#but there was never room for purple! very very odd... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wild-jackalope · 4 months ago

Text

First time having sex is awkward!

pairing :: Virgin!Megumi x Virgin!Reader

warning :: college/university AU, awkward sex, safe sex (finally), lingerie stuff, fingering, slight overstim, very soft, would you hate me if I said this wasn’t rly proof read, need this out of my drafts asap

note :: very inspired by @sonotpattismith fic Hold Me And Explore Me, here’s the link!

For the years you’ve been friends with Megumi you’ve never ever known him to discuss a single intimate topic. For the five months you’ve been in a relationship with him, that fact never changed.

Megumi was a prude, basically.

It wasn’t as though you were one to spill secrets about your personal moments either. Occasionally you’d let the odd story slip when drunk (mainly letting loose some poor experiences being felt up during your younger years of dating), but other than that, you kept your mouth shut.

So when Maki asked you a completely out of pocket question, both you and your boyfriend turned to ice.

“Have the two of you even fucked yet?”

No. Of course you haven’t. You hadn’t even come close! Despite the air being thickened by everyone’s collective drunkenness, you felt a small part of you would resent Maki for the rest of your life after putting you in this situation.

Your jaw slacked open and you took in a breath. The truth lilting on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t ask personal questions like that.” Megumi cut, to everyone’s collective disappointment, they groaned. Somewhat tipsy himself, Megumi still had the clarity to get the others off your scent and thankfully his harsh words had sent them on another chatting spree devoid of your sex life.

Maki, keen gaze still locked on both you and Megumi, muttered a swift. “Guess you haven’t put that set to use, huh.” Before taking a sip of her vodka mix.

You flushed immediately, embarrassment mixing with the warm alcohol in your bloodstream, coating your cheeks a deep plum colour. Mortification filling your wide eyes, you glanced at Megumi who held an unbothered expression, one of boredom and calm.

But for a split second, his dark blues swiped over you and you caught the slightest hint of curiosity in his narrow gaze. What set?

You snapped your head forward, neck aching from the whiplash.

The ‘set’ Maki was referring to, was bought during a shopping trip Nobara invited both of you to. She needed a refill on her skincare items, Maki needed a new set of sports bras and you needed an excuse to leave your dorm room.

Maki’s chosen store was the closest, so the three of you headed there first. Inside, your eyes caught on the walls covered with expensive underwear made of lace and silk hanging on thin mannequins.

“I should get a new bra, too, my favourites are getting worn out.” Nobara mumbled, looking at the odd racks assembled by colour and size.

A particularly captivating bodysuit grabbed your attention; a smooth ivory piece decorated with straps and shining gemstones, having tuffs of silk peak out of the sides like a skirt and wings. The shiny fabric called to rest comfortably against your skin. It was the most expensive, being shown off at the front of the store to lure young women who wanted to wrap their pretty bodies and show off to their boyfriends. Just like you.

“That one’s too cutesy.” Nobara uttered, following your tranced gaze. “Lingerie is a scam anyway, truth is men don’t even care. They just take it off.”

That was right, Nobara had had sex. Unlike you.

“Would you… help me pick something nice out?” You asked, a gentle and shy invitation.

Despite her previous slander of lingerie, her cheeks glowed in excitement. “Sure. For you and Fushiguro, right?”

“I guess so.” You kindly but nervously replied. Nobara lead you deeper into the store, coming to a back wall with more designs, all notably darker with plenty more lace.

She gazed over the options. “What do you usually like to wear?” She asked.

“I don’t know— nothing?” You responded, awkward hand lifting to fiddle with a purple bralet.

Nobara side eyed you, giving a suspicious look before she asked— much too casually. “First time?”

“Yes.” You nodded, the fabric of the bralet suddenly becoming very interesting!

“First time with Fushiguro, or?” Her trail lilted delicately, hopefully displaying herself as a safe person to spill your secrets to.

“First, first time.” You uttered quietly.

In a quick swish, Nobara grabbed your shoulders and pulled you to her. “Seriously?” She asked.

“Yes, seriously. Is it hard to believe?” You frowned, too mortified for her questioning.

She nodded. “Yes! You’re a total catch.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve never done anything.” You added, hands defensively rising to your chest. “I’ve been in relationships before, I’ve—” you lowered your voice. “I’ve fooled around.”

“Oh I bet you have.” She added, grin replacing her surprised gape.

“Stop it, you’re so embarrassing.” You pushed against her shoulder, freeing yourself from her death grip.

“Okay, first set, first set.” Mind now back to the mission, she returned to the racks of bras and thongs. “You should have something simple, but sexy. Black, too.”

“Why black?” Plenty of other colours filled the store.

“Fushiguro likes dark things, so he’ll like black on you.” The sensible explanation left her with a shrug.

Would that really be the case? Would Megumi look at your body being cupped by expensive black fabric and yearn for you? You could hardly imagine it. Megumi was never eager for anything, he was the type of guy to react to things with tame calmness. Would he blush? Reach to touch you? Kiss you?

Nobara handed you a neat, black matching bra and thong. “Go try this on.” She instructed, offering you an encouraging smile.

Face to face with your lewdly dressed body and flushed expression in the dressing room only made your anxiousness grow. Nobara had picked a beautiful set, a nicely patterned lace bra broken up by thick black straps pushed up your boobs, coined by a gemstone hanging off the middle. Small ripples of black sheer peaked from the supportive boning, similarly decorating the thin black straps curving around your hips holding up the lacy thong which too, had a gemstone hanging off the centre.

Fuck, Nobara had good taste.

But despite the fact you bought the matching underwear a month ago, nothing came of it. You’d worn it every single time you saw Megumi; a casual date at the park, an afternoon out at the movies, a night in lounging around. Just in case, you had thought, just in case something happens.

And because you wore them everytime you saw Megumi, they clung to your body now, at the very party Maki judged you for not having shown them off yet.

You sipped at your bitter alcohol mix, avoiding both the stares of your boyfriend and your friend. Nobara’s chanting became a welcome distraction, telling Yuji to ‘drink drink drink!’ Down his can of rum. Everyone cheered at his final gulp, including you.

Megumi, however, remained silent.

When the night came to a tired end (at about two in the morning), Megumi and yourself walked to your dorm in a sobering stumbled.

Arms around his neck, you brought Megumi into the plush bed with you, planting messy kisses along his hairline and laughing about the mischief of the night. “Itadori is going to be so hungover.” You muttered.

“Hm.” He thoughtlessly replied, craning his head so your lips made contact with his instead. He leaned over you, slowly letting his body sink into yours and sandwiching you between the bed and him.

In these moments of privacy you felt closest to Megumi. He’d unabashedly pull you in, kiss you and hold you tight.

You hummed against his lips, bringing your hands up to rake your nails through his hair, a trick you knew would immediately cause him to go soft against you, and he did, waist falling between your legs and hands twitching against your sides. He groaned softly and you wished you could record the sound and add it to a private playlist.

Chasing the mild heat in your abdomen, you furthered the kisses shared, moving into making out instead of peppery pecks. He followed you, daring to nip at your bottom lip (a habit he’d picked up from the one time you did it to him).

Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling his warmth in closer. That shift was what made both your clothed sexes connect. Jolted by the feeling, Megumi slipped from your lips to your ear, whispering a breathy command.

“Show me your set.”

He wasn’t even quite sure what he was asking, but he had an idea, a lewd idea. He knew he needed to know what Maki was talking about, what she knew about his girlfriend that he didn’t.

You gulped, an audible squeak catching in your throat. “You really want to see?” You asked.

He nodded silently, watching your every move as you hesitantly lifted your shirt up and over your head. His narrow eyes grew wide at the sight of your tits cupped by the stunning black garment. You hid in the pillow behind you, digging half your face into the plush at his bewildered expression.

Megumi’s hand had already began moving without him thinking. In what seemed like slow motion, his large palm came to fit around your boob. His thumb rubbed over the soft lace and because of its thin fabric, you gasped as it tickled your sensitive middle.

The noise sobered Megumi from his drunk, tranced state and he pulled his hand away like it had acted on its own free will. He sat up, eyes concentrated on your flushed, messy figure. Fuck, he was so in love with you it hurt.

“I should go.” He uttered softly, pressing a curt kiss to your head.

“What? But—” You babbled something, voice cracking.

“This isn’t a good time, it’s late, you’re drunk.” He reassured your rejection with another kiss.

“You won’t stay?” You asked, leaving you as more of a plea.

“Not tonight.” He finished. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You were then left empty and cold, and despite wrapping yourself in layers of blankets, you felt as naked as ever. The question what was wrong with you? Pulling you into a drunkenly tear filled sleep.

The next morning, the barking of your third alarm pulled you from your slumber. You smacked at the screen of your phone, lifting your now throbbing head from the sweet embrace of your pillow.

Almost immediately Megumi’s rejection of you last night reminded you why your eyes were so crusty with dried tears. However, you didn’t have much time to linger on it, already being late for your morning lecture.

Lunch was when you saw Megumi next. You were reading over your papers in the yard with a furrowed brow, your phone to your ear.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” You asked.

“I mean I don’t know! You’ve know Fushiguro pretty much the same amount of time I have, why don’t you know if he’s had sex?” Nobara snapped back, voice slightly fuzzy through your phone. “Oh, let’s not forget the fact you’re also his girlfriend!”

“I know, I just— ugh. Why is this so complicated?” You huffed.

“It really isn’t, girl. You’re just making it complicated.” She added back, unfiltered judgment in her tone.

“I know, I know.” You were weak before her unwavering moral superiority.

“Talk to him. Neither of you did anything wrong, he was probably still drunk and didn’t want to show you he had whisky dick or maybe he is a virgin and was just too nervous to fuck you.” You wondered for a brief moment who Nobara was around that could hear her talk about your (lack of) sex life.

“I doubt it.” You murmured. Finally your eyes caught the tall shadow that was Megumi and you fiddle to catch your phone as it dropped from your hand. “I gotta go, he’s here. Bye!”

One hand deep in his pocket and the other carrying a bag bloated with book, Megumi walked to you, standing tall over your sitting self.

“Nobara?” He asked, head jutting towards your phone.

“Yup, she uh— just won’t stop calling me.” You breathily laughed, stupidly covering the fact you had been the one calling her nonstop.

His careful eyes surveyed you, immediately grabbing something was amiss. “Hungover?”

Lord knew you weren’t going to bring up last night if he didn’t. You’d rather let it die in the past. “I was this morning, but I’m alright now.” You offered a kind, but forced smile. “You okay?” You returned, gazing up at him.

With the baggy top you’d hurriedly put on this morning, Megumi could see past the collar, eyes catching the familiar black bra. You were so rushed this morning, you didn’t have time to change it. His heart squeezed painfully, hand twitching as it recalled the feeling of the fabric. The same hand that fucked his dick until he came thinking of you once he was alone. Fuck, he was pathetic. “I’m fine.” He gritted. Even through the drunk haze of the prior night, that memory of you below him was as clear as day in his mind.

“You’ve got baseball this afternoon, right? Do you want to come over afterwards?” You asked.

“I can, why?” So you could show him more of your gorgeous body?

“Just to hangout, n’ chat.” You added, as casually as possible. Technically you weren’t lying.

“I’ll come.” He assured. His hands lifted to touch you, but Megumi decided better, shoving it back into his pocket. “Will I see you at practice?”

“I’ll be there.” You smiled.

You’d watched Megumi play baseball since he was young, having been one of his biggest supporters (besides Gojo, of course) since you two became friends. You’d love to watch him play, sitting on a nearby bench with a book to read or your computer to finish an assignment.

Megumi had never admitted it out loud, but before each swing of his bat, he’d gaze out into the empty audience chairs to catch a glimpse of you. You were always there, always looking at him.

It never failed to make his heart swell, even after the two of you began dating, seeing you sit there just for him was the kind of loyalty that made Megumi obsessed with you.

Today, though, it seemed Megumi had more on his mind than he usually did. It was so obvious in the way he played. He was distracted.

On the walk back to your dorm, you could tell he was clearly unimpressed by himself.

Once inside, you excused yourself to the bathroom just to freshen up.

Reflecting from your mirror like a ghost haunting you, hung your cleanly washed thong. Now dry and ready to be worn. Maybe, just maybe, finally ready to be seen. The old habit still clawed you, just in case, you thought, just in case something happens.

You slipped out of the bathroom, a sudden nervousness taking you. “Hey, can we talk?” You asked, finding a seat next to Megumi on your bed.

His furrowed expression disappeared the moment he heard your tone and his eyes lifted to you expectantly. You inhaled.

“I’ve got to tell you something.” You stated, voice wavering despite your desire to sound sure.

“Yeah?”

“I’m a virgin.” You finally uttered.

“Oh, okay.” You could hear in his voice, the slightest hint of bewilderment. Mostly at the suddenness.

“I’ve never had a dick in me, okay? So I’m nervous.” You let the words out like Megumi had you tied up, forcing a confession out of you. A tight pause filled the air as you let the weight of your secret fill the room.

“Why are you so embarrassed? It’s not like I’ve had sex, either.” Megumi’s narrow eyes squinted at his furrowed brow. His cheeks tinted pink, clearly out of his comfort zone to admit this.

“You haven’t?” You felt free of an imaginary weight that lifted from your chest.

“Yes? You’ve been my only girlfriend, I assumed you would’ve just guessed.”

“So nothing? No hookups or anything?”

“Not my thing.”

Your chest bubbled with a freeing excitement. You’d have to thank Nobara later and let her know she’s the goddess of advice. “Thank God, I was so worried.” You exhaled.

“Worried?” His hand came to grasp your arm. Had he seriously done something to make you worry?

“When you left last night, I thought I did something wrong or—”

Fuck. Of course. “No, you didn’t.” He squeezed your arm. He was just an idiot, a drunk, horny idiot. “It was the alcohol, I didn’t think it was a good idea. You didn’t do anything. You were perfect.” His eyes avoided you, cheeks growing darker.

Was he embarrassed? You kissed his jaw, eagerly planting a peck free of doubt.

The kiss seemed to break him from his mumbling as he adjusted your aim, pulling your chin up and kissing your lips. He kissed you again, and you could feel it in his affection too, an excitement to explore you, be the first to learn your body.

To reach his lips better, you moved to straddle Megumi, planting yourself on his lap and letting yourself be enveloped by his affection.

He pulled you down with him as his back fell into the mattress and as you rocked on his lap, you felt the line of his dick through his pants.

Then reality hit you. You two were going to do it. You sat up, blinking at the boy beneath you.

“…Hey.” You peeped, a stupid joking tone wrapping your words.

“Hey.” Megumi replied, his own words threaded with dull awkwardness.

“Do you.. come here often?” You continued, hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

He exhaled sharply, amused. “I do.”

“Same.” You nodded slowly. Another flustered moment of silence passed over you.

Megumi’s mind seemed clouded and unbothered by the pause, eyes becoming focused on your shirt. You could guess what he was thinking about.

“I’m wearing it again.” You muttered. His eyes flickered to you, holding an intense gaze you’d only seen him have in serious situations of concentration. “Do you want to see?”

His jaw clenched, and he nodded once. “Yes.”

You offered your shirt to him, prompting him to be the one to take it off you. His thick hands took the fabric, slowly pulling it up and over your head. His eyes caught on the black set again. Now, his gaze weakened, still tense but clouded by a soft desire.

Finally letting in to what he really wanted to do to you the previous night, Megumi sat up, cradling your abdomen to keep you stilled on top of him as he pressed a kiss to the skin that spilled out of your bra. He lightly sucked, no doubt hoping to leave a red mark.

“Megumi.” You softly murmured. The sound pricked his ears like a melody. He continued, more driven kissing and sucking up until he reached your collar bone and cheek.

Face just below your own, Megumi gazed up at you with his usually bored eyes, but currently they were anything but, holding a softness for you that could only be explained away by love. Riddle in the blue of his irises held the deep specks of lust. You wanted more, wanted to see his eyes flutter from pleasure.

Megumi’s thoughts similarly danced along the same trail as your own but despite his somewhat tame expression they were nasty compared to your own. Mostly, they lingered south. His fingers hooked the sides of your pants.

“I want to see the bottom pair.” He murmured, fierce eyes pinning you to his command.

“O-Okay.” You shyly huffed, moving back so Megumi could undress you with more ease. His eyes lingered on your own as he slid off your bottoms, like a boy closing his eyes as he opened his birthday gift so he could be more surprised by the reveal of it fully unwrapped in front of him. As much as you wanted to shy from his gaze, you couldn’t.

Finally your pants were off, tossed off the bed with your shirt. You watched his gaze flicker to your thong, and you shivered at the exposure. He leaned in, hands resting on your knees in an attempt to let you know he wanted them open, you didn’t comply, far too embarrassed. “Pretty.” He muttered. The swarm of butterflies in your stomach fluttered uncontrollably.

One of his hands snaked down your thigh, coming to grasp the gemstone hanging from the front strap. He twisted it between his thumb and index finger, and you badly wished it he’d play with your clit like that.

Then, his hand dragged over the lace fabric, so dangerously close to your bundle of nerves that your legs creaked opened on pure instinct. Megumi huffed at your bodies desire to be touched, taking the moment of weakness to slip himself between your legs.

Lower now, his fingers dared to slide over your clit. You gasped and his hand stunted.

“Feel okay?” He breathed, lust kissed eyes glowering at you. Don’t make him stop, not yet. Not when he was finally able to feel you.

“Feels good.” You murmured. Megumi’s jaw slacked and he panted a suppressed grunt at your pathetic words. Almost immediately he continued the motion, familiarising himself with what spots of your cunt would made you hiccup and your tummy twitch. “M-Megumi.” You whined with no real purpose behind your plea.

Hot, it was becoming too hot. He left your pussy for a second, pulling off his shirt and tossing it like he had your pants. Your cheeks blazed at his thin but muscled body. You’d only ever caught sight of his abs on a windy day, never had you seen his bare chest before. His skin was so smooth and light, your fingers begged to memories each curve and bump.

He closed the space between you, coming to press messy pecks on your lips whilst his hand returned to your cunt. Your hands rested against his thudding chest, letting yourself fall into the bedding.

“I can feel your heart beat.” You huffed, somewhat excited by the rapid pace. “Nervous?” You asked, a teasing prod.

“Eager.” He corrected, collecting your lips in another kiss.

His ring and index calmly slid up and down, the tips of his fingers daring over the patch of wet forming around your sex. You wanted to do the same, wanted so desperately to feel more of his body, but your nails stilled, dug into his chest waiting for some kind of permission you couldn’t even ask for.

And Megumi, the utter mind reader, took your wrist with his free hand and led you on a trail down his abdomen. He must’ve felt your hesitancy and made the move for you, that, or he was desperate to feel your hands wander over his body.

And your featherlight fingers curved over the dips of his abs. In reaction to your sweet touch, you felt his rubbing become messy and he pressed hard against your clit. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping against his tight stomach and his jaw clenched tight, swallowing a grunt.

“More, Megs, please.” You blurted, hole dripping and utterly prepped for whatever Megumi wanted to stuff inside you.

He remained somewhat levelheaded, thinking that if he fucked you now, he’d cum too quick and this would be all over. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you unsatisfied. So despite his aching cock, his fingers dipped under your thong and circled your weeping cunt. He was going to savour every single second.

Slowly, he pushed past the rings of your wet chasm. And fuck. His fingers and dick must’ve been connected, because he could’ve sworn he felt the ghost of your inside around him just like they were around his fingers.

His cock twitched, leaking a fat blob of precum. “Shit.” The way your pussy jumped at his curse didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh God— Megumi, hng.” Your legs weakened, turning to jelly at the feeling of his warm fingers pressing against your tight, sensitive walls. Megumi’s two digits were thicker and rugged from gripping a bat all his life, the perfect size and texture against your trembling insides and otherworldly compared to your own.

“Good?” He asked.

“Yea— mhm.” Your eyes fluttered shut, hands hesitating over Megumi’s torso until they gripped his tensed arms.

His mouth hung open, too distracted by massaging your insides to dedicate his lips to you. Hot pants filled your mouth as you desperately kissed him, each breath of his slowly filling with grunts to the symphony of your whines. Each moan from you battered his dick, making it pulse painfully for you.

His fingers chased your twitching hips, pushing in deeper each time you squirmed from the sensation. Until the tips of his fingers slid against the spongey sweet spot inside of you that was hidden in the curve of your chasm.

“Right there!” You squealed, the hight of your voice surprising both of you. “Curl your fingers— Mh! just like that.”

He did so, pushing his digits against the sweet spot, lightly pressing and smoothing over the area. You trembled beneath him, clinging to his body like he was your life support.

Megumi loved every second of it, watching your body contort from just his fingers. He just wanted to watch you like this, utterly drunk on pleasure, for forever.

He wanted to make cum so badly it was driving him mad.

“Ohh, please don’t stop.” How could he? Your pussy had just begun clenching around him so gorgeously, tightening like the building orgasm inside you.

Megumi had only realised you’d cum after you yelped his name and your walls sucked on his fingers, trying to milk them of cum. He wanted so badly to feel the sensation around his cock.

“Hng— thank you, thank you.” You babbled embarrassingly, kissing along Megumi’s throat.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, the lack of you around his dick, uncomfortably he palmed his boxers, trying to adjusted his blood filled cock.

The trance of afterglow seemed to subside as you gazed over Megumi’s frustration. Although you were undone, you still craved more of him inside your fuzzy chasm. “More?” You asked, an invitation.

Megumi nodded, thanking the heavens you weren’t done with him. His hand dug into the wallet in his pant pocket, digging out a condom. He pulled it out, half pruned fingers covered in your slick attempting to tear it open.

It was like you’d been slapped in the face with the curt realisation that he had prepared for this. Just as you went to buy lingerie, Megumi had gone and bought condoms. He must’ve thought it could’ve happened at any moment to keep one in his wallet.

He brought the wrapper to his teeth, being frustrated with his inability to open it and tore it open with his clenched teeth. You sucked in a breath at his flimsy eagerness.

The bashfulness that came with revealing himself seemed to skip Megumi’s mind, as he pulled down his baggy pants to let his leaking cock free of the fabric.

Your eyes shot up to the ceiling, needing to look elsewhere as you heard him slide on the plastic birth control. From the glimpse you did catch you could tell he was thin and long. Your attention dived back down once you left a gentle hand rest on your hip, his thumb rubbing over the bone.

His eyes, once you met them, held a simple question; are you ready?

You nodded, closing your eyelids and bracing for his length. However the feeling never came, only his lips as they trailed from your tummy, over your bra and up to your lips.

Your hands cradled his head, nails dragging across his scalp and he grunted. This felt familiar, the feeling of his body softening against yours as you pressed simple kisses onto one another’s lips. Through the intimacy, you felt Megumi readjust, pulling your underwear to the side and lining his tip against your sopping sex.

Closer now, you hugged him through the stress. He slowly sunk into you, the plastic of the condom feeling cool against your hot insides. “Fuck.” He hissed, nipping at your bottom lip.

You sobbed, letting the sensation of being filled by your boyfriend feed your mouth with curses.

He entered slowly, just as much for you as it was for him. His face, flushed red and eyes fluttering in pleasure. You not far from the same, mouth agape with lewd noises spewing out.

He bottomed out when your hips met, taking a brief minute to calm your collective gasps. You gazed down, drowsily taking in the enrapturing sight of you two being connected. Megumi moaned weakly at your smitten stare, feeling himself fall apart from inside you.

“S’okay?” He asked.

“Y-Yes, you can move.” You permitted desperately.

He drawled his hips out carefully, rolling inwards again. Your insides still buzzed from his fingers, raw and sensitive to his filling cock. He could feel you spasm around him, forcing friction when he desperately needed you to be still so he didn’t cum prematurely.

Another breathless curse left him as his length dived back into you. “Oh fuck— I love you.” You gaped at the words, wondering suddenly was that the first time he’s ever said that?

He rolled his hips again, breaking up your quick declaration. “Love— mh— you.”

He cradled you, pulling your body in with his unlikely strength as he fucked you gently. You’d never felt so close to another person before, having him so deep within you, filling your body with pleasure.

Megumi had lost most of his composure, becoming a vocal mess as he humped into your heavenly insides.

“So tight.” He uttered into your skin. “S’perfect.” He kissed your skin, sucking hard hickies into your chest and neck.

“Mnh— love you, hng.” You repeated, too cock drunk to babble anything else.

Messier now, his hip rolls became somewhat frantic, chasing the building mountain of his orgasm. “S-Shit— I’m gonna cum.” The statement rolled off his tongue in a pathetic whine, another crack from his usual composure.

“Don’t s-stop! Please, Gumi ahh.” You were already being worked to your second orgasm, you couldn’t bare to be emptied of him before you reached your high. Your legs wrapped around him, keeping Megumi in.

“Ngh— fffuck.” He plowed harder now, his cock tip perfectly fucking against your sweet spot. Suddenly his tame thrusts became a stuttering mess as he muffled your name into your shoulder.

You could feel him orgasm, feel his cock jerk, feel his cum bloat the tip of the condom inside you.

Noticing him slow, you rolled your hips, desperately fucking yourself onto his mid-orgasm dick.

His hands smack at your sides, attempting you to pull you off his overstimulated dick.

“Almost almost almost—” You pleaded.

With what he had left in him, Megumi took your hips and helped you grind yourself on his cock. He bit your shoulder, muffling the pained moans leaving him.

“Fuck!” You squeaked, his dick slid over your g-spot again, finally bringing you to your spine tingling orgasm. Your insides spasmed around Megumi’s dick, and he whined at the feeling, growing painfully hard again.

Your body went limp, as did the tight hold you had on Megumi. Both your bodies sat panting, utterly fucked out and glistening with sweat.

Raising from you, Megumi looked over your flushed, messy state, his cock still warm fitted inside you. He savoured the sight, thinking that if he could take a photo of this, he’d keep it in his wallet.

“We should shower.” He murmured, painting kisses along your shoulder.

“Mhm, okay.” You nodded.

Fuzzy insides retracting as Megumi slipped from you, you sighed longingly, whilst he grunted, disappointed he couldn’t live inside you.

You groggily sat up, kissing him before attempting to move off the bed but Megumi kept you back, hooking a finger around the strap of your bra.

“How much was the set?” He asked.

“Uhm, not much, Nobara helped me pay for it so—”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

The heat that had just left your cheeks suddenly returned.

#jjk #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi smut #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi #Fushiguro Megumi x reader #megumi x y/n #megumi fushiguro x you #Jjk smut

3K notes · View notes

iamzer0 · 18 days ago

Note

May you please do yandere platonic season 2 squid game reader with 13 year old reader who wants to stay

Hi can do!

Yᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ Pʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ Sǫᴜɪᴅ Gᴀᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ Tᴇᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

(MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS)

You had managed to get yourself into the games, congratulations..! I guess..

You tried to blend in but you stuck out like a sore thumb.

So many people had questions especially this guy named Gi-hun.

For some odd reason he was very insistent on you leaving.

You just couldn’t understand why, all you were gonna do was play some silly games for some cash.

How dangerous can that be?

During the first game red light green light, you knew you had this in the bag.

That was until the first shot was fired, your entire body froze. Even with Gi-hun screaming instructions you were still frozen.

Even when people began to start moving again you stood there frozen.

Tears are down your face, you were terrified.

Then someone grabbed your shoulder, it was this lady with a lip ring(player380).

She guided you along the field.

You had 30 seconds left, the people that were at the finish line screamed words of encouragement towards you.

It was strange to have so many people cheering you on all at once.

You crossed the line finally, and collapsed into player 380’s arms.

After the game you sat on the floor, ignoring the sympathetic looks from others.

You sat there thinking on what to do.

Thats when player 388 came and sat with you, he introduced himself and his friends to you.

“Are you ok..?” Gi-hun asked in a tone that could only be described as pity.

“Yea.. I think” you said quietly.

That’s when armed guards came in, they told y’all about the voting system and how you could vote to stay in the game or not.

Everyone placed their votes when it was your turn the room became eerily silent.

You could feel everyone’s eyes staring at you. Your hand hovered over the X button but then you thought about it.

About your parents and their struggle, you thought about all the loans they had to take out just to keep you in school.

You hesitated before pushing the O button.

You heard a collection of gasps and cheers.

You slowly walked towards the O side avoiding Gi-Huns look of disbelief.

You were met with pats on the back and words of support.

Then in a flash you were pulled to the side by some purpled haired guy(thanos) he did his whole introduction.

You thought he was insane, he looked cracked out.

But every time you tried leaving he would pull you back.

He looked at you as if you were an artifact that needed safe keeping.

Fortunately you pulled away by dae-ho(388).

That was when you met player 001(frontman) he stared at you intensely studying you.

They questioned you on why you chose O but you didn’t feel like explaining yourself.

From then on you had multiple people trying to convince you to join their side. They wanted you to quit the game.

You protested you wanted to stay in, but no matter what you said they never let up.

You started to not like the people you were stuck with.

Part of the reason was they treated you like a baby, some of them even coddled you.

It was nice a first, people gave you some of their food, they lended their protection to you.

But in the end it became much more annoying rather than loving.

Around the second game is when things got really bad.

People all around you offering for you to join their team, you walked around until you got pulled onto Thanos team.

You were in charge or spinning top and all though you were good you could barely focus with all the people yelling.

You managed but not before yelling some very unkind words.

After the games you had people practically swarming you, you wanted to cry and throw up all at the same time.

Then a miracle happened, player 001 pulled you out of the crowd.

Yelling at them all while holding you close to himself.

He held you close for a while, it got kinda awkward after the first 20 minutes.

It was a very overwhelming experience being in the game, along with the killing games, people were starting to seriously scare you.

I mean they were having full on arguments over you. It was kinda insane.

Even the guards treated you differently, they gave you the occasional head pat after a game, they slipped you extra food, and no matter what time it was they always let you use the restroom.

It was nice to have so many people care about you but care becomes smothering after a while.

You started becoming the apple of everyone’s eye, everyone was just so 𝙨𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜.

A/n: I hoped you liked this one, I love u all so much bye bye✌︎('ω')✌︎

#platonic yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere platonic #yandere squid game #squid game #front man #gi hun #thanos #yandere headcanons #yandere oneshot

1K notes · View notes

theorist-fox · 4 months ago

Text

Hesitate

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3 >> Part 4

It can also be read as a standalone!

The description you'll read of Simon is heavily based on this fanart by @tiggerriot (give the creator some love!!!) because it has been occupying my mind 24/7. I'm in a chokehold.

Word count: 6k

Summary: Simon loses sight of you for far too long. In that time, he realizes he can't go a day without having you within reach. When you return, he tells you in the only way he knows.

18+

CW: smut (fingering, PinV), but with plot. Tiny angst, fluff. Protective and possessive Simon Riley. Mentions of stabbing and blood. Minor injuries.

Masterlist 🦊 | Series Masterlist 🦊

“Quiet.”

He barges in. Because of course he does. There isn’t a piece of flooring in this godforsaken base that hasn’t been violently reclaimed by Ghost’s boots.

Not even in your goddamn room.

Thankfully, you have the reflexes of a trained operative and have moved out of the way in time, otherwise you'd be sporting a wonderful, purple knob in the middle of your forehead. And while there is a certain distaste surging in your chest – the kind that makes your lips pucker and your stomach knot –, you know there is very little you can do to move the mountain that is Ghost.

So, you close the door behind you with an exhausted sigh, as he ventures further into your room.

“Good eve-“

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “Where the fuck ‘ave you been, uh?”

The balaclava on his face does absolutely nothing to hide the hatred sizzling in his eyes. Funny, because you’ve always thought that it was the whole point of the thing – to hide his face. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows just how expressive his eyes are.

Does he know he tells so much more with those than he ever does with words?

Nevertheless, yours are as telling as his own, as they bulge out of your sockets. The odd look you give him is comical, compared to the ire that's practically singeing his clothes.

“Uh,” you stutter. “Deployment?”

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits. So tiny you have to squint your eyes yourself to catch a glimpse of his irises.

“Alone?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

To match the distrust in his tone, you tilt your head toward his, brows furrowing in confusion.

“…Yeah?” You reply, and the more you go on the more sarcastic you sound. “We do that, sometimes. Lone ops, recon. Y’know, we’re in the UKSF, in case you, uh – forgot.”

He hums gravelly. A sound that causes his body to straighten up as if the cogs have finally started whirring and working seamlessly once again.

“Don’t get smart, now.” He warns, freezing you with a look.

You pucker your lips and instinctively show him your palms, cheekily replying with an “I would never.”

Wrong move, unfortunately.

You are your worst enemy.

If this conversation goes downhill, you are the one to blame. Schedule a punishing whipping for yourself, later – you better fetch the goddamn cat o’ nine tails.

The movement causes the long sleeve of your loungewear to slip further down your forearm, pooling at your elbow, and exposing a large bruise. A galaxy of greens and mauves in the shape of five fingers and a large palm.

Ghost’s eyes zero on your arm with the rapidity of a hawk. Price has always said it, after all: he only knows one sniper who’s better than Ghost, and she’s a thousand klicks away now. You miss her – Farah would’ve been a lot nicer about this than him.

When his focus returns to you, he doesn’t even have to ask. As you’ve already stated time and time again, he conveys a lot more with his eyes.

And they are absolutely fuming.

You suck in a sharp breath, nodding your head slowly while returning your sleeve where it’s supposed to be. Fucking traitorous piece of cotton that should stick around your wrist.

��Y’know,” you start, your chest all puffed because – well, you ain’t breathing right. Not with Ghost staring you down like you’ve gone and killed the King of England. “I had to sneak in, grab the USB key our contact set up for us, and then – bang, vanish. And I did it, yeah? I was brilliant at it.”

The smile on your face is as fake as the cheerful tone you’re using to dispense this information. It cracks as soon as you see the fabric of the balaclava shift on his jaw.

He’s grinding his molars into dust.

“And?”

You gesture vaguely. Shift your eyes to the ceiling. Tongue your cheek. Try to downplay it. “Well, ‘s nothing really.”

“Sergeant.” He barks. If he had hackles, they’d be dusting the ceiling.

You sigh.

God, how long have you been holding onto that breath? You’re positive it was the air you’ve inhaled, like, ten thousand years ago.

“Someone thought I was acting a bit dodgy and had me pinned to the floor.” You made grabby hands with a cheeky smile, “I have meaty forearms. Plenty to grip.”

Humor is usually the key to lessen the tension that would strangle your and his lungs. Normally, he’d let it go. He’d listlessly smack the back of your head or pinch the flesh of your biceps and call it a day.

Now, sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight. The night lamp on your bedside table sheds light against his back, making him look like he's the wolf ready to pounce what it's going to be his dinner.

It makes your blood curdle.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff, digging your fingertips in the back of your neck to release some tension. “Nothing happened. I jabbed him in the throat before he could shout for help and shoved him under a desk. Got myself a proper blood shower.”

Ghost’s eye twitches.

And then he goes silent.

Not the news of the year, of course. He’s always silent. You know he doesn’t get his callsign from that, but you can’t help but find his personality incredibly fitting with the military nickname.

However, this isn’t the usual Simon shut-up-and-sod-off Riley. He’s so still you wonder if he’s breathing. You have half a mind to wave your hand in front of his eyes to check if he’s gone catatonic.

You don’t, of course. Dogs bite.

You sneer, more in concern than anything, and gingerly take a step forward. Initially, your question comes out simply as a sideway tilt of your head paired with a puzzled look – a question mark would be floating above you, if physically possible.

But when that doesn’t seem enough to coax an answer out of him, you blurt out an “Oi.”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel to your face. Always with the heavy-lidded gaze that makes him look like he’d love to be anywhere but where he currently is.

He seems… calmer. You're not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. You prefer it when he's fuming because, as the saying goes, better the devil you know.

“Off.” He states.

Of course, he prefers syllables to full, clear sentences. Expressions you (or anyone else, really) don’t seem to catch, unfortunately. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him that if he wants to have a conversation, he should start stringing words one after the other instead of settling for just one.

“What?” You deadpan. “Off with the bullshit? Off with my head? Words, L.T.”

You don’t seem to have learned from your past mistake of using humor to sneak out of a predicament when Ghost appears to have all hell ready to unleash.

He roughly points at your chest, “The shirt,” and then aims his finger to the floor. “Off.”

Look at you: dumbfounded.

Sure, you two have fucked, occasionally – ever since he’d come to terms with the idea that he could do it without getting into trouble. It’s not like he gives two shits about someone finding out, he just doesn’t want to deal with commanding officers explaining to him why he shouldn’t stick it anywhere he finds fitting. God forbid someone puts him through one of those seminars about relationship policies and how they can disrupt the chain of command.

You splutter, “Wha – Excuse me?”

“Ya heard.” He reiterates. “The shirt. Off.”

You scoff. “You wanna fuck now?”

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He says flatly.

“Oh, sorry!” You snark. “Didn’t think there were other reasons why you’d want me to flash my tits.”

“Didn’t say tha’ either.” He deadpans and swipes his index finger in the air again. “Off with the shirt.”

You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose while, stubbornly, still wearing the t-shirt.

“Not in the mood to have sex, honestly,” you explain, trying to stay calm in the face of the implications of the request. “I came back this morning, I’m beat. I need a cuppa and some sleep –“

He switches, then. “Take off that fucking shirt, sergeant.”

You bristle. Anyone would, at that tone.

Suddenly, you’re back to basic training in Pirbright with your wench of a drill instructor calling you a fucking idiot.

Needless to say, you follow through with his order and rip the shirt off with more spite than cooperation. With a big frown on your face, you turn on your heel and start stomping angrily towards the bed.

“Make it quick.” You snap, getting on your knees on the edge of the mattress, ready to get pounded into oblivion.

You’ll like it, eventually, even if you’re not really in the mood.

Ghost fucks you good. It’s undeniable.

You’ve soaked his sheets, his clothes, his mask – he’s that type of good. You won’t tell him though; his ego is already too big. If it grows more, HQ won’t be able to contain it and the whole base will blow up into smithereens.

You’re saving lives, here, by keeping your mouth shut about it.

But he has other plans, it seems.

“The fuck are you doin’.”

It is not, in fact, a question.

You look over your shoulder and find him still standing where you left him, a few paces back.

You quirk a brow, and shoot it back at him, “The fuck are you doing.”

“Why are you bendin’ over.” He states.

"To fuck?" You say, an unsaid obviously lingering in the air.

Something shifts under his mask, as if he’s scowling. “Who said I wanted to fuck?”

You splutter, yet again caught by surprise. “You made me get naked.”

He sighs, sounding exasperated, and approaches you, who is – by the way – still shamefully on all fours on the tiny bed of your quarters.

Suddenly, all that spite sublimates under the heavy, hot weight of embarrassment.

What are you doing, on your knees on the bed, half naked, if he doesn’t want to fuck?

In your defense, while the two of you often spent time chatting about everything and nothing, that happened in public places. Not once has he knocked on your door for a spot of tea and decent conversation.

Regardless, as soon as you manage to stand on your knees, you can feel him right behind you. Scorching fingers of shame crawl up to your neck. You feel your chest warm up, all the way to the apples of your cheeks. Awkwardly, you bring your arms up to cover your breasts.

“Off,” he orders, again.

You swallow dryly, offering an insecure smile. “…With the pants?”

He gives you a glacial look. Your blood freezes in your vessels. You think you might have turned cyanotic.

“Fuckin’ hell – Off the bed.”

Obviously, your feet touch the ground with impeccable speed, because after that display, the least you can do is follow through with his orders before you make a fool of yourself twice in under a minute.

You feel his fingers curl around the top of your head, only allowing the pads to tangle through your hair and touch your scalp. It’s as if he doesn’t really want to touch you, but feels compelled to do so.

He flicks his wrist to give you a sense of the direction he wants you to turn to, and you do, waddling a little on your feet as you slowly twirl.

Your hands are tucked under your biceps, which are currently strangling your ribcage in an attempt to cover as much of your chest as you can with your forearms.

When you’re finally facing him again, you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes, however, are not on your tits as you expect. He’s not even ogling, to be honest – which would be a blow to your ego, if the situation weren’t so… odd.

Your brows are pinched. Your mouth parts only so you can suck in some air and then worry your lip between your teeth.

This is much too intimate than what you’re used to.

You realize, as he studies your body, with that weirdly placed hand on your head, that Ghost has never… seen it.

Or – well, he’s seen it all right, but he’s never looked at it. Your encounters are usually very quick and to the point.

He fucks you.

You come – once or twice. Thrice, if he’s feeling particularly generous.

He comes.

Get yourself a glass o’ water and jog on. ‘M knackered.

Yeah, okay. G’night, prick.

Right back at ya.

That’s it.

Sometimes, you don’t even take off each other’s clothes. Sometimes, he doesn’t even turn on the lights.

Now, his gaze is heavy as he looks at the dip of your waist, then at the fuzz below your belly button and where it leads, until the hem of your slouchy sweatpants that have seen better days. It’s like having lasers pointed at every nook and cranny of you, leaving scorching lines along your profile.

He taps his finger on your forearm, the one without the bruise – a silent request to take your arms off your chest. Your hands are shaking as you comply, but you’re too preoccupied with him to notice.

Ghost seems utterly uninterested at the sight of your tits bouncing down in response to gravity, instead setting his focus on the edges of your ribcage.

He flicks his wrist again, and you slowly turn the other way, giving him your back.

You feel his fingers twitch against your scalp, before a cold fingertip brushes against your right side.

"Here." He states, barely tracing the lines of your ribs.

It's been so long since he's last spoken that you feel goosebumps rise along your neck. God, his voice will never not make your insides churn.

Regardless, you spread your elbows out, lifting your right arm so you can look at where he's pointing. You can't see much, but you definitely feel how the slight movement of your shoulder causes your right side to ache as if the skin were ready to burst at the seams.

“Ow.”

You frown and curiously try again to take a peek at the cause of the pain. After some squirming, you spot the darkening patch of flesh, speckled with purples and yellows.

“Mh,” you muse. “Didn’t know that was there.”

The hand on your head finally abandons it, allowing the muscles on your neck to relax.

You continue, somewhat feeling the need to explain why there is yet another bruise. “When that man saw me, he knocked me onto the floor. Must’ve hit it harder than I thought.”

He hums noncommittally. You could’ve told him the most absurd tale, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, much too focused on the expanse of your back.

You shrug, then. “’S alright. It’ll pass. It’s just a bruise.”

It’s then that he meets your eyes.

There’s always a sort of veil over his, whenever the air around you both thickens. You wish you had scissors to rip it, sometimes. Or walk to the curtain and take a peek inside.

“What is this?” You gesture at the two of you, looking back at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He deflects your questions with the same reflexes he uses to dodge bullets, answering instead with a question of his own. “You went to medical?”

Your lips twitch and you have to school your face into more muted frustration.

Your response is a little petty, but you can’t help but give it to him. “No, just a couple of bumps, nothing that needs a trip to the doctor."

He is a looming shadow behind you, encompassing you with dark tendrils that threaten to swallow you whole. He sucks the warmth of the room with the ice embedded in his eyes – it forces you to look away, finding comfort in your own hands cupping your biceps.

You don’t even manage to reach for your t-shirt again, feeling the need to cover yourself up, that he curls an uncharacteristically gentle hand around your jaw.

You stiffen.

He seizes that moment to turn your head, his other fingers already hooked at the hem of his balaclava around the neck. He slides it up and off naturally.

There’s always some sort of solemnity when his face comes into view.

Each groove and bump tell a story of their own, not a single one coming from the same tale, nor the same blade.

He has crow's feet, but he rarely smiles – if ever. There are lines originating from the sides of his nose tipping at each corner of his mouth. They should symbolize happiness carved, but you fear it’s the opposite.

Thick, convoluted scars paint him like rough brush strokes given by an angry hand – bristles of steel, paint of blood.

Teeth peek out from a particularly gruesome injury that has torn the flesh off his upper lip. He constantly looks like he’s scowling at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was. Would fit the character, and all.

Truth is, Simon rarely cares enough to scowl at anyone. You can either get a cold side glance or a disinterested one – if it’s the former, then you might be in his good graces.

Right now, though, you don’t think he’s giving you either. His eyes are murky; a mud of anger, annoyance, and disappointment. He looks like he hates you with all his might, staring at you as if he could, by sheer force of thought, scoop out the eyes from your sockets.

“You wanna kill me?” You mumble, finding it hard to speak as he holds your jaw between his fingers. “Get in line, mate. There are at least a bunch a’ Russian men and their mothers before you, ever since I shanked their colleague.”

Then, his eyes leave yours to glance at your lips. He must think you haven’t noticed, because he doesn’t bother to hide it. However – and you’ve always found this incredibly interesting – Ghost tends to forget when he’s wearing the mask and when he isn’t.

Each time, it’s like watching a child learning how to rein it in. Or, you know, like that sibling you have to surreptitiously elbow under the table at Christmas dinner when your pissed uncle is going off a tangent regarding the most idiotic, misplaced subject ever known to man.

That’s Ghost right now.

The sibling elbowing him? Simon.

He blinks out of his headspace and then frowns, returning his eyes to yours.

“Don’t need to.” He grunts. “You’re doin’ a fine job by yourself.”

You scoff. “It’s just a bruise.”

His jaw ticks.

“Yeah, but it’s on you.”

It’s said low and bitter, as if he’s had to fight tooth and nail to yank it out of his chest.

You, on the other hand, are stock still in place – not only because of his hand holding you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder to where he stands, but also because what was that?

You swallow but it's futile because your tongue is stuck to your palate. The air surrounding you crackles. The oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it.

You blink. That’s all it takes, and he lands his mouth on you.

Ghost’s kisses are always rough, determined to take your breath away and leave you wondering if you’ll ever say any other name but his own. This one is not much different, but you have to recognize that it is somewhat angrier.

His lips part as if he could swallow you whole, working his tongue against yours and hindering your movements with his fingers holding your face, and a hand over your belly.

You can work with this. This, you know how to behave around. This is charted territory – the hunger, the stress, the need to decompress and find solace in the oasis you offer so generously between your legs.

You know the dance, and so you press your bum against his groin. You weren’t in the mood, like – ten minutes ago. You were a different person back then.

If Ghost now wants to split you in half, you’d hand him the butcher knife.

You’re already turning feverish, lifting your right arm to tangle with his hair, ready to grab and pull and bite and –

He stops you. Palm to your knuckles, guiding it down once more. He doesn’t hold your hand, instead removing his own as though your skin were burning coal.

Not as carefully, though, he snakes under your sweatpants and unceremoniously dips his middle finger inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

You weren’t that wet, and while you're not one to say no to a bit of pain, this has caught you so off guard that you decide to chastise him by nipping at his lower lip.

It’s not much of a punishment, you guess, because his hips jerk to rub himself against you.

You wish to move and take this to the bed, where you can lie down and be his pillow princess. Let him fuck you until his heart's content, because you're tired and you'd love to get used for his pleasure and yours.

But he’s an unmoving statue, boots glued to the floor and hand shackled to your pussy, dipping in relentlessly until your knees buckle under the sheer pressure of his finger buried to the knuckle.

When your hips start undulating to increase the friction – specifically of his palm against your neglected bundle of nerves where your pussy tips – he inserts a second finger, and you positively melt against his chest. It’s then that he releases your lips, allowing you to moan under your breath.

He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can find, leaving love bites on the length of your shoulders all the way to your neck. Teeth and tongue and words that escape his lips, while he curls his fingers inside you, drowning your thoughts in frayed growls from his mouth, and raunchy squelches from between your legs. His offhand gets busy and starts toying and pulling at your nipples.

You're being absolutely ravaged; his nails are talons and he wants to rip you apart and eat you inside out after he's prepped you alright. It's juxtaposing - the pleasure, and the crudeness. It's new, but not unwelcome.

“You should’ve told me.” He grunts. You don’t pay it much mind, he usually murmurs a lot during sex, and less than half of the time you catch what he says – the other times, you’re already too stupid to use your senses.

“Should’ve.”

He snaps his finger upward, burying them to the knuckle.

“Told me."

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"You were being posted."

Finally, he curls his fingers inside, making your legs quiver.

You whimper and your eyes roll back. Is this your punishment? Hell fucking yes, then. You’ll keep your secrets more often.

But alas, you do feel compelled to at least explain and apologize.

“M’sorry,” you breathe, “It was a last-minute thing. Got called the day before.”

Surely, he’ll understand. That’s how deployments work: they give you a timeframe, and you might or might not get the dreaded call. If you do, then you’re off – one day you’re lounging at the beach, the next you’re buried in gore.

No in-between.

You don't want to distract him though. You're so close. If he just – moved a little, maybe? Or allowed you to rest your legs somewhere.

You shift imperceptibly so that you can rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm. The callouses on the heel of his hand make it somehow even better.

He allows you, meaning that even if you’ve kept the deployment from him, he’s feeling magnanimous.

You roll your head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck, the tip of your nose tucked behind his lobe. You pant as he fucks you with his fingers, and murmur sweet things about how good he is to you, because he’s being kind and for that he deserves a generous stroke to his ego. You leave open kisses on his neck, his jaw, lapping the sweat off his skin with your tongue – to try and give back some of the pleasure he’s offering you.

When you come, it is with a loud groan muffled in his neck, and he holds you by the waist before you keel over. The orgasm almost stings, since he’s ripped it out of you so quickly and forcefully. It tingles from the tips of your toes, curling against the linoleum, all the way to the knot that finally snaps in your gut.

Only then, when your vision clears and your skin still prickles in goosebumps, do you hear him through the ringing of your ears.

“You don’t understand.” He’s saying, like a prayer repeated gruffly to the skin of your neck.

He doesn’t say it once, he doesn’t say it twice. He repeats it with fervor, and the more it escapes his mouth, the angrier it gets.

You feel the back of your knee being pushed by his own, and you stumble forward on the mattress. You’re confused, still descending from the high of your orgasm, feeling your limbs move under his command and notyours. Trying to find sense in his words.

You don’t understand.

Your ears are cottoned – the orgasm has been that blissful – but you still catch the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Your front is plastered against the mattress, cheek buried in linen of freshly washed sheets.

You don’t have the strength to stand, nor to look behind, so you can solely rely on your hearing, on your touch.

Shallow breaths.

Shuffle of fabric – he’s taking off his shirt.

His hand skims over your back, purposefully avoiding the bruise on your side.

A finger pulls down the sweatpants to your ankles – the air feels cold against your skin, flushed and burning.

Wet fingertips trail down your legs with uncommon reverence, until they reach down and yank the pants off your feet.

The denim of his jeans shifts. A thud – he’s on his knees.

He forces your leg to bend and kisses your ankle. Then the arch of your foot. Your toes, and it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The actions are paired with a wet, rhythmic sound – he’s touching himself the way you’d touch him.

He has fingered you with such voracity you thought you’d rip in half on his hand, and now he’s on his knees, kissing your feet. He’s switching rapidly – angry, then devoted.

The former you know, but the latter is different. It’s new.

You feel the mattress dip and protest under the additional weight, each of his thighs on either side of yours, keeping your legs flush together.

A hand appears in your vision, gripping the sheets.

You kiss the knuckle on his thumb, and he flicks it gently over your nose.

His chest exudes warmth even if he isn’t properly touching your back. He simply hovers above it, putting his weight on his palm, while his other hand is busy stroking his cock.

You're wet and prepped just how he likes, in fact he slides in easily.

You already came, which means you're hypersensitive – it feels like he's inserting something long and scorching hot inside. Your breath hitches in your throat at the intrusion, and he dips his forehead to your shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss.

He fucks you slow and deep, dragging backward without ever pulling out. He wants to stay sheathed inside. He wants to bury himself in there, with your velvet walls squeezing him dry. You won’t complain. You’ll keep him snug until he’s sated. Until you are, too.

This dance you know as well, and so you fold your arms behind you, bending your elbows so that he can grip both your forearms with one hand and use them as leverage to rail you until you’re only babbling nonsense.

But he… doesn’t?

He still fucks you, sure, but his hand doesn’t reach for your arms, preferring the sheets instead, and it makes you feel a little neglected, wondering if you're doing something wrong. Sure – you just came, he’s treated you to your nice little post-operation orgasm, and then proceeded to fuck you. So, he must still be into this – into you.

Right?

You thought this could’ve been a nice way to reciprocate, since you know how much he likes to get you to bend as he pleases.

A thank you of sorts.

You reach up with your fingers, tickling his abdomen to make him notice that you’ve prepared yourself for him, arms knotted behind your back like a bow on a present – just in case he’s missed it, you know?

But he reaches down only to guide your arms back to the bed, distending them ahead. He goes to hold one hand but stops, instead digging his palm back into the mattress.

Just when you’re about to protest, lifting your head from the bed, he drags his tongue around the shell of your ear.

You shudder.

"I- I'm not good at this." He grunts as he fucks you slowly, dragging breathy moans out of your lips. "So jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s then that his pace picks up, punching a ragged groan out of your lips at the first abrupt thrust.

He’s either doing it to shut you up, or to make you focus on something else while he speaks. So, maybe, if you’re busy molding your pussy around his cock and rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you won’t hear what he’s saying.

“Lieut –“

“Simon.” He chides loudly. “Fuck – Told you it’s Simon, ‘ere.”

You grip the sheets as your head bobs to the pace he takes. Your breathing is more akin to a wheeze, and your belly flutters each time he hits you just right.

“Simon,” you whimper.

“Yeah,” he croons. “Simon. Good.”

Simon is as breathless as you are, but much more contained.

“Need to know where you are,” he murmurs under his breath. “You got no idea wha’ I –“

He releases a shuddering breath that tickles your ear.

You’re keening and shivering, trying to focus on his words but it seems like he’s trying his best to prevent you from listening, even if he’s the one who’s asked you to.

There’s something rabid in his motions. He bullies his cock as deep as it can reach, his hips brutally slap against your ass. You can feel the fat recoiling, the vibration tipping at the base of your skull. He’s feral and yet it’s so different.

He groans, but it's frustrated more than satisfied.

“You got no fuckin’ idea, do ya?” He mutters the sentence like a curse. “No fuckin’ idea. You – “

You reach for his hand with your own, but he swats it away.

You try again and he nibbles at your ear.

“Don’t." He warns lowly, stilling his motions until he’s hilted all the way inside.

You suck in a breath as he shoves himself until there’s not an inch of space for him to move.

He’s ramrod stiff above you, struggling to keep his chest off your back – denying you of his skin. Of intimacy. Of contact.

You twist your head that much to look at his face and find him staring blankly ahead.

To say it worries you would be an understatement, especially if paired with the puzzling behavior he’s had all evening.

You follow the trajectory of his gaze with your eyes and heartbreakingly discover that he's burning holes in your bruised flesh – the hand of that now-dead man still darkly imprinted on your skin.

Skin still untouched by him.

You feel yourself falter. “Si-“

“You’re hurt.” he croaks. “I’ll hurt you more.”

You don’t know what staggers you the most: his cock up your cervix making you dizzy, or the hesitance in his voice.

Hesitance.

Simon doesn’t hesitate. He’s not tentative.

He takes.

If he can’t take, he delegates, and whatever he needs eventually will fall into his hand.

You fell into his hand without too much of a fuss. He gave you the impression that you were the one demanding and obtaining, but the truth obviously lies elsewhere.

Simon wanted you, too. He wants you, too.

He gave you the chance to sneak into his office and request an immediate closure to the cat-and-mouse chase. He delegated it to you.

And then he took.

Hesitance, clearly, isn’t in his daily vocabulary.

This dance, you don’t know. You’re out of your zone. You don’t know which steps to take without tripping over his toes and disrupting the music.

He’s unmoving inside of you, catching his breath with his lips on your ear.

“Can’t hurt you.” He breathes, and you have to focus to even catch it.

“You won’t,” you whisper, trying a first step. “I’ll tell you if – “

And it’s the wrong one.

He starts again, pulling out and fiercely slamming back in. Your breathing snaps, palm coming down to slap against the mattress, “Fuck!”

It would feel oh, so good, if you were in the right headspace.

He won’t allow you to talk. He’s begging you, in his contorted ways, to let him speak without judgment. Without the fear of knowing he has dropped the mask too low.

This is his time.

You should’ve shut your mouth, for once, and allowed him to speak. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He asked for one thing.

Jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.

You purse your lips in a line and nudge your head against his own, a silent way to prompt him to go on.

I’m sorry. I’m listening.

“You got no idea.” He repeats again, but this time his voice cracks – overwhelmed.

He starts his voracious pace that always steals your breath and fucks your brain into a mush.

“I’ve looked for ya, asked ‘round – no one fucking knew. Got told you were off on deployment, and that’s it.”

Each word is as accusatory and irate as the cock he’s drilling inside of you.

“You weren’t comin’ back. One. Two. Three weeks. No fuckin’ sign of ya.” He thrusts in for each week you’ve gone missing, “I was – “

He stops. Inhales sharply. Hesitates, once again.

“Don’t wanna feel tha’ again – don’t put me through that again.”

Suddenly, you can feel everything at once.

Your body perks up.

Vision, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all filled of him.

And it’s not about sex anymore.

It never has been, but how obvious it is now.

You want to hold his hand, but you decide to leave him space.

The hand-shaped bruise on your arm glares at him like a promise he silently made with himself and failed to keep. You won’t make him feel like he broke a thing, because he hasn’t.

If anything, you’ve never felt more whole in your life.

You and Simon have never gone further than physical. You don't know how to soothe a heart so afraid if it belongs to him. So, you do the only thing you’ve learned that manages to get through to him.

You keen and moan and breathe, allowing tiny praises and sinful curses to leave your lips.

Like that – yeah. Shit.

Yes, yes, yes.

Deeper. Please.

His name – not his callsign, not his rank.

Simon, you croon. Simon, Simon, Simon.

You feel the pressure of his come spurting out, flooding your walls like a dam has broken and crushed. His mouth on your ear won’t allow a single sound to pass, but he’s clearly overly affected – you know, by the way his breath comes. As if he’s clinging to life and has found purchase for survival right on your skin.

You want to kiss him, but you leave the choice up to him. You won’t squirm under the press of his forehead against your temple, but your lips are there for him to taste – moist and plump and ready.

Simon’s lashes flutter against your cheekbone as he regains his bearings. Looks at you. His eyes hint at regret – it’s a fraction of a second that has your stomach knot. But then he squashes it down, when he realizes that you saw nothing wrong in his words.

He kisses your cheek, and then your lips. Thankfulness seeps through.

"Don't hide from me again," he murmurs and gingerly hooks his thumb around your pinky. Not touching you yet, not so close to where you’re already aching.

You curl your finger around his own. “I won’t.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ghost x reader #smut #cod smut #x reader #foxy

977 notes · View notes

samkerrworshipper · 3 months ago

Text

the lawn is dead. pt.2

hi! i wrote a part 2! i’m on a unofficial hiatus but had some inspiration the last few days and had to finish this. hope it provides a little bit more comfort then the last chapter .. sorry xo

warnings: suicidal themes, self harm themes, themes of depression, anxiety, dark thoughts. viewer discretion advised.

You can describe the carpet of this office better then most people can describe themselves.

It’s a rug, for the most part, except for the where it’s clear a person has chosen laziness in favour of lifting up the heavier furniture to place the rug down underneath it. Where the rug doesn’t cover, there is bleak grey carpet that feels more boring then the time you spend in this room.

Where the carpet lacks in literally everything, the rug makes up for it blindingly.

It’s a messy mixture of far too many colours, pinks, purples, blues, greens and neutrals. It doesn’t make any sense in your mind, why somebody would chose for the focal point of their room to be a rug that doesn’t match with any of the furniture. It’s another sign that the furniture came before the rug, all of the furniture is dark mahogany, beautiful pieces that look as if they’ve come from and English period piece, whereas the rug looks so modern it’s almost painful.

The rest of the furniture has been picked with similar taste.

The painting on the wall looks like what a child would vomit after going to a birthday party. Every time you’ve come here you’ve had a new analogy, but this week that is the one, it looks like stomach contents and you can’t get past it, to the point it’s made you physically nauseated.

From the painting moves onto the bookshelf, where there is a odd mix of medical textbooks, classics and selfawareness books, all stacked in such disarray that you have to keep your eyes away because it makes you uncomfortable.

Beyond the furniture is your psychologist, with her stupid fucking note pad, stupid glasses perched on the very tip of her nose and stupidly calm face that never really changed.

She was supposed to be a specialist, the best of the best, supposed to be the greatest and getting to the bottom of the most famous athletes problems and yet you found pride in alluding her.

One hour, every four days was what you were down to now, a couple of weeks ago it had been every other day and that had been fucking torture.

Sometimes all you wanted to do was rip her eyeballs out, or her brains, or something else. You swore she made your ears bleed and your will to live deteriorate with every second and it was already pretty low.

“You can’t avoid my question forever.”

It was also that annoying tone that sent you, the sort of tone that meant she knew that technically for the whole of the hour she could ask you whatever she pleased and you were technically supposed to answer her. Defiance on your end just ended up in you being suspended from something else that made your life just a tiny bit more liveable.

“No, I haven’t talked to Mapi yet.”

You’ve been avoiding it, there have bits and pieces of homework from your therapist, but this one is by far the hardest.

“How about Alexia, how does she feel about that.”

You don’t want to tell her that you and Alexia are in shambles as it is, add on the pressure of her best friend being psychologically destroyed because of you and just talking about any of it at all and it’s like dynamite.

“Supportive.”

Your therapist nods, but in the way that you know she doesn’t quite believe you.

“Have you started to reintegrate with the team? I know last time we talked you mentioned that before the incident you’d been feeling quite isolated because of your ankle injury. It’s important that you start to normalise your life again before you start to self isolate.”

You don’t call it self-isolation, you like to call it self protection. You protect yourself by pushing against the grain, by keeping to yourself. It’s a lot easier that way.

“I’ve been busy.”

It’s a lie and a blatant one, your days are filled with complete nothingness. You can’t play football, not until she clears you, and you know that it’s not going to happen anytime soon based on the trend of your current sessions. There has been the same amount of progress as there was two weeks ago when you started with her. You shut down at every attempt she makes to try and open you up, you talk when you have to. It’ll probably get you sent back to a ward. You don’t remember much from your transition from the hospital to home, but you do remember signing something that referred to you making significant process or else you would be sent back.

Progress for your therapist is getting more then two word responses from you. You’re aware she’s in kahoots with Alexia, that Alexia is probably providing her more information then you are.

“You’re giving me the look that means that you’re writing something down along the lines of ‘unncooperative’.”

She is also in kahoots with the staff at Barcelona, another thing you signed was that she would work in conjunction with the clubs doctors to get you back to where you were, or somewhere in the vicinity.

They know every time you have a bad session, you’re guaranteed a consolation call from one of the coaches or even sometimes a teammate check-in telling you how brave you are and how strong you are for doing this.

You don’t agree, you nearly took the cowards way out and you’re proud of it. You wish it had fucking worked, every single second, of every single day, you wish you’d succeeded, wished that this hadn’t all ended up how it did.

“That’s not what I wrote, I wrote a observation. Uncooperative would be you refusing to speak to me like you did for our first two sessions, even if you lie it’s still trying.”

You don’t want to be curious of her, you’ve tried to give her as little attention as possible.

You’ve adapted the act that you call, therapised you.

You do your best job of smiling here and there, or at least when you know that you’re supposed to. Therapised you extends to a few people, Alexia, coaches, physios, people on the street.

You believe you’ve become a seasoned liar.

The funniest part is that sometimes you start to believe your act, you start to believe that all the ash and embers in your chest is really alight with flames, like you’re truly alive.

But then, you would pause, sit down, lie down, dissasociate and you would be reminded that that wasn’t your body. Your body wasn’t a place of life and prosper, it was as dead as anywhere else.

“What was the observation?”

You try not to be curious over her, or curious in general, you keep everything to yourself.

“You’ve told me time and time again that you attempted because you believed that not a single person would care if you were gone. Yet you wrote a letter, you knew that somebody would care, somebody would miss you. Guilt is what kept you from doing it earlier and guilt was what kept you from vanishing without a trace. Your conscience was clean in your own words, but that’s not true, your conscience was anything but clean. So what pushed you over?”

You hate that therapists have a way of worming out weird bits of information that they can use against you to worm out more bits of information, like they know your brain inside to out.

“My conscience was clean.”

Your therapist pulls her glasses up from her nose and scribbles on her pad again.

“Why’d you write a note then, specifically why did you write a note to your ex girlfriend?”

There are so many things you could say to that, but you can’t quite find the words.

“Let me rephrase to make it easier. When you were in the hospital, and Alexia reacted so viscerally, you weren’t surprised. You expected her to feel something about what happened, you didn’t seem surprised at all by her words or actions. You knew that she was going to be hurt by what you did. So, how was your conscience truly clean?”

Thinking about Alexia in the hospital makes you feel as nauseous as the furniture does.

Your still mad at her, still mad at yourself for never changing her as your medical contact and medical proxy. It had all been a clusterfuck.

“I didn’t know Alexia was going to be there, I though that she’d washed her hands of me. I left her a note because I thought there had been things left unsaid between us and I didn’t want to leave that way.”

Your therapist nods, she doesn’t scribble this time and that makes the itchy feeling all over you die down a little bit.

“Alright, let’s move on. Your ankle injury, how’s that going?”

You look to the window, it’s a horrible day outside, just your luck when you’d chosen to walk to your therapists office on what was supposed to be a 20 degree day with sunny skies. It was the epitome of your life, high expectations, low realities.

“Well three weeks between a hospital and psychiatric facility are probably the best thing anybody can do for a injury.”

You let out a self-deprecating chuckle and your therapist does nothing but scribble.

“So you’ve been doing your rehab as advised then?”

Rehab, both kinds, is mind-bogglingly boring. You go to your therapist and she tells you all the ways you have to work to rehab your brain, she gives you medication after medication and exercise after exercise. The same happens every time you see your physio, test after test, exercise after exercise.

Your stuck in the same cycle of boredom, it makes you wonder how people ever expect you to get better when all you are doing is living in a constant state of suffering.

“The physios are happy with me, say that if I continue on the track that I am I should be back on the pitch in a few weeks, with psychological clearance.”

At the current therapeutic rate your going at, you don’t think you’ll see a psychological clearance until your 50th birthday, if you’re lucky.

“How does it feel coming back from that injury, especially considering how the decline in your physical health simulatenously resulted in the decrease in your mental health?”

You keep silent, because you know that if you talk then it’s doing to be something emotional. When you don’t know how to answer questions without exposing yourself you opt to keep quiet, it’s a obvious tell that you feel uncomfortable with the question. But giving away a tell is a whole lot better then starting an emotional downpour.

“Y/n?”

You look at your shoes. You only were allowed to start wearing one on your bad foot a week ago, and you’d forgotten how hard it was to coordinate shoes with your clothes. This morning you’d thought that they matched with your pants but now they look much darker then they truly are against the grey carpet. The mix of your navy adidas that you might have stolen from Mapi’s wardrobe a couple of months ago when she was complaining about the amount of shoes she’d been sent with your grey wide leg pants was a interesting choice but therapy wasn’t a fashion parade. The shoes don’t quite fit your feet, that’sc how you remembered they weren’t yours. When you’d taken them, it had been during some kind of team bonding night at Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment. Life had been so good, Alexia and you had been so good and for once you’d kind of felt like you were beginning to fit in.You’d never felt that way before that era of your life.

But like most things, it was now a far distant memory.

“The injury wasn’t what made me depressed.”

It’s a half truth, you suppose. Yes, the injury definitely contributed to the factors that trigger your depression, but it wasn’t a sole cause.

“I disagree.”

More scribbling on her note pad, in your opinion it must be some psychological form of torture. You’ll google it when you get home, check to make sure that this isn’t a form of manipulation to somehow convince you to say the things that she wants you to.

“If you disagree then tell me why you think that.”

It’s daring of you to say, there is nearly a 99.99 percent chance that whatever she says you are going to deny vehemently. Even if she hits it right on the nail.

“I think that you don’t give yourself enough grace for the challenges that you’ve gone through. You came to Barcelona because you were running from things, from your past. You’ve never stopped running, truly. Everytime somebody gets close enough to begin to try and worm their feet into your shoes to try and relive some of it with you, you shut them down and stop it. For most people, shoes are a means of getting to where they want, for you, you keep running because if you stop you feel like you’ll suffocate, like your feet will be wrapped up in barb wire and you’ll be stuck. For whatever reason, you don’t think anybody will ever be able to empathise with that. You think that if you ever let anybody in for long enough that they learn what you’ve been running from that they’ll try and stop you, that you’ll be faced with everything that you’ve ever struggled with. So, you keep running, and running, you’ve always been in a state of escape. With your relationship, you finally stopped running, you slowed to a jog. Then, you got injured. All of a sudden you felt like you were stuck and instead of letting yourself finally come to a stop and accepting help and complete love for once in your life, and being vulnerable. You chose to start running again, running from your friends, running from your team, running from every single good thing that you’d gotten in your life until you were so consumed with all the running that you just wanted it all to stop. But you didn’t know how to stop parts of your life without stopping other parts, so you chose to stop it all.”

You don’t know what to say for a few seconds. You’ve never had the feeling that you’ve been experiencing your whole life summed up, you don’t know how to feel about it.

You look at your psychologist, and somehow she looks back at you in a way that you somehow feel like she understands, you’ve never really felt that way about her.

It’s always felt like she’s judging you, like it’s her job to judge every single thing you say. Or at least that’s the way you’ve always seen it. It’s her job to make sure you don’t fall of the rails again, to make decisions about what you can and can’t do. It’s never been a possibility for you that maybe she’s here for a little bit more then just the business side of it all.

“Is that it? Did you come to a point where it felt like you had no other option but to just make it all stop?”

You bite your lip so hard you think it might just bleed, it’s a mission to try and stop the tears that have begun to cling to the back of your eyes at bay. You’ve never cried during a therapy session, and there is no reason why today should be different. The amount of people you’ve cried in front of is limited to a very, very short list of people and you don’t intend for your psychologist to be added.

“It would be okay if that was it. It’s okay to admit that for you at that time it felt like there was no other option but to make it all stop.”

You feel muzzled, like you can’t speak without admitting to something that you don’t want to.

“I thought it would make it all better.”

Your therapist puts down her notepad, and you feel a whole load of anxiety rush out of you.

“You thought it would make what better?”

You keep your tooth pinned to your lip, if it draws blood, it draws blood. The pain helps to take your focus off of the word vomit you can feel coming up.

“Everyone else’s lives.”

Your response is croaky, and when your therapist points to the glass of water you don’t shake your head like normal, you find yourself reaching for it and taking a few tentative sips.

“What about your life, what about making your own life better?”

You take a few more sips, because it stalls the conversation for long enough that you can think up an answer that doesn’t make it sound like you are completely insane.

“I was never really thinking about it like that.”

You look at her, eye to eye again, and there is this weird understanding between the two of you. You can feel it, whether or not it’s real, for the first time you feel like you aren’t crazy for thinking the way that you do. It’s a weird kind of safety that you’ve never had.

“For a minute, I want you to close your eyes and think about exactly what you want, whether it’s the future, it’s right now. Not football, not other people, nobody else. Just you.”

You humour her, and close your eyes.

For a few seconds, you can’t think of much. You’ve never been a future thinker, not beyond emergency plans and second options.

You think about death for a few seconds, a couple of weeks ago it was all you could think of. Permanent, irreversible disappearance. Even then though, it wasn’t what you were actually yearning for, not truly, it was just an easy solution to complex problems, problems that still haven’t been solved.

You think long and hard, and eventually you find a pleasantness.

You want to resolve things with Alexia, you know that for sure. It’s been impossible trying to navigate your relationship in your new reality. You want to get to a place where it’s less impossible. You want happiness with her, pure happiness. You also want some kind of return to football, you don’t know how. You’ve never really played football because it’s what you love, you’ve never loved your sport, it’s more been about having something that could take you places when inevitable wherever you had been was no longer an option because you’d somehow fucked it up.

You want a better relationship with yourself, you want to understand why you think the way you do and why you can’t think the same way and be the same way as everyone. You want to get past the fear you have that you will never be the same.

When you have nothing else to think about, you open your eyes, to your psychologist smiling at you.

“That’s our hour, I’m really happy to leave this here and circle back to some of it in a couple of days. The progress you’re making is definitely getting bigger and I’m happy to sign off on you getting some hours in the gym if your physios are happy with it. I’ll call the team tonight and we can work out a plan that works best.”

You’re in slight disbelief as she speaks.

“You’re sure?”

You stay seated for the sake of making sure that you haven’t somehow dreamt up what she’s just said.

“If you try and make some progress with your homework. I want you to try and talk to Mapi, a text message, coffee, something. I want you to talk to Alexia beyond her being a caregiver for you and I want you to make progress with your teammates, don’t avoid the gym if you know they are going to be there, don’t avoid team events, dip a toe in the water with them and I can guarantee you will have a very different outcome then what you think.”

Contingencies. One thing you’ve learnt about therapy is that there are always contingencies, it’s always a give and take, never one or the other.

You nod your head anyways, somehow, with her weird manipulation games you’ve managed to agree to something that the version of you from and hour ago never would have.

“I’ll try.”

Your therapist smiles and stands up, for whatever reason there is always a part of you that loves the end of your sessions but also never wants to leave.

Whether it seems like it or not, you actually do want to get better, you just don’t know what better looks like for you and that’s scary. You’ve never met the version of yourself that is ‘better’ or ‘normal’. You can’t say that you want to be your old self because there hasn’t ever been a version of yourself that feels better. You’ve always been in the slums, always been dragging yourself through the thickest mud to try and make it to the end of a day or month or year. You don’t actually want to survive like that, you want to live your life properly, or whatever non-sluggish life looks like for you.

Your still desperately trying to work that out.

Alexia is waiting in the carpark as usual, it’s always the same carpark, always the same consolation hot chocolate in her hands afterwards.

Once you’ve sat down in her passenger seat, put on your seatbelt and the takeaway cup is settled in your hands she broaches the topic of your session.

“How was it?”

There is always an awkwardness around your sessions, Alexia picks your up from every one, on the odd occasion she’ll join in if your therapist thinks it would be good. Otherwise, she spends the time sitting in her car and picking up hot drinks.

It’s infinitely awkward between the two of you, but Alexia in your opinion is mostly to blame for that.

She’d been the first person to put her hand up to be your carer, your glorified babysitter.

You know it’s a guilt thing, she feels guilty that part of your pain could have been because of her, even though you’ve insisted time and time again that it wasn’t.

“Fine.”

Therapy is a tough topic for you, mostly because you’ve never wanted to be there in the first place. You’d been tricked into going from the beginning, Alexia insisting that she was taking you to a appointment to check up on your scars when really it had been to your psychologists office. You’d yelled and screamed and insisted that she take you home, but at the end of the day if you ever wanted to play football again it was obvious you were going to have to suck it up.

You hadn’t talked to Alexia for days after that, which is funny because that was less then three weeks ago and now you’re here.

“Fine?”

You nod your head, it’s hard to find words after a normal session, but after this one it’s ever harder.

“I made some progress.”

Alexia nods, you know there are probably a hundred questions going through her head right now, but she won’t ask them. She’s too scared that if she asks them, she’ll get an answer that will terrify her. One that will restart all of the problems, even if that isn’t really how it works. Alexia doesn’t understand mental health, that’s become frighteningly obvious over the past few weeks. She doesn’t understand your struggles because she’s never experienced them. She’s never had self hatred or depression or overwhelming anxiety. It’s what makes you feel so alienated and so out of place amongst your peers. You feel like a shark amongst a sea of dolphins, like you look the same but when it comes down to it you are completely different.

“That’s good, no?”

You nod your head, disguising the grimace on your face by the mouth of the lid on your hot chocolate.

“She says I can start doing some hours in the gym.”

Alexia smiles, big and wide, like it’s her whose been given the good news.

“That’s good bebita, you’ll be on the pitch in no time.”

The pitch. It’s all Alexia cares about.

When you can be back, how she can get you to the point you can be back. Because when Alexia is injured, it’s all she cares about. What she can do to get herself back on the pitch, how she can make the rehab process faster, she thinks of every single logistic and possibility.

You want to make it back to the pitch, or you think you do. But it’s not your priority. It’s become abundantly clear that your main priority has to be yourself, figuring yourself out.

“Mhm.”

You focus your energy on counting how many bike riders pass Alexia’s car as she navigates through peak city traffic. You get to 38 before she interrupts your intense search for every person on two wheels.

“Vicky’s supposed to be coming over later, I promised I’d help her with a school project. I can go to her house instead if you’d prefer?”

Every time Alexia’s broached the topic of teammates you’ve immediately refused any contact, and your immediate reaction is to say no. but you think about what your therapist said.

“I might text Mapi and see if she wants to talk to me.”

You hear the sound of Alexia’s shock in the form of a choken sort of cough, she tries to cover it up by slapping her hand against the wheel of her car, but it doesn’t do much.

“I think that would be a really good idea, bebita, I think she would be really happy to see you.”

You don’t look at Alexia, you don’t want to see the look of perplexion or shock or whatever emotion she’s going through. You haven’t seen Mapi since the hospital, and as little as you remember from then, you remember Mapi very clearly.

She had been just as out of it as you’d been, refusing to leave your bedside but Ingrid having to do everything for her to keep her alive. Every time she visited you, she looked like she’d seen a ghost, or something worse. You weren’t sure what was worse, seeing somebody dead or seeing somebody who was hanging on the cliff of life and death and having to save their life, knowing that if action hadn’t of been taken they would be dead.

Definitely the latter.

“I’ll text her, see if she can come and pick you up before Vicky comes over?”

You nod your head, allowing yourself to focus back on counting your tally, except moving over to motorcycles this time.

You shower with the bathroom door halfway open. There are no sharps anywhere in your apartment, knives, razors, scissors, nail clippers, vegetable peelers, glasses, anything that could cause any kind of bodily harm. For now, you aren’t allowed to be left alone for longer then an hour. You sleep with your bedroom door open and Alexia sleeping in the guest room next door. You eat a set meal plan, you do two hours of rehab every single day, you live on a schedule that is so carefully planned that you have no time to yourself and yet every single moment feels lonely.

It’s a process, you’ve been told. It’s crucial to your recovery that there are measurements in place to assure your ‘success’.

Alexia knocks on your door every five minutes whilst you shower, you yell back every time.

It had become a rule after the first time you’d showered with the door open you’d made a joke about using the shower curtain to harm yourself, because what did they really expect you to be doing?

It hadn’t gone well, Alexia going silent for a few days and a very heated conversation with your psychologist about the inappropriateness of making jokes about suicide.

It was your trauma, it was your fucking story, and everyone was acting like it was their most sensitive issue.

Bathrooms are a bit of a touchy subject, you don’t shower in your ensuite bathroom anymore, you can’t. The room has permanently been blocked off, completely forgotten about.

The first thing you want to do once you’ve ‘recovered’ is leave this apartment, there are to many bad memories, it feels like you’ll never be able to recover if your stuck in the same place that you were in when it all went bad.

It’s a problem for when you can deal with the stress of packing up your whole life and moving it to somewhere.

When you shut the water off and step out of the warm stream you let yourself breathe, showers are the only real alone time you get. Everywhere else you are supervised, watched like a hawk to make sure that you don’t try anything else that could jeopardise your return to football. The reality is that Barca can’t afford to have you sit on the sideline for a whole season, they need you back, they can’t risk another slip up.

Alexia at least gives you the privacy of getting dressed in your own wardrobe, all of your wired bras have been removed, but for the most part it’s all normal.

You get dressed in another sweat suit, it’s become your new uniform over the last few weeks, no draw strings of course.

Your hair gets swept into a messy bun, it’s too much effort to deal with the brushing and braiding and tying that you would have normally gone through with a couple of weeks ago. You aren’t allowed to wear jewellery anymore so your accessories consist of pretty much nothing. You’re bare from the bones to your clothes, your soul feels as bare as the rest of your body.

You’re allowed to wear laced shoes, but you often opt not to, slip on birkenstocks or uggs are just easier. The Barcelona January chill has been getting to you recently, so you upt for your ugg boots.

Your outfit choice is the most choice you get in your day, so you try and put as little thinking into it as possible, it’s easier for you to just succumb to the reality that everything in your life is controlled by other people.

By the time you’ve finished, you’re towing very close to the time Mapi had told Alexia she’d come and meet you. You collect the things that you might need from your vanity and shove them in your pocket, before making your way out to your living room.

It’s unofficially become Alexia’s office, her laptop and books cover your dining table now. She lives out of your apartment, leaves only for training and barcelona commitments, so it’s fair to say that she’s made herself at home.

When you were living together before, it had bothered you more, having her things everywhere. Alexia is a organiser, of everything and everybody but herself. You’d spend hours telling her to pick up her shoes from random spots around the apartment floor or getting her to pick up random clothing items laying on top of pieces of furniture. This mess is different, it reflects how the situation is different. There is nothing comfortable about your predicament, it’s not the same kind of comfortable coexistence you had when you were dating Alexia.

There is a boundary between the two of you now and it makes it all so much more confusing.

Alexia isn’t just your friend or your teammate, she’s you caregiver, the person who holds you accountable, unofficially the person who is supposed to keep you from doing anything to yourself. It adds a whole layer of stress to the situation, you can’t relax around her the same way you used to.

Your relationship is never going to be the same, but parts of you wished that Alexia hadn’t taken over the burden of caring for you, because maybe the two of you could work on rebuilding yourselves as a couple instead of Alexia trying to rebuild you as a person, as if you are a broken lego set that needed to be put back together.

She spends most of her time in your living room, doesn’t push the boundary of your bedroom unless it’s needed.

She’s sat at the kitchen table, preparing herself to help with whatever project it is that Vicky needs help with.

“Shouldn’t Vicky have maybe asked one of the younger girls? You’re practically ancient now, they probably teach the kids these days history from when you were growing up.”

Whatever Alexia looks like she’s going to be helping with looks like something she’s definitely not qualified in, although Alexia’s never the person to say no.

“You’re acting like I’m a dinosaur, I’m only four years older then you.”

She rolls her eyes at you and it feels so normal, for a second you feel so much more normal. Life would be so much easier if everybody stopped treating you like a fine fucking piece of china. An eye roll here or there, a yell here or there, some kind of emotion beyond sympathy would be nice.

“I mean, in comparison to Vicky you’re pretty much from the stone ages.”

Alexia rolls her eyes again, she looks like she’s about to fight back against you but a knock at the door silences you both.

All of a sudden the little smile is gone and the air goes thick again, thick with the reminder that you can’t just exist in a bubble of nothingness were nobody else exists and you can just be free from everything.

Alexia gets up to open the door, and you let her, allowing yourself to loiter around the table and enjoy the moment for just a little bit longer. It’s that moment that might just get you through what is about to happen.

Alexia calls for you and you know it’s Mapi, you know it’s Mapi because Mapi won’t step foot in your apartment.

Ingrid had come to visit when you’d come home, along with a handful of other people, but Mapi hadn’t been one of them. Ingrid had explained that it had been to hard for her, that she’d made it to the door but couldn’t come in, and you couldn’t find it in you to blame her.

Mapi smiles at you when she sees you, it’s the first time you’ve seen her since the hospital and the both of you look very different since then.

She looks less dead, that’s the first thing you take notice of. She doesn’t look like she would blow away into a puff of smoke if a gust of wind came past. She looks good, she looks healed.

Mapi and you don’t talk, for whatever reason, you take the normal walk you would every sunday morning before it happened.

Down from your apartment, onto the main street, up to the mouth of the road, across the street and then onto the boardwalk.

It’s the main reason you chose your apartment, it’s right next to the beach. Perfect for post matchday swims and a morning walk on the beach. It used to be yours and Mapi’s pregame routine and it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of your feet moving down the sidewalk.

No words are spoken until the two of you are seated on the sand, a wordless agreement that you both come to when your toes hit the beach.

You’re both seated, your eyes looking over the horizon. Your too scared to break the silence, so you wait for Mapi.

“You look good, chica.”

You nod your head, you feel better, you must look better then how you did.

“I feel better.”

Mapi nods, when her hand reaches out to sit on top of your own on the sand, you don’t flinch away, it feels good to have a physical connection with a person who isn’t Alexia.

The silence falls over the two of you again, except this time it feels less uncomfortable. You let it linger for a little bit, before you feel in a place to speak.

“I need to say thank you. I know I said some things in the hospital, I meant it in the moment but I want to take it back now. You saved me, you did something so brave and amazing and the version of me now is so grateful that you did.”

Mapi stops your rant, before you can say something else.

“I would have done it for anybody else.”

The problem is you think, that you aren’t anybody else. It would be so much easier to give cpr to a random person on the street and never see them again, never have to be worried that you would see them again and there would be some kind of problem.

“But you did it for me. You saved me from myself, and I want you to know that I genuinely am so thankful for you. You didn’t choose the easy option and I put you in a extremely hard position. If anything had of happened to me, you would have blamed yourself and it wouldn’t have been your fault but you would have felt like it was.”

Mapi nods, and then you hear a sniffle and it makes you feel horrible.

Mapi’s crying, she’s crying and you don’t know what to do.

“You begged me to reverse it, in the hospital, you didn’t say some things. You begged me to stab you or do something. You told me it was my fault you were alive and that it was my responsibility to undo what I’d done.”

You take a deep breath, you didn’t remember it being that bad, but you remember Alexia telling you that some of the things you’d said had been unrepeatable.

“I can’t reverse what I said, in that moment I was in so much pain Maps. I actually can’t tell you how much pain i was in, all I wanted was to disappear. I’m working through not feeling that way and that starts by apologising. You did not deserve to experience what you did. You did not deserve to see what you did. You did not deserve to hear what I said to you. I am sorry. There is nothing I can say that will make any of it okay, I am sorry that for whatever reason god chose you to be the person burdened with this. I am so sorry.”

Mapi sniffles again. You knew that the possibility of no reconciliation was possible, that Mapi would reject any offer of apologies you had, you’d just really hoped it wouldn’t be like that.

“You’ve been like a little sister to me. I know you didn’t feel like we were that close, but I saw so much of me in you from when I was younger, and that was part of the reason I ended up at your apartment that night. Because I was worried, more then anybody else. I had this weird feeling, and I hated that I was right about it. You were like my little sister, and I watched as they strapped you onto a gurney and wheeled you off whilst telling me that they would try their hardest. I don’t blame you, there is no blame for something like this. But I need you to understand that I can’t just get over what I www, I’m working through it, I’m trying. My therapist has really been helping me, but it’s not going to disappear.”

You nod, Mapi and you have been through two mirroring experiences, and oddly you feel the same way about your own therapy. You’re working through it, you’re trying, but nothing that has happened is ever going to disappear, with yourself or with your peers.

“Maps, you’re allowed to experience however you want. If you never want to see me again I won’t hate you.”

Mapi shakes her head.

“I don’t know how I feel yet, I just need you to know that I understand that the you right now is different to the you from weeks ago, and you are entitled to separate yourself from that person. You don’t have to be that person if you don’t want to be. Let yourself live in the new version of you, the old version died back then.”

You bite your lip, there is beginning to become a permanent divet from your front teeth, you like it in a weird way.

“I’m trying, I’m really trying.”

Mapi nods, raising her arm from your hand, to your shoulders, bringing you into her side.

“We’ll try together then, huh? You try for me and I’ll try for you?”

You nod your head, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like you’re totally alone in the battle that you’re fighting. It’s still very much your battle, but it feels like you have somebody in your corner letting you know that you are going to be okay.

—————————————

well aware it’s not edited… if u have an issue with that such my dick xoxo

hope you enjoyed !!!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

431 notes · View notes

rememberwren · 8 months ago

Text

/•Harmless Fun 3•\

You and Johnny smoke weed.

Morning dawns too early for your tired eyes. Whether you have slept at all or only dozed, you can’t say. More than half the night was spent grappling with the crippling regret of having gotten off to the aftermath of your gay roommates having sex. By the time the sun is rising on your shame, you can hear the sound of someone out in the kitchen making coffee.

Which begs the second question. How are you meant to face them after hearing what you did? Just remembering it makes your skin go hot. When you can avoid it no longer—when the smell of Folger’s is slipping beneath the crack of your bedroom door—you slip into the bathroom and splash cool water on your face.

Your hand is on your doorknob when you remember what you’re wearing: a ratty old tank top and panties. In your old apartment, you wouldn’t have thought twice about walking around in the public space like this—but that was before. Rushing to a box, you dig through and find a pair of shorts to tug on, slipping on a shirt over your tank top while you’re at it, hoping it disguises your lack of a bra.

Johnny is not nearly so shy. Standing by the coffee pop leaning heavily against the countertop while he scrolls on his phone, he wears nothing but a low-resting, loose pair of sweatpants. All the saliva in your mouth dries up at the sight when his head snaps up at the sound of your door. He grins at you.

“Morning, lass. Sleep well?”

“Great,” you lie. “I was so tired I passed out.”

“Me too,” teases Johnny. “All the work I wasn’t allowed to do really knackered me. Coffee? There’s tea too, but I never got the taste for it like Ghost did. Simon, I mean.”

“Coffee would be great.”

He leans up and God. For all the jokes he made last night about having a ‘bum leg’ there’s nothing else bum about his body: he’s cut, all tanned skin pulled taut over soft muscle, the terrain of his body broken up here or there by the odd scar. He has a smattering of dark hair on his chest that thickens below his navel where it trails downwards, bordered on either side by his Adonis belt.

On his neck—more like his collarbone—there is a livid lovebite. You can still see the impression of teeth, even across the room, pretty purples and fresh reds and it makes all the blood rush to your cunt until every stumbling step you take to the kitchen emphasizes your sensitivity.

You take the mug from Johnny trying to meet his eyes and not the hickey on his neck. You mutter: “Thanks.”

“I cook too. Regular little housewife, I am.”

A housewife perhaps, but one to Simon. Too guilty to let him cook for you, you end up elbow to elbow with him while you both cook together. You glance towards their bedroom door once or twice when Johnny grows too boisterous, sure that soon he would wake Simon.

But both your plates are clear without a sign of the larger man. After doing your share of the dishes, you dress properly, prepared to spend the day running necessary errands for the new apartments, including buying your own share of groceries.

With Johnny’s Be safe, hen still ringing in your ears, you slip into the elevators and—nearly bump straight into Simon. He’s dressed for running, sweat glistening on his pale arms. He had just tugged his mask down past his chin. His mouth quirks into the semblance of a smile, tugging at a little scar on his lip—

—lips that left that mark on Johnny. Suddenly you are stammering, stepping aside out of Simon’s way, greeting him with more awkwardness than you had the very first time you met. He watches all your social fumblings with quiet amusement before disappearing into the apartment, his greeting to Johnny within cutoff abruptly by the closing of the door.

Jesus Fuck. Could you be any more awkward or obvious?

The next days come easier. The three of you fall into an easy routine. Simon is usually awake late and up early, running not just to keep in shape but from PTSD related nightmares you learn from Johnny. Johnny himself has his good days and bad days, days when the pain in his leg is too much for his general good humor to overpower. Those days, he is prone to melancholy and sulking. He plants himself on the living room couch and ‘can’t be arsed’ to move. Both men are troubled, their time on active duty leaving wounds that are fresh on their bodies and their minds—but it’s only part of them.

And there is so much good. Johnny’s cooking (“my ma taught me”) is better than good. They both clean up after themselves and don’t mind picking up your slack on days when you pick up extra shifts and come home exhausted.

One day bleeds into another and you come to find the awkward first interactions are in the dust in the rearview mirror. You no longer feel like a guest living in their guestroom. You’re home.

One day you come home to the apartment smelling like oil paints. Simon is nowhere to be found (typical), but Johnny is at his easel, a palette set up with Winsor Newton colors: burnt sienna and vandyke brown and lamp black and titanium white and phthalo blue. The smell of turpentine stings your nose, but you don’t say anything; it’s a little unspoken, but you get the idea that the painting on Johnny’s easel was begun before his accident, and though he periodically puts paints on the palette, he has yet to add to it after all these months.

He turns and brightens at the sight of you.

“There she is. A sight for these sore eyes.”

You roll your own. You’d learned by now that Johnny was a flirt—and it didn’t matter if Simon was in the room or not. As a matter of fact, perhaps it is in your imagination, but he seems to lay his flirtation on extra thick when Simon is in the room. The larger man never says anything, though he does give the occasional long-suffering sigh.

“Painting?” you ask. His paintbrush is still clean.

“Just giving up on it!” he says cheerfully. He sets the paintbrush and the palette down, reaching for his cane. You don’t mention how heavily he leans on it as he comes around the couch and collapses, reaching down to arrange his bad leg in a position that is comfortable for him. “Do me a favor, lass? You’ll have to go climbing. On top of the cabinets, you see that tin? Be a love and fetch it for me.”

You do as he asks, using one of the chairs from the kitchen island to stand on. It isn’t a tin at all but a solid glass container with fasteners on each side to maintain a nice, strong seal. You deposit it on his lap and are thinking of fetching him a pain pill while you’re in the mood to play Lassie when he opens the container and the smell hits you.

Weed.

“Do you smoke?” he asks.

“Not often,” you admit. You didn’t have the budget for it.

“Can’t let our best girl go without,” Johnny says, eyes twinkling. He calls you that a lot—’our best girl’. It makes something disgustingly needy inside of you preen its feathers. If only I were yours, you think. He takes out a pre-roll. “I haven’t smoked in a while either. This will probably be enough for the both of us.”

And God, it is. He abandons his cane inside and you both cram together on the tiny balcony, shoulder to shoulder, passing the blunt back and forth. Johnny takes these deep drags, chest practically heaving with all the smoke he struggles to take in, every inhale ending in a series of light coughs and his fist pounding at his chest.

“Not a bad view, is it?” he asks you, watching as you hold the smoke in your lungs for as long as you can. He takes his own hit and then passes you the blunt again, careful to keep the burning ember away from you, like a gentleman. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you feel a warm combination of the weed and his proximity thrum through all the vessels in your head and chest.

You look out over the city. This high up, a good deal of the buildings are below you. The sky is still bright and blue, wispy clouds stretched thin here and there. You look at the streets and find yourself looking for Simon. “Not bad at all.”

“That’s why I wanted to paint it so goddamn bad,” he admits. “Something pretty like this should be on paper. Canvas, I mean.”

“Why can’t you finish? The painting,” you add when he raises a brow at your accidental double entendre. You bump his shoulder a little, careful not to truly send him off balance. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you to him while he thinks, taking another drag that almost finishes the blunt for good.

“Dunno, really. I guess I was a different person when I started it. Seems wrong to have a different person finish the painting.”

“I think that’s cool,” you admit, leaning against him. Weed makes you like that; touchy feely. “We’re changing all the time. Even if you hadn’t gotten hurt, you still wouldn’t be the same person who started it. Does that make sense or is that the weed talking?”

“Definitely the weed,” he says solemnly.

You try to stay a little clear headed, though by the time you both are stumbling back into the apartment, you are leaning heavily on each other, giggling like school children.

You make a bowl of popcorn, eat it all, and then make another. At one point, Johnny drops his sweatpants to show you the place in his femur where three pins lie. It takes all your strength to keep your eyes on the scar running along his tan skin and not his soft package three inches up and six inches to the right.

Simon arrives home during the second bowl of popcorn. He is sweaty—does the man run for a fucking living? With a body like his, you might be persuaded to consider it—and immediately wrinkles his nose at the scent that has permeated the apartment despite you and Johnny’s best efforts.

“There he is!” Johnny says, sleepily. “There he is, come home from the war.”

“It’s pronounced run.”

“Come give me a kiss, LT,” Johnny insists.

Stuffing his earbuds in their container, he walks around behind the couch and plants a kiss on Johnny’s temple. Johnny makes an unhappy, demanding sound. He turns his upper body, reaching up to cup Simon’s jaw (briefly getting his fingers tangled in the mask below his chin) and brings him down for a full kiss. You look away at the first flash of pink tongue, feeling the heat in your face and about two feet lower.

When they’ve finished, Johnny says: “And what, no kiss for our girl?”

You turn, eyes wide, mouth agape. Simon’s brows are a hair raised. Even he seems to think this is somewhat bold of Johnny. Before you can open your mouth to insist otherwise (it’s the only polite thing to do when your roommate offers your husband to kiss you), Simon says: “Give her one from me.”

And he disappears into the bedroom, shedding his shirt along the way and giving you a nice peek at his muscled back, glistening in sweat. Johnny is giving you a sly look—does he know? God, he does, doesn’t he? Everyone knows how you feel about the two of your roommates. Paranoia threatens to send you spiraling.

Then Johnny’s arm comes down around your shoulder, and the soap bubble of paranoia around you pops.

Belly full, high, you fall asleep against him before Simon is even out of the shower. Sometimes you have moments of lucidity: Simon’s appearance and being jostled over as the two of you make room for him on the couch. The movie ending and another starting. A third bowl of popcorn. But each time you slip back into awareness, you are tucked underneath Johnny’s arm, nose full of his scent, warm and safe. It’s hard to want to wake up from that.

The last time you wake up, it is to darkness.

The movie has ended. Credits have rolled.

Voices, quiet as whispers just barely audible over the sound of the late night traffic.

“...scare her off.”

You struggle to tune in to the conversation, eyelids heavy. “...didn’t seem scared. She wanted it.”

“You didn’t give it to her.”

“She’s high,” whispers Johnny. “She can’t consent.”

“What a good boy you are.”

Johnny sucks in a little breath. “Don’t, Si…”

“Hm.”

“She’s right fucking here.”

“Asleep.”

“A temporary condition, in case you didn’t know.”

“I don’t see you stopping me.”

Stopping him…your eyes crack open, lids so heavy you can barely move them. Somehow the three of you have fit together on the loveseat, you tucked beneath Johnny’s arm, and Johnny nearly laying across Simon’s lap. One of Simon’s hands—huge, so huge even compared to Johnny’s thick thighs—rests on his husband’s sweatpants-clad leg and is creeping northward. The sight is like a punch to your lower gut. The breath goes out of you in a shaky rush that neither of them seem to notice, the electricity between them too strong for anything to interfere.

“You can do it. You could stop me.”

“Affirm,” Johnny whispers. His fingers flex against your shoulder unconsciously, and you feel his head whirl toward you, ducking down a little to make sure you are still asleep. You let your eyes fall shut just in time, keeping the rise and fall of your chest even and slow. His exhale brushes against your face and then he is turning away, back towards Simon.

“Then why don’t you.”

“Cause I…”

“Hm.”

“Cause I don’t want to…”

“Think you’d like it if she woke up,” Simon murmurs, his hand coming to palm Johnny’s rapidly hardening cock. He maps the shape of it through the cotton sweatpants like he’s learning the shape all over again. “You want her to see how desperate you get. That’s the real you, isn’t it, Johnny? You’re only ever just a stiff wind away from turning into a slut.”

“Your slut,” Johnny breathes. He can’t thrust his hips against Simon’s touch, not without risking waking you, but he does reach out and put a hand over Simon’s, convincing him to use a firmer touch. You risk opening your eyes more, watching as the both of them stroke along the length of his cock slow like syrup. “Your slut, LT, only yours—”

“Don’t lie to me.” The words put you on edge, but the tone—it’s all in the tone. Simon doesn’t sound like a man who is angry. He isn’t acting like one either, his thumb finding the head of Johnny’s cock beneath the cotton and teasing it softly. It jerks beneath the fabric, and you can’t help it. A sound slips past your lips, something desperate and needy. You clench your eyes shut, feeling both of them go stiff and silent beside you.

“She still—?”

“Think so,” Johnny whispers. He says something else, but it is too quiet to be heard.

The couch springs creak as Simon stands, and then you are taken up in the larger man’s arms. He still smells like his shower gel, his shirt freshly laundered. For a moment, the change in altitude as you are lifted has your eyes fluttering open, but Simon mutters something quiet that makes your eyes feel heavy all over again, though you don’t sleep, not as he carries you into your room and lays you on the bed, not as he draws back the covers and tucks you under them.

You are only fast asleep before the sounds begin on the other side of the wall.

#ghoap x reader #harmless fun

752 notes · View notes

theyhavetakenovermylife · 6 months ago

Note

Hi there,

I love your writings! I never sent an ask before, and I'm sure you have plenty of requests, but your works are incredible, so anything you choose to write about is bound to be amazing!

I was wondering if you would consider doing more 18+ headcannons for the ROTTMNT Boys, like you did for Leo? The idea that they all fall for the reader for different reasons sounds intriguing 🤤

Random Headcanons About Donatello (18+)

Rise!Donatello x reader

A/N: I decided to write one for Donnie, because other than this, I have nothing one Rise Donnie😭 Hope you’ll like this, and will satisfy some of you Donnie people out there💜

Warnings: Talk of masturbation, a little bit of intimate instints.

Donnie was never been much of a big flirt, nor had he ever had much interest in anything romantic. To him, it felt like a waste of time. Those kinds of feelings never came easy to him, so it was kind of hard for him to fit it into his life.

But of course Donnie felt bodily needs. He was a living being after all. But he had never tied it to any emotions of love or attraction. No, to him it had always been a natural thing he needed to get done. Something his body needed, a part of his nature. Science and biology in its natural habitat. So when he felt the need, he would hide himself away in his room, and make quick work with his hands on himself, until he didn’t feel the growing neediness in his member anymore.

He never bothered to spend much time thinking about these things. He never bothered spending time thinking about what he was into, when it came to a partner. Because why would he do that? He wasn’t looking for a partner, so why would he try to figure out what his ideal partner would be like? Sounded like a stupid thing to do in his opinion.

These things didn’t change straight away when you entered Donnie’s life. Donnie did not feel any different when he and his brothers started to hang out with you. You were a nice friend and Donnie did enjoy spending time with you. But that was just that. You were just a friend, and Donnie didn’t want it to be any other way. No more. No less.

But slowly but surely, things between the two of you would change.

As time went on, you and Donnie would get closer, slowly becoming best friends. That meant you and the purple genius would often spend time alone together, getting to know each other on a deeper level. You just understood Donnie, and you never struggled or clashed with his way of being, like his brothers would from time to time. However, there would be small things that you did, that slowly would make Donnie’s heart flutter. It was how you seemed to understand his sometimes non-verbal communication, how you easily learned his way of organizing, and his other small quirks.

The realization that Donnie had developed feelings for you, hit him like a wall of bricks. It happened one late night, as Donnie sat in his lab, hunched over his work, his thoughts running as he worked. His thoughts floated towards you and your beautiful smile… Hmm, odd… But you did have a beautiful smile. Anyway, back to work… You also did have a very nice voice… Donnie really liked your voice. It made him happy to hear it whenever you were around… Snap out of it Donnie! You’re working!... When did Donnie last see you anyway? A few days ago, when you and him had decided to watch that movie together. And you were wearing those jeans that really fitted your butt and thighs so well. So well that Donnie for a short moment, wished he could just reach out to touch them. That was the moment Donnie dropped what he had in his hand, his eyes wide when he realized what was going on.

Donnie, much to his own surprise, now found himself spending much time dreaming and wondering about love. He thought of you, what it would be like to be with you, both emotionally and physically. He wondered what you liked, and if you would ever look at him in the same way. And for the first time, Donnie found himself touching himself, not just because of his needs, but because of what your beautiful being did to him.

And for the first time Donnie found himself interested in romance, and it wouldn’t take long before he slowly put in the work, in order to win you and your love over.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #tmnt x reader #tmnt x reader smut #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donnie x reader smut #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donatello x reader smut #rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader smut #rottmnt donatello x reader #rottmnt donatello x reader smut

593 notes · View notes

dcandmarvelimagines · 4 months ago

Text

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt 5)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, this chapter is just smut, unprotected sex (p in v), rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, cum eating, nipple play, whiff of breeding kink (I'm very funny), biting, reader has a nightmare that's a little graphic but brief, Wade is very annoying lmao Author's note: I can't believe it's over!!!! It's insane to me how much love and support this had gotten :') I just want to say thank you so much from the bottom of my heart! Please enjoy! <3 ao3 Tags (if I forgot someone I'm so sorry!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @amararosesblog @bontensbabygirl @belgium2 @g0ldenstarr @wolvndmouth @sseleniaa @reddesires @harryshousewhore @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @clancy-the-pretty-odd-killjoy @geckosssssss

The next few days were a haze of food, sleeping, tender touches, and above all else, comfort. Most days I awoke to Wade cuddling close. Logan was too much of an early riser to stay in bed. He would get antsy the longer he lingered, grumbling about how he couldn’t just lay around all day. But I found that sleepy smiles and little nibbles to his jaw could convince him to stay. Even more so if I just happened to push my butt against his hips.

My leg was healing well, the bruise fading to a dull purple after a few days. The pain was manageable but it always hurt in those first few hours of the day. Wade was more than happy to rub and kiss at my skin every morning. I stopped needing the painkillers during the day but Logan insisted I take one before bed to minimize any discomfort in the morning. It was easy to sleep with the numbing effects pumping through me. My body would feel heavy, my mind quiet and still. I never dreamed. I simply closed my eyes and awoke to the morning sun.

But I was getting better. So I opted to not take one on their last night with me. It was hard to calm my racing mind and I tossed and turned before Logan snapped a heavy arm around me. “Do you want one?” He sleepily asked. Wade was already out, flat on his back, mouth open. Both of them were able to fall asleep in moments, a skill born from their military service, but Logan was unfortunately a light sleeper.

“No,” I mumbled, tucking my head under his chin, running my nose along his throat. He had showered before getting into bed so the woody scent of his body wash was strong on his skin. “I need to stop relying on them, need to sleep on my own.” He hummed but stayed quiet. One of his big hands slipped under my shirt, rubbing soothing circles onto my skin.

I was on the chair again but my limbs were free. I stood, looking around. No one was here. The concrete room was quiet and cold. I walked slowly to the large door, peaking through the small window.

Nothing.

Swallowing, I pulled it open. To my right was endless darkness and to the left was an infinite hallway. Something shifted in the darkness as I lingered. I quickly turned to the left. There were no windows or doors as I walked.

I heard something over my shoulder. When I glanced behind, it looked like I had made no progress, the darkness still close to me. My pace quickened. I heard the sound again. A low gurgle.

I could see a window at the end of the hallway, sunlight painted across the floor. A hand ran through my hair and I started to run. Whatever was behind me ran too.

“Sweetheart.”

The sunlight wasn’t getting any closer.

But whatever was behind me was.

I felt their breath along my neck. Cold needles pricked all along my spine. I couldn’t run any harder or any faster. Something caught my foot and sent me sprawling. Before I could scramble away, a hand latched around my leg, dragging me deeper into the darkness. I screamed, nails ripping at the concrete.

“You’re safe, come on baby, wake up.”

Then I was forced onto my back to look up at my attacker. It was him. His face was half gone, eyeball hanging from a destroyed socket, brain oozing and pulsating. I tried to fight him off, clawing uselessly at his mangled face.

He glared down at me, hot blood splattering across my cheeks from his exposed skull. Then he held up the knife before plunging it deep into my chest. I wailed, fighting with everything I had.

“Come on, you gotta wake up for me.”

The knife tore from me with a disgusting sucking noise. Then he drove it in, again, and again.

I sat bolt up straight, chest heaving as I panted. Cold sweat misted my skin and my clothes stuck to it. My eyes were cloudy from unshed tears. With shaking hands, I rubbed at them, and found something warm speckling my face.

It was blood.

“You back with us?” The voice was soft but I still jumped. Logan was also sitting up, his body tense. I could see four distinct scratches along his cheek in the weak moonlight. I let out a sob, clambering into his lap, arms latched tight around his shoulders.

“I-I’m sorry,” I whimpered. He lifted the quilt over me and wrapped it tight. It didn’t stop my shivering.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Should have known better than trying to touch you while you were having a nightmare.” I kept readjusting my hold, trying to find the position with the most contact. I wanted to crawl inside him, be encased in warmth and comfort. “It’s okay,” he hummed, throat vibrating against my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.” His hands were under my shirt again, fingers digging into the tense muscles of my lower back. He let me shudder and cling to him for a few minutes, sobbing onto his shoulder, the skin quickly becoming slick with tears. “What do you need, princess?”

“Just you, please,” I lifted my head from his shoulder, “just you.” Our mouths hovered close and he nearly went cross eyed to keep me in focus. Then he nodded. The kiss was sloppy and desperate but I didn’t care. I just wanted to feel him against me. He let me take charge, one hand braced on the back of my neck. For once, I wished he had worn a shirt just so I could grip it tight. I settled on digging my fingers into his hair. It had gotten long, trailing along the nape of his neck. The longer I kissed him, the more solidly in my body I felt. My head felt clearer as the last of the nightmare ebbed away.

He was making these soft, tiny groans against my lips that made heat trickle through my veins. I needed more. My hands went to my shirt but Logan stopped me, his lips pulling back, forehead against mine.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled, collecting both of my wrists in one of his. “You aren’t thinking clearly.”

“Says who?” I wiggled, trying to snake out from his grip. I knew it was impossible. But as I shifted, I felt something press against my stomach and Logan let out a faint groan when I pushed myself against it again. “You don’t get to make that decision.”

“I can smell how scared you are.”

“I’m not.” I sounded like a petulant child. I was scared. But I craved him and Wade. I wanted to let go, let them chase away all my worries, feel their skin against mine.

“Relax, take a deep breath,” Logan hummed, ignoring my useless protest. The grip on my wrists had loosened and I took advantage, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him against the headboard. Anger was swirling up in me.

“Stop telling me what I want. I thought you said you would give me anything I needed. Why is it so hard for you to think I might need you? Might need to feel…” I stumbled over the word I wanted to use, loved. Logan’s face relaxed, the worry leeching away, a soft affection replacing it.

“Just don’t want you to rush into anything just because you’re scared, that your emotions are in high gear.” I huffed.

“Then help me calm down,” I pleaded, kissing his scratchy cheek. “I know you and Wade will take good care of me.” He groaned, the sound low in his throat, eyes squeezing shut. “Please,” I whispered as I nipped the corner of his jaw. My nails lightly scraped along his chest as I waited for his response.

“Okay,” Logan sighed, tilting his head back to allow me to bite and kiss at the newly exposed skin. “We can do that for you sweetheart.” I kept up my assault on his neck, marveling at the bruises disappearing seconds after I had placed them. “Are you done pretending to sleep now?”

“I was just watching. We need to work on your self-confidence, peanut.” I shouldn’t have been surprised Wade was awake, and even less shocked that he’s been observing us. The bed behind me shifted and Logan spread his legs to accommodate Wade’s body. “If a hot piece like this is begging for sex, you shouldn’t try to convince them that they’re wrong.” Logan growled, his palms hot as they skated over my ass, before dipping into my panties, gripping the flesh. I rolled my hips over his and was rewarded by a small hitch in his breathing.

“It’s not my confidence, I just need her with us to do this.“ His voice dipped, soft and sweet again,”lean back for me baby.” I do as he asked, back flush with Wade’s chest. Wade’s lips immediately descended on my throat and he cupped my breasts through my shirt. My eyelids grew heavy as he started to circle my nipples, the fabric a pleasant scrape. “Lift her up a bit,” Logan commanded. Wade curled one arm around my waist, easily raising me an inch or two off of Logan’s lap.

Logan’s fingers dipped under the elastic of my panties, his eyes never moving from my face, examining every expression. He moved between my legs, the pad of his middle finger brushing my clit. I wasn’t wet or turned on enough, yet, for that simple touch to do anything, but I still pushed my hips forward, craving more. Wade nuzzled his face into my neck, sucking at the skin. That made me whine. Logan moved in languid motions over my clit, not too firm, and just enough to reignite the warmth inside me.

Wade removed his lips from my thoroughly spit covered neck and made a satisfied humming noise at the sight. “So beautiful.” He released my breasts and I opened my mouth to protest but he slipped under my shirt to resume his treatment before I could.

“Go back to kissing her neck, she likes it, don’t you sweetheart?” I nod, biting my lip as Wade tweaks my nipples. Logan’s middle finger traces around my entrance, collecting my slick, but going back to my clit, the new wetness making his finger glide easier.

“He gets so bossy in bed,” Wade huffed. “Next time I’m in control.” Logan’s fingers suddenly left me and I gasped in shock. He reached up, his two middle fingers extended, pointed towards Wade.

“Shut up,” Logan growled, “get these wet for her.” Wade was more than happy to oblige, lapping like a dog at the tips before swallowing them to the knuckles. With his mouth next to my ear, I could hear his exaggerated sucking and slurping. Logan groaned, hips bucking against mine briefly, before he pulled his fingers back. A long trail of spit stretched and snapped between the two. His hand dove under my underwear again, soaked finger prodding at my entrance.

“Did you know, after that night in the bar,” Wade mumbled against my throat, lips tracing my racing pulse. “Logan came from just sucking you off my fingers.” I could feel the man under me tense, like he was going to attack Wade. But he relaxed when he felt how wet I had gotten from hearing that. A finger slipped inside me and I groaned, head falling back on Wade’s shoulder. Wade’s fingers were long, able to poke and prod anywhere inside me with ease. But Logan’s were thick and there was a pleasant stretch around it. “Oh look at that pretty, pretty face,” Wade cooed, abandoning my neck to kiss at my flushed cheeks. “He’s so big isn’t he?” I moaned in response as Logan started to pump into me. “But that stretch feels so fucking good. Makes your toes curl, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I whispered. Logan’s chest rumbled, gripping my hip as he increased his pace. Wade reached for the hem of my shirt, one borrowed from Logan, and went to pull it over my head.

“No,” Logan rasped, thumb pressing against my clit, forcing a moan from me. “I like her in it.” Wade chuckled.

“He’s such an animal, isn’t he?” Wade teased, but let the shirt go. “He loves marking his territory. It’s going to drive him crazy to smell his cum in you.”

“Wade, shut the fuck up.” Logan’s other finger eased inside me, being as gentle as he could be. My eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open. “Look at me, sweetheart. Wanna see your face, wanna see how good I make you feel.” Wade pinched my chin and used it to angle my head down. I couldn’t see Logan’s face well in the dim room but I could see little dark splotches on his cheeks. His nostrils were flared and his chest heaved.

“God you two look so hot.” I could hear Wade sucking on something before his hands went back to toying with my nipples. My hips jerked, forcing Logan deeper into me, at the feeling of Wade’s wet fingers. He pressed himself closer and I could feel the defined ridge of his cock against my back.

Logan’s grip on my hip became tighter as he guided me over his hand in long rolls. “There you go princess,” he mumbled. “Make yourself feel good for me. Take what you need.” Fuck. Those words made desire rush through me. I leaned forward, hands braced on Logan’s wide chest, and started to grind against his fingers. I could feel his heart racing under my palms. He curled his fingers just right that made pleasure shoot down my spine. Wade’s hands slipped from me in this new angle.

“Feel so good,” I sighed, nails pricking into his skin. Logan showed no reaction of pain, his whole focus on me. He pressed against my clit, the pressure just firm enough that my toes curled. “Logan,” I mumbled and reached for his free hand. He gave it willingly and I immediately shoved it up my shirt so he could take over where Wade had stopped. He played with my nipple like he did my clit, long, firm strokes across the sensitive nerves. “Oh god,” I gasped, pleasure pooling deep in my stomach. My hips became more desperate as I chased after the orgasm just out of reach.

“Aw, Lo,” Wade cooed, faux sympathy dripping from his words. “You’re so hard, do you want some help?” Logan’s hips jerked under me, his fingers spearing deeper, hand briefly clenching around my breasts. I let out a strangled moan at the stretch and rocked my hips quicker.

“Leave it alone,” Logan hissed, eyes finally darting from my face to glare at Wade over my shoulder. “Don’t need anything but her. I’m taking good care of you, aren’t I baby?” I nodded furiously. I could feel that tension growing in my stomach, that heady rush of heat just within arms reach. “You’re close.” It wasn’t a question and I was too focused on my oncoming orgasm to answer. “You’re so wet for me sweetheart, probably taste like heaven.”

”Oh she does,” Wade agrees, kissing the nape of my neck. Everything, their words, the rough scrape of Logan’s hands on my most tender areas, the knowledge that Wade is watching, kicked me over the edge. My body went rigid for a moment, a moan caught in my chest, before I ground against Logan with renewed desperation.

“Fuck, Logan,” I panted. My nails were dug deep into his skin, the warmth of his blood soaking into my fingertips.

“There you go princess, I got you.” His fingers were pumping into me, fucking me hard through my orgasm. It was exactly what I needed.

“Logan!” My blurry eyes opened to see him gazing up at me. I was too far into the waves of my orgasms to find his expression, but I smiled down at him all the same. He made a little noise, halfway between a grunt and a moan.

Soon the pleasure faded and my hips slowed. My breath was uneven. For a moment, that was the only sound in the room. Then Logan’s hand snaked up from my breast to cup the side of my neck. The neckline of the shirt stretched to accommodate his thick forearm. “Alright?” I hummed, little aftershocks rippling through me, my hips jerking over him. Once I stilled fully, his fingers left from me. I whimpered at the loss. He slipped his sticky fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling closed at the taste.

“Come on baby muffin,” Wade breathed against my neck, licking a drip of sweat off the skin. “Let’s put on a show for him, yeah?”

“Okay,” I sighed, “just one second.” I leaned closer to Logan, tongue flashing out to lick at the fingers still in his mouth. “Gimme a kiss,” I weakly demanded. He obeyed, removing the digits and dragging my face closer by my chin. His tongue delved into my mouth, the tang of me thick on it. I drew back with a faint smile before I nipped his bottom lip.

“Let’s go, I’m not known for my patience,” Wade playfully growled, giving my ass a light spank. I giggled, rolling off Logan’s torso, the bed squeaking a little under me. Wade’s hands slid between my legs and spread my thighs apart. He hooked his fingers through my panties and inched them down my legs. I blushed as I felt the fabric cling to my wet pussy before it slipped away. “There you go, you nasty old man.” Wade tossed the bundle of wet fabric at Logan’s face again. The older man made an annoyed sound, throwing the sticky panties near my laundry hamper.

“I don’t need it.”

“You didn’t say that with the last pair,” Wade teased, my borrowed shirt climbing up my stomach. “You know,” he said, voice low like he was letting me in on a huge secret, “that last pair I grabbed was ruined. You wanna know how?”

“Wade,” there was a hint of embarrassment in Logan’s voice. But I nodded eagerly, lifting my arms to let Wade slip the shirt off me, biting back a small giggle when he tickled across my ribs.

“He made me come in them and then let me fuck him while they were shoved in his mouth.” Heat burned down my neck. “I can’t even see you, but I know you’re all turned on and pink.” Wade backed off the bed, shimming his pants down his narrow hips. I propped myself up on my elbows and squinted in the darkness, trying to take his naked body in. The shadows played across the ridges of his stomach, the V of his waist, and unfortunately lingered between his legs, completely obscuring what I actually wanted to see. “You look cute when you pout like that.” Wade clambered back over me, settling between my thighs, hands braced on either side of my head. His cock was heavy and warm as it rested on my stomach. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?”

“I can take a guess,” I mumbled, arching my neck to brush my lips against his. A bead of warm liquid dribbled onto my stomach. “Why don’t you fix that?” He kissed me back, light pecks and lashes of his tongue on my lips.

“As you command, my love.” My heart stuttered at the casual way he said the word. Wade leaned back on his knees, his fist pumping over his length. Just as he was lining himself up, my stomach tight in anticipation, Logan’s hand wrapped around Wade’s cock, stilling him. “You can wait your turn, peanut.”

“Shut up you idiot.” Logan’s forearm flexed and Wade’s hips jerked with a strangled noise of pain. “Sweetheart, do you have condoms?”

“No, but you guys can’t give me anything can you?” Logan shifted closer, his face becoming clearer in the dim light, there was a pinch of concern on it.

“No, but we can get you pregnant all the same.” Logan’s nose twitched, clearly smelling that I got even wetter at the idea. “Fuck,” his voice was gruff, forehead falling to my bare shoulder.

“Stop smelling me,” I hissed. “Anyways, I’m on birth control. Now let Wade fuck me.” Logan sighed and let Wade go. He took his cock in his hand, sliding it through my folds, rubbing my slick into his skin.

“Ooh,” Wade teased, tapping my clit with each roll of his hips. “Remind me to get on your bad side. I like how you sound angry. Much better than big boy over there.” Wade notched himself at my entrance, pausing for a beat, then pushed into me. I moaned, back arching. He was so warm and twitching already. “Shit baby,” he mumbled, his focus solely on where he disappeared into me. He took his time, giving me an inch, before withdrawing, then working another in.

It was absolutely maddening.

“Wade,” I whined, the slow drag of his cock through my sensitive walls making my head spin. It seemed like he was never ending. I wanted him deeper and I tried to force it, but his grip was iron tight on my hips, completely freezing me.

“Let me savor this, yeah? I only get this for the first time once.” His hips pressed flush to mine, all of him buried deep. He lifted my waist, the change in angle made my stomach clench, as he worked even deeper.

“Fuck,” the word trembled as my eyes rolled back. The bed next to me creaked, then Logan’s lips were on my neck. He only left a few bites before he was trailing down my chest, tongue tracing along the hollow of my throat, the line of my collar bones. His beard scraped against my flushed skin as he moved.

“I see what you mean,” Wade sighs, “she flutters so much when you kiss her neck.” He pulled out, just the tip lingering, before he surged forward. It wasn’t rough, but it made my breathing hiccup, ankles locking around him, heels digging into his ass. Logan’s tongue traced down my breast before circling a firm nipple. My hands locked into his hair, keeping him close. Wade continued his slow, torturous, push and pull. He was long enough that at this angle, he was able to rub against my sweet spot on each stroke.

“Faster,” I pleaded, tightening my legs around him. This pace was only making me feel feverish, more desperate. I needed an edge, that bite of roughness, especially now. The nightmare was long forgotten but I could feel the lingering emotions in the back of my mind.

“Being so gentle,” Logan hummed against me, the hot air dancing over my wet nipple. I bit my lip at the feeling. “I would have thought you’d be fucking her like a rabbit.” When Wade didn’t respond, Logan titled his head to face him. “You really going to come already?”

“You’re going to be the exact same way,” Wade huffed, shoving Logan’s face against my breast a little too aggressively. “You’re probably going to cry when you have her wrapped around your ancient dick.” Logan growled, sitting up straight, uncaring that I ripped several of his hairs out. He gripped Wade’s face, silver claws breaking his skin and glinting in the dim light.

“Fuck her like she wants, or I’m going to.” Wade smirked. His face tilted, the edges catching on Logan’s claws, blood trickling down his bumpy skin. Shock mingled with the pleasure simmering in me. Wade had stalled in his movements so I was forced to wiggle my hips the best I could, giving myself a little friction.

“Look at her Lo,” Wade nodded down at me, like there was anyone else her could be. “She likes it when you're rough with me. I knew you were lying about not wanting knives to be involved.” Wade seemed to enjoy watching me struggle. I reached up, Logan’s claws glancing across the back of skin, and bent Wade’s body in half, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss, arms latching tight around his neck. I bit at his lip hard enough to break the skin, hot liquid dripping into my mouth. Wade grunted in shock, his hips jerking roughly into me.

“You said you fucked harder with them involved,” I murmured between kisses. “Prove it.” Wade’s arms curled around my waist, clutching me close, plunging deep on a harsh thrust. I groaned, eyes fluttering, the angle making my thighs tremble.

“Knew you had a mean streak in you.” His hips snapped into me finally giving me that needed roughness. I continued my sloppy kissing, nipping and sucking on his rapidly healing lips. His blunt nails dug into the soft skin of my hips as he gripped tighter. Another pair of calloused hands traced up my thigh, feather light as they moved up my skin. Wade trailed his lips along my cheek and jaw. Fingers pinched my chin and dragged my face to Logan’s. He littered my face with light pecks as Wade went to my neck.

“Is he finally making you feel good? Took him long enough, huh?”

“Do you,” my voice broke as Logan slipped his hand between Wade and I’s bodies, rolling his fingers over my clit. “Do you have to antagonize each other all the time?”

“Yes,” they said in unison. Logan’s mouth went to my neck again, his teeth sinking into the curve of my neck, nearly hard enough to break skin. My hand went back to his slightly sweat-dampened hair while the other laid across Wade’s flexing shoulders. With both of their mouth’s occupied, the only thing filling the room was the wet sound of Wade pounding into me and my ragged gasps.That familiar swirl of heat was growing in me. My head felt light, overwhelmed by all the sensations.

Wade’s forehead pressed between my breasts, his own uneven breath coasting across my sweaty skin. “Fuck,” he mumbled. His pace was losing its consistency but none of its harshness. Logan’s fingers on my clit picked up in speed, the scrape of his callouses extra intense on my tender skin. I whined, my body shuddering as pleasure shot through me. Logan’s mouth slanted against mine and swallowed down all my noises. It wasn’t quite a kiss, I was quickly growing out of breath to linger too long, but Logan didn’t mind.

Wade was adjusting my position in tiny ways, a slight tilt to the right, a little lift, a small drop. I figured it was just a coincidence until he hit that perfect spot inside me that would have made my eyes cross if they weren’t already closed. I let out a strangled wail of Wade’s name, nails ripping into his shoulder. “There we go,” he panted.

It only took four more strokes.

“Wade, I- I’m gonna,” I barely got the words out before the hot coil inside me snapped. Just like Logan’s fingers before, Wade fucked me through my orgasm, groaning at the tight squeeze. Logan slowed over my clit, knowing that overstimulation was creeping up.

“In or out?” Wade’s voice was clipped, hips finally losing all sense of rhythm, just becoming uneven jerks. It was hard for him to even move with the vice grip my legs had around him.

“In, ah Wade, in please!” He made a choked noise, somewhere between a moan and whine, as he pushed in as far as he could with a shudder. Warmth spread through me as he came with a long groan. “Fuck,” I mumbled, my hips still trembling from the aftershocks.

Our bodies slowed, all the shakiness easing out of us. Wade kept me close even when my legs fell from his hips. He laid his cheek against my sternum, body growing heavier over me as he relaxed. I gave his head a weak kiss just as another pair of lips found my cheek. “You okay baby?” I smiled at Logan, feeling just a little giddy.

“Yeah.” Logan smirked back and I blinked sleepily at him. Wade was softening inside me and drips of cum traced down my skin to the bed. I winced at the stickiness.

“I’ll get you a towel,” Logan said, already moving to get off the bed, legs on the floor. My arm stretched to grab his fingers.

“It’s your turn.” I couldn’t see his face too well, but I saw his head tilt in question. I chuckled. “Wade, get off me now.” He groaned, sucking a hickey right on my chest before rolling next to me. I moved to my hands and knees, crawling across the mattress to be face to face with Logan. I heard his breath stutter. “Cleaning up can wait can’t it?” My hand slid between his legs, gripping his cock through his boxers. “How do you want me?” I felt him throb in my grip.

“Jesus,” he huffed. I littered his neck in licking kisses while I awaited his response. “Go sit on Wade’s face.” Now it was my turn to look at him confused. He smirked, a flash of a pointed tooth catching in the street light outside. “Don’t you trust me princess?” Reluctantly, I released him, turning on my knees to inch across to Wade. I made sure to shimmy my ass for Logan as I moved.

“Oh dessert.” I had barely swung my leg over Wade’s face before he pulled me down by my hips. His tongue parted my folds, flicking aggressively at my tender clit before sliding back and licking his cum from me. I shuddered, hands gripping his head. The bed shifted and I felt Logan’s palm slide up my spine before cupping my neck gently and guiding my torso to be flat to the bed. I braced myself on my elbows, adjusting my hips, the new angle only allowing Wade to continue his torture on my clit. Calloused hands spread me farther open. Logan lapped away all the cum that had leaked down my thighs. I whimpered, fingers knotting the bed sheets. But the sound grew in volume and pitch as Logan joined Wade, tongues tangling briefly, before he speared into my leaking pussy. Wade laughed as I shook above him. His hot breath fanned across my wet skin and I had to bite my lip to stop from wailing.

“How do we taste?” I had no idea how Wade was even speaking as he was practically smothered under me. Logan groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into me, his grip tight enough to leave bruises on my ass. His tongue curled, licking every inch of my clenching channel. The scratch of his beard was like little pinpricks of pain but it only made me push my hips against him harder. The sounds I was making were downright pathetic. Just when I didn’t think I could take anymore, he reared back, breath uneven. I glanced over my shoulder to find his eyes glued to where Wade was pinned. When he looked almost content to just watch, I shimmed my hips, grinding harder on Wade’s face. The man under me eagerly sucked my clit into his mouth and I sobbed at the feeling.

“Shit,” he huffed, “you two are gonna kill me.” There was more adjusting and then I felt the blunt head of Logan’s cock at my entrance. Wade released my clit, opting to just rub his nose against it. It was enough friction to keep me satisfied, but not enough to make me come too quickly. “Beg for it.”

“Aw you’re being so mean!”

But I was all too eager. “Please fuck me Logan, please! Been thinking about it so long! I promise I’ll make you feel so goo-ah!” With one long stroke, Logan was buried to the hilt. Despite how wet I was and the extra slick of Wade’s cum, there was still the barest hint of pressure as he stretched me. “Oh god,” I whimpered. Logan’s rough hands grasped my hips, giving an experimental roll. “Logan.” He shushed me, drawing his cock nearly out before plunging back into me. The force punched a moan out of me. “Like that,” I pleaded.

“I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” he hummed. His pace was languid, but rough. He used my waist as leverage to drag me closer for each thrust. With each pull, I was forced to grind myself against Wade’s face, who stuck his tongue out so I couldn’t escape the pleasure. I was so wound up, so close to the edge after two orgasams, that I could only take a handful of his harsh strokes before I was coming again. I buried my face in the sheets, shuddering whines falling from my lips. “Shit,” Logan groaned. Wade made a muffled noise as my juices dripped into his mouth. His own hands joined Logan’s, clutching me close. I could feel Logan’s thighs trembling where they were pressed against mine.

I hadn’t fully finished my orgasm before Logan was moving in me again. He was far less restrained now, fucking into me with quicker thrusts. My toes curled. “Logan,” I sobbed. Despite the overstimulation growing in me, I arched my back, forcing Logan deeper.

“Feel so good, I can’t handle it,” Logan grunted. He bent over me, messily kissing at my spine and shoulder blades. “Too much?” His voice was quiet as it tickled along my neck.

��No!” I cried, bouncing against him as best I could with both of them holding me. Wade chuckled and the vibrations made me nearly rip the sheets in my grip. “More!” Logan huffed a laugh, kissing the back of my neck, before his hand replaced it, pinning me to the bed. The pressure was enough that I knew not to move, but light enough that I could slip out from it if I needed to.

Logan fucked into me like a man possessed, hips rutting into me with reckless abandoned. I had no doubt there would be faint bruises on my ass from him. But that pinch of pain only drove me higher. I felt drunk on all the sensations. Logan rubbing against my tender walls. Wade’s tongue as it rolled between my folds, tracing my entrance. The ache in my hips from being spread so long. My moans of their names grew more slurred before it just became whimpers. Tears stung my eyes and I let them fall freely.

“Goddamnit,” Logan growled, his hand briefly flexing around the back of my neck. He was panting, if only a little, and I took it as a compliment. His hips moved quicker, the slap of his skin against mine echoing around the room. Wade’s tongue stopped wandering and honed back onto my clit, making tight circles around it.

“Wade!” I cried out, body jolting. Logan’s hand suddenly went to my shoulder, jerking me up straight, my back flush to his chest. He banded an arm across my chest to pin me close while he drove into me. His lips found his previous bite mark and sunk his teeth into it. The feeling of my skin breaking was a dull burn, soothed by Wade between my legs. Heat burst through me, an orgasm that nearly knocked the wind from me. My hand went to Logan’s hair, fingers twisted deep into the strands, and held him close, weak sobs of euphoria escaping me. His other arm curled around my hips before he shoved himself as deep as he could with a little snarl into the skin clutched between his teeth. I could feel every twitch as he came, filling me to the brim. I shook in his embrace. If not for his iron grip, I would have fallen flat on my face on the bed.

The first thing to move was Logan’s teeth from my neck. “Fuck.” His worry was clear as he licked the dripping blood away. “I, I-shit, I didn’t mean to, I just got so caught up in you.” My weak hand slid from his hair, caressing his jaw.

“S’okay,” I slurred. Exhaustion was quickly catching up to me. ”Felt good.”

“You really can’t help but bite any piece of meat you see huh?” Wade’s tongue swept between my folds again, lapping up Logan’s cum as it leaked from me. Logan growled. I felt Wade’s fingers brush against me, curling around Logan’s softening cock before tugging it out. I whined as he obnoxiously slurped the mixture of cum from me.

“Stop it,” Logan growled. “Make yourself useful and grab a towel.” With lots of adjusting, Wade was able to wiggle out from under us. But he didn’t go to the bathroom, instead he cupped the back of Logan’s head, meeting him in a kiss. Logan groaned.

“Taste good right?” Wade leaned back, grinning, before licking Logan’s face from chin to nose.

“How about you go grab a towel before I put my claws through your chest, yeah?” If anything, Wade’s smile grew wider, more wild.

“Okay, okay. How about I get a towel to clean our precious girl up and then we can have some fun while she recovers?” Logan sighs.

“Fine,” he grumbled. Wade shimmied in excitement, giving me a wet peck on the cheek, before disappearing out of the bedroom. My heavy head fell back on Logan’s shoulder. “Do you feel better now?” I gave a weak laugh and nuzzled my face against his cheek.

“I can get used to this.” Logan hummed.

“Me too sweetheart, me too.”

283 notes · View notes

thetxtdevil · 3 months ago

Text

Strawberry Dreams

Blueberry Boy!Kai x Strawberry Shortcake!Reader

summary: Kai knows a girl and he knows that no one is sweeter. She's got that special touch.

content: nsfw/mdni short thoughts, aphrodisiac body, fem.reader, innocent reader+kai kinda corrupting each other, oral (f. & m. rec), breeding kink, descriptions of cum, cum eating, missionary, riding

word count: 900

In Strawberryland where all the people are happy and a little fruity. A big plump strawberry cottage sits in a green meadow and across was a just as big blueberry house. Cute, shy, Blueberry Boy Kai, sits and waits watching your house. Waiting until his best friend opens her red and white striped curtains and unlock the top of her front dutch door, and like clock work you did. "Hi Kai!" "Hi y/n!!!" You're Strawberry Shortcake, you are Kai's best friend in the world and the most popular girl of the place. You wave to all your friends while riding your bike all through town and to your bakery booth. While Blueberry Kai follows you close behind. Your booth is open 5 days a week at the Strawberryland Farmers' Market and Kai is always there to help you set up.

On your free days you were consistently making your strawberry shortcake desserts while Kai strums his guitar on your pink fluffy rug in your very red living room. "Mmm Kai you need to try this!" The blueberry boy is swift on his feet prepared to grab a spoon to try your new icing, but he stops once he sees your fingers stretched out in front of him. His form bends down to lick your fingers getting more than a taste of your icing. His agrees that the icing tastes really good, but something felt odd... he felt different... Hungry, not in his stomach, hunger burned in his chest down to his groin. Kai's blue eyes study your focused face attention back on your pastry. The next events happens fast, you gasp feeling something soft and wet licking your neck. You look down only to see a fluff of the blueberry boy's sapphire hair. Now you were questioning this same new feeling something weird yet felt good...

Poor, poor strawberry you, you didn't know that your strawberry nature was an aphrodisiac. Now that your blueberry boy had a taste, he's addicted. A whole pandora's box of smut and so on...

Your booth had a late start that Monday when you asked help to bring up the canopy. Kai walks up behind you raising his arms successfully creating a cover for your little shop, but then you feel something poking you. You turn around with worried eyes only to be faced with a predatory stare from Kai. Leading him to fuck you under the table of the booth. Once you begged him to stop because you needed to start business he respectfully stops, but he never leaves his spot under the table. Finding relief to eat you out while you try so hard to give the greatest customer service.

You were an aphrodisiac, but your slick was something more to Blueberry Kai. A sweet taste of fresh strawberries that strike his sweet tooth just right. His long tongue explored your folds intently, learning fast what soft parts have you shaking.

But who knew your best friend would make you just as obsessive. It seemed like Blueberry Kai's scent became stronger every sexual encounter you two had. He had an earthy scent that smelled close to a childhood memory made you feel warm inside. His cheeks turned the brightest pink every kiss you gave. Head lowering down to what seemed like a chronically erected dick, you soon found another addiction, his purple blueberry scone flavored cum. So sweet yet a little salty, you'd do anything to hear his whimpered moans and to get your tongue a shade of his lilac cum.

"Come on, Shortcake, what's taking you so long?" You bite your tongue as your hear your lemony friend call out. "B-berry I was supposed to go out with my friends today." However you were far from ready to go out, at that moment your legs were over Kai's shoulders while he was balls deep in you. "Come on, sweet, just one more." it will be 3 more until that blueberry is tired and you can go hangout with your friends

Let me take it a step further and mention Kai's new found breeding kink and loving the idea of a strawberry/blueberry hybrid child. You're making a pie with a mini version of him with purple hair, that's what he envisions when he sees you all creampied with his cum. You make Kai want to do it again and again when you whine out of arousal every time he pushes his sweet cum back in your cunt.

A sweet picnic turned into a make-out session. You two bike down the road eventually turning into a dirt path next to a big lake. Laying a gingham blanket on the plush emerald grass, shaded by the trees that encapsulate the area. You sit close to the Blueberry Boy, feeding him a triangular cut jelly sandwich. Oops, some jelly is left on his lip, you lick it off. Leading to a kiss, to an open mouth kiss, his tongue gets a taste of you quickly reminded of the fact that you're a walking aphrodisiac. Kai picks you up to put you on his lap, not wasting time to have you watching the small waves of the water while riding his big cock. :')

This goes to show that Blueberry Boy Kai and Strawberry Shortcake you are a very fluffy couple. So sweet just like your names, but please PLEASE don't have Kai get too close to you or you will be split into two strawberries.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil 🍓 🫐

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling, @incogrio, @biteyoubiteme

#txt devil #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt smut #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt thoughts #txt imagines #hueningkai imagines #huening kai smut #hueningkai smut #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai hard thoughts #hueningkai hard hours #hyuka hard hours #hyuka smut #hyuka x reader

328 notes · View notes

leonenjoyer69 · 2 months ago

Text

After sitting half finished for forever, I finally present Lanyon's Mindscape!

I spent quite a while coming up with everything and developing things in a way that connected very heavily to Lanyon's character (as well as Elias's) for my Lanyon Takes the Potion AU, so I'm very happy to finally share it! I mentioned it a while ago on the QnA with @arythusa , but here's the whole long summary!

I have a reason for each and every detail and choice, so if you have any questions, leave them in the reblogs or comments and I promise you I would LOVE to answer them :3 also, reblogs would be very appreciated, I put a lot of work into this <3

Now, let's begin!

The Mindscape

A twisting mansion of halls, doors, and spiraling staircases, Lanyon's mindscape is a vast, extravagant space.

Most of the mindscape has an inherent purple hue; grand chandeliers also bathe the upper, more "frequented" areas in a golden light. However, the deeper you travel, the more sparse these golden lights become.

Lanyon doesn't have the same odd "compartmentalization" abilities that Jekyll does, leaving his mindscape much messier and more confusing, with very little of it being any sort of "organized". Furthermore Lanyon hasn't ripped himself down to a shell of a person like Jekyll has; nor does he suffer from the same self hatred as Jekyll and Hyde, making his mindscape much more lively.

Residents of the mindscape include mind versions of: Jekyll, Everly, Lanyon Sr., Lanyon's mother (though she acts as more of a ghost,) the shadow people, and the Nightmares™.

THE ROOMS AND LAYOUT

THE HALLS

The halls are long and confusingly twisty, covered in unmarked doors, blurry portraits, and golden chandeliers, as well as other occasional decorations and clutter. There are very few doors that actually stand out enough to know they're special, like the ballroom, greenhouse, library, alchemy room, and Lanyon Sr's office. Most of the special rooms are near the surface, never moving, as their influence on Lanyon's character and memories are too strong to be moved from near the subconscious.

Memories, however, do tend to shuffle around a bit, even moving between floors depending on how much Elias or Lanyon is thinking of it. This shuffling has the ability to bring nightmares up from deeper levels to the more "safe" ones.

Many of the halls tend to lead in circles or straight into dead ends, and some doors simply lead to more hallways.

THE POCKET WATCH

To combat the twisting and turning, Elias eventually realizes that his "broken" pocket watch acts more like a compass, pointing him in the general direction of where he wishes to go. Mindkyll also has a pocket watch like this, being one of the more mobile mind people (despite his slight limp.)

The pocket watch has the normal larger clock face, as well as a smaller one for "seconds". The hands all spin aimlessly until a destination is thought of. The hour and minute hands work together for general direction like a compass, while the seconds tell the level, with straight up/forward being a higher level, down being a lower level, and horizontal being the current floor. Elias only figured this out with Mindkyll's help.

Elias, Lanyon, and Mindkyll all have an inherent attachment to their given watches, and when they're in other hands or removed from their persons, they feel more lost and confused, as if they have brain fog.

THE LIBRARY

Lanyon spends a decent bit of his free time reading and watching plays and productions, so it only makes sense for him to have a grand library filled with the fleeting memories of these pasttimes.

The bookshelves are oppressively tall, and despite the number of books and scripts, most of them aren't quite readable, since their words have been at least partially forgotten. However, there are a decent few books that are mostly filled out, namely favourite stories or plays he's ingested, old school books (thanks to Jekyll's influence,) and partially filled out journals or phrases that stuck with him, either from other people or things he's told himself.

Additionally, there is a reading nook with a fireplace in one of the corners, since reading is a comfort he hasn't abandoned.

THE MUSIC ROOM

The music room is a cozy space with a few chairs, a fire place, a grand piano, other various instruments, and sheet music strewn and hung about. There's also a couple of paintings, but they're covered mostly in music sheets. One of the other notable instruments is a violin, though it doesn't get used until Elias comes around.

This room is where Mind Everly spends most of her time, when not in the greenhouse, of course. Most of the music pieces are either nonsensical, or genuine ones that the real Everly has played for Robert.

This room becomes a sort of safe space for Elias after certain...events.

THE BALLROOM

The ballroom is a large, extravagant 2 story room. The floor/lower space has walls lined with windows, bringing a golden light to the whole room. However, nothing can be seen on the other side of the windows. Pillars sit between a few of them, holding up a large, wrap-around balcony-- I.e the second floor. The lower space also has a large circular design in the middle of the floor.

The second floor also has windows, as well as a few doors-- one of which leads into Lanyon Sr's office, since Lanyon viewed the tie between his fathers work and status so strongly, both becoming his whole life.

Because of how much of Lanyons life was built around balls and gatherings, the room is filled with shadowy upper class folk, all with somewhat blury features. They tend to act quite mindlessly, seemingly at least somewhat under Mindkyll's Beck and call, but they do dance together and murmur nonsensical, unsettling things to each other. They don't say anything that can be made out, but their growing judgement towards anything odd in the ballroom and overlapping voices can cause panic quite easily.

This room is frequented by both Mindkyll and Mind Lanyon Sr. Mindkyll tends to roam around, framing and dancing with the shadow people, while Mind Lanyon Sr stays on the balcony above, ever watching and judging what goes on below.

THE GREENHOUSE/GARDEN

An overgrown greenhouse filled with various vines, shrubs, and flowers (with occasional symbolism). there's an area for plants directly in the ground, as well as tables covered in pots, metal rafters with hanging pots, and a couple of trellises. The room is mostly all glass-- which still can't be seen through, but gives a warm, comforting glow to the room. There's also a glass table, which seats 2, and a little nook in one of the corners.

A lot of the flowers tend to change, as well as "randomly" bloom and wilt.

Elias likes to spend a lot of time just sitting in this room, occasionally with mind Everly. He also likes cutting back the overgrowth, but it always comes back. He eventually starts to keep track of how the flowers change as well.

THE ALCHEMY LAB

Based heavily around Jekyll's office and Alchemy-covered university desk, the lab is a dark, candle-lit room cluttered with alchemy equipment, books, and potions. There's an odd green fog in the air, making it one of the only rooms that isn't bathed in purple or gold.

This is the other room Mind Jekyll tends to frequent, usually experimenting or organizing his things. Lanyon and Elias both try to avoid this room, as the air feels uncomfortably heavy and tainted.

THE OFFICE

Lanyon's personal office, though it's quite lacking in furniture. The room mainly consists of a desk, chair, scattered books, and a lone, curtained window. The walls are covered in portraits (mainly of his father) and the desk is littered with bills and paperwork. The room seems almost abandoned, at least until Elias comes around to it.

THE UNIVERSITY DORM ROOM

A memory of his dorm room with Jekyll. The window seems to give a faint blue light, though the curtain usually covers it (symbolizing how he hid the relationship and his feelings.)

Jekyll's desk has a few alchemy things scattered on it, as well as text books. There are bunk beds, but the top looks unused.

There are various objects in the room that trigger a memory when they're interacted with, since many core memories were made in the room, buried or not.

LANYON SR'S OFFICE

A large, oppressive office, lit primarily by the two windows. The shelves and tables are covered with books and paperwork. Mirrors litter the walls (symbolizing Lanyon's similarities to his father), as well as portraits.

Mind Lanyon Sr obviously frequents this room, doing random work and reading. The room is also directly connected to the second floor of the ballroom, high above everyone else to show how Lanyon believed his father to put himself and his work above everyone else. Lanyon tends to avoid this room, and the second floor of the ballroom in general, as it makes him feel exposed. Elias also tends to avoid this room, as it makes him feel small.

THE CHARACTERS

ELIAS WRIGHT (LANYON'S HJ7 ALTER)

His outfit gives a more "working class" feel, inspired by his father's youth. They're also far more comfortable than Lanyon's usual clothes, so Elias doesn't mind them too much. The outfit somewhat symbolizes Elias's working spirit, as well as his yearning for his Father's approval via following in his footsteps (to a certain degree), acting as a sort of errand boy around the society/for Jekyll. They also make him look ungentlemanly, simple, and weak, making him stand out in the mindscape.

He has a "broken" pocket watch on him at all times, which he instinctively feels very protective over, as it's somewhat linked to his being.

Additionally, in memories he can "take the spot" of Lanyon, letting the memory compulse him on how to move. He likes doing this to feel like he's still Lanyon-- like he's whole again.

Feelings wise, Elias isn't too against the mindscape for a good while, mainly in the beginning. While it is confusing and lonely, leaving him quite on edge most of the time, he does at least find solace in mind Everly, Mind Jekyll, and some of the rooms. He does have a few run-ins with nightmares, though he always manages to flee or be saved somehow by mind Everly or Jekyll. He prefers to stay on the higher levels where it's brighter and safer, though occasionally he does go down to dig through memories, much to mindkyll's masked annoyance.

He initially sticks around Mindkyll quite a bit, dancing and hanging out in the ballroom or alchemy lab with him, even if he occasionally makes Elias kind of uncomfortable. Elias is quick to trust him and his charm, falling into him as a safety since Mindkyll is so kind towards him, and since he resembles Jekyll so much. Mindkyll is also quite touchy and praising with Elias, feeding Elias's yearning for romantic intimacy from Jekyll. Mindkyll usually knows just what cards to play to make Elias either fall for his charm or feel bad for him. They do pursue something of a "relationship", and despite the occasional discomfort Elias feels, he is quite reliant on Mindkyll for a while, using him as a stand-in since the real Jekyll seems so unattainable.

Also, Elias finds Mindkyll's "sparkle machine" ability quite funny, but of course falls for it. On a few occasions he's accidentally sparkled back, shocking Mindkyll and somewhat offending him.

Additionally, Elias hangs with mind Everly a decent bit too, finding her to be a more calming presence among the greenhouse and music room. She gives him advice and lets him talk, acting as a sort of mental therapist. She doesn't like mindkyll. She'll play music for Elias or sometimes just sit with him in the greenhouse.

Elias somewhat avoids mind Lanyon Sr, rarely trying to get to the ballroom's second floor, unless he feels he has to. He also partially tries to avoid his fathers gaze, though sometimes he can't help but look up at Lanyon Sr watching over the ballroom, yearning to make his father proud of him. Lanyon Sr's critical gaze tends to make him feel small, cringing under the judgement.

A mind version of his mother also haunts the mindscape, though she is scarcely seen. She does seem to like Elias far more than Lanyon though, sometimes even holding Elias and calling him her baby. She only really shows up in the greenhouse, from what Elias has seen.

MIND JEKYLL

A resident of Lanyon's mindscape, he's a sparkly amalgamation of Jekyll and Hyde. Wandering between the ballroom, halls, and his lab, he mainly dances, experiments, and charms. He has phantom pains all around his body, stemming from Lanyon's constant fear of Jekyll getting hurt (especially via potion mishaps), and has a limp in his left leg from recurring nightmares of Jekyll stepping in a bear trap on the faithful Bleeding Heart Night™.

Before Lanyon and Elias split, mind Jekyll looked far more like normal Jekyll and acted a bit more awkward. however, after learning of Jekylls duality, mindkyll became a bit more Hyde like, his sideburns growing out, his hair growing messier, and gaining a hole filled cape and green hat, as well as gradient eyes. He hates his new appearance a decent bit, blaming Elias for it.

He spends most of his time in the ballroom, since Lanyon taught him how to act "proper" and he seemingly surpassed Lanyon at that, causing him to become a sort of icon to Lanyon in that sense. In the ballroom he's quite the charmer, going between the shadow people and playing them as he wishes, which stems from Lanyon's jealousy of how Jekyll acted (and still acts) with women at parties while they were together.

Mindkyll tends to feel an inherent hatred for Elias when Elias is around him, as if Elias's presence by itself just causes stabs of anger and resentment in him, though usually he can force this feeling down in order to keep his charming facade up. However, on top of that resentment, when he feels like he has any sort of control over Elias, he gets a swell of pride and power in his chest. He tends to get more inwardly cocky, which mixes with the hatred and makes him increasingly cruel at times, though he does mask that with his charm and sparkles. He's also very much emotionally manipulative, pulling at Elias's weaknesses and the slight inherent attraction Elias has for him, since he looks like Jekyll and such. He doesn't really tend to outwardly show any of his hatred of course, since he wants to keep Elias's trust for the most part, but he does Harbor Lanyon's resentment and repression of all those "weak" emotions and such. Additionally, he holds a lot of Lanyon's "rebellious" stage, feeding off of the power he gets from having control.

He also lets off sparkles as a sort of defense mechanism for when he feels threatened or starts getting impatient/aggravated. They have a somewhat calming effect, most of the time at least, made to distract people from his real intentions and feelings. Occasionally, however, their impact/sway is dulled, like against Mind Everly. Eventually, Lanyon starts becoming more resistant to their sway, and after a certain future event, so does Elias.

MIND EVERLY

Mind Everly tends to avoid the ballroom, so she doesn't really interact with the shadow people unless she has to. She's also surprisingly adept at fighting off the nightmares. When Mind Mumyon randomly shows up in the garden, or on rare occasions the music room, she'll kinda just chat with her and keep her company until she wanders off/disappears again. With Mindkyll, Everly tends to be a bit "low patience" with him, not really playing into his charm and tending to ignore him.

Mind Everly knows she's just a part of Lanyon, being one of his main comforts and someone that he confides in, and she's quite alright with doing her thing and occasionally helping out Elias or Lanyon. She's just as sweet and trustworthy as the real Everly, acting somewhat as a therapist and general advice giver. She's also quite protective of Elias after certain events.

She frequents the Music room and the Garden, only occasionally going into the ballroom if she feels she has to. She completely avoids the alchemy lab, and only goes into Lanyon's office every once in a while to clean it up a bit.

MIND LANYON SR

Mind Lanyon Sr looks quite similar to the real one, just far more oppressive and judgemental, far more emotionally detached than the real one. He has a distressing aura to him, causing discomfort to the shadow people and monsters and annoyance to most of the other mind people that get close to him. Mindkyll seems to be the outlier to this, as he generally tolerates Mind Lanyon Sr's presence quite well, even occasionally seeking it out.

He usually hangs out on the second floor of the ballroom, staring down and judging the people below. He's this ever-watching presence, detached but still close enough to control things-- or at least seem like he could. Otherwise he frequents his office, doing work, reorganizing, or reading.

He'll occasionally hang out with Mindkyll, vaguely talking to him and slipping him praises. He sees him as more successful, fond of him in a "my son should be like you" way. Despite this, he still gets quite judgemental of Mindkyll when he looses his temper or shows his more "mad scientist" side.

His feelings towards Elias are a little mixed. For the most part, Mind Lanyon Sr is constantly judging Elias, disgusted by his emotional vulnerability and how he's everything the real Lanyon Sr tried to get rid of in his son. But, on the other hand, occasionally he can't help but be the *slightest* bit proud of the fact that Elias has at least SOME work ethic.

Were Elias to try and talk to mind Lanyon Sr, he would probably be met with Mind Lanyon Sr ignoring him, silently judging him, and/or verbally jabbing at him, pointing out his flaws. Elias is quite heartbroken at this, but for some reason he tries to get Mind Lanyon Sr's approval a handful of times before finally giving up, cringing under his stern, judging gaze.

Otherwise, he's aware of his state as a concept and is quite fine with it, intent on keeping Lanyon and Elias in line, in his own detatched way.

LANYON'S MOTHER (CELIA)

Cecilia Lanyon (Mumyon) somewhat haunts around the mindscape, quite scarcely seen. Because of her distance and detatchment towards her son, she rarely shows up, and when she does it's usually in the greenhouse, since she mainly "bonded" with Lanyon by having him help tend the garden occasionally. Since at home she was also commonly hysterical, Mind Celia is generally quite blank, but occasionally snaps a bit emotionally.

When Lanyon is around her, she tends to somewhat blankly stare at him, VERY occasionally actually talking or acting motherly towards him. Elias, however, tries to drag a bit more of that motherly persona out. He yearns for validation and affection from both of his parents, and the mindscape if the only place he'll ever possibly be able to get it. She occasionally seems to give him a little of the attention he wants, talking in very short sentences when they're together in the greenhouse, maybe pointing out flowers or their symbolism. Sometimes she does seem quite cynical, however, which tends to throw Elias off.

Her and Mind Lanyon Sr don't really ever interact, unless Mind Celia just happens to silently join him on the second floor of the ballroom for "show". She mostly ignores mindkyll, but has snapped at him at least once. Otherwise, she usually just tolerates him. She likes Mind Everly well enough, it's hard to dislike her, and she enjoys listening to Mind Everly's music.

Most of the time she's not the most aware of things, but she does have her more clear moments.

(Cecilia Eleanor Lanyon was made by my friend Luka ( @lukas-broken-bow ), while mind Celia was adapted by me bc her character EATS, THANK YOU FOR DEVELOPING HER LUKA, I LOVE HER)

THE NIGHTMARES

The nightmares take on a lot of forms, with one resembling Morcant being the most notable. Along with that, however, there's also many "mad scientists", physically ruined by their science, and various magical creatures and monsters, like vampires (there's one with a resemblance to Dracula), other werewolves, and reanimated things (ones that are especially gory, since Lanyon is disgusted by things like exposed innards,wounds, and rot.) There's also a nightmare "Hyde", who is somewhat formless and mainly causes general havoc and stalks around.

With the twisting of the mindscape and so many doors scattered about, the nightmares tend to stay in lower levels, trapped behind said doors or simply lost, especially if Lanyon keeps them off of his mind. However, when thought of or triggered via seeing or hearing something (or occasionally at random), doors will open or memory rooms will move, allowing nightmares to find themselves closer to the subconcious. They're also more active in higher layers in moments of higher stress, or heavy sleep deprivation, as those " doors" become harder to unconsciously keep closed.

Mindkyll is somewhat fearful of them, some more than others, but when they're closer to his ballroom or lab, he tends to be less scared. Or, when he needs to swoop in and "save" Elias from a couple of nightmares, he tends to forget some of his fear. Mind Everly is somewhat scared of them, but is more so annoyed by them. Mind Lanyon Sr. doesn't really have to deal with them, considering his spot on the balcony, and simply watches when they come about.

THE SHADOW PEOPLE

The shadow people are vague, blurry high society folk that remain in the ballroom. They're all dressed very well, their bodies partially see-through as if they're mere ghosts.

The shadow people don't really interact with anyone but each other and Mindkyll, since he somewhat has control over them. They dance amongst each other, muttering nonsensically until their "words" all blur together. They're not very aware of anything, all in all quite mindless, but when there's anything "wrong" or "ungentlemanly", that's when they act more. Their voices start to rise, despite still being mere whispers, growing more cacophonous and anxiety-inducing as they stare. Their judgement of anything odd is ceaseless, usually only calming at Mindkyll's demand or when the oddity leaves the ballroom.

Additionally, mindkyll can manipulate them to react in other basic ways, like acting charmed or shocked, and he usually does it for his own enjoyment. When a nightmare manages to get into the ballroom, the shadow people aren't targeted. Instead they grow more sinister looking, especially expression wise, and their mutterings take on a certain sharpness, their judgements growing harsher. Usually mindkyll needs to remove of the nightmare for them to act normally again.

_______

And that is the basics of the Mindscape! Once again, I'd absolutely LOVE any questions in reblogs, comments, or even my asks :3 thank you so much for reading all of this, I hope you enjoyed!!

183 notes · View notes

vigilante24ish · 3 months ago

Text

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1233

Chapter 33:

The inside of the room reminded you then top of a tower, no corners to be seen, and some tall glass stained windows offering some light.

Everything had a very medieval feel, with old stones and banners; suits of armour, and an odd circular stone table in the middle, with two wooden chairs across from one another.

However, your attention went quickly to the new outfits chosen by the road for your companions and you.

Agatha had been dressed like the wicked witch of the West, dark cliché witch watches, and even a pointy hat. The skin had even been painted green, only the lips having a purple shade instead.

Billy, on the other hand, resembled Maleficent, and you swore he didn't have that sharp cheekbones before.

You would not lie that it suited him.

And yes, despite your history; you had occasionally chosen to watch mainstream media associated with witches. What could you say? You grew lonely, slightly bored, and the Halloween costumes of certain kids had picked your interest.

"Oh! She's based on me, you know." Agatha suddenly said, posing and clearly enjoying her costume.

Billy was sceptical. "Prove it."

"Well, you are what you eat; so" you commented without much thinking.

Your comment and your tone surprised your companions and earned different looks from them.

Agatha parted her lips in surprise, a silent gasp leaving her as she eyed you carefully. She did not expect that from you, and a part of her wondered if this was creeping jealousy because of Rio.

Truthfully, she hadn't fully seen you jealous, but she knew it was there. When you would kiss her with little more force, when you would snuggle closer to her on certain occasions.

And it was always followed after talk of other people or even small socialising you two would happen to-do; never planned but had to play along not to raise suspicions.

Not that you were always successful. Which was perhaps why you had ended changing places of living quite often.

"Well, then I am curious what your preferences are then," she snapped back.

Her words gave you the courage to glance at yourself, hesitating to do so after the last trial. The Road hadn't seem to be that favourable with you, at least not the way you would have expected it.

Perhaps you were simply a picky person, wanting stability through familiar clothes and styles. You shouldn't be judged, though, considering how unstable your life always was.

Constantly changing places to stay undetected, fake names and backgrounds. One should not mention the unstable duo of Rio and Agatha coming up into your life only to disappear soon after... only for the cycle to be repeated again and again.

This time you wore a dress, long and heavy; reaching the foor. The basis was a light grey, its pattern and material reminding you of a more medieval era; which you had lived through. Yet it was the silver extras that got your attention.

They were blended and placed to resemble some sort of fancy female cliché chest armour while the skirt had a more scale like design. You had a rather open cleavage, just enough to draw attention but not as dramatic as the one Agatha and rio had during Alice's trial.

"Hmm," you hummed as you did a twirl around yourself, trying to catch a better glimpse of the full outfit. "Honestly, I am puzzled,"

As you looked at your companions, you saw Billy's eyes lighten up in recognition. "You are the Ice Queen!" He exclaimed happily, the character most likely one of his favourite ones.

"Ice Queen?" You arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, an ice witch that used her powers to become queen. You even have the crown and everything. "

At the mention of the crown, you rushed to the nearest shiny object and got a glimpse of your reflection. Indeed, a beautiful icy blue crown had been worn tightly; going down your temples and giving the impression of grown ice.

"It suits you. White has always been your colour," Agatha commented, having enjoyed watching you walk fast with that heavy but well designed dress; the silvers on it and the crown reflecting the light and giving you a more supernatural look.

An ironic fit in her mind.

You did not wish to continue this discussion and so you tried to find anything to help you change the topic. Thankfully for you, Billy had started to admire his outfit a little too much.

"Well, you seem pleased with your look." You commented as he walked towards you, eager to see his reflection as well.

"Well, if the cheekbones fit..." he replied as he focused on the surprising good contour.

You shook your head, not really in the mood to be amused by his comments. He might enjoy the changes but you didn't, because of two things.

One, you had yet to start the trial.

Two, there was still no sign of Lilia or Jen; a worrisome thing.

In an attempt not to focus on those dark thoughts, you chose to approach this mysterious table and try to get any clues out of it.

You took notice of the card shaped carvings on the stone table. They had been carved to be deeper, acting like some kind of case or place for them to be put on.

The way they were positioned was familiar to you, recognising it as a tarot spreading technique. You had seen it before but never truly focused or bothered with it.

Tarot was never your calling, and you were also never interested in learning of your future. And if you ever need any answers, you would turn your attention to the stars above.

They spoke of secrets that nothing else could, and they only spoke to you after years of training yourself to listen to their mystic, quiet song.

Your hand brushed over the cool surface and above some inscriptions at the side, allap carved on the stone.

"Do you think this is important?" Billy asked him and Agatha, having chosen to finally join you and help you find how the trial worked.

"Your path winds out of time." You mumbled as you read out loud, trying to get some sense out of this rather cryptic message.

Billy took notice of a stack of cards that had escaped your notice, and he grabbed it before flipping one to look at their design.

He could not help but smirk. "It's Tarot. I know this, kind of. I'll read for you, I guess." He said. "To any of you"

"Do her, though I don't think it will work," you admitted, and Agatha rolled her eyes.

"What is it now?" She questioned, one hand in her waist.

She loved you, but sometimes you truly were a joy killer. Especially now. She wanted to get to the end of the road and consider how close you might actually be... she didn't want to wait.

"This is tarot. It's Lilia's trial, " you pointed out.

"But Lilia is not here," Billy commneted.

Agatha did not share the worry. "The kid said he can do it, should be fine. Come on, no time like the present."

Defeated, you let out a sigh and leaned on the table; remaining by the side. Agatha occupied one chair and Billy the other while also shuffling the card deck a few times.

Chapter 34

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha spoilers #moon phases fanfic #marvel #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #billy maximoff #ice queen

142 notes · View notes

aviradasa · 5 months ago

Note

Hii!, can add this to the Aaravos introduces you to his daughter Ark.

I request a plantonic reader and leola fluff. Like Aaravos goes out for the day and so it leads to a leola and reader day, and at the end of the day, when Aaravos gets home, it's just them in a pillow fort cuddling🥺💖💗

YESSSSS this is really short but sweet. I hope you enjoy it! PS THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD

Mom and Leola day!

Aaravos x Mom!reader

@delusional-mushroom @imsimping4life @josmarney23

When Aaravos left early in the morning, you really had no idea what to do to keep leola entertained.

You were still new to this

Then you had an idea.

It was a Rainey day, and you and leola shared a love for it, so once she was awake and ready for the day, you guys went outside

You both ran barefoot through the wet grassy fields playing together.

Jumping in puddles, using magic to splash each other with the rain, dancing.

You both had a lot of fun out there. But then the thunder and lightning came so you both decided to head inside.

Once you got in and got dried off you started to make some food

Leola was very invested and wanted to help you, so you let her stir the food and helped her plate it.

You both had a good laugh talking about odd things over the meal. Leola was also having a lot of fun joking about her father's cooking.

He's a dork, but that's ok.

After eating, leola practically dragged you to her toys, and while you both were playing, she mentioned that she was sad her favorite doll didn't have a doll friend

Which gave you another brilliant idea.

You told her to wait right there and ran to grab a small sewing kit Aaravos had

Yeah, you knew it was for magic stuff, but who cares

The doll probably won't be cursed?

Right?

You grabbed some fabric, and you sat with leola and carefully stitched together a small little doll friend for her other one just to her liking.

It's was a cute little guy made out of maroon fabric and stuffed with hay with one button and one purple crystal for eyes, and it had a small smile.

Yes, its head was a little too big for it's body but leola didn't mind.

After it was done she immediately grabbed it and started floating around the room while you chuckled.

You were just delighted she was so happy.

After a while of introducing the dolls to each other and playing with them, it started to get late, and leola was begging you to make a fort.

And how could you say no to that.

So you stayed up past her bedtime, building a fort from pillows and blankets.

And as you both got settled inside with a book of leolas choice, she cuddled up to your side, hugging her new doll as you began to read.

When Aaravos got home about an hour later, he thought it was odd he couldn't find you both anywhere. But before he could start to worry, he saw the cracked door leading to leolas room with an odd glow coming from it.

He peaked in seeing the structure you both had built and chuckled a bit as he walked in, pulling aside the blanket you had turned into a door to reveal leola and you asleep an open book on your lap and leola curled up on your side cuddling her doll

which was the source of the glowing. He chuckled a bit once more, realizing what fabric you made it out of. It was going to be used in a dream spell, but he sees you found better use for it.

Aaravos stood their for a moment with a smile on his face before closing the fort back up and heading out into his own room.

Making sure that he never forgets the memory of the most important people in his life in such an adorable moment.

#tdp #aaravos #tdp aaravos #aaravos the dragon prince #aaravos x reader #the dragon prince #tdp x reader #platonic reader and leola #mom!reader #mom!reader and leola

208 notes · View notes

obsidianimagines · 1 year ago

Text

Don't Mention It

The Doctor discovers that the two of you have a shared hobby

Twelve x gn!reader

Warnings: None

You realized it probably wasn't the best idea to touch The Doctor's guitar, but when you got ready for the day and entered the empty console room to find it sitting there unattended, you couldn't resist. After all, sometimes it was simply better to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission. Surely he wouldn't be too upset if he found out, and if he was, you could handle him.

After turning the amp down a bit, you sat on the steps, holding the guitar as you settled into place. Without having to think much about it, you began to play Purple Haze. You were a little out of practice, but it felt nice to strum out a tune.

Before you could move onto another song, you jumped at the sound of The Doctor's voice. "What are you doing?"

When you looked up, his piercing blue eyes and very serious brows were focused right on you. You hadn't even heard him get close.

"Playing guitar. Well, your guitar." You slipped the strap off of your body and handed the instrument to him. "Sorry."

"You never told me you could play." He'd actually been quite surprised at the fact that your playing sounded pleasant, as opposed to the nails on a chalkboard he'd heard when Clara once picked up his guitar.

"I'm sure I have. You probably weren't listening."

"I'm always listening," he said, sounding almost offended.

"You're joking, right?" You stood up from the stairs with a sigh. "Anyway...yes, I play. I just haven't had much time between travelling with you and working whenever I'm back at home. When I hear you playing, it really makes me miss it."

How The Doctor hadn't put the pieces together long ago, he didn't know. When you stopped everything and watched him play, he'd always assumed you were just impressed by his great skills. And maybe it was a little bit of that, but it seemed there had been some longing, too. You were enjoying the music and wishing you could be playing yourself.

The Doctor looked down at the guitar he still held in his hands, and you were caught off guard when he offered it back to you. "I'd better not find even a scratch on it. If I do, I'm dropping you off at home."

You knew he wouldn't do such a thing, but you still intended to respect his request, gingerly taking it from him and putting the strap back over your head.

As The Doctor turned to the console, you sat down once again and played the first thing that came to mind.

It had been a few days since your last trip with The Doctor when he finally showed up again. You weren't sure how long it had been for him—you never were—but he didn't seem any different.

He played his guitar as he pondered something you couldn't even begin to guess, filling the TARDIS with what you recognized as I Will Dare by The Replacements. An odd choice, you thought, yet that didn't stop you from listening intently.

The Doctor abruptly stopped the tune to put the instrument down, and he was gone from the console room before you could say anything. You sighed in disappointment. You quite liked that song after all.

You continued where he'd left off, humming and tapping your fingers against your thigh.

Moments later, The Doctor came back, holding a guitar case in his hand. You frowned at the sight, because even though he probably had several scattered around the TARDIS, he seemed to prefer the Yamaha that still sat in the console room.

It was even more puzzling when he gave you the case.

"Did you...buy me a guitar?"

"No, no. I didn't buy it. I don't buy things." The Doctor walked over to the console, pretending to look at something on the screen and at least attempting to be out of hugging distance. "A friend gave it to me in the 1960's, and it's been sitting around here ever since."

"1960's?" Very carefully, you placed the case on the floor, opening it to find a beautiful vintage Stratocaster. One very much like Jimi Hendrix used to play. Knowing the man who had given it to you, it was the genuine article.

Without noticing the way he'd been watching you, you closed the case back up and practically ran to The Doctor, throwing yourself at him in a hug. The impact and the way you pushed him into the console knocked some of the wind out of him. "Why does there always have to be hugging?!" He struggled to exclaim as you squeezed him tightly.

"I really can't help it right now." You kissed his cheek and gave him one more squeeze before mercifully letting him go. "Thank you, Doctor. Seriously."

"Don't mention it. Really. I only wanted to stop you playing mine so much."

"That won't be a problem. Believe me."

Returning to the case like a giddy little kid, you took the guitar out and hooked it up to the amp. You missed the small smile on his face as you began to play a song for him.

The Doctor didn't plan to tell you that he had only acquired the guitar after your previous trip.

#twelfth doctor #doctor who #twelfth doctor x reader #twelfth doctor imagine #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #12th doctor x reader #12th doctor imagine #twelve x reader #my fics***

476 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Note

If you’re taking any requests could I request prince Steve and his soulmate wanting to have their first kiss before the wedding since they’re shy about so many people witnessing it

for you my love ♡ prince!steve au

You glance over the pages of your book to watch the Prince. He's stretching by the balcony, the summer air ruffling his hair, the sun kissing his skin. He's tan from weeks of being outside, and when he moves, it's almost like watching the sun itself. Too much. Your eyes burn after a few moments and you look down again.

“Steve?” you ask, turning a page.

He stops stretching his shoulders to smile at you. His button up rolled at the sleeves and tight on the arms, he's a poster boy. He's everything a Prince should be, and very soon he's going to be your husband. He's barely even your boyfriend.

Your soulmark jitters through colours. It's an odd thing, gaussian and scratchy at once, wrapped around your wrist like poorly wound bandages made of light. His, whenever he's with you, glows a steady pinky-purple. You've no idea what it means.

When you see him, yours is almost always white burning blue. But he smiles fondly and it melds to a softer pink, almost too pale to detect. “What?”

“We're getting married in sixteen days.”

He crosses the room to sit beside you on the bed. Your sheets are white as the soulmark, crinkled under his weight. “There's still time to send you away.” You laugh a startled laugh and try to keep that lightness about you when he clasps your knee. “But I'd die alone, after that, and the kingdom would collapse, and I'd be miserable, so…” He smiles at you, a silky smoothness to his voice as he continues, “I'd rather you stayed.”

“I want to stay. I want–” You bite the soft inside of your bottom lip. “I wanted to ask for a favour.”

“Anything you want. Unless it's to help you with your tutoring. That's never going to happen. I'd make it worse–”

“No, it's not that.” Bite the bullet. Ask the question, even if you're sitting in bed together, even if he's the most beautiful boy this side of the ocean. “I was wondering if you'd kiss me.”

Steve stares at you, slack-jawed for a sliver of a second, but he realises himself and his teeth click as he closes his mouth.

“I don't want the first time we kiss to be– to be in front of so many people. I don't even know what to do.”

“You don't?” he asks.

“No.” You rub your thumb against the pages of your book before sitting up to escape. “It was a stupid thing to ask you for, I'm sorry.”

He takes your arm into his hand. “It's not stupid. I'll kiss you. I want to kiss you, I really want to. I've been worried about it, too. Kissing isn't one size fits all, you know? It's different for everyone.”

“Right.” Your heart beats in your ears. “So you will?”

“I will,” he says, quieter than either of you had been speaking before. He takes the book from your hand carefully and puts it aside, pulling at your arm with similar care as he shuffles close to you on the bed.

You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands. You hadn't thought he'd kiss you straight away, but what difference does it make? You want him to kiss you now, you want—

“You sure?” he asks.

You nod, not trusting your tongue to make words, the weight of it like lead in your mouth. Steve's hand climbs carefully from the bracelet at your wrist to your elbow, but eventually it slides between your arm and your side to the place just below your breasts.

The other. He almost kills you, his other hand, brought so tentatively to your face. He doesn't cup your cheek but his palm turns upward, and his fingertips trail from the skin shy of your nose to just under your chin, and then he closes his eyes and you follow suit, too afraid to see anything after that, your skin alive with his touch.

He kisses like a prince.

Soft. Delicate. Steve clasps your shoulder very gently and guides your face to his, your lips pressing together, the thrum of a spark between you like a firecracker, a Catherine wheel, that spinning expense of energy with nowhere to go but your mouth. His lips part the slightest bit against yours as he kisses up into your lips.

When he pulls away a handful of seconds later, your faces are awash with a lavender light.

“Was that okay?” he asks.

The light turns darker, a terrible heat flushing through you. You wish you had the bravery to ask for another kiss. “Yes,” you say, nearly whispering. “That was fine.”

“We can do better than fine, yeah?”

You almost choke on air. "Yeah. Yes."

He's smiling as he leans back in.

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

724 notes · View notes

rainylana · 8 months ago

Text

“It’s just a cut.” Part three!

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

warnings: physical abuse, mentions of injuries and wounds, emotional turmoil, angst and lots of tears, readers mother is in jail, language, hospitals, reader and eddie are at heavy odds, mentions of betrayal and broken trust. let me know if i missed anything! original request by @h-ness1944

note: i hope everyone is doing okay! enjoy this new instillation of the series, and let me know what you thought about it! this particular series seems to take a toll, so please share your thoughts! it means the world to me!!:) as of right now, this is the final chapter. the ending isn’t necessarily a cliffhanger, but it’s not exactly a solid ending, either! hope you enjoy!

You had shut the world out and everyone in it, refusing to speak or comply with anyone. You were throwing a tantrum, you knew that, but you were too heartbroken to care. Eddie had betrayed you, the one person you loved most in the world had done what you had asked not to do. You wouldn’t talk to the cops. You begged Eddie not to, begged him to keep his silence, but it was clear his feelings hadn’t changed. He couldn’t do it.

He told the cops everything. From every bruise and wound he had tended, to the aches and cracks in your heart from harsh words. Of course, the police wanted to hear it from you, but from the extent of your injuries, they knew Eddie wouldn’t have been making it up.

The tried to talk to you multiple times, so did the nurses and your surgeon. Wayne tried, Eddie begged. The kids came in, so did Robin and Steve, but it was to no avail. It felt as if the whole world knew your secret. You felt nothing but shame and embarrassment, and the worst of all, betrayed and alone.

Your dad had been notified and was on the way, but the last thing you wanted was for family drama. You wanted to rot in that bed, and if you had it your way, you surely would. It had been almost two days since you last spoke to anyone. They’d given up, but not Eddie. He was determined to make you understand. He couldn’t loose you. A life without you in was one he didn’t want to have to live.

And as far as your mom went, you felt cold and empty. You didn’t know why. You didn’t care about your injuries, you’d been hurt before. You didn’t care about the mean things she had said before she pushed you down the stairs. You simply just didn’t care anymore. You didn’t want to see her, but you wished everything could go back to the way it was, as sick as it seemed. You were too hurt, too betrayed to feel anything else. All you felt was grief, and a horrible ache in your stomach.

You were to be on bedrest for the next three weeks so your wounds could heal properly, and you couldn’t wait to get the bandage off your nose so you could breath again. You looked terrible. As the days sat in your bruises began to change shape and color, your face decorated with marks of angry purple and red shades.

The only thing that could be heard in the room was the ticking of the clock, which happened to be running five minutes slow. You could barely move, only laying flat on your back with your head turned toward the window. There were so many damn flowers everyone you felt as if you were living in a greenhouse.

Eddie had resorted to sitting outside your room. You’d made it very clear you didn’t want to see him, but he refused to leave you completely. He’d come in every now and then, asking if you needed anything, tearing up with another I’m sorry. He never got a response.

If he loved you like he said he would, he wouldn’t have betrayed you. He wouldn’t have broken your trust like he did. He wouldn’t have turned your entire world upside down and ripped out your heart. You wondered if you’d ever be able to look at him the same again.

•

“Ed, don’t you think you should go home and rest?” Wayne stood behind Eddie, watching him as he stared at stuffed animals in the gift shop of the hospital.

“I’m fine.” His voice was gruff and cold, almost matching yours the last time you spoke to him.

He was indeed, not fine, not in the slightest. He was completely pale and malnourished, hadn’t eaten in days or taken a shower. He hadn’t slept in almost five days, not properly, anyways. The heart in his chest that kept him alive was breaking second by second, and he wondered if it would completely shatter inside of him.

“Don’t start that with me.” Wayne comes up to the side of his nephew, glancing down at the teddy bear in his hands. “You’re not fine. You need sleep. I’ll stay with y/n. You go home and rest.”

“Wayne.” Eddie stressed, placing down the teddy bear, twirling around toward the exit of the shop. “Stop. Leave me alone.” He walked as quickly as he could out of the store, ignoring the have a good day from the check out lady. He walked with angry, heavy steps, so quickly that his hair bounced with each step of his boots. He could hear his uncle trailing behind him.

“I can’t leave her, Wayne.” He stopped in front of the elevator, pushing the button with a ringed finger. “If you want to go home go ahead, but I’m staying put.” The elevator opened and he was walking inside, leaning against the metal wall with crossed arms. “Are you coming or not?”

Of course, Wayne followed, not ready to give up on his son.

“You’re just as stubborn as she is, you know?” The old man said gruffly, the hot temperature of the elevator making him sweat. “You’re no good to her like that. You’re dead on your feet, boy.”

Eddie stared at the floor and ignored every word, at least tried to, and thought about you staring at the wall, the same spot that you had for the last two days. Would you ever speak to him again? Was any of this worth it? Would the two of you ever be the same? He knew the answer already, whether the two of you were together or not, nothing would be the same in your relationship. That was inevitable.

•

Your nose killed you, your face aching with the weight of your tears that had your bones throbbing with pain. Your shoulders shook with the weight of your sobs, your mouth clamped shut as to not alert anyone that you were awake. It was almost four in the morning and you’d awaken up from another bad dream. You couldn’t sleep no matter how hard you tried.

You were just so sad. You missed your mom, you’d come to that conclusion. You missed her and wanted to be home. You wanted to see your dad. You wanted to be in your own bed. But most of all, you wanted Eddie to hold you in his arms, wanted him to tell you that everything would be okay and that he loved you. You craved him more than anything.

But where did you both stand? The last thing you told him was that you’d never speak to him again, you’d threatened to break up with him. Yet he had stayed. He hadn’t left at all. Or had he? You hadn’t seen him almost all day. The thought made you sob, hoping to god that he was still outside your room.

You looked to the door, flexing your leg. You were barely able to stand with help from the nurses, you surely wouldn’t make it out there on your own. You whimpered and fell back into the bed, covering your face with your good arm, the other now in a cast, and cried brokenly.

“Y/n?”

You jumped and uncovered your face, eyes widening at the familiar face. “Wayne.” You cried, holding out your arm. You broke down into heavy tears at the sight of him as he shut the door, quickly hurrying over to you.

“Hey, hey, shh.” He sat on the bed and scooted to sit beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you carefully into his side. “I got ya, kid. You’re okay.”

You bawled into his shirt, the comforting smell of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke brining a sense of calm over you. Your body shook in his arms, and you cried for everything in that moment, like you were mourning for the entire world.

“It’s okay, darlin. You’re okay.” His face watched etched with concern, have debating whether or not he should go get Eddie from the chapel, but he knew he’d be sound asleep. He shouldn’t leave you, he decided, holding you closer and letting you cry out everything you needed to.

“I don’t know-” Your breath hitched, fingers fisting at his shirt. “what to do.”

The weight of your sobs made it difficult to understand you completely. He kissed the top of your head, shushing you gently.

“I’m so..s-scared.” You whimpered, face burning with a broken ache. You were becoming inconsolable, hysterical with your broken heart, you didn’t even hear the door open up.

“Wayne?” Eddie’s eyes were wide at the sight of your distress, freezing him in his spot. Wayne looked from you to Eddie, knowing that it was his nephew that you really needed. He nodded him over, gently trading him spots as Eddie quickly and carefully swapped spots to hold you close.

“Shh, shh, baby, baby.” He coos, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest. You’re not cold or distant, you relish the scent of him, bawling into his chest like a lost little girl. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He was so relieved to hold you, so happy that you were allowing him to comfort you. You’d probably hate him again in the morning, refuse to speak to him probably, but this, this was a step forward. He heard the click of the door shut and he was left alone with you, kissing the shell of your ear. “I’m here, baby.”

•

You were left with hiccups and an awkward silence that neither of you knew how to fill. He continued to hold you, almost two hours later. The sun was beginning to rise and you knew the nurses would be making their rounds to your room soon. You weren’t as relaxed into him as you were, now tense and unsure where to keep your arm.

He felt the same way. He rubbed his hand up your arm, trying to keep connected with you, but the awkwardness in the room continued to grow heavy, your tears having long since stopped. He didn’t know what to say and neither did you.

You couldn’t help but groan, your head killed you from your breakdown.

“What’s wrong?” He looked down at your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You said hoarsely, bringing your shaky hand up to your nose. “Just my nose. My head is killing me.”

He sat up, examining the darker shades of your face. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’m okay.” You we’re tired of them pestering you every five minutes with medicine in little plastic cups, trying to get you to use your legs, despite the fact the doctor wanted you on bedrest.

You held your face and he watched you, swallowing dryly as he tried to find words. There was so many things he wanted to say, but would you listen? He got up and walked to the window, peeking out the blinds at the sun that was beginning to rise. He stretched awkwardly, a crick in his neck that made his own head hurt, too.

You looked at his back, trying your hardest not to cry. You had the urge to apologize, but did you have anything to apologize for? Was this your fault? Eddie was clearly suffering, but so were you.

“I’m sorry.” You blurted out. Sorry for what exactly, you didn’t know. You couldn’t forgive him, could you? Could you forgive him for the way everyone was looking at you now? Could you forgive the fact that your mom was in jail?

He twirled around, eyes narrowing in confusion at your words. “For what?”

You gulped, not able to meet his eyes. “I don’t know.” I’m sorry you’re in pain. You could be sorry for that. You still loved him, after all, despite everything that happened.

“Do you hate me?” He asked, looking toward your bed. “For telling?”

It felt so back and forth. You were so sure of your feelings one minute, then completely changed the next. “I don’t hate you.” You answer honestly, voice dry and cracked. “But It’s hard to look at you.”

He nodded once briefly. He understood the feeling. It was your turn then, to look at him, finally taking in just how rough he looked. His hair was matted and greasy, desperate to be washed. He was exhausted completely. “Have you went home at all?” You ask, halfway sat up in your bed, good hand at your stitched side.

He gulped, shaking his head.

You frowned. “Eddie,” You began. “You should go home. I’m okay.”

He finally turned away from the window, standing their awkwardly in the middle of the floor. “Do you want me to go?”

No. No, you didn’t. But it wasn’t fair to make him stay just for your sake. He looked like he was going to pass out any second. He needed food and rest. “I want you to take care of yourself.” You answer. “You don’t have to stay here on my account.”

He gave you a look then. I want you to take care of yourself. He wanted the same for you, yet he was the bad guy. He furrowed his brows, licking his fry lips. “Okay.”

He made it halfway across the room before you stopped him again. “I’m sorry, Eddie.” You say, closing your eyes.

He sighs that time, becoming irritated himself. “Why, y/n? Why are you sorry? There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

You shake your head, nose throbbing. “I don’t- I don’t know. I just feel like I should say it, so I am.”

His hand was on the doorknob, and he rested his forehead against the door. “You don’t know what this has been like for me. I had to tell them, y/n. I understand you’re mad, but you don’t need to apologize. You have no reason to.”

Your eyes start to tear up, and you can feel the damp feeling of your bandage against your nose. “You didn’t have to.” You look to the wall again. Your safe spot. “But I know you felt like you did.”

He scoffed without humor, looking back at you like you were crazy. His eyes were matching yours with tears. “I didn’t have to? Is that some sort of joke? Do you not realize the situation you’re in? You could have died, y/n. You almost died.”

You cringed at his words and clamped a hand over your mouth. “But mom is in jail now. She’s going to go to prison.”

“Good riddance!” He couldn’t help but raise his voice, an angry tear spilling over his face. “Fuck her! I hope she rots in there! I don’t care how upset that makes you, y/n, it’s true. She’s a shit mom and deserves what she got!”

You sobbed with each word that spat, glaring at him over your fingers with a look that could kill. “That’s not true! She’s my mom, Eddie! I’m okay!”

“No, you’re not!” He marched over and pointed his finger at you. “You flew through a fuckin’ window and tore your stomach to shreds!” He took a deep breath, that soon had him releasing a sob. “Do you know how scared I was waiting for you to come out of surgery? The doctors didn’t know if you’d pull through, y/n. Do you have any idea how fucking messed up in the head I am now?” He was weeping freely, pacing across the room.

“Don’t you dare say you’re okay.” He said sternly. “Do you really care that little for yourself? Do you hate yourself so much that you don’t care for your own safety? Do you want to die that badly? Well, I won’t watch it. I won’t sit here and watch you wilt away. I can’t, baby.”

You were blubbering and carrying on, saying things that couldn’t understand. “I’m sorry.” He managed to hear through your broken sobs. “I’m so sorry, Eddie!”

You looked up at him with a bloodied nose, hot tears and snot pooling at your cupid’s bow. “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you so bad, Eddie. Please, please don’t leave me!”

“Y/n,” He crumbled, going to you. “Stop apologizing, you silly girl.” No matter the fight, he would always go to you. “Aren’t you listening to me? You haven’t done anything. It’s your mother. She’s the one who’s hurt you, hurt us.”

He held your face and wiped the blood from your nose. “Please, forgive me, baby. I’m sorry. I promise, I won’t ever let you get hurt again. I’ll protect you if you let me, please let me.”

He’s kissing your hands, moving up your good arm and to your cheek. “God, I missed you, baby.”

“I love you.” You cried, gripping at his shoulder. “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.”

I love you. He sobbed at the words. You still loved him. He said it back lovingly, muttering the words he forgave you as you said the same. Neither of you realized just how hard it would be to move forward, but that was the thing about love, it conquered above all else.

Over time, you’d come to terms about your mom. Your dad would move down to Hawkins until you graduated, where eventually you and Eddie would have your own place. The abuse you had endured would be something that would always stick with you, but Eddie was your rock at the end of the day, and he’s the one that got you through it. Love always conquered all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson angst #eddie the brave #eddie angst #it’s just a cut

235 notes · View notes

crushedsweets · 8 months ago

Text

I'm the sweetest girl in town; so why are you so mean? Nina 'the Killer' Hopkins in Creeped PT 1: K-12

PT. 2: PURPOSE — PT. 3 NEW MESSAGE

General disclaimer: This AU is an amalgamation of headcanons, fanon, canon, and the occasional rewrite. There is an overarching story that HEAVILY strays from their canon stories. TW for toxic relationships, grooming, eating disorders, and self-harm. ED content is restricted to the 'middle school' section. Nina is a very personal character to me, but with a LOT of changes. Please take care of yourself and only engage in content you can handle.

BACKGROUND

❥Nina Hopkins was born on February 13, 1998, in California. She was the older sister of 1 brother, Christopher Hopkins.

❥Nina grew up with workaholics. Her father was a carpenter and her mother was a hairdresser, running her very own salon. They'd work 12 hour shifts, coming home to little Nina fast asleep on the couch, waiting for her parents. Especially her dad.

❥Nina was a daddy's girl through and through, and his guilt for never being there was evident. So he chose to shower her in gifts when he could, tutus and little pink mary-janes. Something girly and flashy.

❥Nina's favorite gift was a cheap, princess-themed makeup palette. Little Rapunzel's and Tiana's littered about her glittery pink and purple eyeshadows, set alongside cherry-flavored lip balms. She'd use the tiny sponge brush to delicately put on bright eyeshadow before school every goddamn morning.

❥It became obsessive. She'd come home and reapply. Cry when her mom makes her wipe it off before bed. Kick and scream when they threatened to take it away from her. When her mother asked why, Nina cried that it made her pretty. She didn’t want to look in the mirror without it.

❥Now, Nina wanted attention. From a young age, you could see it in her. The way she dressed, the messily applied makeup, the loud voice, fake cries. She didn't get it much from her parents, and it only worsened when she became a big sister.

❥She was about 7 when Christopher was born. Her mom may have taken maternity leave, but that still left no time for Nina. She learned how to make bottles, change diapers, and bathe newborns. No attention aside from Christopher’s tiny hands holding onto her pajamas.

❥This opened a new routine for Nina and her mom, though. Each night, her mom dozed off on the couch, rocking Christopher’s little crib. Nina curled up beside her, purple eyelids half shut, watching whatever show her mom had on.

❥Nina’s mom’s favorite show was Forensics Files. A little odd to her husband, but it immediately hooked Nina’s attention. It wasn’t age-appropriate, sure, but her mom was far too exhausted to change it. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? If Nina could wear eyeshadow, she could watch her mama’s favorite show.

❥Just like Nina’s cheap makeup set, her interest in true crime grew obsessive. She’d get in trouble at school, spending her time in the school’s library, typing away at the school’s computer. She didn’t get far with many of her searches considering the Wi-Fi restrictions, but teachers and students quickly caught on. Eventually, she got banned from the library.

❥But Nina couldn’t get those stories out of her head. Every little bit she had memorized, she scribbled away in her diary. Obsessively. She kept track of every single detail. Memorized the victims’ names, the dates, and even the times they were declared dead. Whatever information was available to the public, Nina wrote down.

❥When Nina was about 9, she got her very own laptop. A gift from her dad, and an apology for so many late nights at work. He had no idea what it would unlock for Nina. All of the forums and chat rooms and videos she’d have access to. He didn’t even know there was a fucking ‘true crime community’ online, how could he expect his little girl to get sucked into that?

GRADE SCHOOL

❥When Nina was 10, she became a bit of a recluse. Girls at school avoided her for a few years now. She spent day after day curled up by the playground all on her own, flipping through her diary and brushing everyone off in favor of it. At home, she’d retreat to her bedroom and scroll online forums.

❥She began making friends online, choosing to lie about her age. She’d befriend adults interested in the same morbidity as her. They introduced her to new content. It began with anime, usually psychological horror. Eventually, it evolved into dark manga, then gorey horror movies. Nina didn’t think much when they introduced her to liveleak.

❥Nina left her diary behind one day, a fatal mistake that she was always so careful about. A girl from her class, Claudia, picked it up. Nina didn’t see that diary for a week. She spent days sobbing over it, crying to the people she met online and refusing to leave her room in fear of it being found.

❥She was called into her elementary school’s office the following Monday. Little Nina, dressed in hot pink twinkle-toe converse and glittery lip-balm, sat uncomfortably in the stiff office chair. Her father sat besides her, a look of disappointment on his overworked face. Her diary was on the desk.

❥Nina screamed. She screamed and kicked the chair as she snatched the diary. Without a second thought, she snapped the tension in that room, resulting in her father having to hold her down. She panicked violently, and when she eventually settled down into a whimpering sobbing mess, they scolded her.

❥They began putting Nina into therapy. Weekly sessions at first, trying to dissect what was wrong with her. It made her feel worse. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with her. She wore ‘weird’ like a badge, something that all her online communities praised her for. Why was everyone acting so awful? It didn’t matter that much, though. Her parents still couldn’t carve time out of their work days for her. Weekly appointments turned monthly, turned every three months, turned never.

❥The girl who found her diary didn’t help. She read through it long before she turned it in to the teachers, snapping photos on her older sister's phone. Claudia began to keep track of Nina, similar to Nina’s habits. When the two turned 11 and entered 6th grade, Nina began experiencing relentless bullying and harassment.

❥It started with name-calling. Deeming Nina a freak show, calling her a future serial killer, or pretending to squeal and run off when Nina walked by. It snowballed into jabs at her appearance, laughing at her messily applied blush and colorful clothes. Saying she was the ugliest girl in their grade, making comments on her body and how all the boys found her gross. She very frequently fell for boys saying they had a crush on her, only to laugh at her the second she believed it. Her self-esteem was already in shambles, but the relentless harassment only worsened it.

MIDDLE SCHOOL

❥Nina found solace online. Her friends were older, more mature. They understood her. Sure, some of them made her a bit uncomfortable, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. When she turned 12, she confessed her age to them. It broke her heart when a few blocked her, but not everyone did. She clung to those who stayed. Curiously, the adults interested in staying friends with little Nina were the same ones introducing her to new disgusting content. They’d ask to video call her and stream their favorite movies. Nina didn’t realize they were snuff films at first.

❥The harassment at school didn’t stop, of course. Nina was too young to start dieting, too young to be buying expensive makeup, too young to be worrying about her appearance. Regardless, she was convinced it would solve her problems. Alongside the fixation on horror, Nina stressed about her looks. She’d sob in front of mirrors, calling her adult friends and begging them for advice. They’d ask for photos. You know, to help her. She shattered every mirror in her room, weeping over her bloody hands and sending shards along her body. Nina's new diary obsessively kept track of new numbers.

❥Nina spent every night grabbing at her face and body, desperately morphing it to look the way she wanted. She didn’t even stop to think about Christopher in the other room, listening to her wretch into the toilet after every meal. Nina was so unbelievably lost in her own world, that nobody good ever came to mind.

❥She thought about Claudia a lot. So thin, tall, and confident. Claudia had a lot of friends, too. Nina was well aware, considering how often Claudia geared their attacks at Nina. She watched Claudia daily. In 8th grade, she noticed Claudia began wearing crop tops. Nina did too. She’d tie up her shirts and untie them around her parents. Claudia wore her hair in a high ponytail every damn day, so Nina started doing it too. Nina began applying mascara and highlight the same way Claudia did. Both girls were arguably too young for makeup, but there they were, egging each other on to apply more and more. Claudia’s wardrobe was pretty simple, nothing too flashy. So Nina opted out of her rhinestones and bright pink sneakers, instead reaching for simple Converse and plain jeans.

❥By this point, a good number of them had phones. Claudia had long blocked Nina on Instagram, but Nina just made another account. A few, actually. One was an empty account with a fake profile picture and name, only used to follow Claudia without being blocked. A few more were made, used to follow Claudia and bombard her comments and messages with hateful content. Jabs at her appearance, her body, her clothes. Anything Nina could use as ammunition, she shot down Claudia’s self-esteem as harshly as her own. Nina would tell her adult friends online about it, bringing them to Claudia’s pages to attack her. It was cruel, and Nina knew that.

❥But it just felt so good when Claudia began to change. Before the end of 8th grade, she swapped to hoodies and pajama pants. No longer wore her hair up, instead used it to hide her face the best she could. She spoke quieter and didn't laugh so loud anymore. Nina felt like she won, and the freaks online cheered her on. Finally, Nina was able to drop her fixation on Claudia.

HIGH SCHOOL

❥There was an odd shift in high school. Nina had completely turned her appearance around. She obsessively posted selfies and was quite careful about her online interests. Nobody could know. She wouldn’t even share the fact that she watched anime, far too fearful of the backlash.

❥She had caught the eye of a senior at her school. His friend group had practically circled Nina, quickly offering her rides home and inviting her out. She bathed in the attention.

❥Christopher watched his big sister sneak out every other night. He’d ask softly where she was going. Gently, she’d smooth down his hair, press a kiss to his forehead, and ask him not to tell. He listened. Nina didn’t realize how much Christopher knew, and how much he kept to himself. How much of her grief he carried with him, worrying for his big sister.

❥14 year old Nina found herself at quite a few parties. Sometimes they’d be cities away, and she’d be seated on a couch at a random college party, shakily sipping away at a drink that made her nose scrunch. Eventually, the boy that brought her to these parties asked her to be his girlfriend. Nina couldn’t believe it.

❥He was the first boy of many to break her heart. It was a short month with him, till she went to the next guy. Then the next, and the next. Nina started drinking quite a bit, occasionally smoking weed and embarrassing herself on several occasions. She said it made it easier to socialize, but she really just thought it made her look cooler.

❥It grew difficult to balance both social lives. Her adult friends online continued to demand her attention at all times. Not much changed from when she was in middle school, including the way her anxiety would skyrocket when they got upset with her. She always folded to everyone in her life. She just wanted them to stay, to praise her, to tell her how kind and beautiful and sweet and funny she was. But it just felt so much better when someone in real life gave her that.

❥Yet another boy broke Nina’s heart. She thought he was the one, she really did. She spent months with him, from the end of her sophomore year to the start of her junior year. He bathed her in everything she asked for at first. She even got comfortable sharing some of her interests with him. He thought a girl liking anime was badass, but when she began to ramble about cold cases, he started to withdraw. Shortly after he broke up with her, old rumors began to resurface. Photos of an old diary slipped back into her school, shedding light on Nina’s elementary school habits. Nothing seemed to change, huh? Still talking about the same shit she was tormented for years back, but this time, they were attached to screenshots and voice memos that Nina sent to her boyfriend that year.

❥Nina knew who leaked them. Claudia, that stupid fucking bitch. Nina was never confrontational. Nobody ever taught her how to be. But this was a new low for her, dragging her right back to her middle school horrors. It’s like all of her misery, all of her insecurities, all of her rage and frustration and low self esteem accumulated into a string of stupid decisions.

❥Nina followed Claudia home that following Monday. It was long after school, with Nina patiently waiting for Claudia to finish her group project. Neither of them exactly expected this, but when Nina snatched Claudia’s hair and began bashing her head into the ground, there was a deep sense of relief.

❥Regret followed. It didn’t feel so good watching Claudia sob as she curled up on the floor, clutching her face and begging Nina to stop. A pathetically small puddle of blood pooled beneath Claudia, and the sight made Nina’s stomach churn. She threw up.

❥But Claudia was fine. Only her nose was broken and her face was bruised. Nina was expelled, now being shoved into an alternate school to complete high school. It was tearing Nina up inside to be so alone again.

❥What else was she supposed to do?

PT. 2: PURPOSE

#nina the killer #sweetart #ntk #nina hopkins #nina the killer headcanons #creepypasta #creepypasta art #creeped #nina the killer creepypasta #crp #crp fandom #creepypasta fandom #crp au #creepypasta au #creepypasta headcanon

171 notes · View notes