#for trying to reach some people through these fandoms

[nelumbonuciferagaertn]

Hello! I just read your foey x reader and it was amazing so was wondering if you could do another doey x reader but the player is the reader if that's ok with you. And in it the toys escape and they live in their house. It was raining and the player goes back to the house and has a fever but refuses treatment and doey has to try and take care of them.

I don't mind if you don't like it but I hope you read this and I also have a question about what are your boundaries on your blog?

Sorry this was so long have a good day/night 🙂🙃

Doey (Poppy Playtime) x reader

Warning: Slight self-doubt, slight evocation of trauma

Relationship: Romantic with Doey, platonic/family with the other toys (such as Poppy, Kissy, Smiling critters)

Summary: The player get sick and Doey take care of them/him/her.

Notes: Your idea was just so sweet I couldn't refuse it <3. However, I changed some details. For example, the reader in my story accepts Doey's treatment after a little while. Speaking of the reader, I tried to write them as the player, as requested, but due to the fact that I am new in the fandom, I don't know if I succeeded. Moreover, I think I don't focus enough about the caring, so maybe I will write it again or do a rest, or perhaps I'll right a sick reader with an other character... Don't know. Anyway, I hope you won't be disappointed!

(I will do a post about the rules for the asking message later, good idea!)

***

You get into your car, the tiredness weighing on you. Before starting the engine, you look up at the stars to calm yourself. It was a hard day—talking to reporters about your adventure in the ex-factory, the experiments they performed on children, how you freed every survivor, and all that stuff. You put yourself through it because you want justice! (And maybe some benefits for the toys who live in your home now—money doesn't grow on trees.)

You start the car and drive toward your home—or at least that's what you hoped, because after 5 minutes, you crash into something, forcing you to stop the vehicle at the roadside so as not to block traffic. You get out of the car to assess the situation. Your tire is completely burst. Awesome! That means your only chance of getting home is on foot.

You had barely started walking when you felt a drop of water hit your forehead. Raising your head, you wonder if it came from a cloud or a streetlamp still wet from the night before—until you hear thunder rolling across the sky. The rain and storm aren't exactly comforting, but your house is less than two kilometers away, taking nearly 24 minutes to reach. You tell yourself you could do it in 12 if you run. So, you run for the first 8 minutes, then you're too tired to continue. Maybe you’ve let yourself go a little too much since you left the factory.

It's at that moment someone calls out to you. You don’t recognize the woman making sweeping gestures from the other side of the street. You stop, breathing heavily, as the girl crosses over to stand in front of you, so close you’re both under her umbrella, protecting you.

"Hello! Sorry to interrupt, but I saw you on the news and I just wanted to say what you did was crazy, but, you know, in a good way."

ou start to say thank you, but she continues almost immediately:

"And about the people you saved, will we see them more? Are they well integrated? Is their mental health okay? If not, I know someone who helped me a lot. I have his number, just wait a moment."

She rummages through her bag and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it directly into your left hand. The contact makes you a little uncomfortable. "Sorry to interrupt. I hope I helped you. Have a nice day—or, well, maybe more like a nice night."

You look at the paper. A name, profession, and phone number are scribbled on it like the writer was in a hurry. The woman was... something. She wasn't mean, but something about her made you uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that she knew who you were, or her tireless way of talking—or perhaps the unexpected contact. You don’t know. But you decide to continue your way, walking now, despite the rain still pouring just as strongly as before.

When you finally get home, you were soaked to the bone. You drag yourself into the alley and are reaching for your keys when the door suddenly opens, revealing Doey.

"Welcome home pal! Why are you so wet, didn't you have a car? Whatever, come in."

He moves aside to let you in.

"I made dinner for the others. They left you some. Go eat, I’ll run you a bath."

Your day had been bad—until now. You give him a grateful look before carrying out his instructions. In the fridge, there are several types of meals—a wide selection to choose from. You pick your favorite among them. You eat quickly, eager to enjoy your hot bath.

When you arrive at the bathroom, you see the dough man adding some bath petals. This simple action makes your heart melt. Noticing you, he turns toward you and gestures toward the warm bath with a “Ta-dah!”, his big smiling mouth beaming.

You give him a grateful look and resist the urge to hug him. A small “thank you” and a little cough escape from your own mouth. "You're welcome, pal! Relax in the bath—you’ve worked hard for us." He leaves, letting you enjoy your soak.

You quickly remove your drenched clothes and toss them into the laundry basket. The woman’s paper, which you had shoved into your vest pocket, crumples, reminding you of its existence. You place it on the sink and cover your mouth with a hand as you cough. Then, you wipe yourself off with a damp towel, careful not to dirty the water Doey had lovingly prepared.

As he said, you get into the bathtub and relax. Your mind drifts between topics until your eyes fall on the piece of paper. The woman was weird, but she had a point—you didn’t even think of taking the others to see a psychiatrist. They really need it. Regret creeping in, you dip your head lower into the water, blowing bubbles with your mouth. You promise yourself you’ll look into it. Not now, it’s late, but maybe tomorrow? You have work, but you can take part of your lunch break to do a Google search. Snot is running from your nose, luckily you keep a stash of tissues right next to the bathtub.

You stayed in the bath nearly an hour. When you get out, your throat feels sore. You hope you haven’t caught something... That woman wasn’t sick, right?

Quietly—‘cause everyone else is sleeping and you don’t want to wake them—you go to your room. Already wearing your pajamas, you collapse into bed like a slime and fall asleep in the arms of Morpheus.

When you regain consciousness, you feel bad. Really bad. Your head hurts, your throat does the same thing, you feel tired and your nose is Niagara Falls. Yet you have to go to work. Plus, you have an interview about the experiment in the old factory. You concentrate all your strength on getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom.

As usual, Doey is already up, making breakfast. Poppy is here too, helping him. You know she’s an early riser, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen her help him before, or perhaps you didn't pay attention.

Poppy was the first to notice you. She greets you, and you try to respond—but a coughing fit cuts you off. They both turn toward you.

"«Are you alright?" They ask in unison.

You give a thumbs-up, one hand bracing against the table. As you lean over, you hear someone, the doll, approaching. She helps you sit on a chair, and in return, you help her onto the table.

“You seem weak today. Are you sick?” The little woman says.

"I wouldn't be surprised. You came home soaked yesterday." The big man adds, Doey adds, setting your breakfast down and cutlery in front of you.

You shake your head while eating, trying to deny their claims.

“Even if I am sick, I have interviews. I can’t take a day off.” you croak.

“I’ll go for you!” Poppy says brightly.

what.

"What."

“They’ll ask about the factory. As someone who was experimented on, I can explain better than you. No offense, but you just read the memos.”

"Ok, maybe, but what about my work?"

“Sick leave exists for a reason.” she insists.

"But I can't let you go alone —"

“Kissy will come with me. We’ve been through worse.” She points the tall pink toy you noticed now. She just woke up you tell yourself, emphasizing her tired look

“No, I can’t let you take my responsibilities.”

After a while, while Doey prepares the table soon and, you have eaten just the half of your plate.. Eventually, while Doey sets the table for the other toys who will wake up very soon and give to Kissy her plate, you’ve only eaten half of yours. You’re just not hungry.

“See? You didn’t even finish. You’re definitely sick.” Doey says, clearly worried but a bit annoyed too.

Your pride kicks in. You try to prove you’re fine—stand up, take a few steps toward the coat rack… and collapse when you were at two pace of your objective.

Fortunately, Doey was here to catch you just in time, following your shaky gait. He carries you like a bride.

“You really need—humph?!”

You push his head back with both hands stretched out towards his face (old habit) and move yours away as far as possible, in defiance and, a little, out of embarrassment. Bothering him, he sighs and adjusts his hold, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes You squirm, but he keeps a firm grip on your ankle—not tight enough to hurt, just enough to hold you still.

He takes you to your room where he sets you down gently on your bed. Despite your headache sit up, determined to argue but he presses his yellow index on your forehead and use a little strength to push you on your bed a second tim lightly pushes you back down. Tired, you don't protest this time, letting him cover yourself with your blanket.

"Stay here, I'll get you some medicine."

You’re still unsure, but your aching throat and head are convincing. Thus, you stay.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep again. When you wake, the Smiling Critters are all curled up around you—on your pillow, at your feet, on the covers. It’s adorable. Suddenly, your stomach groans to warn you are hungry, waking up the toys around you.

The first to stir up was a unicorn. Odd Ed if you well remember. He looks at you and say:

"Oh! You're awake. I'll tell Doey!"

You try to protest, but he’s already gone. You were sighting in defeat whereas the little guy comes in your room again.

"He'll bring food and meds."

After hugging you one by one to wish you a speedy recovery, every little toys leave you room while Doey enter in, letting both of you all alone.

“Hey again, pal! I brought cough syrup, soup, and tea to soothe your throat.”

"But... What time is it? Did I miss the interview?!" you ask, voice hoarse.

You think he is start to loose his patience because you see red teeth appear, his eyes narrow, and his expression darkens slightly.

“You’re sick. You need rest. Work can wait.”

You prefer not argument more. Seeing you surrende, he becomes chill again and drops off the tray he bringed to you. A warm soup, a hot tea, a throat syrup and a product to unblock the nose were waiting to be used. You admit even if you slept nearly five hours more than usual, you are exhausted. Thus, you decide to not protest again and let your pal takes care of you.

He sits where were your feet while you bring your knees towards your chest.

“Here, some meds to ease the pain and I made soup with leftover veggies.”

You tilt your head, asking how he knows how to make soup. And somehow, he understands you. In fact, the majority of the toys you saved understand you even if you don't talk too much. However, it's different with him, you think. He has a grasp of you with even more ease. It's like a link between both of you. Or maybe that's just a hallucination of your beloved drugged mind.

Before answering you, he pulls a spoon out of nowhere, dips it into the soup, and then guides it towards your mouth. Your head is turning red, but you accept the bite by opening your mouth. While guiding the spoon directly to you, extending his arms, he answers your quiet question:

“Since we’re not recognized as citizens yet, we can’t work. So we take care of the house instead. You shelter and feed us, this is how we repay you. Honestly? I’m kinda glad you got sick, so I can take care of you for once!” He laughs softly.

You smile, but guilt creeps in.

“We”? So the others have the same way of speaking? But, you’re not as saintly as he explains. You literally didn't take them to see a shrink! The soup is really good, by the way, it warms your injured throat, you say to yourself.

“You make me sound perfect, but I’m not… I don't offer you a castle. My apartment is so small that you share two rooms for twenty-eight. A-And-..." A coughing fit stops you in your tracks.

Doey comes near to you and runs his hand over your back kindly, drawing circles on it. When you calm yourself, he starts to reassure you.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, you're doing great!"

"But-" You start to stutter, tears welling up in your eyes. You continue after wiping snot from your nose.

"But I didn't try to keep your mental health stable!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't seek a psychiatrist for you despite all the horrible things that the scientists inflicted on you."

Doey was perplexed hearing your words. He hesitates a moment, looking elsewhere, and finally said:

“It’s true. We’re still healing. But you’ve made life easier. You’ve given us hope, believe me.”

He pulls you into a hug, and you return it.

"Seems we aren't the only ones who need a therapy session!" He giggles, relaxing the atmosphere.

You laugh, sniffling.

"Yeah, you definitely have trauma, but you’re not the only one... The factory was literally hell!"

Time passes quietly. Eventually, you fall asleep in his arms. Doey lays you down gently, covers you, checks your temperature—it’s gone down. He opens the window for fresh air, then quietly leaves, closing the door behind him.

You both needed that moment and you’re grateful for each other.

[moonwaterstories]

Pls, specify your discoveries in hashtags or comments! :)

I need to hear the answers from people of tumblr because I believe you guys will have the most epic stories.

[shiryawashere]

you ever miss your comfort character so bad you gotta go outside about it

[hanzajesthanza]

you guys… we did it!!!

just wanted to thank you everyone for being a part of this blog… “big things to come soon”

[imminent-danger-came]

I just wanted to let you know that you are one of the only people I trust with characterisation in the lmk fandom

I'm so honored

[theoryofwhatnow]

i suppose it’s no different from the fans who watched the film strictly because of tom sturridge and extend no further interest towards it beyond that. there’s a clear difference and divide between people who appreciate a movie for an actor versus the film itself, but such is true for practically any film-fandom.

regardless, everyone is welcome as long as they remain respectful.

does anyone else feel the disconnect in like minds fans between those who joined through eddie redmayne in day of the jackal and those who found the film through other means like i don’t know what it is but i can feel the difference in my bones

[brvans]

Care for You (Mizu x F!reader)

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, and violence, soft sex, fingering (r! receiving)

a/n: wow. it's been a minute since i've truly sat down and wrote something. i'm absolutely obsessed with BES and mizu, i haven't felt so passionate about something since TLOU. this is my adaptation of what seems to be the most cliche scenario in this fandom so far: reader finding an injured mizu. i'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing so any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, follows and notes as well. i have more ideas for works surrounding mizu (including a brothel fic muahahaha) so keep your eyes peeled for my posts :))

The sound of your sandals shuffling against the ground and your heavy pants were the only noises that pierced the otherwise quiet night. The moon, stars, and faint glow of your home in the distance were your only source of light as you trekked up the hill where the soft orange hue was coming from. The walk up this specific hill usually caused you no trouble, having done it dozens of times; however, this time was a tad bit different. Why? The limp, unconscious body that was currently draped over your shoulder.

Earlier in the evening you had heard a commotion down at the lake below the hill your home rested on. It was normal for stragglers, crooks, and opium addicts to travel through this part of Japan and mixing those groups of people usually ended up in some sort of fight. You had paid no mind to the noise, continuing with your cleaning. It wasn’t until you realized you needed more water for your tea that you made your way down the hill. As you reached the shore and saw the mess in front of you your stomach lurched.

Four bodies laid lifeless in front of you on the sand. From what you could tell they all had various stab and slash wounds across their bodies. Fifteen feet away from the tattered bodies lay another smaller one clad in baggy black trousers and stockings, a dark blue haori, and white scarf around his neck with a brown straw hat, round glasses with an orange tinted lens, and a sword, the telltale sign of a samurai on the ground beside him.

 From where you stood you could see his chest still moving as he tried to shallowly breathe in oxygen from the air surrounding his struggling body. That brings you to where you are now, struggling up a damn hill trying to save this unknown samurai’s life. Was he responsible for the four bodies you had pushed into the lake? It didn’t matter to you; you weren’t one to judge in a world where it was kill or be killed.

You push the door to your house open and lay the injured stranger onto your mat near the fire. You start to boil water to disinfect whatever wounds he had and open a drawer to grab a needle and thread just in case stitches were needed. They very much were. You quickly realized the source of what seemed like never-ending blood on the top half of his body as you stripped the bloodstained clothing away. A gash about 4 inches long and deeper than you’d like it to be starting towards the base of his ribcage, skin around it starting to turn a yellowish color. It almost distracted you from the way the stranger was wearing chest wraps. Almost.

You frowned looking down at the shallow breathing of the samurai’s chest. Why would he need chest wraps? You thought, fingers brushing over the once white cloth now stained. Unless? You slowly started to undo the bindings, telling yourself you needed to anyways to properly clean the wound. As the cloth unraveled in your hands your small suspicion was confirmed. Two small breasts sat atop the chest of the slender samurai that laid before you, nipples hardening as they became exposed to the air. Your eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly to the side. A female samurai? How? Questions began to fill your mind as you started to clean the wound, gently washing it with the now hot water. It was unheard of for a woman to even touch a sword as it was said to make the blade impure. Where had this woman gotten her sword? Who did she get taught by? Clearly from the mess on the beach she knew her way around a fight.

You finished cleaning and stitching the larger wound and got to work on disinfecting the smaller cuts and scrapes on the upper half of her body. Once you were satisfied with your work, you began removing the woman’s trousers and stockings, revealing another deep gash running from the top of her knee down to her shin. Sighing you started the same process as her chest and prepared yourself for the unknown amount of time you would be caring for this mysterious female samurai.

════════════════════════════════════════════

It took three days for the samurai to fully regain her consciousness. In those days you had changed the dressings on her wounds, forced broth and water down her throat for some form of sustenance, and carefully studied her whenever you found the chance to. You noticed small things others would easily miss. The way her face seemed like it was always in a permanent frown, her subtly toned muscles from what had to be from years of training, how her calloused hands would twitch in her sleep, stress being the cause of it you had concluded after watching her for a good hour whilst you sipped on your tea, and how insanely handsome she was. Wait what? Handsome? That thought scared you so much that you had refused to watch her for the remainder of the evening besides checking her wounds thoroughly before you went to bed. But you couldn’t ignore those thoughts that plagued your head as your touch lingered for more time than it should’ve.

You were sat cross-legged waiting for your tea to steep when you heard a thud from behind you. Quickly turning around to find what the source of the noise was, you were met with the samurai staring back at you, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. And oh, were they blue. You had never seen or known something could be as piercingly blue as the eyes that met yours.

“Who are you? Where am I?” The samurai demanded in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer right away, mouth slightly agape with shock at the stranger who had, just minutes ago, been passed out. “I asked you a question, now answer it.” She said sternly after a beat of silence between the two of you.

You blinked, raising an eyebrow and rising to your feet. “Well that’s no way to talk to someone who saved your life now is it?”

The woman, stern frown never leaving her features, quickly looked around the room taking in her surroundings. She then looked down at herself, usual blue haori missing and replaced with a softer red one. You hadn’t wanted to leave her bare in the middle of your home and opted to dress her in one of yours while you worked on scrubbing the stains out of hers.

You saw her tentatively try to move, and the flash of pain the appeared on her face for just a second didn’t go unnoticed by you. She pursed her lips and looked back up at you. “Thank you for stitching me up, but I would rather not stay a hostage here any longer. I have more important places to be.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “Hostage? Are you fucking serious? By all means you can leave, makes my life ten times easier if you do.” You were lying, you quite enjoyed caring for the handsome samurai, but you would never admit that to her. At least not now. “Good luck walking on that knee by the way, I’m sure it won’t be any trouble for you though.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as the blue-eyed woman looked you up and down once more before attempting to get up. After a few minutes she was standing, hand against the top of the fireplace to keep her from falling over. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly from the struggle of just standing. She looked back over at you, still leaning with your arms crossed. “Where are my belongings?”

“On the table to your right.” You responded, eyes never leaving hers. You watched her glance over to the table. It was about five feet away; it should’ve been no problem for her to walk over and grab her things. Should’ve. It took her almost ten minutes to reach the edge of the table, her injured leg making it difficult to have a full range of motion. She opted to shuffle inch by inch over to the edge. By the time she got there she was out of breath, looking down at her hands placed on the wood in front of her. You hadn’t moved at all, the only change being your expression shifting from annoyance to amusement as you watched the fit samurai struggle.

After a moment she let out a shaky breath. You saw her knuckles tighten as if she was having an internal battle with herself. “Can you help me back to the mat?” She asked so quietly you almost missed it. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where she stood, taking notice in the way her legs were shaking from lack of use over the past three days. She refused to look at you as you placed her arm over your shoulders and helped guide her back to the mat on the floor. “Thank you.” She muttered.

You looked at her, worry spreading across your features. “Of course. I’m here for anything you need. Consider me your personal caretaker.” You joked. “Although, a good caretaker should know her patients name.” Your words hung in the air for a moment before she responded.

“Mizu.”

════════════════════════════════════════════

It had been three weeks since Mizu had introduced herself to you. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, which you respected, instead filling the silence between the two of you with your own stories from your childhood. In that time her leg wound had been healing considerably quick, mostly due to the bedrest you ordered her to stay on. The only time she was allowed to move her legs was when she needed to relieve herself or when you would do small stretches with her to keep her blood flow moving. After some time, she was able to get up and walk for short periods of time on her own. The only problem with her quick recovery in her leg was the fact that her chest wound had hardly any progress to it.

Since Mizu couldn’t walk for some time, she exerted all her energy to her upper half, much to your dismay. She would sit up on the mat doing stretches on her arms and shoulders, sometimes raising them so far up you were afraid a stitch was going to pop. It did.

Mizu had been practicing arm movements with her sword, stating that “If I want to achieve my goals, my skills must always be honed and sharp.” Bullshit you thought. She just wanted to aggravate you. How could you tell? The small smirk that would grace her lips whenever she went to pick up her sword, even after you told her it was dangerous, and she could hurt herself anymore. Alas, she was a stubborn woman and it’s how you ended up rushing inside from chopping wood after hearing a sharp yelp from inside your home.

She sat on her mat, one hand clutching the spot above her wound while the other reached for the needle and thread you always kept close by. Once you realized she was going to try to stitch herself back up you rushed over to snatch the needle from her hands and straddle her lap, careful of the wound on her knee. She looked startled for a moment before her whole face turned a deep shade of red once she realized the position you both were in. You had a faint blush as well as you plucked the thread from her hand as well.

“I’m not letting you stitch yourself. You’re going to make your injury worse.” You said looking down at her. She looked up at you with those damn blue eyes you could get lost in for ages, cheeks still red but an amused expression on her face.

“You don’t think I know how to stitch myself up?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Well, no. I just…you just…you just popped a stitch by doing something I told you not to do! How can I be sure you’ll do it correctly?!” Mizu laughed. A sound so beautiful you were sure it would play through your mind for months to come. “I guess you have a point. C’mon then doc, fix me up.” She smirked. You felt your face grow even hotter.

Still straddling her you pushed her robe off her shoulders revealing her chest wraps with blood from the reopened wound soaking through them. You gulped. To stitch her back up you’d have to remove her bindings. And this time she was awake. And would definitely take notice in the way your eyes would roam her chest. Sensing your hesitation, she smiled looking up at you. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen them before, obviously you have, or I wouldn’t have stitches here.” She was teasing you, you realized. “Here I’ll make it easier for you.” Her hand reached around to begin to undo her wraps. You sat there dumbfounded as they fell to the floor and her breasts were exposed to you once again.

“You just gonna stare sweetheart or are you gonna patch me up?” Mizu’s teasing question broke you out of your trance as you swallowed thickly and got to work on restitching her wound. You felt her piercing gaze on you the entire time and did your best to try and ignore the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Later that night after the excitement of the day you sat sipping on your tea while Mizu slept next to the fire. You couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those beautiful blue eyes, the way her lips turned up into a smirk whenever it seemed you were flustered, and the sound of her laugh plagued you. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Suddenly Mizu woke with a gasp, shooting up from the mat. You turned to her startled as you took in her appearance. Eyes wide with fear, chest heaving up and down, and her hands gripping tightly onto her blanket. “Nightmare?” You asked softly as to not startle her even more than she was. She just nodded as she looked at you, eyes bright in the darkness.

You softly rose to your feet, padded over to where was sat up, and sat down next to her. Her eyes had never left your figure as you made your way to her. You looked down at the blanket, then back up to her asking a silent question.

Slowly she lifted the blanket up and laid back down, giving you room to scoot in next to her. You wrapped your arms around her and brought her closer to your chest in the most intimate position the both of you had ever been in. You had never slept as well as you did that night.

════════════════════════════════════════════

It had been four days since Mizu’s nightmare, and every night since then you two had slept together, arms wrapped around each other. The dynamic between you had changed drastically, lingering touches and glances to each other becoming a new normal.

Tonight was no different to the past few. You lay facing Mizu while her back was turned to the fire, tracing circles into her rough and calloused hands. The silence was comfortable, but you chose to break it in that moment.

“When do you think you’ll leave?” A flash of hurt ran across Mizu’s face.

“I can leave whenever you want me to, I think I’m healed enough by now. Would you like me to leave tomorrow?” Your heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. You didn’t want that at all.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.” Her eyes softened, moving closer to you she brushed her nose against yours.

“Then I won’t.”

Your lips met her soft ones in a searing kiss, one that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You let out at soft noise as she titled her head, running her tongue across your bottom lip to deepen the kiss and ask for permission to enter. You parted your mouth for her, tongues running against each other as she rolled on top of you, straddling your hips. Her fingers ran down your sides and under your top, tips of them brushing the underside of your breasts as you pushed your chest up into her, silently asking for more.

She pulled away from the kiss, a trail of spit the only thing keeping you connected, and smiled. “I’m going to need you to tell me you want more. Tell me you want it and I’ll stay.”

You moaned at her words. “Yes! Mizu please I want it, I need you.” She leaned down to kiss you once those words left your lips, fingers moving up to circle and pinch your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp into Mizu’s mouth at the sensation and she smiled into you, moving her head to trail kisses down your face to your neck, sucking a purple mark just below your ear.

You raised your arms over your head as she stripped you of your top, eyes lingering on your now bare breasts. “Beautiful.” Was all she said. You let out a whimper at her words. She kissed down your shoulders to your breasts and licked a long stripe up your nipple, the sensation causing you to moan and buck your hips up into hers. As she continued her assault on your breasts, her hand traveled lower down your stomach and slipped her hand into your trousers to run a finger through your slick folds.

You were a moaning, withering mess below her at this point. Between her mouth on your tits and her finger slowly brushing against your clit, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Please Mizu. I need you, please.” You begged, grinding your hips up into her hand hoping she got the message. She did. Slowly she pushed her middle finger into your wet heat, savoring the noise that left your lips as she did. Experimentally she curled her finger, finding that spongy spot at the front of your walls.

It wasn’t enough for you. “More, I need more.” You whimpered. Smiling against your breast, she pushed another finger in, thrusting at a quicker pace. You were close, she could tell by the way your pussy clenched around her digits. You just needed one last thing to push you over the edge. Removing her mouth from your nipple, she brought her forehead against yours admiring the way your mouth was slightly agape and the furrow between your brows.

“Open your eyes. You’re to look at me when you cum.”

At her words and her thumb suddenly circling your clit matching the pace at which she thrust, your eyes shot open meeting her icy blue ones, the last thread keeping you from falling snapping.

“‘m gonna cum Mizu, fuck m’ gonna fuckfuck-“ You were sent over the edge, cunt clenching and gushing around her fingers while your back arched off the mat, eyes never leaving hers as she guided and talked you through it.

As you caught your breath, chest heaving, she peppered soft kisses all over your face causing you to giggle breathlessly. She smiled down at you as you looked up at her still panting. “Give me a second, let me return the favor.” She leaned down capturing your lips once again as she removed her fingers from your core, wiping the slick on her pants and rolling to lay next to you. She pulled you into her chest and nuzzled her nose into your hair.

“You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks, let me take care of you. We have all the time in the world, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

And Mizu always kept her promises.

[zeroxxlhero]

Chase • Caitlyn Kiramman

Warnings: 18+ characters, gp! Caitlyn, blowjobs, sub! top! Caitlyn, dom! bottom! Reader, cowgirl, begging, edging, praising, vaginal sex, friends w benefits, unprotected sex

Pairings: Caitlyn Kiramman x You

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

Caitlyn Kiramman had a reputation. Not one she tried to build—if anything, it followed her without her permission. She had always been good with words, with subtle touches, with the right look at the right time. It wasn’t intentional, not really, but somehow, she made people feel special without even trying.

And women? They adored her.

They leaned in when she spoke, laughed just a little too loudly at her jokes, brushed their fingers against hers with the hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d mean it this time. And she played along, because why wouldn’t she? It was easy. A quiet compliment here, a lingering glance there—effortless.

But it never lasted.

Because no matter how many girls swooned for her, Caitlyn Kiramman only ever had eyes for you.

And you? You knew it. You thrived in it.

You never let her win, never gave her the easy satisfaction of watching you melt under her charm like all the others did. Instead, you teased, you taunted, you danced just close enough to let her think she had you—only to slip away at the last second, leaving her high and dry like some poor sucker who fell for her own game.

And gods, did it drive her mad.

Tonight was no different.

The Kiramman estate was bathed in quiet, the halls dark and still, her parents fast asleep in their separate wings. Caitlyn had slipped you in like she always did, guiding you past locked doors and expensive paintings, the sound of your quiet footsteps swallowed by the wealth surrounding you.

Now, you sat on the edge of her bed, relaxed, unbothered, watching as she stood before you with that unreadable expression, arms crossed over her chest.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” she muttered, her voice low, edged with something both frustrated and amused.

You smirked. “What? Making Piltover’s golden girl work for it?” You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head. “I’d be stupid not to.”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, shaking her head, but there was something else in her eyes—something dark, something hooked. You had her, and you knew it.

“I don’t work for anyone,” she said smoothly, stepping closer, slow and deliberate.

You hummed, unimpressed. “Mm. Could’ve fooled me.”

She let out a quiet laugh, low in her throat, standing between your legs now, her hands pressing into the mattress on either side of you. “You act like I don’t know what you’re doing.”

You raised a brow. “And what’s that?”

Caitlyn leaned in, her breath warm against your cheek, her voice a whisper. “Dragging me along. Testing me. Making me chase.”

Your lips curled. “You’re the one who keeps following.”

Her eyes flickered, searching yours for something—weakness, maybe. A crack in the wall you built between you. But there was none.

“You like it,” she murmured, like she was realizing it in real-time.

You reached up, fingers barely grazing her collar, the promise of touch there but never fully delivered. “I like watching you squirm.”

And oh, she was squirming. Not outwardly—no, Caitlyn Kiramman was too composed for that. But you saw the way her throat bobbed, the way her fingers curled just slightly into the sheets.

She wanted you to give in. She needed you to.

But you wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, you leaned up just enough to let your lips ghost over her ear, your breath a taunt, a challenge.

“You can do better than that, Kiramman.”

And then—just like that—you pulled away.

Caitlyn let out a slow breath, tilting her head down, her eyes flickering with something dangerous. “You’re insufferable.”

You grinned, relaxed, like you hadn’t just left her standing there like an idiot, wanting more. “And yet,” you mused, stretching out on her bed with a smug little sigh, “you keep sneaking me into your room past your parents.”

Caitlyn let out a long, exhausted sigh, shaking her head as she plopped down beside you on the edge of the bed. Her shoulder brushed against yours, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she tilted her head back, staring up at the ceiling as if gathering patience from the air itself.

“Are you ever going to give me a real chance?” she asked, her voice low, quiet. Not pleading—Caitlyn Kiramman never pleaded—but there was something raw underneath, something just a little tired, a little frustrated.

You hummed, pretending to ponder, tapping a finger against your chin. “Hmm. I don’t know. You are handsome, I’ll give you that.” You turned your head, meeting her gaze with a teasing smirk. “But I don’t think I’d appreciate having an unfaithful partner.”

Caitlyn scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Unfaithful?” Her brow arched, lips parting slightly in disbelief. “That’s not fair.”

You laughed, amused at her sudden offense, shifting your body until you were straddling her lap. She tensed beneath you, but her hands instinctively rested against your hips, like they belonged there. Your fingers slid up, one settling gently against her chest while the other tangled into her dark blue hair, twisting strands between your fingers.

Her breath hitched.

You leaned in, just enough to feel the warmth of her skin, your voice a soft murmur against her ear. “You entertain too many women, Kiramman.”

Caitlyn’s hands tightened on your waist, her grip firm but careful. Her voice was quieter now, almost pleading—though she’d never admit it. “They don’t matter,” she insisted, her blue eyes searching yours, burning with something desperate, something real. “Not like you do.”

You tilted your head, considering her, your fingers curling slightly against her chest. She was trying so hard to convince you, to prove herself—but she hadn’t realized yet.

This was your game.

You smirked, running your thumb lightly along her jaw. “Oh? And what makes me so different?”

Caitlyn exhaled sharply, her hands sliding up your back, her grip steady, sure. “Because you’re the only one who never gives in.” She swallowed, her voice almost breathless. “And I’d stop—all of it—if you just gave me a chance.”

For once, she wasn’t trying to be smooth. Wasn’t trying to be charming.

She meant it.

And gods, wasn’t that dangerous?

“You really mean that?”

“Yes.”

You sit in Caitlyn's lap, your arms wrapped around her neck. Your heart races with desire as you stare into her eyes, seeing the same hunger reflected back at you. Without hesitation, you lean in, pressing your lips against hers in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Your lips move frantically against hers, demanding and insistent. You part her lips with your tongue, exploring the warmth of her mouth. Caitlyn responds eagerly, her own tongue dancing with yours as her hands grip your hips tightly.

You pour all of your pentup desire into the kiss, your body pressing closer to hers. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss. You nip at her bottom lip, soothing the sting with your tongue before diving back in for more.

Caitlyn's hands roam over your body, squeezing and caressing. She pulls you flush against her, her chest heaving with each breath. The kiss is wild and untamed, a clash of teeth and tongues as you both struggle to get closer.

Caitlyn's hands roam over your body, caressing your curves through your clothes. She squeezes your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You gasp into the kiss, your hips grinding down against hers.

As you move, you feel a slight bulge pressing against your core. You grind harder, a moan escaping your lips as you feel Caitlyn's hardness growing. Caitlyn's hands grip your hips, pulling you down onto her as she thrusts up to meet you.

You break the kiss, your lips trailing down Caitlyn's neck. You suck and bite at her skin, marking her as yours. Caitlyn tilts her head back, giving you better access. Her hands slide under your shirt, her fingers digging into your skin.

"Fuck," Caitlyn groans, her hips bucking up against you. "Wanna make you feel good."

You continue to grind against her, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You can feel your own arousal growing, your panties dampening with each thrust.

You push Caitlyn onto her back, adjusting yourself to fully straddle her hips. You grind down against her, feeling her hardness grow beneath you. You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear.

"Do you want to have me?" you whisper, your voice husky with desire. "Do you want to fuck me, Caitlyn?"

Caitlyn's hands grip your hips, her fingers digging into your skin. She thrusts up against you, her breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," she hisses. "Fuck, yes. I want you so badly."

You sit up, reaching for the hem of your shirt. You pull it off, tossing it aside. Caitlyn's eyes rake over your bare chest, her gaze dark with lust. You lean back down, your lips finding hers in a searing kiss.

You kiss your way down Caitlyn's neck and collarbone, your lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Caitlyn's head falls back, her eyes fluttering closed as she savors your touch.

You sit up, breaking the kiss. With a smirk, you climb off her lap and kneel between her spread legs. You look up at her, your eyes locking with hers as you press a kiss to the bulge in her pants.

Caitlyn's hips jerk at the contact, a low groan escaping her lips. You can feel her hardness throbbing against your mouth, even through the fabric. You kiss her dick again, this time lingering longer, your tongue tracing the outline.

"Fuck," Caitlyn whispers, her hands fisting in the sheets. "Don't tease me."

You ignore her plea, continuing to kiss and lick her through her pants. You want to drive her wild, to make her beg for more.

You continue to tease Caitlyn, pressing light kisses along the length of her dick through her pants. You rub your hand gently over the bulge, feeling it twitch and harden further under your touch.

"You have no idea how good I'm going to suck you off," you murmur, your breath hot against her crotch.

Caitlyn's hips buck up, seeking more friction. "Please," she begs, her voice strained. "I need your mouth on me."

You smirk, blowing a stream of air over her dick. "Patience, baby" you whisper. "You know I’m not going anywhere."

You continue to tease her, kissing and rubbing, but never giving her the relief she craves. You want her desperate, begging for your touch. Only then will you give her what she wants.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of teasing, you decide Caitlyn has had enough. You unbutton her pants, slowly pulling down the zipper. Caitlyn lifts her hips, allowing you to pull her pants and underwear off in one swift motion.

Her dick springs free, hard and throbbing. You take a moment to admire it, running your hand along the dick. Caitlyn's hips twitch, a bead of precum forming at the tip.

"You're so big," you whisper, wrapping your hand around her base.

Caitlyn bites her lip, her eyes dark with desire. "It's all for you," she says, her voice strained. "Only for you."

You lean in, pressing a kiss to the tip of her dick. You swirl your tongue around the head, tasting the precum that beads at the tip. Caitlyn's hips jerk, a low moan escaping her lips.

You began slowly, teasingly, running your tongue along the underside of her shaft. Caitlyn's hips jerked forward involuntarily, a soft moan escaping her lips. Encouraged, you wrapped your lips around the head of her dick, sucking gently as your tongue swirled around the sensitive tip.

"Fuck," Caitlyn gasped, her fingers tightening in your hair. "That feels... fuck, that feels amazing." She threw her head back, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

You take Caitlyn deeper, your lips stretching around her dick. You relax your throat, allowing her to slide in until she hits the back. You hold her there for a moment, swallowing around her length.

Caitlyn's hips jerk, a loud moan escaping her lips. "Shit," she pants.

You start to bob your head, sucking her in and out of your mouth. Your hand works in tandem with your lips, stroking what you can't fit. The sounds of your slurping and Caitlyn's moans fill the room.

You can taste her precum, salty and musky. It only fuels your desire to please her.

You suck Caitlyn's dick with hunger, your lips and tongue worshipping every inch of her. You kiss and lick the head, swirling your tongue around it before taking her deep into your throat again.

You continued to give attention to Caitlyn's dick, your mouth and tongue working in perfect harmony to bring her the utmost pleasure. You sucked and licked, your head bobbing up and down as you took her with each pass.

After several minutes of this blissful torment, you pulled your mouth off, leaving Caitlyn's dick slick with your saliva. Without hesitation, you wrapped your hand around her dick, stroking her slowly as you turned your attention to her balls.

You cupped them gently, massaging the sensitive orbs with your fingertips. You leaned in, pressing soft kisses to the soft skin of her scrotum before taking one of her balls into your mouth, sucking gently.

"Oh god," Caitlyn moaned, her hips lifting off the bed as you sucked on her balls. "That's... that—."

You continued to worship her balls, switching between gentle sucking and massaging with your tongue. All the while, your hand never stopped stroking her dick, twisting and pumping in a steady rhythm.

Caitlyn's breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her dick throbbed in your hand, the veins pulsing beneath your fingertips. You could tell she was getting close, her body tensing with each passing second.

"Baby," she gasped, her voice strained. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum."

You took Caitlyn's dick back into your mouth, sucking her off with renewed vigor. As you did, you decided to be bold and look up at her, meeting her gaze.

The effect was immediate. Caitlyn's eyes widened, her pupils dilating with lust as she stared down at you. Her dick throbbed against your tongue, and you could taste the first drops of her precum.

"Fuck, baby," she groaned, her hips bucking forward. "Gonna drive me crazy." She gripped your hair tighter, holding your head in place as she began to thrust into your mouth.

You held her gaze, sucking and slurping noisily as you pleasured her. The sight of you, your lips stretched around her dick and your eyes locked on hers, was clearly pushing Caitlyn to the brink.

You pulled your mouth off Caitlyn's dick once more, jerking her off with fast, tight strokes. Within seconds, she was coming undone, a low groan escaping her lips as she spilled over your hand. Her dick pulsed and throbbed, coating your fingers with her hot, sticky cum.

But you weren't done with her yet. As soon as her orgasm subsided, you dove back in, taking her dick into your mouth once more. This time, you were merciless, sucking and slurping like a woman possessed.

"Holy—" Caitlyn moaned out, her back arching off the bed. "Baby, what... what are you doing to me?" Her voice was a highpitched keen, her hips bucking wildly as you worked her dick with your mouth.

You sucked her like you wanted to devour her whole, your tongue and lips attacking her sensitive flesh with a fervor that bordered on madness. Caitlyn's hands flew to your head, gripping your hair tightly as she rode out the waves of pleasure crashing over her.

You continued to give Caitlyn the blowjob of her life, sucking and slurping with a ferocity that left her breathless. One of her hands clenched the sheets, gripping the fabric tightly as if it were a lifeline. The other hand gripped your hair, holding your head in place as you worked your magic.

Caitlyn was helpless against the onslaught of pleasure, unable to do anything but sit there and take it. Her mind raced, thoughts and images flashing through her head in a chaotic jumble. She could feel her toes curling, her body tensing as the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo.

Guttural moans spilled from her lips, her voice raw and hoarse. "Yes," Caitlyn hisses, her hips thrusting up to meet your mouth. "Just like that."

Caitlyn's body tenses, her dick pulsing in your mouth. She's on the verge of coming again, her breath coming in short gasps. But just as she's about to climax, you pull away.

"No," she cries out, her hips jerking up. "Don't stop."

You ignore her protests, climbing up her body. You capture her lips in a searing kiss, pressing your naked body against hers. You can feel her dick throbbing against your stomach, coated in your saliva.

"I want you inside me," you whisper against her lips. "I want you."

Caitlyn groans, her hands gripping your hips tightly. "You're killing me," she pants.

Just as Caitlyn was on the verge of coming undone, you pulled your mouth off her dick. Before she could protest, you moved to sit on top of her, straddling her hips.

You ground down on her hard dick, your wet pussy sliding along her dick. Caitlyn groaned, her fingers pressing into your skin tighter as you moved against her. You leaned down, capturing her lips in a greedy, passionate kiss.

Your tongues danced, exploring each other's mouths as you continued to grind on her dick. Caitlyn's hips lifted to meet yours, the two of you moving in perfect sync. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and desperate with each passing second.

You leaned back up, reaching between your legs to grasp Caitlyn's dick. You lined it up with your entrance, looking into her eyes as you slowly sank down onto her.

When you finally bottomed out, your ass meeting her pelvis, you let out a long, low moan.

You leaned down, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. As you pulled back, you began to move, riding her dick with slow, deliberate strokes. You took your time, savoring the feeling of her inside of you, the way she filled you so completely.

You started off slow, riding Caitlyn with gentle, deliberate motions. You needed a moment to adjust to her size, to get used to the feeling of her dick stretching you open. As you moved, you could feel every ridge and vein, every inch of her hardness sliding against your inner walls.

Gradually, you found your rhythm, your hips rolling and gyrating as you picked up the pace. When you were comfortable, you leaned back, placing your hands on Caitlyn's knees for support. From this position, you could take her deeper, your pussy swallowing her dick whole with each downward thrust.

Caitlyn groaned, her head thrown back against the pillow.

You rode Caitlyn harder and faster, your hips slamming down onto hers with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your hissed moans and Caitlyn's groans of pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chanted, your voice breathless and strained. You could feel Caitlyn's dick hitting deep with each downward motion, sending jolts of electricity through your body.

Your pussy clenched around her, the walls fluttering and pulsing as you chased your orgasm. Sweat beaded on your forehead and chest, your body glistening in the dim light of the bedroom. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the pleasure coursing through your veins.

"You feel so good," Caitlyn panted, her hands gripping your hips tightly. She looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire.

You could see the admiration and lust in her gaze, could hear it in her voice. Her words spurred you on, making you ride her even harder. You wanted to please her, to make her feel as good as she was making you feel.

"So beautiful," Caitlyn murmured, reaching up to cup your breasts. She squeezed gently, her thumbs brushing over your nipples.

Caitlyn bit her lip, her eyes locked on you as you rode her. She was silent, save for the occasional moan or gasp, but her gaze spoke volumes. It was filled with admiration, with awe at the sight of you taking your pleasure from her.

You were breathtaking, your body moving with a grace and confidence that was utterly captivating. Caitlyn couldn't look away, couldn't tear her eyes from the way your hips rolled, the way your breasts bounced with each thrust.

She reached up, trailing her fingers along your sides, over your hips, and down to where you were joined. She touched you reverently, marveling at the sight of her dick disappearing inside of you.

"I'm gonna cum," you whispered, your voice strained with pleasure. You rode Caitlyn harder, faster, chasing your orgasm with desperate abandon.

Caitlyn could only lie there and take it, her body trembling beneath yours. She bit into her lower lip, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt her own climax approaching. Your words, your movements, the feel of your pussy gripping her dick it was all too much.

"Fuck," she gasped, her hips lifting to meet yours. "Me too. I'm so close." Her hands gripped your hips tightly, her fingers digging into your flesh as she held on for dear life.

Your breathing grew ragged, your voice barely above a whisper as you approached the edge. "I'm... I'm cumming," you gasped, your hips grinding harshly against Caitlyn's.

With a final cry, you came, your pussy clamping down on Caitlyn's dick like a vice. Your body shuddered and convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing over you.

Caitlyn let out a guttural moan, her head thrown back as she followed you over the edge. She came hard, her dick pulsing and throbbing as it spilled inside of you. Her hips jerked and bucked, prolonging your shared orgasm.

You collapsed onto her chest, both of you breathing heavily as you rode out the aftershocks. Caitlyn wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as she peppered your face with soft kisses.

Caitlyn grinned up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief and affection. "So," she said, tracing lazy patterns on your back with her fingertips. "When's our first date?"

You lifted your head, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow. "Whenever you want it to be," you replied, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "You're the one with all the Kiramman money, after all."

Caitlyn laughed, the sound warm and rich. "Fair point," she conceded. "How about tomorrow night? I know a great little restaurant. And afterwards, we could catch a movie... or something else entirely." She winked, her grin turning suggestive.

You chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Caitlyn's lips. "Sounds perfect," you murmured against her mouth. "I can't wait."

Caitlyn's arms tightened around you, holding you close. "Me neither," she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. "It's going to be a night to remember."

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. Eventually, Caitlyn's stomach growled loudly, making you both laugh.

"How about I order us some food?" Caitlyn suggested, reaching for her phone. "I'm thinking pizza. Lots and lots of pizza."

You nodded, your stomach rumbling in agreement. "Sounds amazing," you said, snuggling closer to her. "But first, I think we need a shower. Together."

Caitlyn's grin widened, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "I like the way you think," she said, giving you a quick kiss before climbing out of bed and pulling you with her. "Race you to the bathroom!"

[tealvenetianmask]

I want to talk about a kind of troubling reaction I've been seeing to both Apology Tour and Ghostfuckers among parts of the fandom. The person is usually a reaction youtuber but sometimes someone writing on tumblr or twitter. They say something along the lines of "oh, I'm glad Blitz is being forced to confront his crimes/traumas/pain. This is the only way he will finally heal."

That's not how healing works.

I know that reaction youtubers don't always have the most developed takes because they're . . . you know . . . reacting in the moment. But I think it's still worth talking about.

I'm going set aside the people who seem to believe that Blitz needs to be punished for his crimes, and address those who genuinely think that getting a tidal wave of his own trauma in his face is what he needs to heal.

There's an attitude in contemporary culture that traumas are something people need to confront. As in, put on a brave face and dive in like a big boy. I blame capitalism, rugged individualism, and all the pieces of media that tie up a character's arc neatly by having them confront their darkest fears and insecurities. It can put a nice bow on things, but it isn't really how healing from trauma works.

Apology Tour:

Blitz gets confronted by a shit ton of people who hate him, at least some of whom are his exes, who he feels he's personally damaged. The decor and party games are all about killing and torturing him. Verosika confronts him about how much he hurt her. Oh, and then he sees the love of his life, who he's just recently pushed away, making out with another guy- proof, in his eyes, that Stolas is happier without him. And this all reflects the underlying fears he already has about who he is as a person (shown to us by Truth Seekers).

So what was the takeaway? Blitz came to the conclusion that he doesn't always want to be like this (good, but like . . . worth this much pain?). He flops on his steering wheel (relatable). He stops trying to reach out to Stolas (uh oh . . . ). He spends A MONTH spiraling in his own misery and making a mess of all aspects of his life until he's dragged out of it by a caring friend.

The party doesn't empower Blitz to change. It knocks him down and fucking traumatizes him (seriously, images of Stolas from the party show up later in his trauma reel) too much for him to be able to do actually work toward said change. I suspect that if left to his own devices, he would have kept spiraling for quite a while longer. It's one thing to want to change, and another to try to do so alone in the aftermath of a pile-on.

Ghostfuckers

After Blitz drags himself out of his hole of cheesy ice cream and despair to "play sex ghosts" (escapism, again, still knocked down by Apology Tour), infester demon Rolando picks him out as an easy target and assaults him, yes, assaults, with horrific images of his worst traumas and fears.

Not to state the obvious, but Rolando isn't interested in helping Blitz heal. He's trying to kill the guy. He wants to engulf Blitz in his trauma to the extent where he's consumed by it and loses the will to fight back. And as some excellent posts by others have pointed out already, he very likely would have succumbed if not for Millie's support.

Millie helps Blitz get through the onslaught by telling him about what makes him great and how he's improved her life and showing him love and care. And by literally beating the fucking infester out of him. Because there's someone in him who's hurting him, who's re-traumatizing him against his will. She takes him away from the reel of horrible memories.

So . . . do I think that confronting traumas can play a role in healing? Sure. But only if it's consensually (which neither of these situations are) and when the person trying to heal is ready. And most likely in small doses. No one's going and successfully confronting every horrible thing that's ever happened to them in one go.

And in my humble opinion, it's not going to work (for anyone, but especially not for Blitz) alone and without a healthy dose of kindness and compassion (both external and internal).

Blitz has a long road ahead of him toward healing, and it's going to be hard work on his part but also require love and support from the people in his life.

In a wonderful moment near the end of Ghosfuckers, Blitz and Millie work together to get Blitz's wrecked van unstuck and push it back through the portal into Hell. I love it because it's so simple and it kind of tells us everything we need to know. This sweet and salty gremlin has a lot of work ahead of him, but he doesn't have to do it alone.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Charge My Card

Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: You see a TikTok of a woman who pays for DoorDash instead of her boyfriend and her boyfriend gets upset about because he usually pays for it. So you try the same thing with Joaquin…

A/N: Inspired by this TikTok.

You're happy that Joaquin is filming in LA because that means he doesn't need to be far from home. He spends a majority of his day filming and then comes home to you. It's all so domestic.

You thought moving in together would come with some difficulties, but Joaquin is very on top of everything. He's tidy, does chores without being told, and basically makes sure you don't have to lift a finger.

You must have done something good in your past life to end up with someone like him.

You and Joaquin are currently sitting on the couch together, scrolling through Yelp to see what you could order.

"Oh! That Korean place we went to with Kate delivers! Should we get that?"

"Oh hell yes. I've been thinking about their fried chicken for weeks!"

You nod and put in the order of food you wanted as well as the fried chicken Joaquin requested.

Joaquin gets up to grab his wallet from his work bag. He's rifling through his things until you speak up, "Okay, so it'll be here in about thirty minutes."

That's when Joaquin pauses, "Wait," he turns around to face you, "did you pay already?"

You nod, looking up from your phone, "Yeah. It'll be here in thirty minutes."

Joaquin holds up one of his credit cards, "Which card did you use?"

"Mine," you respond with a confused look.

He shakes his head, "Cancel the order."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're supposed to use my card," he reaches for your phone and pull it away from him.

"Says who?!" you ask as you slap his hand away.

"Says me! I always pay for our takeout!" You two begin to wrestle for your phone.

You can't help but laugh, "Joaquin, it's fine! I want to pay!" you try your best to keep your phone away from him.

He grunts as his arms wrap around you as he tries to grab for your phone. You continue to laugh. Throughout your relationship, Joaquin has very much always been more of the provider. He loves the idea of taking care of you, making sure you have everything you want and need.

Although you work and even pay half the rent of your shared home, he doesn't allow you to pay for anything else.

Slightly exasperated, he holds himself above you and pouts, "Baby, please cancel the order."

"No," you respond with a smirk and peck his lips, "I wanna pay every once in a while. I don't like feeling like I'm mooching off you."

He sighs and plops onto the couch beside you, "You're not mooching off me. You pay in half the rent and in your love and affection. You're smooching, not mooching"

You snort, "You're so dumb," you lightly slap his arm.

He grins at you, "You know a lot of people would love the idea of never having to pay for anything."

You shrug, "I know, I'm stubborn like that."

"Don't I know it," he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in his arms. He pats behind you for your phone and his brows furrow, "Where'd you put your phone?"

You mischievously grin at him, "In my pants."

He chuckles and smirks, "As if that would stop me," he pulls away and begins to at your jeans, causing you to squeal in laughter.

[awriterinthenight]

"Well I Missed You Too."-Megumi Fushiguro

words: 946

warnings: kissing, megumi makes reader sad, that's it also i'm trying writing for a new fandom so enjoy

summary: How Megumi changes how he shows affection to you

Whether it was kissing, hugging, or even just holding your hand, Megumi was always too shy to show you affection in public. He'd do small acts like buying your favorite snack from the vending machines, or grabbing something out of your reach. But never did he do anything that involved touching you in any way, since it made him blush, and he didn't want people, especially Gojo, teasing him about how red his face got.

You'd first learned about his aversion to PDA when you first started dating. You were training with the 2nd years, when Itadori had taken a nasty hit from Maki. While you knew he was fine, it still worried you, so your hand instinctively grabbed Megumi's without thinking. When you were in private he always held you in some way, so you thought he'd be ok with this.

Instead of him grabbing your hand back or squeezing it comfortably. He immediately froze and stiffened at the contact, his face turning bright red. He dropped your hand, turning away so you couldn't see his face. You were left confuse as to what you did wrong. Maybe he just didn't expect it, or maybe he didn't think you needed to grab his hand. Either way it brought down your mood for the day.

Megumi knew you weren't ok, no matter how many times you said you were fine. He knew that wasn't a good sign. So there Megumi was after school standing in front of your door knocking. After a minute or two you swung your door open, Megumi speaking before you could.

"Did I do something?" he asked, his head hung low, surprising for someone usually so stoic.

You were shocked for a moment before regaining your composure, letting Megumi into your room, and closing the door behind you.

"Yes, well no," you stumbled, unable to find your words, "It's just, when you dropped my hand I-I felt bad. I thought I did something wrong," you admitted.

Megumi let out a breath, taking a step closer to you, "I didn't mean to make you feel like that. I like holding your hand, I swear. I just don't like being like that in front of people."

"I understand that," you said, nodding your head, "I just wish you'd told me, so I wouldn't have felt so embarrassed."

Megumi placed a kiss on the top of your head before he spoke, "I'm sorry, and I promise I will from now on."

Affection from Megumi shifted a bit the more you knew each other. Of course really all the kissing took place in private, or anything really affectionate. But slowly Megumi didn't mind holding your hand in front of your guy's friends, or placing a small kiss on the top of your head.

Megumi started to grow into the habit of either placing his arm around the back of your chair, or keeping his hand on your thigh. The more he was with you, the more he liked knowing that you were with him.

Recently he seemed to grow out of his shy shell. Before training started he would sometimes come up behind you, placing his hands on your waist, then planting a kiss on the top of your head. Sometimes he'd casually walk up behind you when you were talking to someone, and he would snake his arm around your waist.

Today he'd come back from a mission with Itadori and Kugasaki. You'd been forced to stay behind, recovering from an injury of a past mission. The second he saw you, he pulled you into his arms, burying your head into his chest. He'd missed you so much on the mission all he thought about was going back to you. His hand slid through your hair, the other holding you tightly against him.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you asked, concerned since he never showed this much affection in front of people. Gojo was only a few feet away, and usually Megumi hated showing affection to you in front of Gojo, since he always got teased for it.

Megumi shook his head, tilting your chin forward, "No, nothing happened. I just missed you," he confessed.

"Oh," you exclaimed, surprised he was like this from just missing you, "Well I missed you too."

Unfortunately Gojo's loud voice ruined the moment when he shouted, "Get a room," before practically skipping over to the two of you. Megumi scowled, while you shook your head, finding his antics funny.

"So, I was thinking," Gojo said, swinging an arm around you two, and walking with you, "Why don't I treat you guys to dinner. By that I mean you two can go out and I'll pay," he offered, chuckling a bit for some reason no one understood.

Megumi rolled his eyes, "I don't need you to pay. I'm staying in tonight, I'm too tired to go out."

"I try to do something nice and I get denied. If you don't want me and my money I'll just leave," Gojo muttered, walking away from you too.

Megumi slid his arm around your waist, leaning on you a bit. He was tired and just wanted to sleep and rest. Eventually you and him got to his dorm, lying down on his bed.

It was quiet till Megumi broke the silence, "I'm too tired to take you out tonight, but I'll take you on a date tomorrow," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "I really did miss you."

You snuggled closer to him, wrapped up in his arms, "I missed you too, and I can't wait." You gave him a small kiss before falling asleep to the sound of his breathing

Ask to be added to taglist, I'm keeping this one separate from my other one

[coldsaturn]

hiii! i have a question i thought you might be able to answer: how did aftg originally get so popular? i know it was mostly word of mouth on tumblr (still is, i think) (who says this website is unmarketable!!) but what were the early days of the fandom like? personally i've "only" been here since 2016, and by then the series was already decently popular. i remember at that time that the fandom was really welcoming and kind in a way that felt really exceptional to me, and it definitely contributed to me picking up the books, which is the only explanation i can really think of for why it got a bigger following than some to other books which did receive a whole big-publisher marketing campaign aside from it just being well-written. do you have any theories for why it got so massive on here? and do you know how the first readers found it? i hope you don't mind me asking you this, but i remember your blog from wayyyy back when and thought that if anyone had the answer, it would probably be you :)

Hello! I always get so happy when I can talk about the early days of the fandom <3 Sit down here around the fire, let me tell you about this wondrous tale.

So, story time: it was spring 2013, I had just finished a thorough read of In The Company Of Shadows and I was starving for another black hole. It was automatic for me to look up the goodread lists ICoS was featured in, to see what other titles I could pick up, and ended up on the list called "Online M/M stories that deserve to be published". The Foxhole Court was right there (it's not anymore because it IS published <3), so I read it. That was the start of the end lmao

If I remember correctly I didn't wait too long before reading TRK, but TKM didn't come out until the end of the following year, so in the meantime I all but shelved it as something that had incredible potential but that was possibly doomed to never be completed. Fast forward I think the start of 2015 when I accidentally stumbled upon TKM and I couldn't believe I could finally know how the story ended. Nora had a blogspot where she talked about the books (including updates between TRK and TKM), and I remember trying to get as much info as I could on this series. And that was it. For a bit.

So, by the first half of 2015, the fandom was made by people commenting on her blogspot, on her livejournal, the book pages on goodreads, and Ao3 literally had 2 fics ( webarchive gives you what we saw - btw Don't Speak Against The Sun is FIRE and instantly became a new standard for f/f for me). You can still find all this content online. Tumblr had a handful of scattered posts about TFC, mostly Nora's mutuals/friends on tumblr, and a couple of readers screaming into the void with no one answering their call.

I was pretty active on here, especially in the bellarke fandom, and I engaged with mutuals and other blogs often enough that I knew if I talked about something, at least someone would reply. A mutual was reading The Raven Cycle and got me curious enough to liveblog it myself. Instant love, of course, and if you've read TRC you know how strong the found family vibe is. So at the end of my liveblog (we've reached July 2015) I threw out a comment where I recommended AFTG as another worthy title. With the first book being free while the other two were only a dollar each, it sounded a fairly easy commitment. One mutual decided to read it (if you're reading, hi!!!) and liveblog it, and that got the party started.

A party of 2, and I'm not kidding. While we chatted and made up headcanon after headcanon on the phone, the intention was to get others interested in this story. But they'd never do it if there wasn't enough content around to engage with and motivate them to blog themselves, so we started with quote posts, liveblog reactions, a few timid edits and poems. An important choice was figuring out which tag to use (at the time tumblr search only scrolled through tags, not post content): "all for the game" was an actual sports tag, "the raven king" was the title announced for the next TRC installment, "the king's men" was the last book of the trilogy and it wasn't even the free one, so we settled for "the foxhole court" which was an empty tag. Even now my blog content is organized around "tfc" because of it, even though we took over all the relevant tags. A couple other mutuals I had from bellarke fandom got curious as well, and now we could consider ourselves a proper group. We were so starved for fan content that whatever you put out would be automatically reblogged and enthusiastically engaged with. It was a happy little fandom bubble. Then Nora noticed us and started interacting with us, and you got the birth of what would become the extra content page as she replied to our questions.

I possibly had a little bit too much time on my hands because I appointed myself as fandom archivist and tour guide. I reblogged every single post I saw in the tags, and I started a welcome page where I could keep track of everyone announcing they were reading the series. It was meant as a way to find mutuals to interact with since tumblr hadn't yet "canonized" all the tags, and it was entirely possible to lose each other in dashboard chains. I used to reply to everyone reading the series by "officially" welcoming them into the fandom, linking them the page where they could find mutuals, Nora's blog, and the extra content present up to that point. Oh and there was a fictional exy team where you could choose your position and then put it in your blog for fun or roleplay it. I also used smashword's gift system to buy the series for whoever said they couldn't pay for it, just to try and avoid pirating the book (good for word of mouth, bad for sales). This was on my side, but this fandom had so many people pouring their entire heart out I still get emotional thinking about it.

Everyone (before January 2016) made as much content as they could, be it meta, fanart, fanfics, headcanons, edits, wikia pages etc. We had fandom challenges where we pronounced the names of the characters and aftg keywords with our native accent, others where we said our favorite scene. Every headcanon was the first headcanon ever seen in the fandom. The fun thing was that at the time there was a strong etiquette toward "if you have nothing nice to say then don't say anything" so fan content really went in all directions with basically no limits. We tagged for triggers and that was it, we had free reign. For those who were around at the time, the sin squad was a group of us fans churning out the saddest/filthiest/fluffiest/most problematic content we could think of.

Then we reached January 2016. We were around 300 in the fandom at that point (I know because I counted them, literally), it had been slow but constant growth where each new fan brought at least other two people with them, and we had around 20 posts per day in the main tag. Then someone bridged the gap between us and the TRC fandom. If you ask me how the fandom got really popular, that's it. The TRC fandom was stuck in hiatus waiting for The Raven King, and now you had 300 rabid foxes spamming aftg content on tumblr, using trk as tag, too. Popular fanartists that were active in that fandom helped making aftg known, and semi viral posts did the rest. We went from 300 to 700 people in a couple of months, and shortly after I had to stop adding people to the welcome page because the post broke. I didn't even know that could happen. It wasn't long after that we were featured in the tumblr end of year recap for book ships. We were so many it was suddenly possible to meet in real life! Cosplays, tattoos, merch. You name it, someone in the fandom did it.

But how did it feel when we were only 20 people and a cardboard dog cutout? It felt like the most chaotic book club ever, and every new fan was automatically a friend. Nostalgia is a lying bitch, but I really don't think I'm making shit up here. We had fun and made great memories.

By the way, if you want to see how things were in 2015, you can! Just go through my archive starting from July 2015 (I think 17th) and onward. You can also search my blog for the tags "fandom history" and "started from nothing and now we're here", whereas here you can find a list of aftg fandom tags I used.

Tl;dr We were starving for good content, we wanted to have fun together, and we were lucky enough to half-hijack a bigger fandom in hiatus. That was all the marketing AFTG needed on tumblr.

[lukolathoughts]

Dearest Gentle readers,

I have been a member of Tumblr for a while without posting a blog entry. I suppose I have been getting the lay of the land and trying to formulate my thoughts. As most of you know, I am a tarot reader on YouTube and I also share my thoughts on X. I am a Lukola through and through and no amount of bullying, intimidation, nasty comments etc. will deter me from my mission. The last few weeks my trolling comments have increased exponentially from what I can only assume are desperate Jakehole's, (apparently I am credited for making the term 'Jakehole' up, I actually have no idea if it was me or not, but I like it) trying to convince me that Nicola is with Jake and Luke is with Antonia. I will come to my thoughts on this in a moment.

I do realise that a public tarot reader, I put myself at risk to exposure and criticism from these types of people. I am fully aware of that. What I underestimate sometimes is the sheer vitriol they come with. I am an empath also and I absorb a lot of a energy, not just from the fandom, Luke and Nic and adjacents, but from my own life as well. I am a teacher and I am surrounded by a lot of people daily. I have always used my television shows as a coping mechanism to detach from reality and 'switch off'. I never thought this time last year I'd be sharing tarot readings on YouTube about a real life celebrity couple that I was barely aware of in January 2024. But here we are. Bridgerton season 3 took hold of my brain and injected some sort of magic crack into it and I haven't been the same since. Don't get me started on the press tour. I've never seen anything like it and it was honestly like a spiritual awakening.

But I digress, I have been reading for a few years and learning the tarot cards and their meanings. I have watched countless YT videos by other readers and I came into this fandom watching the OG tarot readers of the fandom. I do not see myself as any different or special, I just read the cards as they come out. I also repeatedly say 'this is for fun and entertainment purposes only, I do not personally know Luke and Nicola'. And the fact of the matter is I don't know them, none of us do. I do not follow them around all day like some weird little psychic Martha from Baby Reindeer. I merely read the energy of the cards and I observe.

Why I love teaching English so much for me, is there is never a right or wrong answer in English Literature. It is up to your interpretation and all about reading the subtext of what is really going on. Now you might call me delusional, but I have always had an uncanny knack for predicting who the murderer in a story is before the end of a novel. It's called critical thinking. This drives my husband mad because he is very black and white and for him 2+2 = 4. Simple as. For me, I'm like wait a minute, what if... My brain is like a whimsical, magical unicorn sometimes, but I always go with my gut and my intuition. I will NOT waver on my intuition because I believe it is stronger than my rational mind.

Ok, so here we go. In my opinion haters!! Nicola is not now or ever has been with Jake Dunn romantically. My readings tell me he sees her as mother figure and mentor. Jake is clearly gay and most likely in some sort of relationship with Dylan. I think the Jakehole ship is a dead, rotting corpse. Nicola and Jake have reached the end of their agreement where she provides him with networking opportunities in exchange for some possible PR diversion to take the heat off Nicola's real relationship. William Tell is out. Luke is home from Rome, there is no need for Jake anymore. I also get the feeling from my readings that Jake is tired. Nicola is tired and Dylan is doing his best to set the narrative straight. I do not need tarot cards for this, it's blindingly obvious. As far as I know, Jake has no straight male friends. It is extremely rare in UK culture for straight men to hang out with all gay men and feel secure about that. It's just the way things are. I am not saying Jake and Nic are not friends, of course they are and I won't begrudge them that. I think he has a lot of genuine affection for her, but he also sees her as someone who can get him places and opportunities which we have seen time and time again.

And now we come to Antonia. I know she is only 23/4 and young and whatever. I have taught students older than her. But I will be truthful and say I don't like her energy. I don't like reading on her. I don't trust her little dancing self. I did have some sympathy for her in October as I had big crushes on boys when I was young, I get it. Luke is hot. But that pasta video she shared in Rome (a video she could have got from anywhere and shared an hour after she had seen Luke had been there) by her was mean, malicious and intentional to hurt the fandom. Her flouncing around with a shitty red bag always implying she's in Luke's vicinity is also callous and calculating and she's shared so much pasta stories now, it almost puts me off eating it. Almost, I love pasta. The biggest takeaway for me is she was not with Luke this Christmas and NYE. It is well documented where she was. We do not not know where Luke was, but we do know Nic was spotted with a lovely tan at the WT premiere. Could Antonia be PR? I sigh, because I think it's more complicated than that. In my readings, I do pick up a delusional obsession from her in regards to Luke. But she is convenient to bring up when they need her. I know the haters will call me delusional for thinking this and as my husband would say if 2 + 2 = 4 then it's 4.

But is it 4? Is it so straightforward as that? My intuition is telling me no, it's not. We have had no sign of Luke being anywhere near Antonia since July in Sorrento when he jumped on a plane and left two days early alone. All Antonia has are literally pasta videos and photos, that I am convinced, enraged Luke. She is giving me serious Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction vibes.

Let's address the elephant in the room. The comment by 'Luke's mum' on her private FB account to a relative. I think it's bullshit. I have three boys and I'm telling you now I would walk through fire if anyone touched a hair on their heads. I will go to prison for my kids. If I was Luke's mum and some 23 year old dancer had systematically tried to ruin my son's career, and she did folks, I would not be writing on a public page outing her as my son's girlfriend. It is all too suspicious and convenient. I could speculate for hours on what has happened, but you guys have group chats and your own brains for that. As one ship falls, another one rises in an unexplained manner.

In conclusion, yes I do believe Nic and Luke are together and this is a very important time for them right now. The silence is LOUD for me. I keep getting the four of swords for Nic. She is resting and taking care of herself in the way that she should. Luke is in a besotted Emperor mode. All is good. Until Nic and Luke specify otherwise, that is what I am sticking with.

[clearwingedmaven]

Alright, so. I've got little time and some ideas, so I'll do a brief thought process on the death of Sherlock Holmes in 1893, and the fandom as a whole.

Firstly, getting this out of the way. Sherlock Holmes was not the first modern fandom. That honor most likely goes to Charles Dickens and his work, especially the Pickwick Papers. There is evidence and record that fan merchandise, like joke books, tobacco, and shoe horns, were made with Pickwick Papers characters, especially Sam Weller.

However, Sherlock Holmes is probably our first instance of a global fandom where consequences quite literally created a literary and cultural firestorm. This isn't an exaggeration.

ACD's relationship with Holmes is... strange. Of course, he wanted to kill off Holmes, and move onto other books. (Historical novels, mainly, or Spiritualist manifesto), but there was always a love hate relationship, and we see that most predominantly through fan letters.

Almost immediately after Holmes’s death in 1893, there was shock. Scandal. Mourning. Fans exchanged letters in newspapers, trying to reach out to other fans to figure out what just happened, and what to do next. Holmes was dead. And for all anyone knew, so was the series.

So how'd they cope?

By creating communities. Discourse communities, to be more apt. They exchanged letters, asked questions, and talked through newspapers. Each one plucked from 1893 and 1894 show grief and confusion: for a fictional character.

People even started seeking out Joseph Bell, the man who inspired Holmes, in order to try to fill the void. There's even record of fans venturing to Reichenbach Falls in costume to pay tribute to their fallen hero. And this kept happening. For years. The world lost not just a character, it was their friend.

Keep in mind! Victorian literature was a family affair. Many people would gather around and read stories and books together, so the firestorm went further.

Until, it made ACD change his mind, and bring back Sherlock Holmes. (Can we call it bullying? Perhaps. I call it a unique circumstance of cultural phenomena.)

So where does it leave the fandom?

Ah, that's the question. This fandom, uniquely, has a distinct honor of being one of the oldest living discourse communities, an exchange of reader response, engagement, and including even more material.

So to the fans: from the fanfic writers, to the game makers, to the cosplayers, to the fans of adaptations near and far, to the editors, to the artists, to the dreamers and thinkers...

It is, given the nature of the fandom, that you are all a part of history, as part of one of the oldest(and still going!) Fandom discourse communities.

Keep that in mind. And keep going. 🙂

[eternlmoonshine]

the weight of water 𖦹 spencer reid

summary: you spent so long trying to keep spencer afloat, you didn’t see yourself drowning. and when you finally let go, it wasn’t an explosion- just the quiet pull of the tide, taking you away. pairing: spencer reid x reader warnings: pure angst, no happy ending. established relationship except the relationship is going to shit. both reader and spencer are TERRIBLE at dealing with their emotions. some potential for a part two but i'm not sure wc: 1.2k a/n: thanks to my twitter oomfs for choosing the one angst option on a poll that had 3 other fluff options, apparently the cm fandom loves being miserable <3 masterlist.

You had been holding your breath for so long, you forgot what it felt like to breathe.

At first, you didn’t notice the water rising. It started slow, seeping into the foundation of your relationship, just a little rain, nothing to worry about. A passing storm. But leaks don’t stop. They spread. They grow. And one day, you wake up gasping, realizing you’re already waist-deep, treading water, clinging to the person you love, desperate to keep both of you afloat.

But Spencer never saw the flood.

It wasn’t one moment but a hundred little ones. 

It was Spencer coming home after a case, silent and heavy, like the weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders. The way he sat on the couch and stared- at nothing, at everything, at some invisible horror only he could see and he refused to name. The way his fingers trembled when he thought you weren’t looking.

The first time you asked him about it, he brushed it off. "Just tired," he said.

The second time, he changed the subject. 

The third time, he kissed you instead. 

And then, you stopped asking.

Because your own pain felt so small next to his.

You had bad days, too. Days where the weight of everything pressed against your ribs, where the world felt like it was swallowing you whole. But every time you thought about saying something, you stopped yourself. Because what was your exhaustion compared to the kind of things Spencer saw? What was your sadness compared to the horrors he carried home?

You learned to push it down, to smile when you didn’t feel like it, to convince yourself it didn’t really matter. That you didn’t really matter- not like that.

So when the water kept rising, you never said a word.

The night he came home with blood on his shirt- not his, but it didn’t matter- you followed him to the bathroom, watching as he scrubbed at the stain with shaking hands. "Do you want to talk about it?" you asked softly.

He flinched. "No." His voice was sharper than before, tired in a way that made your stomach twist.

"Spencer…"

He turned then, eyes flashing. "What?"

You hesitated. Because I love you. Because I hate seeing you like this. Because it’s drowning you, and you don’t even see it. But all you said was, "I just want to be there for you."

He exhaled, turning away. "Then stop asking."

So you did.

You stopped asking about his day. Stopped asking why he barely touched his food. Stopped asking if he was okay.

And you stopped talking about your own pain, too.

The night he woke up screaming was the night you realized you were already underwater. The sound shattered the quiet, raw and broken. You reached for him instinctively, only for him to jerk away. The rejection stung. "Spencer, it’s okay," you whispered, watching him struggle to breathe. He didn’t look at you when he muttered, "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Fine people didn’t wake up screaming like that.

And still, he refused to reach for you.

The breaking point came quietly, the way a ship sinks, slow at first, then all at once. You should have known it was coming. You should have felt it in the air, in the way tension had been building between you for weeks.

But love makes you blind, and you had been so blind.

He came home from another case, a ghost of himself, moving through the apartment like he wasn’t really there. You knew it had been bad, you could see it in his eyes, in the way he carried himself- like a man with a noose around his neck, just waiting for it to tighten.

He was quiet.

Too quiet.

And for the first time, it made something inside you snap.

Because this wasn’t fair.

Because you loved him, but love wasn’t enough if he wouldn’t let you in.

"Spencer," you whispered. "Please-"

"I don’t want to talk about it," he cut you off, voice like a snapped wire.

"You never want to talk about it!"

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I don’t-"

"I know your job is hard," you interrupted. "I know there are things you can’t tell me. But Spencer, you don’t tell me anything. And it’s-"

"I can’t!" His voice cracked, frustration spilling over into something uglier. "You think I want to be like this? You think I like shutting you out?"

"Then why do you-"

"Because I don’t know how!"

Silence.

His breathing was ragged, his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes, wide and wet and tired, held something like fear. He wasn’t keeping the pain in. He was trapping himself inside it.

And suddenly, you felt so stupid.

Because you had spent so long convincing yourself your emotions didn’t matter, convincing yourself you had to be the strong one, that your feelings were insignificant compared to his- and for what? He didn’t want to be saved. He didn’t want you to save him.

The weight of his world, his nightmares, his grief- he wasn’t just carrying it. He was holding it so tightly, so desperately, that he couldn’t bear to let any of it go. And maybe he never would.

Your vision blurred.

You swallowed hard. "Spencer," you whispered. "You’re drowning."

His expression twisted. "And maybe I deserve to."

Your breath caught. He had never said anything so cruel. Not to you. Not like this.

You knew it wasn’t true. You knew it was the pain talking. But it still felt like a fist to the chest, forcing all the air from your lungs.

And in that moment, you realized something.

You had spent so long trying to save him, you hadn’t noticed you were drowning, too.

"I love you," you choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "I love you so much. But I can’t—" Your throat tightened. "I can’t do this anymore."

Spencer stilled. "What?"

Tears blurred your vision. "I can’t keep reaching for you if you won’t reach back."

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, watching as the tide pulled you away.

And for the first time, Spencer let you go.

⊱ ───────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ───────── ⊰

You don’t remember packing your bags. The act felt mechanical, your hands moving on their own. You took only what you needed. Anything more felt like stealing, even though it was your home, too.

Spencer stood in the doorway, watching. He didn’t try to stop you. You weren’t sure if that made it easier or worse.

"I don’t want to lose you," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Then you should have held on."

His face crumpled, and for a second, you thought he’d break, thought he’d fall to his knees and beg you to stay. But he didn’t. And maybe that was the answer in itself.

You reached the door. Hand on the knob. One last breath before stepping out into the unknown.

"I hope you find your way back to yourself, Spencer. I really do."

He didn’t respond.

You walked away.

The water was still rising, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could finally breathe.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Criminal!Reader (alias Siren)

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: You've just gotten your hands on some important documents and that means payday. At least it will if you don't get caught. Too bad you're about to have a reunion and it might just be with someone that knows you well. What happens when you see that old face again, especially now that you find yourselves alone again? What lines will be crossed?

Word Count: 3.7 k

Warnings:

You’ve been found, you just don’t know it yet. Fuck. All those careful steps, all that planning, it wasn’t enough to save you this time and now you’re caught unaware. That’s the risk with the type of job you do, though you shouldn’t have stayed another night in your hideout. Of course there was nothing you could do; you were supposed to meet a potential buyer for something you had recently procured in the morning. Now, that chance is long gone.

There’s a strange sound that whizzes past your head and suddenly there’s a knife lodged in the sheetrock of the wall right behind you. You hesitate as you realize what it is and what it means, unsure of which way to head now that you are certain there is someone in the dark of the room with you and that single moment of delay is your downfall. Before you can recover and take off, heavy steps close in and a large hand wraps around your bicep to keep you in place while another joins its twin on the opposite side of your body.

You’re pushed back fast and harshly pinned to that same wall, several inches from the knife buried in it. The rough, unfinished texture tears at the leather of your jacket as you try to break free from whoever it is that has you, but no matter how hard you struggle you can’t get away. You can taste copper on your tongue now, a fresh cut on your lip from where you have bit it as you are jerked around, though the damage is hidden as your mask still holds in place across the bottom half of your face.

Blindly you try to reach for the weapon embedded somewhere to your side, a last ditch effort to help you escape, but the movement doesn’t go unnoticed and it is immediately punished. This isn’t good. 

“No ya fuckin’ don’t,” a gruff, male, thickly accented voice spits into your face as your wrists are quickly gathered in only one of those hands before your arms are wrenched above your head and secured to the wall as he retrieves his knife back. 

Your breath catches in your throat at the sound of the man’s voice and as you settle from the skirmish you immediately lock eyes with a tall soldier, his face completely covered under his headset by a black balaclava with a hard skull mask sewn onto it so that only his dark eyes are visible through the tiny opening.

“I suggest ya stop fuckin’ movin’,” your captor says plainly and with authority, but you aren’t going to listen. 

You twist your body trying to throw him off one last time. “Or what?”

Sharp, cold metal presses into your neck right against the vein that could easily end it all and you stop dead in your tracks. “I said stop movin’. Now.”

“Easy, soldier,” you say to smooth things over while you struggle to catch your breath. “You get a little too heavy with your touch there and you could make a mistake you’ll regret.” 

“Worry ‘bout yourself, Siren,” he shoots back, speaking your alias like a curse that he can’t wait to get the taste of off his tongue. “Now, let’s make this quick, shall we? Ya know why I’m fuckin’ here.”

You shake your head, feigning dumb; you need to know how much information he actually has before saying anything. “Do I? Why don’t you enlighten me.”

He pauses, but then continues. Why not? He has the upper hand anyway and this isn’t anything you don’t already know. “Word came through that ya got your hands on some very important documents. Documents that if given to the wrong people could cause some problems. So why don’t we make this quick? I’ll only ask ya once, Siren: where are they?”

You shake your head with a slight shrug of your shoulders. “No clue.”

His strong grip on your wrists tightens. “Ya expect me ta believe that? Cut the shit or this is gonna get a lot worse for ya.” 

You gasp, faking that the pain is a lot worse than it is. “C’mon now, you’re hurting me,” you say, your acting convincing to anyone, but him.

“Oh come off it,” he is quick to call out your bullshit, “we both know you can handle yourself better than that. Tell me what I wanna know. How tha fuck did ya get your hands on those documents?”

You chuckle at your failure. Oh well, it was worth a shot.  “Well…you see…I had quite the substantial incentive to come up with a plan, but that wasn’t necessary. With the right assets, anything is possible, especially where men are involved.” You puff up your chest so it pushes against his. “What do you think about my assets, hmm? It’s been a while, but you can’t have forgotten them already.”

Your eyes lock to his, those dark eyes that you are no stranger to looking into. This isn’t the first time you two have had a run-in with one another and, if by some miracle you can get away, this won’t be the last. Even within the depths of his mask, with the low light of the room, you can still see a shimmer of something flash through them as you make that first contact.

“Shut up,” he demands harshly, diverting his gaze.

“Really? Is this how it’s gonna be now?” you ask coyly. “I thought we were building a connection, you know, after all the encounters we’ve had, Simon.” 

The blade is pushed harder against your neck so that you have to swallow that last word. “Don’t ya fuckin’ say my name like that out ‘ere,” he threatens pointedly. “Or are ya tha one forgettin’ now? Don’t make me fuckin’ tell ya again.”

He’s trying to be the tough soldier you know him to be to secure the information he needs to take back with him, keeping up the tough facade with an iron will so he doesn’t lose his head because he’s put himself in a dangerous position. If he doesn’t watch himself it could be all over. He recovers quickly from your first bit of connection and everything continues on according to plan until your hip bumps up against his and this time he falters just for a second.

That second is all it takes for you to catch it. A smile spreads across your mouth that Simon can’t see beneath the fabric covering it. Good, you think to yourself as your heart skips a beat. So, he hasn’t forgotten me. Maybe you’re not out of luck just yet… There’s still one thing that can help you get away, all you have to do is get him to break the rest of the distance that’s still between you.

You just need to stall a little longer; he can never last in your presence. And yet…why isn’t your heart slowing?

“It’s nothing personal, you know,” you say as if trying to get back to the task at hand, “just business. You understand. Highest bidder gets the prize.”

The ghost-masked man huffs. “Why do ya always ‘ave to get yourself into fuckin’ trouble?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, his subtle change in tone throwing you off for a moment before you regain composure and try to play it off as a condescending bit of flirting. “Come to try and clean up my mess for me? Trying to save little ‘ol me?”

“Who said ya need savin’?” he scoffs.

Now that you’ve made the point, it’s got you thinking. No one else has come to join this reunion of yours. Did he really come here all by himself? Oh curiosity has you in its grip now. If your suspicion is true, he’s done for. 

You tilt your head to the side. “Then why are you here and not one of your other pals, hmm? Matter of fact, where’s your team? Don’t you usually come with a few more friends anyway?” You drop your voice. “…or did you come alone on purpose?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares, and that in itself feels like an answer.

“Oh, that’s not smart. Remember, we can’t be left alone. Every time we do something…happens.”

“Nothin’s gonna happen,” he returns, each word being punctuated as if he is trying to convince himself rather than you.

You make a calculated risk knowing that one wrong move puts your life in danger, but still you stand up taller on the balls of your feet to lean your face closer into his. “You sure about that? Cause you don’t sound so confident.”

You lock your pretty eyes onto his once more, your one saving grace still available at this moment, and he is struggling to contain a shuddered breath under your silent gaze because this time he can’t look away. Adrenaline is high and his body is betraying him now that he has lingered near you too long. 

Fucking hell, he thought he could control himself just long enough to get through this, but the more time this takes, the less confident he feels. Why can’t he ever seem to break this spell you have over him? He thought he was stronger than this, that the time he had purposefully avoided anything to do with you and your antics, taking different assignments while he hardened his will would make him more capable at handling this, but now that he’s here with you again it’s like all that meant nothing.

Your faces are nearly together, so close you have to wonder if he can feel the heat from your breath as you speak. “How many times are we gonna keep doing this song and dance, Simon?” you ask in a whisper, eyes drawn to where his mouth is right in front of you. This time he doesn’t reprimand you for the use of his name, but you don’t even notice. “Cause you know how this is going to end, right? It’s the same every time. We’ll fight this for as long as possible, but why when we both want it?” 

The masked lieutenant doesn’t answer, he can’t. It’s obvious that no matter how much time you are apart or at what odds you both find yourselves at now, he can’t quit you and you won’t let him go. Something draws you two together, some invisible thread that keeps you tethered. It’s toxic and eruptive and maybe there’s something more lying beneath the surface, but you both can’t deny that whatever this is, it’s electrifying and you can’t help the way it makes you come alive.

“Don’t you want me…it? Don’t you want it?” you ask, biting your tongue at your blunder; why would you say it like that? “You remember how good it feels, how hard I can make you cum. It’s been a while since we’ve fucked, don’t you miss it?”

This is just to get away, you keep repeating in your head as if it’s going to drown out the other thought lingering at the back of your mind now that your body is against his. Just so I can escape, you swallow down the words like they’ll somehow slow the rapid pounding of your heart as your body burns to feel his again. It’s nothing more than survival, you add, but this isn’t like the other times.

If this is only survival, why is every fiber of your being screaming for him to break this distance? Why can’t you think of anything else?   

You hadn’t expected him, that has to be it. It took you by surprise to see him standing there before you after all this time. Your last encounter was intense and maybe a bit of that is resurfacing now. Something about it was different even from the beginning; your soldier wasn’t as rough and you almost lost yourself in the haze of it all. Afterward you both lingered for far longer than you should have, his touch still feeling like heaven against your curves even after you came back down from the high. 

In those moments after, even though he was no longer your lover, just simply the soldier that stood between you and your paycheck, you didn’t pull away so easily. You had trained yourself to suppress all that, but in that moment you were floundering. All this time apart should have fixed it, right? 

…right?

Every capillary across Simon’s heated skin is screaming for more stimulation: from the tips of his fingers desperately gripped into your wrists to the skin on his chest under his clothes tingling from the heat of your bodies being nearly pressed together. He knows he should end this now, radio for backup and let the others take over, yet the longer he stares he knows he’s caught like prey in your trap and though he’s fully aware, he can’t stop. You are like air and he is suffocating. 

He’s fought this as long as he could, but finally the dam breaks along with his composure and all that desperation comes flooding out all at once.

“God dammit. Why do ya always ‘ave ta do this ta me?”

His face moves in quick and snares your mouth through the fabric covering both of your lips and you feel like you are primed to explode from the euphoria of all the tension breaking. The passion is so intense that you can taste it through the barrier and it takes your breath away. Pressure from the blade on your throat lessens as he immediately pushes one of his thick thighs up against your own till he’s parted through them and is pressed against your pussy through your clothes and immediately you start to grind on it.

He desperately needs to get his hands on those documents in your possession, but they are completely an afterthought as he needs something else more now, something he’s needed since the last time you two found yourselves brought together by circumstance. And if he’s honest with himself, this was the real reason he took this mission in the first place. 

The knife is off your skin and slicing up the side of your thin mask, rendering it useless as it slips from your face and falls towards the ground. Simon releases your wrists from his tight grasp and draws you back into him by a strong hand around your throat. You rip his own mask up just enough to reveal his mouth so that you both can collide once again into a suffocating kiss so rough you know the metallic taste from the cut on your lip is dancing on his tongue now too. 

Fuck, his mouth feels so familiar it hurts your heart to experience it again and before you can stop yourself you are sinking further into him, getting lost in the feel, the taste, the potency. By the way he kisses you back, as if he’s trying to devour you, you know that he is doing the same. 

And fuck do you both need more.

Your hand finds its way through the layers to get inside his clothes, your delicate palm gliding over heated skin to get a feel of remembered flesh that you don’t realize till you touch it how much you’ve yearned to feel it again. Your fingertips travel over his muscles and through the hair covering them until they brush over the outline of an old scar, a mark you gave him now healed over, but as Simon shudders under your touch and moans into you, you realize that maybe it wasn’t just your knife that got under his skin that day all that time ago. 

“Take off your fuckin’ pants,” he groans his demand against your mouth. 

You nip at his bottom lip and he inhales sharply. “Take them off yourself,” you challenge.

Simon releases your throat and it’s at that moment you have your chance, you could very easily break free from him and run, but you don’t even try. You can’t. As those strong, rough hands harshly pry off your pants and his touch burns across your flesh you feel marked. Your skin is hot under the brush of his hand and instead of shoving him away you lean your hips into his greedy movements until he finally rips the clasp open and shoves the clothing down off your legs.

There isn’t time to remove anything else as your pulses race in sync, yours matching the throbbing growing between your thighs, his complimenting the stiff peak tenting the crotch of his pants that jabs into your leg. Quickly you search by touch alone to undo his belt, the clasp, & rip down the zipper just to push his clothing down enough to pull out his cock.

You need him inside you. Now.

No words need be said, not that any could with his mouth clasped tight to yours, Simon still knows what to do. Wrapping his strong hands around your waist he lifts you up and you encircle his hips with your legs, squeezing him between your thighs to keep you secure to him as he braces you against the wall. 

Your back hits the surface with a harsh thud that makes you gasp and you throw your arms around his neck to hold on as the tip of his thick cock presses up against your pussy through your panties. Shit. In the rush you both forgot the last shred of fabric keeping you apart, but it only poses a minor setback as with a grunt Simon sharply hooks his fingers into the crotch and wrenches it to the side out of his way, aligns himself, and with a swift, hard thrust is inside you. 

You cry out as your fingernails dig into his shoulders as he keeps going till he is sunk in down to the base of his shaft, that familiar stretch divine after so fucking long, but the sound gets caught in his mouth and he is forced to swallow it down. This is it, this was what had been missing from your life, the thing that left you feeling empty that you just couldn’t seem to fill no matter what you did. Not, not just the sex, it’s him. It is Simon. 

Simon struggles to keep himself steady as the walls of your pussy flutter around him; it’s been far too long since he’s had you and all that pent up desire is ready to explode at any second if he isn’t careful. Taking a moment to calm, he is able to recover and once he starts thrusting there is no holding back and with each pass the slick grows until he’s struggling to find his rhythm with how wet and tight you are. 

He pushes himself in as far as he can, as if he cannot get deep enough, like he cannot fill your cunt full enough. Each thrust harder than the last slams into you faster & faster until there is only a haze left in your mind, until you are consumed by him and every sensation assaulting your senses: his mouth on yours, his fingertips piercing your hips, the wall roughing up your back, his cock filling you. You know your desperate plan has backfired as you moan onto his lip and the slick from your cunt starts to cling to your thighs, yet you don’t care. You need to cum.

Your mouth is burning and swollen from the friction, yet you press in harder as you match his thrusts with your own the closer you get until you feel his hand slip down between your bodies to find your clit so that he can stroke it.  

“Youre gonna fuckin’ cum for me,” he growls the words onto your lips as he presses the pad of his finger up against your clit. “C’mon sweetheart, need ta feel how your body still remembers me.”

Your release is gaining on you fast now, your body readying itself to shoot that electricity through your limbs. The pressure is overwhelming, hot and ready to blow, and with his thrusts working inside that is finally enough to make you spill. Your orgasm rockets through you with such force you nearly black out, causing you to clamp down on his cock as your entire body convulses. 

The sensation from your core is enough to cause that deep ache in him to finally find its remedy and in a roar he lets go, filling you with every ounce of cum he has to give until he too is shuddering from the strength of his release. 

Seconds, minutes, timeless? You aren’t sure how long you stay like that, connected and breathing as one being. All you can do is enjoy the sensation of him still pulsing inside you as you both come back down from the high. And yet now that the haze of lust has settled another thought is creeping in: you’re already wondering when he’s going to ask that question, the same one he asks you each time this happens.

Not the one that comes out, the one that is really asked in between the spaces in the words.  

One last kiss amongst his heavy breathing and there it is, the question rests against your lips as his forehead rests against yours. “Are ya really gonna make me ask ya again?” he questions quietly with eyes still closed. “Cause we could use someone with your skillset. And I could keep…” 

The words are plain, but there’s an almost imperceptible hint of hope in his gritty voice, something that anyone else would miss, but you aren’t just anyone. He lets the sentence die out like he always does because he can’t admit even to himself that his reasons are selfish. If you were near him, you’d be safer.

Usually your answer comes quickly, a simple no and things go back to how they always are…but this time you can’t quite seem to get it out. You pause, unsure if it’s your orgasm-fried brain or something else that’s making you falter, counting the beats of his heart through the pulsing of his cock still inside you as a way to keep the time. 

He doesn’t say anything more, just waits, but as the seconds pass you still haven’t rejected his proposition like normal. He pulls back to look into your eyes, catching that glint of something curious shimmering in the depths. Finally, you take a breath, clear your throat, and as he watches you open your mouth to speak the air around your entwined bodies seems to shift.