#god that was 8 years ago. i feel old now-

[astralnymphh]

hi! #8, #11, and #13 for the writer asks please 🤍

omg.. i was waiting for one of these.. THANK YOU.

8. do you prefer the beginning, middle, or end of a story?

hard to say. the beginning can be a rough patch if you don't know what you're doing. the middle can be grueling and too much all at once. and the end can feel tortuous as you're there, but not quite. but, i would have to say the end, because at that point i have written a substantial amount to peek back at and feel proud about (or simply to edit it because.. lesbehonest.. editing > drafting)

11. link three favorite fics.

ok this is a tough one because i have to trudge back and find whatever the hell i've read that actually like.. changed my brain chemistry.. (and is also still up) more than friends by @gracieheartspedro (honorable mention: dagger in the heart) is a more recent favorite.. tbh a classic. and i love jackson ellie. second, a friend in need by @s-4pphics changed the way i think about jackson!ellie so Hard and Bad and I can't stop thinking about It. (honorable mention again: candy crush also had an impact on me, but i think that's because i was in the middle of fortnite while reading it. So. Yeah.) third, pretty girls make graves by a name i can't seem to recall (because the account was deleted) (please let me know if any of you 2023 ogs remember) but another one that still haunts me (in a good way) is marley and me by @total-dxmure again a very old, good ass classic. i miss fics like this guys where did all the good days go. quite literally what is wrong with us now GET BACK TO WORK!!

13. what's a common writing tip that you always follow?

never. over. do. it. okay, being candid, i have a lot of tips that i stringently follow, but good god starting out as a writer a year ago did i need this one. a year ago, i needed to hear that you don't need so many varying epithets. you don't need to explain the microscopic details. you don't need a poem for every emotion. you don't need big fancy words (jargon) that nobody understands. sure, words won't hurt—but a litany of them will. it will hurt your brain. it will hurt OTHER brains. if you can write soft but hit hard without expending it through an entire paragraph of repeats, similies, metaphors, epithets, and absurb amounts of drama, then that makes you a true writer. you shouldn't need 10k+ words to prove yourself. in fact, forcing yourself to hit a goal ends in a bunch of yabber jabber nobody wants to read (unless you're just writing a long-ass story. like me rn tbh. except there's just a lot of lore i don't waste 10 million words on one scene lol). so, no, all the poetical adornments aren't always better. they're fun as hell, and can be a writing style, but oh my god, do those simple one-and-done fics take me the fuck out. besides, writing all that bs will wear you down so fast (learned my lesson). i could ramble on and on about tips. stop me here.

[oh-meow-swirls]

if anyone was wondering the rewrite's going great-

[agayconcept]

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[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 8 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.2k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

A blood curdling shriek rang through the house, jolting Carter from her restless dreams.

She sat straight up in bed, heart racing as she looked around the dark room, head so heavy she could barely remember where she was or how she got there.

In her hungover mental fog, she pieced it together slowly. She was at the beach house, in her room, it was early, she drank so much last night and Topper said -

“OH MY GOD!” 

Another sharp scream came from downstairs, and her heart rate spiked all over again. She pulled the fluffy comforter around her shoulders and hurried out of the room, quiet on the stairs as she nervously approached the source of all the commotion.

When she saw what was inducing Sabrina’s shock, she doubled back, hiding around the corner so they couldn’t see her. Her stomach churned with bitter loathing, and something else even more nauseating…

She dropped the blanket and rushed to the half-bath off the house’s entryway, doubled over the toilet bowl as last night’s poor choices continued to haunt her.

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Rafe drove faster than he had before your interrupted rendezvous, seeming not to want to drag this adventure out anymore. You eyed him nervously from the passenger seat, searching for words that weren’t coming to you. 

Tongue tied and exhausted was not how you wanted to begin this…whatever this was between you. Rafe had given you words, so many of them, back on the beach and all he asked in return was a simple yes or no.

Are you my girl?

No four words had ever felt so heavy. The shitty part was, you wanted to say yes. At the sound of his breathless question every cell in your body was screaming yes! I’m your girl! I’ve always been your girl! 

But then there was that pesky piece of self preservation that cemented itself in your heart all those years ago and didn’t plan to give up any time soon. 

He looked so disappointed when you couldn’t give him a quick and easy answer, his chest now deflated and shoulders sunken as he drove the rest of the route home. Despite your lingering hesitation, you felt like you needed to give him something, needed to lift the frown that was settled on the lips you had tasted so many times this morning.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“For what?” He asked.

“I’m…slow,” you began, “it takes me a while, y’know? To find the words. I’m not like you, I don’t know how you came up with that speech in less than a minute.”

Rafe laughed, confusing you.

“What?”

“You think I came up with that speech in a minute?” He chuckled, “I’ve been practicing it every day since senior year of high school.”

Your heart clenched at the endearing thought of him in front of the mirror, driving to class, taking a shower all while rehearsing what he’d say if you ever gave him the chance.

“Oh,��� you tucked your hair behind your ear.

It was infuriating, your complete inability to get a grip on your own thoughts and feelings around him. It had always been this way. You were well-spoken and sound-minded, until this one person was in your atmosphere, his presence your own personal kryptonite.

To be fair to yourself, it wasn’t just your own weakness for him that had caused you to build such high walls. When you were kids, he sometimes made you feel this way on purpose. He used to have fun watching you get flustered, just the right amount of flirting to send you into a tizzy, only to leave you spinning like a top with no one to stop you.

You truly tried to leave the past behind, burying it somewhere back in the sand on the beach. You reminded yourself that the Rafe of your memories was not the one sitting next to you right now. But that might just be the problem, because at least you knew that Rafe, you knew exactly what he would do next.

If he grabbed your hand, you knew he was about to drop it. If he said something sweet, you knew he was about to say something passive aggressive. If he acted like he loved you, you knew he was about to act like he’d never met you a day in his life.

But this Rafe, this new one, was completely unpredictable. Wild and dangerous in his apparent affection for you. How were you supposed to know what he did next wasn’t going to hurt? He was right about what he said on the jet ski - you won’t know until you give him the chance. Easier said than done.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he offered after you’d been quiet for a long time.

“This week has just been…” trying to come up with one word to describe it felt like a futile task.

“Overwhelming?” Rafe tried to help.

“Surprising,” you countered. “I’ve never been good with surprises.”

“You like to know what’s coming next,” he nodded, once again displaying a deep knowledge of you that you never knew he possessed.

Like he could read your mind, his arm stretched across the small divide and his palm, warm and soft, settled on your thigh, a single soothing stroke to let you know he’s still here, he’s still yours. The feeling of his skin touching yours was like aloe vera directly on the burn.

With a grateful smile, you leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath as he steered you home.

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Carter padded down the hall, stopping three separate times, trying to decide if she should just go back to her own room. But the sight of her frantic texts to you still saying “delivered” and not “read” was too concerning to ignore.

She opened Topper’s door without knocking.

He was sitting up against his headboard, typing feverishly on his phone. At the sight of her, he clutched his duvet cover, pulling it up higher over his nearly naked body.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” 

“Please, like I haven’t seen it all before. Like I didn’t see it yesterday,” she rolled her eyes.

“Oh okay, so you do remember. Based on the way you were acting last night I thought maybe you’d forgotten we’d ever been together,” he snipped at her.

“I don’t want to talk about last night,” she waved him off, dismissing his complaints flippantly, “are you aware of what’s happening downstairs right now? Of who is happening downstairs right now?”

“Yes, I saw her pull up,” he returned his attention to his phone and his frenzied typing.

Outside his cracked open door, Carter heard Kelce, Tom, and a few others come barreling up the stairs, chatting about the recent arrival.

“Be so fucking for real, did you invite her?” Carter said, attempting to lower her voice.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but you do this thing where you think you’re whispering and you’re actually not,” Topper informed her.

“Topper…”

“No, I didn’t invite her.,” he answered. “Actually I was about to ask if you did.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I hate her.”

“Wow alright, hate's a strong word, Carter, maybe calm down a little.”

Ever since their knock-down-drag-out at the club last night, the arguing that was usually playful and lighthearted had an edge of actual bitterness to it.

“First of all, if you ever tell me to ‘calm down’ again, I’m going full Lorena Bobbitt on your ass. Second of all, you need to go down there and tell her to leave,” she flicked her hair behind her shoulder and held her chin up as she bossed him around. He hated that despite how mad at her he was, he fucking loved it.

“How does that job possibly fall on me?” He scoffed.

“Aren’t you Mr. Team Rafe-and-my-sister? Don’t you want to get rid of the reason they stopped talking in the first place?” She reasoned.

“I’m not gonna tell her she can’t be here,” he shut her down. “It’s not my house, and it’s really none of my business. Or yours.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, “oh yeah? Then who are you texting so much over there?”

“I’m just giving him a head’s up,” he shrugged. “She should probably know too.”

“And you’re just assuming they’re together?” She snarled.

“Puh-lease,” he rolled his eyes, “did you see them at the club last night? There’s no way they didn’t hook up.”

She wouldn’t accept it, couldn’t, even though she knew somewhere deep in her gut that he was probably right. 

When Rafe still didn’t answer any of his texts, Topper sighed heavily, “fuck it, I don’t care if I’m cockblocking, I’m calling him.”

Before he could dial, the house shook with the slam of the front door. Carter and Topper hurried out to the hall and hesitated at the top of the steps. Your lone voice carried up to them, talking to no one in particular as you muttered, “un-fucking-belivable.”

Carter actually did whisper this time, “I think it might be too late for that…”

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The feeling of Rafe’s hand, warm and steady on your thigh, as he drove the rest of the route home was so nice and comforting, you let yourself slip into the possibility that this could actually be it. Maybe you really could just leave the past behind you, maybe you really had finally found each other and it could just be simple like this.

But your fantasy didn’t last long.

Rafe parked in the spot across the street that you had taken Carter’s car from a few hours ago. Even when he turned the key and cut the engine, he didn’t remove his hand from your leg. 

“You ready?” He sighed.

“For what?” You questioned, eyeing him curiously, his face serious as he looked down at the site of his hand on your skin.

He shook his head like he didn’t know the answer himself, “reality, I guess.”

You placed your hand over his, smirking at the sight of your fingers encompassing each other’s, wanting so much more from these hands and truly believing you’d have all the time in the world to enjoy them. 

“Bring it on,” you gave him a small smile.

“He leaned across the center console and dropped a deep kiss to your lips, causing you to sigh into his mouth. All the times you imagined kissing him, you never thought such a rough-around-the-edges guy would have such soft lips. You felt like you might be able to spend forever with them on your skin.

When he finally pulled away, you reached for the handle of your door, beginning to open it, but Rafe reached across your body and pulled it shut again.

“What are you doing?” You asked in surprise.

He smiled that perfect, dimpled grin of his, “extra credit.”

You giggled as he hurried to climb out of the driver’s side, hurrying around to your door and opening it with a chivalrous flair.

“Wow,” you beamed, accepting his hand as he helped you down from the tall vehicle. “You weren’t kidding about trying to be a gentleman.”

“For you, I’ll be anything,” he flirted.

Despite your best efforts not to, you blushed, the red hue on your cheeks deepening when Rafe kept your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours as you walked back to the house. It was the first time he’d held your hand out in the open like this, where anyone could look out from the windows of the beach house and see the two of you together. It was foreign to you, his public display of affection, and yet it felt so right. You couldn’t help but wish it hadn’t taken this long.

“Can I ask you something?” You said quietly.

“Anything,” he squeezed your hand assuringly. 

“Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?” 

Rafe’s face fell slightly, watching his feet as they made less and less forward progress on the sidewalk, until he came to a full stop. The question was mostly meant to be lighthearted, a tease really, but his solemn reaction made your stomach twist with concern.

“I…” he started, voice unsteady, not meeting your eyeline, “I don’t know if I should tell you this but -”

You never knew what he wasn’t supposed to tell you, because before he could, a sickeningly familiar voice called out from the front porch.

“Hey guys!”

Head snapping toward the sound, you looked up, and there she was, as stunning as ever in that same signature everything-you’re-not-ness. 

Cassie Bryant.

Her face was adorned with a glistening smile, yours was noticeably not. Everything in you sunk, including the corners of your lips, completely unable to hide the way your heart dropped six feet under the ground at the sight of her.

She was somehow even more golden and glowing now than she was back then. Glossy blonde hair flowing down her back like a waterfall of silk. Her perfect, blemish free skin glowed in the early morning light. Her big, round Disney Princess eyes quickly found Rafe and flicked over your joined hands, clocking the way they were folded together in unmistakable intimacy.

It happened so quickly, and yet it felt like years worth of hurt and heartache compacted into one small moment. 

At the sight of Cassie on the porch, Rafe dropped your hand.

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Surely, any minute now, a camera crew would pop out from the bushes and announce that you were being Punk’d.

Or maybe it’d be the Mythbusters:

The myth? That you can actually heal from your childhood trauma with just four years of painstaking hard work. Well, we’re about to prove that all of that can be unraveled in the span of 72 hours! Also, we will be using your heart as our crash test dummy. Myth busted!

You didn’t look over at Rafe, couldn’t bear to watch the way he pulled his body away from yours, ever-so-slightly, almost imperceptibly. But you could feel it all the same, and you were sure she could too. 

Before Cassie could say anything else, the front door opened behind her, Sabrina stepping out of the house and taking in the unfolding scene on the lawn.

“Oh shit,” she laughed, “this is awkward!”

It’s like her main goal in life was to find new and creative ways to make your bad moments worse.

“Is it?” Cassie asked, seemingly unaware of the cause of Sabrina’s laughter. “We were just saying hi.”

She caught your eye as she said it, a polite but knowing smile on her lips. You realized with shock that she absolutely knew what was happening and was trying to make you feel better about it. You should just be grateful for the unexpected kindness, but something in you was suspicious. The Cassie you knew would’ve jumped at the chance to embarrass you, and she would’ve loved the way Rafe was treating you like you had the plague.

Plus, her taking pity on you, acknowledging the way Rafe had just hurt you, was somehow worse than her just being mean to you. You’d rather she go back to that.

“Y’all having a good trip?” She asked you and Rafe when the silence had lasted just a little too long.

You looked to Rafe, waiting for him to answer, begging him silently to say something that indicated that you were in fact having a good trip…together.

But he just said, “it’s been cool. Weather’s shit, though.”

“Yeah that’s what Sab told me, but I got a few days off my internship so I thought I’d come hang with y’all,” she said, eyes on you as she spoke, like she owed you an explanation.

“Well, welcome, then,” you smiled a polite smile that didn’t meet your eyes.

“You ready?” Sabrina asked, linking arms with Cassie, thick as thieves. 

“We’re going into town for some brunch if you guys want to join,” Cassie offered.

“That’s okay, I need to check on Carter,” you declined, all eyes turning to Rafe for his response.

“Uh yeah, I’m good here, th-thanks,” he stuttered, so awkward and shaky, a completely different person from the guy who was delivering monologues and sweeping you off your feet just a few hours ago.

Cassie just smiled politely once more as Sabrina pulled her into the car. As they drove off, you stood wordlessly with Rafe on the front walk, your chest completely hollow. You mustered some nerve and finally looked at him, head tilted, a completely unamused smile tugging your lips.

“Weather’s shit?” You repeated his words back to him.

“Look…” he began but didn’t finish the thought.

You just laughed humorlessly, shaking your head at him as you stormed off toward the house. Rafe stood frozen for a moment, kicking himself mentally and begging his brain to catch up with the moment, finally rushing off after you, but not able to before you slammed the door in his face.

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Carter and Topper exchanged nervous glances at the sound of you stomping into the house. 

They slowly and quietly settled on the top step, sitting forward to listen in as the front door opened and closed again, Rafe’s voice echoing through the house.

“Wait…” he said, following after you as you marched further into the house toward the kitchen.

You didn’t stop, “No, go ahead, you should go to brunch with her. Don’t let me keep you from a good time.”

“Wait, let’s just talk,” he pleaded.

“I’m too tired, Rafe,” you rejected him. “I can’t do this right now.”

“So you’re not even gonna let me explain?”

At the top of the steps, Carter and Topper simultaneously held their breath as they listened, both jumping as Kelce’s voice startled them, “what are we listening to?”

“Shhh,” Carter waved her hand at him, motioning for him to shut up.

Kelce plopped himself between them on the top step, shuffling a bit so they’d make room for him. He listened in, picking up your and Rafe’s raised voices quickly.

“Oh shit,” he barely whispered, “trouble in paradise already?”

“Dude shut up,” Topper cut him off.

Soon, Maddie, Tom and Jack joined the little huddle on the top step, each cluing in on the source of the entertainment in their own disruptive way before being shushed by the group and eventually sitting. You continued your argument with Rafe, completely unaware you were performing in front of a live studio audience.

“You don’t need to explain,” you told him, trudging down the front hall toward the kitchen. “I know exactly what just happened because it’s happened a thousand times before. What I don’t know is why I’m even surprised.”

“Come on,” he caught up to you, stopping you in your tracks as his large frame rounded you. “It is not the same as it used to be.”

“It’s exactly the same,” you side-stepped him, walking into the kitchen and dropping Carter’s keys on the counter. “I mean jesus Rafe, it’s the same fucking person! I can’t believe I’m here again, it’s like I’m having a nightmare where I’m back in high school. Next thing you know I’m gonna walk into homeroom and I realize I’m completely naked.”

“Sounds more like a dream to me,” he smirked, trying to flirt.

You just blinked back at him, your sharp eyes cutting straight through his head.

“Do you think this is funny?”

His smirk dropped, snatched right off his lips by your ice cold tone. Good. You’d been waiting years to wipe that shit eating grin off his face. 

Something new was rising in your chest, knocking out the embarrassment and sadness with a closed fist, a fury long buried coming back with a vengeance.

“I thought all that shit was behind us, over and done.” Rafe reached out towards you but you stopped him with your own rough grip, lowering his hand away from you and dropping it like he’d dropped yours.

“Oh, it’s fucking done alright, so fucking done,” you spat.

 “You’re really gonna let ten stupid seconds ruin everything that’s happened between us? You’re not even gonna give me the benefit of the doubt. You really think that little of me?”

“It’s literally only been two hours, and you’ve already lied to me once and pushed me away the second someone saw us. And you wonder why I'm having a hard time saying yes to being with you? It’s because I fucking can’t trust you, Rafe!”

“I don’t know what else I can do to show you I’m different,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is so fucking unfair.”

“Are you being fucking serious right now?” You stepped towards him as you snapped at him. “You’re actually pissed at me?”

“Yeah, I am!” 

“Why?”

“Because I lost my best friend!”

Everyone on the top of the stairs winced, air sucked from the room when Rafe raised his voice at you. For all his flaws and mistreatment, he had never raised his voice at you before.

“Oh shit,” Kelce whispered.

“Shhh!” Carter and Maddie hushed him in unison, everyone leaning in a little closer to hear how you’d react. But you said nothing. They couldn’t see the widening of your eyes, jaw locked tight as you gave him space to follow up on his outburst.

“Do you really think it didn’t hurt me when you just up and stopped talking to me back then?” He took the space you gave him and slowly unpacked the hurt feelings he’d buried for years. “I know I was a dick, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of how you felt about me, I shouldn’t have strung you along. But when that shit went down senior year and you just ghosted me, I wanted to talk to you and make it right. I tried, but you blocked me out, you went from talking to me every day to radio silence without giving me a single explanation. That fucking hurt. And you’re doing the exact same thing now, not even giving me a chance to explain things. So yeah, I am a little pissed. I’m pissed that you’re just gonna throw it all away again over nothing.”

He waited for your response with baited breath, prepared for you to yell, or cry, or do something. But you gave him nothing, mouth closed in a tight line as you turned on your heel and walked further into the kitchen, lifting the coffee pot from its home and filling it in the sink.

He watched your back as you scooped the grounds into the filter and turned on the machine. Minutes passed and you remained silent, hands on the counter, looking out the big window towards the ocean while the coffee brewed one drop at a time.

Finally, after eight cups had dripped into the pot, you spoke.

“How was prom, by the way?” You turned to face him, the edge of the marble countertop digging into your waist as you leaned back against it, hands crossed in hostility over your chest. “I never asked.”

Rafe’s gaze fell from you almost instantly. He didn’t have to ask why you were bringing this up, the ‘hell hath no fury’ look on your face dragging the memory forth from its carefully hidden spot in the back of his brain. Nothing made him feel like a jackass quite like that memory, and based on the mocking curve at the corner of your lips, you knew it.

The memory used to keep you up at night. 

For a full year after it happened, it was like a fire poker bent into the shape of regret and shame was branding your heart over and over. 

Now, the burn was healed over, still calloused and red at the edges, but you’d done your best to cover the scar tissue in the healing balms of self-love and lots and lots of therapy. Still, it was the moment in your life you were the least proud of.

You’d thought it was gonna be you. Really, earnestly, completely delusionally, you believed when he asked for your help with his grand prom-posal that it was all a playful ruse to ask you to be his date. You stayed up all night, decorating three different poster boards with glitter glue so he could pick the one he liked best. You bought out all the battery-powered candles at Michael’s - he said he’d pay you back, he never did. You waited with him in the park until the sun set, giddy with the hope that he’d drop the ruse and pop the question any minute.

“What will you do if ‘she’ says no?” You attempted to flirt.

“I guess I’d just have to take you.”

Every muscle in his body flinched at the memory and the white hot regret he felt every time it replayed in his head.

The kid who said those words was such an asshole. Standing here in the kitchen, looking down at you, the love of his goddamn life, and facing the possibility that he might lose you for good, he wanted to ring the idiot’s neck.

Because he hadn’t asked you. He made you watch while he asked her. And he didn’t even give you a ride home from the park.

Fuck, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he was you, either.

Rafe felt about two feet tall, looking back at you with absolutely nothing to say. He was relieved for a second when you opened your mouth to speak first, until he heard the words.

“You don’t understand. The voice in the back of my head, the one I’ve spent years trying to silence, the one that tells me I’m not enough, that I’ll never be enough…it’s your voice, Rafe.”

He grasped desperately for a reply, but there were no words in the English language that made that statement any less devastating.

“Maybe that’s not fair,” you continued before he could come up with anything, “but I don’t think I have control over that. I don’t know how to undo it, if it can be undone. So those ten seconds that just happened out there? They’re  not nothing to me. When you dropped my hand at the sight of her, I felt like I was that stupid teenage girl again, giving my whole heart to the one person who knows how to break it. Blind and foolish and desperate for you to notice her. I don’t like that girl.”

You made it through the whole speech with a steady voice, up until the last sentence. Your voice cracked on those words, your heart doing the same as you pictured your younger self. The one who would sit on her bed for hours, rereading the texts she sent him and praying he’d reply.

Thinking about that version of yourself, you weren’t sure if you wanted to hug her or slap her. Surely, she’d hit you right back if she saw what you were doing now, potentially pushing away the boy she loved more than anything, finally having him within your grasp and letting him slip right through.

At the top of the stairs, unbeknownst to you, Carter was picturing that girl, too. She would roll her eyes at you back then, using sarcastic comments like “are you sure Rafe even knows how to read?” to mask her truer concern; that he could but he wouldn’t, and the heart you wore on your sleeve would end up crushed again. Even now, she couldn’t protect it, couldn’t save it from reaching out to this boy who did nothing but break it.

Frustration welled inside her, the absolute powerlessness to put an end to this cycle that hurts you feeling like a dark cloud over her head. The anger manifested into hot, watery tears gathering on her lash line. Without permission, one slipped through, rolling down her cheek slowly.

Topper caught the whole thing, and despite their fight and his resolve to freeze her out until she apologized, he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out and stroking her cheek softly, wiping the tear away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

They shared a look so full of unspoken words and tender emotions that they almost forgot about the conversation in the kitchen, until Rafe’s voice cut through the moment and pulled them from their silent reconciliation.

“Are you okay?” He asked you after you’d been silent for nearly a minute, trying desperately to compose yourself.

“Yes, that's all just a lot. I’m processing,” you sniffled.

“Take your time,” he said, pulling out one of the high back stools from the counter and motioning for you to sit in it.

Your body was so exhausted, even your stubborn anger at him couldn’t stop you from accepting the offer. You slumped on the plush stool, folding your arms on the counter and resting your chin on them.

“How do you like your eggs?” Rafe asked.

“Is that a pick-up line?” 

“Nope, just a question,” he said as he opened the high cupboard and pulled out a frying pan.

You tried to remind yourself you should reject his offer to feed you, you should storm out, you should tell him where he can put his frying pan…but you were hungry. And so tired.

“Sunny side up,” you answered.

He nodded and got to work cooking you breakfast, eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove, Rafe close by with a spatula in hand, silent as he stirred and flipped. You rested your head on your folded arms, eyes half-closed and brain sleepy, watching him. 

If you blocked out the last twenty minutes, you could pretend this morning was your real life, could let yourself imagine it really was all this simple and pleasant and sweet; he’d cook you breakfast, you’d make him coffee, and you’d kiss until the sun rose.

At the top of the stairs, Kelce stood and started descending, before Carter reached up and grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

“I’m hungry!” He whined.

“You can’t go down there,” Maddie scolded him, “give them some space.”

“Are we just gonna stay up here all day?” Tom complained as he and Jack stood to join Kelce’s crusade into the kitchen.

“Everybody sit down!” Topper whisper-yelled. “Give them five fucking minutes, you’ll all survive. You can fuck off back to your rooms if you want but no one’s going down there.”

Carter couldn’t help the heart eyes she made at him, surprised and delighted by his show of aggression in your defense.

Kelce groaned as he backed back down, Tom rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up as he trudged down the hall back to his room, Jack following with a huff.

“Kelce, I have a granola bar in my purse, c’mon,” Maddie offered, leading him towards her own door.

Alone again, Topper and Carter looked at each other for a long, quiet moment.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

“I know,” he mouthed back.

She scooted towards him, nuzzling into his side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple.

Downstairs, Rafe was done with your meal, scooping it onto a plate and sliding it to you across the counter.

“Thank you,” you sat up and began nibbling at a slice of bacon.

Rafe took the stool next to you with his own plate of food. You sat in silence for a while, only the sound of forks scraping against porcelain and the occasional “can you pass the salt?” between you.

Between bites, you rested your head on your arm again, nearly falling asleep.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled sleepily.

“It’s been a long twenty-four hours,” Rafe agreed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“That’s an understatement,” you snorted, sitting up again and finishing the last bite of your eggs.

“What about…the next twenty-four hours?” He asked quietly.

You took a deep breath, the smile falling from your face as you considered the question underneath his question. You didn’t answer him right away, hopping down from the stool and collecting your plate and his, carrying them to the sink. Rafe was quick behind you, arm reaching around and pulling the dishes from your hands to lay them in the sink. His hand rested on your waist, turning you to face him, pulling you in. Reluctantly, and without returned tenderness, you let him.

“Rafe, I can’t…” you said sadly.

“Please just talk to me,” he pleaded, hands running up your arms and resting on your shoulders. You shook your head, blinking away fresh tears as you pulled away from him.

“It hurts too much, Rafe,” your voice cracked. “As great as the last few days have been, you can’t see that being close to you hurts me. I worked so hard to get over you. So this isn’t me throwing it all away, this is me protecting myself. Protecting what I’ve spent years rebuilding.”

“So what, that's it then? You’re just gonna go back to school and pretend this never happened?” The pain in his voice was palpable, and you cursed the part of you that wanted to reach out and make him feel better.

“I don’t know, Rafe,” a small tear slipped through, gliding slowly down your cheek.

“You’re just gonna stop talking to me, stop thinking about me?” He continued desperately.

You looked up at him finally, searching his face, nodding sadly.

“I’ve done it before.”

Hurt flashed in his crystal blue eyes, flinching like your words had burned him. “You didn’t…you don’t…think about me?”

“No,” you told him honestly, another tear joining the one before it. “Never. Because if I let myself think about you, I would’ve fallen apart. I’m not strong enough, I would’ve run to you, and every time I did that before, you’d let me down.”

“What about yesterday? What about this morning? Just think about the beach, everything was so good, it can be that way now…”

He reached out and cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing over the tears as he pulled you in toward him, kissing you out of sheer desperation. Like maybe if you tasted his lips, it’d transport you both back in time, back to the beach, back when he’d done and said everything right. 

You allowed him to take you there for just a second, before the incident on the front walk flashed in your mind again, the pain of rejection like a knife to your gut. You pulled away from him quickly, side stepping him and moving to the other side of the kitchen, creating as much distance between you as possible.

“No, no, you can’t just kiss me and act like what just happened with Cassie didn’t happen,” you shook your head rapidly, wiping your tear stained streaks with the backs of your hands. “I can’t do this right now, I need some time to think.”

It required fighting every impulse he had, but he didn’t push, didn’t close the space between you, didn’t try to regain the control he was so used to having. He just sighed deeply and nodded, eyes low.

“Okay, well let me know when you’re done…thinking.”

With one last longing look at you, he stepped away to the basement steps, stopping at the top and turning halfway toward you.

“Oh and that girl? The one who gave me her heart? For what it’s worth, I like her. Always have.”

With that, he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Carter and Topper could hear you approach the bottom of the steps. Carter stood first, fully ready to greet you and grill you on everything that had happened since you last spoke. Topper could see all her questions and comments written on her face. He grabbed her hand and squeezed gently, stopping her before she marched down the stairs towards you. She looked at him in surprise but understood quickly as he gave her a slight shake of his head, whispering, “give her some space.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, allowing him to lead her quietly down the hall and into his room.

Your footsteps were heavy on the stairs, body aching. Your brain was so fried you couldn’t even pick one thing from the morning to focus on, like the part of your brain that processes events was temporarily out of order. So you stopped trying to think and just let your feet carry you to your bed, crawling under the covers in your clothes, falling quickly into a restless slumber.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

In your dreams, you were back in the kitchen with him, shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence as you did the dishes together. Rafe washed and you dried. 

Only, it wasn’t the beach house kitchen, it was one you’d never been in before. And in that dream-state way of knowing something you don’t actually know, you were sure it was a kitchen the two of you shared, sometime in the distant, unwritten future.

(chapter 9: part one)

a/n: I'm so sorry, I had to do it.......also the prom thing may or may not be based on a true story and I may or may not have cried writing it....

also I’m sick and tired so I didn’t edit much sorry for typos!

please note: the taglist for this series is closed. For updates when I post, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

friendly reminder that writers live off of reblogs, don’t forget to feed your faves! 💘

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[planetamarte]

i miss 8tracks so bad (was barely there for it)

[fuzzyautumninmetal]

141 - First Words

So my baby said his first word the other day and mine and my partners reaction was fucking hilarious. Now I can't stop thinking about the 141 reaction to their baby saying Dada for the first time

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish would cry, like ugly tears type crying. No he does not care about the snot coming out of his nose, his precious baby just said Dada. He was on the floor playing with baby MacTavish during tummy time, you were in the kitchen cleaning up after you and Soap decided to bake Making another baby. Baby MacTavish is a chatter box like their daddy, always babbling and Soap answered back to baby MacTavish's very interesting story. Soap didn't hear it at first, he thought it was babbling nonsense until he heard it again. The simple word Dada and he's picking baby MacTavish up and rushing to the kitchen 

Thay said Dada

Soap holding baby MacTavish up like a prize

Fuck off, you're lying (Your baby was growing up too quickly)

Their first word was Dada

Soap was already crying

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick would be shocked, swears he's going deaf because no way baby Garrick is talking already. Gaz was bouncing baby Garrick on his knee, pulling funny faces to hear their belly laugh, you were on Netflix trying to find a movie to watch. You were both were in your own world before baby Garrick screamed then ever so quietly said Dada, you and Gaz's head snapped towards each other as you stared at each other 

Did they -

I think so

Gaz turning to baby Garrick

Did you say Dada? You can't have, you were born like last week

Babe they're 8 months old now 

Nope. Still a wrinkly baby 

Captain John Price would just smile, like a smug smile that baby Price's first word Dada. Make's him feel like he's the favourite parent Not realising that when baby Price is upset you can use the fact they can only say Dada against him "Sorry baby, they want you :)". Knowing Price's luck, baby Price will say Dada when he's at work. As soon as you hear the words you're on the phone ringing Price, he picks up at the first ring scared something happened. When you tell him what happened you best believe he's dropping everything to come home, doesn't matter if he's in a very important meeting with Laswell. Baby Price said Dada, he must go home at once

Price coming home and runs straight past you

See, I'm the favourite parent 

John Baby... That's not how that works-

Price is ignoring you as he's kissing baby Price's cheeks 

I'm gonna buy you anything you want. Just say Dada again. Please

Simon 'Ghost' Riley also cries. He'll cry silent tears as he holds baby Riley to his chest, years ago he never thought he'd have his own family and now he's here. Witnessing his baby's first words. Ghost, being the excellent father he is, basically forced you to finally go out for girls night knowing you needed time to yourself. Ghost couldn't wait for a night of tummy time, playing and just straight up cuddling while watching Bluey. Baby Riley was laid on their daddy's chest, trying to fight sleep but failing miserably and just before baby Riley fell asleep they said Dada as they clutched to Ghost's shirt.

Did you say Dada

Ghost didn't move realising baby Riley is now asleep

God I never thought I'd love anyone more then I love your mummy

Ghost carefully hugs baby Riley tighter 

But then you came into my life. Best thing to ever happy to me and your mummy  

[sanguineterrain]

okay i've had this thought brewing for a while and i think you're the only writer who would do it justice!

reader meets jason again post-lazarus pit and he's amazed by how different reader is look-wise. reader was a teenager the last time they saw jason and now as an adult they've gotten a more "adult" body. reader is curvier, fleshier, no longer as lean as they were as a teen and is a bit self conscious about their body. but it drives jason wild to see his old crush all grown up into this mature body, hell he's changed a lot too. but yeah i feel like jason would be so body positive and full of praise 🩷

decided to combine this with a request i got for this prompt: 8) we share the bed because this is what we’ve done since we were kids, regardless of the adult implications now. i so agree with you anon, i think jason would be simultaneously body positive and absolutely FERAL for his old/current crush ;)

jason todd x gn!plus-sized!reader. reader used to work with the bats and is best friends with jayjay. reader is insecure and speaks poorly about their body. jason does NOT like that and desires you carnally! wahoo! suggestive content but no outright smut.

****

You haven't been in Jason's room in five years.

Alfred's kept it pretty much the same. Same books on the shelves, same Gotham Knights sweatshirt Dick gave Jason for his birthday. The curtains are the same shade of maroon, and the left one has a tear from when you played with a batarang. Jason had covered for you and was grounded for a week.

You flip through a dog-eared copy of The Three Musketeers. A few of the pages have underlining in pencil. You trace them with your finger.

The door creaks open. You look up.

Jason freezes in the threshold. His wrist is bandaged and you can see stitches on his forehead. You frown.

"Hey." You set down the book and go to him, offering your shoulder for him to lean on. "You okay?"

Jason sighs, ignoring your shoulder. "Who called you?"

"What d'you mean? We're psychically linked, Jay-Jay. I sensed that there was trouble afoot in Gotham City."

"Uh-huh. That didn't work when you tried to convince the old man I needed a puppy because you psychically divined that it knew me in a previous life."

"You and that Terrier were soulmates and I'll hear nothing of the contrary."

You take Jason's arm, despite his protests that he can make it two feet to the bed. He lays down, trying to hide how his arm twinges in pain. You frown and slip in beside him.

Jason's a lot bigger than he was the last time you shared a bed. Well. You both are. You roll over so you're facing him, squished against his side. You pull your leg up, suddenly self-conscious about everything Jason might be able to see.

Jason is warm. He's warm and big and solid and good God, you've missed him.

Your best friend is also fucking gorgeous and you really want to kiss him, but, uh. Ignoring that. You're very practiced at ignoring the urge to kiss Jason.

"Thanks for comin'."

The light is still on, casting a soft orange glow across Jason's features. He glances at you, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. You can count all the freckles on his nose, this close.

"I'll always come when you call, Jay," you say. "Well, when Dickie calls. Said you got a concussion."

He turns his head, sighing at the ceiling. "'S not a big deal. Mild concussion. Leslie said I'll be fine in a week, but we all know that's code for two days."

"Yeah, I don't think so. You bats really are birds of a feather."

"How dare you. 'M nothing like those wackos."

"Sure, buddy. Keep lying to yourself. You brought me in all those years ago for a little normalcy."

"My mistake," Jason says.

He gets thwacked with a pillow for that. It fluffs his curls. He grins at you.

You tuck in closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. Jason turns his head so his cheek rests on the top of your head.

"You can have the bed," he says.

"Don't be a silly goose."

"'M gonna go home anyway."

You scoff. "Not like this, you're not."

"Been worse for wear."

You roll your eyes. "How are you gonna ride your bike with a hurt wrist and a concussion, genius?"

"Please, babe. The real question is how will I sneak past Alfred?"

"I'm a babe, now?"

Jason half-smiles. "Always were."

"Liar. Can you imagine me in a Batsuit again? Exactly, you can't. I simply don't have the bod for it."

"Hey." Jason reaches down and gently pinches your thigh. "Why ya doin' that?"

"Doing what?"

"Talkin' bad about yourself. Don't do that. 'Sides, it ain't true."

"Jaybird." You level him with a look. "Be serious. I know you're my best friend and you have to say that, but c'mon. I've seen the hotties you work with. Hell, I've seen Bruce and Dickie."

Jason's face twists in disgust. "Do not call my dad and brother hot."

"Okay, fine. I've seen you."

His brows rise. "What?"

"What, what?"

"Are you... callin' me..."

You snort. "Duh. Have you seen yourself? You've always been cute, Jason. If you didn't have the demeanor of a honey badger, you'd be fending off marriage proposals left and right from the Gotham public. You've always been the prettier one of us, Jay-Jay."

Jason's quiet. You keep going.

"Anyway, neon's never been my color, and it seems like that's a pretty immovable requirement these days. Like, I get Clark's trying to be seen from space but he doesn't get bloated. And the Spandex? Goodness gracious—"

"Y'really see yourself like that?"

Jason's staring at you with a wrinkled brow, mouth set.

"Like what?"

"Like you're not pretty? Like I'm too good for ya?"

You prop your head up on your arm. "You've always been too good for me, Jason Todd."

"That's just not true. And you're fuckin' beautiful, so stop sayin' that shit."

You blink. "Jay, c'mon—"

"No. It's true, so stop. You're the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure to know, and if anybody's gettin' proposed to, it's you."

"Jason." Your face is on fire. Why did you open your mouth? "Stop. It's fine. So I'm different; my body's changed and shit. I'm not an athletic vigilante anymore. My thighs have, like, their own zip code. It's my own fault. I didn't keep up the training and whaa—!"

In one fluid motion, Jason's rolled you onto him. Your legs straddle his waist. You catch yourself on his shoulders, then begin to scramble off, burning with embarrassment.

"Sorry, I'm heavy, you're injured—" you babble, picking up your leg.

"Will you quit?" Jason keeps your leg exactly where it is, tenderly stroking your ankle with his thumb. "Actin' like I'm made of whipped cream."

"You're concussed."

"Mildly."

"Stop, Jason. Please. You don't have to do this to-to prove a point. I get it, I won't talk bad about myself."

Bit hypocritical, considering some of the stuff you know for a fact Jason believes about himself.

But this is humiliating, your extremely attractive, crime-fighting best friend pretending that you haven't totally let yourself go all to bolster your ego.

"Nah, I don't think you get it," Jason says conversationally. His hand creeps under your shirt. You squirm. "I really, really don't think you get how fuckin' gone I am for ya."

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Now, that's my fault, never sayin' anything. I was being cowardly. So lemme make it clear for ya, sweetheart."

His hand leaves your ankle and pulls your face to his. And then Jason kisses you.

"You're concussed," you whimper against his mouth. "Jason, you're—"

Jason laughs, low and sweet. He strokes the side of your face. "I could have amnesia and I wouldn't forget the fact that I've been in love with my best friend since I was fourteen."

"Are you sure you don't want me to move? I can—"

"No way. Y'know how long I've wanted you on me? Shit, I sound like a creep, thinking 'bout you like that, but—"

Jason rolls you both onto your sides. He hefts your leg over his, so you're slotted between each other. Then he kisses your neck, mouth hot and desperate. You gasp, belly swooping.

How long have you wanted this? How long did you believe you'd never feel this way about another person after Jason?

"I can promise you," Jason says, breathing hard against your skin. "You're a knockout. You knock me out. And I'll knock out anyone who says otherwise."

You huff and get a little braver, kissing Jason and returning him onto his back. He grins, sharp and hungry. He wants you. There's no doubt.

"I still think you're concussed," you murmur, letting him feel up your shirt. "But lucky for you, I have the utmost sympathy for poor, bedridden bats."

Jason hums, grunting when your teeth scrape his ear. "Oh, I've always known I was the lucky one, having you."

[henry7931]

Great Shift; On The Farm

Andy:

I’ve been having a hard time adjusting to my new body especially since it belonged to my big brother Henry.

But Henry is having an even harder time with things. We are polar opposites and he hates having my “scrawny gay” body. (His words not mine)

That’s why my parents thought it would be a great idea for me to spend the summer with my grandpa on the farm.

My grandpa was also shifted into my cousin Garrett’s body which makes us the same age now. Weird right?

So when I arrive I see my grandpa outside in Garrett’s body doing some work. And I’m surprised by how he looks. It’s been years since I’ve seen Garrett and his body looks a lot different.

Handsome, I might say.

I feel myself getting somewhat excited about the thought but immediately turned it down in my head. That’s still my cousin’s body with my grandpa in it.

I get dropped off by my dad (who’s in our neighbor Rogers body).

“Hey dad! You never looked better,” he says to my grandpa.

“Yeah and you look older,” he says with a big smirk and a wink.

“Geez, thanks.”

“Andy! How are you bud?” says my grandpa pulling me in for a hug and I can feel his shirtless sweaty body rubbing up on me.

“Hey grandpa!” I say trying not to get a boner.

“Oh no! I’m not grandpa anymore, I’m just Harry now.”

“Oh okay, sorry.”

“Hey don’t apologize, you and I are going to have a lot of fun this summer.”

Grandpa or ‘Harry’ messes up my hair a bit.

“Great, I can’t wait!”

My dad says goodbye to us as I grab my bags. Grandpa or Harry— walks in with me and we catch up for a few.

“How are things for you Andy? Are you adjusting well to your brother’s body?”

“ I guess so, at least better than Henry with mine. I don’t know it’s all still odd to me.”

“Well I know it takes time but just embrace it. This is probably permanent and as much as I hate it for your cousin— I’ve accepted his body as my own. I actually feel comfortable in it. Plus, your cousin was a prick prior to everything— god love him. I’d say this humbled him. Probably will humble Henry too. I remember when those boys used to pick on you.”

“Yeah…” I said looking down at my brothers hands. Flashbacks from years ago started to fill my head back when Henry and Garrett used to trick me into doing stupid stuff.

“But that doesn’t matter now, Andy. This is the new us. So let’s enjoy ourselves! Wanna beer? You’re old enough now haha.”

“Uhhh sure!”

We both sat at the table and drank beer together.

I listen to Harry talk but I can’t take my eyes off of his shirtless chest.As he’s talking, he pulls off his shoes and I can instantly smell his stinky feet.

He pulls his sock off and now I have a full view of his foot. He notices me looking and says, “sorry that smell so bad.”

“No you’re good, I don’t mind.”

“Oh no! What if I—”

He takes Garrett’s foot puts it up close to my face.

I jump back to make it seem like I was grossed out.

“Hahaha sorry! Just wanted to make you jump! You have no idea how much I appreciate these smelly toes…” he says rubbing his foot. “I used to have a hard time walking and now I can do anything!”

Harry continues to tell me about how things are so different from when he was originally 21. And I learned so much about him that I didn’t know.

Hours past and it’s around 8. We cook dinner together and both of us were pretty lit by then.

We eat and by this point both of us are ready for bed.

Harry, who doesn’t seem to have a care in the world and is way more hammered than me, strips off all of his clothes down to his briefs.

He crawls into bed and tells me to give him a hug. I do and I notice something strange… he’s fondling his crotch.

Oh my!! He has a boner! Even the head of his dick is coming out of his briefs.

Of course I don’t point it out, I just try to say good night to him.

But before he lets me go he gives me a kiss on the lips. It took me so off guard and yet I felt that same excited energy like earlier. As I pull back, he says to me, “you just wait, this is going to be the best summer yet.”

“Okay Harry, I’ll see you in the morning.”

I hit the light and look at him in bed. My dick gets hard just at the sight of his feet.

I walk up to him and snoring. I carefully bend down and sniff them.

Fuckkkkk…

I go to the guest bedroom, licking my lips from Harry’s sloppy kiss and kick off all of the clothes I had on.

I look at Henry’s reflection in the mirror. I’ve had some shame about being put into this body. And yet it wasn’t anything I could control.

I think about what Harry said to me. “Embrace my new body.”

Well I guess if this is mine permanently then I need to accept it.

I sit on the ground and look at the feet that used to belong to my big brother… but they’re mine now. I control them. And you know what? Like I them!

I grab on to MY 10 inch dick and started pumping it. Letting out grunts… shit it feels so good! I haven’t jerked off since the shift…

I rub my hands over my chest and back down to my thighs. I feel my butt cheeks and grab on to one.

I watch myself in the bedroom mirror making lustful faces to myself. Although I look like some country boy, I’m still the same skinny gay guy deep down. Or maybe I’m now something in the middle?

I feel my balls tighten and I knew I was close. Cum squirts out of me and it’s so much of it.

I feel so much relief, it’s been so long!

I clean myself up and try my cum for the first time.

I lay back in bed and begin to slowly fall asleep.

The Next Morning…

“Hey bud, you ready to start our day?” says Harry.

My first thing I see in morning is Harry’s bulge. Half way awake I’m almost tempted to touch it.

“Good morning…”

I pull the blanket off of me and Harry has a big grin across his face.

“Someone must have been having a good dream,” he says directing to my crotch.

I look down at my naked frame and my raging morning wood.

“Oh sorry!” I say tossing the blanket back over.

“Oh don’t be! Also, don’t worry about hiding your parts from me. Especially that handsome thing you got between your legs.”

I pull the blanket back and Harry sits by my bed.

“Do you mind if I?” he says gesturing to it again.

“Sure!”

Harry grabs my dick and I let out a little grunt.

He starts running his fingers all over and I’m in such a state of shock I almost thought it was all a dream.

“Boy this is such a good lookin cock! Sorry for playing with your junk. I’m just so horny in this body and it’s been a bit since I’ve seen someone else’s bits.”

“I don’t mind at all Harry.”

Harry continues to fondle my wood and it’s almost too much to handle. I need to just tell him how I feel, I mean he can’t make it more obvious on his feelings.

“Harry!”

“Yeah?”

“I have to tell you something?”

“What is it?”

“I’m so attracted to you, I don’t know if it’s right or wrong but I want you so bad right now.”

“Well, I have to say that I have the same feelings. And honestly don’t know what to do with them either.”

“Well we could just act on them…”

Harry puts my cock down and gets close to my face.

“If we do this we can’t go back.”

“I know.”

“Also we can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell a single person.”

“Good.”

Harry kisses me with so much passion, he kisses down my neck, my chest, all the way until he’s face to face with my cock.

Harry sucks me off and I watch him work my dick. He feels up and down my Harry balls.

“Ohhhh god Harry!!!”

His warm mouth feels so good. I can only hold out for so long….

“Fuccccc!!!!! Harry! I’m gonna cum!”

I expected him to pull back but he keeps his mouth on my dick.

I explode into Harry’s mouth. He sucks all of it out of me until I’ve released every last drop.

He looks up at me with a big grin and cum dripping from his lips, “you taste good bud!”

“Thanks lol, so… do you want me to…”

Before I can say anything Harry yanks off his underwear and lays back in bed.

“Show me what you got,” he says with a smirk.

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 8 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

I open my eyes and stop leaning against the bus window to my right when my music stops and my phone starts ringing.

Our team’s physical therapist, Jackson, cracks an eye open next to me before settling back into his seat. We’re about the same age and he and I have been friends since he helped me get back in shape for hockey while recovering from my Ghostface injuries.

I pull out my phone and chuckle softly at the incoming video call from Tara.

“Hey,” I answer with a tired smile. “How’s it going?”

Tara’s face lights up at the sight of me. “Hi! It’s going great! We just finished unboxing everything and Sam is out to grab some lunch. How are you?”

I adjust my headphones a bit so I can lean back against the window. “Good, but tired. We’re just getting back from a game.”

“Did you win?” she asks with a raised eyebrow and when I nod her smile brightens.

It’s been two months since I moved from Woodsboro to Boston and since then a lot has changed.

Sam moved into my old apartment when Christina Carpenter kicked her out which led to Tara cutting ties with her mother as well, and now they’re both living there with me being their landlord since I own the place.

I didn’t ask for any rent at first when Sam started living there because she had trouble finding a job, but now she works at a local gym an old friend of my dad’s owns, and she insists on paying some rent.

Other than that the two of them keep me updated on each other’s wellbeing and Sam has really proven that she wants to make things up to me by constantly checking in on me. She also helped me move my classes online and even went so far as to take care of putting flowers on my parents grave on the anniversary of their death a month ago.

We have yet to talk about our feelings for each other —more like my feelings for her— but it just seems wrong to do it over the phone.

Good thing I’m visiting them over Christmas in two months. I’m super nervous about getting everything out in the open, but we have to talk.

I can’t not know how she feels anymore. Either she straight up tells me she doesn’t feel the same way which would hurt but give me closure, or she’ll tell me she likes me back which would be. . . good? I guess? Just because she likes me back doesn’t mean she wants to get into another relationship right away, right? I mean, do I even want to get into a relationship right away?

God, I’m getting ahead of myself.

“Do you want a tour of the apartment?” Tara asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Sure.” I chuckle. I doubt a lot has changed since I didn’t take any of my furniture with me, but I’m sure Tara has taken it upon herself to decorate the place to her liking and I kind of want to know how she’s turned the former guest room into her own room.

She switches the camera on her phone and starts showing me everything, pointing out little details here and there as she moves through the rooms.

Jackson, at one point, waves his hand to get my attention and mouths Girlfriend? while gesturing at my phone and I shake my head.

I mute myself for a moment and turn my phone so Tara can’t see me if she looks at the screen.

“It’s just Tara,” I explain which makes him smile knowingly.

“Ah. . . So the girlfriend’s little sister,” he teases and even though he doesn’t know all too much about Sam and me, he knows the gist of it from Liam and Paige who have met him on more than one occasion while visiting me.

They get along great with Jackson and I love it even though they bond over teasing me. Too bad Liam and Paige are still in Woodsboro. They plan on moving to the east coast some time soon as well though because Liam got a job offer in New York and Paige wants to move in with her long distance girlfriend who lives in Portland.

“Shut up, Sam’s not my girlfriend,” I argue weakly, feeling my cheeks turn red.

Jackson shoves me playfully. “Yet,” he teases and I just shove him back before unmuting myself and focusing back on Tara.

“And finally, my new room,” she says, going on with the tour without realizing that I wasn’t paying attention for a second ago.

“Looks good, Sprout,” I compliment. “I like the fairy lights behind the bed.”

Tara turns the camera again and beams at me. “Thank you. It was Sam’s ideas. She’s going to get some for her room, too.”

“Nice.” I nod in approval and smile sadly. “Man, I miss you guys.”

Them being on the other side of the country and in an entirely different time zone has made it difficult to stay in touch, but we try our best even though talking over the phone is just not the same as seeing each other in person.

Tara’s face softens and she takes a seat on her bed, pouting. “We miss you, too. It’s weird not having you around all the time, but we’ll see each other soon. I already got you your Christmas present.”

That makes me laugh and the homesickness that I was feeling a moment ago fades a little. “Oohh, can’t wait to find out what it is. Speaking of, do you know what I could get Sam? I already have something for you in mind, but I have no idea what to get her.“

Jackson leans over, obnoxiously mimicking kissing someone and I shove him away with a playful glare before looking back at Tara who is too lost in thought to notice my momentary distraction.

“Hmm. I don’t know. There’s this necklace she showed me a while ago that she likes, but I can’t remember where it was from. I can ask her about it though,” she says and I’m quick to nod.

“That would be great, but don’t make it obvious. She can’t suspect anything!” I warn which makes her roll her eyes good-naturedly.

“I won’t, I promise. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

I chuckle. “Good.”

2 months later. . .

I’m finally back in California and as I make my way through the airport’s parking lot to my rental car I can’t help but relish in the warm breeze that rustles some nearby trees.

I’ve come to love Boston and my new friends and teammates, but it’s just so goddamn cold there, especially now right before Christmas.

I was supposed to fly in tomorrow, on the 25th, but I changed my flight two days ago to surprise Sam and Tara, hence why I had to get a rental car instead of the two of them picking me up.

I finally get to the car and shove my bags into the trunk with little effort. I’m so glad I’m no longer injured because if I was, this whole thing would be extremely difficult.

Everything healed nicely, leaving behind nothing but scars, and I can happily live with that. They serve as a reminder that I managed to help Sam and Tara survive Ghostface and that we all made it out alive. The scar on my spine is a different story. I’ve hated it ever since I got it because it reminds me that my parents are dead and that I came close to being paralyzed, both things that I’d rather forget.

I shut the trunk with a satisfying thump, and get into the car, putting on some sunglasses to shield my eyes from the setting sun before pulling out of the parking lot.

The drive to my old apartment is familiar and even though there’s a lot of traffic since it’s Christmas eve, I manage to get home just as the sun goes down, leaving behind a faint orange glow in the sky.

I grab my stuff from the trunk and head into the apartment building, smiling at one of my old neighbors when he recognizes me and opens the door for me.

Okay, this is it.

I smile when I get to the third floor and set my bags down to knock at the familiar door.

I think of how weird it is to knock at my once own door, but that thought quickly vanishes when Tara opens the door ever so slightly, peeking through the gap.

“Oh my God!” She squeaks happily when she realizes it’s me and closes the door again to undo the chain before opening it properly. “Hi!”

“Hey, Sprout. Merry Christmas.” I barely have time to prepare myself for the bone crushing hug she pulls me into, but I’m definitely not complaining. I chuckle and lift her off her feet, spinning around before setting her down again.

“Tara, who’s at the door?” Sam’s voice from inside the apartment makes my stomach fill with butterflies and when she pokes her head around the corner my smile widens.

“Hey.”

Her jaw drops at the sight of me and as soon as I’ve let go of Tara she’s rushed over to hug me as well. Her hug is tame compared to Tara’s, but it’s still comforting and I can’t help but lift her off her feet for a second as well.

“What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to get in until tomorrow. Did something happen?” she asks in disbelief when I pull back and I don’t miss the way her eyes dart all over my face as if checking for injuries.

My smile softens and I squeeze her in my arms one more time before separating from her completely. “Nothing happened, Sammy. I just wanted to surprise you guys.”

“You did,” Tara says, completely oblivious to the way her sister’s cheeks turn red at my use of her old nickname.

It honestly just slipped out, but I can’t say I’m displeased with the reaction it garnered.

“Yeah,” Sam mumbles, smiling shyly. She tucks her hair behind her ears and picks at the black sweater she’s wearing. “Why don’t you come in? We were just about to start dinner.”

I nod and pick up my bags, following the two of them into the apartment.

Not much has changed since I left because most of the furniture is the same, but Tara did do some decorating and there are different pictures on the walls.

There’s also a decorated christmas tree in the corner of the living room that glows in the low light and makes me smile.

I never put one up when I was living here because I always spent Christmas at Liam and Paige’s place anyway.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Sam says nervously which makes me turn to look at her in the kitchen. Tara momentarily vanished into her room which explains Sam’s sudden nervousness. The dining table between us is set beautifully with candles and some more Christmas decorations and until now I hadn’t noticed the soft music coming from a speaker nearby. “Why don’t you- uh— freshen up while Tara and I finish up in the kitchen?”

I get a sense of deja vu since not even four months ago I was saying something similar to her, but I nod without bringing it up, taking note of how awkward things suddenly are between us.

We don’t act like this over the phone, but over the phone we usually don’t see each other unless Tara turns it into a video call, and we usually keep things polite.

This seems more. . . intimate even though nothing’s happening.

“Sure. I’ll be right back. Thanks.” I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, taking one of my bags with me.

I could really use a shower after my long flight, so I quickly strip as soon as I’ve locked the door behind me and get into the shower.

The hot water helps to get rid of the residual cold that somehow still clings to me from Boston, and once I get out of the shower I put on a shirt and a hoodie to make sure it also stays away.

I finish dressing and go to leave the bathroom again, but then my eyes get caught on a small orange pill bottle on the floor next to the sink.

I crouch down and pick it up, realizing it’s Sam’s when I see her name on the lable.

Her antipsychotics.

I take a closer look for a moment before shrugging and placing them on the counter next to the sink where they were probably knocked down from.

It doesn’t freak me out that she has to take them, or that she sees visions of Billy because I know they’re just that— visions, and she herself has said that she’d never hurt Tara or me because of them.

I can tell that they’re tiring though because of how resigned she was when she talked about them the last time, and I make a mental note to ask her how she’s dealing with them now.

“Ah, finally!” Tara exclaims when I make my way back into the living room. She’s sitting at the head of the dining table with a steaming bowl of pasta in front of her and a fork in hand, ready to dig in. Sam is sitting to her right, also with a bowl of pasta in front of her, but unlike Tara, she doesn’t seem to be as eager to start eating.

“I was gone for like five minutes,” I defend myself with a smile which makes Sam smile, too. “And you could have started without me, you know that.”

Tara immediately shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth and shakes her head. “Nu-uh” she mumbles, “Sam made me wait for you.”

I laugh softly and join them at the table. “Well, I’m here now.”

Tara just hums in agreement and continues eating while Sam waits for my reaction to the food after I’ve had my first bite before diving in herself.

“This is great.” My eyes widen in surprise at the taste and I immediately eat another forkful before asking, “You guys made this?”

Sam nods but Tara shakes her head again, pointing her thumb at her older sister. “Sam did. I just watched and set the table.”

Damn. Who knew she could cook like that. I mean, her pancakes were great and all, but I didn’t know she could actually cook like this.

My eyes find Sam’s and when I raise my eyebrows expectantly she finally gives in and shrugs timidly, her eyes avoiding mine.

“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just some pasta.” She deflects with red cheeks, trying to downplay her skills.

That makes me nudge her foot under the table, prompting her to look at me again. “Maybe. But it’s still delicious.”

I smile and she turns even more red, saying, “Thank you.”

I watch her with fondness as she nervously tucks her hair behind her ear before eating.

“Come on, move. Let me do something,” I complain, trying to get Sam to move away from the sink.

Dinner was delicious and we all helped ourselves to a second serving. Now, Tara is in her room, talking to Chad and Mindy on the phone while Sam and I are in the kitchen doing the dishes.

Well, Sam is doing the dishes. I want to help, but she keeps refusing and telling me to just go relax after my long flight.

“I told you, I’ve got it,” she shoots back, nudging me with her hip, but I’m not having it.

It’s obvious that I can’t persuade her to let me do something, so I’ll just have to manhandle her out of the way.

“Seriously, Y/N, just—Hey!” She squeaks in surprise when I wrap my arms around her from behind and lift her up, carrying her away from the sink before setting her back down.

“You cooked, and Tara set the table, so I’ll do the dishes.” I raise an eyebrow, daring her to object but she finally gives in with a sigh. Her cheeks are once again red and for a moment she doesn’t meet my eye, but when she does, I simply smile at her and get to work on the dishes.

“Do you— I don’t know— Want some coffee or tea?” she asks and even though I don’t want either I nod, understanding her need to do something.

“Tea would be nice,” I say and for the next minute or so a silence settles over us as we both do our thing.

I’m just drying my hands after putting away the last plate when Sam joins my side again with a cup of tea in hand.

“Here you go.” She hands it to me with a small smile and I take it, mumbling a thanks as I raise it to my lips to take a sip.

“So. . .” I lean against the counter. “How are you?”

Sam hugs herself and mirrors my position against the counter. “Okay, I guess. Can’t really complain,” she says, but the way she avoids my eyes with her own tells a different story.

“You sure?” I push slightly, knowing that Tara is still in her room and there’s no chance of her overhearing something Sam potentially doesn’t want her to hear.

Sam shrugs helplessly without really answering, so I set down my tea and step closer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask softly touching her forearm which makes her look up.

I’m surprised to find her eyes filled with tears. “I. . . Can I have a hug?” she asks quietly and before any tears can escape her eyes I pull her into a hug, resting my chin on top of her head.

Sam lets out a shuddering sigh and sinks into the hug, the smell of her perfume making my heart flutter involuntarily.

The hold this girl has on me is incredible. . .

“What’s going on?” I whisper, running my hands up and down her back.

“Everything’s been just a lot lately, you know? The fight with my mom, being back here, the move. . . not to mention the whole Ghostface shit I’m still trying to get over a-and Richie—“ My hands still on her back at the mention of his name, but I stay quiet, letting her air out her thoughts, “— I still can’t believe he was behind everything. I really liked him and he just threw it in my face and I-I feel like it’s my fault Tara and you were almost killed. I mean people did die because of me. Wes, his mom, Dewey. . .”

I raise a hand to the back of Sam’s head and run my fingers through her hair. It used to help calm her down when we were kids, so I’m hoping it’ll do the same now.

“Sam, no one died because of you.” I hug her tighter. “Richie and Amber killed people because of their fucked up dream of making a new Stab movie. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But Billy—“

“Is your father, yes,” I cut her off. “But just because he is doesn’t mean what happened is your fault. It’s Richie’s and Amber’s. They killed all those people, not you. You’re nothing like them and you’re nothing like your father.“

Sam shivers and pulls back a little to look at me. “I might not have killed Wes and the others,” she whispers with tears still in her eyes, “but I did kill Richie and—“ she looks away, ashamed, “—it felt right doing it. It felt. . . good, stabbing him. It felt so fucking good, and I just couldn’t stop a-and that scares me.”

I tilt my head with furrowed eyebrows and cup her face with my hands, her brown eyes doubtful, yet hopeful that I’ll be able to assuage her guilt somehow. “I get it. You think that makes you a monster, but I‘d been surprised if you didn’t feel that way. Richie took so much from you. He betrayed you and hurt you in more ways than one, and he hurt Tara and me. . . He was about to kill all of us, but you stopped him. Yes, you killed him, but there was no other way. He would’ve just kept coming for us if you didn’t, so of course it felt good to kill him— to know that he’d never be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

A single tear rolls down Sam’s cheek and I’m quick to wipe it away before she hugs me again, burying her face in the crook of my neck.

She’s breathing shakily and I once again run my fingers through her hair, resting my cheek against her temple.

“Thank you,” she mumbles. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

I smile sadly and hold her tighter. “You’re welcome.”

If I could have killed Richie for her I would have done it in a heartbeat, but I didn’t and now she has to live with it. She killed him to save herself and to save the rest of us and I hate that she feels guilty for doing it.

We keep hugging for a couple of moments, silently holding each other until she chuckles quietly against the side of my neck.

“I think my therapist would hate you.”

I pull back and smile at her, glad to see that she’s no longer crying. “How come?”

“Because she’s been saying the exact same thing every since I started seeing her, but I didn’t believe it until you just said it,” she admits with a sheepish grin that makes me laugh.

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, shouldn’t she love me then?”

Sam just shrugs and rests her hands on my chest, playing with the strings of my hoodie right as Tara comes walking into the kitchen.

“You guys wanna watch a movie or something? Chad and Mindy say hi, by the way,” she says without commenting on the position she finds us in.

Sam is quick to take a step back though, rubbing the back of her neck and turning to make herself a cup of tea as well.

“Yeah, movie sounds good,” I say, unbothered, picking up my own tea.

Sam simply hums in agreement without turning around, which makes Tara smile and skip to the living room.

I stir, feeling myself wake up at the sensation of something being draped over me.

It’s dark, I notice when my eyes flutter open, and I realize that I must have fallen asleep sometime during the movie.

There’s no sign of Tara, but Sam’s standing over me, adjusting the blanket she draped over me so it covers my feet.

She hasn’t realized I’ve woken up, and I don’t want her to feel bad about waking me, so when she turns back to face me I quickly close my eyes again and pretend I’m still asleep.

There’s some shuffling and it takes everything in me not to flinch when Sam’s fingers brush against my forehead a second later, moving some hair out of my face.

She sighs and I think she might say something since she thinks I’m asleep, but she doesn’t.

She does place a delicate kiss to my forehead though, and it’s so surprising that as soon as I’m sure she’s gone into her room, I open my eyes again, touching my tingling forehead where her lips were a moment ago.

We really need to talk.

_______________________________________________

Happy new year, everyone!

We’ll be diving into the plot of the sixth movie in part 10, so enjoy some fluff for now <3

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23

[willowed-wisp]

sweethearts [ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish ]

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!reader

You had known him forever. Since nursery school and all the time in between.

John MacTavish- though, you called him Johnny. And in later life, that turned into calling him ‘Soap’.

He had been gunning for that uniform since you were 15 and he was 16… falsifying his age only to fail miserably.

It was culture shock to when he left when he was 18… he was your first friend, first kiss, first young love. Yet, it was nothing official. Just two best friends experimenting with each other. You couldn’t have asked for a better person.

You were there when he came back- more of a man than the boy who left. All of him larger than before even that indicative smile. But HE hadn’t changed, still the same snack eating, football loving Scotsman.

That meant your attraction for him was worse than ever- having been in love with Johnny for most of your life. His sky bursted gaze enough to drive you crazy.

Someone like him would never feel the same about you- strictly friends.

Mates who got mistaken for boyfriend and girlfriend most days of the week. Neither of you minded it but it was always you who persisted the, ‘as if… he drives me insane…’ the pining kind of insanity.

His return led you to distance yourself, an insecure freshly turned 18 year old, distracting herself from the boy next door. Johnny could do much better for friends than you, he was the youngest SAS recruit to pass the selection.

HE COULD DO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU.

You didn’t even go say goodbye to him when he left for his first mission- somewhere you’d never know.

Instead, he came to you. Stood at your doorstep.

His face gloomy, “So you weren’ even gonna say goodbye?” Not knowing what to do, your shoulders shrugged and silence ensued. “You’ve been off for weeks, when was the last time we had a movie night? Is it because of the training? Me leavin’?”

Fingers picking at your nails; you’d never been nervous around him. But this was the first time seeing him in god-knows how long, when you hadn’t spent a day away from each other. “I don’t know, John- ,”

“You do know and that’s the problem, Y/N, because you won’t bloody tell me what I’ve done wrong,” he spoke harsher than intended, regretting it within an instant as your stepped forward- sizing the six foot something soldier up.

Staring up at him, “Why do you bother with me when you could have anybody around you? I’m not going anywhere with my life!” It wasn’t envy that spurred you on, it was the fact he was going to leave you.

Heartbroken and yearning. Lost without the boy who had always bolstered you up when you had been thrown to the ground.

Johnny’s eyes welled with tears, “What’s made you think that?”

In a whisper, “You’ve just gotten into the fucking SAS, Johnny…”

“So what? I’m still the same guy… nothing’s ever gonna change me… you should know that by now…”

You wanted things to change- the dynamics between you. Before he found somebody who would knock him off his feet and you’d never get the chance.

His fingers trailed your arm, before he cupped your hand. Blue coveted your vision, “Nothing’s goin’ to change us, you’re my absolute best mate…”

Like a dagger, he struck a nerve, “Maybe I don’t want to be your ‘best mate’, I’m sick of pining for you when clearly you’ll never feel the same way,” a quick pause, “Go and find a pretty gir- ,” Before you knew it, his kiss smothered you. More intimate than when you were twelve, with more intent.

Instead of resisting, you caved in. Hands balanced holding his jawline, clean shaven.

Exploring every inch of your body in that hurried kiss. It was better than anything you had dreamed.

Before you pulled away first, “You’re my everything, Y/N…” Thumbs rubbing circles at your waist. “I cannot tell you how long I’ve wanted to do tha’…”

The memory ran writhe in your brain. That was 8 years ago…

Since then you were happily married with a baby on the way. Johnny had been deployed for over a month. Today he was supposed to be returning- from where you didn’t have a clue but he always came home safely.

That’s what mattered.

You expected the phone to start buzzing, the usual unknown number saying to go to the airport. Instead, a knock at the door.

It was like him not to want to run you around pregnant. But it was Simon who answered the door.

Not able to help the tremble. Air caught in your throat, choking on nothing. “He’s not… is he?” Stopping those tears from coming down- clutching your belly.

You’d have fallen to your knees- had it not been for capable hands.

You looked up, blue eyes for days and a face contorted worriedly, “What did you say, to ‘er, LT?” He held you close, but it would never be enough for you. “You and munchkin okay?” He rubbed your large stomach.

You crushed him in your arms. “Darlin’, I’m a bit tender…” Only then did you notice the sling in his arm, a bandage skirting beneath his shirt.

“What happened?” He shook his head, a grin on his face.

One of nervousness, “It could have been a lot worse,” Simon was as gruff as usual. You would never be allowed to know what happened.

“I’m just glad you’re safe and sound,” Thumb rubbing along longer stubble on his cheek, there was more to the story than either him or Simon were telling you. “You too, Si, thanks for taking care of him.” Spoken wholeheartedly, “Dinners on, you can stay if you want?”

He accepted as he usually did. The mood held less tension as time went on. You came to the conclusion that you were lucky to have Johnny in front of you, laughing at some stupid dad joke Simon said.

All you did was sit there, looking at the guy you had loved all your life.

Your Johnny…

————

I contemplated 💀 Johnny but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He’s just too sweet and just too tragic to write.

Thank you for reading :) xx

————

masterlist

[with-my-calamitous-love]

THINKIN’ ALL LOVE EVER DOES IS BREAK, AND BURN, AND END… ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

eijiro kirishima x reader

after possibly the worst heartbreak of your entire life, you finally get to begin again with a certain redhead. for his birthday <3

for @satirediary who said i remind them of kirishima 🤍

inspired by begin again

you take a deep breath in the mirror.

after adjusting your outfit for what feels like the millionth time, the anxiety sets in. you wonder if this guy, who you’ve never met before, is gonna like your outfit. the last guy sure didn’t, especially those high heels. but you do, and thats what should matter. right?

when you get to the cafe, you honestly expect him to be late. but to your surprise, he’s early, waving at you and pulling out your chair. you thank him, but he’s a gentleman at heart. “you look nice.” he says, his sharp toothy grin being just odd enough to be cute. you smile, brushing off your shirt and trying not to make the blush on your face so obvious. this is your first actual date since your previous relationship, after all.

you and monoma went down in flames. for a minute there, he ruined you for every other guy. he left you so sad and so heartbroken you weren’t sure if you could bring yourself to love someone else. but after mina’s third insistence on meeting this great guy, you finally go.

“mina’s told me a lot about you.” you smile, watching as the redhead nods, urging you to go own. you list off all the great things she’s said about him, leaving out the comments on his hot body and his apparently large package.

he honestly doesn’t know why you’re coming off shy as you share stories. at one point, he just watches you talk, loving your your rambles and anecdotes. his friends told him that first dates are awkward, but you two talk like old friends. no rust on telephones or reservations on jokes. he doesn’t get how someone as pretty and as kind as you would ever be nervous telling jokes or stories. but you do.

this guy isn’t your ex boyfriend, evident by his genuine interest in you. he laughs along with you, listening to everything you say. you can tell by his red eyes on yours, actually answering your questions and asking you follow ups. seemingly, he cares about what you have to say. he doesn’t know how nice that is, but you do.

“i saw you on tv once.” you giggle, on your second cup of coffee. neither of you wanna leave each other’s presences right now. “it was years ago, when your class was at that forest training camp.”

“oh yeah? did i look good?” he says, playfully flexing his arm muscles because he loves that pink blush on your face. god, he’s built like he was sculpted. but you’re not gonna let him know that, even though you subconsciously place your hand on his bicep, feeling the firmness of his muscles.

“you know, anabolic steroids are terrible for you.” you quip as he feigns offence. its the first time you’ve genuinely laughed in months. theres probably smile lines on your face now.

he throws his head back laughing like a little kid. its honestly strange to you how funny he finds you- you never really thought you were before. you’ve spent the last 8 months questioning your self worth, wondering if all love ever does is break your heart. but now, in some cafe you can’t remember, with a guy your best friend set you up with, you get to begin again.

the date evolves into walking down the block. you do a mental backflip when he finally works up the courage to hold your hand, the chilled autumn air no match for his big, warm hands. his fingers intertwine with yours lime they’re meant to be there. funny how monoma’s hands never did that.

just at that thought, you almost bring him up. the thought of him now still makes that feeling in your chest arise. how he never liked your heels, how he never found you funny, and how he’d never walk you to your car like kirishima was doing now.

either he senses your anxiety, or is just a ray of sunshine, but he eases your worries with a squeeze to your hand and a continuing of his anecdotes from earlier. “my family watches spirited away every christmas, because its my moms favourite movie. without fail.”

its a minute detail, but you wonder if he brought that up because he remembered you mentioning studio ghibli hours ago. its enough to ease your worries.

“i love that movie.” you utter, heart still racing from the close contact. “oh, i- uh, said that already. sorry.”

but he doesn’t hold it to you for reusing that fact. “don’t apologize, i think its cute.”

and for the first time, you wanna hear what he says. you hope he tells you about the movies his family watches, about his hot-headed best friend and the hero agency he works at. you urge him on as he rambles about the weed brownies denki makes, or the time he almost got expelled from UA. they’re dumb anecdotes, but it feels more genuine than anything else you’ve ever felt.

picturing a future with kirishima, no matter how naive or wishful it may be, brings a smile to your face. for the first time, maybe ever, its something you want. he’s effortless, his affection towards you easy for him. maybe you were never hard to love after all. maybe you just had to wait for the right guy.

when you reach your car, you almost don’t want the date to end. “i had a nice time.” you smile. though its what you always say at the end of a date, this time you mean it.

“me too.” he the redhead says, still holding your hand. “next time i’ll come pick you up. it’ll be easier for both of us.”

there, you blush again, a fond smile on your lips. “next time?”

now, he’s the one flustered, realizing his slip up. he rambles out apologies for assuming, his cheeks matching the red of his hair. after all, he’s just a person to. he’s experienced heartbreak like you have. this is likely a new beginning for him, as well.

you stay silent, but you do press a kiss to his cheek before letting go and heading into your car. he pretends the little happy dance you do before starting up and driving back home.

he’ll definitely tease you for that next date.

[opal-owl-flight]

TIRED OF WAITIN’ MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND

YEAH ITS ALRIGHT, WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU WANT IT, DONT YOU BE SO SHY, SHY!

OH MY GOD I LOVE STARKILLER WIDNEKD. I had this idea for Tartar manipulating 3 with words similar to the song…

more abt that below + the piece without the words :]

I wonder if 3, at that point in OE, carry a thought within them... something Tartar can use.

The sanitization is absolute mind control, yes, but it would be neat if it was preceded by a sort of hypnosis; a suggestion that tartar puts out for a victim to bite onto (not that it really matters. The forced body control happens anyway.)

Theres a yearning for the past. That much I know. But I do wonder if Tartar also suggested something else alongside that.

"Ah, the legendary captain of the Squidbeak Splatoon. He probably was the one who pulled you out of that life, hm?"

"...Yes."

"Despicable, this old coot, forcing you to fight a war that ended a century ago. Forcing you to dig up a city your nation already buried.

Making you a weapon in this...disgusting show of continued dominance."

"..."

"Dont you want to end him, right here, right now?"

"...."

"Avenge that younger self, child. Join me, and we will make sure he never hurts you again."

"..."

They look at Cuttlefish. Cod, theyre so weak, their head hurts, they are in no shape to defend themself. Neither is the old man, but...

Their hearts were burning with a feeling theyve been burying for years. A feeling thats gotten stronger and stronger over the long patrol.

This...doubt. Towards the captain they followed the ends of the earth for. Day by day, being pushed to their limits for his continued war. Wanting his approval, wanting to make him proud. Believing that theyre indeed keeping this fragile world safe.

Wanting to...keep being this hero he said they were.

But its getting harder to believe those words now. Not when that Octarian from earlier was such a sweet soul...among others theyve encountered and observed in other patrols.

Their arm burned. It was drenched in that cyan ink the telephone was oozing.

They have no reason to trust this thing that almost killed Cuttlefish and that Octarian that he was with moments before.

Still...

They feel...

Their mind is slipping.

So tired...so hurt...

"Join me. I can give you rest.

Ill bring you...to the promised land."

"...Okay."

--------

They went fully unconscious for awhile. When they "awoke" (but is still under Tartar's control), they were already fighting 8. And their body hurt even more than before.

They never shouldve trusted him.....

--------

This baiting rings familiar, doesnt it. Order did it to 4, as well. Much to 3s horror, they were the reason she took that bait. Her desire to be their perfect agent, and their desire to never be hurt or used by anyone like Cuttlefish again...

They wanted her to be strong enough so she can stay safe and live her life the way she wanted to. But their fear spoke louder than their adoration for her.

Hurt people hurt people, cycle of violence, and all that.

[willownwisp]

ree's leon valentine's day advent <3

hi everyone. <3 as the leon kennedy fluff truther, i'm making an advent for valentine's day because pookie deserves so much love! everyday, i'll be posting a fic ranging from nsfw/sfw fluff for babu leon, i'll be putting out the scenarios and snippets below if y'all are interested. author's note: i've been meaning to put this out like a week ago when i finally figured out the problem w my account as to why tumblr wasn't letting me reply to comments :( but sadly, college got me so head empty. anyway, i've already got 2 days worth of fics already finished so i hope y'all can give me a read. <3

FEBRUARY 8 𖹭 nice legs, daisy dukes. (vendetta!leon x fem!reader) Leon feels like a creep, fuck that. He definitely looks like a creep. Thirty-six year old in all of his 5'11 glory standing outside his girlfriend's college leant against his Ducati like a dick, carrying a box of those, instagrammable pastries you always like to look at. It doesn't hurt to be sweet. Not when you walk — run, at the sight of him in your preppy mini dress, highlighting those long, long legs. Nothing is sweeter, especially when it's wrapped around him.

FEBRUARY 9 𖹭 starry skies, blue eyes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Stars dot stygian skies, the night is young, the moon is high. Leon's heart soars with your every laughter. The way your eyes close and your nose scrunches. God he was so in love with you, he could forgive the fact that the tent should have been up hours ago before night. You swear you remember your knots from your wide-eyed Girl Scout days, and he swears these silly moments with you are what makes life bearable.

FEBRUARY 10 𖹭 cold woes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Leon S. Kennedy. The apple of his instructors' eyes (and yours), he's a top graduate in the Police Academy for fuck's sake. He's decimated hordes of zombies in his first day as a rookie cop. Endured military training in the middle of nowhere, he's saved the President's daughter. He doesn't get sick. Only that he does catch a cold at the expense of prioritizing you, his clumsy girlfriend, who forgot to wear a jacket on a camping trip, offering his warm clothes to you. He doesn't regret it, he likes taking care of you, but there's something adorable about your sheepish apologies as you wait on him. He could get used to being babied. FEBRUARY 11 𖹭 love on me. (di!leon x fem!reader) As much as Leon loves the sun, the beaches, the tropics. Oh what he would give to become a beach bum in his next life instead of being smacked by bioweapons day in, night out, and being a good bitch to good ol' U.S of A. Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights. So why in the world were you dragging him to a love hotel? FEBRUARY 12 𖹭 fill up your cup. (re6!leon x fem!reader) He feels himself spiraling recently, turning to the bottle because a glass is never troubled by his woes. He breaks them of course, can't help it, seems like his life is doomed to him breaking in the end. Fragments of glass scatters on the floor, vodka spills on the floor splashes it around like his grief because his body can only take so much. You arrive as he tries to pick them up, attempts to pick himself up. You whisper assurance, he doesn't deserve it. The way you look at him ardently, the gentleness that is your existence. You empty out his pain, and fill it with love. FEBRUARY 13 𖹭 the thrill, the love. (damnation!leon x fem!reader) He wills his old Yamaha to go faster. Your dainty arms clinging to him, the softness of your touch as his speed breaks the sound barrier. What started as mere curiosity turns into rituals. Secrets that only the both of you know. He knocks on your door at midnight, drives you around town. He scolds you every time your arm breaks free, throwing them to the wind. You don't care, you love the thrill, you love him. Leon admits that there is something alluring to the thrill of the chase. Perhaps that's why he's spent his years chasing Ada, but with you it was different. FEBRUARY 14 𖹭 kiss it better. (di!leon x fem!reader) Leon is a man full of stories, his pain, his peace, his fears, his needs. There is more to him than just being a formidable weapon against bioterrorism. He never was a weapon, just a flesh and blood human, and in his mortality there are scars. Deep within him, and littered in his skin. You kiss the faded slash on his hand, he tells you how he'd got it from when Ashley Graham had tried to stab him under the influence of the plaga. You kiss it again, and what he doesn't tell you is the wave of warmth that washes his entire being, it tugs on his very soul. You kiss the scars because it's there, because it's him, and in his reverie, he thinks you truly are his person.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister in Law!

Re-upload due to complications.

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Chapter 1

Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Warnings: possible yandere themes, arranged marriage, toxic relationship, slight incestual themes due to the content of “Roxana,” blood, mention of murder

Nsfw warnings: Lost of virginity (both parties?), fingering, oral (fem receiving), spit, reader does NOT get to finish, vaginal pain, HEAVY DUB/CON.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous actions/behaviors that takes place in this piece of fiction. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

Minors/blank/blogs that don’t reblog fanfiction dni and don’t span like my posts or you will be blocked.

Overall story summary: you reincarnated into one of your favorite novel-turned-webtoons. However, you didn't want to become the female lead's sister-in-law...

Word count: 4542k

===

“The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother,” also known as “ROXANA” was a rather dark novel that was adapted into a webtoon. And as luck would have it, the webtoon wasn’t finished, and you don’t remember all the details of the fan translated web novel you found online.

Now, why would that be a problem? Simple:

You reincarnated into it. Not as a main character, or even a servant to one of the families. You weren’t a child of Lant’s or one of his many wives. You weren’t a friend to one of his children, either. Instead, it was worse than most of what was listed.

Whatever God you managed to piss off had a silly little, petty revenge plan that was straight out of a third-rate horror novel with teenage girls fawning over it. And truthfully, if written right, the non-existent novel would have been a banger – but no, instead it was anything but. Or maybe you only really think that because of your position in this world, where your birth was simple, but painful for your mother, and you were lucky enough to be born into a family that loved and cared for and about you.

It was a noble family, to boot. Wealthy enough to live a comfortable life. Two siblings – an older sister who was already married at the age of thirty with a child on the way. The other was a 12-year-old boy who made it his life mission to be the most annoying little piece of shit on earth.

But as you lay on your back, hands holding your nightgown in place, all you could think about was how small Dion Agriche makes you feel. The wedding ceremony just finished up hours ago, and here you are, back pressed against silk sheets as your now-husband hovers over you.

(Name) Agriche.

What a horrible name and cruel faith.

Inky black hair that falls into his carmine red eyes that held indifference. His wedding-tux was still on, even the outer jacket with the silly lone rose in his pocket. Oh, what a shame – to be married to such a handsome man only for him to be obsessed with his sister and emotionally unavailable.

God despises you.

“Close your eyes if you’re uncomfortable.”

He unbuttons his outer jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and tosses it to the side. You should close your eyes, you think, because his face was nothing but stone. Not even a condescending grin. He doesn’t comfort you, either – at least not in the typical sense.

“Keep still,” his gloved hands grab your thighs and you let him open them, creating space for him to get closer. You want to push him away and run. But what good would that do? Why couldn’t the man just slice something and claim that the blood on the sheets was from your first night?

“I’m scared.” You speak without thinking, becoming stiff as his hands traveled from your outer thigh to the inner, creeping underneath your nightgown. His gloves feel cold and uncomfortable, touch borderline rough. “I – I need a moment. Please?”

He tilts his head, giving it thought. After a moment he removes himself, but annoyance radiates off him. Your heart beats faster as the second’s pass. You remain on your back. The ceiling is painted white, no decorations and the room was bare saved for a dresser, closet, mirror and a random chair by the terrace.

You will be sleeping in here, from now on.

“Can’t do it? Then don’t.” he’s annoyed, surely, otherwise he wouldn’t look at you like you were an insect. What a wonderful way to start the newlywed life. But it’s not that easy to walk away, and while it sounds like he’s giving you a say-so, he isn’t; if you don’t consummate your marriage tonight, then…

“… I’m sorry. It’s my first time and I heard there would be pain.” You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. But Dion wasn’t exactly known for his… compassion. Or basic human emotions, either.

If this was someone else, would you be able to do it? Where did everything go wrong? This didn’t happen in the novel; Dion didn’t get married. There wasn’t a grand wedding with the Five Ruling Families in attendance. Nor was there a steamy scene with this man throughout the novel, not even in the side stories.

How did you end up here?

“Then relax.” If you weren’t scared of losing your life you would have run him over. It affects everything! Then again, it wouldn’t matter to him – this is a duty. Not something he wanted, you’re sure, and even if he did it would only have his best interests in mind.

“… I’m ready.” You don’t argue with him, because it would only be one-sided. Even a wall listens better. Despite your wishes, Dion does the same as last – settles in-between your legs, and this time, you close your eyes.

“Good. Try to relax or it won’t fit.” Your cheeks burn at that, mind already picturing how it would look. Many men say things like that, even in your old world. It’s just a thing they said, like with many things. It doesn’t really mean anything, because if it did then…

His gloves are still on, cold and grip tight on your thighs. You were hoping he would be gentler. But as his hands travel up and up until they’re pulling at the edges of your underwear to slide them down, you realize he won’t.

There’s no slickness down there, your underwear dry and vagina even drier. You peek through your eyelashes, watching as he inspects the article of clothing. He tosses it a few seconds later.

“I’m only going to ask once – would you rather keep your clothes on or off?” It seems that with every second reality just hits harder and harder. This was going to happen. Nothing could stop it. And if hypothetically, if he were to stop this, what then?

Even if he sliced an arm to fake the night, what about later? A baby, Lant wants Dion to have a child. No. You couldn’t do that to a child, especially yours.

“On. Please.” You expect him to just shove in a finger or two, watching as your body jerks in pain. Instead, he lifts your hips until your bottom was off the bed and flips the flimsy skirt up. And then there’s a glob of something wet and gooey, legs twitching as it lands on your bare cunt.

“D – did you just… spit?” steading yourself on your arms, you look on in disbelief as your husband just spat on your pussy. A string of saliva hangs from his tongue.

Instead of answering you, much less look at you, his thumb comes into play and spreads his saliva over the surface of your cunt. It’s only when his thumb swipes over your clit do you let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he was feeling generous or maybe he was curious. Dion decides to rub the twitching nub over and over until your legs twitch and cunt clenched around nothing. The glove made it uncomfortable, but even so, you just tried your best to focus on the pleasure. You weren’t sure if he would give you pleasure like this again.

“You’re enjoying this,” he retreats his hand leaving your twitching and needy clit lonely.

A pathetic whimper escapes as you watch your husband take his glove off with his teeth. This man is everything you fear and more, a character that you should have never met. Yet the sight of him lowering his head to lick a long stride against your slit has your legs shaking.

His tongue is warm and slimy, causing your hands to clench the sheets as your head falls back. Another lick and another until it’s flicking your clit back and forth, sending warmth throughout your body. However, despite the pleasure he’s giving you, his grip is still tight, almost painful on your hips.

Your heartbeat doesn’t slow down as he continues. Your fear barely dies down in your chest, even as the tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts his tongue into your cunt.

“It feels – “a pause as you catch your breath, “weird, it feels really weird and – “

Dion repeats the action until you’re a trembling mess, sensitive from your mental state and the current oral sex you’re receiving. It’s hard to focus on either one, your mind constantly reminding you that you’re in a novel, about to fuck a man who’s jaded and possibly has a thing for his sister –

“Ah… wait, that’s a lot…” he decides to go further, bringing his thumb back and rubs loose circles into your clit. He’s still eating you out, but not like a man starved like you read in erotic novels.

Even so, your husband keeps at it. If it was a good or bad thing was up for debate – on one hand, while it does feel good, everything is moving too fast, your pleas for slowing down falling on deaf ears. It really is a lot, tongue fucking you while those loose circles on your clit become tighter, rougher. Should you just lay back and take what he gives?

Your mother would probably say so. Your sister would just pat your head and smile like it was expected. Normal. Take what he gives, especially if it benefits you in any way.

“…?” your eyes open at his tongue leaving your cunt with a saliva trail, his eyes glued to your twitching sex. His thumb also stops rubbing circles, instead going back to grip your hip as your back starts to become sore. Your ass is still off the bed and if he keeps you hosted up like this, then you really will snap in half.

But then he locks eyes with you.

“I thought you were scared.” Dion doesn’t let you respond, either because he doesn’t care or because it would ruin the ‘mood.’ He latches his mouth to your poor, abused nub instead. And sucks.

“H-hey!” one hand supporting you while the other grabs at his hair, you didn’t expect him to throw your legs over his shoulders. “That’s enough, really, no need to – ugh…” his mouth was warm and soft, but it sends your nerves on fire.

Good. Bad. Good. Bad.

Good, bad, does it matter anymore?

He sucks harder and your fingers tug harshly at his hair. You kick your legs but are unable to tell if it’s from pleasure or the flight or fight response he’s causing you. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t bat an eye, making it his life mission to suck you dry.

“Ah – wait, Dion – “

It’s at your whine of his name does he finally, finally stop, a ‘pop’ when he detaches his mouth from your sensitive and bullied clit. Your husband decides to lick one last long stripe from your entrance to your clit, all the while making eye contact with you. Your chest heaves as your mind settles, arousal overthrowing your thoughts.

“What is it?” Monotone, his voice is monotone and he’s not even out of breath. Your mother lied, there’s not even a hint of pink across those cheeks. It’s fine, though – no, it’s not, it’s baffling how steady he seems when your back is about to break, and you can’t even breathe.

Your eyes travel from his to his hair, where your hand is still grasping the strands. Mind still catching up to your body, you let go and draw your hand back, covering your eyes with it. Your entire body is shaky and legs sore. You’re not used to this position.

“It – it’s enough.” Your husband lets you pull your legs back, feet pressing against his broad shoulders as you bring them back down. The relief is almost immediate, a pleasurable and relief-filled sigh leaving your chest. You allow yourself to rest for a bit, your sensitive cunt and sore legs screaming for it.

“… O – okay, I think, I think that’s fine. Excuse me…” gently, you pull one leg up until your foot is flat against the bed. With a shudder, you trace your entrance timidly with two fingers, getting used to the touch. You’re not sure of how big he was, but you’ll use three fingers just in case.

You gape like a fish when his hand reaches out, grabbing yours roughly. You didn’t even notice the dip in the mattress as Dion got closer on his knees, face inches away from yours. Oh God, now what –

“What are you doing?” clearly annoyed, Dion doesn’t let you look away – not that you were going to – free hand grabbing your face, pointer finger and thumb on each cheek. It’s barely loose enough to leave no bruises. It hurts regardless.

“I – I was… prepping…” part of you wants to pretend that this man doesn’t know how to comfortably prepare you for pentation with his… but you know better. Because an inexperienced man wouldn’t know how to do things with his tongue like that, or where the clit was because –

“Are you still scared?” The hand that was holding yours releases it, opting to sneak its way to your cunt. His fingers were larger than yours, nimbler as they stroke your labia minora. Are the shivers washing over you from nervousness or arousal?

“… I’m scared of the pain.” By instinct, you knew he meant more than scared of sex – if you feared him. Still.

It doesn’t need to be said.

“Scared of the pain?” His eyes glow in the moonlight, bright red with absolutely no emotion. “Why?” he doesn’t break eye contact as his fingers inch closer to your entrance, stroking the opening, making your legs jolt. What a horrible man.

You remind yourself that this man only felt fear as a child – and even then, it probably wasn’t for very long. Nothing lasts for long, in this estate.

“Because I hate it.” You don’t break eye contact either, breathing in when one finger slowly sinks in, your walls now stretching uncomfortably. It’s not as painful as you thought it would be, your wetness mixed with his saliva making it easier. Your nails are about to rip holes in the silk sheets.

Like a curious animal, he tilts his head, curling his finger. It doesn’t feel good, it hurts, but you endure it even when you wince. Dion decides it would be a good idea to spread your legs a bit further, and like a bug, crawls between them even more. You hiccup when he adds a second finger.

They’re bigger than yours, they reach deeper. In your old world, did it feel like this too? You can’t remember.

“It’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let me finish this. Relax your legs before it hurts worse.” Pressure builds in your eyes, but you fight it off. “Save your tears for when it matters.”

You’re tired of him already.

He doesn’t move them, at first. It’s almost like he expects this, because as you adjust to something foreign inside you, he starts to rub at your clit, again. Softly this time, touch firm enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Or maybe you’re lying to yourself because you’re wincing, still.

When he starts to thrust them in and out, you force yourself to look at the ceiling, scared to see the expression on his face. You also don’t want to watch the show, scared it’ll already be bloody. Just a bit.

“It’s tight.” He states it like it’s the morning news. “And wet.” Your cheeks burn with both shame and embarrassment, shutting your eyes.

“… ugh…,” groaning, your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “It hurts, a lot.” You sit up, back against the headboard, avoiding your husband’s gaze. Unfortunately, by doing this, your eyes land on your messy hole, light blood on his fingers as he pulls them out only to thrust them in again.

“It’s normal. The more you resist the worse it gets.” You give up, letting him do as he pleases, shutting your mouth.

The fingering still hurts as the minutes go by, but little by little the pressure eases down and when he arches his hand, he hits something soft and spongy. He’s rewarded the sight of your head banging against the headboard once, shoulder tense as you bite your bottom lip.

If only you could see that look in his eyes.

“Here?” He repeats the action, faster this time. You only nod your head, lips ajar, tongue swiping over them. Your hips have a mind of their own, raising as the heel of his hand rapidly smacks against your clit with his thrust of his hand.

You’re half there mentally and halfway in heaven, momently forgetting just who was here with you, who room this belonged to, and your entire situation to begin with. “Oh - wait, it’s a lot but – “

A third finger is added, and it starts to sting again. Another wince, another groan, but your arousal helps to keep the pain to minimum. All three fingers curl to hit that special spot that makes you see blacked out stars and pussy clench. All the while light blood coats his fingers, a sight he’s already used to due to his lifestyle.

It’s only when he pulls his hand away completely do you return from the skies, a small layer of sweet coating your forehead. Your hands are shaky as you look at him, only to be drowned back into reality when you’re met with those red, indifferent eyes that glow brighter than the moon.

“If you’re ready, lay on your back and spread your legs.” He undoes his pants while saying this, scooting back to give you some room.

With a heavy heart, you do so, laying on your back and spread your legs. You were fine just moments ago, so why is your heart leaping out of your throat rather than staying in your chest? Maybe it was because of the pleasure, or…

You’re scared, again.

You don’t look when something fat and heavy plops onto your pelvis. You don’t look when he brings you closer by your thighs. You don’t look as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds, catching on your clit.

“Relax or it won’t fit,” he reminds you before pushing the fat head in. At first, it’s a sting no bigger than an ant bite. But then another inch goes in, and you feel like a sword is cutting you straight up open, your legs tensing and hands grasping his forearms in a futile attempt to stop him.

Your nails dig into his sleeves, and you can feel the skin underneath. The tears build up as your face becomes hot, taking in deep breaths like it would soften the intruding body part.

“Big – it’s too big, it’s not going to fit – “

“… You look cute when you cry.” It’s sinister, teasing and everything that makes your stomach drop. His thumb wipes away your tears that’s already staining your skin. But he stops regardless, if only to shut you up if nothing else.

You think a few minutes pass but it’s hard to tell when he’s still inside, pulsing and you could feel every vein on his cock. It’s thick, it’s big and you don’t think you’re equipped to handle it, handle him. He’s everything that ruins your sense of self, that makes your dreams shatter and fear rot you from the inside out.

But he’s your husband…

But he’s your husband.

“Relax,” he inches in deeper, slower this time, but not letting you get a word in. Your nails dig deeper, and if it weren’t for his shirt, you would have drawn blood. Another inch, another gasp that leaves you breathless, grasping for anything that could keep you grounded. The only thing you could grab was him, however.

“Dion, Dion, you’re going to break me, I can’t – I can’t – “

“You can. You have to.” Was his voice raspy, just now? If so, it worries you, because you just remembered one very important detail – Dion Agriche was, if nothing else, a sadist. Be it from his childhood trauma, or if he would be like this regardless of, he loved seeing Roxana cried.

It never occurred to you that he would love seeing you cry, too.

How deep was he? It feels you’re being speared open, his cock bullying its way into your virgin hole. You weren’t a virgin in your last life, but it didn’t hurt like this. It had hurt, felt like you were being ripped, but not enough to make you cry and breathless.

You think you can feel blood trickling down your ass crack. “Please tell me you’re almost there, please…” sniffling, you look up at your husband, the man taking your virginity in the name of ‘marriage.’ A mirror shatters in the back of your mind.

There was a flush across his cheeks. Pupils blown wide and a small grin on his lips. He was enjoying this. Your pain, your tears and perhaps even your fear – he was enjoying this.

It would have been better if he didn’t feel anything, you think. Just a stone statue that was performing its task. But even monsters had emotions, you guess.

“I’m not. Just endure it for a bit longer – I’ll stop once I’m at the hilt.” Was he a liar in the novel? You think he was, otherwise, the overtaking of the Argece family wouldn’t have happened. Lant wouldn't be dead. But things haven’t followed the novel to a T – this was proof enough.

“You’ll stop? Like, completely? You – you took my virginity, so that should be enough. Right?”

You hate it when he keeps wiping your tears away. Or when he slides in even more, your blood coating his stupid dick. You hate it when he brings one hand to toy with your clit, granting you pleasure that was just overthrown by the smothering pain traveling up to your belly.

He doesn’t answer. And that was enough for you to rake your nails down the back of neck, drawing blood in return. He’s making you bleed, so it was only fair if you could too, right?

Deeper and deeper until his balls rest against your bottom and pelvic meeting yours. Surprisingly, your husband keeps his word, letting you adjust to the new feeling. It feels heavy. It feels like a heartbeat, like a rod that was stuck. It felt awful.

How long did it take you to get used to it, in the past? No longer than fifteen minutes max, right? No, shorter than that. Then again, it didn’t hurt this much, but that partner was more loving, more caring, gentler –

“Who are you thinking about?”

The question breaks you out of your daze. You blink, once, before you question him back. He only glares in response.

Panic fills you when he pulls out, pain still there, blood still trickling down. “Wait, you’re – “

“I’m what?” he pulls out until only the head remained inside. You try your best to ignore the bruising grip he has on your hips. You’re going to be sore tomorrow. If you survive this, anyway.

God, if you’re listening, please let this night end peacefully.

“B-big. It’s going to hurt, please don’t…” dragging your hands down from his neck to his chest, your fingers dig into his shirt.

“Hm. A shame, really; you still must give birth, eventually. It’s better to get used to it now than later.” Your mind doesn’t catch up with your body, legs tensing when he slides oh so carefully back in, like he didn’t just push your worries aside like nothing. “Relax.”

“Dion,” hiccupping, you brace yourself, head nuzzling into his chest as your hold on his shirt tightens. When he pulls back out, you could feel every detail, every vein trail, his grith truly opening you. He graces you a mercy, going at a languid pace, minimizing the pain. His thumb never stopped rubbing your clit, either.

It goes like that, for a good while. Slow and steady, your hushed sobs dying on your lips, your husband careful with his thrusts, but not his grip. It was almost comforting, in a way. But you were still scared of him, and of what will happen after this.

“… I have a proposition.”

His hips stop and your ears perk up.

“You want me to stop, correct?” Dion pulls back until he’s on his heels, his cock dragging along your walls. You wince before breathing out. He doesn’t even try to hide the sadistic look in his eye as he sees the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. He almost grins in glee.

“Y-yes…” You don’t let go of his shirt. “Why…?” there’s hope inside you, but dread starts to rot it away.

“Jerk it.”

“…what?”

He was different from the novel. Extremely so, because you doubt that Dion would suggest a thing, much less give you a choice in the matter. That Dion would have either ignored you and this night or take you as is, no mercy, no humanity granted if this took place at the beginning at the novel.

When he doesn’t repeat himself, you pull yourself up until you’re resting on your knees. The sight of blood both on his cock and the sheets make you gag and thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it. Hesitantly, you take him into your hands, fingers barely able to close around it.

It throbs in your hand.

Your blood is coating your hands now, too.

Only silence is between you, your hands working him. Your thumb swipes over his head, circling it before stroking his dick up and down. Your other hand plays with his balls, massaging them. You’re not sure how long it would take him to finish.

Your core throbs in pain, and you become worried over the thought of peeing. It would probably hurt.

You want to sleep.

Without giving it much thought, just like your husband, you spit on it, a glob of saliva falling onto the staff. It throbs harder. And when you look at him, tired eyes and drool still dripping down from your tongue, still jerking him off –

“…Ngh…”

It’s almost cute, the way sperm spurts out and makes a mess on your hands. The very small and fleeting look of embarrassment on his feature is almost enough to comfort you. But when there’s barely a sheen of sweat adoring his forehead, unlike you was still recovering, you’re reminded that your husband was different from you.

There are no kisses, no sweet nothings shared between lovers. No stroking your hair or comforting your trembling form as your legs shake. Or even an offer to warm a bath for you, the warm water soothing your body. There’s none of that.

Not even a smile.

“Welcome to the Argiche family, wife.”

Instead, all that awaits you is a restless sleep on a bloodied mattress with a husband who left after cleaning himself up.

Which God despises you so much and why?

[authorhjk1]

Aloha! Since I hardly find any of her fics here, here's hoping Krystal can make the cut so here are some choices if you may:

For the first outfit was hoping it could make the cut the most since if you look at it closely it is a one piece dress but buttoned up, for the second outfit I mean, look at that body sheesh and for the third a simple one.

https://kpopping.com/documents/54/2/2000/220405-H-Naver-Post-Krystal-ELLE-D-Edition-Photoshoot-Behind-documents-13.jpeg?v=1fb1e

https://kpopping.com/documents/a0/1/2992/240507-Krystal-Jung-Baeksang-Arts-Awards-2024-documents-1(1).jpeg?v=8dcd4

https://kpopping.com/documents/58/0/4500/Krystal-Jung-for-Vogue-Korea-March-2024-Issue-Vogue-Leader-2024-Woman-Now-documents-8.jpeg?v=2799c

Midnight

(Krystal Jung X Male Reader)

You're smiling from ear to ear as you walk through the building. You can't believe this is happening.

"It seems like you really want one of these."

Krystal's teasing tone makes you turn around to her. But before you can, her hands sneak around your waist and she presses her body up against yours from behind. Her chin landing on your shoulder.

"Y-Yes. This one."

You point at the car at the far end of the dealership. You've always wanted this car. Ever since you saw it online for the first time. You can't believe you're about to own it. You're barely nineteen years old and you just got your driver's license. But now you're walking to a midnight black Lamborghini Aventador.

You never checked out the price, because you expected to never be able to have enough money to buy one of these. But now it almost feels like you won the lottery.

"Are you sure you want this one?"

Krystal isn't as much into cars as you are, so she usually goes for classy and expansive over horse power and speed. The silver Rolls Royce parked outside is proof enough of that.

"This is my dream car."

"Then get in and try it out."

Krystal gives you a kiss on the cheek, before you hear heels klick on the floor as she walks away.

You carefully reach out to touch the hood. Six months ago, you would've been too afraid to even touch this car. But you don't have to worry about breaking anything. Krystal could buy every single car in this building, if she wanted to. You don't know how much money she really does have, but the first thing you did after coming home that fateful day, was researching the name Krystal Jung. The richest person in Korea. The fifth wealthiest person in Asia and maybe even one of the richest women on this planet.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you let your hands wander over the steering wheel. It feels comfortable. It feels perfect. It feels better than you thought it would.

You tear your eyes off the car's dashboard as you hear Krystal approaching again. Her black dress matches the car and shows off her slim waist. It hugs her body like it was only designed for her and nobody else. Which is what probably happened. You doubt anyone else owns this exact dress. Maybe a cheap copy of it.

You hold your breath as Krystal stops in front of you, a car key in her hand.

"Do you want to take your new car for a drive?"

"Oh my god. Thank you so much."

You don't even dare to reach for the key. How much did Krystal just spent on you?

"Like I already said, you don't have to thank me for the stuff I buy you. It's just money."

She puts the key into your hand, before walking around to the passenger side.

Once she is seated, her arm sneaks around your shoulders, her lips right next to your ear.

"Let's take your new car for a drive along the coast."

Her free hand glides over your thigh as she reaches for your crotch.

"You can repay me by making use of that hood."

She nods towards the front of the car.

The cold midnight air hits your face as you test out the car's limits. Krystal's hair flies after her in the wind. The roaring of the engine almost makes it impossible to talk. You glance at the dashboard. 300 kph. The road doesn't have any corners in it right now, so you can drive as fast as you want. No one else is around.

You let the Lamborghini come to a hold as you reach the top of the cliff. It's not yet time for the sunrise, but the stars make the night sky bright enough. You have to peel your shaking hands off the wheel. You've never gone that fast in your life.

"That big smile on your face says a lot."

Krystal's hair is messy, but that might make her even more attractive.

"Show me how much you really enjoyed it."

You lean over and capture her lips with yours. The two of you make out in the car as your and her hands explore each other's bodies. You feel her naked waist under your fingertips, while Krystal lets her fingers graze your abs underneath your shirt.

You don't have to work and earn money or anything. Krystal has only two basic requirements for you to make this relationship work. Stay as healthy and fit as possible and make her cum more often then she can count. You work out every single day, eat healthy and go for a lot of runs. You already did it before you met her, but the amount of time you are know putting into your body makes it impossible for Krystal to keep her hands off you.

After your make out session in the car, you now kneel in front of it, after having Krystal bend over the hood. Just like she wanted.

Her dress is still occupying the passenger seat, while her naked body is pressed against the black surface.

"That's a good boy."

Krystal moans into the hood as your tongue invades her slick pussy again and again. You knead her cheeks as you hold onto them. She loves it when you worship her body just as much as when she worships yours.

"Oh, fuck! Almost!"

After six months of almost three times a day, you have Krystal completely figured out. It doesn't take much effort anymore to make her cum.

And you can tell how close she is, if you read the signs well enough. Her thighs begin to shake. Her moans become just a little higher. More swear words leave her lips. And more of her juices would run down her thighs, if it wasn't for you, eagerly licking every inch of her skin.

Your name leaves her lips in a deep moan, right before a high pitched cry echoes through the night. Krystal orgasms on top of the car. Her naked body pressed against the hood. Most of her squirt lands inside your mouth, but some finds it's way onto the car, staining the black materials.

While she recovers, you stand up and align your cock with her pussy. You're still hard and wet from her blowjob in the car mere minutes ago. You can't even keep track anymore on how often Krystal sucked you off, sitting in the passenger seat or at the back.

"That's right. Fill me with that cock of yours."

Krystal sighs as you push into her. Slow love making is a rare sight in your relationship. Mainly because it isn't a relationship based on love. Krystal is pleasant to be around, but she sometimes feels like she is from another world. Her money, her influence, her age. None of it matches your own personality. And yet, here you are, taking Krystal's pussy from behind.

"You're such a good boy. A good little toy."

Her endless praises fuel your desire to fuck her harder and harder. As much as you like Krystal dominating you, it doesn't compare to the feeling of being in control yourself. To have this beautiful woman bend over in front of you. How she takes your cock so well. How she moans your name and praises your cock.

You eventually start to grow tired. The small sex marathon on board of her plane two hours ago still lingering inside your muscles. Krystal usually isn't the type to have a lot of sex at once, due to her busy schedule. But a four hour flight in her private jet makes you work overtime.

You finally sink down on top of her, your face buried in her naked back as your cock rests deep inside her pussy. Krystal's tits and the rest of her body are being pressed against the hood of the car due to your weight.

"Yes, baby."

She sighs, enjoying the unusually slow fucking you now give her. Her snug pussy is enough to make you cum. It doesn't matter how fast you fuck her. Even if you only move at a slow pace, it manages to make you fill her up.

"Krystal..."

You kiss and lick her sweaty neck as you close your eyes. The cold midnight air roams your naked body on top of hers as you release your cum into her pussy.

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Hi, everyone!

I hope you a had a good time reading. After deciding on this concept, I cose the black dress, because I think it fits the most. If you want me to write her in the blue one, feel free to request again, I will put it on my list.