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queensunshinee · 4 months ago

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So sweet || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), drinking, mention of an eating disorder, again, I really don't know what's going on here. It's so weird. Just a small but important reminder: English is not my first language, so please don’t be mad if there are any embarrassing mistakes- I’m really trying my best!

Word Count: 7.3k

So sweet

Patrick wanted to know what is it about you that makes Art lose it. You're not the funniest, not the best at tennis—or at anything Patrick has ever seen you do, to be honest—and you're definitely not the prettiest. You're not the best. You're just not.

"She’s just so sweet," Art had said when the two of them were sitting in one corner of the Stanford cafeteria, and you were in another. Patrick didn’t see it; he thought you were scheming. That you were the least sweet person he knew. And because Art has known you for so many years, Patrick has known you long enough not to trust you. Who picks a college just because the guy she’s sleeping with also chose Stanford? Only a conniving witch. Someone who wants to pull Art away from him and Tashi. Someone who wants to pull Art away from his dreams. From tennis. Someone who wants Art all to herself. Patrick figured it out years ago. You can fool Art. Fuck it, you can fool yourself if you want. But you can’t fool Patrick.

And it doesn’t matter at all that you and Art have known each other since you were six. It doesn’t matter that all the evidence points to your parents being responsible for your academic choices. It doesn’t matter that it’s only since you got to Stanford that you started sleeping together; he never touched you inappropriately even once before college. Patrick didn’t like you before you two started having sex, so he sure as hell doesn’t like you now. You didn’t even bother to sit with them. You didn’t even bother to say a simple 'hi' to him. You don’t respect him enough to sit at the same table when he comes to visit Tashi and Art. You don’t respect him. Period.

“Do you think she’s ever eaten a burger?” Patrick suddenly asks, completely ignoring Art’s rambling about competitions and trying to inspect your plate from afar. He can’t see what’s on it, but he’s sure there’s nothing nutritious enough there. “I know for a fact she’s eaten more than one burger in her life,” Art rolls his eyes. “Why are you so obsessed with her?” he asks for the millionth time. He asked it every summer. He asked it after Patrick went on about how insane it was that you and Art were going to the same college.

“I’m not obsessed. I just think there’s no way her pussy smells normal with that diet,” Patrick says, earning himself a well-deserved elbow jab from Art. Art never talks about you that vulgarly. Art doesn’t talk about you much at all. That’s part of what annoys Patrick: that they can talk about any other girl, but with you, it’s never an option. Even about Tashi, he managed to talk to Art. He gave him the signal. He told him. But Art doesn’t share anything about what he does with you.

Patrick knows about Melanie from statistics that Art slept with. Patrick knows about Georgia or Regina or whatever her name is who works at the library and made it to second base with Art. He knows down to the exact books they leaned on. But he doesn’t know anything about you. Art keeps you to himself as if you’re some treasure he needs to guard at all costs. Patrick hates you and the broccoli you’re shoving into your mouth while reading a book, ignoring the outside world. You’re such a fucking smug witch. You won’t be able to fool him. . . . Art will never tell Patrick that there are moments when he thinks he loves you. Sometimes. Most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he knows he loves Tashi. The same Tashi that Patrick took for himself. Snatched her right out of Art’s hands.

But with you, it’s different. With you, it’s been building for years. You’re the one he smeared snot on when you were six, and somehow, you kept coming over to his house to watch cartoons with him. You kept showing up at the tennis court, reading a book while he practiced. You kept being an inseparable part of him.

Art knows you love him. It’s so clear to him, almost as clear as the fact that his first dog was named Jameson and that he died when Art was 8-years-old. You held his hand when he forced his parents to bury him. He didn’t want you to hold it, tried to shake you off for a few seconds, but you insisted. He never told you, but it felt nice.

Your first kiss was with Art. He insisted. Of course, he insisted. You love him so much, and you’re so, so sweet. Always polite and blushing at the right moments, and at 14, he kissed you. Explained to you that you couldn’t start high school without knowing how to kiss. He was doing you a favor. You said “thank you” afterward, like the polite girl you always were.

You kept kissing after that, as if it was the natural thing to do. Every time he came to visit in the summer and you’d come over. Every time he went to your place. You’d end your time together with his lips exploring yours. So sweet.

He will never tell Patrick that he knows you better than he knows himself. That he knows all your secrets just as you know all of his own. That sometimes he melts under your gaze and would be willing to tell you his ATM code if you asked. He will never reveal this to Patrick. Or you. He will never tell him that sometimes he feels like you’re such a deep part of him that you are simply him. And he is simply you. And when he thinks too deeply about that, he’s capable of barging into your lecture, telling the professor there’s been an emergency, dragging you into the janitor’s closet, staring for a second at your terrified face, and fucking you there on one of the shelves. Not that it happened. Maybe. He won't tell anyone.

And he will never give you the chance to go all in for him because it’s too terrifying. Because with you, he feels helpless, out of control, almost embarrassed. And because Patrick hates you. He’s never seen Patrick hate anyone as much as he hates you. And Art doesn’t think he can be in a relationship with someone Patrick doesn’t like. Which, in itself, is a crazy thought.

But Patrick loves Tashi, and Tashi has nothing sweet about her. No look that radiates tenderness or sweetness. She doesn’t smell like cinnamon and vanilla. She doesn’t have a soul that wants to share secrets with him. Tashi doesn’t look at him like he holds the moon. Tashi doesn’t look at him as if he could fill an empty space in her heart. Because she has no empty space in her heart. Tennis fills her heart. Tennis and Patrick. Art looks at her heart from the outside. He’s not a part of her story. He so badly wants to be part of her story. He thinks it's a need at this point.

And every time his mind fills with Tashi, he finds some random girl willing to stroke his ego (and his dick) just enough to make him forget. He never goes for the easy option; he doesn’t go to you. He only wants to be with you when he’s thinking of you. When you fill him so completely that he can’t breathe. When he physically needs you in front of him. Not when he wants someone else to touch him. Not when he wants Tashi Duncan so badly he could cry.

He looks at her and Patrick, unable to understand what she sees in him. What she finds in his best friend. The scatterbrained guy who doesn’t shower every day, who wears the same underwear longer than is acceptable, who snores while laughing, who eats whatever he wants, whenever he wants, like he isn’t trying to make a living as a pro. Like everything is a joke. Art doesn’t understand how Tashi can waste her time on a joke. . . . "What are you studying, Little Dove?" Patrick pulled out one of your earbuds when he found you tucked away in a corner of the library. He saw how you physically recoiled at the nickname he’d given you the first time you met. Not a nickname you liked. That only made him want to call you that enough times for it to be engraved on your gravestone when you die. For you to maybe one day think it was your real name. For it to become a part of you. Little Dove. He didn’t even know why he called you that. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either. But it wasn’t necessarily bad.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, half-indifferent, reaching out for him to give you back the earbud he’d so brutally yanked. "Killing time. I had a fight with Tashi, so I can’t go to her match. Art’s obviously there because well, he’s in love with my girlfriend." He paused to study your reaction, wanting to see how you’d respond to the fact that Art didn’t love you. That he loved what belonged to Patrick, and you didn’t belong to Patrick, so he would never love you. Not really. Not entirely. "You’re the only person I know here. It’s your job to entertain me," he said, flashing a fake smile.

Everything about Patrick was fake. That was something you’d learned to be indifferent to years ago. Every time he jabbed at you or said something vulgar to disgust you, you knew it was fake. There was no point in taking him seriously. You pitied him the way you’d pity a little kid whose ice cream cone had fallen and no one was willing to buy him a new one. "I’m not a clown, Patrick. I have a test tomorrow," you said and snatched the earbud from his hand. He didn’t retaliate. He simply sat down across from you, examining you more intensely than you were comfortable with. His gaze pinned you like a scalpel. You tried to breathe evenly. He’s always like this. He’s always like this. Remember that he’s always like this, and everything will be fine. This is not the time to panic. Not in front of Patrick Fucking Zweig. He can’t win a war you’re not actively fighting.

"How’s life, Little Dove? Happy at Stanford with Art? Better now that he finally agreed to fuck you?" He was blunt to the point that it made you glare at him and wrinkle your nose for a second. That only deepened the smirk plastered across his face. "Do you need something?" you asked, trying to sound as though his vulgarity couldn’t faze you. As though everyone around you spoke that way all the time. As though your pathetic sex life wasn’t plastered on your forehead like a billboard. He was laughing at you. Patrick Zweig was laughing at you.

The thought that he might know every intimate detail of what you and Art did in bed made your entire body shiver. He could see it on you. He knew he’d won. But you weren’t even playing. You wanted to scream you weren’t even playing. No sound came out. He’d won. He knew it, and you knew it, and there would never be a draw again. Because you would both always know he’d won. That Art had told him how you moan. Maybe Art had even figured out that you fake all your orgasms because you’re probably broken so he told Patrick that too. Maybe it was all more humiliating than you could imagine. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to talk to Art ever again. Maybe-

"You’re overthinking it, Little Dove. I can see it on your face. It’s not that deep," he rolled his eyes and took a bite of an apple he’d pulled out (you had no idea from where). "You can’t eat in here. This is a library," you mumbled, grateful for the change of subject. Any change of subject. You’d be willing to talk about cactuses at this point if necessary. "I’m not a student here," he reminded you, as if you’d forgotten. As if that wasn’t the sole reason for your fleeting happiness- that you didn’t have to see his face here 24/7. Only sometimes. Only when he was visiting people who actually mattered to him.

You put the earbud he’d pulled from you a few moments ago back in your ear, signaling to him that the conversation was over and that you hoped not to see him again for the next year. Or ever, if you're being honest. You wanted to go back to studying in peace. To not think about the brazen guy in front of you. The one so emotionally entangled with the boy you loved that sometimes you felt there was no way to win. No way to beat Patrick Zweig. Because he came gift-wrapped in a package deal with Art. And once, you tried so hard to make him like you. You tried to fit into their conversations, laugh at the crude jokes, nod when Art nodded. Just so Patrick would stop looking at you with disdain, stop looking at you like you were a stray cat too wet to save. Like one that had rabies. Like one that needed to be put down.

He just kept staring at you, eating his apple as if rules didn’t apply to him. As if he were above what was allowed and what wasn’t. Making you hate him a little more, but admire him just as much because you would never have the guts to act like the world belonged to you. You thought it had something to do with the amount of money he grew up with. Art once told you Patrick had two pools (in one of his houses). Who needs more than one pool in a house anyway? But that was all you needed to know about him—he was privileged enough to believe he had the right to treat people like they were beneath him. And you’d never admit it, but you didn’t want to be beneath him. You didn’t want to lose to Patrick Zweig. You didn’t want to lose when you knew the prize was having Art. . . . He finds out that Tashi got injured completely by accident. He leaves you alone in the library because you bore him. You don’t let him sink his claws into you, something he realizes he liked doing only when he's around you. So, he goes out to smoke a cigarette, what else is there for him to do when he’s stuck here while Tashi plays and Art makes eyes at her from the crowd? What else does he have to do when you're sitting in front of a book and ignoring his existence and the nasty words? And then someone said something about seeing Tashi's knee fly through the air, and Patrick’s cigarette fell out of his mouth.

He asked three different people where the athletes' clinic was. Two ignored him, and one gave him wrong directions. He found the clinic on his own, trying to make sense of the campus signage. He felt like it was taking him forever. In hindsight, maybe it was better that it took him longer. Because Tashi looked devastated, Art looked lost, and both of them screamed at him. Art’s scream hurt more. He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt Art’s scream all over his body. It made him shiver.

And that’s how he lost Art Donaldson forever. Checkmate by Tashi Duncan. He didn’t expect that. He thought only you could take his place in Art’s life. Never Tashi. He thought you were the only one Art would lose control for. Maybe he looked at everything wrong. What a terrifying thought, to realize you spent years trying to beat someone without noticing the other players. Absolute blindness. He felt lost. Stuck in your disgusting university. Stuck in the loop that his life dragged him into. No matter how much he tried to think about it in the last half hour, he couldn’t find a way out. He couldn’t see a world where he and Art could be friends again.

‘I've got your bag, you forgot it in the library,’ his phone beeped with a message from you. Another message with your room number. He nodded to himself, even though no one could see. He wiped away some of the tears that had fallen from him, hoping no one would see that either.

He knocked on your door loudly, not caring about the other students living in the hallway. You opened quickly, intending to say everything you think about him, but in the hour and a half he’d been gone from your sight, something in Patrick’s gaze had changed. You’d never seen him like this, and it made you lean against the doorframe, mouth half open. You know for sure that he cried, the trail of tears was obvious. You know for sure that he was confused, his gaze zigzagging. The famous smirk he dedicates to you at every moment wasn’t there.

"Who died?" you asked quietly, because you couldn’t find any other reason for what you were seeing in front of you. He just passed through you, as if your room was his own. As if he had an invitation. As if you had to let him in. "Can I sleep here tonight?" he asked. His leg was shaking. He looked the worst you’ve ever seen him. "What happened to Tashi's room-" "Please (Y/N)," he used your actual name, "I’ll be out of your hair by morning. You won’t even feel like I was here, there are no more buses, and my car’s at the tournament site," he explained incoherently but clearly enough for you to nod. For you to understand that something terrible had happened. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Tashi’s. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Art’s. The thought of it made you cringe because the only thing that could have happened, the only thing that could have caused Patrick to fold in front of you like this-

"Am I overthinking this?" you asked after what felt like an eternity. When you were lying on the bed in the dark, and Patrick was lying on a makeshift pile of sheets and pillows on the floor next to you. You hoped he’d tell you that you didn’t need to think about it too much. That he’d tell you the same thing he said to you in the library. "Not this time," he said almost in a whisper, "I’m sorry," he added. Neither of you knew what he was apologizing for; For how he acted all these years or was he apologizing on behalf of Art? On behalf of the person who until just a few hours ago was his best friend. Patrick thinks an apology won’t be enough for either of you. He tries to sleep. When he leaves, he doesn’t write you a note. But there’s a flash of understanding when he looks at you before he walks out; Art was right, there’s something sweet about you. Patrick will never admit it. But what reason would he have to admit it now? Art is no longer part of his life, and he’s pretty sure Art won’t be part of yours just as quickly. You and Patrick both lost him, you just don’t know it yet. He almost feels sorry about how out of the loop you are. And what connection do you and Patrick have without Art? He thinks he’ll miss you. He saw you move slightly, one leg sticking out from under the blanket. He’s sure he’ll miss you. What a humbling thought. . . . You haven't seen Art for a week. And that's okay. Because he doesn't owe you anything. He made sure to remind you at every opportunity that he doesn't owe you anything. Not with words. Never with words. With actions. By acting like he doesn't see you, even though you both know he does. He never sat with you in the cafeteria. He never introduced you to his friends from the tennis team. He never introduced you to Tashi. He drew a very clear line about who you are to him, and you decided years ago that it's okay. That it's enough for you. That Art is yours in the summer. That Art is yours at night. That Art is yours when he wants to be yours.

He doesn't want to be anymore. You can see it in him because on the rare occasions you do see him in the cafeteria, he looks away the second your eyes accidentally meet his. On the rare occasions you do see him this week, his arm is half-wrapped around some girl you don't know. He's trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. Hurt you without really hurting you. He's trying to remind you that he doesn't owe you anything.

You'll never tell him it hurts. You'll never tell him that when you were ten, your mom, half-drunk, told you that to be loved, you'd have to sacrifice a lot. You don't know why you remember that, but you do. And since then, all you've done is sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice until sometimes there's nothing left to give. And now is one of those times when there's nothing left to give. You look at him from across the room, and he's a stranger to you, and you're a stranger to him.

You expected him to say something when it happened. You expected a hug, and if he were sensitive enough, a kiss. You expected life to flip upside down and for the sun to stop rising. But life went on, and your sacrifices stayed behind. Along with secrets and hugs and caresses and tears and memories. So many memories. All of it left behind. You can handle heartbreak. Everyone can. You won't be the first to sacrifice and not be heard by God. You won't be the first to starve yourself, and you won't be the first to wait for a phone call that never came. You won't be the first to cry and cry and cry.

After two weeks, you stopped waiting for a message. You stopped expecting a 'hello' in the hallway. You stopped hoping that Art Donaldson would knock on your door in the middle of the night. After two weeks, you looked at him one last time with pleading eyes. With an almost tortured look. After two weeks, you decided you wouldn't sacrifice anything more for Art Donaldson.

After two weeks, you ordered pizza and ate the whole box. He doesn't love you. He doesn't owe you anything. It's okay. You're okay. If not now, then soon you will be. . . . Art spent all his free time helping Tashi recover. He missed Patrick the way you'd miss a vital organ that had to be removed in an emergency surgery. He missed Patrick's messages from the tour. He missed his stories. He missed hearing him talk about a show Art had never watched and never planned to watch. He missed Patrick, but he had Tashi. He missed Patrick, but it was necessary, and one day he wouldn’t miss Patrick anymore, and he’d still have Tashi.

It’s different with you. He doesn’t just miss you—he’s hollow without you. He doesn’t know who he is without your admiring gaze. Without your nose brushing his in the middle of the night. He doesn’t know who he is without you ever since he learned how your skin feels under his touch. And he thought he’d be brave enough to walk into your room and just tell you that he can’t keep doing what the two of you have been doing your whole lives. He can’t keep playing this game. Because it’s not fair. Because he wants to be somewhere else. Because you weigh him down.

He knew he’d be in trouble if things got too serious with you, so he followed all the rules. He never introduced you to his friends. He never took you on a date. He never called you his girlfriend. He did everything right, and he’s still in trouble. That frustrates him more than anything.

He’s noticed that you don’t seek his gaze anymore. That you don’t try to catch his attention. That you’ve stopped sending him messages. He’s noticed that you understood the painfully obvious hint of “no,” and he hated himself for it. He showered that day for almost an hour. Scrubbed himself until his skin was red. As if trying to wash you off his body. As if trying to cleanse the filth he carries in his soul. As if trying to convince himself he’s not a bad person.

He found comfort in the fact that summer was almost here. That it wouldn’t be up to him. That there would be family dinners. That your parents would invite him, and his parents would invite you. That someone would force you both to be in the same room. He found comfort in knowing he wouldn’t have a choice. He didn’t want a choice. He wanted to see how you were handling it. He always sees you immersed in a book. Immersed in a conversation with someone he doesn’t know. Immersed. So immersed. Once, he thought that look -that ability to see into someone’s soul- was reserved only for him. How presumptuous of him. How foolish. How fucking selfish. . . . Patrick sent you a picture of a pigeon that wouldn’t leave him alone while he was eating pita on a bench in some park. He didn’t know why he did it. You’re not friends. You were never friends. But he saw that ridiculous pigeon and wondered if there was something about it that might remind you of him. He wondered if you and Art were still you and Art. He wondered and wondered until he sent the picture. Maybe you wouldn’t reply, but ignoring something wasn’t your style. You’re too good to ignore someone. You don’t have any malice in you. He doesn’t know when he started thinking you didn’t have any malice, because up until two months ago, he thought you were a scheming witch.

'You don’t know how to take pictures.' -(Y/N)-

'Look at you bothering me while I'm eating, little dove' -P- He smiled as he typed.

'Are you bored?' -(Y/N)-

'Maybe I miss you like you clearly miss me' -P- He didn’t know why he wrote that. He didn’t know what he wanted from you, if he was being honest with himself. But he wanted something. He wanted someone. Everyone deserves someone, and Patrick deserves someone too.

'You’re full of shit' -(Y/N)- He could imagine you rolling your eyes as you typed that. He knows you don’t talk like that. He thinks it’s something reserved just for him.

He decided to call because typing with food in his hand was too much effort. You answered quickly, out of breath. “Are you in the middle of sex?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Why do you always have to say the grossest thing possible?” you shot back. He was glad you couldn’t see him because if you could, you’d hold the grin on his face against him. “What’s gross about sex, little dove? It’s natural-” “Why did you call?” you cut him off, not giving him any more points. “Just wanted to ask how you’re doing.” His voice sounded smaller. Embarrassed. You’re not friends. You never were. That’s not the nature of your relationship. There’s nothing he loves about you.

“I’m fine. Busy with school.” He could imagine you shrugging. “You’re going home soon, right? Summer break.” He knew what that used to mean for you and Art. He didn’t know what it meant now. He was fishing for answers, trying to figure out where things stood between you two. He wanted to know if Art had cut you out of his life with the brutality of a killer or if he was still keeping you wrapped in a ribbon, belonging only to him. He thought the former sounded more like Art.

“I’m probably staying at Stanford, for obvious reasons.” He could hear your voice, quiet as though you didn’t want to admit it. “It’s not fair,” Patrick said. “You’re supposed to enjoy your summer.” He added, growing frustrated with how inconsiderate Art was, with the monopoly Art held over your shared neighborhood. Bull-fucking-shit; “I’ve got two weeks off, and my parents are abroad. You could come to my lake house if you want a change of scenery,” he said, spitting the words out quickly before he could regret the invitation. Art was the only one who’d ever been invited there.

“That’s nice of you.” You said. He could hear the surprise you tried to hide in your voice. “I mean it,” he said, much more determined now. “It’ll be fun. My parents have the most impressive alcohol collection you’ll ever see.” He didn’t know what he was doing or which part of his brain was speaking for him right now. “I’ll think about it,” you said, wrapping up the call with a few more sentences. It felt like a win. And more than anything, Patrick needed a win. . . . "Is it true?" you heard Art's voice before you lifted your head from the book you were reading. "Hey, Art," you said with the most genuine smile you could muster, ignoring your racing heartbeat that only quickened. The truth was, you hadn’t seen him this close to you in two months. "You’re not going home for the break?" He sat down across from you without an invitation. "Nope," you said, as if it were obvious. As if that had been your plan all along. As if three months ago, you hadn’t whispered to each other in the dead of night all the things you’d do over the summer. As if you’d never loved him.

"You weren’t planning to tell me?" he asked, his gaze never leaving you. All you could do was raise an eyebrow because, honestly, where did he get the audacity? Where did he get the nerve to sit down across from you and make demands? Where did he get the idea that he owed you nothing, but you owed him everything? It’s your fault. You know it’s your fault. You taught him that you’d give every part of yourself for just a sliver of attention. But you don’t need that from him anymore. He’s a stranger. A stranger whose favorite scent you know. A stranger you’ve seen cry at Titanic. A stranger whose taste still lingers on the tip of your tongue. A stranger you know too well.

"No," you answered honestly. Because frankly, what else is there to say to him? "Are you serious? Why aren’t you going home?" he demanded answers. Demanded and demanded and demanded, after you gave and gave and gave. It’s your fault. Your mother’s fault and her foolish advice. You spoon-fed him love. "Because I have other plans. I’m sorry, am I missing something here, Art? We haven’t talked in two months, and I don’t understand what the issue is now." You didn’t want to be rude. Not to Art. Not to anyone. Sometimes to Patrick, but only because he was the most vulgar person you’d ever met. But Art was gentle and sensitive and beautiful, and harsh words had no place in your conversations with him.

"What plans?" he ignored your jab, but you could see him swallow hard, his eyebrows knitting together as if you’d sent him to work in a coal mine all summer. "I’m going to a friend’s," you found yourself shrugging. "Who? Someone I know?" he asked. "No," you felt guilty for the lie, "Why is this your business, Art?" you tried to make him leave or at least give you an answer. "We had plans too," he said quietly, as if revealing one last secret to you.

"I don’t remember." His expression changed in seconds. It was the look you’d only seen when he played tennis or tried to fend someone off you at one of the parties he told you to come to. Ice. He stood up and walked away within moments. Maybe this is the closure you two needed. Maybe it’s for the best. . . . Until the very last moment, Patrick didn’t believe you’d come. He waited for your bus by the side of the road, and when you got off, dressed in a floral summer dress and an oversized hat, signaling to the driver that you had a suitcase in the luggage compartment, Patrick stood frozen in place, his mouth agape. Because if someone had told him six months ago that he’d want to spend his free time in the summer with you, he would have laughed in their face. If someone had told him you’d show up in this remote place, in that ridiculous outfit, he probably would have snorted.

"Little dove, I was sure you’d chicken out," he said. Back when you talked about it, he treated it like a challenge. He spoke about your arrival at the lake house like it was a mission on a reality show. Impossible to pull off, with so much to lose. "I told you I’d come." You shrugged and smiled a smile he’d once seen you give to Art. Patrick had never received a smile from you, at least not a friendly one. Always a fake one. The kind he wanted to wipe off your face. "Are you going to help me with my suitcase, or are you going to keep standing there like a statue?" you asked with a chuckle. Patrick thought he was ready to sell the Porsche he’d come in, just to hear you chuckle again.

"This car is ridiculous," you said as you sat down beside him and raised your hands for emphasis. The convertible top was too much for you. Patrick had chosen this car on purpose. He wanted you to have the full Zweig family summer experience. He wanted you to feel what it was like to be in his inner circle. For a fleeting moment, he thought maybe he could buy your friendship. He didn’t know why he wanted it so badly. He went to sleep with your messages and woke up to them. Neither of you had any other friends, not real ones at least. It would’ve been sad if it didn’t make him so happy. He was such a loser. But it didn’t seem like you cared, and maybe the Porsche would grow on you by the end of these two weeks.

He showed you the rooms and the massive windows that let an unreasonable amount of light into the "cabin," which was supposed to be modest but was larger than most of the houses in your and Art’s neighborhood. Patrick knew that. He studied your reaction to everything he showed you. Watched as you stared at the lake right outside the cabin. Sat on the sofa in the living room for a moment. Placed your belongings in the guest room.

"We need to go shopping," you announced after opening the fridge to find it completely empty. "We don’t have to. You don’t eat anything anyway," he blurted out, and he saw you pale. "What are you talking about?" you mumbled, looking everywhere but at him. "Nothing, I’ve just never seen you eat." He tried to say it casually, but the truth was, it had always preoccupied him. Every time he visited Art in the summer and found himself at gatherings with you, you’d take food onto your plate but never actually put it in your mouth. He couldn’t understand how it didn’t bother Art. He couldn’t understand how Art just ignored it. As if it were completely normal behavior to sit with someone you called your best friend and not eat.

"I eat." Your entire face was scrunched up, the way he’d learned it does when you overthink. When you’re trying to get the most out of a situation you’ve found yourself in. When you’re trying to be nice to Patrick but don’t want to because he doesn’t deserve it. "Whatever, little dove. Let’s go shopping. I’ll show you the main street. There are some cool spots there," he concluded the conversation because he didn’t want to argue. And honestly, it wasn’t his place to comment on your habits. So he decided to let it go.

The main street of the small village you were in was almost empty. It could have been suspicious if Patrick hadn’t been here dozens, if not hundreds, of times since he was born. This was one of his dad’s favorite vacation homes. After an hour of wandering between stores, they found themselves sitting across from each other at a diner. Patrick watched as you ate fish and chips in front of him like your life depended on it. Like you had something to prove. He just rolled his eyes, shoved three fries into his mouth at once, leaned back, and chuckled.

Everything was peaceful. Patrick was sure it would be much weirder, at least at first. But no. You fit into his summer as if you’d always belonged there. From conversations with the elderly neighbors at the cabin next door to the meals you cooked together- it was domestic. Patrick was afraid to talk about how different this was from anything he’d ever done with a girl. He was afraid to mention that you were sleeping in the room that used to be only Art's. He was afraid to admit that he thought you were pretty in a way he hadn't thought before.

He thinks you’re most beautiful in the morning, before you’ve had your coffee. If he’s lucky and goes for a morning run, even before you’ve brushed your teeth. He’s discovered you’re funny. That you can deliver the funniest line with the perfect timing. He thinks it’s because you read a lot. Because you’re smart. Because you know things. He loves that you come to watch him train, even though you’re busy with your own things and only steal occasional glances his way. He thinks he could replace Art in your life. He thinks you think so too.

But deep down, you both know nothing could ever replace Art. And one of the times you’re sitting across from him at the diner, he takes a picture of you sipping a milkshake while smiling and uploads it to Facebook. Because Facebook is the new 'it' thing, and everyone has it. And if Patrick’s lucky, you’ll make it your profile picture. Then he can look at it and remember that he made you laugh, that he made you happy, and for two weeks, he beat Art Donaldson at something. And it felt sweet. So sweet.

The night before you plan to go back to university, you and Patrick get drunk on his dad’s fancy tequila. He’d never seen you drunk before, so like many things, this was new. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and you were wearing shorts that were far too short because August’s heat was unbearable. And the more both of you drank, the fuller your lips seemed to him, the rosier your cheeks, the larger your chest.

He just wanted to touch something. To feel something.

When one thing led to another and you were straddling him, your lips on his, he let out a deep bassy groan he never thought he could produce. Patrick had been with girls before- God knows he’d been with enough girls not to lose his cool over someone agreeing to kiss him. But something about how delicate you were and how much he had hated you a few months ago, how much he’d wanted to erase every trace of you, made him so hard he found himself grinding against you like some kind of desperate dog. He fucked you on the couch in the living room, and though the couch was comfortable, he wasn’t proud of it. He thinks he should’ve restrained himself, taken you to a bed. He thinks you deserve more than him being lazy, drunk, and not at his best. But if there’s one thing Patrick Zweig is terrible at, it’s delaying gratification. And he wanted you so badly. You didn’t seem to mind the location, at least not outwardly.

His lips were everywhere, as if he was trying to swallow you whole in one go. The sounds coming out of you were pornographic. Every so often, the thought crossed his mind that Art was the only other guy who had ever heard you like this, seen you like this- so needy, so vulnerable. It made his cock twitch even harder than it already was.

When he touched you, you were so wet that he told you how dirty you were for him. He talked to you like he still hated you. Like it was all punishment. Like he was about to get up, point at you, and laugh at how pathetic you were. But you couldn’t think about that now. You didn’t have the bandwidth. Not when his hands were teasing your nipple. Not when his lips were marking your neck. Not when he entered you in one hard thrust, making you almost cry out.

At some point, your heels found their way to his shoulders. He looked at your face with the little focus he could muster, and it was a sight he needed to preserve. To remember until the day he died. And he pushed deeper with that thought, drawing sounds out of both of you that neither of you knew you could make. In the end, he felt you clench around him, making him release everything that had built up in his balls with one long groan.

He just lay over you for a few minutes, still wearing the condom. With the sweat, the tears, the marks- you looked so utterly fucked. And it was because of him. He hadn’t felt this proud in a long time.

“So this is what it feels like,” he heard you mumble. “What feels like?” he asked, finding himself playing with your soft hair. “To have an orgasm.”

He hadn’t expected that, so he shifted slightly to look at your face. Your eyes were still glassy. You weren’t focused. If you were, you probably wouldn’t have said that. “What did you say?” he asked, wanting you to repeat it. “I’ve never come before. I thought I was broken,” you chuckled like it was a joke. But Patrick’s heart pounded harder than he expected. He knew for certain that you and Art had slept together before. That wasn’t a secret. He knew you and Art had done things that weren’t just sex even earlier. “You and Art-” He was confused. “I’m not proud of it,” you sighed quietly. “I faked it so he wouldn’t feel bad. I read in a magazine what to do to make it seem real,” you explained quickly, as if saying it faster would make it less scandalous. “You don’t have to fake orgasms to make someone feel good, Little Dove,” he sighed. “You’re the one who's supposed to feel good. That’s the whole point of sex,” he declared, explaining it to you like reciting a rule to a confused puppy.

Patrick needed a win, and this—this was the biggest victory of all times. He had beaten Art Donaldson in every damn set, and it felt so fucking sweet.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve written anything, so this came out super weird and unclear. I hope you like it tho! Please DM me and let me know what you think. That’s it, byeeeeee

#challengers fic #so sweet #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #tashi duncan #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut

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fatphobiabusters · 1 year ago

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That person the other day who said they love seeing photos of thin people holding up 3XL jeans to show all of the "hard work" they put into living "the life they want," there's so much I could say about that.

I could explain that any fat person you see has almost certainly put in that same amount of "hard work" to become thin and then watched as their body refused to stay that way.

I could explain basic, unbiased weight science proving that weight loss is only temporary for the 4 millionth time.

I could explain that fat people are human beings who deserve to be treated with dignity, respect, and humanity, again for the 4 millionth time.

I could explain and explain and explain, but I'm tired of explaining to people who don't listen and pull their views out of their ass. So instead, I think we should applaud photos of fat people holding up the jeans they temporarily wore as a thin person.

Let's celebrate the fat people who once were a size small. Let fat people hold up their old tiny jeans in celebration of:

Beating an eating disorder

No longer experiencing food insecurity

Recovering from an illness that had caused weight loss

Accepting their fat body instead of abusing themself to become thin again

Leaving an abusive family/living situation where they were starved and/or forced to conform to prevent abuse

Having the genes of ancestors who survived famines

Knowing that there is not a single scientifically-proven method of weight loss

No longer wasting time fighting their body's weight gain from health conditions that cause weight gain, like PCOS

Accepting their body that changed due to pregnancy

Accepting their body that changed due to puberty

Accepting their body that changed due to transitioning

Allowing themself to take the medicine they need to treat mental or physical illness no matter the weight gain side effects

Not listening to harassment from bullies, friends, family, or anyone else who demanded they be thin to deserve peace from mistreatment

Literally just getting older and having a body that has changed with time

Loving themself despite the entire world believing that fat people do not deserve love

Existing, because fat people do not need to justify their body and existence to anyone

And so much more

-Mod Worthy

#fatphobia #thin privilege #fat liberation #fat positive #Mod Worthy #ed mention #diet culture

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potatoplace · 5 months ago

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I Hate It Here

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

The Afterthought: Chapter 2 | series masterlist

part one | part three | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are brought back to Velaris against your will, and forced to stay in the city by your supposed family. You slip into old memories and imaginings of the life you could be living whenever able, terrified of your new situation.

Warnings: suicidal ideation, slight disordered eating, toxic family, shitty Inner Circle, mentions of slut-shaming uhhh I don't think there's anything else

Words: 6.7k

Author's Note: it's heeere I'm so excited for this part! I hope you guys all like it, I know I made a few... choice decisions in certain places lol. Poor girly with the bathtub 😫 but the ending in this part is not near as sad as it was going to be. Hope you like iiiit 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

You weren't sure how long you had been walking, hardly registering where you were going when he appeared in front of you.

Azriel.

You shook your head at him. You wouldn't consent to going anywhere with him.

Feyre would be the next to accuse you of being a whore if you did...

"Come with me, Y/N. You're going to freeze to death out here," Azriel said quietly, extending a hand to you.

"No. I don't belong there."

He let out a long sigh. "You belong with your sisters. Just come with me. Feyre is worried."

"Feyre is..." You scoffed. "Feyre is worried? Was she worried when I didn't show up for dinner that everyone was at? Or only when I was no longer in that city? Because from where I'm standing, no one in that city has cared for me in months. So no, I don't belong with my sisters. I belong with humans. Now let. Me. Leave," you hissed at him, legs already moving to walk past him and continue your journey.

"You'll die tonight, if you don't come back," Azriel informed you, as though you hadn't already realized that.

"And the world would be just the same without me in it."

Another long, heavy sigh from behind you- then arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you tight as you fought against him with all of your pathetic, human strength. You managed to rip a nail through his wing, causing him to hiss in pain and drop you. Before you could make your way to your feet, he had you in his arms again, this time carrying you through the swirling void of night that accompanied him at all times.

A moment later you were back in that house, in the middle of the living room where the rest of the inner circle was sitting, all eyes on you.

Azriel's arms dropped from your waist in an instant, the warmth of his body leaving your side as he took his place, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"What were you thinking?" Feyre asked angrily as she stood from her spot on a couch next to Rhys. "Do you have any idea of what could have happened to you tonight?"

"Do I-" you shook your head. "Of course I know what could have happened to me, I'm just a human. Any single person in Prythian could kill me if they wanted to."

"So why did you leave?" Rhys asked quietly, in a tone that you knew meant danger.

You turned your eyes back to Feyre, doing your best to ignore her mate who still terrified you. "Do you remember what day it is, High Lady?"

Feyre looked confused for a moment, before understanding filled her eyes. "Oh, Y/N... I... I forgot. We were celebrating finally getting the Illyrians to let females train whenever they want," she explained, but you weren't buying it.

"Oh, well that's fine. You forget the day that I spent over a week preparing for, the entire day cooking for, all to celebrate something that just happened. Did you once think to find me? To invite me to this celebration?" Feyre's silence was enough of an answer for you. "I don't belong here. You should have left me in the human lands, thinking you all died. I would have been happier that way. Nesta and Elain hate me, I cannot speak to Lucien or Cassian out of fear that their mates will kill me, the rest of you ignore me unless I've done something wrong. I do not belong here," you hissed, doing your best to throw all of your hurt and rage into your words.

"You do belong here, Y/N," Feyre said tearily. "You're our sister."

You stared down at her coldly. "Am I? From where I'm standing I am just a weakness for you that you keep close so you won't be hurt. I haven't felt like your sister since I arrived."

"That's not tr-" Feyre started, but you cut her off.

"Take me back."

"What?" Nesta asked sharply from behind you, and you could feel her anger rising, the hairs on your arms standing up.

"Take me back to the human lands. I would rather live alone in poverty than spend one more day living in this place."

"You will not," Nesta snarled, a hand clawing at your shoulder. "You would die within a week with the wall down."

"I managed just fine on my own for three months before Feyre came to get me."

"Nesta is right, Y/N," Rhys said, drawing your eyes back to him. "You will not leave Velaris. Anywhere else is too dangerous for you to be, with your connection to us."

Rage flooded your system like it never had before at the thought of being kept here until you die. "I will not be kept like some prisoner in this city. I refuse."

"You have no choice," Feyre said softly, the final nail in the coffin.

"Then kill me," you said, fully hoping that they would. "Kill me and put me out of my misery, if I am not able to leave this horrible place. I do not belong here, and I do not want to belong here anymore."

Tears were pouring down Feyre's face at your confession, the last sight you saw before you slipped into darkness.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

When you woke, your body was warm, resting underneath blankets on a comfortable bed.

You could almost imagine that you were back in that hut, surrounded by your sisters as you huddled for warmth.

But it was wrong... your face was too warm, no longer chilled by the slight breeze that rattled through the house in winter, and there was no soft, quiet breathing from your sisters sleeping.

You opened your eyes, met with the familiar pale blue ceiling of your bedroom. You would guess it was the early morning, with how dark it was.

What happened...?

It was difficult, getting your brain to remember how you ended up in your bed... After all, you had hardly slept in it ever since Elain had snapped at you so many months ago, the idea of another door keeping you safe too comforting to not indulge in.

But once you remembered... ice cold terror flooded your body.

You had been in the middle of yelling at Feyre- at all of them. And suddenly now you were in your bed?

Rhysand had used his powers on you.

And you were helpless to stop it.

You turned onto your side and curled into yourself for a moment, hoping that making yourself smaller would be enough to loosen the fear gripping your heart. After a minute, you gave up, standing from your bed and pulling a thick blanket and soft pillow with you into the bathroom, making your safe little nest in the bathtub.

The blanket and pillow you had used last were still there, adding extra cushion and much needed warmth to the metal tub.

So you curled up, a pillow at your back and your knees pulled to your chest as you huddled under one blanket and pulled the edges of the bottom one up, cocooning yourself in soft cotton.

Sleep found you easily, your body and mind exhausted still from the disappointment and realizations of last night.

Your dreams were filled by half memories, half imaginings of being back in that little run down cottage, your sisters and father around you as you huddled in front of the fire, drinking hot water from chipped mugs.

"Y/N?" Feyre's voice asked, waking you from your sleep. You raised your head for a moment, considering answering her. But your recent interactions with her had you placing your head back on its pillow, tucking your knees further against your chest, ignoring the way your body had started to ache. She knocked on the bathroom door once, twice. "Just... come out when you're ready, Y/N. There's breakfast downstairs if you'd like." Feyre sighed, loud enough for even your ears to hear, but walked away, leaving you in blissful silence.

You let yourself drift off again, conjuring images of you curled up in front of the fire, your head in your father's lap just how he'd let you when you were a child.

The next time you woke, your bladder forced you awake, and by the time you had relieved yourself the muscles in your body were screaming for some kind of movement. You walked around your room for a few minutes and stretched your body, sighing as some of the tension left it.

All too soon, your stomach was growling at you, angry with you for having ignored it for... however long you had been asleep.

Sighing, you moved back to the bathroom and disassembled your makeshift bed, replacing the fabrics where they initially belonged so that you could bathe before going downstairs.

The last thing you wanted was for Nesta and Elain to make snide comments at you.

You tied your hair up in a bun- you didn't feel like going through the effort of washing it at the moment. After drawing the bath, tendrils of steam coming from the water, you stripped yourself of the pink dress you had worn for Bounty Day and slipped into the water. Your muscles eased quickly, the heat of the bath drawing out the stress they carried.

You nearly fell asleep again, and if not for the gnawing of your stomach you would have let yourself, as the tub had an enchantment to keep the water warm until emptied. But you forced yourself to wash, using a soft cloth and a lovely lavender and orange soap bar that you had picked out a few months ago while shopping for Nesta's birthday.

Once you deemed yourself clean enough, you stood from the bath, nearly slipping as you stepped out. A disappointed sigh left your lips and you shook your head at your foolish, human clumsiness.

You dried off quickly and padded back into your bedroom. You slipped on a simple white cotton dress, and a pale pink dressing robe over the top. After putting on your slippers, you stood in front of the door, steeling yourself for whatever you would face outside of your room. A deep breath in, then out, and you opened the door, stepping into the hallway.

The walk to the kitchen was quick, and it was blissfully empty when you entered. You set about making a pot of tea for yourself, bringing water to a boil in a kettle on the stove. While it was heating up, you grabbed one of the trays used for when someone wanted breakfast in bed and placed a teapot and cup on it, as well as a bowl.

You looked around the kitchen, scrunching your face at the options available. Your eyes caught on the windows looking out to the garden, noting the stars in the sky.

Just how long had you slept for...?

Shaking your head, you turned back to the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. Your hands reached for an apple almost big enough in size that you couldn't grasp it.

You grabbed a small cutting board from a cabinet and a knife out of the block, then washed the apple before setting it on the board. The kettle was just starting to whistle, and you removed it from the heat before it could wake anyone sleeping upstairs. After you measured out a small amount of tea leaves into the teapot's helpful strainer, you poured enough water in to make at least three cups of tea. You were making a soothing lavender and chamomile blend, one that never failed to send you to a dreamless sleep after having a few cups.

Leaving it to steep, you returned to the cutting board, carefully cutting the apple into small slices. Once it was cut, you placed the slices into the bowl on your tray, then washed the cutting board and knife, leaving them in the drying rack.

You removed the strainer from the teapot after deeming it to be strong enough, and emptied the leaves into the trash before washing it as well.

All that was left was to carry your bounty upstairs, without waking a soul.

Tray in your arms, you made your way back up the stairs and into your bedroom, letting out a small sigh of relief once you had closed the door behind you. The tray was placed on your desk, and you took your seat.

The first pour of tea was always your favorite, as it was always at the perfect temperature. You brought the steaming cup of tea to your lips, closing your eyes as you took the first soothing sip, letting the warmth of it wash over you.

The apple was delicious, crisp and sweet and tasting of autumn. You made sure to savor the taste- you weren't sure when you would next venture out of your room, seeing as you were still terrified to see any who would be in the River House.

Even your sisters... Though Feyre was the main change, you supposed, seeing as she had let her mate use his powers on you, when she had promised that neither she or Rhys would ever do so.

Your second cup of tea was still warm and soothing as you finished off the apple, but when you got to the third and final cup, it was only lukewarm.

A problem that any of your sisters would surely be able to solve...

By the time you finished your tea, you were tired enough to fall back sleep, but first you forced yourself to return to the kitchen, feet stepping carefully on your journey to stay undiscovered. You washed your dishes quickly and returned the tray to its rightful place, then made your way back upstairs.

Your door was shut behind you, another successful mission in avoiding those you once considered family.

The bathtub had dried, and you brought your blankets and pillows back in with you, reassembling your makeshift bed once again. Your crawled between the blankets, content to stay between them forever as warmth cocooned you. Your mind drifted, once again conjuring scenes of you living with father once more, tending to your little herb garden and cooking to your hearts content.

Two weeks- or perhaps more- passed in the same manner, with Feyre knocking on your bathroom door every morning or so and waking you from your slumber. In the nights you would crawl from your blankets and return to the kitchen for a pot of tea and whatever fruit or vegetables were available and easy enough to eat without cooking.

Your stomach had protested loudly for the first week before settling back into the cold, quiet hunger that your body had adapted to for most of its life.

One morning, your solitude was broken by Morrigan pounding on your bedroom door, jolting you from your sleep and driving fear into your heart.

"Come to the door, Y/N, or I won't leave!" She yelled from behind the wood, persistent knocks following her words.

You sighed and turned your head back into your pillow, determined to ignore her.

"I brought you tea! Please just come to the door, Y/N? You can tell me to leave and take the tea, even," the fae offered, and your stomach rumbled in response.

Tea... wouldn't be bad, you thought to yourself.

But you hadn't bathed...

Morrigan's knocking only grew louder as you debated with yourself, fear and hunger warring in your mind.

"Y/N!"

You grumbled to yourself as you rose from your spot, shouting "I'll be right there!" when her knocking somehow continued to increase in volume. You opened the bathroom door and headed to your wardrobe, tugging a dressing gown over your nightgown.

Turning the door's handle was difficult, fear of the unknown still lingering in your gut, but the blonde on the other side of the door was in fact holding a tray of tea when you finally managed to open the door.

"Good morning!" Morrigan chirped, a bright smile on her face as she met your eyes. Her warm chocolate eyes seemed genuine, allowing some of the tension in your body to leave as you looked at the tray.

A pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of diced fruit, cheeses, and smoked meats.

She obviously wanted to join you... And she had been kind enough to bring you not only tea but food as well. That made up your mind.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked quietly, stepping aside to let her into your bedroom.

"I would love to, thank you Y/N." Morrigan breezed in and placed the tray on top of your bed before taking a seat on one side, feet pulled up so she was sitting with her legs folded in front of her.

You shut the door and followed her, taking a seat on the opposite side while she poured tea into a cup. She handed one to you first, warmth instantly flowing into your fingers, before pouring her own.

You took a small sip, closing your eyes at the bright taste of mint and ginger. "I... Thank you, Morrigan."

"Oh, call me Mor, Y/N. And it was really no trouble, I've..." She paused. "I've wanted to talk to you, check in on you after everything that happened. I know that we haven't talked much, since you came to Velaris, but I would like to change that. I know what it is like to feel so out of place that you can barely fathom living... I know how difficult it can be, when you don't have the support you need," Mor confessed. "I do wish I had noticed how uncomfortable you felt, before you had to tell us so bluntly."

Tears pricked your eyes as she talked. You wished it had been the same, as well.

"It isn't your fault, Mor..." you sighed. "You don't have the same... Not responsibility to me, but the past connection. And it is not as though you were the one to bring me here."

Mor gave you a sad smile, her eyes understanding. "I know, but you are a part of this family, and you are supposed to feel like you are as well."

You nodded your head in agreement, though you didn't quite agree. You felt... You felt as though your family had been lost to you, long before you came to Velaris.

The two of you sipped on your tea in a comfortable silence for a while, your eyes darting down to the small spread of food frequently, until your stomach made its discomfort known. Loudly.

Instead of Mor reprimanding you for it, or telling you to eat, she simply began eating herself- something you were grateful for. You followed her lead, slowly eating a few pieces of what she had brought up. Between the food and the several cups of tea, your stomach felt pleasantly warm and full, more than it had been in a long while.

"I have an idea, if you're up for it," Mor offered once the two of you had finished both the tea and food, her brown eyes looking at you hopefully.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked, mind already wandering to what she might ask you. Maybe a favor for Feyre, to get you to talk with her?

"I have a little skincare routine that I do every morning, and even though your skin is absolutely gorgeous as is, I thought that maybe you would like to join me? It's one of the few things that helps me feel a bit better when I'm having a rough day."

You blinked at her for a moment, the idea of her wanting to spend more time with you not having crossed your mind.

"I... I'm not sure that I would be any good at it..."

"Oh, nonsense! It's pretty simple, and I'll help you out with it. And if you hate it, we can stop at any point. Please?" She asked with so much sincerity that you nodded in agreement. The smile on her face when you did made you feel nice, and like she wasn't being forced into spending time with you.

"Yay!" Mor cheered. "I'll be back with everything in a few minutes. Do you want me to bring another pot of tea as well?" Mor asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

"If it's not any trouble for you, please," you replied, eyes tracking her as she stood from your bed and brought the tray back into her arms.

"Of course it isn't, Y/N. I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

You nodded, and stood from the bed to open the door for her, shutting it softly behind her.

So far... This morning was nice. Mor is nice.

She returned in a few minutes, a fresh pot of tea and her supplies on the tray.

Over the next hour, she helped you cleanse and moisturize your skin, doing the same herself. You felt silly at first wearing the clay mask that she had spread over your face, but seeing Mor in it as well made you feel giggly, the two of you laying on your bed and talking about clothes. She made you promise to let her take you shopping once you felt ready to leave the house again, and you had her promise to teach you to do your makeup- though in softer colors than the bold reds and black that she preferred.

You drank most of the second pot of tea, happily consuming it, and along with the pleasant company of Mor, you were feeling warmer and more alive than you had since Bounty Day.

"So... Do you feel a little better?" Mor asked after you had both rinsed your faces and applied one last layer of moisturizer, this one smelling of strawberries.

You thought about it for a moment- you felt lighter than you had in months. "I do. Thank you again, Mor. This was really nice," you said, a small smile on your lips as you looked at her.

"Good, I'm glad. If you want to do it again, say... Tomorrow, just let me know," Mor said with a bright grin on her face.

"I... I'd like that very much, Mor," you said sheepishly, still in slight disbelief that she wanted to spend time with you.

"I'll stop by at the same time tomorrow, then." Mor gathered her things and left your room, leaving you in silence once more.

As much as you had enjoyed her company, you felt... tired, now. You glanced out the window, noting that snow was falling on an already thick layer coating the ground and buildings below.

You hadn't known it had snown at all recently.

With a shake of your head, you brushed that thought off and returned to the bathroom, your blankets-

Oh gods, you thought to yourself. Did Mor notice?

You were slightly ashamed that you felt unsafe enough to sleep in the perfectly comfortable bed you had been given, but... You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to move back into the bedroom to sleep. Instead, you burrowed yourself into your blankets once again, telling yourself that someday you would sleep in the bed again.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your time with Mor the next morning became a daily occurrence for the next week, and a way for you to better tell the passing of time.

Feyre had stopped coming to your bathroom door every morning, replaced instead by the blonde that you were getting closer to considering a real friend.

One morning, you woke early enough to take a bath before Mor showed up at your door. You had just finished dressing when you heard arguing outside of your door.

"I will not ask her for you, Feyre. You can go in there and ask her yourself, but I am not going to use my friendship with her for your benefit. Once you work up the balls, come back. She might talk to you then," Mor said angrily to your sister.

That shocked you.

"I'm not trying to use-" Feyre paused. "Fine, I will come back later."

"Good. Now go away, I don't want you to scare her."

A few seconds later, Mor knocked on your door. You opened it, and found her carrying the usual- a pot of tea, plate of food, and plenty of her skincare products.

Besides her argument with Feyre, your morning together went as usual, and you had nearly forgotten about the incident until Mor was about to leave.

A knock on the door had both Mor's and your heads snapping to it.

Mor sighed. "I should be going, then, Y/N. Just... Hear her out, for a moment at least?"

Your scrunched your nose up but nodded. "Thank you, Mor. Will I see you tomorrow?"

Mor's head bobbed as she picked up her things. "Yes, but the next few days I'll be staying in the Hewn City, they tend to get a little more problematic the closer we come to Starfall," Mor explained.

Your heart sank a little bit, but you smiled at her anyways. "I hope it goes well. I know you don't enjoy being there much." You almost wished you could go with her, to be out of this city for a little while.

"Thank you, Y/N," Mor said with an appreciative smile. "Would you get the door?"

"Of course." You did so, opening it to see a nervous looking Feyre. Mor passed by her and headed down the hallway. "Would..." You hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

Feyre smiled at you, one filled with tension. "I would, thank you." She followed you into your room, closing the door behind her and coming a few feet into the room, leaving at least your height's distance between you. "I wanted to speak with you about something- well, ask you something, more."

"Okay..."

"I- Would you be willing to come to dinner tomorrow night?"

You stared at her in confusion. "Why tomorrow?"

Feyre's brow furrowed at your question. "It's your birthday tomorrow."

Oh.

You had forgotten your own birthday. It didn't surprise you much, with how distant your mind had been recently. Only in the past week had you fully recognized the passage of time, thanks to Mor's visits each morning.

"Oh, uhm... I-" you paused. Dinner would mean... seeing Nesta and Elain and Rhys. "Uhm. Would... Who would be there...?"

"All of the Inner Circle, I think," Feyre replied, a frown on her face when she saw your own. "What's wrong?"

You were silent for a moment, trying to come up with something that wouldn't make you sound as weak as the truth. But nothing came to mind quickly enough, with Feyre still staring at you with her worried blue eyes.

"I'm... I'm afraid of Nesta and Elain... And Rhys," you admitted, looking at the floor.

Feyre sighed. "I'm sorry about what I had him do, Y/N. I really, truly am. You were just so panicked and talking-" Feyre paused to close her eyes, one tear making its way down her cheek. "Hearing you explain how you were feeling, I wanted you to have time to calm down some. I didn't... I didnt know how horribly you feel living here, Y/N."

It was your turn to sigh. "If... If you get Nesta and Elain to behave- or at least not say anything nasty to me- I will come to dinner."

"Really?" Feyre asked, her watery eyes looking into yours. "I was already able to convince Elain to bake a cake for you- your favorite, white chocolate raspberry. And Nuala and Cerridwen were more than happy to make your favorites."

Your heart lifted in your chest. "You really planned a dinner for me?" You asked hopefully, willing them to not be crushed.

"I did, Y/N. It's the least I could do, with everything I haven't been doing."

You nearly reached for her, to pull her into a hug. But-

You were still afraid, still upset at being kept in Velaris.

She would have to earn your trust back.

"Thank you, Feyre. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Feyre nodded at you, a small smile on her face. She turned to leave, but paused before she did, as though she wanted to say something else. Instead, she left your room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Dinner tomorrow...

You sighed. It will be fine. It has to be.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning, you woke with an awful cramping in your stomach, your body feeling slightly like you had the flu.

One use of the restroom proved that was not so.

Your cycle had come.

On your birthday. Just your luck.

Thankfully you had woken early enough that Mor was likely still sleeping, the sun's rays just barely peeking over the horizon.

You could take a bath. A nice, scalding bath to soothe the aches of your cycle. And you did just that, soaking in the water until the sun had risen.

Still, you felt dirty climbing out of the bath. Every cycle, you felt more and more disgusting with each vile look Nesta and Elain would throw at you.

Nesta and Elain... You would have to see them today.

Tears filled your eyes at the thought of dealing with them later.

At least you would still have your morning with Mor.

You finished dressing just before Mor arrived, tying your dressing gown as she knocked on your door.

"Good morning, Y/N," she said after you let her in, her arms filled with the usual fare. "Do you want a pain potion or anything, sweets?" Mor asked after she set the tray down on your bed.

"No, I'll manage fine," you said, still disappointed that everyone else can scent your cycle.

Mor nodded her head in understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, feel free to come to me for one. I know your cycles aren't quite like mine, but they're painful nonetheless. But for now, Y/N, I'd like to wish you a very happy birthday. Feyre says you're turning twenty?"

You bobbed your head in confirmation as the two of you took your seats on your bed. "Yes, we're just a few days under a year age difference." Mor poured out tea for the both of you, today it was your favorite lavender and chamomile blend. "Do you... Do you know what Feyre has planned for this evening?" You asked nervously.

If you knew what to expect, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

"Well, there's the dinner, obviously, and I do believe that we all got you a gift- at least I did, and Elain made a delicious looking cake for you! I do think that's all, though, Feyre thought you wouldn't like a huge celebration right now."

"Feyre would be right... I'm nervous enough as it is..."

Mor smiled softly at you. "You know what will help with that?"

"What?"

"Doing our skincare! It'll get your mind off of tonight!"

You shook your head at her. "I should've guessed, Mor," you laughed, but followed her into the bathroom anyways.

And Mor was right, as she usually was.

The two of you dozed off on your bed while you had masks on, only waking up once Mor accidentally kicked you in her sleep.

The two of you were still giggly by the time she left your room, your spirits much higher thanks to the lovely blonde that had become your friend over the past week.

By the time dinner rolled around, you were cramping more than before, and feeling absolutely exhausted from keeping yourself awake all day.

You hadn't realized how tiring just being awake was, even with your mind traveling back to that little cottage for most of the day.

Still, you bathed once more, a quick one this time, and dressed in a modest, dark green dress.

Now the difficult part... Making it downstairs. In the daytime.

Your hand rested on the doorknob longer than you cared to admit, your body warring with your mind, knowing who was waiting downstairs.

You managed to get out of your room, very slowly making your way downstairs as dread filled your stomach.

Surely Feyre could get your sisters to behave for one night, right?

The dining room of the River House was packed when you finally entered, the entire Inner Circle being present along with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Good- two extra friendly faces could never hurt.

"Y/N!" Feyre exclaimed when she spotted you, and she quickly made her way over to you. Her hands clasped yours. "I'm so glad you came down, sissy," Feyre said, using the old nickname she had given you.

"Me too," you replied, only half meaning it.

"Well, dinner is just about ready if you want to take a seat. Mor and I saved a seat between us for you, if you'd like?" You nodded and let her lead you to your chair, which was next to an excitedly bouncing blonde.

"I can't wait to give you your presents, Y/N. I think that mine are the best!" She boasted.

Your nose crinkled as you smiled at her enthusiasm. "I'm sure everyone's presents are nice, Mor."

"Yes, but mine are the best. You'll see after dinner."

"I'm sure I will..." You said quietly, and it was then that you noticed the eyes on you.

All of the eyes on you.

Nesta was looking at you like she wanted to stab you, or perhaps burn you alive with her silver flames. Elain's look had less outright hatred, but hurt all the same.

Still, they said nothing.

Thankfully, Rhys's eyes looked more concerned than angry, as they had been the last time you had seen him.

You turned your eyes to your plate. White porcelain with delicate silver flowers painted onto the rim. Pretty.

"So, what all do you want?" Mor asked a few minutes later, drawing you back into the present.

You looked up and noticed that dinner had been served, all of your favorite dishes that Nuala and Cerridwen had made for you since you met them on the table.

"A little bit of everything...?" You said, unsure if that would be okay. No one stopped Mor from loading up your plate with a whole lot of everything, leaving you with a dauntingly full dish set in front of you.

There was no way you could eat all of that in one go, with the way you had been eating... Or rather, avoiding eating recently. The most consistent meals you had were your small breakfasts with Mor.

You resolved yourself to eat a small amount of each, and see how you feel then. After all, there was still Elain's best cake to have later.

The dinner was more pleasant than any you remembered, though you hardly spoke to anyone. Mor and Feyre seemed to have picked up on how anxious you were, both of them touching your arm or hand to draw you back to the moment when you stared at your plate too long.

But then it was time to retire to the living room, you seated on the couch across from the fireplace that you had avoided for so long now...

Gifts were given, more than you had anticipated.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta had all gotten you cookbooks. Feyre's was of traditional Night Court recipes, your favorites marked with bookmarks. Elain had gotten you one on desserts of the Solar Courts. And Nesta had gotten you a book of soup recipes.

All of them would be thoughtful... If they had taught you to read.

Still, you smiled when you opened each one and said thank you, though your heart had sank lower at the reminder that they had forgotten your illiteracy, had forgotten that you barely knew your letters, if that.

Amren's present was next, a pretty set of pink opal jewelry. You smiled at the tiny fae, barely managing to meet her eyes. She was still... unsettling, though she had never done anything to you.

Then Rhys presented his, a book of human fables, explaining that Feyre had mentioned how much you had adored them as a child.

That much was true, but... It was the same problem as with the cookbooks. You thanked him but refused to meet his eyes.

Cassian was next, who had gotten you a box of sweets from the chocolate shop you had gone to a few times, all of them ones that you had ordered more than once. It was thoughtful enough, and you knew if he'd gotten a more personal gift, Nesta might have...

You didn't want to think about that.

Azriel was next after Mor told him that she would be presenting her presents last no matter what. He had gotten you a beautiful teapot and set of teacups, all enchanted to keep the tea at the perfect temperature for up to twelve hours. The bottom was a pale pink that faded into white at the top, with delicate irises painted on the sides. It was perfect.

Along with it, he presented you with a large box of different tea samples.

"Whichever ones you enjoy, let me know and I will buy you full sizes of them, alright?" Azriel asked after presenting you with it, and you nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Azriel."

There were at least ten teas you had never tried before, though these were all from a store that you had never been to.

To say you were excited for all of the new flavors would be an understatement.

Mor sighed after seeing his present. "Mine ties for first, I suppose... Here, Y/N," she said, handing over a large box to you.

You opened it, eyes widening at what was inside. It contained a beautiful pink bedding set, all of the fabric so soft to the touch you wanted to bury yourself in it the moment you felt it. There was a second blanket, one that was buttery soft and in a pale purple.

These would be a wonderful addition to your bedding.

"And... Here," Mor said as she gave you a large bag, this one filled to the brim with skincare and makeup products. "I wanted you to be able to keep up the routine, even while I'm gone. And I picked out some shades I thought would look pretty with your skin tone."

"Thank you, Mor." You leaned over to hug your friend who was seated next to you, so happy that she had thought of you so much.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N."

A few moments later, your presents were covered in shadows before disappearing, and you looked to Azriel.

"They're in your room, I thought it would be easier to have them taken up for you," was his answer. You nodded in acknowledgement.

"How about cake now?" Feyre said excitedly, clapping her hands together as she stood. "Elain, come help me?"

Elain started to follow Feyre, but as Feyre passed Cassian he held out a hand to stop her, nose tilted to the air.

"Feyre... Is...?" He took a few more deep sniffs. "Oh mother, are you pregnant?!" He asked, standing up and embracing her before she could confirm or deny.

"Oh, Feyre, congratulations!" Elain exclaimed, the next to hug her.

"Yes, yes, I'm pregnant," Feyre said shyly. "I wasn't planning to-"

"We have to celebrate!" Cassian announced, already pulling Feyre into the kitchen where everyone else followed.

You were excited for your sister, of course you were... But it stung, seeing the first time you had seen everyone in so long become a celebration of Feyre so quickly.

You said a quick congratulations to Feyre, though you weren't sure she heard you over the tenfold increased volume in the kitchen.

Then you made your way upstairs, back to your room, back to your bathtub.

At least you had a new blanket to keep you company, and new tea to have the next time you woke.

So you settled in, snuggling down into your now cozier makeshift bed. There was less fear in your heart, now that the obligation of seeing people was over. But the cramps were ripping through you, causing you to curl in tightly on yourself. Maybe you should have asked Mor for a potion after all...

Until you drifted off, you could hear them celebrating below, another reminder of how out of place you still feel.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

ILIPW taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd

#I hate it here #i look in people's windows #the afterthought #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar x you #acotar x reader #angst #acotar x reader angst #acotar x you angst #toxic inner circle #inner circle bashing #mor is good tho!#mor is the best 🫶#morrigan #tato writes

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808airsoftbros · 7 months ago

Text

My Scary Noona (Kim Gaeul) (BXG) (S)

Author: A requested oneshot by an anonymous user, if you are reading this I hope you enjoy it, and if you all want to see more of my stories check out my Masterlist.

Y/N's POV

"I swear to God Yujin and Wonyoung, your guy's room is always a mess!"

Hearing my Noona, Gaeul once again yelling at her members for having a messy room and Yujin and Wonyoung pouted trying to act cute to get out of their predicament.

But if I know Gaeul no tricks are going to work on her as she's the oldest and made them clean up. Of course, Yujin and Wonyoung reluctantly did so as we all knew not to mess with her.

Even if Gaeul isn't the leader of IVE, she is still someone you don't want to cross with and she'll make your life a living hell.

Meanwhile, I was in my room playing Helldivers 2, wearing noise-canceling headphones, I didn't hear much of the commotion outside until I smelled that same autumn perfume that Gaeul always wears.

The scent was strong like it was being held right at my nose and when I turned around I saw Gaeul right behind my chair and I gulped.

"Y-Yes, Noona...?" I gulped.

"You, you and I are going on a date, you're not busy right..?" Gaeul asked and I shook my head.

"No... Well maybe..." I chuckled nervously and she rolled her eyes.

"And what exactly is keeping you busy today? Sitting your lazy ass playing video games?" She sarcastically asked.

Without saying anymore, Gaeul tossed me clothes for me to wear, and ordered me to get dressed and meet her outside. I sighed seeing that my video game sessions ended so soon.

After I finished changing into the clothes that Gaeul gave me which was a pair of Addidas sweatpants and jacket, I wear a Vans black shirt and all complimented by Addidas shoes.

Coming out of my room, Gaeul gave me a small grin before taking my arm leading me out of the dorm.

"Will be out all-day girls, you all better not make a mess!" Gaeul announced and the girls nodded.

"Of course, Unnie... You won't have to worry about a thing..." Yujin casually says while on her phone.

"You better keep your word," Gaeul warned and we left the dorm.

Walking hand in hand out of the dorm into the cool autumn breeze, Gaeul took a deep breath and sighed relaxing herself after constantly yelling bossing around her members all-day.

"Noona, do you always have to be this strict?" I curiously asked and she huffed.

"Well, someone has to keep things in order, and besides you know how chaotic those girls can get right?" Gaeul pointed out and sighed knowing she was right.

"Yeah, I cannot lie, they do get crazy sometimes... Even for my own liking," I answered and she grinned.

"Aren't you lucky you have a girlfriend like me to handle them~? Otherwise, you'd go mad," She cheekily said and I chuckled.

Afterward, Gaeul walked me into her favorite ramen shop, the waiter guided us to our table and left us alone to decide what to eat on the menu.

Gaeul took her time looking over the specials and then at me with a small warm smile the same look when she knows exactly what I'm going to get. Though I do sometimes doubt that...

"Let me guess... The shoyu ramen?" Gaeul guessed and I was baffled at how she knew what I was getting and once again proving me wrong.

"How do you always know, Noona...?" I asked confused and she giggled.

"Because you always get the same thing every time, it doesn't take a detective to figure that out don't you think? Perhaps try something new for a change," She suggested and I sighed.

Gaeul knew I was quite a picky eater, it's always been like that since childhood which gave my family a headache trying to get me to try foods that I may or may not like.

Although I always hesitated food from my parents, Gaeul is the opposite case not because she's scary or threatens to shove it down my throat but because I was less reluctant and open because of her warm and caring personality.

Unlike others who only saw me as a failure, weak, and stupid because of my health and mental disorder, Gaeul was the only friend I have who truly saw me as who I am and accepted me nonetheless.

Sure Gaeul may scold me from time to time but I eventually learned that it was for my own good and I have a lot more to learn about relationships even if we've been together for a few years now.

"Well, well, I can't believe my eyes... It's the weird kid..." I heard a familiar voice I hope to never hear again.

Looking up I sighed to see Jackson and his gang walking up towards us, they're all idols like Gaeul, and she too was surprised to see them.

"Jackson? What are you doing here?" Gaeul asked raising an eyebrow.

"Darling, why else would we be here? We came to grab some food is all. What are you doing with him?" He asked and Gaeul rolled her eyes.

"Jackson, this is my boyfriend Kim Y/N, we were on a date and we would appreciate if you didn't interrupt our quality time together," Gaeul answered and he seemed surprised before laughing his ass off.

"Boyfriend? Are you serious? You're a famous idol like us and this guy is who you choose? I mean come on you're better off dating some rookie guy from a shitty company instead of him, don't you think?" Jackson asked with a hint of mockery and I looked down not daring to look at him.

Gaeul on the other hand was furious about his words and immediately stood up before him almost as if she was ready to fight him as her fists was closed tightly.

"Take. That. Back." Gaeul warned coldly glaring at him but Jackson only sneered.

"Or else what? He's worth nothing and you are stooping so low dating him," Jackson replied and Gaeul scoffed.

"Oh please, that's quite rich, you always think you're so high and mighty because you walk over people to get on top, you always exploit, bully, and extort everyone to make yourself feel like the king of the world, but no, it's pathetic. Just admit it, Jackson, you're nothing but a goddamn coward," Gaeul coldly spoke to his face and he was livid.

"You fucking bitch! You dare speak to me like that to your senior?! Did you ever learn respect for people like us?!" Jackson angrily asked gripping Gaeul's collar tightly shooting her a deathly glare but she wasn't fazed one bit.

"Oh, I do... But you're not worthy of my respect unless you apologize to my boyfriend and recognize putting down others only makes you a weaker man," Gaeul retorted and Jackson lost it.

Jackson's anger took over him as he raised his fist to deliver a punching blow but he froze a painful sensation was felt in his groin from Gaeul kicking his balls causing him to let go of her collar as he groaned in pain.

Gaeul didn't even give him time to react, she grabbed his shoulders before delivering a cross punch to his jaw knocking him on the floor.

"Get up," Gaeul sternly demanded.

Jackson limply got back on his feet but it wasn't for long as Gaeul delivered a heavy front kick to his face knocking him down and she scoffed almost pitying how weak he was.

"Get up," Gaeul demanded once more.

Jackson's friend stood back not daring to intervene, Jackson tried to get up but it was harder as his body was sore and devastated from Gaeul's punches and kicks to his face and groin. Again without warning Gaeul slapped so hard that everyone in the restaurant heard it and he crashed into the wall and fell down groaning in pain.

"Not so fun when you're the one that's helpess, isn't it?" Gaeul asked sternly.

"Y-Your fucking insane..." Jackson weakly said and catches his breath.

"Well, that's what happens when you mess with one's boyfriend, I'll let you go but mess with my boyfriend again and I won't be so merciful and I'll do everything in my power to ensure you suffer for all of eternity, got it?" Gaeul warned and Jackson looked down in defeat.

"I understand..." He weakly groaned.

"Good, now you roaches get out of my sight!" Gaeul ordered pointing at the door and the boy quickly ran out of the restaurant.

Letting out a huff trying to calm herself down, she walked back to the table and sat down in front of me as the waiter comes back to take our orders.

I ordered my usual while Gaeul ordered the special spicy beef ramen, the waiter writes it down and leaves us for now. Shortly after, the waiters returned with our ramen orders.

Trying the new shoyu ramen recipe was absolutely immaculate despite the major change proving that not all changes in my picky habits are necessarily a bad thing to occur.

After we finished eating, we head back to the dorm to see the girls mostly asleep with Leeseo hugging Rei and Wonyoung and Yujin cuddling one another.

"Aww~. How adorable is that darling? But you know that means... right?" She whispered into my ear sending shivers down my spine knowing exactly what she means.

"Are you sure, Noona?" I nervously asked keeping my voice down to not disrupt their slumber.

"Do you know how long I've been craving you~? I haven't gotten your juicy cock inside of me for weeks... And I want it now," She seductively purred.

Without wasting time, Gaeul dragged me into my room closing the door before locking it, she shoved me into the bed and crawled towards me like a hungry tigress about to devour her prey.

The look in her eyes would make any man shit his pants as there was no escape for me as Gaeul cornered me on all sides as she pinned me down with her strong grip.

"Hmm... Where to start first~? So many ways~," She wondered as she licked her lips thinking of all the unholy things to do with me.

Taking some time to ponder on her first move, she smirked before going to my ear, her lips just inches from my neck as she nippled my earlobe a bit sending jolts of excitement and nervousness.

"Why don't you be a dear and take off my clothes~," She whispered and I nodded.

Sitting up I reached my hands on the straps of her dress pulling them aside and slowly pushing it down revealing her black laced bra and panties barely covering her assets.

"You like what you see don't you~? My body is just perfect for you baby~," She said in a husky tone and she bit her lip as she began working on my pants to free my erection.

Gaeul slides my pants off along with my boxers revealing my 9 inch dick making her lick her lips and biting it as this size was more than perfect for her.

"God, the words cannot describe how much I miss having your cock inside of me..." She muttered as she went down taking my length into my mouth.

Feeling her warm mouth and tongue swirling on my cock felt so amazing as always, Gaeul always knew all the buttons to push on me, and in turn, I'd pound the shit out of her.

Gaeul began bobbing her head faster and faster making me moan as I grab her hair as she began deepthroating me and soon enough I was reaching my limit but she wasn't stopping.

"Fuck... Noona I'm going to cum..." I warned and Gaeul took my cock out of her mouth before opening it wide sticking her tongue out as she used her hand to finish me off.

Almost instantly, I shot my line of cum onto her face most of it ending up on her tongue and she purred as she licked the cum off her lips and fingers.

"Mmm~. Thank you for the meal baby but now it's your turn~," She spoke in a commanding tone as she gestured me to take off her undergarments.

Obeying her commands like a good boy, I unclip her bra revealing her perky and luscious boobs, and slid off her panties revealing her perfect shaved womanhood.

Diving into her pussy I began eating her out making her moan my name as she wrapped her thighs around my head pushing herself onto my face more.

"Fuck baby~. Such a good fucking boy eating mommy out~! Keep this up and Mommy will treat you~," Gaeul wickedly grinned as she kept moaning as I eat her out.

Inserting my tongue inside of her not getting enough of her tasty juices she moaned louder as I began hitting her g-spot with my tongue and I feel her walls tightening.

"Shit baby~! I'm going cum and you better not waste a single drop..." She warned and she squirted all in my mouth despite her strong thighs tightly wrapped around my skull.

When Gaeul unwrapped her thighs she opened my mouth making sure I swallowed every drop of her juices and she smiled wickedly.

"Good boy, you didn't waste a drop and mommy is very proud of you~. Now it's time for your treat~," She praised.

She went on all fours displaying her firm and rounded ass to me and her glistening pussy and teasingly twerks inviting me to take her.

I didn't waste any time getting up aligning my cock to her pussy and slamming inside making her yelp as she didn't expect me to enter so abruptly but she didn't seem not to like it one bit but rather the opposite.

"Shit baby! You want me so badly don't you~?" She teasingly asked and without hesitation, I began fiercely pounding her pussy giving her my answer.

Gaeul moaned loudly as she gripped the sheets of the bed tightly as I rammed her like an angry bull and took out all my sexual desires and love on her.

The tightness of her pussy of my cock and the feeling was heavenly and I went all out to ensure Gaeul is pleased and happy with me.

"Fuck! Fuck! Just like that!" She screamed as I began hitting her g-spot with my cock nearly penetrating her.

Picking up the pace, I grabbed her ass as support as I pounded her faster and deeper making Gaeul nearly scream in ecstasy and slightly worry if I was going to finish too fast.

But I managed to hold my ground as I knew this was all out of love and our desires of one another, Gaeul was the only woman I'd ever want to share this rough lovemaking with.

Time was lost in our minds and before we knew it, we were both getting to our edge.

"I'm so close baby~!" Gaeul yelped.

"Me too... I don't know if I can hold it much longer!" I replied as I continued pounding her.

"Do it! Don't hold back! Let's do it together!" She demanded and I came deep inside of her as Gaeul squirted all over my cock.

After the massive orgasm we collapse onto the bed exhausted and sweaty from our passionate lovemaking. Gaeul gave a weak smile as she was catching her breath.

"That was amazing, baby... Better than I can imagine..." She whispered as she caressed my cheek.

"Y-Yeah, it was because of you... I'm the luckiest man to ever be with you," I replied as I hugged her pressing my face against her boobs and she giggled.

"No, honey, I'm the one who is lucky to have such a cute boyfriend and I can never ask for a better partner," She replied and sighed contently as she began playing with the strands of my hair.

"I love you, Noona..."

"I love you too, baby..."

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littlelovelunette · 8 days ago

Note

Sevika x reader who has faded stretch marks + a little bit of loose skin from weight loss :)

Slight angst?

Stretch Marks

Sevika x Fem!Reader

Angsty, EATING DISORDER, starvation, mention of vomitting.

★ It had to be the marks that decorated your otherwise plain skin. All over your stomach, your inner thighs and hips— you felt disgusting. You had been struggling so long with an eating disorder, trying not to vomit at the sight of food or even at the mere thought of gaining weight. The rolls of fat that caught onto your hands every time you caressed your own body— nothing but disgust flooded your mind and you wondered how was Sevika in love someone who ate like a pig? "Don't." Sevika said, her voice always firm, but this time there was a hint for something akin to desperation, "Don't," she repeated, "Don't do this to yourself." You didn't exactly know what that meant but you could guess she didn't want you to spiral into an unhealthy eating disorder. But it couldn't be helped.

★ You stepped on the scale everytime and the numbers carved themselves into your brain, and everytime you'd look at a sweet treat— the sight of the scale saying those numbers would make you shake your head. "I can't. I need to lose weight first." It's as if your cravings didn't matter. You saw the ice-cream truck that day, but instead of tugging at Sevika's sleeve like a starved child with those bright eyes filled with child-like happiness, you retreated into the depths of your bedroom.

★ Sevika noticed the way you pretty much gave up eating at a whole, the sight of food served on a plate? Don't even question it, you'd excuse yourself to the bathroom as politely as possible to throw up. Sevika stood outside, listening to the sounds of you retching and she'd feel bad because she couldn't do anything about it. She'd love to fight the demons that occupied your brain all the time now and repeated the number on the scale to you— but it was impossible and a part of Sevika still hated herself for that. Sevika needed to understand, she couldn't do anything about it. She tried everything she could but it simply couldn't be helped.

★ Your mood continued to decline and you skipped pretty much every meal until your sunken cheeks started to show, and your ribs began to stick out a little more than usual. When Sevika got back from work, she hugged you and tears flooded her eyes because she could feel how small you'd gotten. "Let's go out to eat?" "I'm sorry, 'm not feeling it..."

★ Now what was left of you? Not a skeletal figure but the loose skin from the rapid weight loss and stretch marks that stained your body. If possible you had only wished the transition would've been smoother than that. "I look horrible. Look, what I've done to myself." Sevika didn't say anything, stubbing her cigarillo out and pulling you in a bone crashing hug. "You're fine. You're okay, now." She whispered in your ear, her voice faltering. Sevika wasn't one to cry but seeing you withering in front of her very own eyes while all she could do was sit and watch, cook and watch every plate being pushed away or the food being played with but never ate?

Your hands found their way around her body and hugged her back, "I'm sorry." You said but your apology fell on deaf ears, Sevika didn't care. All she wanted was her angel back, and she was glad you were starting to realise what was wrong in your routine all along. "We'll work through this," she breathed out, and for once after a long while, you could feel her heartbeat in sync with yours again.

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thebibliosphere · 1 year ago

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If you feel like talking about it — what’s the *aftermath* of anaphylaxis like? I know that an epipen is just step one, and further treatment and observation follows at a hospital, but I’m curious about what the subjective experience is like in the longer term; whether one can bounce back fairly well or whether there’s lingering unpleasantness.

So with the caveat that everyone experiences things differently (and putting this under a cut because I don't want to trigger anyone):

After epi is administered, you're usually put on a cocktail of drugs ranging from several different IV antihistamines (typically a mix of h1 and h2 histamine blockers and a giant whack of benadryl), anti-nausea meds, a beta-agonist to assist with breathing, and a shit-whack of steroids.

Once you've been stable for a few hours and discharged, you'll be told to watch for symptoms for up to 72 hours, which is the period in which a biphasic reaction can happen. (For me, it's always within 20 minutes to 8 hours after rescue medication is administered if I'm going to slip back into an allergic response, but everyone is different.)

Depending on your symptoms, you'll sometimes be told to take an antihistamine for up to 72 hours (if you're not already taking one daily), but the one thing they always send you home with is a steroid like prednisone. I usually need a 5-7 day dose because I need to taper off it or my adrenals crash, but some people get a 3-day dose and come off it with no problems.

Body-wise, it's a draining experience, and the medications often leave you both tired and wired. It's an odd sensation.

Mentally and emotionally, it takes me a lot longer to recover because I've just been smacked with a proverbial mallet of stress hormones and adrenaline, and that can often lead to depressive moods and even rage for some people. The prednisone also heightens emotions, so it's not unusual to be having some of the wildest mood swings of your life while also processing the stress of what just happened.

It takes me a while to bounce back, typically about a week on full rest, but I know some people who claim to feel fine in a couple of days. Couldn't be me, haha. My body goes into hibernation mode for quite a while, and I'll be lying in bed exhausted and jittering like I've had ten espressos, but I don't know how much of that is general anaphylaxis or how much of that is specific to my mast cell disorder.

So, for me, it's a desperate need to sleep, jitteriness, depression, and rapid mood swings from the prednisone followed by a general feeling of blegh. It also takes me about 72 hours to be able to eat solid foods again because of the effect anaphylaxis has on the digestive tract (the esophagus is lined with histamine receptors; that's why some heartburn meds are actually antihistamines.), but I suspect that's my MCAS.

It's basically just a bit shit, lol.

#chronic health tag #anaphylaxis #personal experiences

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luveline · 2 years ago

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hi queen 😙

could you please do one where the BAU are staying in another state for a case so they have to stay in a hotel and for some reason hotch has to come see reader in the morning or before bed or something so he knocks on the door of her room and she opens and she’s just standing there with like her hair in two braids and like matching pink pyjamas and hotch just has a little laugh because he’s never seen that side of her before?? 💕💕

this would be like season 1 or 2 hotch :D

cw reader has hair that can be put into two braids

He texts you first but you don't answer. Hotch isn't happy to encroach on your space so early but he can't remember what you said last night about the killer's motivations and he needs to know, desperately, in case this missing piece of the puzzle can stop another young man from being murdered.

"L/N?" he asks, knocking on the door quickly. "Y/N, are you awake?"

There's a definite sleeping groan. Hotch winces at the sound but what else can he do? You'll have to wake up in an hour anyway.

"Y/N? I'm sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you about Cory, last night's victim? You said it seemed more like an arsonist than a murderer, what did you mean by–"

The door swings open. "...that." Hotch stares at you.

You have your hair braided away from your face, strands rocked free and frizzy. More amusing is the baby pink pyjamas you're wearing; adorable little slips of fabric, pants that stop mid-calf and a camisole with soft lace at the chest. Hotch immediately looks back to your face as he realises his once over, but he can't hold back a laugh. A small chuckle, harmless.

"Are you laughing at me?" you ask tiredly, voice croaky but threaded with amusement. "You woke me up, okay? This is your fault. Did you bring me coffee, at least?"

Hotch puts his empty hands up in defeat.

"Come in, then, before someone else sees me."

Hotch follows you inside. He doesn't feel any pressure or awkwardness, but he needs to make sure you aren't either, and so he takes a cross-armed position against the wall. You run your hand down a braid and pull out the elastic, absentminded as you shake out your hair.

"I said it was more like arson because of the mess. Arsons like to ruin things. And I just don't see how it could be solely pleasure based after such a massacre," —you move to the second braid and repeat the process— "the adrenaline runs out eventually, but the blood was– it was everywhere. It would've taken effort. There are photos on my phone if you want to see."

You gibe him your phone, open to photographs you took last night. Hotch clicks through them in disgust. Like you said, it takes a lot of effort to make a crime scene look like this.

"We could be looking for someone with an impulse control disorder," Horch guesses. "Our pool of suspects would completely change. We've been looking for people who have untoward desires centred around teenage boys–"

"But if we're searching for someone who can't control their impulses we could easily be looking at a teenage boy. He'd have reason to be with his victims that wouldn't cause concern."

Hotch finds it very difficult to take you seriously in your pinks. He laughs again, and you know exactly what it is he's laughing at, waving him away as you bend down by your suitcase under the desk. "Go sharpen up, Hotchner. And get me a coffee, please." You glance at him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you in your pyjamas."

"I'm sure you would, agent."

Hotch thinks more than he should about you in your thin pyjamas, the way they hugged your thighs and the naked lengths of your arms, your ankles, he's ridiculous, but it's stuff he's not used to seeing. He's usually so focused.

He brings you a coffee and an apology croissant, which you eat in pleased silence beside him, fully dressed, hair tamed. He can't not see you as you were that morning, eyes puffy with tiredness but a hundred times the professional he'd been.

"I can feel you looking at me," you murmur. "Laugh again and I'm telling Gideon."

"Ah, and he'd reprimand me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you ask, almost monotone as you drink your coffee. "Do you have the case file for Patrick Gorden? I wanna compare the blood splatter on the walls."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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gatitties · 4 months ago

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Zoro x reader with reader unable to feel pain since birth and suffers from haemophilia or a blood clotting disorder which causes heavy bleeding / haemorrhage even with the smallest cuts. But since reader doesnt feel pain, she doesnt notice the bleeding and thought she's just tired so she went to her room for a nap but actually ended up passing out on her bed. When Zoro thought he hasnt seen you for some time, goes to your room to check and is horrified to see pale reader and your sheets soaked in blood. Tried to see where the bleeding is from but cannot see a wound consistent with the bleeding, but notices a medium sized cut in your hand, though not heavy, this continues to bleed and doesnt show any signs of stopping even when he tried applying pressure in it. Panic settling in, he calls the crew for help. You can make it either angst or hurt/comfort, i'll let ypu decide ^^

─Zoro x reader

─Summary: Some advantages are also weaknesses, but above all a great concern for Zoro.

─Warnings: blood

"One last stretch and you can go rest"

Zoro warned you as your muscles flexed to strengthen your muscles and strength, ever since you decided to take the path of being a pirate with a bounty on your head, you thought that daily training would keep you fit enough so that the marines wouldn't give you too many headaches. Due to a disease you were born with, you are unable to feel pain, which is a great advantage in a fight but a disadvantage, not feeling anything will give you the drive to continue fighting without your brain registering the pain, but your body has its own limit even if you don't feel it physically. For that reason you asked Zoro for help with your training, since he did it himself, he checked that you didn't overexert yourself until your body started to fail.

"That's all for today, good job, you should take a shower and rest."

"Thanks, what's tomorrow?"

"Lower body" he smiled ghostly when he saw your annoyed face, he knew that training legs was not one of your favorite things but it was necessary "see you at dinner"

You said goodbye vaguely with a gesture, heeding his words, you took a long and well-deserved hot shower, although you didn't feel it, you knew that your muscles relax under the drops of water and it makes you sigh, the warm sensation relaxes you to the point of almost falling asleep, if it weren't for Nami wanting to come in, you could have fainted right there. You staggered a little trying to get to your room, thinking that your eyelids felt heavy due to the tiredness of training, as well as the slight feeling of dizziness, you didn't bother to adjust yourself, your body collapsed against the mattress and you immediately stopped being conscious.

The afternoon continued quietly like any other, Nami was mapping, Chopper was sorting out medical supplies, Brook was practicing some sheet music, Robin was reading while sunbathing, Sanji was cooking dinner… everyone gathered together once he finished today’s dish, but you didn’t show up at the time you usually did, Luffy was getting impatient because Sanji wasn’t going to let him eat unless everyone was at the table, so he sent Zoro to find you.

"Hey, dinner’s ready idiot, what’s taking you so long? I told you to rest, not hibernate."

He knocked on the door a couple of times with his knuckles, waiting a couple of seconds to knock again, not knowing that something more than impatience was making its way through his senses, he carelessly opened the door, horrified by the scene before his eyes, your body lay on your bed barely hanging on, ─you had been slowly sliding to the floor since you fell asleep─ your sheets were completely soaked in blood, your own blood staining the whole place as if someone had made a massacre right there.

"Fuck-"

He hurried to turn you around, your face was pale due to the loss of blood, his mind was going so fast that he didn't think about telling anyone at that moment, he needed to find where the bleeding was coming from and try to stop it, but his efforts were null, there wasn't any bruise, there wasn't any big cut on your body, it seemed as if you had simply decided to expel blood everywhere. He began to sweat as he noticed your labored breathing, overcoming the initial shock he screamed for help at the top of his lungs as he continued to investigate the cause of this strange event.

"Oh my God! What happened!? There's no time, quick, go to the medical room!"

He immediately carried your body, heeding the orders that Chopper barked with concern, the rest of the team followed them closely observing your condition with concern. Chopper did his job but he was also unable to find the reason for your problems, it was not until, when you entered a more stable state due to the blood transfusion that Zoro took your hand, he felt the crimson liquid stain his palm.

"Chopper, get a couple of bandages."

A small cut on your hand caused all that disaster, but once they found and fixed the problem, they allowed themselves to rest, at least the doctor and the others, continued with dinner as planned, Zoro however preferred to stay by your side in case you woke up, you always scared him to death with this kind of things, it's not the first nor the last time it will happen to you and he will never stop being worried enough about you, you are not helping him cope with his feelings and one day you will give him a heart attack if you keep going like this.

#op #one piece #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #reader insert #request #strawhats #strawhats x reader #sfw #zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader

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idksomething327 · 1 month ago

Text

How to vomit safely

Here, I'm going to talk about how to vomit safely, a simple list of advice that I wish I had a long while ago. Even if you don't need this, please reblog, as I want more people to be educated on this. If I missed anything, got anything wrong, or you have any questions, please do dm, comment, ask, whatever.

One of the most important things- Space out your vomiting, let your body take a break! Don't throw up too often, it's terrible for you. It doesn't make it okay that you're doing it for pleasure instead of an eating disorder. It doesn't make it okay that you don't feel it hurting you. It doesn't make it okay that you're doing it as safe as possible. Those were some things I told myself when I was somewhat addicted to puking, but it still doesn't make it okay to do it often. Vomiting too frequently can result in tooth decay, weakening of the esophageal sphincter, acid reflux, and increased risk of cancer to name a few. My new years resolution was to make myself throw up less than once a month. Find something that works for you and lets your body rest.

Prep for vomiting. Wash your hands. Seriously. They will be going in your mouth. That's where you put food, so if there's anything on them you wouldn't be comfortable eating, wash them again. Eat a good sized meal so you have something to throw up, and know that if you do it in advance, the vomit will be a bit smoother and more digested. Immediately before vomiting, drink a lot of water to help it come up, and I mean like two or three average plastic bottles worth. Don't eat anything dark or red like pasta sauce or a smoothie before vomiting, as it's important to see if there's any blood in the vomit so you can stop before pushing yourself even more. Don't forget you can always drink more water while vomiting, so don't push yourself to get all those stubborn, painful chunks up at the end.

There are several methods to vomit, so I'll go through each. First is using your fingers. Start by washing your hands, as previously mentioned, and of course, position yourself over where you wish to vomit. Put one or two fingers in your mouth and gently massage the back of your throat. Don't do it as fast and hard as the people you see online if you're just starting out, get used to what makes you gag first, it's sensitive back there, after all. And watch out for your fingernails. Obviously, if you're touching yourself as you do this, wash your hands in between or use different hands.

Stuffing. I wouldn't recommend stuffing with food, at least not until you've gotten good at it, because it is harder to force up and you don't want to risk damage to the stomach. I would, however, suggest stuffing with water. Simply have a big meal, then drink cup after cup of water until you're nauseous and ready to burst, then let yourself vomit. One of the best ways to vomit naturally.

Homemade emetics. NEVER use homemade emetics. Some of the ones I see suggested online are salt water and baking soda water. The reasons these work to make you vomit is because your body's salt levels spike, leading you to vomit to force it out. It is important to note that your body will not vomit unless it considers the issue dangerous, and even if it does, it can't get all the salt out. This can leave you horribly dehydrated and, if bad enough, even hospitalized. Think of it this way, the vomit response is in place to get rid of anything poisonous, so don't eat poisonous things to try to vomit. There's also homemade emetics of gross things such as mustard water, and that may not be dangerous, but your puke will taste gross, so why would you even do that?

After vomiting, rinse your mouth with water. Don't brush your teeth, apparently it's not good for them. Drink water. You will be dehydrated after puking, even if you drank water before. If your appetite isn't gone, eat a snack or small meal. If you know in advance that you won't have an appetite, try to stop puking early to leave some food in your stomach.

Another option to vomit is store bought emetics. Being honest, I know nothing of store bought emetics or their safety, so instead, I'll talk about where to learn. Don't trust Google, that's the place that will tell you salt water is safe. Talk to your doctor. They will not judge you for your kink and will try their best to educate you (better than I can) and make it as safe as possible. But, I know, it can be difficult to talk to your doctor sometimes, so if you're nervous, find an online doctor instead, even a social media based one. A reputable one, as any professional doctor will educate instead of shaming. If that still isn't an option for you, you can send asks or dms to emeto blogs. Although they may not be professional, they may have information you need.

Anyway, I know this got long, but again, message me with anything. I want this to be the post I wish I had when I was starting.

#emeto #emetophilia #vomit kink #emeto tw #puke #vomiting #emeto kink #puke kink

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zegrasdrysdale · 11 months ago

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Could you possibly write something with Jack where the reader is having an insecure moment because she read some comments on her recent post and Jack comforts her and reassures that she’s the only girl for him and how beautiful he is, and maybe he makes a little insta post about her

[ don’t know what for ] j. hughes

paring : Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary : after reading some of the comments on her most recent insta post, Jack’s girl gets a little insecure. he reminds her just how beautiful she is

warning(s) : insecure!reader, allusions to a past eating disorder

author’s note : if y’all understand the title then we are automatically best friends (bc 1d 🫶🏼)

༺═──────────────═༻

She frowns as her comments are once again flooded with comments how she looks. It's always a comment about the color of her hair or that it looks like she needs to "eat a burger". As if she didn't stop eating completely when she was a teenager because she was getting comments about how she looked overweight when she was healthy.

Sometimes there's even a dig at the fact that she has blue eyes.

She knows there's a stereotype around hockey players dating or marrying women that have blonde hair and blue eyes, but she can't control the color of either. Sure, it's the type of some players but Jack told her over and over again at the beginning of their relationship that he liked her for her personality.

That doesn't mean that little voice in her head tells her that he's with her because of her hair and eyes. She's aware he has a type, and that type does match the stereotype.

Instead of getting up and going out like she had planned, she doesn't move from her bed. She cancels all plans that she had with her friends and cancels dinner with Jack that night to hide from the public.

The last thing that she needs is more pictures of her to be taken that night and more comments to roll in about the way she looks.

from: hughesy ♡ - 10:03 am wdym you don't feel good ? can i bring you soup ? i can give you back rubs if you don't want soup (ik i'm not a great cook). snacks ? soda ? ice cream ?

to: hughesy ♡ - 10:05 am i'm not hungry. i just wanted to let you know about dinner

from: hughesy ♡ - 10:19 am i'm outside your apartment. open up

Despite saying that she doesn't feel good and doesn't want to see anyone, Jack is on the other side of the door when she opens it in her hoodie with the hood up to hide her hair. He holds up flowers, a plastic bag that's probably full of candy, and a can of soup with a big smile.

"Baby, you look like you've been crying," he states when she opens the door. "Are you sure it's more than you not feeling well?"

She moves to the side so Jack can walk into her apartment. "If I tell you, you'll think it's stupid," she mumbles as she closes the door behind him and follows him further into the apartment.

Jack puts the goodies on the kitchen island and turns to his girlfriend with a frown. "Hey, you can tell me and I promise I won't think it's stupid," he assures her. "What's really going on?"

Her bottom lip wobbles as she says, "I hate being blonde and I hate having blue eyes. I feel like you're only with me because of it. I feel like if I dyed my hair brown and got brown contacts then you'd leave me. I feel too skinny and I feel too fat at the same time. I don't want to go out today and probably get my picture taken every two seconds because I don't feel pretty. I don't want to be seen eating because I'll get told I need to stop again. I don't want to be seen not eating because then I'll be told I need to put on weight. It's confusing and I hate the way I look right now."

A weight comes off her shoulders when she confesses how she really feels to Jack. The tears begin though and sobs wrack her entire body.

His frown just deepens at her confession. Jack crosses the room in three long strides to envelope her in a hug. He cradles her head like he always does when she's upset. She buries her face into his healthy shoulder and wraps her arms around his torso.

"You're so allowed to have days like this," Jack tells her. "But you need to stay out of your comment section, my love. They don't know you like I do and only see you for your hair and eyes. They don't know the you that I fell in love with. I love you no matter what and that will never change. You could dye your hair magenta and I'd still love you and think you were beautiful."

She shakes her head and looks up at him. "You don't mean that," she says.

Jack pushes the hood off her head and runs his fingers through her locks. "I mean that with my entire heart, baby," he assures her. "I think you're beautiful on your most insecure days. I think you light up the room when you walk in when you think you'd dim it. I love you when you doubt it. You're it for me. Blonde hair or not. Blue eyes or not."

"I don't believe you," she whispers.

It hurts her heart to say it but it's true at the moment. She doesn't believe Jack when he says that she's it for him. She's heard those words before and they turned out not to me true.

He runs his thumbs over her cheekbones to dry her tears and replies, "You don't have to. Not right now. Just know that I find you incredibly beautiful for the both of us." He pulls her back into a hug. "I'd love you if you shaved your head tomorrow too and that's a fact."

She bites back a smile and shakes her head. "I'm not going to go bald or something, Jack," she tells him.

"Just saying that I'd love you no matter what," he assures her. She pulls her head back to look up at him. "Hairless or not. I'd even take you to get colored contacts if that's what you really wanted."

"I know," she sighs as she buries her face back into his good shoulder. "It just sucks that no matter what I do, I still have moments like this."

Jack presses kisses to the top of her head and she wraps her arms around his torso. "You're allowed, baby," he tells her. "Just don't shut me out when you have moments like these because I have so many compliments I could give you any time you need me to. We can eat in tonight, have a movie night too. We'll order since we both know that I can't cook."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Stay out of my kitchen, Hughes," she says. "I don't need you burning down my apartment."

He smiles at her. "I'm not planning on it," he laughs. "Your apartment is safe from me. What do you want to do today?"

"Cuddle and watch movies," she replies. "That's it. That's all I want to do today."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jack says. He cups her jaw and presses a quick, soft kiss to her lips. "My pretty girl."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

jackhughes

liked by yourusername, lhughes_06, and 128,782 others

jackhughes you’re turning heads when you walk through the door 🫶🏼🤍

view all 3,892 comments

lhughes_06 a one direction reference ? didn’t know you were a fan

jackhughes i’ve been converted into a 1d fan

fan1 she’s so pretty

fan2 oh my goshhh jack can you fight ?

yourusername my love 🫶🏼

jackhughes my pretty girl 🤍

yourusername i love youuu

jackhughes love you so much more

_quinnhughes gross

fan3 someone’s jealous

nicohischier okay jack

dawson1417 what a good bf you are

fan4 aw

hater1 ofc he’s dating a blonde

jackhughes her hair color is not the reason she’s my girlfriend. she’d look beautiful bald too

yourusername JACK ????

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

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#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #hockey fluff #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl fluff #jack hughes #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff #zegrasdrysdale request

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rouxkalamay · 1 month ago

Text

Random Angst Comfort for Azul

So just to clarify, I have never written fanfiction. I've written lots of fictional stories for myself but haven't really put myself out there much, BUT, I'm having a moment of extreme productivity today soooo screw it. What I'm about it write is really just a thought dump about comforting Azul but if y'all like it, I can do it for all the other boys in TWST. I'm in the process of writing a book, (not about Azul obviously, I don't have the insanity to handle a Disney Lawsuit 🤣), so I decided to shake things up a bit and figure out where I am when it comes to writing.

This fanfic is about comforting Azul after he transforms into his octomer form. Lots of angst in the beginning but it gets a lot better. It's anypov so any of y'all can read it. :)

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Eating Disorder, slight self harm, slight panic attack for Azul, maybe depression and I think that's it. I make it extremely fluffy romance at the end. Have a wonderful day y'all, you matter, your wonderful, all of y'all. :D

It had been hours since the potion had worn off. He thought he had taken such care, but with all the overblots in campus along with his duties at the Mostro Lounge, it had completely slipped his mind. He should have restocked. He should have double checked, it was all his fault. Stupid, stupid, STUPID octopus...

Every week, Azul had to take a potion to keep his land form. He marked it precisely on the calendar with purple ink that stained deep into the page. Any potential calories he gained from it were factored in, as he ate less on those days. He had been eating less overall now that he thought about it... Watching his control literally sifting through his fingers like hot sand... No remorse, no question of why... That blasted lion did it.

Azul shook his head slightly as his breathing picked up all over again, shaking his head slightly while his hands dug into the swirls of his silvery hair. Tentacles thrashed slightly in the bathtub he was in, clutching at random items out of anxiety or anger. He didn't know anymore. He couldn't even call Jade or Floyd for help because he was too deep in his head. Ever since that day, his overblot, his self image had been getting so much worse. And now, sitting alone in a bathtub with his thoughts, it was at its lowest point.

Azul's eyes gazed over his grey skin with discomfort, running his hands over the stretch marks from his childhood. He spent years changing his diet, exercising, counting every last calorie and stopping at 2000 just so he wasn't what they said he was. A slow stupid octopus. But he was still... Pudgy, just around the hips as it faded to a dark midnight purple. It wasn't enough, it was NEVER enough, not when he was like this.

Azul's hands grabbed the pudge around his hips as he glared at it with tears in his eyes, “Why...? Your not there when I'm human, you shouldn't be here now...” Azul grinds his teeth as his claws dug into his own skin slightly, close to properly hurting himself. His anger turned back into sorrow quickly however, burying his face in his hands once again.

“I'm in control, I'm in control, I'm in control, I'm-”

“Azul?”

Azul immediately jumped with his tentacles curling inwards instinctively at the intrusion. He thought he had locked the door when he ran in here hours ago, but apparently he missed that too. He spoke slightly panicked as this was the last thing he wanted, someone seeing him this vulnerable, behind the mask of extreme control, “Y/N... I'm afraid I'm a bit indisposed at the moment. This, you shouldn't be in here. This is my bathroom last I checked, and I won't have a unfortunate soul such as yourself intruding like this.”

Azul's voice turned cold and guarded while he grabbed a towel to cover his chest. Even though he was in his octomer form, he didn't like anyone seeing him like this, all grey rubbery skin that was surely unpleasant. And his tentacles, why, he didn't understand why you hadn't ran away yet. In truth however, he looked like he had been backed into a corner like a wounded animal...

Your gaze softened a bit as you approached him, “I'm sorry, the Leech twins wanted me to tell you that they were going out for the night to do some business. I decided to not ask for specifics... Are you alright...? You look... Well, not yourself.”

Azul scoffed slightly as one of his tentacles snatched another bottle of shampoo, “Of course not. My supply of merinhibitor potion ran out and I was too focused on everything going on with the Mostro Lounge and the overblots and the Headmage going on vacation leaving me to move around budget cuts and...”

Azul looked away, slightly embarrassed by his outburst. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I apologize. I know your the one who has been dealing with the chaos, even my own. Just... Just please leave. I can help myself.”

You crossed your arms as you spoke softly but sternly, "Azul, how many hours have you been sitting here and self-loathing about yourself.”

“Wha- I don't see how this is impor-”

You sighed once again, looking at him with concern, “So hours then. You've been sitting here for hours and didn't call anyone for help because your too proud to let yourself be vulnerable.”

Azul's eyes widened slightly, he couldn't believe the honest audacity of what had just been said. He was about to retort something but it died in his throat as you came closer. Your hand gently cupped the left side of his face as you spoke softly, wanting him to listen, "Listen to me. You are beautiful. Sure, there are mermaids and mermen with shiny scales and empty words but you? You are exotic... Your extraordinary... When I look at you, I don't see a slow octopus, I see a gorgeous siren that could drag me down to the deepest depths.”

Azul's mouth opened and closed a few times as he took a moment to process what he just heard. In all his life, the only people who had ever called him beautiful was his parents and grandmother, and that was when he was just a little fry. Azul's face flushed purple as he looked at you, trying to sound dismissive, “You really believe I'm that naive? What do you want from me? Nobody gives such lovely words with such accord for nothing.”

Your soft look fades into a bit of frustration at his distrust. It was a core part of him, always looking through everything he signed multiple times, always thinking about what others want from him. It certainly wouldn't be extinguished with some soft words and a simple touch. But then again, he was letting you stay, so it was a start.

You spoke softly once again as you started to play with one of the silvery curls of his hair, “Well... I want to make you happy and comfortable but... Since I know you won't believe me so easily, how about a little discount at the Mostro Lounge? In exchange for me comforting you and being kind, I get food. Deal?”

Azul raised an eyebrow as he scanned your face for any deception or plan. He only found honesty however, as he realized that you were only using food as an excuse. He smirked just a little, causing his tentacles to relax their hold on the many objects they had seized earlier in the tub, “Food you say? What makes you so sure that you can comfort me, hm?"

“Well your not crying or loathing anymore so that's a win in my book. We do need to get you out of this tub though...” You chuckled warmly as you gestured to his predicament, “You can breathe out of water right? I don't want you flopping like a fish.”

Azul softened a bit, looking down at his tentacles still squirming in the water below, “Yes, I can breathe. I will need some help however... I'd rather not make a mess of my bedroom floor.” Azul's gaze hardened once again, speaking with the same distrust from earlier, “You won't discuss this situation with anyone else... Will you?"

You smiled warmly as you started to help him out of the bath with some effort, “I won't tell, I promise. Besides, I don't want to end up in a ditch somewhere because of you sending the tweels after me. I'm not screwing with the mer-mafia you have going on.”

After a couple slips, tumbles, and falls, you managed to get Azul into his bed, which proved to be a... interesting sight. Tentacles grabbed the blankets greedily as Azul seemed to be in a lot better shape now. He looked so tired with the bags under his eyes. Ever since Crowley basically ditched NRC to go on vacation, he had been handling most of the budgeting and accounting work for the school. It was clearly putting lots of stress on the normally cunning octomer.

Placing some ointment on the nail marks on where his hips would be, you spoke softly, “You look wonderful. Your supposed to be a bit bigger around the hips. How else is the rest of your body going to fan out to make tentacles? It's apart of your biology. It literally holds in your organs. You don't need to change...”

Azul looked slightly annoyed as he sat back, letting you coddle him a bit. It wasn't often he had the luxury of someone helping him out of the goodness of their heart, “I can be better, I will be better. One day, I'll have enough influence to complete ruin those who have scorned me. Those mer... They crushed my self worth. Treated me like a plastic bag drifting into the infinite abyss. I will take their magic as collateral, and they will turn to me for their every need without a choice.”

Azul's eyes gleamed slightly in the low light, relishing in the thought of revenge against his former bullies. His tentacles tightened slightly on the covers, almost like when an octopus snatched it's prey from the sea floor. Shaking your head, you looked at him with a slight discouraging look, “And would this be legal or...?"

Azul smirked, placing his hand on his chest in mock offense, “Of course! I wouldn't dream of taking advantage of those poor souls, no matter how foolish they are. Indentured servitude if you will.”

You sighed, shaking your head, “I’d be discouraging if it weren't for the fact that those mer from your childhood were being racist. It's not my circus so you do what you want. Just try not to get in too much trouble.”

Azul just smiled, “I wouldn't possibly dream of it.”

The two of you stayed in a comforting silence for a while. With you patching him up and taking care of him, Azul started to relax more and more, having his tentacles relax beneath the covers. The purple and deep blues of the decor in his room were a calming lullaby, giving a sense of safety that curled around you both like a blanket. Azul tried his best not to let a tentacle grab your wrist to pull you closer. In all his years, he had been focused on control of others and himself, not on simple touches. It was... Nice.

Azul smiled a little more, but it was more tender this time, “Thank you. I mean it. You could have simply left me and... I'm not sure where I would be now. I suppose I get wrapped up in my mind on occasion.”

You smiled as you say up, putting the ointment away, “Hey, it happens to everyone. You just need to put all that energy into a healthy hobby. Like ... Like cooking. I hear from your employees all the time that you don't know how to cook.”

Azul chuckled slightly, “Yes, it's true. I wouldn't mind making a deal for you to teach me however...”

As you turned to leave, most likely giving him much needed privacy, Azul's relaxed demeanor changed. His eyes narrowed slightly as he used his tentacles to grab you firmly, but with a gentle undertone. Azul laughed slightly but there was an undertone of desperation underneath, “Did you really think I would let you go, angelfish? I believe we made an arrangement, you comfort me, and you get a discount. One of the clauses is that you stay right here with me tonight.”

Azul tucked you into bed with him as he smirked, pulling you close into a tentative hug. Azul didn't like being touched due to the unfamiliarity of it, but he was willing to make an exception just this once. Azul stayed mindful of his tentacles as he had them touch the covers rather than get tangled up in you. One of his tentacles wrapped around your waist however, not to pull you close, but to keep you right next to him.

Blushing, you tried to speak but Azul placed a hand gently against your lips, “Shh... Just... Just let me have this. Just for tonight. Or no discount for you, angelfish.” Azul smirked again but it still had that vulnerable undertone, like he was desperate for connection.

You sighed softly as you relaxed, deciding to get comfortable. You didn't have much of a choice with how he was holding you like a child with their teddy bear, “Alright but... Shouldn't we helping you with your perdictment?”

Azul chuckled as he buried his face in your neck, “As punctual as I am, those are tomorrow problems. I have a fantastic opportunity today.”

Azul's smile faded just a bit, speaking softly while he focused on the sound of your breathing, reassuring himself that you were still there, “Y/N... Please stay. I don't want to be alone right now... The silence would be... too loud for me.”

Your gaze softened as you traced the rubbery gray skin of his arm. He was cold, just how an octopus would be in the cool depths below. He wasn't just relying on you for body heat however, you were his rock. He didn't want to hear all the voices in his head, both past and present, that he wasn't enough. He just wanted to hear your voice... Telling him that he was enough, that he he didn't need to change, that... That he was beautiful.

You spoke softly as you rested your head on his chest, “I’m not going anywhere... I’m going to stay right here tonight. I promise.”

Azul looked down at you with a small smile, looking as if he was going to fall asleep right there, “I usually don’t believe promises. I prefer the fine print but... I can make an exception for you.”

Azul closed his eyes but didn't release his hold on you. The tentacle on your arm caressed your skin gently to reassure his subconscious mind that you were still there. After a few moments, you leaned up carefully to kiss him on the cheek gently, “Goodnight. Sweet dreams... My sea witch.”

After a while, your breathing evened out as you were asleep as well. It was only then that Azul opened his eyes to look at you again. One of his hands reached up to caress your cheek almost reverently as he began to think to himself again. You could have left him when he was almost at his worst, you could have never bothered to come to his room but you did. You did and you found him when he least wanted you to.

“But I ended up being greatful anyway...” He thought to himself. There was no self-loathing anymore, not really. Azul took your chin gently as he looked at your face, really looking at it almost for the first time. He started to smile as he remembered what you called him. “Your sea witch.”

He smiled more as his hands traced the contours of your face, commiting it to memory, “You foolish foolish angelfish... How am I supposed to let you go now...?”

His mind went to all your friends at NRC. Ace, Grim, Deuce, so many people who were so much more worthy of your time compared to him. And yet here you were, in his arms and in his arms only. Azul breathed in deeply, catching the scent that was so naturally you, and it was just for him in this moment.

Azul then realized that this may not happen again. This wonderful tender moment that he had never had before with anyone may never even come close to his grasp ever again. Looking down at you, it dawned on him that he needed more of this feeling. So much more. Your sea witch, that's what you called him. Sure, you may have said it in the thoughts that he could hear but you still did. It was ownership. Ownership...

Azul smiled, but it was a mix between tender and cunning this time as he kissed you on the forehead firmly, “I suppose I’m just going to have make you all mine then, angelfish... No, MY angelfish... My Y/N... All mine...”

Azul's mind raced with ideas of how he was he was going to get you to sign a contract, but for now, you were in his arms. And he was never going to let you go again, not if he had any say in it.

--------------------------------------------------

Yay! You made it to the end! This is the first time I've ever written in a “you” pov, I usually do first person or third person with proper names. I tried to make it for everyone by not saying anything about gender or body types so I tried my best. I have no idea if this was a good fanfic or not, it could be hot garbage and for that, I apologize. I tried to make it as not cringe as possible. 🤣

Thank you so much for reading this far and I hope you have a wonderful day! Stay safe! :D

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twistedwonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #azul x reader #twst fanfic #twst fandom #azul twst #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto twst #azul ashengrotto fanfic

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diyasgarden · 2 months ago

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hi diya!!! please feel free to ignore this if it’s too much but i’m curious to know how you think art and/or patrick would go about handling life and especially intimate moments with someone with body insecurity/food issues? especially since art also doesn’t seem to have the best relationship with food in the movie either

oo this is really interesting to think about. naturally, discussion of bodily image and eating disorders under the cut!

It would take time for Patrick to even understand you were struggling with food and bodily insecurity. Not out of a place of insensitivity, but from one of confusion. His vast confidence and self-assured nature leads to this unawareness of conceptualizing insecurities coherently, both in himself and others (more of a deep-seated feeling he can sense but tries not to verbalize). He'd pick up on little details but not really be able to understand what was the driving factor. Honestly you'd probably have to sit down and talk about it with him after a certain point for him to fully understand, and even then he'd find it hard to understand why. You're perfect to him, he can't understand you feeling any other way.

Art on the other hand would notice and connect the dots very quickly, but take time to really say anything. His own struggles with food, would make him hyperaware of any of the signs on you, and because he struggles he understands the place that it is coming from. It takes him time to really address it with you, mostly because he is a bit apprehensive about opening a can of worms he doesn't know if can close, but he does eventually. Just really trying to show that he is there for you.

Regardless of how it takes them to fully realize you're struggling, they'd both instantly want to support you through it. Although I think they'd go about it in different ways.

Patrick would want you to see you the way he sees you, and will constantly try to reassure you that you're perfect. Through little whispers, the way he holds onto you, even through the looks he gives you. It radiates love and admiration. Now if you struggle with eating, he does his best to give you some stability with it. While he may not fully understand, what he knows is that he wants you to have a healthy relationship with food. If you struggle with eating in the first place, he does what he can to make sure you're eating consistently. Being with you for meals when he can, calling/texting to make sure you ate on tour, and bringing you food if he thinks you haven't ate. Every once in a while this probably leads to a fight, but really he just wants to be there for you, even if he doesn't know how. If you struggle with binge eating, he tries to be there with you after to make sure you don't do anything too rash.

Art is more gentle with it. I think it'd be hard for him to help you the best he can when he is actively struggling, but he tries to make sure you're eating. He is never too direct with it, but you can tell what his motivations are. Similar to Patrick, if you binge eat he tries to make sure he's there with you after. I even think that trying to make sure you engage in healthy habits would help him get better too. His pattern of restriction falls under orthorexia, so forcefully trying to make you engage in healthy habits helps him out too. Of course there are moments where the competitive nature of these issues win out and he needs space, but you know he's struggling too so it's never personal.

As for intimate moments, both of them really do what they can to show how desired you are. Again through touch, looks, and words, really just emphasizing how much they love you. . While Art may not be as direct during day to day life, he is in bed. Really plays it by ear to give you exactly what you need in that moment to feel comfortable. Whatever Patrick does in daily life with you is ten fold during sex, just very tender and gentle

#sorry i took so long to respond! really wanted to flesh my thoughts out for this #if you want me to expand on my thoughts on any of this let me know!!#patrick zweig gentle giant #art donaldson lover boy #yeah..iktr #challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader

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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months ago

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Monster Movie | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader ( :0 ? )

Warnings: all of 'em. put 'em all here. mentions of disordered eating, descriptions of severe anxiety, dean is lowkey being the worst, burns, injuries, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 3587

A/N: I'm gonna keep it very real with y'all. Please heed the warnings about anxiety and disordered eating. If I am honest, I kinda got triggered writing it as I pulled the experience of my character from my own experience in a previous relationship. Obviously, the circumstances were very different, but I used to get tonnnssss of anxiety specifically while eating that ended in me becoming malnourished because the person I was dating was so horrible to me. Dean isn't like that, though, and I guess I kind of used this chapter and this part of the character's arc to heal that pain still within me, even after years.

Please know I understand if you have to skip out on this chapter for the reasons above. The beginning of season 4 is going to be very rocky as Dean and (Y/N) continue to learn to trust each other again, but I hope to see you in the coming weeks as the storm begins to calm. Much love to you, as always.

-m

“Dean,” you breathed out, eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He sat in the chair across from the bed that he’d undoubtedly put you in.

“Dean, I’m so sorry—”

That seemed to send a ping of anger through him, but he suppressed it. “We can talk about that later. Are you okay?”

“I think so,” you said. You pushed yourself up with a wince and noticed the gauze around your left forearm and right calf. “You did this?”

He nodded.

You smiled lopsidedly, cheeks heating. “Thank you.” You tried to joke lightheartedly. “You’re finally getting a hang of the right way to dress a burn.”

“Eh, I had a good teacher,” he shrugged.

You’d missed this so much; the comfort in the mundane moments with him.

Both of you seemed a little too scared to say anything, and you stared at your scraped up hands instead of at him.

“I’m still pissed at you,” he stated.

You nodded. “I figured.”

Another moment of tense silence passed between you.

“Once you’re healed, I still want you gone,” Dean said. His blunt tone felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

Even still, you nodded. “That’s fair.”

Dean nodded sharply and got to his feet. When he’d nearly left the room, he turned around again. “Why aren’t you fighting me on this?”

You threw your hands up in defeat. “What do you want me to say, Dean?”

He approached the bed you were in once more. “Something. Anything. Be mad. Yell at me. Call me an asshole. Dammit, tell me what happened. Explain it all away. Just something!”

You used the side of your thumb to apply pressure to the bridge of your nose. “Well, you pretty definitively told me to leave and not to come back at Bobby’s.”

“I gave you a choice!”

“A choice you couldn’t even begin to understand the difficulty of!” you shouted back.

“Okay, so tell me!” he yelled. “Help me understand! Because you’re not making sense to me, (Y/N)!”

You huffed, going quiet for a moment. “I can’t,” you finally breathed out, hiding your face from him.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course, you can’t,” he muttered angrily. He started back for the door. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him hesitate while he grabbed the door handle. When the door shut behind him, you felt your heart sink.

****

Being in the backseat of the Impala again was an amazing feeling. You were tired of going it alone. However, the tense atmosphere was something you could do without.

“The radio around here sucks,” Dean grumbled. He turned it off, briefly stealing a glance at his skulking brother. “Come on, man. Jobs don't get much sweeter than this, you know? Dead vic with a gnawed-on neck, body drained of blood, and a witness who swears up and down that it was a vampire.” He was making it clear he was going the route of ignoring you and only addressing you with a sharp comment when absolutely necessary.

“No, I- I agree,” Sam said half-heartedly. “It’s a hell of a case.” “A little more gusto, please.”

“It's just... the world is coming to an end. Things are a little complicated, you know?”

“C’mon, man, it's like the good old days, an honest-to-goodness monster hunt. It's about time we got back to tackling a straightforward, black and white case.”

****

“Oktoberfest 2008” was painted on a sign Dean drove past, and you watched people celebrating in tacky Lederhosen and barmaid costumes.

“You stay,” Dean told you gruffly when he parked the car.

You crossed your arms and stared out the window.

“We still got to see the new Raiders movie,” Dean pointed at his brother as he got out of the car.

“Saw it,” Sam replied monotonously.

“Without me?”

Their voices became distant as they shut the doors and walked away.

You felt sick to your stomach. Everything you wanted to say to Dean— the things that had happened since he went to Hell, Uriel, Castiel, the things you’d done— they were all on the tip of your tongue. But then, he’d glare at you. Your heart would sink, and you’d retreat right back into yourself.

Marissa Wright was a young girl who’d been visiting the town for Oktoberfest. Strangely, she had two dark marks on her neck like a cartoonish vampire bite. At least, that was what you gathered from the pictures you’d snagged a peek at over Sam’s shoulder on the ride from the morgue to the bar Dean and Sam had left you outside of.

Frankly, Marissa Wright wasn’t interesting to you. At the moment, you were too concerned with your angel business. Uriel’s words about killing Sam loomed over you, and you felt like you couldn’t leave the Winchesters even once you were healed because of what Uriel was making you do.

Somehow, you needed to regain Dean’s trust. The idea of trying to manipulate him made you sick, but maybe it was what you needed to do to protect him. Even if he never understood why you did the things you did, at least he’d still be alive to wonder.

****

That night, you were unable to sleep. That, unfortunately, was not unusual. Yet again, you were alone in a motel room wishing to be next to Dean.

The mirror had become your worst enemy. Shirts you’d stolen from Steven when he was a teenager hung even more loosely off you than they did before Dean died. Your arms lacked the muscle tone they once had, and you felt weaker and sicker with each passing day.

An anxiety was beginning to form within you that you’d become unhealthily dependent on Dean. You never wanted that for yourself; men had always been an accessory to you before Dean. You were complete on your own. Now, you weren’t sure what was wrong with you.

Was it that you missed Dean that much? Was it the angels? Was it the things you’d done? You supposed it was a combination of all of the above.

****

The next morning, you opened the door to your room to see Sam. Your heart sank a bit that it wasn’t Dean, and it seemed like that much was evident based on your facial expression.

“Good to see you, too,” Sam chuckled.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Good morning, by the way.”

The brunet nodded, still seeming not to feel sure where he stood between you and his brother at the moment. “We’re leaving in five. Headed to the morgue, I think.”

“Another attack?” you asked.

Sam nodded. “Doesn’t sound anything like the last one, though.”

“Fun stuff,” you replied, pulling your boots on. “You think he’s gonna put me in the timeout chair again?”

The younger brother looked at the ground bashfully, and you sighed. “Yeah, I thought so, too.”

****

Sure enough, Dean made you stay in the car again. It seemed he was deriving some strange satisfaction from keeping you separated from the case. Or maybe his joy came from the fact that it very visibly pissed you off.

When the boys returned to the car, you didn’t ask any questions about the case. Frankly, you weren’t interested. However, Sam was adamant about getting your input.

“Wolf Man?” you scoffed. “Are you sure?”

“What, do you think we’re idiots?” Dean snapped.

You took a deep breath and nearly bit your tongue to keep yourself quiet. “It’s not that, Dean,” you said lowly. “It’s that it’s just sort of implausible to have found a wolf hair next to a body with its heart still intact and Dracula-accurate fang marks in that girl’s neck.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Dean snapped.

“Dean! Cut it out, man,” Sam warned.

Dean seemed taken aback by Sam, but he didn’t press the issue.

The ride remained silent until the three of you arrived at the bar Dean had left you outside the day before.

Sam opened the door for you, encouraging you to get out despite the very obvious glares from his brother.

Once inside the bar, you sat on the same side of the booth as Sam. Dean grumpily chomped on his burger, and Sam ate his meal silently. You didn’t even order anything; your stomach was too upset and tied in knots to properly digest anything. As soon as you tried, you knew you’d be in the bathroom puking your guts up.

“Aren’t you gonna eat something?” Sam asked you.

You shook your head.

“C’mon, not even a bite of mine?” he tried again.

You shook your head once more, feeling too shaky to say anything.

Dean looked up from his burger momentarily to address you. “C’mon, (Y/N), you gotta eat something.” His tone was still guarded, but it was nowhere near as harsh as it had been in the car.

“I’m fine,” you mustered out.

You could feel Dean’s eyes on you, but you just stared down at the table in front of you and took a sip of your water.

The pretty blonde waitress, Jamie, bounded up to the table with two more beers for Sam and Dean.

“Looks like you guys are staying a while. I heard about Rick Deacon,” she said, referencing the most recent victim.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, this case just got weird enough for our department.”

“Well, beers are on me,” she replied with a smile. Then, she turned to Dean confidently. “And, just so you know, I get off at midnight tonight.”

“Oh, it's not another, uh, girls' night out?” Dean smirked up at her.

Your stomach fell to your shoes, and rage bubbled in your chest. However, you knew your anger was misplaced. He wasn’t yours anymore, and you needed to accept that.

Jamie returned his playful smile. “Doesn't have to be.”

“Okay, then. I'll see you tonight.”

“Okay, then.” And, with that, she left.

Sam noticed your discomfort, but he couldn’t offer you anything more than an empathetic look.

Without even noticing you, Dean said, “Hey, you think this Dracula could turn into a bat? That would be cool.”

**** Another murder, except this time, committed by a mummy. However, you and the brothers determined the “mummy” was using special effects from a prop house in Philadelphia to enhance his monstrous performance. You were either dealing with a Silence-of-the-Lamb-level psychopath, or… you weren’t really sure. Truth be told, you weren’t devoting even a half of your attention to this case. That seemed to put Dean off, slightly, and it made him even more sure you should be kept in the car. Secretly, you thought it was because he was worried about your wounds, but you also knew there was a really strong chance he just did not want to see you.

When Dean realized he’d be late for his date with Jamie, your heart sank. Still, Dean ran off and left you and Sam behind to investigate.

“(Y/N),” Sam said, turning to you. “You have got to eat something. You look like hell.”

“Don’t worry about me, Sam,” you responded absently. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Talk to me.”

You continued to poke around the sarcophagus. “No,” you snapped. You realized how harsh you sounded. “I’m sorry, that was mean. I just— I can’t. I’m sorry.”

You could feel Sam scanning your face, but he just nodded slowly.

“I really am sorry, Sam,” you said sincerely.

His tone was soft and understanding. “I know you are.”

As much as you didn’t really trust him as a result of the whole “Ruby” ordeal, Sam had a way of making you feel seen. He really was an incredible friend to you, and you hated what you felt your relationship was turning into.

Not even ten minutes later, Sam got a call from Dean. With a panicked expression on his face, Sam gave you a look that meant the two of you needed to leave at that moment.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. “Is Dean okay?” Your heart pounded in your throat.

“Dracula attacked,” Sam replied as he tried to hail a cab.

“What?!”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s all I know right now.”

As soon as you made it to the bar, you burst through the doors. When you saw Dean sitting at a table with Jamie, your heart sank in the midst of your relief.

“Hey,” Sam called out, trailing behind you. “You guys all right?” Dean sighed. “Yeah, I think so. And I think I know what's going on.” He put a folded towel down on the table.

“Yeah?” his brother replied.

“Part of it, at least.”

You hesitantly reached out to the towel, trying to keep your distance from Jamie and Dean. He eyed you curiously while you opened the towel. An ear was inside. You lightly touched it; immediately recoiling as you realized what it was.

“Shifter,” you stated, keeping your eyes anywhere but on Dean’s.

“Oh, man,” Sam huffed.

Dean nodded. “Just like St. Louis and just like Milwaukee. Of course this one's all holding buckets of crazy. Oh, and, uh—” he took a medallion out of his pocket and tossed it to Sam. “This, I uh, pulled it off during the fight. Look at the label on the ribbon.”

Sam scoffed when he read it. “It's a costume rental.”

“All three monsters— the Dracula, Wolf Man, and the mummy— all the same critter; which means we need to catch this freak before he Creature From the Black Lagoons somebody.”

Jamie’s voice broke in. “So, you guys are like Mulder and Scully or something, and The X-Files are real?”

You didn’t miss how Jamie failed to include you in the analogy.

“No, The X-Files is a TV show. This is real,” Dean replied.

“Oh.” The blonde looked down at the table in front of her.

“Okay, so, the stagecraft, the costuming—” Sam pointed out, “it's like he's trying to re-enact his favorite monster movie moments, right down to the bloody murders.”

Jamie furrowed her eyebrows. “Wait a second. Who the hell is Mina?”

“Mina?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah. That's what he called Jamie,” Dean nodded. “And he called me Mr. Harker.”

You bit the inside of your lip. “Characters from the original Drac movies and novels. Harker’s Mina’s fiancé. Dracula’s obsessed with Mina. Seems he fixated on you, darlin’,” you nodded at Jamie, pushing down your jealousy.

You knew it was twisted to be jealous of a girl getting stalked, but it was just solidifying in your mind that Dean wasn’t yours anymore. And it was all your fault.

“Wow. Lucky me,” Jamie groaned.

“But to fixate on you, my guess is that the shifter has to have seen you before or been around you,” Sam added.

Dean turned to the blonde. “Jamie, has anybody strange come to town, somebody that has taken a specific notice of you?”

“I don't know, Dean. It's Oktoberfest. I'm a bartender. There's lots of people. I... wait a second. There is Ed.”

“ ‘Ed Brewer’ Ed?” Sam asked. You assumed it was someone they’d met earlier on the hunt; possibly while you were confined to the car.

“Yeah. He moved here about a month ago. Lucy swears he has a crush on me. He comes in almost every night. But, you know, I don't think he's the type of guy—”

“Where does Ed live?” Dean asked, cutting her off.

“I don't know. But he works at the old movie theater. I think he's the projectionist there.”

Sam looked to you and jerked his head toward the door. You turned on your heel, hearing Sam ask Dean to take care of “Mina” before he followed behind you. Anger bubbled in your chest, but you were trying to keep your feelings from seeping out.

****

You cocked your gun against the back of the head of Mr. Ed Brewer.

“Whoa!” Brewer asked, holding his hands up in surrender. “W-Wait just one second, okay?” He tried to turn around to face you.

“Don’t move,” you commanded, voice eerily cold.

“W-What do you want?”

“You know what you did, Ed,” you replied.

“What?”

“I know what you are.”

“I'm not anything. I just like to play the Casio,” the man pleaded.

Sam nodded at Ed’s skull. “Had time to grow the ear back, huh?”

“What?!” He tried to turn around again.

“I said don’t fucking move,” you sneered.

Brewer froze again.

Sam tugged on Ed’s ear, but it wouldn’t budge. “It's supposed to come off.”

“No, it’s not!” he replied.

“You’re right,” you stated evenly. “I’m gonna walk away now. You don’t move until exactly two minutes after you hear the last of my footsteps, okay?”

“Okay, okay—”

You cut Ed off by pistol whipping him on the back of the head. He slumped to the floor, and you quickly rushed out of the room.

You caught Sam giving you strange looks, but you completely ignored them. “What did we miss, Sam?”

“Uh—”

“Sam! What did we miss?”

“Give me a second, (Y/N)!”

"We may not have ‘a second’!”

“The fuck are you in such a rush for?” he asked.

“We don’t have time to talk about this, Sam,” you replied, voice becoming even again. “We gotta find this fucker, so I can—” you cut yourself off, nearly biting your tongue to avoid bringing up the angels and your “mission.” First and foremost, you were supposed to be keeping them safe. If you weren’t with Dean, you had no assurance that you were doing your job.

“So you can what, (Y/N)?” Sam asked.

“I can’t tell you,” you answered sharply.

Thankfully, Sam just huffed and shook his head.

****

When you got back to the bar, you strutted through the front doors that were surprisingly unlocked. As soon as you entered the bar, you felt uneasy.

“Dean?” you called hesitantly.

Sam just chuckled and took out his phone. “Dean, hey listen. Uh, Ed is not our guy. Um, I'm guessing you're at home with Jamie, so just give me a call, okay?”

While he left his voicemail, you walked over to the table Dean and Jamie had been sitting at. You stopped short at a broken bottle on the floor, and a napkin had a lipstick color on it you hadn’t seen Jamie wearing.

“Sam,” you said, feeling slightly choked.

He walked over to you and looked down at the napkin. “Lucy,” he murmured.

“Wait, Jamie’s friend?” you asked.

Sam nodded.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you sighed heavily.

****

Sam tracked Dean’s cell phone as you sped to the house the signal pinged at. As soon as the car was parked, you were sprinting up the stairs to the door of the house. Sam picked the lock, and you burst in, sneaking around with your gun drawn.

You nodded for Sam to check upstairs while you went to check downstairs. Quietly, you slinked down the stairs with cat-like grace. Silently, you were hoping you’d be finding Jamie instead of Dean to avoid the awkward rescue scenario.

Alas, your prayers were not answered. You entered the dark basement and saw a large, medieval looking torture device in the center of the room. Dean grunted while he tried to make it out of his chains, muttering the odd, “Dammit!”

You lowered your gun as you rounded the device. “Dean?” You came to a stop in front of him, feeling everything in you wanting to run right out of the room.

“Get me outta here, would ya?” His tone was harsh.

You nodded obediently, wanting to avoid fighting with him as much as possible. It upset you that Dean could make the Lederhosen Dracula had dressed him in work.

“Where’s Sam?” he asked.

You nodded at the stairs.

“Silent treatment?” Dean scoffed. “Mature.”

“Stop, Dean, please,” you begged quietly. You hated that your voice came out as more of a whine than anything. Then, you rushed out of the room in an attempt to avoid any further conflict.

When you heard a loud crash upstairs, you ran up the steps to the second floor. Dean followed close behind and burst into the room the scuffling sounds seemed to be coming from.

Immediately, Dracula tackled Dean. “And you, Harker, now you die.” Dean choked out, “How 'bout now you shut the fuck up?”

With Dean trying to shield himself on the floor, you waited for Dracula to raise his sternum up enough for you to fire. Just as the monster was about to finish Dean off, you shot him once in the chest.

“Silver?” the monster said, seeming mystified. He looked up at you menacingly holding your gun. “It was beauty that killed the beast. No, Mina, do not weep.” He dramatically collapsed into a chair. “Perhaps this is how the movie should end.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, immediately turning on your heels to walk out of the room.

****

The next day, you slumped down in the back seat of the Impala while Dean and Jamie made out just outside the passenger’s side window.

Faintly, you heard Jamie say, “Well, thank you, G-Man. You have been a great service to your country.” “Oh, yes, I'm very, very patriotic,” he responded flirtatiously.

You scoffed, pulling your gun out of the bag on the seat next to you to clean it.

When the two brothers finally bid Jamie goodbye and got down into the car, Dean turned his eyes to you in the rearview mirror. “Jamie said to thank you.” He stared at you in the rearview mirror waiting for you to respond.

You never answered, and Dean just shook his head and started driving.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #spn #dean x y/n #dean x you #spn series rewrite

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blingblong55 · 1 year ago

Text

Matilda- Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Photo creds:@ave661^

Based on a request:

Ghost finding out his s/o has a bad family, who she doesn’t keep in contact with but talks shit about and is like. Pretty open about how fucking awful her past was? if it’s too much I get it but like- I used to love your angst posts :3 they were so yummy! --- F!Reader, 18+, angst, comfort, family issues/trauma, mentions of SA/rape, mentions of eating disorders, toxic!family, mentions of child abuse, so...trigger warning!! ---

A/N: this is me trauma dumping so I'm sorry if it isn't perfect

Simon knew, he knew well that you weren't so open to starting a family with him for reasons he knew best to respect. But, one day, without him even realising he asked the question, you sat down and told him the story your teary eyes held for so long. As he listened to you explain the stories, he noticed how he wasn't speaking to his wife but to the little girl, his wife once was. The one who was left in a cruel world to people who shouldn't have had kids. "So, they...abused you?" He carefully asked and when he noticed you pause, he knew the answer you didn't. "I...I don't think so," your soft words spoke.

Nothing about the way you were treated seemed especially alarming 'til now

"What I know is that they were mean, evil to me. I was a kid...how was I to know right from wrong so easily?" You held his hand, support you failed to have as a child. Then, you told him the story of a young R/N. "I don't remember the exact age, but I could've been 5 through 8. I was there, he took me to his room, I thought we were going to play and he said we would so would I have known, you know?" Your innocent voice spoke the fear he held. "I don't remember much of that day but in glimpses, if I look too deep, I can see his hands between my thighs, and how he...well...you know," you couldn't explain, it was like a knot in your throat prevented to cause your heart more harm. "And you didn't tell your parents?" His voice is soft. You shake your head, "No, I...as a kid, they never believed what I said," you chuckle out of coping with it all.

"There was one time when my older sister tried to suffocate me, I didn't do anything to deserve it, all I did was watch cartoons and she annoyed me but I knew best and didn't feed into what she wanted from me." You pause and wipe some tears away. Your gaze never fell on his, afraid to break down too easily if you stared at the man who became home to you so long ago. He was that, he was comfort and home and you knew that if you stole one glance, you would be sobbing the stories. Your hand held his tighter, he knew well it was for comfort. "She pressed the pillow tight on my head, I was sick and my stupid lungs couldn't take the fact I had pneumonia, so of course killing me would be easier," you chuckle again. His gaze never left your delicate face and even he had to admit he cried as you told him these stories.

After a long sigh and pause you continue, "I somehow pushed her off me and ran to my parent's room, knocked loud and when my dad opened the door I swore I finally felt safe until I didn't," You know he was ready to ask why but you just laid your head on his shoulder. Looking off into the distance you continued, "My sister told them I pushed her, told her that I hated her, which is not true because hate is strong and she is my sister," you shake your head. "I cried when they didn't believe me, and had a panic attack in their room. and when I backed into a corner as my mother and father yelled at me...that's when they took my sister to the hallway and my mother stayed with me, she tried to hug me but I didn't need none of that...not from her." His hand rubbed your arm, knowing what you needed from him. You wipe some tears away, your breathing hitches and he wraps both arms around you. "I didn't hurt her Simon, I swear I didn't but no one believes me, no one," you whisper the last part. "I know you didn't, my love," he kisses your head and continues to rub your arm.

"I believe you, I'll always believe you before anyone else," he reminds you. "I...my mother gave me water and sent me to my room, told me to just sleep it off," you stop and cry. "Oh my love," he whispers and carries you onto his lap. The pouty frown broke his heart more and more. The cosy home he and you made for the years of your life, warming up his belief that slowly, he will replace all those bad years. The fireplace radiates heat on the snowy winter day. "In this world, I'll always believe you, no matter what, okay, my love?" He looks down and you nod. "That's my girl," he says and places a blanket over you both. "Do you want to continue, my love?" He asks, rubbing your back with his warm touch.

"I do," your voice is small. It was best to open about this and then burn it and let the ashes fly away than to keep it locked in for eyes to see. "I...as I grew up, I knew I had no place in that house. My mother shamed me for my body, and so did everyone in my family." Your head nuzzling onto his chest like a cat finding comfort. "So, I starved myself to be the perfect daughter. I did try to be perfect, I tried to get an I love you, a simple smile or hug." He nods, understanding where you came from. "One time, my mother grabbed my stomach, she told me I was fat and looking back at how I was at that age, I...I was healthy, nothing was ever wrong with me, nothing," you repeat in a whisper.

After a long time of comfortable silence, you speak again. "As I grew older, they made me feel terrible about all of me, how I dressed, if I did my makeup, my hair, my body, the stretch marks that decorated my body, all of it and even I wasn't allowed to have one bad day, not one." He shook his head and in that instant, he understood why all those years of loving you, you always avoided starting a family conversation. You were afraid to be like them, to persist in a cycle of never-ending trauma. He knew you loved him, he knew how much you yearned to be a mum, to watch him and you become parents and do foolish things for and with your child.

"I never understood why I was so insecure over my thighs or why I hated when people touched them, but as I grew older and noticed that I was...you know... I..um.." You could never be admitted, never say you were raped as a child, not when you were scared to acknowledge it again. "I know love," he responds so you don't torture your heart anymore. "But...when I realised what happened to me, that's when it all hit me and there was a time in my young life that I knew I would never forget," you kept holding onto his torso. "It hadn't been long after what that...person...did to me when my mum and sisters pinned me to the ground, they knew then that I disliked people touching my thighs so they pinned me to the ground and touched them," you shake your head, trying to forget the moment. "They...th-they touched my body as I cried and begged for them to stop and not once did anyone stop or help me. My father walked by and he...he just laughed and kept walking...how...how can you do that?" You cried. "How can a parent do that? I was a kid, Simon...a child," you broke down.

"And don't get me started on why I felt like Christmas was just not a happy holiday anymore." Your mind went to a past Christmas, your family yelling, your father accused of his cheating, never denying, just lying and yelling at your mother. You hid in a closet, grabbed headphones and played music loudly. Hours passed and your mother saw fear within her eyes as she cried to you, why can he love me? she asked as she cried, you played strong. Your father drove away, leaving his family scared and cornered in a bathroom, crying as they listened to stories.

"My dad used to hit me, well, my entire family really," you confessed. His eyes widened, he knew they were bad, but not this bad. "My dad had a belt he used to hit me with, my mother and sisters used to watch. One time, they added more fuel to the fire as they told him more lies to get me into more trouble, part of me thinks they loved to watch me cry and get hit." You so innocently say, "When I was a kid and even as I grew older, my mum and dad would hit me and tell me they did it because they loved me." He shook his head, "Never...never in your life do you dare think that way. If I even dare to lift my hand at you, you leave me, my love. Because no matter how much you or I love the other, abuse doesn't equal love," he cups your face. You nod.

You learned one thing from Simon as he listened, that he was calm after the bad storm. He had his troubles, yes, but never would he be like them. He and you healed the other after all those years of a bad life you lived. You and him, sunshine to the other even in the darkest of the night. He has become light and a new beginning. Family. And as you admire the soul who can tell which smiles you are faking, you know that the little girl in you is finally safe. She has packed her dolls and sweater, moved to the countryside, grew up and fell in love with a man. A man who is home, a man who became the grown-up little R/N runs to when scared. For he is home, he is light and he is love. He is your man, your safe place and the one you find comfort in.

I don't believe that time will change your mind In other words I know they won't hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go

"No more," he told you, you looked up at him in confusion. "No more?" you asked and he shook his head. "From this day on, you are not their blood, you are a Riley, you are R/N Riley and never will you be associated with them." He cupped your face. His tone was stern as he tried to make you listen to him. "They are not family, my love. They are strangers you lived with. And me...I am your family, we don't need another shit Christmas, we can...hm...we can have dinner here, or maybe get takeout and watch your favourite movies all day and night. Hey, who knows, maybe that Santa Clause man will come in the night as we sleep and hopefully you've been nice my love because I want him to bring you some good gifts," he chuckles as he cups your delicate face. You laugh a little, "Hey, look who's back, that cute laugh of yours my love," he kisses your lips and pulls you to him, closer than you already were.

You can start a family who will always show you love You don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own

In this lifetime, you will learn many things and you will meet many people. Most of which will come and go. Those who stay, you may ask? Well, they become a family, maybe not a biological one but it's not blood that relates two strangers. It's memories, it's understanding, growing, living and loving. Family is him, family is the old lady or that professor you bonded with. Family is people who make you feel safe and at home. For if you are lucky, in this life you will find your Simon Riley. The person who wraps you in a warm blanket and loves you a little more when you hate the reflection in the mirror. And if you get even luckier, you will find that not only will it be Simon Riley who heals your old wounds and covers them in kisses and caresses. You will find yourself, maybe in ten years, getting covered in glitter, mud, and stickers and having the walls of your home drawn on by Simon's child. The love child that was created on a warm Christmas morning. The same one that wakes you up at six in the morning to go and see what the big red man brought them for Christmas.

And if you are lucky enough, you will find peace. The same one you looked for since age 5, the same one you cried for throughout the years. Maybe it won't come this year, but if you are patient enough, you will find it and when you do, appreciate it because you cried for it many moons ago.

You don't have to be sorry, no

A/N: the tears I shed as I wrote this made a river. Anyway, thank you for letting me dump years of trauma with this one, love you all <3

Tags:

@ghostslillady @liyanahelena @sans-chara @siwwayouu @allaboutirem0 @just3rowsing @mothcelestial @blankk3

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