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seungminsbaldspot · 28 days

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Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Part one: Six Years, Five Months, and Two Days | Five X Reader

Word Count: 5329

Genre: angst / smut

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years, Reader is referred to as female and wife

Trigger Warnings: Sexual Content: Explicit descriptions of sexual activity and references to sexual encounters, Cheating and Betrayal: Emotional fallout from a partner's infidelity, Emotional Manipulation and Gaslighting: Attempts to manipulate emotions and control within a relationship, Non-Consensual Physical Restraint: Instances of physical restraint, such as pinning against a wall or holding wrists down, Physical Aggression and Violence: Descriptions of forceful movements and aggressive behavior, Themes of Anger and Hate in a Relationship Context: Emphasis on anger, resentment, and hate within a romantic relationship, Rough or Aggressive Sexual Behavior: Elements of rough and aggressive sexual encounters, bordering on non-consensual behavior, References to Self-Worth and Insecurity: Reflections on feelings of inadequacy and questions about self-worth due to a partner's actions, Emotional Pain and Trauma: Heavy themes of emotional pain, grief, and unresolved trauma, and Language and Tone: Use of harsh and aggressive language, including profanity and confrontational statements.

Notes: f! oral receiving, low-key toxic reader ( to be fair five cheated and I support women’s wrongs ) Handjob, Edging, dirty talk, vaginal sex

Author’s note: I have not watched season 4 and I still do not plan too, mwah

Spoiler: All you get is, There will be a part 3

Click here for next part three!

Click here for the previous part one!

The anger hasn’t waned; it has only solidified into a constant, heavy presence in your life. You’ve withdrawn from everyone around you, the thought of facing anyone else too overwhelming to bear. The pain and frustration have driven you to isolate yourself, seeking solace in solitude rather than the company of others.

The only person you’ve managed to speak with at all is Allison. She’s the lone exception to your self-imposed isolation, offering a semblance of normalcy and a listening ear. Her patience and understanding are a rare comfort in this tumultuous time, though even your interactions with her are tinged with the shadows of your unresolved feelings.

Five, on the other hand, feels like a constant, painful reminder of everything you’ve lost. Each time you catch sight of him approaching, a wave of instinctual panic drives you to flee. You avoid him as if he’s a physical manifestation of your anguish. When you see him heading your way, you almost immediately retreat to the room you once shared. There, you lock the door behind you, creating a tangible barrier between yourself and the world outside, a small fortress of solitude where you can escape the reminders of your broken trust.

Your new daily routine has become a predictable cycle. You stay confined to your room for most of the day, emerging only for the latter part of dinner when everyone gathers to eat. You join them just long enough to pick at your food, barely participating in the conversation. The silence and the strained glances from others only deepen your sense of isolation. Once you’ve finished, you retreat back to your room, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that echoes the loneliness you feel.

You’re maintaining this ritual, this enforced distance, until one evening when you’re heading back to your room. As you walk through the hallways, the familiar routine feels almost comforting in its predictability. But tonight, something shifts in the air. The hallway seems quieter, more oppressive, and the weight of your emotions feels heavier than usual. Each step toward the door of your sanctuary feels more burdensome, as if the act of retreating is becoming more than just a physical escape but a symbol of your own entrapment.

You reach for the door handle, your mind a tumultuous mix of pain and anger. Just as you’re about to close the door behind you, a sudden sound from the hallway makes you freeze.

It’s Five.

Before you can react, he’s right behind you, closing the distance with an urgency that catches you off guard. His hand wraps around your wrist with a firm grip, and before you know it, he’s pinning you against the wall. The pressure of his hold is both commanding and desperate, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that cuts through the fog of your emotions.

The hallway around you seems to dissolve into the background, leaving only the two of you in this charged, claustrophobic space. His breath is uneven, mingling with the tension that hangs heavily in the air. His face is a complex tapestry of frustration and something deeper—something you can’t quite put your finger on.

The familiar surge of anger rises within you, a fiery response to the violation of your space and emotions. “Get the fuck off of me,” you snap, trying to wrench your wrist free from his grasp. Your voice is sharp, laced with a mixture of hurt and defiance. The intensity of the moment amplifies your feelings, making the struggle against his hold feel even more urgent.

Five’s grip tightens momentarily, as if he’s trying to ground himself, but his eyes soften just enough to reveal a glimmer of vulnerability. “I know you’re angry,” he says, his voice rough yet edged with desperation. “I know I messed up. But I need you to listen to me. We can’t keep doing this.”

You shake your head, the anger in your voice unmistakable. “No fucking shit, you fucked up. Now leave me the fuck alone, Five,” you grit out, struggling against his hold. His eyebrows furrow, his frustration evident. “Diego and Lila made up. Why can’t we?”

You grit your teeth, your voice steady but sharp. “I’m not dumb enough to fall for some shitty make-up sex,” you reply, your words cutting through the air.

He shakes his head, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. “Of course not,” he says, his voice softening. “I’m not saying you are.”

He switches his grip, each hand now holding one of your wrists firmly but gently, as if trying to convey earnestness through his touch. The change in his hold is subtle, his fingers wrapping around your wrists with a delicate urgency. He looks into your eyes, his gaze pleading yet determined. “What I’m trying to say is that we need to talk about this, really talk. We can’t just keep avoiding each other.”

You try to pull away, your frustration boiling over. “Leave me the fuck alone, Five,” you snap, yanking your wrists free from his grip. You rush for the door, desperate to escape, but Five moves quickly, catching the door before you can open it. He pulls you back into the room, forcing both of you into the space you once shared.

“What the fuck? Get the hell out,” you grit out, trying to push him away.

Five shakes his head, his expression set with determination. He grabs your wrist once more, his grip firm as he overpowers you. In a swift, almost frantic motion, he pulls you both onto the bed. You land flat on your back, and before you can react, Five sits across your waist, his position intended to pin you down. His weight is a physical reminder of his resolve, and he tries to stabilize you, his face inches from yours.

“I’m not leaving until we can make up,” he says, his voice a mix of desperation and determination.

You groan in frustration, your anger bubbling over. “Then fuck, we’re gonna be here till we fucking die,” you retort, struggling against him.

He smiles, a touch of defiance and resolve in his expression. “I’ve got till the end of the world, babe.” His tone is both challenging and tender, a reminder of the stubbornness that has defined so much of your relationship.

“Fuck you, Five Hargreaves,” you grit out, bucking your hips in an attempt to unbalance him. Five’s eyes narrow slightly, his grip tightening as he struggles to maintain his position. Despite the shift, he doesn’t move, his resolve unwavering.

“Fuck, why can’t you just forgive me?” he says desperately, his voice tinged with frustration.

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You fucked Lila, for fuck’s sake. Five, we’re married and you’ve never even seen me naked. How am I supposed to just forgive that?”

He sighs, the weight of your words visibly affecting him. With a defeated gesture, he loosens one of his hands, pushing back his hair, though he keeps his other hand firmly on your wrist. His expression is a mix of weariness and regret, struggling to find the right words amidst the turmoil.

“I know. I fucking know.” He says, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so fucking sorry, alright? I don’t know what else to do.” His eyes search yours, a raw vulnerability in his gaze.

You sigh, your gaze drifting away from his. In a swift, determined motion, you buck your hips, shifting your position to straddle him. You look down at him, your expression a mix of frustration and intensity. “You’re so fucking infuriating all of the fucking time,” you say, your voice tinged with both anger and a deeper, unresolved hurt.

“I don’t fucking understand you,” you say, your voice trembling, “All of these years, and I feel like I just met you.” Your words cut through the air, laden with the weight of all the emotions you’ve been grappling with. He groans, his frustration evident. “Do you think I love being confused all the time, huh? It’s not exactly easy for me either.” His eyes, still locked on yours, as if he’s pleading for you to see things from his perspective, to understand that he’s struggling just as much as you are.

“I don’t give a single flying fuck about what happened in that timeline,” you spit out, your voice sharp and unyielding. “You fucking cheated on me. Someone you’ve known for 50 years.” You lean in closer, your breath mingling with his, every word laced with venom.

Five closes his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed in anguish. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice strained, almost pleading.

Your heart clenches at his words, but the fury quickly surges back, hot and consuming. “I fucking hate you,” you whisper, leaning in to crash your lips against his, rough and unforgiving. You taste the salt of his regret, and it fuels the fire in your veins.

You release his wrists, not out of mercy but because you need them to support yourself as you shift your weight. As you begin to pull away, his hands find your hips with a desperate urgency. His grip is firm, almost bruising, and it ignites something primal inside you—a dark thrill at his neediness. He sits up, pressing his body against yours, trying to close the distance you’ve purposely created.

You try to jerk away, but he doesn’t relent. His mouth finds yours again, his kiss insistent, bordering on frantic, as if he could somehow erase the betrayal with the intensity of his touch. His nails dig into your sides, a biting reminder of his desperation to hold on to you, to keep you tethered to him.

“F-Five…” you hiss through clenched teeth, your voice trembling not with desire, but with the fury that he can still make you feel this way.

He hums in response, a low, needy sound, as his lips trail across your face and neck. Each kiss is too tender, too earnest. It grates against your skin like sandpaper, a mockery of the intimacy he once shattered. You grit your teeth, hating how his touch sends a heat pooling in your core, hating him for still knowing exactly how to get under your skin.

“I hate you so much…” you whisper again, but the words feel thin, brittle. They don't carry the weight of your rage the way you want them to.

He doesn’t stop. His kisses become more erratic, as if he’s trying to drown out your words with the only language he thinks he knows. His hands slide under your shirt, fingertips brushing your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. You curse under your breath, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming pull to lose yourself in him, if only to forget for a moment how much it all hurts.

He tugs at your shirt, and for a split second, you consider pushing him away again, making him suffer. But then you think, Fuck it. Maybe if he sees you like this, sees what he could lose, he’ll finally understand. You nod, a slight, reluctant movement, and his eyes light up with a mix of relief and urgency.

He rips your shirt over your head, his lips immediately trailing hot, fervent kisses along your neck. Your breathing quickens, your body betraying your anger as it responds to his touch. He fumbles with the hooks of your bra, and you don’t help him. Let him struggle. Let him know that this isn’t forgiveness—it’s a punishment. When he finally unhooks it, your bra falls away, and you watch his face for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But his gaze is intense, almost reverent, and you hate him even more for it.

The room is thick with tension, the silence broken only by your ragged breaths. His eyes roam over your chest, and you feel a flicker of insecurity. Did he like hers better? Are mine not good enough? The questions stab at your already bleeding heart, but you shake them off, forcing your anger back to the surface.

Without warning, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a bruising kiss. You’re not gentle; you’re taking from him, using him. He doesn’t get to have this, you think bitterly. He doesn’t deserve this.

He gasps against your mouth, surprised by your aggression, but quickly falls into rhythm, kissing you back with a hunger that makes your head spin. His hands grip your bare waist, pulling you closer, his touch igniting your skin in a way that makes your heart race with a confusing blend of hate and desire.

You reach down, grabbing the hem of his shirt, yanking it up with frustration. You want him exposed, vulnerable, just like he made you feel. You want to see him stripped of everything—his clothes, his defenses, his excuses. You pull his shirt off roughly, and he lets out a soft grunt, his eyes wide with surprise at your forcefulness.

Your hands move to his waistband, tugging with more force than necessary. Five understands the message immediately, quickly shedding his pants, leaving him in just his underwear. His hands are on you again, this time more urgent, more desperate, as he pulls your shorts down your legs. His movements are hurried, almost frantic, as if he’s afraid you’ll change your mind and leave him half-naked and abandoned.

His hands roam down your body, grasping and squeezing your ass with a possessiveness that makes you bristle. He hooks his finger in the band of your underwear, pulling it away from your skin and letting it snap back. The sting makes you gasp, not in pleasure, but in shock. You bite your lip, glaring at him, hating how even now, in the middle of your rage, he can still get a reaction out of you.

He doesn't deserve this, you think again, but you’re already too far gone. You’re in too deep, both with him and with your own conflicting feelings. You hate him, but you want him, and that contradiction tears at you, making you reckless, making you want to hurt him the way he hurt you.

He smiles and lays you down flat on the bed. He slowly pulls your underwear down to your ankles.

You glare at Five, anger coursing through you like a live wire. His eyes lock onto yours, hesitant, as if he's unsure of his place with you now. You hate the way he looks at you—the way his gaze drifts over your body, as if trying to remember every inch, every curve. He has no right. Not after what he did. Not after the betrayal. But damn it, you still want him, and that infuriates you even more.

He cheated. The thought burns in your mind, a searing reminder of why you're here now, in this moment, letting him touch you, letting him come this close. You want to use him, to make him feel some fraction of the anger and hurt that's been simmering inside you since the moment you found out. You're not here to forgive; you're here to take what you want.

Five leans down, his lips pressing a tentative kiss to your inner thigh. You feel his breath, hot against your skin, and it sends a shiver through you despite yourself. Anger and desire mix in a confusing swirl, and you have to bite back a frustrated moan. You shouldn't be feeling this way—not after everything—but your body has other ideas. You're furious with him, with yourself, with how easily he still affects you. His hands slide up your legs, parting them with a gentleness that almost makes you want to scream. It's too soft, too careful, and you can't stand it.

"Don't," you snap, your voice sharp. "Don't pretend this is something it's not. You fucking cheated, I’m gonna use you."

Five's fingers hesitate, his eyes flicking up to yours, searching. But you're not giving him anything—no reassurance, no forgiveness. Not now. Maybe not ever. His touch resumes, more deliberate now, his fingers tracing a path up your thighs. You feel his uncertainty, his regret, and it only stokes the fire inside you. He’s trying to be careful, to tread lightly, but you don't want careful. You want raw. You want him to understand just how much he's hurt you, just how deep the wound goes.

When his lips brush against your core, you don't hold back the sound that escapes you—a moan that's filled with anger as much as it is with desire. It's a sound that tells him everything he needs to know: you're not doing this for him. You're doing this for you. His tongue moves against you, hesitant at first, but you grab his hair roughly, pulling him closer, forcing him to go deeper. If he thinks he can just make it all better with a few soft touches, he's dead wrong.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you arch against him, not in surrender, but in command. You're directing this, controlling it, making sure he knows exactly what he's lost, exactly what he threw away when he chose someone else. You grind against his mouth, not giving him a chance to catch his breath. You’re angry, and you want him to feel every bit of it.

He groans against you, his hands gripping your thighs harder, and you can't tell if it's out of pleasure or frustration. Maybe both. Good. Let him feel it. Let him understand that this isn’t about making amends. This is about you taking what you need from him, nothing more.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you climb higher, teetering on the edge of a release that feels like it could shatter you—or maybe put you back together. You’re not sure. You only know that you want it, need it, if only to drown out the anger that’s been suffocating you. His tongue moves faster, more desperate, and you can feel him trying to please you, trying to make up for what he’s done. But you don’t want his remorse. You want his surrender.

When you finally let go, it's with a cry that's part pleasure, part anguish—a sound that echoes around the room, raw and unfiltered. Your body shudders against him, every nerve ending sparking with the intensity of your release. You pull his hair harder, dragging him with you as you ride out every wave, every pulse, every ripple of sensation that he’s drawn from you.

As the pleasure fades, you push him away, catching your breath, your heart pounding with a mixture of satisfaction and lingering rage. Five looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion, regret, and something else—maybe longing, maybe loss. You don't care. You're not ready to decipher his feelings. This wasn't about him. This was about you, reclaiming some sense of control.

You reach down his torso, into his underwear, that was still on. Your fingers wrap around his length, feeling him hard and throbbing beneath your touch. Five's breath hitches, a soft groan escaping his lips as you begin to stroke him slowly, deliberately. You can feel his body tensing, responding to your touch despite the anger that still simmers between you.

Your movements are slow, calculated, as you watch Five's reactions closely. His eyes are half-lidded, his breathing shallow, and you can see the conflict in his expression—the desire warring with the guilt. You increase your pace slightly, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction as he struggles to maintain his composure. This is your power now, your control, and you intend to wield it mercilessly.

You tighten your grip, watching as Five's hips involuntarily buck into your hand. His eyes squeeze shut, a low moan escaping his throat. You can feel him trembling beneath your touch, fighting against the pleasure you're giving him. It's intoxicating, this power you hold over him, and for a moment, you consider pushing him further, seeing just how much he can take before he breaks completely.

When his breathing becomes more erratic, you suddenly stop, earning a desperate moan from Five. His eyebrows furrow as he looks into your eyes, confusion and need evident. You smile at him, shaking your head. His gaze holds a mix of frustration and longing, but you relish the moment of dominance.

You lay flat against the bed, peering up at Five. Despite your anger, you can't ignore the fact that this is your first time, while he's had experience. The realization sends a mix of emotions coursing through you - vulnerability, defiance, and a touch of insecurity. "It's my first time, you know," you say, your voice wavering slightly between accusation and confession. "And clearly, you have had experience." The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications and the weight of recent betrayals.

Five's expression shifts, a grimace crossing his features as the full impact of your words sinks in. He nods slowly, acknowledging the truth in your statement. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, perhaps grappling with the consequences of his actions. Then, with a deliberate movement, he crawls over you, his arms braced on either side of your head. His gaze is intense, searching, filled with a complex mix of desire, regret, and something that might be longing. He opens his mouth, clearly on the verge of saying something, but you're not ready to hear it. Not now, not when you're balanced on this razor's edge of anger and desire.

You place a firm hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. "Just save it, alright?" you say, your voice low and tinged with a hint of challenge. "Fuck me." The words are both a command and a surrender, a way of taking control even as you give yourself over to the moment.

Five hesitates, his eyes roaming your face as if trying to read your thoughts. You can see the conflict in his expression, the desire warring with concern. But you meet his gaze steadily, unflinching, silently daring him to back down. Finally, finding no uncertainty in your eyes, he positions himself at your entrance. You feel the heat of him, the promise of what's to come, and your breath catches in anticipation.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Five pushes into you. The sensation is overwhelming - a complex blend of pleasure, discomfort, and an intense feeling of fullness that makes you gasp. It's more than just physical; it's emotional too, a connection that feels both right and wrong given the circumstances. Five stills, allowing you time to adjust, his gaze never leaving yours. In his eyes, you see a swirl of emotions - desire, concern, and something deeper that you're not ready to name.

You clench your jaw, trying to suppress a moan as the initial discomfort gives way to a building pleasure. It's intense, almost too much, but you refuse to show any sign of weakness. Five begins to move, his thrusts slow and measured, each one sending waves of sensation through your body. Despite your anger, despite everything that's happened, you can't deny the intensity of the moment, the way your bodies seem to fit together perfectly. It's as if your bodies remember a connection that your minds are trying to forge

A moan escapes your lips, betraying the tumultuous mix of emotions surging within you. You bite down on your lip, determined to keep the upper hand, but it's becoming harder to ignore the mounting pleasure that spreads through you with each of Five's movements.

He maintains his slow, deliberate pace, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any sign of pain or discomfort. You can see the concern etched across his features, but it only serves to stoke the fire of your anger. You don't want his pity, his guilt, or his regret. You want to take control of this moment, to reclaim your power in the face of the betrayal that still lingers between you.

“Harder,” you grit out, your voice low and demanding. You dig your nails into his back, urging him on. You want to erase everything—his betrayal, your pain, the confusion that lingers in every shared glance.

Five’s breath hitches at your command, his grip on your hips tightening as he adjusts his pace, thrusting deeper, harder. The intensity spikes, a mix of pleasure and pain that sends electric currents through your veins. You arch against him, every nerve alight, every sense heightened. The friction, the heat, the sound of your bodies moving together—it's overwhelming, consuming. The anger that has been a constant presence within you begins to shift, transforming into something raw and primal, a need that you're only now beginning to understand. It's not forgiveness - not by a long shot - but in this moment, the hurt and betrayal fade into the background.

You arch your back, pushing your hips up to meet his movements, matching his rhythm with a newfound intensity. Every sensation is amplified, every touch, every thrust sending you spiraling further into a haze of conflicting emotions. You hate him for what he did, for the pain he caused, but in this moment, all of that fades into the background, leaving only the raw, electric connection between you.

Five's breathing becomes more labored, his grip on your hips tightening as he increases his pace. You feel the pressure building within you, a tight coil that threatens to snap at any moment. Your hands claw at his back, leaving marks in your wake, a physical manifestation of your anger and frustration. You want him to remember this, to carry the evidence of this moment with him, just as you've been forced to carry the weight of his betrayal.

"Is this what you wanted?" you taunt, your voice breathless but defiant. "To fuck me like you did her?"

Five's eyes flash with something you can't quite place—a mix of anger, regret, and a desperation that matches your own. His movements become more erratic, his grip on you almost bruising in its intensity. He leans down, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin. "No," he growls, his voice rough with emotion. "I want you. I've always wanted you."

The words strike a chord deep within you, igniting a fresh wave of conflicting emotions. Part of you wants to believe him, to let yourself be swept away by the intensity of the moment. But the other part, the part that still clings to the pain and betrayal, refuses to let go. You push against his chest, creating a small space between you, just enough to remind him—and yourself—of the distance that still exists between you.

Despite the brief reprieve, the pleasure continues to build, a relentless tide that threatens to pull you under. You feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body tightening with anticipation, and you know that you're close, so close to the release you've been chasing. You dig your nails into his back, urging him on, needing him to push you over that final precipice.

You cling to him, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer. “Don’t you fucking dare stop,” you warn, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions. You need this, this moment where everything else fades away and there’s only the sensation of his body against yours, inside yours.

Five responds with a deep, guttural moan, his face inches from yours. His rhythm becomes more erratic, driven by a mix of desperation and need. His breaths are hot against your skin, his forehead pressed against yours as he moves faster, his thrusts becoming more frantic. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound a rhythm of its own, matching the pulse of your racing heart.

You feel your body tensing, the coil of pleasure tightening, and you know you’re close. You grip Five’s shoulders, holding on as the wave builds, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. His name escapes your lips in a broken moan, a sound filled with all the anger, all the need, all the conflicted emotions that have been burning inside you.

His hands roam your body, one slipping between you to find that sensitive spot, his touch sending a shock of pleasure through you. It’s too much, too intense, and you throw your head back, a cry tearing from your throat as you come undone around him, your body convulsing with the force of your climax.

Five’s thrusts grow more uneven, more desperate, as he chases his own release. You feel him tremble, his grip on you tightening as he reaches his peak, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he spills into you, his body collapsing against yours in a tangle of limbs and sweat.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the weight of what just happened settling between you like a heavy fog. Five doesn’t move, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his breaths warm against your skin. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

Eventually, Five pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for something—understanding, forgiveness, maybe even love. But you’re not ready to give him any of that. Not yet. You turn your head away, your jaw clenched, trying to steady your breathing, trying to ignore the way your heart still races from the intensity of it all.

He tries to move closer, but you place a firm hand on his chest, stopping him cold. The heat of his body against your palm contrasts sharply with the coldness in your voice. “Don’t,” you warn, your tone low and laced with menace. “This doesn’t change anything. You’re still a fucking cheater.”

His eyes widen slightly, a mix of shock and regret flashing across his face. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to keep his composure. His gaze drops to the floor, unable to meet yours. The intensity of the moment hangs heavy in the air, the silence between you almost palpable.

You feel a flicker of satisfaction at his obedience, his silent acknowledgment of your terms. His body tenses under your hand, a clear sign that he’s accepted the boundaries you’ve set. Your anger and sense of control are temporarily sated, a bitter victory in the aftermath of your cathartic release.

The room is filled with the soft, ragged breaths of both of you, the aftermath of your shared moment lingering in the charged atmosphere. You've gotten what you wanted—at least for now.

“Get out,” you command, your voice firm and unyielding.

He opens his mouth to protest, a “But—” escaping his lips, but you cut him off with a sharp shake of your head. “Leave me alone, Five.”

He hesitates, his eyes darting between you and the door. “We just fucked. Are you sure about this?” he asks, a mix of confusion and vulnerability in his voice. You stare at him coldly, the remnants of your anger still simmering beneath the surface. “I’m sure. Just go.”

He swallows hard, clearly torn, but he nods slowly, turning to gather his clothes. The silence that follows is heavy, each breath a reminder of the intensity of what just transpired. As he exits, the door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the stillness.

Tears slip down your cheeks, unbidden. Why do you love him so much?

#tua season 4 #tua #tua s4 #the umbrella academy season 4 #five x reader #five hargreeves #five x lila #tua five #number five #hargreeves siblings #the umbrella academy #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreaves x you

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hana-no-seiiki · 9 months

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☁️ . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ FIVE STAGES OF YANDERE ࿐: IDOL EDITION

“ 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃. “

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ yandere! idol! oc (jisoo han) x superfan/manager! reader

✧ tw/cw: yandere themes, reader is also yandere at the start, mentions of anxiety and self harm, honestly idol life is its own tw

HAPPY HANA NO SEIIKI ANNIVERSARY YA’LL!!

[ series masterlist ]

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE ONE. ✧ DENIAL

“Oh gosh (oh gosh) this is so crazy. I’ve fallen in love again.

I trip so easily.

Adore new things, they sparkle.”

“Why are you so obsessed with him?”

“Dunno, just am.”

Your entire life revolved around Yesterday’s Dawn’s ace, Eve. The idol who had been in everyone’s lips. Whose name had been heard throughout nations you’ve never even heard of.

He was your sun, the reason you had the energy to wake up every single day, the light of your life.

Every waking moment you spent it either thinking of him or offering your services for name.

It was normal for you to spend hours looking at his schedule, knowing where he was, being around him most times, or staring at media of him.

Somehow, you were able to land a job as his manager.

You were finally closer to your god.

But you swiftly find out that no man should be likened to one for only disappointment can be found in such a path.

Eve was a lot more . . . burnt out than you expected. A lot less passionate and energetic than he was in camera if not irritable.

It was normal for him to harass workers when they didn’t meet a standard he imposed, as such, after the first few weeks of your employment everyone that you were with have already been fired, quit, and/or paid to keep their silence on the matter.

Yet your feelings for him only stayed; as your employment with the company. Your meticulous and proactive nature as a fan site owner allowed you to take much of the workload he threw at you.

The little admiration you have left for the man kept you standing.

And if only you were a little less stressed you’d notice his scarlet eyes providing stares of amusement, bewilderment, and growing affection.

You never complained (at least, in a place where he could hear you).

Whenever he asked for impossible items or schedules you’ll simply grin and work things out in your little way.

You adjusted to his turbulent temperament as quickly as an experienced pilot in a stormy sky, a sailor of uncharted, dangerous waters.

You were brilliant. Reminiscent of his times as a trainee.

Bit by bit he started lessening your workload. Allowing you to rest. Hell, even giving you his coffee if he didn’t want it. He never gives away his coffee.

You acquiesced to many of his whims but were never a pushover. Always doing your job perfectly. Keeping him in line.

He would have fallen for you already, had he not been in love with someone else.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE TWO. ✧ ANGER

“Peek-a-boo! It’s only love when my heart quivers.

All my friends yell at me, they say I have a problem.

I’m fine fine fine fine fine fine!”

“ For this comeback period, [L/N] will be assigned to Hayate instead. Eve will have his senior’s manager work with him instead.”

“Understood.”

You were assigned to another member around Spring.

Yesterday Dawn’s most hectic time of the year aside from fall as the group’s concept was as the name suggested, focused more on nostalgia and times of youth.

You were relieved.

You never thought you would have been able to say that after being separated from Eve, but now it was the only thing you had on your mind.

No more late night calls about wanting coffee but throwing the leftovers at you the moment he was sick of the taste, no more work being thrown at you and taken away at random moments, no more working around his schedule so that he’ll have time to meet that dear senior of his in private.

You were free.

Hayate was known to be the harsher one in the fandom, but much like Eve his image was a bit different from his actual self.

Sure he was demanding, but he was fair. He wasn’t controlled by whims and impulse. You were finally able to do your job properly til the end, and you didn’t always feel a judging stare from him like Jisoo would always throw at you.

You were finally able to smile.

However, you see, being a manager for another member did not mean you would completely be free of your original client.

Hayate and Eve worked quite closely, and as such, you’d often help with Jisoo’s requests even if you weren’t obligated to.

Eve immediately saw the change in you.

You were, a lot more bright. Less haggard. Your voice less hoarse. Relaxed.

You were already getting along better with his group member than you ever did with him.

Eve wasn’t really the type to show his anger actively. He was always more, passive.

The senior he was head over heels for was slowly forgotten as he’d spent countless of hours pouring his feelings into his music. What was supposed to be a bittersweet spring album turned out to be one of sour regret and frustration.

Of course, it was still a hit. It even scored him a collaboration with the senior he oh so wanted to have their eyes on him. But all he could think of as he went to bed early in the morning was the way you’d laugh whenever Hayate spoke to you.

Hmph, the guy wasn’t even funny.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE THREE. ✧ BARGAINING

“Hey you, do you wanna play a game? I already know what you want.

Close your eyes and count to 10. Don’t matter anyways

Cause I am going to find you.”

“Did you hear? Jisoo got his first scandal. Apparently he bullied a bunch of students during high-school.”

“Wasn’t he . . . homeschooled?”

Causing scandals was easy. Dealing with scandals was not.

All Eve had to do was talk to some people, had a few pictures edited and voila, chaos.

It was amusing really, his company superiors would ply him with reassurances and sweet words; telling him that everything will be fine and dealt with while his pr managers dropped down like flies trying to prevent the flames of hatred from spreading too far.

All of them, hopelessly unaware.

All but his stupid senior.

“Why are you doing this now, Ji?”

They always looked down at him almost. Like he was a petulant child that needed to be coddled or scolded depending on their mood.

“We should focus on the track.”

And like he expected, you were brought right back to him. As you should be.

The heads figured out that you were the only one capable of handling the shitstorm without falling into the hands of alcohol or other substances in grief.

And as they expected you did.

After all, you had a timeline of his entire life in a canva document. Even if it was only mentioned once in a concert interview before they went famous. You were an Eve superfan.

All you did was confirm the fact that Jisoo got homeschooled by contacting his parents and teachers, and the rest was easy. You even reactivated your fansite for such an occasion.

If only you hadn’t.

Maybe then Jisoo wouldn’t have a definite reason to pursue you.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE FOUR. ✧ DEPRESSION

“You’ll never get this concept, you might as well forget it

Just play again, bet it all, roll the dice

BLANCA”

Eve thought he was doing well in terms of romancing you.

Ever since he found out about your fansite instead of feeling disgust and horror he felt . . . great, amazing even. A high the stage could never give him.

Of course, you two were destined.

It was only his duty to protect you as your partner, to spoil you, dote on you.

Even if you don’t realize your intertwined fates yet.

. . .

Eve always hovered over you.

Usually managers took shifts with watching over the idols. Half of your time was supposed to be spent planning rather than overseeing his activities.

Yet you seemed to have a never ending babysitting responsibility.

Your past self would have committed several war crimes for the sake of this opportunity. But after a year or so under his ‘care’ you found yourself slowly veering off into the type of insanity you didn’t like falling in.

You felt a bit like Andy from the original Devil Wears Prada book, only that your resentment simmered slowly. Forming into a hideous red sludge of exasperation whenever he randomly wanted to take a vacation. Forcing only you to come with him. Which meant an even bigger workload, and even more people to talk to for flights, schedule conflicts, reservations and all that.

You snapped.

It was a calm afternoon.

The sun was burning you alive as Eve insisted you two would go on a ‘beach date’ for some summer fun.

He shoved a drink in your hand.

And you just broke down.

Tears fell from your eyes, your breath shallow.

You asked him if this amused him. If your suffering was funny to him. If making you fall over just to get his demands on time made him feel fulfilled as a person.

And before he could answer you ran.

A week after that your schedule was finally normal.

Eve kept his distance. Not just from you but from everyone.

You knew of his anxiety attacks and depression before. But seeing those up close and personal scared you.

Things only get worse from here.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE FIVE. ✧ ACCEPTANCE

“So it’s too late you’re in the game now. If you keep up might not lose it.

The jungle gym of fun, like hell yeah

Makin the moon fall down down down.”

Eve spent most of his ‘hiatus’ watching your posts of him. Edits, fanfictions, photography, fancams.

Of course, it wasn’t to see himself perform again. He already did that on a regular basis to make sure he kept himself up to the standards of an idol.

It was to see your captions.

Your fanatic raving made him feel . . . loved.

Your previous thoughts on his performances made him feel complete. Like he found a missing piece of a puzzle he kept trying to put something else to fill it in.

Another part of his hiatus was spent preparing for his graduation. The termination of his contract.

It was clear you didn’t love him as an idol anymore. It was his fault really. He couldn’t see how he was hurting you with his work and desires.

If there was another thing he can thank his idol work for was the amount of money he had saved.

Now, he had a new home built far away from civilization. It was completely soundproof. The bed he ordered was custom made, tailored to your preferences this time rather than his. Food stocked to the nines. A few instruments here and there so he could compose even while retired.

He can always make a new song, a new life for you two to enjoy together.

“My voice, my body, my soul. It had always been yours. I just didn’t realize it.”

✧ [AUTHOR’S NOTE]:

For more EVE content check out the #hns.eve tag 🩵

Lyrics are a mix of translations from the og song and Mitch Joseph’s cover.

OFFICIAL EVE CHARACTER AI

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2024

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere core #yancore #yandere male x reader #yandere boy x readere #yandere drabble #yandere writing #yandere scenario #yandere headcannons #yandere idol #yandere singer #yandere self insert #yandere x darling

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deliciousangelfestival · 9 months

Text

Harmony of Hearts || Bucky Barnes

Character: Bucky x SHIELD!Reader

Summary: A new SHIELD agent with a troubled past struggles to escape the shadows that haunt her. Understanding her pain, Bucky becomes a steadfast companion, offering support and encouragement.

Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my follower @winterwitch-trash. Life's journey often takes us through challenging times. You are stronger than you know, and I believe in your ability to overcome. Keep moving forward, and know that brighter days are ahead. To all my followers and readers, Happy New Year 2024! Wishing you a year filled with joy, success, and beautiful moments. Here's to new beginnings, shared stories, and the coming year's endless possibilities. Cheers to growth, laughter, and the adventures that await. 🎉🌟

Within the bustling corridors of SHIELD, Y/N navigated the ebb and flow of her new life. The camaraderie among her colleagues provided a sense of belonging, yet there were moments when the shadows of her past cast a subtle veil over her determination.

One evening, after a demanding mission, Bucky approached her with a reassuring smile. "You held your ground out there, Y/N. Impressive."

A grateful smile graced her lips. "Thanks, Bucky. But sometimes, it feels like my past is a shadow I can't escape."

Understanding flickered in Bucky's eyes. "I've been down that road. You're not alone now. We're a team."

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N faced challenges that tested her resilience. Bucky, a steadfast presence, offered encouragement and shared his own experiences of triumph over inner demons. He reminded her that strength flourished in vulnerability.

Strolling through the helicarrier's corridors one day, Y/N confessed, "Finding someone who gets it is rare."

Bucky chuckled warmly. "Life surprises you, and you're one of the good surprises, Y/N."

Rooftop conversations became a haven where words flowed freely, carried away by the night breeze. It was during one of these moments that Y/N, vulnerability in her gaze, expressed gratitude.

"You make the load feel lighter," she admitted.

Bucky's response was a reassuring smile. "We're in this together, Y/N."

Struggles persisted, and Y/N found herself wrestling with the demons of her past in moments of solitude. Despite her efforts, the haunting echoes threatened to undermine her progress. Bucky, keenly observant, noticed the subtle changes in her demeanor.

In the helicarrier's kitchen, shared meals became a ritual of companionship. Bucky, sensing her struggles, became an unwavering pillar of support.

However, the weight of her past sometimes proved too heavy, and Y/N's attempts to articulate her pain often ended in frustrated silences.

"You're trying too hard to carry it all alone," Bucky gently remarked one evening, his eyes reflecting concern.

Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I just don't want to burden anyone."

Bucky shook his head, "We're a team, remember? You're not a burden, Y/N. Let us help carry the load."

Despite her efforts to make it work, Y/N found herself grappling with feelings of inadequacy. In the face of mission failures or personal setbacks, she retreated into a self-imposed isolation, convinced that her struggles were a testament to her perceived shortcomings.

One day, as they walked through the helicarrier's corridors, Bucky gently nudged her shoulder. "You're not defined by your mistakes, Y/N. You're defined by how you rise from them."

His words lingered, sinking into the recesses of her heart. Y/N realized that her journey toward healing wasn't a straight path. It was a maze of ups and downs, and Bucky was there, a guiding presence in the labyrinth of her uncertainties.

As they faced new challenges, Y/N's struggles persisted, but so did Bucky's unwavering support. In moments of doubt, he became the anchor that steadied her, the voice of reason that countered the whispers of self-criticism.

One evening, after a particularly trying mission, Y/N again found herself on the rooftop. Instead of bearing the weight alone this time, she turned to Bucky with a vulnerability that transcended words.

He listened, not with judgment but with a genuine understanding that only someone who had walked a similar path could provide.

"You don't have to have it all figured out, Y/N," Bucky reassured her. "We're all works in progress. And you're doing better than you think."

As the helicarrier hummed with activity around them, Y/N felt a shift within herself. Bucky's support, coupled with the realization that she didn't have to navigate the journey alone, infused her with a renewed sense of resilience.

Their friendship, born amidst struggles, became a testament to the transformative power of genuine connection. Y/N's path, once marked by solitary footsteps, now had the imprint of a companion who shared both the highs and lows.

In their shared moments, amidst laughter and shared vulnerabilities, Y/N discovered that the journey toward healing wasn't a destination to reach but a continual growth process.

With Bucky by her side, the echoes of her past became softer, replaced by the harmonious notes of a friendship that thrived in the face of adversity.

And so, within the heart of SHIELD, where the complexities of duty met the warmth of camaraderie, Y/N and Bucky continued navigating life's intricacies.

Their friendship, a symphony of shared struggles and unwavering support, played on a melody that resonated with the promise of brighter tomorrows.

-end-

Author Note :

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

I'm now offering faster release and bonus chapters for Ko-fi members. If you enjoy my content and want early access, consider supporting me on Ko-fi!

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

I'm open for business! What should I create next? Share your prompts in the Ask Box!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #james bucky buchanan barnes #buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x you #the winter soldier #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan x reader

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its-avalon-08 · 8 months

Text

lando norris x reader part8

part 7 guys <3 themes enemies to lovers flirty interactions female Formula1 driver (warnings - slight smut towards the end)

Red Lights, Racing Hearts: Chapter 8 - The End or The start?

On yet another race day the roar of the crowd reached a fever pitch as Y/N and Lando pushed their cars to the absolute limit. They were neck-and-neck, a blur of red and blue streaking across the finish line. But in the end, it was Lando who crossed first by a razor-thin margin of a quarter of a second.

Y/N crossed the line in second, breathing heavily, both elation and disappointment mixing in her chest. She congratulated Lando with a curt nod, the joy of the podium celebration muted by the sting of defeat.

As they returned to the pit lane, Y/N noticed a tall, imposing figure storming towards her. He had the same fiery hair and fiery temper as Y/N, but his eyes held a cold contempt that sent shivers down her spine. It was her father.

"You absolute failure!" he roared, his voice thick with disgust. "You disgrace me and lower our family name with every mediocre performance!"

Before Y/N could even react, a stinging slap echoed through the pit lane. Tears welled up in her eyes, not from the pain, but from the years of pent-up hurt and disappointment that his words unleashed.

Lando watched the scene unfold, his blood running cold. The man's words were like a punch to the gut, his arrogant demeanor a stark contrast to Y/N's usual unwavering confidence. He saw Max step in, pulling Y/N away from her father, her face pale and expression unreadable.

Concern gnawed at Lando. He saw the way Y/N's shoulders slumped, the way her usually vibrant eyes were devoid of their usual fire. He had never seen her like this, so broken and vulnerable.

Max, usually jovial and carefree, wore a grim expression as he escorted Y/N away from the crowd. Lando felt a strange urge to follow, to offer some form of comfort, but hesitated. It wasn't his place, he told himself. They were rivals, not friends.

Yet, the image of Y/N's tear-streaked face lingered in his mind, a silent plea for help he couldn't ignore. The victory on the track suddenly felt hollow, tainted by the pain he had witnessed.

Taking a deep breath, Lando pushed through the throng of people, ignoring the cheers and congratulations echoing around him. He had to know if she was okay, even if it meant breaking the unspoken wall between them. He needed to see for himself, just this once, that the girl he saw under the moonlight – the vulnerable, real Y/N – wasn't just a figment of his imagination.

The words hung heavy in the air, Dutch syllables laced with concern and anger. Max's voice, usually gruff, softened as he spoke to Y/N, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. She responded in fast-paced Dutch, tears glistening in her eyes, but the language barrier couldn't mask the raw pain in her voice.

Suddenly, Carlos materialized, concern etched on his face. He held out an ice pack, his warm brown eyes meeting Y/N's. "Here, for the cheek," he said softly, his Spanish accent a soothing balm amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

Y/N accepted the ice pack, pressing it against the throbbing bruise. "He's not wrong, Carlos," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "I am stupid. I am a fucking disappointment."

The silence that followed was deafening. Just then, a shadow emerged from the corner, a figure who had been observing the whole scene. It was Lando.

He stepped into the light, his eyes blazing with defiance. "Shut the fuck up, Y/N," he snapped, his voice low but firm. "No, you're not. You may be frustrating and annoying and irritating," he paused, a smirk playing on his lips, "but you drive like a goddamn god. You beat Lewis Hamilton. So shut the actual fuck up. You. Are. Not. A. disappointment."

His words, unexpectedly powerful and laced with genuine concern, cut through the fog of self-doubt that had enveloped Y/N. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she simply stared at him, speechless.

Max and Carlos exchanged surprised glances. This was Lando? The cocky, arrogant rival was speaking with a sincerity they hadn't witnessed before.

Y/N finally found her voice, her tone laced with disbelief. "But… my dad-"

Lando held up a hand, silencing her. "Your dad is an idiot," he said bluntly. "His opinion shouldn't matter. You know what matters? Your talent, your passion, your goddamn fire. Don't let anyone, not even your own blood, dim that light."

His words resonated within Y/N, striking a chord deep within her soul. The fire he saw in her, the fire she sometimes doubted, he saw it burning bright, and his unwavering belief reignited its embers.

A spark of hope flickered in her eyes. She met his gaze, a single tear rolling down her cheek, but this time, it wasn't a tear of despair, but of gratitude.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of the paddock, with Max and Carlos as silent witnesses, a fragile connection was forged between Y/N and Lando. It was a connection born out of unexpected concern, shared vulnerability, and a newfound understanding. The rivalry might still simmer beneath the surface, but something had shifted, something deeper, something that promised a journey far beyond the checkered flag.

-------- time skip, a few hours later -----------------------------------

Y/N stood before Lando's hotel room door, her hand hovering over the knock button. Uncertainty gnawed at her, but the echo of his words, "Don't let anyone dim that light," propelled her forward. With a shaky breath, she pressed the button.

Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Lando in all his casual glory: messy hair, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a playful smirk plastered on his face. "Lost, L/N?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N ignored his usual banter, her eyes locking onto his. "Thank you," she blurted out, surprising even herself.

Lando's smirk faltered, replaced by genuine curiosity. "For what?"

"For… everything," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "For shutting me up, for seeing me, for making me believe."

Silence fell between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Lando studied her, his gaze tracing the vulnerability in her eyes, the faint bruise on her cheek a stark reminder of her ordeal. He saw a strength too, a resilience that had been momentarily shaken but not broken.

He stepped aside, a silent invitation. "Come in," he said, his voice softer than usual.

Y/N entered, her heart pounding against her ribs. They sat on the edge of his bed, facing each other, their knees almost touching. They talked, or rather, Y/N talked, pouring out her feelings about her father, her doubts, her struggles. Lando listened intently, his full attention on her, occasionally throwing in a comforting word or a knowing smile.

"Yeah so that's why we broke up, he was a proper dick. he cheated and then got mad at me when I wouldn't take him back" Y/N finished. Lando laughed out loud and said, "What actual moron would cheat on you? The fucker was lucky you ever let him near you in the first place."

Their eyes met, and the world seemed to fade away. Time stood still as they held each other's gaze, an unspoken question hanging in the air. The intensity of it almost hurt, like a current running between them, electrifying and exhilarating.

Five seconds. Five seconds of their eyes locked, a silent conversation unfolding behind them. Five seconds that felt like an eternity, a slow descent into a whirlpool of unspoken desires.

Lando's eyes flickered down to her lips, their fullness inviting, their curve tempting. An unbidden warmth spread through his chest, a fire fueled by the vulnerability he had witnessed, the strength he had admired, the woman he was starting to see beneath the fiery racer.

"Y/N," he rasped, his voice thick with a mix of nervousness and desire.

She leaned in, her heart mirroring the frantic rhythm of his. Before he could form another word, her voice, barely a whisper, cut through the tension.

"Norris," she breathed, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something more, something raw and primal. "Kiss me right now."

And with that, the dam broke. Lando surged forward, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. It was a kiss born of unexpected connection, of shared vulnerability, of a rivalry simmering into something more. It was a kiss that promised the thrill of the chase, the comfort of shared understanding, the uncharted territory of their blossoming feelings.

A low moan erupted from Y/N's mouth as Lando pulled her such that she was straddling him. She grinded against him gently causing his cock to harden instantly. He let out a soft groan as he pulled her hair to adjust her face placement. His hands wandered down, but before reaching her ass, he pulled away and asked "Can I?". (CONSENT IN COOL). Y/N nodded breathlessly, while Lando's hand wandered over her ass, pulling her even closer.

Lando moved to Y/N's neck and searched for her sweet spot. She mewled the most delicious sound when he found it and Lando smirked. "Fuck darling, you're going to be the end of me" he whispered. Just as they were about to go any further, Y/N's phone started buzzing. It was Max. She scrambled off Lando as she answered the phone is dutch. Max was asking her to come down for a quick meeting. With swollen lips and a fresh hickey on her neck, Y/N and Lando exchanged glances. Giving a quick wave, Y/N sprinted out. Lando muttered, "What the actual fuck did I do?"

What had they just done? Would this be the end of everything they built or the start of something unlikely?

#lando norris #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #red bull racing #y/n #ln4 fluff #ln4 x reader #ln4 smut #lando norris smut

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fanficapologist · 1 year

Text

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Thirty-Four

For twelve long days, Maera retreated into a self-imposed silence. She fulfilled her duties diligently but spoke little to anyone, choosing to spend most of her time in her chambers. The King and Queen, both recovering from their injuries, remained secluded in their respective chambers. Maera relied on her trusted confidants, Thena and Ser Arryk, to keep her informed about the court's whispering. Through Thena's reports, she learned that rumors were circulating among the courtiers. Some believed that the King and Queen had fallen gravely ill, a disease that would further destabilize the realm, and allow Princess Rhaenyra to take her place on the Iron Throne. Others speculated that the royal couple was using this time to strengthen their bond, causing Maera to roll her eyes. The courtiers clearly did not know the royal couple well if that was the assumption made.

In an attempt to not go mad in her solitude, Maera's primary focus during those days was on Queen Helaena's three children. Each day spent in their presence was a gift from the Gods, and a welcome distraction from Maera’s impending destruction at the hands of the King. Accompanied by the nursery maids, Maera would take them daily to the Godswood and allow the children to play and explore whilst she sat underneath one of the trees. Maelor continued to toddle around quite happily but the twins seemed discontent. As she watched over them, Jaehaera approached Maera, curiosity gleaming in her violet eyes.

"Why haven't we seen our mother in a while?” The young princess asked Maera, who granted the little girl a sad smile. She studied Jaehaera, taking in her gown of crimson and black, and silver locks that framed her cherubic face.

"Your mother has important matters to attend to, which is why I am blessed to spend this time with you all, Princess,” Maera assured the girl in an attempt to distract her from the situation at hand.

Jaehaerys had also been listening from a few feet away, brows furrowing in confusion at her comment. It seemed they remained unconvinced, but they did not ask any further questions, continuing to play together.

Amid her interactions with the children, Maera continued to visit Helaena, checking on her well-being. The Queen's injuries, while still visible, were gradually healing, and her spirit was recovering too. One day, as Maera tenderly bathed her friend's face, wiping away any remnants of dried blood, she gently broached the subject of the children.

"Would you like to see them, my Queen? It may lift your spirits to have them around you."

However, the Queen hesitated, her concern evident as she replied, "I fear my injuries would frighten them."

Maera continued to tenderly cleanse Helaena's face, her gaze filled with sympathy. She couldn't help but admire the Queen's strength as she said, "You are such a good mother to those children, Helaena."

The Queen paused, her eyes distant as she reflected on her situation. Eventually, she confessed, "Aegon may be a monster, but he gave me the greatest gifts of all - my children. For that, I can't help but feel some gratitude."

Maera's brow furrowed at Helaena's words. She, too, cared deeply for the children, but she wondered if she would ever willingly trade her suffering for the role of their mother. And as for Aegon, she pondered whether the children truly comprehended the darkness that lurked within him.

With the cleansing complete, Maera carefully placed the bowl of water and cloth back on the bed side table. She then poured a cup of herbal tea, a prescribed remedy from the Maester to aid Helaena's recovery, in a blue porcelain cup.

Expressing her heartfelt sympathy, Maera commented, "I'm so sorry that I could not stop him, Helaena. I wish I had been with you that night."

The Queen sighed softly, revealing, "He hasn't returned to my chambers since..."

Maera carefully handed the cup of herbal tea to Queen Helaena, her eyes filled with concern as the conversation took a somber turn. Helaena, perceptive as ever, noticed the worry etched across Maera's face, and it prompted her to pause mid-sip. She set the cup down and fixed her gaze on Maera, her violet eyes piercing like a hawk's.

Hesitation weighed heavily in the air as Helaena ventured to ask, "What did you do?" Maera released a deep, resigned sigh, her gaze shifting to the window that framed the Queen's chambers. Outside, ominous dark clouds gathered, mirroring the turmoil within.

Turning back to her friend, Maera admitted, "Something that's bound to bring dire consequences, I’m sure."

Helaena's eyes widened in alarm at Maera's words, and she reached out desperately, clutching Maera's hand tightly. She implored, "I can endure a thousand more tortures at Aegon’s hands, but i cannot lose you, Maera, please.”

Maera couldn't bear to look at her friend any longer, the weight of guilt and regret pressing upon her. When she had lashed out at Aegon, her anger had consumed her, a blaze that had burned out of control. But now, as she reflected on her actions, those flames had dwindled to mere embers. Maera understood that, no matter how justified she felt in avenging Helaena, it was she who would ultimately bear the consequences.

Helaena's voice carried across the room, filled with deep emotion. "Maera, you're my best friend," she said, her words imbued with sincerity. "I think you are my only true friend. You have always accepted me for what I am. You have never called me crazy or stupid or dumb. You make me feel…safe."

Moved by her friend's heartfelt words, Maera returned to Helaena's side, their hands entwined once more. Her voice trembled with uncertainty as she spoke, "I don't know what's going to happen, Helaena. I don't even know who knows about what transpired." She fought to hold back tears, turning her gaze away momentarily to regain her composure before locking eyes with Helaena again. "And I don't know how to fix this mess."

Helaena's demeanor shifted suddenly, as if she'd drifted into a trance. She muttered cryptically, a slight smile on her face, "The dragon will trade a doe for a storm," leaving Maera bewildered by the strange words.

Maera, consumed by the relentless uncertainty of her fate, began refusing meals and drinks, plagued by the fear that Aegon might resort to poison her. Her loyal maid, Thena, tried her best to reassure her. "My lady, I've been with the food every step of the way in the kitchen. There's no foul play," she said earnestly. In an attempt to coax Maera into eating, Thena even sampled the dishes herself. But even after confirming their safety, Maera could only manage a few reluctant bites.

The nights were the worst, where repeating dreams of her fate tortured her. In the throes of her nightmare, Lady Maera's breath came in ragged gasps, her heart pounding like a drum of doom. The specter of treason and execution haunted her, a dark shadow that refused to relent. As the nights wore on, her cries grew louder, a haunting chorus of anguish that reverberated through the chambers, causing Ser Arryk to have to come in and wake her, finding her in a wretched state, hair clung to her sweat-drenched brow, trembling hands grasping at the linens, seeking an escape from the horrors that plagued her mind.

On the thirteenth day of her ordeal, after another sleepless night, Maera completed her letters to her family back in Rain House. She chose not to divulge the impending doom she faced at the King's hands, unwilling to worry her loved ones. Instead, she poured her heart into the words, expressing her deep longing for them, urging them to care for one another, and to foster love, empathy, and understanding. She wanted them to know that she carried them in her thoughts every single day.

That morning, Maera extended an invitation to Thena and Ser Arryk, to join her in her chambers for a ‘last meal’. Her mother’s wise words echoed in her mind, stating “the simple act of sharing a meal holds the power to provide a modicum of comfort amidst the encroaching shadows of grief.”

Together, the trio shared breakfast in a rather solemn affair, the air heavy with a sense of melancholy that hung like a shroud. A jug of ale, dark and hearty, stood as a solitary sentinel, its presence a silent acknowledgment of the need for easing the tension that had been weighing down on her for days.

As they sat together, savoring their food, Maera couldn't help but contemplate that this might be the last time they'd share such a moment. She turned to Thena, her loyal maid, and made a solemn request, "Thena, when the news of my punishment spreads, ensure that my letters reach my family." Thena nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting her unwavering loyalty.

Maera then shifted her gaze to Ser Arryk, her trusted guard. With determination in her voice, she implored, "Ser Arryk, I want you to become the sworn protector of Helaena. Make sure the King never lays a hand on her again, even if it means facing punishment yourself." The knight, his mouth full of food, managed a resolute nod through a bite of his meal.

Thena, taking a sip of her ale, chimed in with a touch of skepticism, "But my lady, we don't know your fate yet. Why plan for it?"

Maera replied with unwavering certainty, "Thena, I beat the King to a bloody pulp. It's unlikely I'll go unpunished."

Ser Arryk, having swallowed his food, added, "And he deserved every bit of it."

Thena continued to question, "What about Prince Aemond? He was with you at the time. Surely, despite his unpredictability, he'll protest a harsh punishment for the sake of your childhood friendship."

Ser Arryk interjected, "If the Prince was determined to protect our Lady, he'd have already come to see her and assure her of her fate."

Maera couldn't help but agree, noting that the Prince had clearly not left King's Landing, as Vhagar, the mighty dragon, continued to soar above the castle, a constant presence in the city's skies. She sat in contemplative silence, her thoughts swirling like a turbulent sea. A mixture of emotions and assumptions danced in her mind. Perhaps, Maera mused, Aemond already knew her fate, but the burden of delivering such news had held him back. It was kind in one way, yet terrible in another.

Pouring herself more ale, Maera downed the goblet until it was empty, her thoughts now morphing into whether she would get to see Aemond again before her impending doom. There was so much she wanted to say to him, and Maera concluded that grudges could not be held from beyond the grave. She wanted to express her disdain for his cruel nature and how he had toyed with her since losing his eye. That his hot-tempered and unforgiving nature would be his downfall, and perhaps if he wasn’t such an arrogant arse, he would find happiness in this life.

She also wanted to tell him how not all of the memories she had of him were bad, how there were points were she admired him and treasured his company, how sometimes simply seeing his face would make her days. Maera wanted to tell him how she thought he mirrored the beauty of the Gods of Old Valyria despite his injury, how she had thoroughly enjoyed the kiss they had shared that night and how she wished that they had taken things further, so she would have known a man’s touch before her head ended up on a spike.

But most importantly, Maera wanted to impart some wisdom to him. She longed to tell him to harness his anger, to use it to protect his family, instead of letting it consume him. She wanted him to know that he didn't need to constantly prove himself to others, that he was already enough just the way he was. And deep down, she believed he should have been the one sitting on the Iron Throne, that he was a born ruler and warrior, far more suited than the foolhardy Aegon.

With resolve, Maera rose from the breakfast table, reached for one last piece of parchment, and began to scribble down everything that had been swirling in her mind. Folding it and sealing it with wax, she pressed the House Wylde sigil of the Maelstrom onto the still-wet wax. The letter was addressed to the One-Eyed Prince, and she placed it onto the growing pile of messages. One more letter for Thena to deliver.

The doors to Maera's chambers burst open, and her father, Lord Jasper, entered with an air of authority. His grey-green eyes, normally sharp and discerning, now blazed with a fury that seemed to ignite the very air around him.

Immediately, the maid and guard rose from their seats as a sign of respect for the head of House Wylde. Maera offered her father a respectful nod as he demanded, "What have you done?"

Maera sighed and glanced over at Thena, giving her a gentle nod as a signal that she could leave. Thena approached her lady and picked up the correspondence on the writing desk. However, before she could depart, Maera reached across her table and handed Thena a burgundy silk purse filled with silver coins, a token of gratitude for her unwavering loyalty during Maera's stay at the Red Keep. She clasped it into Thena’s hands, giving it a gentle squeeze before mouthing a silent, “Thank you, for everything.” The maid appeared on the verge of tears but managed to nod before turning to leave the room. Ser Arryk, ever vigilant, remained, knowing that her father's temper was likely to flare.

Maera returned to her dining table, poured ale for herself, her knight, and her father, and gestured for her father to take the goblet she offered. She then asked him, her voice tinged with concern, "What have you heard?"

Lord Jasper accepted the goblet and eagerly took a sip before he began to explain, "I heard that the Queen had been injured, from the Maester."

Maera couldn't help but roll her eyes and sarcastically mused aloud, "Oh, did Maester Orwyle say how the Queen manage to get herself hurt so badly?"

Her father paused for a moment and then continued, "But then, I heard that the King had also been injured." He looked at Maera, concern etched on his face. "I hope, for your sake, you had nothing to do with the King's injuries."

Maera merely shrugged in response, her tone casual as she asked, "What would give you that idea?"

Her father's voice grew gruffer as he replied, "I have not been invited to the last four Small Council meetings since these incidents occurred, and they went ahead without me."

With a contemplative hum, Maera swirled the ale around in her goblet before taking another sip. After a moment of silence, she finally responded, her voice tinged with resignation, "What's done is done." Lord Jasper, frustration evident, slammed his goblet onto the table in anger.

Lord Jasper couldn't contain his anger as he approached Maera, shouting, "Do you realize what you have done? What shame you have brought upon us?!" However, Ser Arryk swiftly stepped between them, hand resting on his sword's hilt, warning Lord Jasper to stay back.

Maera, defiant and fiery, shouted back at her father, "The King is probably going to execute me anyway. You should be glad; then you can be rid of your shame!" Frustration boiled within Lord Jasper, causing him to kick over one of Maera's chairs, releasing some of his pent-up anger. He began to pace the room, muttering, "Oh Gods," repeatedly.

As tension filled the room, another figure entered, the sound of armor clinking softly with each step – Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander, clad in his imposing metal plating. He addressed both Maera and her father with an air of calmness, his chiselled features displaying a hint of sternness. “Lord Wylde, Lady Maera. Your presence has been requested in the Throne room. By the King."

Notes: been avoiding editing this chapter but finally got round to it! I’ve been working on the other chapters more 🤣

Tags: @marvelescvpe @grungegrrrl @shesjustanothergeek @blue-serendipity

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd helaena #house targaryen #house wylde

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atriza · 10 days

Text

The Point of No Return pt.11

Yandere Five Hargreeves x Reader

Part 10

Summary: Y/N continues to endure Five's relentless domination. He tests their submission with increasingly dehumanizing demands, pushing them to the point where they have nothing left but obedience. One night, Five summons them to the living room, expressing his need to know that they are completely his. Y/N, having lost their sense of self entirely, submits to this final request, realizing that they have passed the point of no return. Their identity has been stripped away, replaced by total submission to Five.

Word Count: 564 words

**Content Warning:**

This story contains dark and potentially distressing themes, including obsessive behavior, violence, manipulation, and psychological distress. It portrays a relationship that is unhealthy and toxic, where one character exhibits controlling and possessive tendencies that lead to extreme actions.

If you are sensitive to these themes or find them triggering, please consider skipping this story.

Have Fun Reading!

The days had blurred into one another, each filled with the routine of obedience and submission that Five had imposed upon you. The house had become a prison where freedom was a distant memory, replaced by the relentless demands end harsh discipline of your captor.

Tonight was different. Five had given you a specific command—to wait for him by the door of his study. As you knelt on the cold, hard floor, every muscle in your body ached with the Strain of maintaining this position. The silence of the house was oppressive, broken only by the distant hum of the heating system. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, steeling yourself for whatever was to come.

The door to the study creaked open, and Five emerged, his presence as commanding as ever. He had changed into more casual clothes, but his demeanor was anything but relaxed. His eyes locked anto you with a mixture of satisfaction and cold determination. He approached with deliberate steps, his gaze never leaving you.

“Stand up,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

You complied immediately, rising with a fluid motion. Five's eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail of your compliance. There was a hard edge to his gaze, a glint of something dark and possessive.

“Follaw me," he commanded.

You trailed behind him as he led you to the living room. The atmosphere was tense, charged with an unspoken intensity, Five gestured for you to sit on the cauch, and you obeyed, taking your place with a resigned grace. He sat down next to you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, but not so close that you could mistake his intentions.

“I've been thinking,” he began, his voice smooth but laced with a dangerous undertone. “You've shown remarkable obedience. But there are still some things | need to be certain of”

He reached out, his hand resting postessively on your thigh. His touch was both intimate and commanding, a reminder of the control he held over you. You looked down, feeling the weight of his expectations pressing down on you.

“What do you need?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Five's eyes narrowed ae he cansidered you. “I need to know that you are completely mine. That thare is nothing left of the person you once were. | want to see how far you're willing to go."

The implications of his words were clear. He wanted to test your limits, to push you beyond the boundaries of what you had already endured. The fear and apprehension you falt were almost overwhelming, but you had {earned to suppres them, to bury them deep within yourself. You had no choice but to comply.

Five's hand moved from your thigh to your shoulders, his grip firm as he guided you to stand up. “Come with me" he said, leading you to a different part of the house.

The destination was a small, dimly fit room that you had rarely seen. It was furnished simply, with only a few pieces of furniture and a small, uncomfortable-looking chair. Five gestured for you to sit in the chair, and you did so without hesitation.

“I want you to remain here,” he said, his ‘tone broking no argument. “And | want you to think about what you've done.”

You nodded, accepting his command. As he turned to Jeave, he paused at the door, casting one last look at you. His expression was one of cold satisfaction, a hint of something darker lurking beneath the surface.

The room was silent except for the occasional creak of the house settling. You sat there, alone with your thoughts, ‘the weight of Five's expectations heavy on your shoulders. The time stretched endlessly, each moment a reminder of your complete lack of cantral.

Finally, Five returned, his demeanar as commanding as ever. He carried a small box with him, setting it dawn on a nearby table. As he approached you, he held up a simple but elegant ring-a symbol of ownership, a token of the finality of his control.

“This” he said, holding the ring up for you to see, “is a symbol of your submission. | want you to wear it as a mark of your obedience.”

You stared at the ring, a sense of dread settling over you. The thought of wearing it, of marking yourself as his possession in such a permanent way, was almost 100 much to bear, But you knew that resistance was futile. You had already given up 50 much, and this was simply another step in the process.

Five held out his hand, his gaze unwavering. "Put it on”

With trembling fingers, you took the ring and slid it onto your finger. The metal felt cold and heavy, a stark reminder of the control he held over yau. Ag you finished, Five's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction.

“Good; he said. “You've proven your submission. But we're not finished yet.”

He moved closer, his hand resting on your chin as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes were intense, filled with a mixture of possessiveness and something darker~an almost predatory gleam.

“I need to be sure that you are completely mine” he said softly. “That ‘there is no part of you left that isn’t under my control,”

The implication of his words was clear. He wanted to test you further, to push you beyond the limits of what you had already endured. The thought of what he might ask of you was almost too much to bear, but you had no choice but to camply.

Five's hand slipped from your chin ta your shoulder, his touch both firm and possessive. "Come," he said, guiding you toward the door, “There's one more thing we need to do.”

You follawed him, your mind racing with a mixture of fear and resignation. He led you to a small room that you had never seen before a private chamber that seemed to exist solely for the purpose of exerting his control over you.

Inside the room was a bed, its stark simplicity a reminder of the pawer dynamic at play. Five gestured far you to sit on the edge of the bed, and you did e0, your heart paunding with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

He approached you slowly, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. His movements were deliberate, each step calculated to maintain the dominance he had established.

“| want you to understand,’ he said softly, “that this is about more than just obedience. It’s about complete and utter submission. | need to know that there 1 nothing left of the person you once were.”

As he spoke, he began to undress, hig movements smooth and controlled. The sight of him preparing for what was to come only heightened your sense of vulnerability, You knew that you had no. choice but to comply, to submit fully to his demands.

When he was finally ready, he approached you, his touch bath ‘commanding and intimate. The act thet followed was a culmination of everything you had endured, a final test of your submission. As you surrendered to his control, you felt the last remnants of your resistance slip away, replaced by a sense of resignation and acceptance,

Afterward, as you lay beside him, exhausted and empty, Five's demeanor softened slightly. He reached out, pulling you close, his touch surprisingly tender.

"You've done well,” he said softly. "You've proven your submission. But there's one final step."

He pulled away slightly, his gaze intense. “I want you to marry me.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, a final, erushing demand that left you reeling. The idea of binding yourself to him in such a permanent way was almost too much to bear, But deep down, you knew that resisting was no longer an option.

Five's eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of anticipation and something darker. He wanted you to say yes, to agree to his final demand and complete your transformation into his possession.

You took a deep breath, your mind racing. You had already given up so much, but this was different. It was a final, irrevocable step, a binding commitment that would seal your fate forever.

With a heavy heart, you nodded, accepting the reality of your situation. ‘The person you once were was gone, replaced by a shell of submission and obedience. As Five's satisfied smile grew, you knew that there was ao tuming back, You had reached the point of no return, and the future that lay ahead was one of complete and utter ‘surrender.

In the quiet aftermath, as you lay beside him, the weight of his final demand hung heavily in the air. The person you had once been was a distant memory, replaced by a reality of complete submission and control. And as Five's contented breathing filled the room, you understood that the final act of your surrender had been completed

#five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves #number five #the umbrella academy #yandere #yandere five hargreeves #yandere stories #yandere umbrella academy #brellies #five umbrella academy

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astrobydalia · 2 months

Note

Hi. I'd love to have a big 3 reading from you if that's alright.

Here are my big 3 (Tropical whole sign): Pisces Sun 18 degrees at the 8th house, Aries Moon 13 degrees at the 9th house, Leo Rising 11 degrees. My moon is aspecting my rising if that's still part of the big three.

Thank you in advance!

Hello lovely!

“My way or the highway” kinda energy. Not in the sense that you wanna impose your will onto others, but rather you literally wanna walk your own way. People might not fully understand you or the things you do but you’re fine keeping it that way, you could be become the only one or the first one in circle pursuing what you want to persue in some way. It’s okay with you if you’re the only one who understands you since you understand that moving in silence is the best strategy for life. The theme of finding yourself in a deeper way is big hear, you probably got into occult with the specific intention to understand yourself in the deepest ways possible: spiritually, philosophically, psychologically, what’s your purpose etc. and it’s important to you to keep it profoundly to yourself because you wanna make sure that only yours. You could experience big ego death in your life where you really push yourself to be better

I see you being rather intelligent and understanding. Understanding yourself deeply gives you the ability to comprehend others as well and easily grasp the bigger mysteries and questions in life. You could be a little stubborn and self-isolated, emotionally intense but your expansive nature makes you care deeply about the world

P.S. sorry for the late reply I’ve been busy preparing vacations

#astrology #astro #astro observations #birth chart #astrobydalia

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neoneun-au · 6 months

Note

13-15 for the ask!!! also i love ur theme 🥹🫶

thank you ;-; i needed a change. something more spring-forward LOL

13. Name one of your fics that you are proud of

ok ! all of them ! LOL jk i answered two in the previous ask i think im gonna do the truest answer in this moment and say 'can't help myself' even though it's still incomplete :')) its the first time ive committed to something of this length and it's really testing a lot of my comfort zones as a writer, but that was very much part of the goal in writing it in the first place. im happy that so far ive been able to push through those self-imposed barriers and that people are generally responding to it well !

14: Share a headcanon about one of your fics (optional: a specific fic)

ooooh okok soonyoung and seulgi definitely had a threesome with a bridesmaid at one of the weddings in other people's weddings. their constant competitiveness spurred it forward. they never talk about it. seulgi has sworn soonyoung to silence.

15. Who is a fic author you like/look up to

you. jackie. zosia (come back ;A;). mmm many such cases haha i never did read a ton of ff and i REALLY dont now, but the ones that stuck with me really stuck with me </3

fanfic asks

#tysm lily <3 #replies #ask game #husbandhoshi

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starlinefactives · 1 year

Text

(ENG) Dealing with dysmorphia as a factive

— By Hyuka

Spanish version here: Link

Index ✨

Intro...

What to do during the crisis...

What to do after the crisis...

Remark and summary...

1. Intro⭐

Hi, I'm an introject of Hueningkai, one of the members of a K-pop group called TxT. As you can see I use Hyuka to refer to myself. I'm not going to explain what's an introject, what's DID, etc because I do this content by and for other introjects. More info about our project here: Link

In this post you'll find tips to manage easily the days where looking in the mirror, listening to yourself and remembering your "other life" hurts. Perhaps dysmorphia isn't the perfect term, since for us (factives) depersonalization's often mixed with this body distortion. We have a vivid reference to how we see ourselves, and I know firsthand how it can end up affecting physical & emotional health. So here we're 🤣

2. What to do during the crisis⭐

There are things that you can do but I recommend doing the hard stuff when the feeling doesn't cloud us so much... So:

0°) Right now isn't the time to look for answers.

First heal and feel better. In moments like this, it isn't necessary to look for concrete answers, if not to rest and seek personal care.

Things you could do at the moment:

1°) Don't look for photos/videos of your source on your bad days.

I know, or at least it happens to me, I begin to sink into photos but they only widen the abyss between feeling better and the current moment. It doesn't mean you must never watch them, of course you can enjoy watching videos/photos/etc. but when you feel good... Not when you're hating the body of the system.

2°) Avoid mirrors. Reflection from the phone included.

Something that has helped me is that if the peak of discomfort catches me at a meeting/family gathering/similar and they want a group photo, I don't look at it at the moment (Other alter will do it some days after, for example). So you don't deprive yourself of creating beautiful memories for the day that we will can look at ourselves.

3°) Try to call another alter to the inner or the front to help you.

Be careful, not that they remove you from the front, from the conscience and TADAA. No, I mean someone to accompany you. Something that our therapist told us is to avoid sudden switches and seek accompaniment as far as possible. Once you are accompanied, if the situation allows it, try to focus on taking care of yourself physically and mentally.

4°) When you cannot reason with your thoughts; distract yourself.

There must be something you like to do that is not related to your source, even if it is sleeping, walking, calling a friend on the system, listening to other types of music...

3. What to do after the crisis⭐

These activities are the ones that could help you prevent and make dysmorphia peaks more manageable.

5°) Silence words that may trigger you in social media.

For example, for me they are weight and food themes. One day, the cookies on my phone detected this, it began an automatic and continuous barrage of suggestions for weight loss apps, of people talking nonsense and insulting each other. If I had taken my own advice earlier, I wouldn't have this problem now. Highly recommended //teasing tone

6°) Find a "safe outfit", if you are able find a style.

It doesn't have to be the same as in your source, just have to help the skin feel more yours. It can also help with dysphoria. This is more inherited dysphoria-themed advice from those before me in the system; our body's afab and most alters are male or non-binary.

7°) Prepare a small emergency kit with thing that you like, things that calm you down, may with a list of thing you verified before that works…

Even if it's a simple list stuck in a corner of your room, it will already make it easier for you when you start to feel bad. In my case, I have this in TO DO list... so don't try to self-impose perfection (But I'll make the kit, I promise, in due time).

8°) Remember what makes you yourself which I assure you is not just your source.

Another thing I have in TO DO list... In my case, it's really hard to validate myself without comparing me to Hueningkai (he and I have a toxic relationship //joke). I invite you to make a list as well with what friends, other alters, yourself, etc see in you that makes you be youself 💖

9°) Familiarize yourself with the face of the system.

One of our alters spent a few moments looking at ourselves in the mirror and meditating on what the face of the system was like during his front. He has the advantage of being calm and rational, maybe it will take us more to get to that point... but trying little by little can help us in the long run.

4. Remark and summary⭐

Of the five factives I'm the one that manage this issue the worst, that's why i wanted to agroup everything here and share it. It's very complicated, and even with the therapist I haven't dared to confess that I'm an introjection of an idol, btw… but step by step, don't hope perfection one day to another. I like to keep on mind that my system is with me and that I'm just as valid to making friends & just existing as any other human being.

I leave you the summary in a decorated list~ Thanks for reading my first long post!

Tips against dysmorphia as factives:

In crisis it is not time to look for answers 🪐

Don't look for photos/videos of your source on your bad days 🌎

Avoid mirrors 🌜

Try to call another alter to the inner/front that goes along with you 🌌

When you can't reason with your thoughts; distract yourself 🛸

Silence words that may trigger you on social media 🌒️

Find a "safe outfit", if you are able find a style 🌕️

Prepare a small emergency kit 🚀

Remember what makes you yourself 👽

Get familiar step by step with the face of the system 🔭

#english is not my first language please be nice #i did my best #thanks for reading really #factive #didsystem #kpopfactive

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hhariet · 10 months

Text

elle woods: an experience & application.

If I were to pen down the chronicles of my senior high school life, the narrative would unfurl as a poignant saga, with change standing as the protagonist, and the pervasive theme of solitude casting a somber shadow over the pages. As I embarked on the tumultuous journey of grade 11, the specter of loneliness enveloped me, a stark consequence of my inconspicuous existence in the corridors of high school.

I entered this chapter of my life as a mere specter—a fading echo in the collective memory of my peers. The person I once was had undergone a profound metamorphosis, and my identity had become an elusive mirage, slipping through the fingers of those who might have otherwise known me. The perks of being a wallflower unfolded before me, offering a dubious refuge from the harsh judgments that often accompanied a more visible existence. In my cocoon of anonymity, no one harbored preconceived notions about me; however, the price I paid for this semblance of safety was the solitude that echoed through the hallways of my high school.

Days melded into nights, and the cycle of isolation persisted, like the ticking of a melancholic clock. The silence that surrounded me was both a fortress and a prison, offering solace in its familiarity but imprisoning me in a world where connection remained elusive. It was a dance with loneliness, an intricate choreography that only I seemed to perform.

And then, one fateful day, as the pallor of my existence continued to deepen, I found myself in the unexpected embrace of a cinematic narrative—Legally Blonde. As the vibrant hues of Elle Woods' journey flickered on the screen, a subtle revelation stirred within me. Perhaps, buried beneath the layers of invisibility, there existed untapped reservoirs of potential. The realization dawned on me like a muted sunrise, casting a feeble light on the possibilities that had eluded me for so long.

In the dim glow of that cinematic revelation, the walls of my self-imposed isolation trembled. The echo of footsteps, once solitary, began to reverberate with the possibility of forging connections. The metamorphosis that had defined my high school years took on a new hue—a bittersweet blend of regret for the time lost in shadows and a tentative hope for the dawn of a more vibrant future.

As I started to end my senior year, I realized I could do anything if I put my mind to it. As Elle Woods said. “What? Like it’s hard?”

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srorgana1 · 1 year

Text

Invocation

Paring: Vampire Kylo/Hunter Rey

Warnings: Dark Themes (apporaching Dead Dove, you have been warned), Supernatural/Paranormal, Blood, Violence, Gore, Death, NSFW 18+, Sexual Content, Psychological and Physical Torture, Kidnapping, Hatred towards organized religion, Pain, Major/Minor character death/injury, Demonic Possession

Chapter Five

“What the fuck was that!?” Kylo roars as Vicrul drags him out of the AXS and into the alleyway. The cold wind hits him, making his anger spike more. “Kylo, I am angry too but you need to calm down and be reasonable” Vicrul says as his eyes fade from gold to chocolate brown.

“Reasonable?” Kylo snarled “You want me to fucking reasonable when one of the Devil’s former advisors just told us to basically cut our losses?” He can feel his fangs descend which means his eyes are blood red as well. He starts to pace. “That’s not what he said and you stopped listening after he mentioned Luke” Vicrul growls back at him.

He stops and stares at his friend and closest ally. How does he not remember it was Luke, head Ethereal and founder of The Council, and the others’ faults everything happened. Luke’s crazy ideas and his too trusting nature allowed darkness and hate to grow in his hubris. He allowed the Devil to come into being and terrorize the world and by doing so create him and the other Knights of Ren. Some all-knowing immortal.

“You really think Luke learned his lesson Vic? It sounds just like a repeat of last time” Kylo says, turning his back. He feels Vicrul’s large hand clasp his shoulder. “I don’t know Kylo” he says lowly “but we need to find out. We need to get into The Order and figure out their motives. We need to make sure they are what The Council says they are. I NEED to see if they are responsible for what happened to my son.”

He knows Vicrul is right. He is just so worked up after having to acknowledge his failures once again. How he KNEW the Devil’s plans and stood by. How so many died because of his silence. The pain in his chest alights as he remembers the pain, guilt and rage he felt along with the sweet satisfaction of when he ran him through with his blade, banishing him.

He also remembers how they were hunted by those they saved afterwards, blamed for everything. How he was damned, cursed and tortured. How The Council was too busy organizing and protecting the scattered Supernatural communities to help and support their saviors. How he hated them all then.

He growls to himself. Stupid humans hiding behind their hypocritical religions, calling HIM a monster. They have no fucking idea that it is all a farce. There is no God. There are Ethereals, Demons and everything in-between including them. If they really knew everything, their heads would explode.

“It never was your fault you know that” Vicrul says “it was all ours. We were all deceived.” “Vic I can’t…I know you and the others have forgiven yourselves and each other for what happened, but I am not ready yet…” he says, squeezing his eyes closed as he pierces his own lip with his fangs. The pain is a welcome distraction to the misery swirling inside him.

“Kylo I cannot tell you how to live your life, but torturing yourself for what happened in the past will not change things. All it does is make you tired and miserable” Vicrul says as he grips both shoulders and turns around to face him, not reacting to the blood streaming down Kylo’s chin. “Just as before, I will help you however I can. I know Jessica will too. We are bound by the bonds of brotherhood and I want to see you happy and at peace.”

Kylo opens his eyes to see a soft look on Vicrul’s face. He has forgotten in his self-imposed exile and self loathing that he was not alone in this and never was. “I’m sorry” he mumbles through his swollen lip. “Don’t be, we all had to deal with it in our own way. But we now need to move forward so we can figure out what is happening here” Vicrul says, squeezing his shoulders before letting go.

Kylo takes a deep breath for what feels like the first time in ages but freezes when he feels a tingling on his lip. He looks up to see Vicrul fingers twitch, willing him back to his unmarred form. Kylo smiles as he touches his now healed lip. “Where’d you learn that?” he says as he stands up straight, ready to move forward.

“Jessica. According to her I always had it in me” he says, shrugging a shoulder as he led Kylo back to the club door. “Hmm I always knew you were more than just the muscle” Kylo snarked as he opens the door. “Are you kidding? I was the brains, the looks AND the muscle of our little group” he laughed as he walked back inside.

Kylo smirks at his friend as he views the crowd again, his mind and energy focused. He needs to find a way into The Order. It’ll take too long to get approval from The Council. Plus they will be suspicious and ask questions. No they have to do themselves.

Maybe someone here is gullible enough to be influenced to be his in. Maybe there is someone here who has more information which could be beneficial. He wills a drink into his hand and shuts his eyes, focusing on those in the crowd before him. He quickly assesses them, picking out a few potentials.

His eyes focus on a slim doe eyed blonde who is looking longingly at a slightly older male. He can tell they both work for The Order. He can also tell she’s human, no Supernatural blood whatsoever. The other though, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on the man. He has magick but it seems shaded, almost muted. Maybe those with magick who work for The Order have to suppress it. Either way it’s interesting.

He looks around again and freezes. There are those eyes again. Those big sharp hazel calculating eyes. It takes his breath away. He can feel her power and it’s intoxicating. He shuts his eyes and groans, savoring the essence of it. Oh, how he wishes he could get a taste. He pushes, focusing on her but he feels nothing. Confused, he looks up but she is gone, lost in the crowd.

He looks around the mass of people in an attempt to find her again but to no avail. Just as well, he surmises, he needs to focus on the mission and not his hunger. He needs to find the right one who will give him the perfect cover.

His eyes move back to the pathetic little blonde. Yes she will work. He finishes his drink and concentrates on her, willing his magical influence to affect her and only her. She looks his way and he smirks. Bingo.

#adam driver #knights of ren #kylo ren #kylo ren au #vampire au #vampire kylo #reylo au #rey nobody #reylo #hunter rey #vampire #vampyr #star wars au #Spotify

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mywifeleftme · 1 year

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27: AC/DC // Powerage

Powerage AC/DC 1978, Atlantic

Get any two or more straight male rock fans talking over a steadily increasing number of pints at a bar and it is a mortal lock they will eventually start talking about AC/DC’s rhythm section. For a band with such a simple, popular sound, I’ve never found a cover where the rhythm wasn’t completely shot. As I once heard Deep Purple’s Roger Glover note on VH1’s countdown of the 100 Greatest Artists of Hard Rock (that my friend taped off his grandparents’ cable when we were 13), “Early AC/DC had a drummer who never played a fill. And that's an object lesson, to drummers, about feel.”

That’s a mild exaggeration. But only a very mild one. On Powerage, the most in-the-pocket record they ever cut, it’s a wonder listening to these guys play together. Gnomish rhythm guitarist Malcolm Young was known as a stern taskmaster when it came to staying on tempo and sanding off extraneous flourishes that might distract from the central power of the riff. And yet, within these incredibly strict self-imposed restrictions, they had an underrated flair for the dramatic.

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Listen to how “Down Payment Blues” opens, Angus sketching out a deconstructed version of the main riff slow enough for each note to ring out and decay, like an overture for an opera with only one theme. Bassist Cliff Williams waits a few long beats over the ensuing silence before he begins the moody pulse he’ll maintain for the rest of the song, his bandmates gradually falling into step behind him. That they’re able to ratchet up the tension throughout a six-minute song without really changing up the riff is down to their intuitive feel for dynamics, how to subtly build momentum so that when it’s time to make a racket, it really hits.

While AC/DC’s music famously has the emotional range of a Jack Daniel's commercial, there’s desperation gnawing away beneath the bravado of songs like “What’s Next to the Moon” and “Gone Shootin’” (the latter a career highlight). Even in their early days, AC/DC tended to spurn vulnerability, and after singer Bon Scott’s death the Youngs put extra padlocks on those doors. Here though, no matter how loudly they play, there’s a quiet in the room that casts a blueish tinge over the proceedings. I don’t come to this band for meaning, but there’s something about the way it feels like partying against the dying of the light that makes Powerage ring a few deeper bells in me.

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27/365

#AC/DC #Angus Young #Malcolm Young #Bon Scott #Phil Rudd #Cliff Williams #feel #hard rock #music review #vinyl records #'70s rock #'70s music

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adelaidedrubman · 2 years

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2, 6, 12 (sfw) + 3, 4, 9 (nsfw) for JohnJess!

thank you again beloved and sorry that these took awhile and for the long answers, particularly on 12 you kinda activated my trap card for something in wildfire i like talking about:/

2. Who’s the messiest? The cleanest?

john leaves most of his unattended mess in the arts and crafts zone and keeps their living areas fairly tidy and presentable. at least compared to jestiny “passenger’s seat full of chip bags and energy drink cans” rook, who lives like this.

6. Going out to eat: Who pays? Who orders the most food? And who has dessert?

honestly they don’t go out to eat that often? it’s usually eating around the house for them or grabbing food to go while on some other type of outing.

most of the time they do dine out it’s a jessie dragging them into some kind of dive (or loudly announcing she’s going there so john will follow) situation because that’s the only place she’ll set foot. and similarly she’s usually just going to steam ahead and order/pay for whatever she’s getting as well, and if he wants to order something too that’s his business. he often doesn’t — not much to suit his palate (so he claims, before stealing her food) and he’s mainly just there to bother jessie anyways, so she gets the ordering the most food award too.

12. Can they stand silence? Who talks the most? Who talks the least?

i mean, beyond the extremely obvious “they are both physically incapable of shutting up” vibe... i actually intentionally make it a Theme that the answer to that first question is a very unexpected yes, actually. while shutting up is still a rarity because they just have so much to say both in general and to each other, they can in fact feel comfortable in silence together.

like, in wildfire, john directly tells the reader quite adamantly and earnestly in an extended internal monologue that leads chapter 11 that he Hates Silence, he’s always Hated Silence, and his actions in that chapter (going into full hysterics when joseph asks he for once, in his life, Don’t Talk just Listen and Think) demonstrate as much.

...except that there are two distinct instances during his interaction with jessie in the chapter just prior in which he is explicitly comfortable with jessie briefly dropping their conversation to demand or impose silence. and he immediately goes on the very next chapter to in fact feel so comfortable existing in silence with her that he falls asleep during jessie’s requested Hour of Silent Reflection, turning it into a full eight. so john what is the truth. (it’s that they both feel comfortable and confident enough in how the other Reacts to them and their strange fucked up bond that they can tolerate silence with each other when they couldn’t otherwise.)

jessie is generally more comfortable with silence (despite her self-proclaimed need to not hear herself think sometimes) and does talk less overall (easy designation to win), in general and when they’re together. with others she tends to be fairly closed off and wont to shut down despite being assertive and jocular. and with john she tends to commit to longer stretches of silence at some misplaced attempt at stonewalling and not giving him the satisfaction of a verbal response. 50/50 odds on if she also ends up being the person breaking the silence.

3. Any kinks they clash on?

nothing major. there are perhaps things they’d say on paper they’re into more than the other, but most of those preferences are generally secondary and easily cast aside for whatever the most spontaneous desperate patheticcore cringecore sex they can have is regardless.

john would say that he wishes jessie would give up control more often, but he’s lying. he is in fact quite satisfied with the fine line between getting brat tamed and being a bossy power bottom he is allowed to occupy, and if she did it would definitely be a dog that caught the car problem:/ he would also wholeheartedly proclaim that he does not share the blasphemy kink that jessie also swears she does not have, but. see below answer to #4, i think jestiny “i would like to corrupt the thought of this sacred location for you and that somehow makes jerking you off a personal victory for me” rook in fact might just have a blasphemy kink. jessie would claim to “not be into” a lot of “weird fucking shit john’s into” then proceed to fire off a list of kinks he has never once actually voiced interest in while with her and may or may not actually have.

4. Oddest place they’d have sex?

...i really couldn’t quantify it. spread eagle alley is definitely the most normcore? (i kid, they manage to do it in their own bedroom every now and then.) actually Weirdest™ hookup is probably in future wildfire chapters i won’t spoil, although already (spoiler alert) points for the recent sex one of the hay bales at the cult baptism area. (yeah the same one jessie got drowned at. different time though she wasn’t actively hostage or drugged.) in aus points for eden’s gate outreach center and altar at the convent as some of the weirdest i think.

9. Quickest turn ons? Immediate turn offs?

there is usually a very particular moment when john is trying very hard to get jessie’s attention and she’s making a big show of ignoring him when he finally says or does something that causes her to stop everything she’s doing and direct the entirety of her (usually surface level angry) attention towards him. and that moment is like a flip of a switch on the whole interaction, a pin drop moment when you can practically hear him immediately getting rock hard. besides that, he loves any time she just reaches out to grab him. he loves when she pulls his hair or grabs him by the hips, and when she trails her fingers along his collarbone.

as much as she claims to be irritated by it, jessie gets very aroused by the way john tends to just. hover in her personal space and wait for her to make a move. she likes when he whispers in her ear and gives her ghosting touches, brushing her hair out of the way or picking something off her clothing far too intimately. she really likes when she can hear his voice get breathier around her even when he’s not trying to whisper. and she’s officially off to the races anytime he finally gives up the teasing game to just break down and tell her what he wants in his mix betwen begging/demanding voice.

and not many honest to god turn offs with them, most would-be moodkillers they just openly complain about then move past with equal enthusiasm. only actual turnoff would be being interrupted. (maybe do it in private more then, freaks.)

#otp: stop bothering these nice folks

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