You scoff, referring to the girl. You want to look away from him, but his blonde chest hair glistens in the sunlight, enticing you to follow his instructions. He's not even all military mode on you but you already find yourself acting submissive around his presence again.

He grunts, thinking about what to say next, "Well for starters, Francesca's no one...and, where else are ya gonna go?" The sarcasm is sharp in his voice.

So you were replaced by a Francesca.

"And listen love, face it, you need something from me, come in so we can talk. Can't guarantee we'll do a lot of talkin' though..." His words trails off, trying to convince you. Boy, is it working...

His eyebrows are raised, and he purposely flexes his still wet pecs.

Fuck it. You think, barging into his room, purposely bumping shoulders.

You finally enter Simon's room for the first time.

Simon wasn't completely heartless.

Yes, his childhood trauma resulted in his avoidant nature, ignoring his team in order to work alone on the field, disobeying his Captain to do what he'd deemed as best, and even ghosting you ever time you tried reaching out to you. What you didn't know though, was that Simon had given you his previous phone number, one he doesn't use anymore...

Late nights in his hospital bed led him trying to stalk you through Facebook, which no one your age uses by the way (don't tell him that), and every time his searches led him to nothing.

Had he not been so foolish, he would have manned up and straight up demanded you for your number. But he didn't, instead he told you he'd find you if he needed you, which was becoming more and more infrequent.

Yet here he lies, now clad in a loose black top and sweatpants, sitting across from you on his couch in his oddly empty room, hearing you out.

"'Kay so, your sister wants you at her engagement and you need a date, and you have no other friends but me, and you want me to be your fake date." He repeats back to you.

You hum, "For someone that didn't finish secondary school, you're quite smart."

Simon chuckles at the reciprocates banter, "And...what's in it for me?"

You scrunch your nose, "What?"

"What's in it for me." He enunciates his word, as if speaking to a baby, "What do I benefit from this?"

"Are you fuckin' for real, you've basically used me for your own pleasure, and you can't even fake a relationship in front of my family for like a couple of hours?"

You stand up, ready to leave, not willing to be disrespected again.

"Love, listen," Simon pulls on your arms, and you begin to notice the fresh scars decorating his forearms.

"Our relationship...platonic of course, it's like a business. You want something, you gotta work for it."

You're stunned, did he just insinuate that you were merely a business partner to you? Can this man be anymore of an ass, than he already is, reducing your relationship to a step below a 'situation-ship'.

"What possibly could I have that you need?"

"Yeah," he gruffs out, contemplating his decision, "not money 'cos I got more of that than you..."

He sits there in mock confusion, but you had a feeling he knew what he wanted from you the moment you spat out your request at his door earlier.

Before you try cursing him out again, your attention shifts to the ping from your phone, another unfamiliar number, but not from your sister.

10:32 A.M. ####:- Hey kiddo, how's life been treating you. ####:- Finally gotta a job? ####:- Can't wait to see you, your brother's been waiting to introduce you to his new girlfriend, good addition to the family this time I think. ####:- You're getting older now, unmarried and unemployed. Chop Chop.

Great, just a monthly reminder from your father that you've already been replaced by your brother's new fling for the week.

Now you really needed that date.

"I'll fuck you." You state.

Simon stares at your new found dominance, standing up to purposely look down at you and tower over you, disliking the sense of authority shifting between you two.

"Once again, dove."

"Just. Fuck. Me. Simon. Get this shit over with." You command.

Okay, now you actually felt used. Blackmailed into having sex with Simon, just for him to get what he wants really was the all time low for you. And you've hit rock bottom multiple times.

You wake up light-headed, in Simon's empty bed. The bedside table held a small note in messy handwriting and a singular key.

Headed out to the pub, got a spare key for your room. You better be out of there by the time I get back. Jesus, you got the hint.

You wonder why and where Simon got a spare key from, realising that this situation could have been rectified from the beginning, instead he basically coerced you into sex just to fulfill his needs.

Your mother would die if she knew what your life was like.

Walking back into your room, you shoot a text to Simon, your now fake date, informing him of the fool-proof plan you'd come up with.

As you rest on your couch, thinking about the future ahead of you, and your head unconsciously drifts to that dreaded question:

What if you hurt Simon like he's hurt you?

The next few days was filled with your evenings trying to explain the dynamics of your family to Simon and teaching him more about you.

"And what, they went to the theme park and just left you there? Ain't that borderline abuse?" He questions, a small guilty feeling arising in the pit of your stomach learning about how similar both of yours fucked childhood was like.

You shrug, used to being kicked to the curb. You stop yourself before making some remark that he has no right to act upset about your parents behaviour when he's acting no better.

You tell him your middle name, hell, you tell him the correct spelling of your first name, and you stare at him, embarrassed that this hunk has pounded at your core but doesn't even know the vowels in your name.

"And last week was my birthday if they ask, and you better tell them I celebrated it by going to the cinema with my friends." You inform him, hoping some of this information gets retained into his pea sized head.

Simon cringes, unaware of your birthday, recalling the numerous amount times you'd shot him a smile that day, urging at least one person to wish you a happy birthday. He cocks his head, "What friends?" before correctly himself, "I mean, names wise."

"....you gotta make them up."

Note to self: Make new friends.

The big day comes and you and Simon had driven to the venue of your sister's engagement party. Extravagant was an understatement. Anyone that would look at this event would assume your parents were millionaires, but they're not considering only 2 out of 3 children received trust funds.

You wore a sleek black dress with a slit by your right leg, and Simon matched with a clean black suit which, by the way, you paid for.

Though you would usually drink in his appearance, his recent brooding behaviour gnawed in your mind, so no matter how many smiles he sent your direction, they couldn't dispel the unease settling in your gut.

The first hour consisted of the pair of you awkwardly standing around, drinking numerous glasses of the finest champagne, with his broad arm hovering over your shoulder.

"Where's the family?" He asks eyeing every guy that even so glances your direction.

You shrug, glancing at your unread messages to your sister.

1:00 P.M. You:- hey :) made it, wru??? You:- looks very grand btw!! 1:29 A.M. You:- hello? where's ma? 1:37 A.M. You:- champagne's tastyyy You:- hi wru 1:59 A.M. You:- bruh did you rly invite me just to ignore me???

Simon winces at your phone, reminding himself to finally get your number so at least someone would reply to your messages.

"You made it!"

You both turn around at the chirpy voice, instantly locking eyes with your sister.

"Hey, you didn't read my texts, been here for an hour now." You question, as you're being pulled into a hug.

"Oh that was you? Sorry, I haven't saved you on my phone," she laughs. You glance at Simon almost offended by that, even though you hadn't saved her number either.

"Introduce me to the big guy!" She nudges you, and Simon interrupts you before you open your mouth.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley, and uh- also boyfriend." He extends his arm, and you can't tell whether he's faking his grin or not.

She drags his forearms, yanking him away from you and ushering him along eagerly., "You need to meet my family, come come!", as they walk off together, and you find yourself standing there, left to socialise with someone else.

At 3 P.M., you navigate yourself to your family and your 'boyfriend', whom at this point, had really seemed to fit in with the community. Your father hadn't believed that you scored a buff military commander, and if he wasn't unhappily married to your mother, you'd bet 10 quid that he'd be all over Simon.

"Served in Afghanistan huh?" He chuckles boisterously.

"Yes sir." Simon actually looks like he's having fun, displaying the look of admiration for having an almost father-like figure in his life. He begins you question why you dislike your family so much, they're great!

"And you watch football lad?" He pats Simon on his back.

"Avid fan, sir."

Your father shakes Simon's hand, immediately surprised by his firm grip, "Good man. Don't let go of this one, love." He nods towards you, his smile twitching at Simon, who's basically gripping the bones through his wrist.

You force a smile hugging into your boyfriend's side, shouldn't he be saying that to your Simon, rather than you? I mean it's either your biological daughter you've sort of brought up her entire life versus a solider you've known for about an hour.

"Son, take some notes from your sister, no wonder you're single every other day." Your father reprimands your brother, who flinches from the sudden sound of disapproval and grips his girlfriend's forearm tighter. For sure the first time you're actually than him, at finding a better fake partner.

Your mother, on the other hand, was virtually glued to the other side of Simon, gripping his biceps and fawning over his muscles to your brother, who's actually looked like the only one who saw through your facade.

"Wow, you must really enjoy the gym, sweetie." She bags her eyes, disgustingly.

"Yes ma'am."

She addresses you, for what you think was the first time in over a year, and mouths sternly, "I was wrong, I approve."

The entire event was a drag to you, something you weren't used to at all, considering the majority of your childhood was mainly you being left home during such big events, but Simon managed to enjoy the evening whilst successfully lying to your entire family.

"Me and the missus have been together for 10 months now. She's very happy." He raises his glass to you, eliciting a genuine smile from you. It was times like this that you wished that you and Simon just tied the knot and just began dating. However, you couldn't ignore those underlying feelings of a simmering anger, a desire to confront him publicly for using you for so long.

"I am..." It sounds more like a question than a reply, kissing him, in mock affection.

"You need to stay over our place, Simon darling," Your mother gleams, with your father agreeing, "You can stay in the study!"

"You mean my old bedroom?"

It's midnight, and your family have finally fell asleep in the place you once called home.

You lay next to Simon on your old bed, inspecting your previous room. The walls were no longer painted your favourite colour, but now was coated in a dull grey, your desk now replaced by a vintage looking oak table, definitely all to accommodate your father's taste. Any speck of 'you' had been wiped out from the room, and Simon wonders what young you was like.

"That was very fun...I like 'em, your family." He whispers almost inaudibly, fatigue evident in his words. His arm is draped comfortably around your neck, your head resting in the nook of his armpit.

You hum. The unfamiliar attention Simon had brought up on the two of you exhausted you, though a small part of you liked it, that now your mother actually cared about what you got up with him on a daily basis.

"Simon..." You begin, "What- what are we? If anything..."

You're anticipating his rejection.

"Neighbours..." He mouths silently.

You nod at him, hoisting yourself up on your elbows, although his eyes are closed.

"Simon. It's just that. I know it's all a show...but today it didn't feel like pretend...And when you said you wanted to marry me to my mum, it's just, I don't know, didn't feel fake you know. Felt real..Simon...Simon?"

He snores in response.

Great. You're just confessing to the thin air.

If he doesn't take you out, socialising for almost 9 hours straight will. You pass out next to him, no longer under his arm. Simon lays next to you, watching the slow rise of fall of your chest, after faking a snore.

He stares at the ceiling thinking about the day.

Come morning, and you find yourself sitting at the dining table next to Simon, who'd found himself in a hearty conversation with your parents, sister and future brother in law.

Across from you is your brother, whom you're sure didn't fall for your ruse.

His expression reveals concern as he gazes at you, almost as if he's silently urging you to unravel the tangled web of lies you've woven.

With a swift motion, he picks up his phone, arching an eyebrow in your direction, just as your phone chimes with a notification.

9:12 A.M. ####:- ik you two aren't dating. ####:- better fess up before i do

He smirks at you, your expression mirrors one of close defeat.

9:13 A.M. You:- ik you mad that she cheats on you every friday. You:- better check her private 2nd insta account before i do

Your brother looks up, hesitant to curse you out in front of everyone.

You 1, your brother 0.

Breakfast was served at this time you actually got the same amount of food as your siblings did, although Simon beat all 3 of you for it. Even though your sister was celebrating her engagement, the entire conversation was stuck on you and Simon.

Credits to your parents, because you were actually learning things about Simon, and you wonder if he thinks you're self-obsessed given that you've forced every fact about you down his throat and you haven't even given a minute for him.

"...and my Captain John Price, great guy. She loves him actually." He nudges you, breaking you from your trance.

"Huh."

Everyone on the table turn to you as Simon rubs your knee softly.

"OH. Um, yeah. Mr Price, John, um, great guy, handsome and so hot. Love him. The best really."

As you stumbled over your words, trying to cover up the slip, Simon gave you a reassuring squeeze on your knee. His eyes conveyed a silent message, telling you that it was okay and that they didn't catch you in a lie.

Your brother, however, shot you a knowing look, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. It was clear that he had caught onto your the slip up.

"Alright, enough about work," your mother interjected, steering the conversation away from Simon's military life. "Let's talk about something more fun. Like the wedding!"

The topic shifted to your sister's upcoming wedding, and you found yourself for once engaged in a lively discussion with your family about venues, dresses, and guest lists. Simon chimes in, his comments light-hearted and filled with humor.

As the breakfast progressed, you couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt gnawing at you. Your brother's text had reminded you that you were deceiving your family, and although it had started as a harmless ruse, it was beginning to feel like a weight on your shoulders.

After the meal, you and Simon got ready to depart, and as Simon and the rest of your family went to his car, you stood back at the front door, watching how perfect Simon fit in with them.

"It's obvious you don't like him."

You turn to the voice: your brother.

Your groan, "You again? Can't you just leave me alone, God's sake..."

"Aren't you a 'lil worried about how easily he lies though?" he taunts, "how'd you get him here? Money? Or you hold him over a secret? Maybe...sex?"

"What's your problem? Can't you just be happy I'm with someone?" You step back from him.

"Of course I am, if he doesn't like who, who else will, no? I'm just looking out for you bro. It's not gonna last, take it from someone who's in and out of relationships like your guy's in and out of other women."

You squint your eyes at him, confused.

"Grace, Josie, Francesca..." he trails off walking slowly towards the rest of the group. Francesca? That name rings a bell...

"Word of advice, don't leave your phone out in the open, I mean the amount of nudes on there, you'd think his gallery was a porn site! And without a password? Didn't know you were into whores, sis." He cackles.

And here you thought the trip had altered the dynamic.

The ride home was 2 hours too long and too silent. You contemplated your next move. Do you beat around the bush or straight up ask him if he's still seeing other people behind your back? You know he doesn't owe you anything, he is your FAKE boyfriend, right? But, why did it feel so real?

"So..." he starts.

You rest your head on the window, "So..."

His hand moves to your thigh, squeezing gently before moving towards your core slowly.

"That was fun." He states.

You hum.

"Real cool family, huh."

You hum once again, unsure what to say.

"We should do that again..."

You look at him confused.

"Are you serious? I think they still think that they have 2 kids, they focused on you the entire time-"

"Well, it's not like you put in much effort to talk, love."

That shuts you up.

He sighs at your silence, "Listen, I've been thinking."

You glance at him, hoping he'd kick you out of his car and let you walk the rest of the way home, too ashamed to be in his vicinity.

"Your parents were hinting us to take the next move you know..."

"Neighbours to friends?" You question.

He laughs, "Your family's great, your sister's and her lad, real cute couple you know, I felt at home...so I was thinking...we should try it you know, going out I guess."

You scrunch your face at him, was he really convinced into asking you out because your parents asked him? And here you were, months of trying to hint to wanting more, and the moment your demanding parents butt in, he's just going to do what they say? And the fact that he couldn't even say the word relationship.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

You cross your arms in annoyance. You were tired of being pushed around like a doormat.

Your brother's words ring through your head, as Simon drives.

It's not gonna last, take it from someone who's in and out of relationships like your guy's in and out of other women.

All the signs point towards rejecting his proposal. He doesn't want you, he just wants the safest route. You being in a relationship with him isn't going to stop him fucking other women.

Why would you waste your time with a guy to whom you meant nothing to?

So you decide to give it to him directly.

"Yes. I'll be your girlfriend."

Thank you all so much for the interactions on part 1! Means a lot :D THERE WILL BE A PART 3 LMAOOO i did not intend for this fic to be long but here we are. lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @owkittie

#call of duty #cod #simon riley #simon angst #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost angst #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #ghost cod

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tinytinyblogs · 4 months ago

Note

Hey can you do yandere skz punishments

Punishment time darling

They give you everything you could ever want, but crossing them is a mistake you’ll never want to make.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Bang Chan isn’t one to act impulsively, not when it comes to you. He’s always calculating, always planning. When you disobey him, he doesn’t explode in anger like someone else might. No, Chan prefers something quieter, something more effective. He believes punishment should teach a lesson, not waste energy. And when it comes to you, he wants you to feel the weight of your guilt, to truly understand why you were wrong. Isolation is his preferred method. It’s clean, controlled, and, most importantly, it works. The first time he catches you breaking one of his unspoken rules—talking to someone he doesn’t approve of, going somewhere without telling him—he doesn’t raise his voice. Instead, he gives you a long, measured look, the kind that sends a chill down your spine. His usual warmth is gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he sits you down. The air feels heavy, suffocating. His voice is low and calm, almost tender. “Think about it, darling. I’m doing this for your own good,” he says, his expression carefully crafted to appear apologetic, though his eyes betray something darker. “If I’m not protecting you, who will? This world is too dangerous for someone like you. Without me… you’re nothing.” The words sting, but they also confuse you.

He delivers them with such conviction, such unwavering certainty, that a part of you begins to question yourself. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you were careless, ungrateful even. He leans closer, his hand brushing against yours as if to comfort you. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he murmurs. And then it begins. Subtly, at first. Your phone mysteriously stops working, and when you ask about it, Chan is quick to offer an excuse. “It’s better this way. You don’t need all those distractions.” Your friends start to drift away—he makes sure of it, carefully orchestrating misunderstandings and missed calls until you have no one left to turn to. Your schedule becomes eerily predictable, revolving entirely around him. He insists it’s for your benefit, that it’s safer this way. The isolation creeps in slowly, but it’s relentless. The world you once knew shrinks until it consists of only him. And every time you try to protest, he’s ready with the same disarming smile and soothing words. “I know this feels harsh, but it’s because I love you. You’ll thank me someday.” Yet, no matter how gentle his tone, there’s no mistaking the steel beneath it. Bang Chan doesn’t give second chances. By the time you realize the full extent of his control, it’s too late. You’re trapped, and he knows it. And to him, that’s exactly as it should be.

Minho

If Minho grows quiet and his sharp gaze locks onto you, it’s never a good sign. When you talk back to him or let your emotions run wild, and he remains silent, it’s far worse than anger—it’s dangerous. His silence is not passivity; it’s a storm waiting to unfold. Minho doesn’t like wasting energy, and why should he? When he acts, it’s always calculated, deliberate, and impactful, ensuring you won’t dare to repeat your mistakes. The last time you pushed him, your words came tumbling out in frustration, escalating into a full-blown argument. He listened without interruption, his expression unreadable, the stillness of his body unnerving. Once your words ran dry, he finally spoke. “Are you done?” he asked, his voice eerily calm, laced with a sharp edge. “You’ve been crossing the line lately. You know that, don’t you?” The weight of his words sat heavy in your chest long after he left the room. Sleep felt impossible that night as anxiety churned in your mind. You couldn’t ignore the suffocating feeling that something was coming. And you were right. Just as the clock struck midnight, the sound of your door creaking open made you sit up in bed.

There he was, standing in the doorway, his silhouette outlined by the dim hallway light. His eyes, dark and piercing, met yours, and an unsettling smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Waiting for me, lovely?” he asked softly, stepping into the room with a predator’s grace. Before you could respond, he tossed something onto the bed. The clatter was jarring, and your breath hitched when you realized what it was: your phone, shattered into pieces. “Phone? No more,” he said with an icy smirk. “I wonder what else I should make into pieces. Those stupid plushies you’re so attached to? Or maybe… someone precious?” A soft, humorless laugh escaped him as he leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours. “Remember this, love. No crossing the line. Consider this your warning,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t make me dirty my hands, alright?” His words cut deeper than any shout ever could. Straightening, he glanced at you one last time before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. With Minho, silence was never just silence. It was a threat, a promise, and a lesson. And when he acted, it was always with a precision that left no room for misunderstanding.

Changbin

Explode—that’s the only way to describe him when he’s angry. It’s not subtle or restrained; it’s raw, chaotic, and terrifying. When his temper snaps, it’s like a storm that tears through everything in its path. He throws things against the wall, his voice rising into a roar that makes your chest tighten with fear. The sweet, soft side he usually shows you is gone, replaced by someone you can barely recognize. “You think I’m joking right now?” he shouts, his eyes blazing with fury, so red it’s like all he can see is rage. He plants himself in front of the door, his body a solid barrier ensuring there’s no escape. The once tidy room is unrecognizable—vases lie shattered on the floor, shards glinting in the dim light, papers scattered everywhere. Each crash feels like a knife twisting in your gut, and all you can do is collapse onto the floor, your knees too weak to hold you up. His breathing is heavy, his chest heaving like he’s barely holding back from completely losing control. “Ignore me like that again,” he growls, his voice low and dripping with menace, “answer me without thinking, and next time, I’ll throw you against the wall just like I did those vases.”

The venom in his words makes your heart race, and for a split second, you can’t tell if it’s an empty threat or a promise. Either way, the weight of his fury presses down on you, leaving you frozen in place. And then, just as suddenly as it started, the storm begins to subside. He straightens, his eyes still fixed on you, but the blazing anger in them softens into something almost tender. He takes a step forward, then another, crouching down to meet you on the floor. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if trying to erase the memory of the chaos he just unleashed. You flinch as he reaches for you, but he doesn’t stop. His hands find your face, cupping it gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have spilled down your cheeks. “I’m sorry, love. You need to understand how much I love you,” he whispers, his tone pleading. It’s disorienting, the way he shifts from monster to lover, his gentleness so at odds with the destruction around you. “So don’t make me lose my temper again, got it?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. The warning is clear, and you can only nod.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin has a way of making you doubt yourself, twisting your thoughts until you’re unsure of what’s real. He doesn’t raise his voice or resort to anger—instead, he makes you feel like you’re the one who’s wrong, like you’re the villain and he’s the victim. His charm is intoxicating, but beneath it lies something dangerous, something that leaves you questioning everything about yourself and your relationship. When you upset him, he doesn’t comfort you or address it directly. Instead, he turns it into his own game, one where the rules are stacked entirely in his favor. He knows exactly how to manipulate the situation, how to make you feel like the guilt is entirely yours. His voice is soft, trembling just enough to tug at your heartstrings as he asks, “Do you even love me?” Somehow, he manages to conjure tears—perfect, convincing tears that make your chest tighten with guilt. You know he’s playing a part, that the sadness in his eyes is an act, yet it still works. His vulnerability feels so real, so raw, that you can’t help but question if maybe you truly are the problem. He always knows what to say to make you doubt your actions, and soon enough, you’re scrambling to fix something you aren’t even sure you broke. He doesn’t stop there.

His words cut deeper than any raised voice or angry outburst ever could. “I feel like I’m nothing to you,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping as though he can’t bear to look at you. “Do you even care? Am I just wasting my time here?” The weight of his accusations settles heavily on your shoulders, making you feel like the worst person in the world. And that’s exactly what he wants. For Hyunjin, this isn’t just a moment of hurt—it’s a game, a calculated strategy to make you prove yourself over and over again. You find yourself apologizing, explaining, and convincing him of your love, even when you don’t fully understand what you’re apologizing for. By the time he leans in, brushing a tear from your cheek, you’re already falling into his trap. “Tell me,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with desperation. “Tell me how much you love me. Please… I can’t live without you.” His words are a plea, but they carry a weight that crushes you. It’s not just about proving your love—it’s about erasing the guilt he’s so carefully placed on you. And when you finally stammer out your assurances, he smiles faintly, knowing he’s won. For Hyunjin, victory isn’t loud or violent. It’s quiet, devastating, and entirely unforgettable.

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theseraphimficwriter · 2 months ago

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paupahan ! — ( part 1 ) [ masterlist ]

warnings . ( ghost is a demon-ghost , swearing , ghost almost kills reader , ghost is literally a ghost )

contents . ( simon ghost riley x gn ! reader )

هههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههه

in the silent streets of caloocan, there you were, trying to find a place to stay. you were looking around the city, and the apartment owned by eloisa gicar caught your eye—pretty cheap, and the apartment looks decent. so, you bought it, ofcourse. however, what you didn’t know was that.. someone else already beat you to the apartment.

when you first stepped foot in the apartment, it was like a breath of fresh air—finally, you had a place to stay. but, weirdly enough, the air felt suffocating, like it’s the universe’s way of telling you that a bad thing is about to happen. it’s eerily quiet, and the vibes you get from this place makes you shudder. what is happening?

a chill in the air suddenly replaces the relief you felt—you didn’t feel safe here. ignoring this, you simply unpacked your bags. it must be the wind, you sigh. you closed the front door, all of a sudden becoming wary. “it’s nothing.. it’s just the wind..” you mutter to yourself, huffing. after finishing up with the rooms downstairs, you had to come up to the second floor next.

once you see the stairs, chills. something wasn’t right. your brain was screaming at you not to go up there. it felt dangerous—but it looked like every other staircase.

slowly, cautiously, you take the first step. nothing happens. a sigh of relief escapes your throat unconsciously, and you feel more confident. “it’s okay..” you thought, climbing up the stairs. that was weird.

after unpacking everything, you had to go downstairs again. you felt uneasy again, like the staircase just got longer than it originally was. “it’s nothing,” you huff, your hand clutching the stair railings tightly. suddenly, you felt a strong force behind you—almost like something, or someone pushing you. luckily, your grip on the railings balanced you. “f–fuck,” you cursed, almost falling down the stairs. looking behind you, you saw....nothing.

“what..?” you mutter, looking around—dumbfounded. you could’ve sworn you were the only one here, you had just seen the entire apartment. “almost got’cha there,” a deep voice whispers—a thick british accent in the air. this apartment is fucking haunted. your grandmother had told you multiple stories about ghosts back when you were a kid, but you barely believed them. now here you were.

“aye, don’t ignore me,” it gets a little louder now, but still a whisper. “you’re the first to buy this apartment after me.” you’re shuddering—is that a full-on ghost talking to you? “..who are you?” you ask, though your voice is unexpectedly shaky. “simon, alias ghost,” simon huffs. “ya scared of me?” he laughs mockingly.

“you actually survived that push, lucky,” he chuckled. “i know you’re a demon...stop,” you mutter. “oh, really? how’d a lil sweetheart like you know?” he scoffs. “my grandmother told me that ghosts are just the demonic spirits of those humans who have already died.”

“but look, ’m here right now, talkin’ to ya,” he whispers—this time, it felt like he’s directly in your ear. “and i’ll be here with ya for as long as i want..”

هههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههههه

#call of duty #cod #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader

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narcjsistx · 5 months ago

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𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 | kaiser x reader

— part nine

plot: kaiser comforted you after a bad and slow breakup, but what will happen now considering what you two shared? is everything still unexpected or is there something you both simply have yet to realize?. fluff shit 'cause yeah!!

words: 2.7k (2711)

extra: it will probably become a multi part story, tell me if you're interested in a part ten!. This is my first time trying a chapter with images, but I need them for the plot

You look at your phone, your hands shaking every time you reread even just two or three of the comments on the post: it's incredible how everyone, everyone except Gabriel, has sensed your discomfort in his touch and his simple presence. Or maybe he understood it too, but he forced it because he knew it would bother you, which would be typical of him. On the other hand, there are also many comments that note Michael's presence at the fashion show, how he looked at you and how you actually looked back at him. Many also noted how he seemed angry when he saw that creep of your ex

You didn't think you'd make his presence so obvious, but you're obviously bad at keeping it under wraps. On the one hand, it's normal that he was at the show tonight, after all, for the media you're still best friends, but maybe it was the way you looked at each other that made someone have doubts, because in the midst of the sea of comments about Gabriel there are also some about Kaiser and his gaze towards you

The show ended less than half an hour ago, it's already midnight and the agency published the post, tagging you. The fashion show, beyond the unexpected, was a real success: you came back viral in less than a few hours, and now everyone seems to forget the hatred they poured out on you when you were still considered the one who cheated on Gabriel. You have many emotions in your body, such as joy and happiness, but also many similar to sadness and anger

But also a lot, a lot of confusion

Why didn't you know that Gabriel, who until a few weeks ago was your boyfriend, was one of the founders of this fashion agency. Why did he seem to be so in tune with the designer, that you swear he never mentioned you in all the time you were together? How could you not know these things?

Gabriel had an agency, yes, but an Italian one... the same one you worked for and from which you voluntarily resigned. You don't deny that he had often mentioned to you that he had some connection with some agency in Germany, but none of these involved being a founder. Also, the designer seemed to be the same age as you, so why didn't you know her? In the fashion world everyone knows each other a little, even you knew models or designers for whom you never actually worked, so why did this Ursula seem to have appeared out of nowhere for you but not for Gabriel?. Everything seemed to have a common thread, but you lacked the light to make it work and therefore understand it

A notification from your phone wakes you from your thoughts. You look down, at the screen

You read the message, and sigh to release some tension. Maybe having Kaiser to comfort you now would be nice, but hell, you don't want to look like someone who waits for the person you love only to unload on him all the bad you have inside

You look at yourself in the mirror: you are still wearing your makeup, your hair is loose and there is no trace of the dress, replaced by underwear and a simple white tank top. You left the clothes you were wearing before in the dressing room, but evidently they took them to be washed without your consent. You still have something else to wear to go home, but you don't have the physical strength when it comes to searching through the big wardrobe that the staff has granted you

Your phone keeps getting notification after notification, and you notice how the post has now been replicated on another social, where there are several people arguing in the comments

There are people who support you, others who have noticed Kaiser's presence, others who still believe the version that Gabriel gave of you where you are the one who cheated on him. It is precisely this last thing that bothers you the most, because you are probably one of the people in the world who viscerally hates everything that deals with cheat, physical and in the field of friendship. They called you a whore, a slut, but traitor is what bothers you the most

And now, seeing the situation you are in, you regret having abandoned everyone years ago to go to Italy with him. Italy has given you so much, you can't help but admit it, but you would have preferred never to have met the man who is now destroying you after you were back to square one after so much pain. You wanted to go back to being yourself, the same you were and always will be, but you wanted to do it with the knowledge that Gabriel can no longer do anything to you

But apparently, he still can

And that means you can't really start over yet

You sigh, resting your head on your folded arms on the vanity table. You have to be strong, because no one will be for you, or rather, you know that Kaiser would be, but you have always been an independent girl

Lost in your thoughts, you hear some female voices in the hallway. It's probably some model, but there's a voice that you can't quite recognize as a female. You raise your head when you hear the door suddenly open, and your eyes widen when you see who it is

Gabriel. You don't know how he did it, but he's here, with his usual dick face

"What?" you say, turning to him, nerves on edge. You watch him slowly close the door behind him, leaning his back against the finely crafted wood "Surprise". You look at him disgusted, while he seems absolutely amused by your behavior "I didn't know you were the founder of an agency in Germany. Not only do you tell false things about me, but also to me" you say in a sour tone, and he doesn't seem at all hurt by your words, which slide off him without hitting him "About you, to you... I don't see any difference, honestly. As long as you're in the middle it's fine, right?" he asks giggling, and you are tempted to take the perfume bottle next to you and throw it at him

"Seriously, what do you want?" you ask annoyed, and he seems serious again "You already know. Back together, you and me, back to our home in Italy. I'll say that I said things about you in a moment of anger and everyone will understand me because oh, they love me so much. And you'll go back to having a respectable life and a respectable boyfriend" he says

You swear you're fighting a battle with yourself to not throw yourself at him and beat them until he's dead. He knows all about the pain he's caused you, and now what does he want? To get back together? You and him back in that house? You'd rather puke until the day you die, which would be soon anyway. Gabriel has destroyed you, and you know that if you accept his apology he'll do exactly what he's done before. It's a wicked game, one he loves to play with his favorite victim, you

He loves the feeling of knowing you are beneath him, compliant, always ready to accept his screams at you. He knew from the beginning that you simply needed someone to love you, and he turned the situation to his advantage. But now he doesn't know that you don't want to play his games anymore, that you've finally understood that he has reached the limit of everything he can do. He doesn't know that the role of respectable boyfriend that he used to have is now held by Kaiser, who has always been the boy he didn't have to worry about and who he has always kept away from you since you've been together

“You’ve always been good at jokes, I’ll give you that” you say sarcastically, rising from the stool you’ve been sitting on, slowly walking towards him “But if you have any intention of making me be who I’ve always been with you, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m sick of all your fucking drama, your lies, just being you! You enjoy using me because you know you can do it, but hey, bad news, that girl you love is gone. Subjugate another person, another whore since you always thought of me as one, but don’t even joke about me getting back into a relationship with you" you say, walking towards him, your voice firm and confident “You’re a worm, one of those parasites. You only love the ones you can use, because no one really loves you for who you are, because you suck. You change people’s minds so much that you make them your lovers, and hell, I admit you did that to me too and you succeeded, it worked for our entire relationship. But parasites, if they come into contact with insecticide, they die" you say

You end up in front of him, a few inches away. You hold his gaze for the first time in a long time, and you have no intention of looking away. The pressure is building, but so is your desire to make him understand what a shitty person he is

"The insecticide is my self-respect, which you tried to take away from me. But you can't make me whore, a slut, yours anymore. And if you think that-" you keep talking, but you feel his hands coming to your jaw, holding you still. You remain paralyzed, trying to free yourself from his grip "What the fuck do you want to do to me? Shut me up? What do you mean, that I'm right, that you know how much you suck?" you say in a challenging tone, not wanting to stay quiet

His gaze is fixed on you, while his hands tighten their grip more and more. It's hurting you, but it's nothing you can't handle after everything he's done to you. "You remain a whore even when I give you the chance to fix it" he says, and moves his hand just enough to pinch your cheek, leaving a huge, painful red mark

"Who would be a whore?"

You turn to the door, behind Gabriel. Kaiser's slender figure looks like a miracle, and hell, from the look on his face he seems to have heard far too much of everything he's told you. You breathe a small sigh of relief, and your grip is released the moment Gabriel seems to hear Kaiser's voice. He turns, meeting the gaze of your secret boyfriend, who is clenching his hands into fists at his sides, making the veins in his hands stand out

They look at each other, and you see the hatred that has always united them. Gabriel has hated Kaiser from the first moment, and you know after reading the letters that Micheal has never tolerated him. Gabriel has forbidden you to see him for a long time, and Kaiser blames him for having taken you away from him. But now, beyond the hatred, you reflect in your ex's gaze a hint of fear, which he is trying not to show

"I only see one whore in this room, maybe two, but I don't have the necessary proof" he says, and you are surprised at how he still tries to play the role of the righteous one, even though he knows that everything is against him. Gabriel knows very well that Kaiser in terms of strength can even kill him, and yet he is acting as if he doesn't feel even a shred of fear, even though his eyes tell another story. Michael looks at him for a few seconds, even chuckling. His tattooed hand then meets the other man's head, who ends up lying on the floor with his head crushed "Whore? Me?"

It's a quick gesture, which takes you a bit by surprise. You rub your cheek with the pinch, from which you feel a trickle of blood coming out when you bring your hand in front of your gaze. Kaiser watches the scene, noticing both the blood and the red on your face, and this thing seems to ignite something in him: he picks the man up bodily from the ground, slamming him against the wall while holding him by the shoulders "What the fuck is wrong with you to do something like that to her? Isn't it enough for you to be a piece of shit?" he yells at Gabriel, who is now seriously starting to shake. You jump at the gesture, coming up behind Kaiser as you shake his shoulder to calm him down, but he doesn't even seem to notice you as he looks at the man in front of him with the same intensity he's concentrating on scoring. It seems like he's now venting everything he feels for Gabriel, lethal hatred

"Micheal please, don't overdo it" you say in a pleading tone, but nothing seems to stop his raging river "How the fuck do you call yourself a man if you don't even know how to treat a girl who until recently was your girlfriend? Are you really so disgusting that you don't know how to react to reality except with your hands?" he screams, and in a messy way he slams him against the wall. The situation seems to be seriously getting more serious than you think, and you shake his shoulders so as to at least make him understand that if he continues like this he will be the one to be in the wrong

"I don't care if you call me a whore, because I don't care what you think of me. But if you, who are shit, call her a whore, who only put reality in your face, it pisses me off. If you can't accept reality it's not my problem, but it's my problem if you try to put your hands on her" he says harshly, and only after a while can he feel your agitation. With a sigh full of tension he releases his shoulders, and Gabriel falls to the ground as he tries to catch his breath. The scene seems to play out in front of your eyes on repeat, as you tremble for some reason unknown to you. You look at Kaiser, who is still looking at the floor, where Gabriel is still sitting. He also seems to be tense, but you see him turn in your direction, putting a hand in front of you, as if he is waiting for you to recover. You gulp down a lump of saliva, taking a few steps forward as you grab his hand, a gesture that after that exit from the hotel, has become important to you. You squeeze it, and you feel it reciprocate from his fine fingers. “Go away" Kaiser says, his tone calmer now but still harsh. You watch the scene still shaking a little, but less than before. It was a bad and harsh experience

In this situation and after hearing your current boyfriend's words, you think about how he didn't hesitate to defend you, which is not a given. Michael had no problem putting your ex in his place when he crossed the line, and you realize how much he cares about you, which makes your heart explode. He had no problem being called a whore, but when he said it to you? Oh, he exploded. It does your heart good to think about how now someone finally genuinely loves you

Gabriel stands up hastily, straightening his suit as if nothing had happened. He doesn't dare look at either of you, but breaks this situation as he is about to leave the room, where he turns to you, completely ignoring Kaiser at your side

Gabriel hates you. He hates that you're finally realizing how shitty he's always been to you

Gabriel hates knowing that the old version of you no longer exists, that can no longer subdue you

Gabriel hates you

And you know the shit just started

tag(s): @rroxii ; @kittenish0 ; @bungoustraydogsno1fan (if you want to be tagged tell me!)

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whereserpentswalk · 1 year ago

Text

You're a content creator. Or perhaps video maker is a better word. Filmaker doesn't sound right, you mostly just film yourself. But either way because you read stuff to a camera for a living everyone is telling you to get a digital voice box. You never thought of yourself as the type to become a cyborg, but it's not something you can see, and it really does get down that narration voice down more than any fleshy voice box does.

You finally cave in and get it. Your new voice is way more steady, a bit more feminine and high, strangely calmly enthusiastic. It's really weird hearing yourself talk with so little imperfections, it's not how you sound in your head at all, and all your freinds are kind of weirded out. But on the bright side your channel grows a lot, you've gained more subscribers in the month since you replaced your voice than you have in all the years when you had your biological voice. Everyone is so very proud of you, for the first time your parents actually support your job, and you have so much more to spend now.

After a few months a big network wants to sign a contract with you, it'll let you get the good sponsors, the ones that people trust, and let you crossover with content creators you only ever thought of yourself as a fan of. It seems so nice, though they do say that they can request any body part they want be replaced, or else you'll break contract, and become nothing once more.

After things go well for awhile, but your growth steadied a bit, your network request you take another mechanical body part. They say your expressions aren't very "on brand" and your face shape is a bit too 2050s for their liking, so they're going to replace some of your facial muscles with much more plyable machines. After the surgery your expressions are entirely manual, or set by an app, it skyrockets your channel, but none of your freinds or family even recognize your face, and it doesn't emote when you aren't actively telling it too, so most of your offline social interactions leave you stuck with an expressionless wide eyed stare. You realize they also added some online upgrades to your mechanical voice box, it sounds even less like you now, and you're not able to say words like 'fuck' or 'sex' or 'unionize'. You didn't realize before how horrifying it would be to try to say a specific words and not be able to, nomatter how hard you try.

Your career keeps going well, you get some upgrades that stop you from sleeping or eating that much but you don't really mind those. You also start having fewer and fewer freinds outside the industry and more and more freinds from within it. But after a minor scandal with an ex, your manager tells you you're going to get a new type of surgery: they say that it's not good for someone as famous as you to have body parts that aren't advertiser freindly, they tell you you need to have your genitals and nipples removed, with such a young audience it would be irresponsible not to. A marketing expert feigns comfort as you try to cry, telling you you'll be just like a cute little doll.

You know you can't resist. The company technically owns your face and your voice, if you tried to resist they could have them ripped out of your skull, leaving you a bloody mess. You enjoy your sex organs for the last few days you have them, trying to make the most out of what you'll probably never have again. When the operation is done you wish your eyes could still cry, your body feels so alien, your anatomy so weird and empty and like your body isn't your own. There's an awful voice in the back of your head (and in every comment section now) telling you're not a real woman anymore. You start to understand what people mean by dysphoria, your body is less and less your own every day.

Eventually they take almost all of your body, it's theirs to control. As the years go by you don't have bones you have metal and plastic, you don't have skin you have rubber that looks a lot like skin. Even your eyes are gone, you have new color changing eyes, with the same restrictive settings that Christian parents put on their children's artificial eyes, that block out things like nudity and gore, they censor away a lot of books and news articles too. You don't feel like yourself at all, you're someone else's now, someone's pretty little doll. Your body doesn't even look human now, more like a hyper feminine anime figurine, with no hair on its legs, and a face that never cries or gets angry.

You can barely look at human bodies now, they don't even read as real to you. You admire other cyborgs if anything, cyborgs who replaced their body parts because they wanted to, and look how they want, people with jailbroken limbs and organs that run on Linux, many limbed insectoids who don't try to look humanoid, and furries whose artificial skin makes them look like wolves or cats, or asymmetrical punks who have art sprawling across their metal chassises. You admire them more because at least you could in theory some day become that, become someone who owns their own body, even if most people consider them the lowest of the low, the most cringe the most unmarketable. You want so badly to become unmarketable.

Mabye you want everything to be torn away. You fantasize about your expensive body being destroyed, and ending up with boxy uncomfortable hospital model parts. Mabye if you're broken nobody will want to play with you. You don't know if anything can save you, anything short of a r*volution, and that's not even a word your eyes can see or your mouth should say, so it's so scary to think of it.

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parkerpeter24 · 1 year ago

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read ur masterlist all night yesterday and wanted to ask if u still do peter requests? if so could u write one ab reader still coping w losing peter during infinity war (like she’s still having nightmares ab it) and peter assures her that it’s okay and that he’s there :((( ffh and nwh never happened as well ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 biggg thanks mwah

this kinda sad :( also, real sorry for so much delay.

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader.

masterlist

the new home was warm and comfy. not as comfy as peter but still. it had been five years. five years down the drain for you and him. it was hard to believe that he was still nineteen while you were twenty-three, almost twenty-four as your birthday approached.

you smiled gently at may every time you found her sitting on the couch, reading a self-help book or when you found her in the kitchen, making something of peter’s favorite. when peter was out on his patrols, you helped her in the kitchen or around the house, sometimes just watching her favorite reality show on tv.

your family had been one of those that didn’t ‘blip’ and even though now everyone was “saved” with little to no damage– now that the avengers were back together and helping the people settle back into this ‘new world’ that had become– you didn’t feel so secure.

when you first saw peter, you didn’t believe he was real, how could you. what were you supposed to say to him, welcome back? you’d went through a lot these past few years, graduating college, trying to find a new job and a new apartment. you couldn’t get yourself to try to find someone else, someone new. at first you were afraid of replacing your first love. the support group you joined– after being forced by your parents– helped you a lot with that, yet you found yourself avoiding situations with any person that could lead up to a relationship.

you didn’t want to lose another person. you couldn’t.

you cried at nights, holding your fist over your mouth just to make sure your parents didn’t hear you. they had enough on their plates, having lost their friends and colleagues and parents.

when you first saw him, breathing and standing in front of you, those soft, brown eyes filled with tears to the brim, it felt like a piece of your heart returned to your chest. you didn’t know how to approach him, just standing there frozen, with a parted mouth. peter did what was needed and kissed you, his mouth tasting of copper. neither of you could mind the cut over his lip as the need to touch and feel what you’d lost prevailed.

you held each other and cried, not caring if the blood from his forehead transferred to yours.

it felt the same after four months. peter didn’t talk much but every night he loved to hold you and listen to your stories of what had happened in the past five years. he could tell you skipped over the bad parts, only telling him about the new friends you’d made and what new movies and songs you wanted to share with him.

it was hard for the boy to realise how much you’ve been through these past five years– for him it had felt like a few moments before he woke up; but for you, it was five years. saying that didn’t do justice because those were 60 months. 1827 days you’d gone without him. he didn’t believe he could go on for so long.

‘if’ was the word he used to comfort you with as he held you through the anxiety attacks. ‘if i could turn back time,’ ‘if i was there to hold you always, i would have,’ ‘if i had a choice now, i would have never left that bus.’ he mumbled as he pressed kisses to your forehead.

you had a habit of forcing a hand against your mouth when you sobbed at nights but peter held it in his, gently stroking your fingers as he let you wail against his chest, never caring if you ruined however many of his shirts.

he was over at your new apartment on the nights you weren’t at his place. you had started keeping your window open for him again, just like you did in your late teens.

peter slipped inside your room one such night, finding you fast asleep. he quickly changed into a set of his clothes that you’d already kept on a chair in the room. he admired you, getting in bed beside you. his arm automatically wrapped around yours and you snuggled into him in your subconscious state. he pressed his face against your hair and breathed in, getting used to the coconut-y smell of your new shampoo now.

everything was so different but it was okay. as long as peter could hold you again.

#peter parker #peter parker angst #mcu peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #marvel mcu #mcu spiderman #the avengers

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sosadraws · 4 months ago

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Haii, Sosaaa! Okay, so i wanna get into animation BUT I'm really new. Lucky for me I know someone who's awesome at animating (that's you btw) so I need your expertise. What program do you use, and also do you have any tips for a newbie?

Aww Jay, you flatter me~✨but before answering I must put the disclaimer that I'm just a hobbyst animator with no formal training, that during quarintine thought "Oh woah, these Multiple Animation Projects that people do in YT are so cool! I want to join them!" and started learning by herself. Take everything I say with a grain of salt.

First things first: I mainly use TV Paint. However I'm not letting you spent money on paid stuff you don't even know you'll like, so here are some free alternatives that I've used as well:

Krita is mostly a drawing program, but it also has a animation interface. The red and black parts of the Helena AMV were made with this.

Flipaclip is kinda neat phone/tablet app for when you want to animate on the go, but it can also feel more limiting since various features have to be unlocked by watching ads or getting the premuim version (in typical app fashion, I guess...)

Blender, while mainly meant for 3D animation, also has been developing Grease Pencil, that allows 2d animation in both 2D or 3D spaces. And the lines are vectors, so you can edit them after drawing them and such.

You can even use normal drawing programs. I've animated with Paint Tool Sai and Medibang by drawing all the frames, saving each frame as a image in sequence (001, 002, 003...) and putting them together in some editing program or gif maker. It's possible, but it's more work.

There's also OpenToonz, which is an open source version of the software used by Studio Ghibli in some movies?? I haven't used this one, but I'll leave it here in case you want to give it a try.

For editing (In the rare scenarios where I do fancy editing) I use After Effects. I can't personally recommend any free substitute, but as far as I've read, DaVinci Resolve seems like a good replacement.

Now, regarding actual animation advise, I won't explain the principles or terminology because:

It's very overwhelming since it's A LOT of information, specially for a beginner

I work mostly by vibes, so there are concepts I don't undertand well enough to explain to others

Instead I'll foward you this whole book that goes in detail about all that technical stuff.

That being said, at the end of the day, hand-drawn animation is drawing main poses (aka key poses) and then drawing a bunch of more drawings in between until the drawings together look like they move.

So yeah, it's a lot of work,

....but it doesn't have to be tedious work~ 👀✨

As a hobbyst I live for the philosophy of vibing during the process instead of chasing perfect results, and I'm assuming that you just want to try for funsies and not that you're trying to become a pro industry animator anyways. Here are my personal tips to make the animation process more bearable:

1- Pick something you love! Seriously, any long task becomes more bearable when it's about a theme or character you enjoy. There's a reason why most of my animations have been about HnK or Signalis,

2- SIMPLIFY THAT DESIGN! Before you even pick the pencil, I want you to really look at the design of whatever you're going to animate and ask yourself "Are all the details in this design really necessary?" Every extra detail really starts to add when you have to draw the same thing multiple times for a single second of animation. You don't need to add all the robotic details on replika bodies, or draw every single stripe a tiger has, to put an example.

3- Keep it simple! At some point you might have a cool idea of an anime style epic battle with looks of cool explosions, camera angles, awesome fighting choreograpies and whatnot; but you first have to start small or else you'll get overwhelmed and not finish anything (been there, done that). Start with something simple like a bouncing ball, or if you're feeling brave, a walk cycle or a character turning their head. In that same sense, remember the book I linked? Don't try to learn all of it at once, go one step at a time.

4-Use references! On google images there are multiples breakdowns of things like run, flight or walk cycles, for example, and you can even use youtube videos! (tip: pause the video and use "," and "." to move back and forth between frames). In case you need help with a very specific pose or movement, you can use yourself or a friend recreating the pose irl (yes, the process is very embarrasing, and yes, the results are worth it)

4- You don't have to animate/redraw everything everytime. We aren't going for Oscar winning levels of animation here anyways. It's ok to copy and paste across different frames, only animate certain parts of the body and leave the rest static, panning the camera to simulate movement... Listen, if actual standars profesionals cut corners, why can't we? We aren't even getting paid for this!

6- It's ok to suck at first. My first animation was this kitty back in 2016,

and here's this Elster from last year doing similar movements.

It's not perfect by any means, but I feel like both art and animation-wise there has been some improvement. And I guess that right now I could remake it and make it even better, but that's because I got more experience and a better eye at finding mistakes and how to solve them, and you get that with practice.

...So yeah, there's that, have fun in your animation endeavors 👍✨

#OH MY GOD THIS IS A TESTAMENT #I'm so sorry Jay for making you read all of this #I know less that you think #but the little I know I try to share to the best of my habilities #animation #ask #the yappening

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vasito-de-leche · 1 year ago

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okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way.

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #r1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 fanfic #reverse 1999 forget me not #forget me not #outing myself as a huge fuckin religion/devotion as a metaphor for relationships freak #and as a hand freak as well. love it when the smallest acts of intimacy are the BIGGEST FUCKING DEALS for characters who are touchstarved #i love writing reader inserts from the pov of the character instead of the reader like #what goes in their head and shit??? THE INNER MONOLOGUES AND DRAMA ?????#FORGET ME NOT'S WHOLE ACT IS A COVER FOR THE FUCKING MESS HE IS WHEN YOU LOOK AT HIMMMMM!!!!!!!#soggiest wettest most pathetic man at manus vindictae #i hope i got his whole fuckin two faced and contradicting mentality across. mf is not having a good time healing but my GOD hes. trying #he hates you but he loves you but god he hates you so much but yeah he'll still worship the ground you walk on #the title is a pun btw. scales. musical scales. his snake scales #IM VERY SMART

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