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simpjaes · 1 year ago

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BIG D*CK FOR DUMMIES (s.jy)

The one where you find out that your boyfriend has a huge cock and you’re not entirely sure if you can take all of it.

MDNI!!! | pls leave feedback and reblog your fave writers!

PAIRING ― jaeyun x afab reader

WORDCOUNT ― 2.4k

CONTENT ― first time, established relationship, top jaeyun, painful sex

NOTE ― this was originally written for a different idol on my other blog [ncteez] but i pictured jake in that one en o’clock episode doing this and went feral so……here’s ur giant package.

smut tags― he’s a little cocky (lmao), i guess you could say size kink but it’s more like huge cock / tiny pussy size kink, theres some crying, praising, reader gets off like almost instantly and becomes incredibly cock drunk the second he’s able to actually fuck

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Things you knew about your boyfriend before dating: he’s very protective, super smart, has good taste in music, his hands are big and warm, and he’s very down to earth.

Things you didn’t know about your boyfriend until after dating and he’s on top of you during a moody and rainy night makeout session: his cock is huge and it’s very intimidating.

One might ask, how could you have not known? Well, that’s easy. It’s a fairly new relationship and a very shy relationship at that. It’s a bit embarrassing for you, actually, because it’s not like you don’t want to be intimate with him. You definitely do, and apparently so does he.

It’s the first time in the three weeks you’ve been dating that you’ve gotten to be completely alone with him in an intimate setting. For one, you live with your parents, and secondly, he lives with three other dudes who like to be all up in his business. It’s not exactly easy to get alone time with him. Thankfully, your parents are out on a five-day holiday somewhere in the Bahamas and you’re here on your family couch with Jaeyun’s hands cradling your neck as you kiss him.

It got heated very fast, presumably because the two of you haven’t really had the privacy to do more than a standing makeout session without someone listening in, or worse, walking in. It almost makes the air feel electric now, kind of like a breath of fresh air except the fresh air tastes like the fruity chewing gum he had in his mouth when he originally came over.

Here’s the thing though, and man, it’s a thing. Looking at Jaeyun you’d think he’s average at best and you’re not really the type to go around guessing dick sizes. So, naturally, when he slots a leg between yours as he got on top of you and you fucking felt it against your leg, you were a little more shocked than anticipated. Maybe he let out a little snide chuckle at your reaction too, you wouldn’t know, you were kind of busy wondering when he was going to let you in on the secret.

Now, here you are deep in thought of how the hell that thing is going to fit anywhere while simultaneously one hundred percent willing to make it fit because god, does he know how to makeout and feel someone up.

The more he kisses you, the more his hands roam, the more you experience intimate touches with him, the more you feel like your skin is on fire and replacing that intimidation with extreme arousal and lust. All the way until the point that the presumed makeout playlist starts over and he finally pushes a bit further with you.

“Is this okay?” He asks, now slotting himself entirely between your legs and essentially pressing his length directly against the pool that is threatening to seep through your fucking denim shorts.

You give him a half nod, trying to pretend that he’s definitely a normal man with a normal cock. He smiles though, knowing full well that this isn’t what you were expecting. No one ever expects it from him.

“You seem occupied,” he comments, pressing himself against you a little more and leaning down on his arms to nip at your lips. “or shocked, maybe?”

You try to kiss him to shut him up, not wanting to expose yourself for being entirely inexperienced with a size like his.

“Hm?” He encourages you, pulling back again and looking directly into your eyes with a confident smirk.

“Well,” you shift your eyes away and sigh out, “you’re kind of huge…”

He takes that compliment and runs with it. It’s not like the two of you have to finally have sex or anything, but you both knew what was happening and you both definitely knew what the other wanted. At least ten minutes ago that was the situation.

“Is it too much?” He asks, this time a bit more concerned that his own biology could ruin this for you.

“Probably? no, maybe?”

Jaeyun pulls away from you, moving himself to sit back against the couch and give you your space. Considering probably and maybe isn’t a yes, he feels no need to push or pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do. There have been times where he’s hurt another person while being intimate, though not intentionally, he’s not exactly willing to do that to you unless you’re like, you know, jumping his bones for it.

“Still, i’d like to try–” You start, looking at him as you sit up and feel your entire body tingle at the cold air that replaces his warmth. “Maybe if we take it slow– like, really slow?”

He looks at you with shining eyes. He asked you to be his girlfriend because he genuinely likes you. He likes your voice, he likes the way you smell, likes when you talk about your favorite songs and favorite movies. He was definitely smitten from the moment he saw you trip on your own two feet down the front porch of a house party months ago. Taking it slow with you was pretty normal, and the fact that you want him too just makes him all the more willing to take his time.

“I’ll take care of you, ” he hums, spreading his legs a bit across the couch to give himself more space to re-adjust himself. “Just tell me if I need to slow down?”

You nod, staring directly between his legs and rubbing your own together on instinct. If anyone’s gonna split you open, it might as well be your boyfriend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When he said he would take it slow with you, he really meant it. The fact that he curled three fingers into you for a solid twenty minutes and you still feel like your legs will buckle on you at any moment knowing that this is just for prep– oh damn.

The fact that he even used his tongue on you for the first time, making sure you were more slippery than you already were for another twenty minutes? The fucking fact that you were on the verge of orgasm when he pulled it out and presented it to you like a cock you could totally sit on without issue?

Fuck.

Reality washes over you far too quickly when you actually make that attempt.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel like you were being torn apart by him, but part of you loves the way his gentle hands hold you steady as you try to sink down. You can feel the wet heat between your legs coat his length inch by inch as you start to slide down.

He stops you only for a moment when he notices you wincing.

“Breathe, baby, just a little more.” He encourages, getting a nod from you before guiding you down further.

You breathe, clenching around him and doing your best to stop doing that so you can relax. You can tell he’s struggling to actually take it slow by now too, only because you can feel his hands shake against you as he holds himself back from obliterating you, probably. You’d think it would be quite endearing to see, if it weren’t for the fact that your eyes are blurring from the tears threatening to fall.

Feeling embarrassed, you wipe your eyes and focus on how he feels inside of you. The pain is still there, but as you “sit” here, that pain somehow does replace itself with a strange sensation of pleasure little by little. You’ve always wondered what it felt like to be full, and it appears that this is exactly it.

It’s overwhelming.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks after noticing your tears, a bit of panic in his voice despite the fact that you could have sworn hearing a moan come out alongside it, “Pull up, it’s okay, you can–”

You sink down further instead, now bottoming yourself out on him and releasing a broken whine of both pain and pleasure. He grunts in unison to your whine, gripping your hips even harder than he already was and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fuck,” he sighs out, lazily opening his eyes to look at the way you perch yourself on him so perfectly. “Such a tight fit.”

You nod, mostly unable to hear a word he’s saying as you try to relax your body enough to get rid of that small hint of pain. The consistent clenching of your adjustments send your boyfriend spiraling a bit, unable to contain his sighs of pleasure as your tight and wet heat squeezes his cock.

“Tell me when I can move, please, tell me–” He groans out almost frantically, staring down at where you sit flush against him and wanting so badly to fuck into you.

He’s wanted to do this to you since you started dating, now that it’s finally happening, and now that you’re quite literally jerking him off simply by adjusting to his size– you know, it’s not exactly easy to contain himself.

You take a few more seconds to breathe before your body finally relaxes and you give him a reluctant nod.

Instantly it’s like you’re seeing stars. He barely moves, all he does is flex his abs and press his hips up and it’s like he manages to fit another non-existent inch inside of you.

You groan out, falling forward against his chest and gripping onto his shoulders as you feel your body adjust to even that small movement. To you, this is so fucking embarrassing, but to him?

Hottest thing ever. Really.

He can hear your whiny gasps against his neck when he moves and it’s driving him fucking wild, especially considering the fact that his cock is driven so deeply inside of you that he thinks you’d tell him to stop— but you don’t.

You’re so good to him, and for what it’s worth, he wants to make sure this will be the best orgasm of your life.

Slowly, his hands fall to your ass and guide you up. You feel slight relief as a few inches leave you, and your stomach bubbles with that same sensation of both pleasure and pain when he slides you back down.

He moans out at you, almost like he’s cooing in pity at how much you’re trying to take for him. It’s incredibly sexy to hear now that your ears have stopped ringing and you’re beginning to believe that you’d never want anything smaller than him anyway.

This time, you lift on your own and sink back down just as fast, wincing again against his neck but releasing a moan that sounds more like pleasure than anything else. He sees this as a green light, gripping your ass and encouraging you to lift slightly again.

“Stay like this.” he mutters with a deep breath before kissing against your forehead and thrusting his hips up once, hard.

The tight heat you’re offering sends him into a frenzy when paired with the wet slap of his pelvis hitting your pussy, and the sounds you’re making offer little in terms of stopping because by now, you’re both loving it.

He thrusts into you with ease, the drag loud and slippery, the moans of pleasure you release only make him go faster, harder. Almost releasing a whimper of his own at how fucking perfect you are for taking all of it.

“Look.” he tries to let out, waiting for you to pull yourself up from his chest and look at him.

You do with ease, that broken face from before now replaced with lustful and blown out pupils.

“Look how good you take it,” he praises with a groan, almost punctuating each word with a thrust, “knew you could take it.”

Your broken smile that falls into a slack mouthed string of nonsense only continues to push him. All the way until you can’t think straight at all, and you’re feeling your body tense up with such pressure that you can’t even warn him before your walls are clenching so tightly that it even hurts him.

You grasp onto him for dear life as your orgasm washes over you, drenching his entire length as you hold your breath. Never have you gotten off while feeling so fucking full, and arguably, you don’t think you could ever feel an orgasm so intense without him being the one to split you open.

“There you go baby.” he hums, watching you breathlessly fall apart on top of him before picking up his rhythm again and chasing his own high.

By this point, you’re so well adjusted that even the searing pain of his restless thrusts feel good. Your brain is foggy but you can’t help but just fucking watch him.

This is your boyfriend and this is what it looks like when you’re making him feel good.

“Are you close?” you start to bounce on him, meeting his rhythm and allowing him to rest his own hips.

He nods as he looks at you, awestruck with how you’re already able to ride him as if you weren’t whining just moments before. Seeing you take him in full like this is enough to have his cock pulsing.

“Just a bit more, baby.” He closes his eyes and runs his hands up your waist. “Keep riding me, fuck.”

And that, you do. Feeling proud of yourself for being able to actually take this literal monster, you focus on the twitch inside of you as he releases with a deep and breathy moan.

It’s entirely too sexy to ignore, and you continue to bounce even as he tries to hold you in place to subdue the sensitivity of his cock being fucking strangled by how tight you are.

Once his body stops jerking and you feel the last twitching release inside of you, you fall forward and both of you groan from the sensitivity.

“There are pros and cons to having a big dick, i guess.” he admits in a groan.

Even when you laugh, there’s another wince from both of you followed by a groan.

“Pros: big dick.” he whispers, holding you still against him so you don’t move again before he can soften up and pull out. “Cons: big dick.”

You still laugh, and it still hurts.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

me and my lame ass endings lmfaooooooooooooooooo

#enhypen smut #jake smut #jaeyun smut #enha smut #sim jake smut #sim jaeyun smut #jake sim smut

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nightingale-prompts · 8 months ago

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Babying Batboy

First |Previous|Next

"He's all yours Kori!" Dick said holding up the Batboy burrito.

Danny chirped in distress as Starfire picked him up and swung him around in her arms. "You are much smaller than I thought. So little and cute!"

"Let me see, I wanna see his wings!" Beastboy said rushing over to get a look.

"Nightwing, what's that bag for?" Raven asked Dick joining in.

"It's Batboy's diaper bag." As he said this Danny's eyes snapped in his direction with murder in them, daring Dick to even try putting a diaper on him.

"Æah!" Danny babbled angrily.

"Don't worry he is housebroken." He laughed. "I put his supplies inside. His blanket, his bottles, chew toys, and this set of superhero themed pacifiers. You should give him one now. He gets fussy."

Danny turned red with embarrassment. Toddler-sized or not he was not going to be treated like a baby, at least not in front of the Titans.

"Aww, these are so cute. I've never really understood the use of these things since they weren't needed on my planet but I heard human babies need these." Kori laughed picking out the purple and black Raven themed pacifier and pushing it right into Danny's face.

Danny turned his head to avoid it.

"Looks like the little man doesn't want that one." Cyborg laughed picking up the green and purple Beastboy pacifier instead.

Danny turned his head the other way only to have the red and green Robin pacifier lodged in him mouth.

"I was right, he wanted one that matches his dad." Raven said.

"It's still hard to believe you had a kid," Cyborg said to Nightwing.

"I know, I thought my figure would never recover." Nightwing joked.

The group settled in the living room. Danny was still trapped in Starfire's lap, angrily chewing holes in the pacifier. If Dick pulled out baby food Danny would bite him.

"You know he has deformed wings, right?" Gar tried to sound tactful as he pulled one of Danny's wings to full splay. "His wings are only connected to his back muscles and not his chest. They would need more muscle, bone and wing span to fly. Not to mention the base sits so weirdly at his spine. Poor kid."

Danny hiccuped and tears welled up in his eyes.

One of the drawbacks of shifting is that it requires a shift in your mental state. Cravings, behaviors, and emotions change to match. Currently, the bat and toddler parts are overwriting his sensible older brain.

Right now his feelings were hurt because he worked so hard to make his wing and trained so hard to fly.

"Wehh," Danny whined.

"Gar! You know he might understand you!" Kori scolded him as he hugged Danny close to her chest and patted his back.

"Let me get him." Dick said leaning over to take Danny from Starfire only to have Danny smack his hand because this was all his fault this happened.

Danny pouted leaning into Kori.

"Guys Hex High is one!" Cyborg said calling everyone to the TV.

The other Titans scrambled to get a good seat to watch their favorite show.

Danny immediately perked up to watch.

This episode was a rerun. Nicky the android was debating who to ask to the dance. Rosetta Ferns the bush nymph or Alaska North the Yeti. Nicky doesn't know that Alaska was already going with her ex-boyfriend Finley Reef to see if they can make up and get back together.

"Alaska is too good for either of them and Rosetta deserves better than to be a second choice." Gar sneered.

"Finley was always taking advantage of Alaska's sheltered past to get her to do what he wanted. Remember when he told her that no one would eat the Gundruk she made for the potluck because he thought it was gross." Starfire chipped in.

Danny nodded along he fully agreed. Alaska was his favorite.

Dick hadn't actually watched the show but now he was stuck in the middle of the marathon and he finally understood why everyone loved this show.

Raven was actually the biggest fan and loved Whitney Wisteria the Witch.

Danny had successfully chewed through the pacifier only to get a bottle of juice instead because Kori thought he was hungry.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #nightwing #dick grayson #koriand'r #beast boy #starfire #dc raven #dc cyborg #teen titans

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kianamaiart · 2 months ago

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Hi, Kiana! I really liked your pilot episode! The writing was so funny and charming. I am having a hard time inserting the themes of my short film into script naturally. Can you share how your writing process goes?

Thanks!

I usually write out the goal of the episode, bullet point every key part I want to happen, go in and take out anything that feels unimportant, reassess, go in and write the dialogue, make sure every line is either moving the story forward or is at least funny/tells you something new about the character, go back in and cut anything that isn't useful and then finalize

for this pilot, all i wanted to set up was how aika and zira met, that aika is running away from her duties/hoshi and introduce eclipse and hint that there's a bigger threat (devoid). in my earliest pass of doing the bullet points, there were extra beats of aika being in awe of school but i feel like you get the idea from her having fun doing her test, her opening dialogue, being excited by the fire drill and awful cafeteria food etc. anything else would have been meandering and take away from time spent getting to know other characters (aika and zira's friendship being set up was the most important part of this pilot to me).

having a clear goal and trimming stuff down is REALLY important when writing. i feel like sometimes people will write a funny bit or go into a script trying to force in a line of dialogue that they really want a character to say without considering how it services the story. if you're consistently doing that, you might lose the flow or even theme of the episode. don't want your episode to feel bloated with extra stuff!

this is just my advice as a board artist/director in 11 minute children's comedies. there's different goals when it comes to different genres~

#ask mai anything

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wosospacegirl · 22 days ago

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Stuck with you - part 4

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: lesbians failing at normal conversation, one (1) suspicious ankle, and Y/n pretending she's fine when she is clearly not fine.

Word count: 6k

The morning after dinner came too fast. Y/n had barely slept, her brain stuck replaying every awkward second of dinner.

She wanted to cringe every time she remembered the whole flower episode–the way she had panicked when she thought the flowers were for her. How Olga kept glancing at Y/n and Kika with a knowing grin on her face.

Y/n hated how dinner had slipped out of her control. She hated even more that she… maybe liked it? Somehow?

It was nice having Kika over. She was easy to be around, even though both Kika and Y/n were still pretty much awkward as hell. It just felt…nice.

After dinner, Kika offered to help Y/n clean the dishes while Olga was taking care of Alexia’s wounded knee.

Y/n passed Kika a dish towel without looking. “You really don’t have to help, you know.”

Kika shrugged, taking the plate from her hands. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

They worked in silence for a bit–just the sound of running water and plates clinking.

“Dinner was good,” Kika said, a little shy. “I mean… the food. And the vibe.”

“The vibe? You mean Olga attacking Alexia’s bad knee or..?” Y/n raised an eyebrow at her, skeptical.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Kika said. “She seems very caring.”

Y/n glanced over. “Yeah, aggressively caring.”

Another pause. Kika was drying a fork that had already been dry for like, ten seconds too long. Y/n noticed but didn’t say anything.

“I still had fun,” Kika said after a beat, setting the fork down and leaning against the counter, suddenly very interested in the dish towel.

Y/n hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. Me too.”

They stood there for a second too long, not saying anything. Y/n opened her mouth like she might add something, then closed it again.

“Um, you make good pasta, by the way,” she said, looking down.

Y/n blinked, confused. “I… didn’t make the pasta.”

“Oh. I–Olga said you did.” Kika’s face immediately flushed.

They stared at each other for a second. The silence hung there, weird and uncertain, like neither of them knew what to do with it.

What the hell would Olga say something like that to Kika? Y/n wasn’t even aware that the dinner was happening? Y/n knew Olga was up to something.

Y/n finally shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Well, good to know I’m getting credit for things I didn’t do.”

“Still… It was really good.” Kika let out a quiet, nervous laugh

Y/n handed her another plate without looking. “Yeah. Olga’s like…annoyingly good at everything.”

Another beat of quiet passed.

“I liked it,” Kika added, softly.

Y/n didn’t say anything back. But her shoulders eased just a little.

Maybe dinner wasn’t bad for every member of the Putella’s household after all. Well… maybe just for Alexia. And possibly her kneecap.

Two days had passed, and Y/n and Kika shared a few polite interactions, just some shy greetings across the pitch, no ice cream date. Not that Y/n was actually expecting Kika and her to go out, of course not!

They didn’t even have the time for that. An El Clásico was coming– and it was Kika’s debut. Kika and Y/n were on the starting eleven. They didn’t have time to…eat ice cream.

Y/n could very well buy ice cream if she wanted to and eat in her room. But she wouldn't do that, it would be pathetic.

She kept quiet through breakfast, letting Alexia and Olga talk over her head about formations and press conferences, as Y/n usually did when it was match day.

Her body moved almost on autopilot: eating, packing, walking into the team bus, focused on the game ahead of them. Jana and Vicky called Y/n to sit with them in the back of the bus to film TikTok, but Kika was there too, smiling. Y/n knew she was going to get distracted.

She couldn't allow herself that.

She had a big day ahead of her. She needs to be great. And for that to happen, she needs a strong headspace. So that’s why she sat by Alexia's side.

It was good to sit with Alexia.

She didn't try to make small talk or give unsolicited advice, instead, she simply shared one of her earphones with Y/n, letting the music fill the silence between them.

It was like an unspoken moment between her and Y/n that showed that their bond–even if a little difficult sometimes–was still there. It grounded Y/n. It was one of the few occasions where Alexia’s presence felt calming.

Y/n was confident, really.

But as the bus neared the stadium, Y/n could already feel her chest tightening again. The vehicle stopped and the girls walked out of it, right into the chaos of the stadium tunnel, where the usual anxiety of a match crept in.

The energy before a clásico was always palpable.

There were reporters and journalists around, flashing their faces with their cameras and absurd questions. Fans who screamed loudly enough to give Y/n and the other girls a headache. And security guards that barked and shoved the players, trying to protect them from the most energized fans.

Y/n’s boots echoed off the floor as she made her way to the locker room. Her jaw tight, focus narrowing.

No one tried to talk to her. They used other more closed-off demeanor before any big games.

There was no room for distraction now. Not dinner. Not Kika. Not even Alexia’s watchful eyes.

Just the game and only the game.

Y/n stood in front of Kika as Barcelona’s team lined up in the tunnel, waiting to be called onto the pitch. She had her eyes pinned on the back of Aitana’s head, trying to focus.

Y/n didn’t like the ambiance of the tunnel.

Her mascot’s hand was far too sweaty. The Real Madrid players were puffing out their chests, trying to act tough, which only irritated Y/n.

Somewhere behind her, she could hear hushed whispers–probably Ona and Salma–carrying all the way to the front of the line.

There was too much going on.

It was always too much before a game. No matter how hard she tried to focus, the chaos around her felt overwhelming. She felt like she always had to put on a show whenever she stepped onto the pitch.

Estrella.

La princesa.

Mini Alexia.

The Barcelona fans always chanted when they saw her, screaming loudly as she ran across the pitch, ball at her feet, defenders left behind.

She couldn’t make mistakes.

Focus. She needed to focus.

Her heart was beating fast, and her breathing was uncomfortable, not enough air in her lungs.

That always happened. That uncomfortable feeling–the heaviness on her chest that made Y/n feel like she was slowly being crushed to the ground.

She held her fist tight, trying to ground herself, until a squeaky voice

made her snap out of it,

“Ouch! You’re hurting my hand!” said the little boy by her side–her mascot.

He had a pout on his face, almost like he’d just been betrayed because Y/n had held his hand a little too tight.

Y/n might have felt bad if he hadn’t practically announced it to the entire tunnel. Now all eyes were on them.

“Oh, perdó,” [Oh, I’m sorry] Y/n said, letting go of the boy's hand, feeling embarrassed for having all heads turned to them.

“I don’t wanna go with you anymore!” said the boy, half yelling–again.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Y/n said, lowering herself down just so she was the same height as the boy. “It won't happen again, nen [boy].”

Y/n reached for the boy’s hand again, but he quickly pulled away from her. “No! I had told my mami I wanted to go with Alexia, not you! And now you hu–”

“Hey little man, how are you?” Kika had knelt to the ground beside the boy, putting an arm around his shoulder. “Can I see your hand? Is it hurting?”

Y/n watched as Kika talked to the boy, almost as if soothing him. Kika did it so easily, like soothing a nervous kid wasn’t even a bother.

Y/n noticed that Kika, even though a little shy, was good at talking to others, at doing small talk and making people feel comfortable and reassured. Y/n wondered how she could do that.

It was just like dinner, a few days better. She answered all of Olga’s questions with ease, and didn't seem starstruck like most new girls were with Alexia.

But when it was just Y/n and Kika? It was like neither girl knew how to hold a conversation properly.

Still, Y/n admired Kika, she was good at socialising. It was a skill Y/n wished she had been born with, because she was surely not developing it well. People always called her cranky, even when she was still a kid; she just never had the patience for small talk and meaningless conversations.

Kika had just moved to a new country and she didn't speak the same language as her. She was about to debut for a big club…and yet she seemed calm.

While Y/n could barely breathe, standing in a familiar tunnel.

In the end, the boy refused to be Y/n’s mascot. Deciding to hold Kika's other hand. So Kika had two kids, and Y/n had zero. Zero mascots.

Maybe next time, she’d try not to crush a child’s bones.

“Sorry,” Kika whispered to Y/n, pointing her chin at the boy. “I tried to make him go with you, I even offered some candy”

“It’s alright,” Y/n smiled, for the first time that day, “I didn’t think he was very kind.”

“Hey, I’m right here, ma’am,” the boy said, sticking his tongue. “I’ll tell my mami you hurt my hand.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “You can tell your mami to s–”

A very sound ran through the tunnel.

The classical signal to the player to enter the pitch.

Y/n forgot the boy right away.

She was going to nail this game.

...

The match had been going on for 30 minutes. Kika had already been tackled three times. Three. And the ref had done absolutely nothing. Not even a warning.

But the moment Kika got too close to Madrid’s number 8? Straight yellow. No fouls before. No prior warnings. Just a card.

Y/n felt rage spiking in her chest. She hated injustice, especially now with Kika’s debut. She barely touched the girl and got a card? It's completely unfair.

So she started shadowing number 8. Not very subtly, Y/n wasn’t trying to hide her intention behind it; she was pressed against the girl, giving her light shovings whenever the ball was close to her.

If Y/n could mark number 8, then Kika would have more freedom to run and make passes to the other girls. Y/n wasn’t worried about Kika herself, of course, she was worried about the team.

If it were any other girl being this marked up by other players, Y/n would definitely do the same thing…maybe just not with the same enthusiasm.

Y/n kept close to number 8, but when she turned around to get the ball and Ym tackled her, the referee gave Y/n a warning.

Y/n rolled her eyes and backed off slightly.

But she stayed very much alert. Watching for gaps. Watching Kika. Watching everyone.

As a defender, she needed to read the game better than anyone. Especially when the people in charge refused to play fair.

But of course, Y/n wasn’t the only player who had–as Alexia said a million times –an aggressive play style.

Ona had made a pass to Y/n–it was quick, sharp. Y/n was just there to redirect it to Vicky or Pina, who were a few meters away. Y/n didn’t even need to ruin it, just one touch would’ve been enough.

But another player, number 6 from Real Madrid–Whose name Y/n couldn’t be bothered to remember– tackled her. Hard.

The tackle wasn’t clean, and it was very much unnecessary as Y/n was standing still, very far away from Real Madrid goal. Number 6 took the ball with her, as well as Y/n's ankle.

Y/n hit the ground face-first, a hiss escaping her lips as her ankle throbbed. Her hands dug into the grass, jaw clenched as she heard the crowd–Real Madrid fans cheering, Barça fans booing.

“Hey, amiga,” Ona’s voice came through, calm but concerned. “That was dirty. Want me to call the medics? The ref blew the whistle already.”

Ona knelt beside her, placing a steady hand on Y/n’s back as she helped her turn over and sit up. Her ankle didn’t look injured. They never did right after an impact–the worst came after.

But the pain was growing, creeping up her leg and almost reaching her shin. She’d twisted it badly. One week off, minimum. But there was another Madrid match coming soon. She couldn’t miss it. So she breathed through it.

The other girls came over, Alexia, Irene, Aitana… and Kika.

They all looked at her the same way: worried. Like they didn’t think she’d be able to continue. Like they already knew it and were calculating how many weeks off she would get.

Y/n hated that. Hated being looked at like she was…fragile.

So she forced herself to stand. She bit down a whine as her foot hit the ground, hiding the tremble in her knee. Ona instinctively grabbed her arm, and Aitana caught the other, helping her stay upright.

“I’m calling the medics,” Alexia said, already waving toward the bench.

Y/n was faster. She dropped Alexia’s arm “No, Ale. I’m good.”

“Good?” Irene echoed, sounding incredulous. “Estrellita, she almost snapped your ankle in two. I saw it.”

“Guys, really,” Y/n said, pointing at her ankle as she moved it side to side. It hurt a lot, but she faked a confident smile. Then she took three shaky steps forward. “See? Fine.”

Alexia pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Nena, if you feel any pain, you ask to be subbed off. No…. heroics, ok?”

“Yes,” Y/n said quickly. “Don’t worry.”

“Let’s make it 3–0 for us, yeah?” Y/n added, eyes already locked on the scoreboard.

2–0 for Barça.

Her game face was back on, the player in her settling in neatly.

Y/n wasn’t sure if it was the placebo effect, the adrenaline, or if she was simply such a good liar that even she believed it, but the pain was gone. Or at least, it felt like it.

She didn’t feel any pain when she sprinted down the right side of the pit to make a pass to Alexia, who sent the ball shooting into the net. And definitely not when she passed to Ona, who sent the ball flying to Irene, who then set Patri up perfectly for another goal.

The locker room was completely buzzed with laughter and half-sung chants. The 4–0 win over Real Madrid felt like a party already, but somehow, the girls had more energy to burn.

Y/n was seated on the bench, unlacing her boots, when she glanced across the room and saw Kika.

Kika was leaning against her locker, eyes crinkled in a laugh at something Vicky said, her jersey sleeves pushed up as she tossed her hair back. She looked so at ease. Like the tension from the game had never happened.

For a second, Y/n thought Kika might turn around and look at her. Maybe smile.

But she didn’t, being too caught up in her conversation.

Y/n looked away before anyone noticed she was watching.

The girls kept talking, singing, happy about their victory.

That energy didn’t end after they gave interviews, or after they made some media content for Barcelona and, in the case of Vicky, Jane and Salma, filmed a TikTok.

So of course, the barça girls had to commemorate even more.

“Bar tonight!” Patri said, tugging her jersey over her head and putting on a clean t-shirt. “Who’s on?”

“Yes!” Irene said, phone already in hand. “Just gonna let Lucia know I’ll be late.”

Y/n, still seated on the bench, unlaced her boots slowly, as all the girls agreed to Patri’s idea.

Just one person didn’t say anything, and she could feel the bullying starting.

“I’m gonna skip,” Y/n said in a low voice, not even looking up, because she knew she was going to be met with a lot of hopeful eyes staring at her.

A chorus of groans followed immediately, and Y/n had to let a chuckle out. They were so dramatic whenever it came to ‘team bonding time’.

“Come on, that’s like the third time in a row,” Vicky whined from across the locker room, Jana nodding aggressively as she agreed with her. “You’re boring.”

“You never go out,” Ona added with an exaggerated pout. “We can’t just see each other on the pitch!”

“Sorry,” Y/n replied, her usual dry tone, the fake smile on her face making it even more sarcastic.

“You’re the lamest 19-year-old I know,” Pina chimed in, throwing in a towel at Y/n, who let it land on her hand before tossing it to the floor.

“You know you’re going to die one day and won’t have any stories to tell, right?” Jana said, more like a warning, pointing a finger at Y/n as if it were a prophecy.

“Oh, and what stories and memories are you guys creating tonight?” Y/n asked, lifting her eyebrows. “Because the last time I went out, Marta choked on the fries because someone,” Y/n gave Patri a judgmental look. “Challenged her to see how many fries she could chew at the same time.”

The girls tried to talk back, but they really didn’t have arguments, so they just rolled their eyes at Y/n while others just laughed it off.

One by one, the team started to leave. The buzz faded with the slamming of the locker room door, and soon, only Alexia and Y/n were left behind.

Y/n kept unlacing her second boot slowly, aware of the silence that was creeping in. She didn’t have to look up to know Alexia was still there.

"Nena, ets molt antisocial," Alexia’s voice came through–not stern, but amused. “You always say no.”

“I’m always socially tired,” Y/n replied, almost whining.

“They’re starting to take it personally,” Alexia said, grabbing her game bag.

“They’ll survive, I’m sure,” Y/n said, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

“They might not,” Alexia added, letting her hair down from the ponytail. “Well, Vicky might not–she looked like she was about to cry.”

That made Y/n roll her eyes, but she smiled. She missed that, those teasing moments with Alexia that felt like siblings messing around.

When Alexia wasn’t acting like her mom, or the strict team captain, she was actually cool and funny.

Though to be fair, Alexia’s captain persona never really turned off. And it didn’t know either.

Her gaze dropped, quick and instinctive, noticing the way Y/n’s hands were clamped tightly around her ankle. The way her foot was angled–awkward, tense, like she was trying to find a position that didn’t make her flinch.

She still had her right boot and sock on, so Alexia couldn’t see the swelling or the bruising that had already started to bloom. And Y/n was determined to keep it that way.

“You alright?” Alexia asked, her voice softer now.

“Yeah. Just sore.”

Alexia raised a brow. “Like, ‘sore I’ll be fine tomorrow,’ or ‘sore I don’t want the physios to see’?”

“Sore like I just need to ice it when I get home,” Y/n said, too casually.

“I think you should see the doctors,” Alexia pressed. “I’ll take you. They can do imaging just to be sure.”

“No, Ale.” Y/n shook her head. “I’m fine. I swear.”

“That player stepped on your ankle. I watched it happen—I can’t see how you’re ‘fine.’”

“The same way you were fine when you twisted yours two months ago!” Y/n snapped, then immediately regretted it.

Alexia deadpanned. “I was literally out for two weeks.”

“…Okay. So maybe not exactly the same way,” Y/n muttered, shifting her weight. “Now go. The girls are waiting for you.”

Alexia gave her a long look but let it drop. “Alright. I’m going. But Olga’s home–maybe you two can order something in for dinner”

“Will do.”

“And please put ice on it,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “Actually, I’m texting Olga to leave everything ready so you can prop your ankle up.”

“Ale–stop.” Y/n groaned.

“Is it a crime to care for you now?” Alexia asked, halfway teasing, but she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

“You are not ‘caring for me’,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes. “You’re hovering.”

“No estic,” Alexia said, a little too quickly. “Només estic... preocupada. Una mica.” [“I’m not. I’m just... worried. A bit.”]

“--But I’m trusting you not to be an idiot and downplay this,” she continued, more serious this time.

“I’m not! I won’t!” Y/n said, forcing a smile, trying to convince her.

Alexia lingered with her hand on the doorknob, her back to Y/n.

“You’re sure?” she asked, quieter now. “You’ll ice it? Real ice, not frozen peas like last time.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Yes. Promise.”

Alexia turned just enough to narrow her eyes at her, like she was this close to calling the physios behind her back. She took a breath.

“Okay. I’ll let you off this time,” she said. “But only because I know Olga will give you more shit about it than I ever could.”

The door shut behind her.

Y/n waited. Waited until she didn't hear Kika's shoes anymore, then peeled her sock down.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Her ankle was already swollen, a deep purple bruise creeping up the side. It throbbed with a dull ache now that the adrenaline had worn off. She hissed under her breath and grabbed her water bottle, pressing it to the skin in place of proper ice.

Just ice. Just rest. She’d be fine.

It was just sore. She could walk. Limping was still a form of walking. She had iced worse things.

She would just take some anti-inflammatories, smear some cream on it overnight. Tomorrow, she’d tape it up and keep going.

She was halfway through pulling her sock back up when—

“Whoa.”

Her heart jumped into her throat.

Kika stood frozen in the doorway, the same clothes she wore when they first got to the game. A grey sweater, white shirt underneath and baggy jeans.

“Sorry…I forgot my–” She trailed off, eyes glued to Y/n’s ankle.

“That looks… kind of bad.”

Y/n straightened instinctively, tugging her suck up too fast.

“It 's nothing.”

“It’s… purple.”

“I have poor blood circulation,” Y/n said dryly.

Kika blinked. “Right.”

Y/n looked away, busying herself with her bag. “It’s just a bruise. It’ll be fine by morning.”

Kika didn’t say anything right away. She stood there, shifting her weight awkwardly, clearly unsure if she should stay or go.

“It doesn’t look like anything,” she said eventually.. “But–I mean, maybe you know your body better.”

“Yes, I do,” Y/n clenched her jaw, not liking the sudden attention to her injury. “You can back off, no need to worry.”

Kika shifted her weight from one foot to the other, like she wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to.

Y/n sighed. “Sorry.”

Kika blinked, a little surprised.

She took a small step forward, then stopped again.

“I’m not trying to… I’m not judging or anything. I just saw it and–the other girls said it was minor, so I didn’t expect it to look…purple.”

“It’s just…” Y/n shook her head. “Long game.”

Kika gave a small nod. “Yeah. It was a big one.”

She hesitated. “Your first,” Y/n added quietly, eyes still on her sock. “You played well.”

Kika smiled, almost sheepish. “Thanks.”

She lingered a second longer. “And… Thank you for marking the players for me. I noticed it, and well…for tracking back when I lost the ball during the first half.”

She pressed her fingers into her ankle a little harder than necessary, just to distract herself from the warmth creeping up her neck.

“Yeah, of course. I’m a defender. That’s my, hm… job.” Y/n’s ears burned. She cleared her throat.

Kika’s smile widened a little. “Well… you’re very good at your job.”

Y/n glanced at her quickly, as if to see if she was being made fun of. But Kika

“Have you booked with the physio at the club yet?” Kika asked, gently, but with purpose. Her eyes flicked down to Y/n’s leg again. She clearly wasn’t ready to drop it.

“No. That won’t be necessary,” Y/n said, not looking at her. She slid her ankle behind her gym bag so Kika wouldn’t see it anymore. “It’s feeling better already.”

Kika clearly didn't believe Y/n.

“Is it because of the upcoming game? The other one against Madrid?”

Y/n watched Kika, her eyes soft, not with judgment, just concern. Y/n looked down at her poor ankle and nodded.

“I just wanna play–FIFA dates are coming up and I need to stay on the squad,” Y/n said, in a small voice, as if she didn’t like to admit it.

There were a lot of good Spain players who could easily fit her position on the squad, it was a very competitive selection. That’s why so many players with double nationality sometimes chose not to represent Spain, because their chances of getting in were slim.

Y/n didn’t have any other option, though, so she had to be good, excellent even. If she were out for a few weeks, there was a big chance of not getting called because of minutes.

She needed more minutes. More games. More experience. She needed to show them she was worthy of being called again.

Y/n had been in a few share of seniors games, but she always thought they were going to be their last, so she never slacked. Always gave her best,

“It looks bad, though,” Kika said again, pulling Y/n out of her thoughts.

Y/n’s jaw tensed, just slightly.

“It’ll get better,” Y/n said, too practiced as if she was saying it to herself, so she could believe it.

“Hm. If you say so.” Kika said hesitantly, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Y/n didn’t look at her, instead focusing on the zipper of her gym bag. “Yeah.”

“Can you keep it in between us, though?” Y/n asked, eyes on the floor still. “Just–while it heals…it won’t take long, two days max.”

Silent.

“I just don’t want Romeu to bench me now,” Y/n continued, blushing on her cheeks as she realised that she was asking Kika to do something that wasn't really nice. “Just…two days, Kika.”

There was silence again, this time way too long.

Y/n finally looked up.

Kika’s face had shifted slightly. Her eyebrows were drawn together, her lips were tight. Her eyes flicked down again to the ankle Y/n had tried to hide behind her gym bag. Then back to Y/n’s face.

Y/n didn’t say anything else. Didn’t push or soften the ask. She just waited, pretending she wasn’t watching Kika carefully.

Y/n hated to see how uncomfortable she looked, but it made sense; she had just been handed a secret she clearly didn’t want to hold.

They looked at each other, and Y/n felt her stomach twist.

Kika shouldn’t have walked in, not when her ankle was on full display; it looked okay-ish when her sock was covering it. A little swollen, but nothing more than this.

Kika finally gave a small nod–barely noticeable.

But her body language didn’t match. Her shoulders were very tense. She looked like she wanted to say she wasn’t sure. That she didn’t want to be put in this position. But she said nothing.

But Kika wasn’t like the other players. She still stood a little too straight sometimes, spoke a little too politely, like she wasn’t sure how far she was allowed to go yet., Like she was still trying to figure out her place on the team.

Y/n felt a flicker of guilt.

Y/n was feeling like the bad guy for asking a teammate not to snitch, and it felt worse because the teammate was Kika, and Kika was sweet and caring, and she didn’t deserve to be put in this situation.

But this was about her career. The next call-up, the next game, staying relevant. She needed the minutes.

Y/n pulled her hoodie over her head, trying to shake off the weird feeling creeping in her chest.

“I’ll be fine.” Her voice was low, firm, meant to end the conversation.

Kika fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

“I have to go,” she said finally.

Y/ne expected her voice to be snappier now, but it wasn’t, it was gentle, still soft.

“Jana and Vicky are waiting.” She continued, pointing at the door. “They said they want me to drink sangria.”

Y/n forced a smile, but it barely made it to her eyes.

“Oh. Yeah.” Y/n’s voice was quieter now, trailing off into something smaller. “Have a good time… and don’t trust Jana with the sangria,” the corner of her mouth tugged up just a bit. “Vicky’s got better taste.”

Kika lingered at the door before offering Y/n a small smile, her gaze staying a second too long on Y/n.

And then she turned around, the door clicking shut behind her.

Y/n still felt the weight of Kika’s gaze. It wasn’t harsh or judgmental, it was concerned. The same one Alexia gave her, but more…tender.

Y/n exhaled, long and slow, and ran a hand down her face. This is what it felt like to be perceived? Y/n surely didn’t like it.

Y/n looked around and noticed Kika didn’t take whatever it was that she came back for.

She looked at the cubby to her left, a water bottle was there; the Portugal sticker gave it away about who it belonged to.

Y/n stared at it for a moment and bent over on the bench to pick it up. She turned it over in her hand, the water was warm now. The girl carefully placed it inside her gym bag.

Then she pushed herself up, only to suck in a sharp breath as pain ran through her ankle. Her fingers immediately reached for the bench again to steady herself.

Okay. Maybe she’d need more than just ice.

She changed slowly, trying to avoid putting pressure on the ankle as she took her gym bag and Kika’a water bottle.

Alexia probably still had some painkillers in her bedside drawer.

Hopefully, Olga had left the freezer stocked, too.

“Ai, la meva nena”, Olga said as soon as Y/n walked into the house. Alexia had really texted her about Y/n’s ankle because Olga had a pack of ice and a towel waiting for her. [Oh, my girl].

Y/n didn’t even have time to drop her bag before Olga was already there, arms open, the ice in one hand and the towel in the other.

Y/n accepted the hug stiffly. No matter how many years she had been living with Olga, she would never get used to her sudden moments of affection. Y/n only pretended she didn’t like it, though. Olga was a very good hugger.

Olga had probably taken what she called ‘premium shower’ because she smelt like strawberry, a body wash she only used on special occasions.

Y/n tried her hardest not to limp. Olga might not be a physio or a football expert, but even she knew that if someone was limping after hours of hurting their ankle, then it wasn’t a minor injury.

Olga was the snitchiest person ever. She would tell Alexia in a heartbeat. They were loyal to each other like that.

“Ale said a player stomped on your ankle? Sí?” Olga urged Y/n to sit on the sofa as she pulled her phone, probably letting Alexia know Y/n was home already.

Olga put her phone down on the coffee table while Y/n took off her shoes, but not her socks, even though the pressure made it worse. Olga couldn't see the state of her ankle, or else she would drive Y/n herself to the closest orthopedist.

The bruising had deepened. It was darker now, the swelling higher up the side.

“She didn’t stomp,” Y/n said casually, putting her shoes to the side and letting Olga put the ice over the towel on her ankle. “Alexia’s being dramatic.”

Y/n winces slightly when Olga rubbed the ice back against her ankle. But she tried to hide it with a yawn.

Olga looked at her, eyebrows raised, not buying it. But she didn’t push. Just sat next to her, tucking her legs beneath her,

“I don’t think I would use the word dramatic to describe Ale,” Olga said.

Y/n held the bundle to her ankle. The cold stung, and her toes curled instinctively.

“I would,” y/n mumbled, putting her head back against the sofa cushions. “She is a helicopter parent and she isn’t even a parent.”

Olga laughed, a soft snort. “She’s almost a parent,” she said, winking at her. “At least with you.”

Y/n scoffed, but it came out quieter than she meant it to.

She wasn’t annoyed. Not really. Not even at Alexia. The truth was– her chest felt warm at that.

Y/n would sometimes feel like the odd one out when it came to Alexia, Olga, and the whole Putellas family dynamic. Like she didn’t truly belong. As if she were just someone they kept around out of obligation or pity or… god knows what.

But here–now–feeling Olga’s gentle presence beside her on the couch, listening as she asked about the match, then about what they should order for dinner like it was the most natural thing in the world… Y/n felt like family.

The feeling only grew stronger when Alexia video called mid-conversation, her face appearing on Olga’s phone screen with a worried crease between her brows.

“Let me see it,” Alexia said without preamble. She was clearly at a bar, Y/n could barely see her face, and her voice came out muffled from the sound of the Catan music playing.

Y/n rolled her eyes and lifted the injured foot, sock still on, ice pack balanced over the top. She pointed the camera like it was a piece of evidence. “There. Happy now?”

Alexia smiled, clearly relieved. “I’ll be back in just over an hour.”

“Oh, please stay longer,” Y/n said, teasing. “Olga and I are finally getting a chance to watch TV–the one you’re always hogging and never let us touch?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “You have a TV in your room. And Olga and I have one in ours too. Don’t be dramatic.”

Y/n grinned. “Living room TV is different, though.”

Alexia tilted her head, amused. “How exactly?”

“It just is,” Y/n said with a shrug, sinking deeper into the couch. “Better sound. Cozier vibe. Feels more communal.”

“Okay, you two keep on watching your…communal TV” Alexia rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. “Text me if any of you need anything.”

She let her smile linger and nodded, but as the call ended, the tension in her shoulders didn’t.

There was a small, guilty part of her that hoped if she played it light enough–joking and teasing and casual–Alexia might not press further.

That maybe, just maybe, acting normal would keep things from Alexia noticing how much in pain she was.

And Y/n wasn’t ready for that.

Notes: Please tell me if you guys liked it <3

Tag list in the comments.

Part 5 here

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #kika nazareth x yn #kika nazareth #kika nazareth x reader

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sunniedesi · 25 days ago

Text

The Decay of Andy and Leyley: the bad, the ugly and the terrible

Now that it’s been a while since I finished the Decay route, I think I’m ready to finally analyse this chapter as a whole. I’ve collected my thoughts and read through a couple of people’s opinions here and there… just to be utterly disappointed. I knew casual fans generally didn’t understand much of the subtext for tcoaal, but damn are they completely lost with this one. Maybe it’s the fact that I only interact with a small echo chamber of the fandom that does get it, but after all the terrible takes I’ve had the displeasure of seeing, I think it’s time I leave my own. There is quite a lot to comment on, since this part of Decay builds upon several plot points of the story: the quarantine, the entity, lord unknown, and namely, the main duo’s upbringing and relationship. While I’d love to pick apart every nook and cranny of this episode, this analysis will only focus on Andrew and Ashley’s relationship, as that alone has plenty of things to dissect for one post. I will also comment on some of the changes done to the previous episodes and what that could mean for the next routes. (More below the cut, this will be a long one).

But before I begin anything I want to start with a disclaimer of the obvious; yes, this game is fucked up and the relationship is toxic, horribly so (wow, who would’ve thunk it?). If things weren’t messed up before then they certainly are now, so I understand why nobody would want to touch this game with a ten-foot pole. In fact, I’ve noticed many let’s players who’ve previously played it either not mentioning it or going as far as to delete every video they’ve made on it (not dropping names here but I had a couple of videos in my watch later taken down mere minutes after I saved them because of this). I often see people saying “it’s just fiction” as a defense for talking about this, which is totally valid, but my view of it is a bit different. It is fiction, yes, but also something that could very easily happen in real life and that a lot of people could (unfortunately) relate to. That’s what makes it uncomfortable and gross, and that is exactly the reason why we should talk about it. As per words of the author “although unpleasant, true [CHAOS AND MAYHEM!!!] can only be achieved by unearthing the root cause of one's issues and addressing the underlying decay.” Even if you think it’s icky and gross that doesn’t disqualify it from existing. Moreover, it calls for analysis as to why it makes you feel gross, which might I add is an impulse reaction to something much deeper than a simple “nooo they’re related,” as there are many layers to this from a moral, ethical and psychosexual perspective.

So… let’s talk about it.

The Bad: Andy and Leyley

The beginning of the episode tells us a lot about the upbringing of our characters, though most of it was writing on the wall if you paid attention during episode 2. We play as Andrew, examining his psyche and going through the motions of how to be a walking disappointment. As he cooks, cleans, excels at school and sets order in his family, he accomplishes a level of independence many don’t reach until adulthood, all before the age of 10. Yet every single mistake, as small or out of his control as it may be, is a cause for reprimanding. Renee doesn’t spare the emotional rod with him per se, expecting Andrew to go above and beyond for tasks that she should be responsible for. And whenever her live-in maid complains or dares to set an even playing field, such attempts are crushed by repressing him further into his shell. Berating, insulting, belittling him.

Nothing he does is ever enough, and it can’t be, lest giving him hope of ever meeting others’ expectations, of ever doing better. The more suppression, the less of his independence, say or personality, the easier to control. The less of Andrew the better. And as such, Andy was born: a sorry replacement for Andrew’s essence, easily malleable and capable of becoming everything you want him to be. Many believe Andy is a result of Leyley, but really

Andy was a nightmare of Renee’s own making. And speaking of nightmares, Leyley’s origins aren’t much different. Having a second child as a middle finger to your disapproving family is no good if you don’t intend to raise said child. But what’s the need when Andy is there to do it? Disciplining a kid aching for attention is far too taxing for Renee, especially one with as much attitude as Leyley. So, instead of inflicting more trauma as she’s done with Andy, she lets him pass his own over to her, creating a direct pipeline to the cycle of abuse. It should be noted that in one of the new visions available we see that Renee is an older sister herself, and was expected to also go above and beyond for her sister despite being completely disregarded by her family.

In other words, her treatment of Andy and complete neglect of Leyley are anything but surprising. It’s all she’s ever known. (Not excusing Renee, I hate her with a passion, but it’s important to know where everything is coming from).

Funnily enough, Leyley’s personality isn’t as innate as many believe. It’s easy to see her as the “difficult child,” but in reality, everything she does is a cry for help. We’re dealing with a lonely, undisciplined girl, disregarded by the world as a crybaby and a freak, left to be raised by trash TV and her clueless older brother. The result of this terrible concoction is a self-loathing, marshmallow spine of a boy and a lost, shrieky viper of a girl. Neither can like each other, because they don’t like themselves. And neither can help the other, because they refuse to see themselves for what they are. These are Andy and Leyley, the antagonists of the story.

As much as people have difficulty separating Andy and Leyley from Andrew and Ashley it must be noted that, from a narrative perspective, these are entirely different characters. Andy and Leyley are the immature, worst traits of our main duo personified: Andy is a paranoid pushover garnering resentment every time his buttons are pushed, while Leyley is nothing more than a scared little girl, terrified of abandonment and terrified of change. The more they push and pull, the more they test and bring out the worst in each other, the more they decay. But if these are Andy and Leyley, then who are Andrew and Ashley?

The Ugly: Andrew and Ashley

I believe the cliffhanger route is where we get to see the most of these two, though glimpses of them can be seen in the Shots and Such route. Andrew we know (thanks to his lengthy pov) is a crude and relentless antisocial who can’t stand anyone. He only does so out of keeping appearances, instilled by his mom, but just like her, is incapable of caring for anything. Something Ashley is very quick to point out when they were children.

We also see he’s very manipulative, sly and finds fun in (mentally) messing with people and romanticising the shit of his life, perhaps as a way to feel something other than the misery it bestows upon him. However, not playing nice can only bring trouble, so he hides behind the mask of the innocent pushover (Andy). Needless to say, this is a life full of lies and deception, utterly unsatisfactory. It will never fulfill his true desires and can only push him further into nihilism. But what are his true desires?

Well, to be seen and understood, the one thing no one’s ever bothered to do. No one except the mess of his own making. Ashley, the girl Andrew raised, is full of wit and charm. As seen in the flashbacks, she’s perceptive and quickly calls bullshit whenever she sees it. She doesn’t play nice, she doesn’t put up a front, she’s everything Andrew could be if he wasn’t afraid to show his true colors. This last bit is why I would argue Andrew is so drawn to her, that and of course all of the trauma bonding. As Andrew says himself, his attraction is pathological, i.e. unreasonable and irrational, a result of his loneliness and conditioning from childhood. And as much as I agree that it is paraphilic in nature, I do believe there is a logical side to his attraction; Ashley is loud, obnoxious and annoying. Carefree and unbothered, the flip-side to his Andy facade. In fact, she hates having to keep up appearances and how everyone around her is a phony. For Andrew, the man that has endured years of suppression and self-loathing, it is a relief, it is liberating to have someone just as bad as him. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid of him. Someone who could meet him at the same level; an equal.

Continuing with Ashley, one of her most emblematic traits is that she’s self-assured and doesn’t care about anything or anyone except for Andrew. This is quite the contrast to Leyley, who is incredibly insecure, selfish and does not care for Andy, only the reassurance he brings. And how do we know Ashley cares about Andrew if Leyley does not? Well…

This flashback is the single most important piece of information we get from the whole chapter. So let’s analyze it from the start. Julia takes Andrew to visit Nina’s grave, bringing back a slew of emotional turmoil he’s still haunted by. He immediately goes home to unpack it with Ashley.

(because god knows he was thinking about her the whole time he was talking to Julia). Ashley shows her first signs of maturity in the conversation that ensues, accurately pointing out the impending doom of Andrew and Julia’s relationship, and being a little more… introspective.

It’s clear that Leyley’s view of relationships is skewed, to say the least. She barely distinguishes romance from platonic love and has a very childish take of sex being "gross and all men want.” I’ve seen many people, before and after this chapter release, theorize that Ashley is asexual, something that’s always bothered me to no end. It’s one thing to just headcanon a character having “x” sexuality for the sake of it, but here people were using a headcanon to explain a critical part of her characterization, one of her Leyley traits. It is reductive and misguided, not to mention a terrible example of what asexuality would actually look like. Because this isn’t an innate characteristic from Ashley, it is a sign of immaturity, and to a certain degree, also insecurity.

Leyley has been conditioned her entire existence to believe she’s loathsome and undesirable, so anyone sticking around would never be out of their own volition. It would have to be a transaction, give and take. If Andy and Leyley marry it would have to be this way, a selfish exchange on both ends. But as she says: “different is fine, sometimes.” This is Ashley talking, taking into consideration Andrew’s needs for once and for all, which is the reason she made a move after he woke up. She understands his needs and is willing to put out for him, thinking maybe it could be good for her too.

But boy does he fumble hard. Which I don’t blame him for, dude wasn’t in the right headspace at the time. Though this is the moment that set Ashley’s development far, far behind square one. She didn’t take the rejection well. For once she was doing what he wanted, and he pushed her away (mixed signals much). He began being very cold to her afterwards (albeit in a fruitless attempt to repress his feelings, which as we see through the puzzle sequences, the more he crushed his feelings on the outside, the further they spread on the inside). The moment Andrew reached out for her again, a year later might I add, he did it because of Ashley, or rather Leyley, needing to be reprimanded and set on the right track (with the massage parlor job).

This sealed the deal for Ashley that the only way to secure Andrew’s attention was the way that Leyley used to do with Andy: bitch and moan until he pays attention. In other words, it’s Andrew’s fault that Ashley is the way she is… though he’s not entirely aware of it, as seen in parts of his pov. And to a certain extent, Ashley also plays a part into why he’s so apprehensive to the idea of liking her. Her childish nature and refusal to grow up is proof to Andrew that if she were to indulge his desires, it would be to keep him around, but it wouldn’t be reciprocal (which is ultimately what he desires the most).

This is my main takeaway from the cliffhanger route. I won’t be theorising much on what the outcomes for this route could be (more on why later), though I will be referencing this heavily for the analysis of Shots and Such.

Also the symbolism in this scene is quite strong (couldn’t fit it into the previous paragraphs but wanted to bring it up anyway).

Her painted nails are trashy, and Julia's nails are painted. Andrew stares in silence as Julia rings away...

Also:

This is after you destroy the Leyley plushie on the wedding cake scene, to retrieve Ashley's choker (which can later be used to create Andrew's partner... which also grants you a star). Originally, the plushies were watching cartoons, but now that Leyley is gone... something else surfaces. Interestingly enough, if you refuse to destroy it when prompted, the narrator will say "what are you, some Andy?" And if you try again after that, it won't allow to you to tear it apart, saying "you've made your choice." Very strong symbolism there. Let's move onto Shots and Such now.

The Absolutely Terrible: the Decay of Andy and Leyley

A terrible, disgusting, horrifying and necessary ending. Necessary to really discern the differences between Andy/Leyley and Andrew/Ashley, plus why the former will ALWAYS be a pointless, troublesome pairing. They hurt, abuse and tear each other down in the most sadistic and depressive ways possible. Long gone are the days of their playful banter, they are now replaced with just plain ol’ spousal abuse. Even when they try reviving their spark with their quick banter about the vacuums, it is soulless and dry, the damage done to their dynamic far too damming to ignore.

They are never honest with each other, and they’re always afraid and resentful of the other. The only thing keeping them together is codependency and lame sex that sometimes distracts them from how miserable they feel. The one sex scene in this chapter reads like a dagger to the heart, because it is everything neither of them wanted to happen. Andrew yearned for something reciprocal, for him to be seen. And as much as he begs and pleads for Ashley to understand, Leyley’s fear of abandonment overtakes her, diminishing the little trust she had for him and respect she had for herself. As a result, they both hated the encounter, and the only two solutions are ending themselves or committing to a life of such misery.

In the splat ending, we indulge Andy’s desires of ending it all, and Leyley reluctantly follows, scared and unsatisfied until the bitter end, but unwilling to let go of her Andy. In the Shots and Such ending, we indulge Leyley’s fantasies of a forever union, which turn out to be anything but the ideals she had for Andy and Leyley’s marriage. It is more of the same old horrific abuse, dishonesty and bickering over nothing, with maybe one glimpse of honesty forced out by the alcohol every once in a blue moon.

No matter the end, they’re both together forever as Andy and Leyley, dragging each other down into the lowest of levels. It’s pointless and bleak, and it certainly sent the fandom into a frenzy. You think the people defending Andrew “I’m normal” Graves or the people saying Ashley “did nothing wrong” were bad? Well, just as this route brought the worst out of the Graves, it also brought out the worst of these fans.

Every time I look into the comments section of a video or discussions for this chapter, it’s a constant shit-flinging contest of who had the worst upbringing, who has the worst personality, who is the most abusive, (which most people seem to be pointing fingers at Ashley for that one). It’s all blah blah blah who’s the woest of the woe. And worst of all, plenty of men (they’re almost always men) saying “Andrew should beat Ashley up some more.” I understand that Ashley’s worst traits as Leyley were amplified in this chapter, but honestly, men who had that takeaway from this chapter disturb me more than the game itself. Heck, even mother-of-the-year Renee calls bullshit on this:

(context: this is a rhetorical question, the answer being no, obviously.)

Let’s get one thing straight: no character here is worse than the other. They’re both awful, they both beat each other, they both abuse each other and they're both victims of each others’ abuse. The tragedy here is that they are as much victims as they are perpetrators, with no end in sight, because the more one hurts the other, the more retaliation ensues. Characterizing one as the worst is, again, completely reductive and overlooking the point of the ending: nothing gets better because neither got better. We only saw Andy and Leyley in this route, with brief glimpses of Andrew and Ashley, that are quickly crushed by their inability to disengage from their toxic habits.

I think it’s clear to see how Ashley is regressing more into her fears (Leyley), given the threat of being murdered by the only person she has left forced her into that state. She doesn’t want to die, she’s terrified of death, and wants the security she believes Andy will bring her back. Except Andy is the one harboring resentment, as Andrew is the one trying to work past it. And to the people who think we’re playing as Andrew and Leyley in this route because “we chose Andrew,” no we’re not. There’s a reason the beginning of both the Andy and Andrew (shots and such) routes look the same in terms of the area we explore in the demon realm.

There’s a reason why he keeps devolving further and further into resentment for Leyley. The “Andrew” choice means nothing if Ashley refuses to stop being Leyley. And her regression is reinstated by the selfish decision to kill Andrew in the bullets ending (and yes, I’m calling it selfish, since it is once again denying Andrew of his need to be rid of the Andy and Leyley dynamic). This reinforces Andrew’s belief that Leyley doesn’t want him, that his love is one-sided, and that she doesn’t care for his needs. The moment this choice (shooting Andrew) is set in stone it’s game over for both, because one can’t heal without the other. Again, nothing gets better because neither can get better.

The only difference between both routes is that when we pick Andy, Andrew surrenders. He’s hurt, battered and confused, but Andy’s instinctual need to please Leyley reigns above all. He knows it won’t get better, he doesn’t know how to make it better, so to hell with it. If we choose to be Andrew, Andrew never surrenders, insisting there must be a way to fix this, but can’t due to Leyley’s insistence. This leads to Andrew's decay, as he devolves into a mixture of Andy’s resentment boiling over and Andrew’s sadism. The logical part of him (which is Andrew’s lingering care for Ashley) tells him to disengage from the fighting. But his resentment (Andy’s decay) is overpowering his love for her. It gets to the point where both Andy and Andrew become undistinguishable, as they have melded to become his most deranged self. Surprisingly, something similar happens with Ashley, who also struggles to surrender in this route. There are two moments of honesty in the Shots and Such route, the only moments we get to see Andrew and Ashley completely. First is Andrew comforting Ashley’s sobs:

Here, Ashley was actually honest with him for once, which allows both of them to open up. This exchange is much more lighthearted compared to the rest of the route because both are meeting each other at the same level, talking through things together, addressing their happiness and where they want to go. Ashley shines through, taking genuine interest in Andrew’s happiness, but before things can settle…

Ashley must face her fears of freeing Andrew, trusting him. And she doesn’t, because let’s remember, we chose Leyley in this route and let Ashley decay. So once again, things go back to how they were, pointless resentment. There was also a time where Andrew opened up, and that’s when he was drunk out of his mind.

He put his front down, enough to indulge in his paraphilia but not enough to fully express his love. The mixed signals are strong with this one, which further confuses Leyley. However, when they go to sleep that night, Andrew opens up about his needs, about needing Ashley to see him for the mess of a man that he is and still accept him. Ashley takes the stage, reassuring him that she knows all his secrets and loves him regardless. Andrew is honest about why he pushes her away, because it’s the last thread of normalcy he has left. However, things quickly go back to normal, when Leyley refuses to give him a kiss due to all the times he pushed her away. At the end of both of these scenes, we hear a sad music box tune, a sad reminder of how crucial these scenes are. How easily things could be fixed with the care and honesty they warrant, and how easily they fall apart out of simple reluctance and conformity.

This is a constant thread we see in their relationship, throughout flashbacks and present time, as well as symbolisms throughout Burial and Decay. The choice to not only trust, but to be honest with one another despite their fears could’ve been the fix they needed all along, the one thing they needed to mature. Their bond is so fragile, so easily twisted, that the only way to salvage any semblance of tenderness is to address their underlying decay. I find it funny how there are still people (few but still some) who were disappointed to see that Decay wouldn’t be the "normal" route. I read a few comments of people wanting their relationship to be fixed and be a normal sibling dynamic. To which I just have to say, that is way more delusional than the people who expected any routes of this game to be all fluff and rainbows.

The relationship was already screwed from the get-go, but here’s the hard pill to swallow: having a normal relationship is not the fix they need nor want. The paraphilia has consumed Andrew so thoroughly that his only solution is to completely wipe his brain or fully indulge in it (possibly the two routes of episode 4), while Ashley has to let go of her selfish, childish desires to recognize the Andrew she wanted has been there all along if she cares to meet him there. Is it an unsavory solution? Yeah. It’s gross, morally and ethically reprehensible. But that’s just who they are as people. And accepting themselves for who they are is ultimately the last ditch effort they could ever take to salvage this volatile, fragile relationship. I mean, this optional dialogue really puts it best:

(This is the single line of dialogue that actually made me tear up btw, not even the splat/shots and such ending tore into me so much as this line).

The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is, at its core, a cautionary tale of generational trauma and the cycle of abuse. How far will people go if pushed to their limits? Is it ever possible to remedy yourself once you’re at the point of no return? And is that remedy worse than the sickness itself? Can the doomed ever be redeemed? And if so, what are the necessary steps to take in order to redeem yourself, before it all goes dark? Andrew and Ashley can keep longing for one another all they want, but until Andy and Leyley are ripped and torn to shreds, neither will improve, and are fated to decay in the coffin of a different apartment, one built out of their own hangups and fears. We’ll see what episode 4 has in store, I trust the author will give us a satisfying conclusion. And speaking of the author…

The Meh: Changes to Episode 2

This new update brought about a couple of changes to the previous episodes as well. Namely, the wording for the decisions that split the story into Burial and Decay, as well as revamping the Burial route. I’ll be honest… I’m not a big fan of some of these.

For starters, this new update made me realize the author, as offline as she appears to be, is keenly aware of people’s opinions of the game and takes quite the contrarian attitude to people who miss the point of the story (something I can’t blame her for entirely, and seems to be the reason why things escalated so much in this chapter). Take for example the Grave Mistakes vision, Andrew explaining why they’re not addressing the Toxisoda thing anymore, and going as far as to add a bloody sprite for Ashley in the Burial route (something a few people were complaining about back in the day). Also, there is an optional dialogue in the highschool flashback that feels like a clapback to the Renee mod:

I’m glad the author is aware of people’s criticisms and takes the time to sort through them, but part of me wishes she didn’t try to over-explain some plot points. The thing that I originally loved about the game was the subtle storytelling, how it takes you a couple of playthroughs to fully understand everything lying beneath the surface. It plays tricks with you and makes you think about the characters’ true intentions, goals and desires, all the way until they spiral out of control and pretenses can’t be kept anymore. I liked that Ashley has a little back and forth between wanting to trust Andrew, being unable to because of her insecurities, and falling back on the trinket. But now…

The choice kinda spells it out for you already. For one, the choice of dialogue feels a bit clunky and also redundant given the next couple of lines confirm this already. The change in the olive branch choice, with it now being reflect/decline, doesn’t bother me as much, but this feels a little too in your face. Same thing with the changes to the Burial vision. I like that you have to put the green plushie back in the cage at the end, as it’s something you also did earlier in the puzzle, so it feels less contradictory. But the change to this line…

It’s honestly giving too much away. People go through the Burial route because they want the siblings to trust each other, and they select the left door for the questionable outcome because they want to make the questionable choice. However that route turns out, whether good or bad, is for us to find out as we play. And mind you, I already know it’s not ending so well given the hex Andrew gets in Burial is the same as in the Decay Andy route. That just cannot be any good. Plus, the fact that Burial is all about burying things under the rug. I suspect that while Decay is more about Andrew due to its reflective nature, Burial will be all about Ashley due to her nature of compartmentalizing. I imagine both Burial and Decay will have their own good and bad routes, but I’d rather not jump the gun into assuming what each will pan out to look like, as chances are I’ll be completely mistaken.

And I say this as a good portion of the fanbase was proven wrong with this new update, in terms of what Decay and Burial are about. The general consensus used to be Burial = romance, Decay = hate. Some fans even came up with the bizarre defense that the game is not so bad because the incest is totally optional! It's on the player to pick it. All the while you have Andrew grabbing Ashley's belt loops and cuddling her on the couch in both routes...

I can appreciate asking people to look at what's beneath the surface and analyze things a little more critically, but that was just plain wrong lol. In the back of my mind, I always hoped that Decay would address some of Andrew's feelings to completely shut down all the "optional" nonsense. Welp, that it did... way more than I anticipated.

Anyway, my point with this last bit of the rant was that I hope these changes don’t become a trend of the author trying to make things clearer for normies or paying any mind to them, as that would only cheapen the storytelling. Those who get the story get it, and if not, they can read people’s shizo analyses online. But I don’t need my hand held throughout the game; I like figuring things out on my own. To wrap things up, I’ll just say I’m very happy with the outcomes we got. They were terrible, but necessary for the reasons explained above. I was originally very scared of the Decay route, as I didn’t know exactly what to expect and angry Andrew scares me. But this has quickly become my favorite episode of all and I can only hope the next ones do it justice. Keep cooking Nemlei, you’re doing good.

#tcoaal #the coffin of andy and leyley #visual novel #andrew graves #ashley graves #hyperanalyzing the shit out of pixels

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neuvitopia · 2 months ago

Text

➠ 𓈒 𝄞ׅ ֯ corporate weapon - zayne | 黎深・ 🍀 ⌯

synopsis ;; you’re a resident at akso hospital, chasing your corporate medicine dreams and accidentally tempt your superior, dr zayne :p, a little bit of a homage to my corporate baddie desires, help.

cw ;; NSFW, fem reader, kind of an open ending (sorry), lower case intended, girl failure reader(?) (same), panty stealing, still kind of new to this #sorry, ignore any silly mistakes, no protection(wrap it plz), zayne and reader have a bit of history, porn with some plot, office sex, semi public(?) (just incase), fem pet name, mention of aphrodisiacs

. . . wc → 3.4k

you were in the midst of your second year of residency at akso hospital, to say you were excited was an understatement.

you spent your early twenties dedicated to working for your bachelors and through the tears med school brought you.

working through your residency was a reflection of your hard work and brought you closer to your dreams of becoming an operations director. to say you were proud was an understatement.

fortunately for you, you were soon yanked from the miserable memories of your “golden years” as dusty old medical books and endless hours in labs weren’t exactly your fondest memories.

you’re knee deep in work once more, with blood tests and treatment plans from hundreds of patients flooding your tiny desk. the constant stimulation and stream of work made you wonder, for a moment, why you chose this career path.

in the midst of it all, you were positive that being a florist was your true calling.

an exhausted sigh escapes you as the day finally comes to an end. your stomach rumbles, and your bones feel achey, desperate for a good stretch.

running an equally exhausted hand down your face, you pack up the basics and contemplate how the rest of your night will go. the sweet thought of a nice bath and a cup... or five of wine soothe your sleepy mind.

your delusions (and exhausted heart) are soon shattered into tiny pieces when your tired eyes meet the ones of your superior standing as straight as a pencil at the opening of your office door.

you knew exactly what was going to happen next. overtime.

maybe being a psychic was your true calling.

you set your heavy bag down and accept defeat, your butt meeting the hard seat, once more.

"i assume you knew what was coming," zayne was the first to break the silence, his words laced with a edge of amusement.

you shrug and try your best to get comfortable in your chair once more, your eyes scanning the new adjustment treatments zayne places on your desk.

"if you listen hard enough, you can hear the pieces of my heart falling to the floor" you respond quietly, hoping to avoid a migraine from the sheer amount of time you've spent in this hospital today, the lingering smell of antiseptic not helping one bit.

he met your attempt at a joke with nothing but amused silence, his arms crossing themselves over his chest he speaks again.

“just a few more things to get done, and then you can go," he reassures you. the words sending your eyes flying across the sheets of paper, the shattered remnants of your plans for the night slowly begin to reassemble.

you offer him the extra chair in your office and zayne decides to be merciful and assists you with the work, causing your heart to soar with joy. if this continues at the current pace, you might even have enough time to squeeze in an extra episode of that drama you've been binging after work.

as you work through the mountains of paperwork, zayne engages in small conversations with you—unaware that his eyes drift to you in quiet indulgence.

the two of you gradually move away from your mahogany desk, settling in front of each other as lighthearted banter and serious discussion take turns.

but of course, all good things have their downsides and suddenly, your stomach makes an embarrassingly loud noise, reminding both you and zayne of its presence.

after a short, nervous laugh, you quickly confess to him,

“i'm sorry, I didn't eat much today." you’re surprised at the fact that he didn’t scold you for your carelessness, something something, nourishing your body is important.

zayne simply nods and takes a moment to think, leaving a brief moment of awkward silence between you two, your eyes darting from his handsome face to the walls of your office. the low lighting casting shadows around the two of you.

"i believe the cafeteria is still open," he says, presenting the idea that you should grab something to eat.

“and if you're not feeling resentful for making you stay, could you grab something for me as well?" the question leaves you kind of flustered -- how could the man who gave you a chance to kickstart your career think you would hold resentment towards him for making you do your job?

you quickly reassure him that it's no problem, and you make your way down to the cafeteria.

the sounds of your flats bounce off of the sleek walls and floors, marking your every step in the now semi-empty building. you soon make your way into the cold cafeteria, goosebumps emerging on your skin as cool air kisses your flesh.

you take a moment to scan the cafeteria, your eyes fall on the odd remnants of food left behind. you settle for a box of pocky, a couple of servings of sushi and, drinks for you and your superior to share, which you struggle to carry in your arms all at once in.

you practically run to the elevator, eager to return to the comfortable uncomfortable solace of your office.

upon entering, you practically drop the food and drinks on your desk, the condensation from the drinks transferring to the smooth surface. you let out a small huff as the weight from your arms is finally gone.

"i brought back the best options, I promise," you tell him, making eye contact with him as you do. he in return sends a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and offers,

"I trust your word."

you nod back to him, returning a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes either, and push a serving of packaged sushi his way.

one of his eyebrows shoots up as he examines the item before him, your focus now shifted towards the food hitting your tongue as you nibble on some pocky. you're too busy with the food in your mouth that you miss his puzzled expression and gaze now shifted to you.

when his silence goes on too long for comfort, you finally glance up at him, only to freeze at the intense gaze he returns. zayne breaks the silence with a low, serious tone of voice.

"you are aware that this is an aphrodisiac, right?"

his words leave you dumbstruck, your brain struggling to process if it's a joke or not. you manage a small, half hearted laugh, an amused huff falling from your lips as you take a sip of your drink.

"ah well, you know, i'm just setting the mood, doctor zayne” you awkwardly stammer out, embarrassment nipping at your skin.

you’d become to occupied with your abashment that you’d forgotten about the treat in the corner of your lips.

before you can wallow any further in your self consciousness, you feel your office chair move, and you watch—frozen, as zayne’s dress shoe is placed on one of the rolling feet.

he pulls you closer with all the strength in his leg. the sudden movement jerks you forward and as zayne brings you closer with the help of his foot the feeling of the quiet breaths from his nose hit your skin.

your eyes are locked on to his, your voice barely above a whisper as you ask

“what are you doing?" the moment hangs heavy in the air, both of you motionless.

it feels like an eternity has passed before he finally speaks.

"i’m setting the mood," he mocks.

of course your words from before come back to bite you in the ass. he takes small a bite out of the neglected pocky that hangs out of your mouth. you're stunned, wide eyed and… aroused?

the moment hangs in the air, the two of you practically close enough to feel the warmth of each other's skin. your heart pounds in your chest, unsure of how to feel in this moment or what to do next.

"what exactly where you planning?" he questions, his tone playful but with an underlying seriousness that you can't seem to shake. your brain at this point is too fried to even acknowledge him.

"for someone so bent on setting the mood you've sure gone quiet." he teases you some more and you continue to try and find your words again.

you shake your head lightly, too afraid to make any extreme movements in fear of landing yourself in another embarrassing situation.

"i wasn't planning anything," you finally whisper, the words ghosted the skin of his face. the sound of your own heart beating practically deafens you as you reply to him.

the silence drags on, and your eyes remain locked on zayne’s, the seconds ticking by felt like hours. you’d soon notice that he leaned back into the extra seat you had offered to him, his eyes still trained on you.

as he puts space between you two, an ache you weren't even aware was there grew and twisted inside of you. your breathing becomes less labored as you try to stabilize yourself.

"the sushi's gonna go bad," you stammer out in a weak attempt to advocate for the abandoned food, and hopefully shake off the excitement buzzing in your body.

zayne shakes his head, his reply cuts through you like a knife.

"i don't care about the sushi," his words strike a chord in you that you don’t dare name.

your reply is silence and you continue to stare at him. you feel a lump form in your throat. was your skirt always this tight?

you want to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words were stuck in your throat, and you find yourself paralyzed. the only sound you register is your racing pulse, the blood threatening to burst through your skin.

the silence is deafening when zayne stands up to his full height, choosing to approach you properly this time. you decide to follow his lead not knowing exactly where this was heading.

it wouldn’t hurt to find out.

your heart skips a beat as he moves closer, one of his hands resting on your waist.

your blouse was rendered useless, it felt like you both were directly skin to skin. you were never buying this brand ever again.

but god, you swear you could have moaned right then and there.

you knew it would be way too embarrassing, so you instead watch his face, your eyes fixed on his as his hand roams your torso.

“have you changed your mind about making plans with me?" his question is raspy and low, fueling the fire in the pit of your stomach. you choose to nod softly, your mouth far too dry to speak to him properly.

“use your words." he commands just as his hand leaves your body, leaving you warm and achey all over.

“i won't touch you again unless you use your words."

you swallow the knot in your throat, breathing in as you attempt to calm yourself.

"yes. yes, i’ve changed my mind..." you hear a voice trail off, soon registering the fact that it was yours.

zayne doesn't give you any time to think about what you've said and puts his hands on you again, his hands shamelessly removing your short white lab coat, untucking your dress shirt from your skirt. he lets a hand meet your heated skin. he nuzzles his nose into the side of your neck as he kneads the skin of your torso, his fingers teasingly brushing past your bra.

"you drive me mad” he rasps, desperation dropping from every word. “you look so pretty walking around like this every day," he murmurs into your soft flesh. the low resonance of his voice sending a tremor down your spine.

zayne’s hand continues to roam your torso and you feel your entire body react to his touch. the feeling of his skin against your own is beyond electrifying.

his free hand goes to cup at the flesh of your ass, a groan falling from his lips as he feels you up like a starved man.

"i'm going to take care of you," he whispers into your skin again. your hands grasp handfuls of zayne’s expensive lab coat, the fabric soft beneath your fingers. a soft whimper escapes your lips as he continues to touch your body.

"seems like you enjoyed that” zayne states cheekily before peppering kisses at the base of your neck, your non existent resolve snapping at that moment and you melt into his arms once and for all.

zayne mutters your name, and you hum in response. your eyes close as you continue to grip onto his coat to keep you stable, relishing in the warm lipped kisses he places on your skin.

"i’m not all that patient; I'm sorry." he rasps as he pulls his head from the crook of your neck, his eyes meeting yours once again.

the excitement pooling in your underwear doubles. his face held the most lustful look you've ever seen in your almost three decades of living.

you nod at him, and he contentedly accepts your response this time around. his lips finally meet yours, and he groans against you, a long, muffled moan falling from yours. his tongue darts into your mouth as you voice your pleasure.

he quickly guides you back to your desk, pushing away all the paperwork you two abandoned how long ago?

he assists you in sitting on the now empty desk, his hand snaking its way up your skirt, teasing your skin through your oh-so-thin panties. his nimble fingers slither their way down to your covered slit, your arousal soon transferring to the pads of his fingers, a soft hum of approval from zayne is drowned out by your lips.

you pull away slightly and voice your approval as he continues to tease you through your panties.

soon enough though, slight frustration wells in your chest at his airy touches.

"i thought you said you weren't all that patient?" you utter in between the heated collision of your lips.

a soft chuckle bubbles in his chest at your obvious impatience, the sound of his voice causes a soft pout to form on your lips.

"i'm sorry, pretty girl." he breathes.

your reply is immediate. "you can make it up to me." you’re unsure where you got this boldness as the confidence you portray is definitely not your own.

“how about you lift that skirt up for me?" was his response, you quickly oblige and lift the side of your skirt as he continues to push his tongue into your mouth. he graciously assists you and lifts the other side of your skirt for you.

he runs a hand up and down the soft, supple skin of your thigh and impatiently pulls your panties down, breaking the kiss to guide your feet through the holes. the underwear is then quickly pocketed and you watch dumbfounded as he steals your property.

protest was heavy on your tongue, soon to be spat at him, but the swift finger collecting the arousal that pooled at your folds soon frees your mind of his perverted theft.

a string of curses leaves your lips as he uses the slick from your warmth to rub soft circles onto your aching clit, your hand grips at his wrist to avoid sudden removal of the pleasure.

your sporadic whimpers soon turning into full blown moans as he pushes a couple of his deft fingers into you. your heart threatens to burst out of your chest from the way his fingers alone stretch you.

he groans against your lips once more as your cunt practically sucks his fingers in, the dirty sounds you produce making the experience all the more erotic.

"on your back." zayne’s simple words cut through your pleasured sounds and cause your eyes to fly open to meet his lustful gaze once more. he removes his fingers from inside of you and you soon comply. you lean onto your back, the cold surface of your desk cooling the lust induced fire that was the surface of your skin.

using your elbows to help keep yourself propped up, you watch as zayne unzips and drops his expensive dress pants, and listen to him groan with the release of pressure on his bulge.

zayne soon pulls himself out giving you a perfect view of what you're dealing with. your cunt practically drools at the sight of him, your thighs squish together almost instinctively as zayne rubs himself for you.

“zayne…” you sounded pathetic as you quietly lust over the sight of him fucking himself but you don’t care. the wetness of your cunt and the excitement in your body washed away any feeling of shame. you greedily drink in the scene infront of you, hands itching to touch yourself to him.

he groans in response as he continues to touch himself to the sight of you. precum leaks from his red angry red tip, desperate to have a taste of you.

with impatience bubbling, zayne finally spreads your legs and settles his tip at your entrance, rubbing himself against the wetness he was responsible for.

a strangled moan leaves him as he teases the both of you.

“you’re so warm…” he mutters as he tortures your heat. you lock your legs around his hips, egging him to bottom out inside of you already. it seems as though he gets the message and begins to push himself inside of you the stretch has you throwing your head back and your spine arching.

the ache you felt was far from relieved, you needed more. you buck your hips into zayne, the slow pace he set paining you.

“not so fast.” he’d endured months of agony and pure pining, did you really think he’d give you what you wanted that easily?

he uses a slim to finger torment you even further. he uses it to tease your swollen clit, slip it inside your already stuffed full cunt, and he uses it to tickle the inside of your trembling thighs. punishing you, making you feel only a fraction of the agony he felt.

“do you know how long I’ve waited to do this?” he questions, frustration almost tangible, but the hushed sounds of your throbbing cunt being fucked into—rendered you speechless and you were only able to meekly shake your head.

you watched where the two of you met through half lidded eyes, your slack jaw threatening to let saliva escape. a hand under your chin soon forces your eyes away from the provocative show. dark eyes meeting yours.

“then i’ll show you.” his words were punctuated by an uncharacteristically rough thrust that forced a feeble cry out of you.

“akso’s pretty little intern underneath me like this…” the combination of the snap of his hips and the seductive tone of his voice manage to coax even more cute sounds from you.

“zayne..” you pant with need“i need it— fuck, please” you were babbling nonsensically, your vision was blurry with tears threatening to fall from your eyes. the new tempo he set had the volume of your voice rising steadily it has you reaching for something, anything to grip onto.

you catch him by surprise as one of your hands tangles itself his dark hair, a welcome addition to the erotic scene. he groans softly and hastens his thrusts, your grip egging him on further.

your desk shook underneath the two of you as he continues to gain speed but zayne soon slows himself down, much to your disdain, and muffles your sweet hums with a free hand.

“we can’t be too loud” he whispers above you, cock twitching in your heat as he forces himself to halt his movements.

he continues, “people might still be roaming the halls.”

you didn’t like this. at all. “but i was so close” you argue, “i’m sure they won’t hear us. i’ll be quiet” you clench around him in hopes to tempt him.

zayne simply shakes his head and sends you an amused smile, “you can’t seem to keep quiet when I speed up, so, we’ll just have to find a way for you to cum while i go at a more leisure pace.”

you could cry, you really could. the idea of being kept on the verge of an orgasm from him dragging himself slowly against your walls made you wetter than you liked to admit, but unhappy nonetheless.

“i don’t think i can do it” you whisper, arousal prominent in your voice.

zayne uses a hand to rest one of your smooth legs on one of his broad shoulders, taking another look at your soaked heat, before he speaks again, “let’s put that to the test”

#⛶ ˙ ˖ ıl lotus writes ❜ .ᐟ #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #lads #lads zayne #lnds #zayne l&ds #li shen #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #l&ds zayne #dr zayne #doctor zayne #zayne x you #zayne smut #lnds zayne

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becausebuckley · 1 month ago

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michelle's buddie fic recs: week 12!

apologies for the delay, everyone! here's a slightly longer list than usual to make up for it <3

while you're here, if you could check out this ask and this one to see if you can help find the requested fics, that would be lovely <3

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all of my life, it's been all for you | staticsilencee | 10.7k | T

Occasionally, people’s names wouldn’t match up. It wasn’t common, and the only cases Buck had ever personally heard of had involved literal criminals, but it did happen. The other option– well. Either Buck was secretly a killer without knowing about it, or Eddie had taken one look at him and decided he wanted nothing to do with him. i love a good soulmate fic, and this is a great soulmate fic, so imagine how happy i was reading this!! i also really loved the bobby buck dynamic <3

city lights, without you (they don’t even shine like they used to) | farfromthstars/@doeeyeseddie | 1.5k | T

buck is not in love with eddie. definitely not. if there's one thing last week's episode is bringing us, it's delightful episode codas like this one <3 loved buck's narration here!!

don’t think about it too much, too much, too much, too much | fruitsdoesnotknow/@fruitsdontknow | 6.1k | M

Eddie and Chris finally come back to Los Angeles. Buck has some realizations, and confessions, to make. Good thing Eddie's got some of his own to share, too. i love how buck keeps thinking about home in this one and jude seems like the most wonderful grandma <3 so good!!

even with the lights off | lilacbarnes | 6.2k | E

Buck tries to make friends, ends up sleeping with them, and may or may not see Eddie each time he does it. such a gorgeous fic!! i love how this captures buck so much <3

goodbye to what you thought you'd be | coldbam/@coldbam | 7.5k | T

Buck confesses. It gives Eddie a lot to think about. i love this fic's eddie so much <3 and joe!! this really is the week of wonderful ocs in buddie fic and i'm so here for it

if you don't leave your mark on me, i'll take it | facewithoutheart/@facewithoutheart | 2.5k | T

Five times Buck gets a breakup tattoo and one time he doesn’t. the tattoos!! i love the tattoos!! they 100% feel like tattoos buck would get and i love that so much <3

i'll take your chaos and your crooked in a heartbeat | heartbeatdiaz/@lonelychicago | 6.2k | T

Eddie leaves a very important box behind and Buck spirals. my this is so sweet and kind of heartbreaking and also funny and so basically it's everything all at once and i love that so much <3

(it's probably not surprising) that you're burning through the days | atlasblue85/@atlasblue85 | 12.9k | T

Buck takes a breath like he’s steeling himself, and sets his beer down on the coffee table. “What if– Eddie, what if I get myself stuck in here with you?” TIME LOOP FIC. oh my god i love a time loop fic. i love eddie and chim and i love buck and i love everything <3

kind eyes, it's all good | cavevulpis/@cavevulpis | 6.3k | GA

Buck has never been lucky in love. He has enough break-ups under his belt to prove it. this is so stunningly written!! i especially adored the taylor section, i think this might just be my favourite taylor in fic ever... so so good!!

my best friend (my best guess) | idiotsinkdaisies/@idiotsinkdaisies | 1.5k | T

Eddie gets a series of text messages from Tommy, despite not hearing from him for the last few months. He ignores most of them, until Tommy implies he could have made things weird for Buck and Eddie. oh this has some really stunning romantic lines that i won't quote bc spoilers but i am quoting them in my mind. so good!!

ours | Tizniz/@tizniz | 1.4k | GA

“Home sweet home.” Buck mumbles, stumbling as he tries to kick his shoes off. Eddie doesn’t correct him, tell him that it’s not his yet, because that’d be a lie. This place has been Buck’s home for nearly as long as it’s been Eddie’s. this is the loveliest fic <3 one of the tags is the diaz house is buck's home and i love that so so much. it's so true <3

perfectly made | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 6.8k | E

In which Eddie needs to unsubscribe to a gay porn site, and the only way to do so is to make a phone call. Buck answers that call. this is such a fun au!! it's so cute and i loved the silly porno names hehe

rage is a quiet thing | oceanofchaos/@islandoforder | 33.3k | GA

Philip Buckley has a heart attack, and Buck, Eddie, and Chris all fly to Hershey. What else are best friends for? this is so so good!! i love how this captures buck and eddie and chris and their respective relationships so so much. also chimney!! so good <3

said i couldn't stay, but it's different now | hattalove/@hattalove | 14.7k | T

the one with the four weddings (feat. a drunk karen wilson, shania twain, a single cheerio, and some confessions over cubed fruit. this was a reread of of one of my favourite fics ever <3 it's so soft and sweet and there's such lovely pining and also hamsters. literally what more could you possibly need to know!!

shouting under my breath | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 2.3k | T

The one where a guy hits on Buck in a bar and Eddie gets jealous. Turns out, Buck really likes it when Eddie is jealous. same buck, i also like it when eddie is jealous. this is so fun and so good and so very them <3

where i walk alone | kermytheefrog | 19.4k | T

Everyone knows that when you touch someone who's going to be important to you for the first time, you'll leave a mark on them. It's not just romantic love; parents and children, siblings, close friends all share marks too. At least, they do in theory. Maddie's the only person who's ever touched Buck and left anything behind. i've been devouring each chapter of this fic as it was posted and i'm already feeling like it's time for a reread, that's how good this is!! this has lovely buddie but also such fantastic platonic relationships, i love it so so much <3

you're home (when you're alone) | pairofraggedclaws/@pairofraggedclaws | 5.7k | T

Eddie's feelings in a box, and the people who taught him to put them there. this is so beautifully written!! i especially loved eddie and chris together <3 so good!!

yours & mine | marviless/@marviless | 6.6k | T

after months of sleeping in Eddie’s bed alone, Buck finally gets to share. soft and lovely and so perfect <3 one of my favourite bed sharing fics!!

#fun fact: this list means i've officially recced over 400 fics with these weekly lists!#the spreadsheet is filling up rapidly lol #buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #911 abc #911 fic #911 fic rec #michelle's recs #fic rec list

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greyskyflowers · 9 months ago

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I like to think about Charles really understanding what Edwin went through in hell. I really wished we'd seen more of that in the show. 😫

Like... how many times do you think Edwin got torn apart down there? How many times could he die and start over in an hour? A day? A year?

How many times did the demon mess him up just enough so that he couldn't run? Stuck sitting there just waiting to either bleed out or for the final strike before starting again?

Anyway ~ I'm feral for hurt/comfort and burn the world for you relationships so here we go ~

🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜

Sometimes Edwin has what they've been calling, for lack of better word, episodes. He had some prior to his second trip in hell but nothing like what he has now.

Charles can't decide if it's easier or harder to witness them now that he knows more about what happened all those years in hell.

Thankfully, most of the time, these episodes happen when they're home. Usually after a particularly rough day and often coinciding with times when Charles is briefly out doing something.

He always knows right away, steps through the mirror to a dark and quiet room. There's a brief but consuming feeling of panic every time he steps out and doesn't immediately see Edwin, but he doesn't think that will ever go away.

There's a few places Edwin tucks himself into when he has an episode, all of them small and dark.

Edwin claims it's muscle memory from all the years in hell he ran and hide.

Personally, Charles thinks Edwin finally has places to hide and takes full advantage of it. He doesn't remember seeing too many places to hide in those terrible, endless hallways of hell.

Charles hates these episodes.

He's trying to be better with his anger but everytime they go through this, everytime Edwin gets a certain look in his eye, or tries to nonchalantly get closer to Charles when something sets off memories, it reminds him that Edwin was taken away from him numerous times and was hurt over and over again.

It makes the rage simmer in his belly and he thinks no one would really hold it against him if he ever gets his hands anyone who's hurt Edwin and let's the rage take over for a minute... or a few minutes. He really wouldn't need more than that with all the anger that seems to burn under his skin.

He's quiet as he walks to the desk, eyeing the chair pulled out and shoved away to make room, before carefully peering around the edge to look under it and Edwin looks back at him with awful, terrified eyes.

He knows how this goes by now, almost the same every time. What a terrible thing to be familiar with.

He quietly sinks to the floor by Edwin and starts trying to squeeze himself under the desk with him. The space is not meant for two people, or even one, but like hell he's going to pull Edwin out of today's chosen hiding place so they can get resettled easier.

He'd done that at the beginning. Tried to remind Edwin where he was and that he was safe, had spoken softly but not as soft as he had in hell, and tried to pull Edwin out. It was a mistake. The look of terror and betrayal on Edwin's face had made sure he never tried that approach again.

It was easier this way, to play along.

He puts a hand on the back of Edwin's head because he always smacks it off the underside of the desk when they hide here, and while it might not hurt him like it would a living being, it still makes a painful sound that has Charles clenching his jaw.

Edwin ends up on his lap, really the only way they both fit, and thankfully he's usually too distracted to realize that Charles has his legs sticking out from under the desk and that their hiding spot isn't really a good spot for two people.

He trembles, even though he's stiff like he's trying desperately not to shake. He clings, hands grasping at Charles's shirt and burying his face in his neck like everything will go away if he can't see it.

Sometimes, it sends Charles spiraling down a rabbit hole, wondering how Edwin held himself up long enough to run in hell when he always shakes so hard during these episodes. His legs wouldn't carry his weight right now if they stood up, he'd go right back down.

It's not something he likes to think too much about, especially when Edwin needs him to hold it together.

Sometimes Edwin cries. Sometimes he begs. Sometimes the only noise is a frantic wheezing.

Charles pulls his legs up more and wraps his arms around Edwin tighter, curling around him as much as he can. He urges him to keep his face tucked away, pets at his hair, and strokes his thumb over his arm. He presses his lips agaist any skin close enough, and starts talking. Soft, and hardly even audible but it always helps.

He talks about everything and anything he can think off. Stories, memories, comforts, praises.

He tells Edwin that he's been absolutely brills to handle this alone before Charles got back, but he's here now and if Edwin needs to just hide away for a little bit, that was fine. Charles has him. Nothing is going to get him.

He's glad Edwin doesn't remember much from these episodes, panic making everything too hazy to understand when he tries. He just knows how they end, usually with the two of them tangled up somewhere, because Charles refuses to let Edwin go until he's completely back to himself but that's as far as he can usually recall.

Charles would crack open his ribcage and let Edwin hide in there if it'd keep him safe.

🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜

Frantically scribbled this down during work so please forgive any errors. Got lots of ideas hanging around my head and little time to type them out 🤔

Gotta love all that trau~ma!

#payneland #edwin payne #charles rowland #dead boy detectives #solving cases with greyskyflowers #dbd

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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OZZGIN!

May I request an idea/imagine?

It is about yandere! mental asylum patient and psychiatrist! reader, who is very practical and strict regarding her job, takes no BS from others. But, for some reason, she has a soft spot for yandere! mental asylum patient. The reason could either be he had a hard childhood in which he had to do what he had to do, which brutally killed his father, who used to abuse his mother and sister, but when the father tried to sell the sister into prostitution to buy more alcohol, all hell break lose. Psychiatrist! reader thinks what yandere! mental asylum the patient did was OKAY, and she wants to get him out of the asylum. They love each other deeply and would do anything, so far as to kill for one another. If you can, make it as twisted as you can. I live for some dark romance!

Please ignore my request if you are not able to do it. I completely understand. Thank you in advance! <3

Oh my, this request hits somewhat close to home as I have a friend incarcerated for similar reasons. I'm pondering the logistics behind this context you've provided, since murdering someone won't necessarily land you in a psych ward unless there are other symptoms that come with it. And so I've taken the liberty to expand the character's profile if that's alright. (Conveniently enough I still have my psychopathology lecture notes)

I want to add, however, that this story in no way romanticizes mental illness! If anything, one may consider it an opportunity to reflect on the fact that so many people struggling with disorders do not receive the proper care for it, or only do so when it's too late. Furthermore a medical professional should never, ever behave like this and whatever is written here should stay in the realm of fiction!

Yandere! Patient x Psychiatrist! Reader

Featuring a patient that's pushing the boundaries of your work ethic and might even succeed.

Content/warnings: female reader, detailed mentions of mental disorder, violence, obsessive behavior, breach of professional conduct

You roll up your sleeve and check your watch. He should be here soon. Out of habit, you shuffle the papers for a quick case review, even though you already know all the details by heart. You carefully set aside the patient’s MMPI and WHODAS entry assessments, then your first interviews. Your eyes briefly rest upon the resulting report you’ve comprised: Schizophreniform Disorder (Provisional) with good prognostic features; Diagnostic criteria consisting of delusions, disorganized speech (frequent derailment with episodes of incoherence, echolalia) and comorbid catatonia. Responds well to antipsychotic (clozapine 25mg/12 h) with no imminent need for dosage increase. As it currently stands, he will be fit for proper incarceration in less than 6 months. Is it something you agree with? Not quite. You’ve presented your case many times and it has always been met with pitiful shrugs and dismissals.

The door opens and you fix your posture, sweeping the documents back into your drawer. “And? How are you feeling today?” You ask, flashing a professional, cordial smile as the assisting nurse leads the patient to his seat and prepares her leave. “My chest hurts.” The man answers in a low voice, glaring at the nurse. He taps his foot against the plush carpet, seemingly restless. “How bad would you rate it? Chest pain is a somewhat common side effect of your medication.” You retort, following the movements of the woman finally excusing herself and exiting the room. Once you’re alone, the man’s shoulders droop and he visibly relaxes. “It’s not that, you know it. When can I touch you again?” He pleads, despair twisting his features. You tense up at the words. “Behave yourself. It hasn’t been that long.”

It’s not something you’re particularly proud of. In fact, you might even call it one of your great shames in life. You’ve always been a textbook professional, perhaps even too strict according to your coworkers and most patients. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have dared to imagine you’d violate the code of ethics by falling in love with your patient. But something about his situation stirred your sense of justice. Surely one cannot be punished for protecting their loved ones. The only criminal in the equation, at least in your eyes, was that joke of a father and he had it coming. So you found yourself wrestling against a blooming protectiveness and favoritism towards the young man brought here last month.

What would have normally compelled you into action had therefore been silently swept under the rug. Or even worse, you secretly indulged in it. A patient showing signs of affection towards you would instantly be transferred to a different psychiatrist. Yet you couldn’t put away the letters written by this one. Erratic, crumpled notes of “I love you” written countless times, pencil dug so deep it tore into the sheet. Bizarre illustrations that looked almost threatening. His elaborate delusions before medication was introduced, where he’d detail in grand narratives how you were fated for each other and nothing would stop him from having you sooner or later. You do not know what forces possessed you into this addictive plunge, but you’ve come to enjoy his violent, frenzied confessions. So much, that during one of the unsupervised meetings you let yourself pushed into the sofa as his hands tugged at your body in rabid need. It was so out of character that you wondered if it truly happened, though the bite marks and scratches on your neck and chest proved otherwise.

“Are they going to send me to prison?” He changes the subject and stands up, walking towards your desk. “Most likely. What you have is the result of a traumatic event, not a lifelong condition. Sporadic episodes that can be kept under control with antipsychotics aren’t enough of a reason to keep you in the hospital.” You press your legs together nervously and glance at him. “Can’t you just say it’s no longer working?” He suggests, kneeling before you and placing a hand on your thigh. “You know I can’t lie on the report.” You really don’t like it when he manipulates you like this. “Ah, yes, because lying is worse than fucking your patient.” He scoffs, annoyed. “Don’t threaten me like that”, you say as you turn towards him, but you’re stopped by the rough grip of his hand over your cheeks. “I’m not threatening you, I’m threatening everyone else. Listen, (Y/N), I’m not fucking around. I don’t mind pretending to be crazy if I have to. Will the meds still be working if I steal a shaving razor and cut the nurse open?” You try to open your mouth, but his fingers are pressed into your skin, locking your jaw into place. “I’m not going to prison. I’m not. Then I’ll never see you again and that can’t happen. You know that.”

Eventually he releases his hold, allowing you to speak. "I understand. Then there's no choice but to arrange your escape." You sigh, defeated, and he raises his eyebrows. "Won't that get you in trouble?" You chuckle at his statement. "Either way I'll be in trouble. You said it yourself. Might as well quit before I have to stand in front of the ethics board and have my license revoked." You'd prefer to keep the last ounce of pride if possible.

He sits on the floor and you notice his trembling hands. "Nervous?" You ask. "No. Just really happy. I'm not a bad person and you were the only one here to see it. But God, (Y/N), I'd kill anyone if it was for your sake. I can't wait to hold you whenever I want." He gazes at you as a smile widens on his face.

#female reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #obsessive yandere #tw yandere

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c0ffeejelly1 · 8 months ago

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Kinks I think he has

Reigen headcannon

Authors note: look yall. I know i didn’t really take this seriously BUT BUT BUTTT you either take it or leave it.

Warnings: NSFW Content

Praise kink

You kind of stumbled upon his kink by accident. It wasn’t like you were totally convinced, so you figured you’d give it a shot, and honestly, you were not disappointed.

Maybe it was the way he shivered in pleasure, the cutest little whine escaping his lips as you tell him how much of a good job he’s doing making you feel amazing.

“S-stop saying- fuck..stop saying stuff like that..”

It was impossible for him to conceal the redness that crept across his face.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say it flipped a switch inside of him. For that entire day, he was a beautiful mess, completely under your influence. He still denies it though.

Role playing

OKAY YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND WHYY I BELIEVE THIS.

So y’all know the episode with him and mob as highschool girls? Yeah.

His whole personality in the entire show is him being a conman, this man IS into role playing.

You probably have to be with him for a lil while for him to actually ask if you could both try it out, and yes you were willing to because this is reigen, and we’d do anything for him.

“Hey, um..babe?” He starts, shifting slightly in the bed you were already cosied up in.

“Yeah? Something up?”

“No, no..I just- well, y’know..was thinking..”

You set your phone aside and turn to look at him.

“..about?”

“Well um..it’s k-kinda embarrassing.” He adds, a flush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Reigen, baby, just spill it. I’m not gonna bite your head off.”

He bites his lip for a moment before finally revealing his thoughts.

“Can we try roleplaying?”

“…like In Roblox?”

“What? No! The- the adult kind!”

“Ooh…I see what you mean.”

It would kick off with a light scenario of a forbidden romance between a boss and their employee, and to be honest he was happy with just that, because my GOD was it the best sex of his life.

Maybe it was because you were so into the role- I mean, who knew you could so hot?

Seriously, one day he’s definitely going to ask you to ride him on his actual office chair.

Oral sex

This man is a sucker for receiving.

Imagine him being so stressed from work after handling a spirit with mob that all he can do is just fall back on the couch and groan loudly about how long and hard his day has been.

This is the obvious sign you NEED to take before ripping off the restraints covering his oh so perfectly shaped cock..to you at least.

Just give him a few licks at his tip, and he’s thanking you like you were an angel sent down just for him.

“Ah..f-fuck, what’d I do to d-deserve you..”

Seriously though, he’s so incredibly thankful for you and everything you’ve done for him.

Bonus for you being able to just allow for him to relax like this. He could marry you if you asked for it. ONLY if you asked.

Now giving though.

This man is eating you WELL. Like proper devouring you. HAVE YOU SEEN THE WAY HE EATS AT THE DINER WITH MOB?

BROS SCUFFING BURGERS DOWN HIS THROAT, HES SURE AS HELL SUCKING OUT EVERYTHING YOU’VE GOT.

Cock warming

Sometimes all a guy needs is his girl.

Preferably in his lap..maybe also on his cock.

So why not have the whole package? Cock warming.

I don’t see y’all really doing this often..maybe in his office, like once a blue moon?

I’m not saying it HASN’T happened before though, but it’s not often because we ALL know YOU wouldn’t be able to control yourself and instead start riding the fuck outta this man. I would too don’t worry

Just imagine him complaining about how you keep moving around too much AGRHHH then he gets all

“fuck, I might c-cum from that..”

AND AND AND THEN HES BEGGING YOU TO ACTUALLY RIDE HIM PROPERLY AND HE CUMS AND EVERYONES HAPPY 🤗🤗 the end.

#x reader #mob psycho 100 x reader #mob psycho 100 #reigen smut #reigen x reader #smut #reigen arataka #mp100 #mp100 reigen #mob psycho reigen #mp reigen #sub men #dom fem reader #please reblog #please 🙏🙏🙏🙏#PWEEEEEASEEEEE🙏🙏

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hivemuthur · 1 month ago

Text

To Be Known - Ch.2.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 4,6K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: one saucy Freaktor, smut in d/s dynamics, very slight barely-there miss-it-if-you-blink degradation, no crazy stuff yet just plain old sex, subspace/domspace, two people in utter delulu about feeling like that about each other after one night. So, kids shoo!

author’s note: Ok, this is us, eating the veggie meatballs. My knee is jumping because I really want to go look at the organization containers to sort out my storage room. So, for me this is sort of a filler episode :v Also, I made a playlist, if you want to listen. I think Sundays will be my days to publish this, if you like consistency.

Special thanks as usual to @rennethen for proof reading. Artist is @petitesieste ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Oh, how he hates gatherings. Every second is so precious to him. Every single moment wasted on indulgence is one that could’ve brought him closer to whatever goal he was working toward with Jayce. But even Viktor is only human. So, after hundreds of whiny please and tons of pleading eyes from Jayce, he finally caved.

He begged Jayce for five more minutes, then another five, before relenting when his partner came at him with the intention of dragging him out of the lab by force—by the ears, or worse, by throwing him over his shoulder like a damsel.

He complained all the way in the cab, telling Jayce that he needed to vent before putting on his social face. He spent the first half an hour sipping his drink, unamused by all the conversations about superficial science and culture, forcing himself not to roll his eyes at Salo.

Until Mel’s eyes lit up with that familiar excited glint when she waved at you stepping through the door. Viktor stole a glance, then lingered despite himself, only turning away when your eyes began to roam the table. He couldn’t help but notice the one too-low undone button of your shirt, the crease in it, and your freshly applied red lipstick, making your mouth stand out the most. Pretty, Viktor thought, and immediately regretted not taking Jayce up on the offer of meeting you earlier.

But Viktor knew better than this. He knew better than to step his foot into the crack of a door that should remain closed. A man married to his work, he occasionally engaged in affairs to quiet the storm in his mind when it became unbearable. But here, dealing with a common friend and a potential disaster of what his usual practices might entail, he was, after a moment of thought, grateful that he hadn’t met you earlier.

And he worried momentarily that you would notice, or rather, feel the way his eyes burned into your throat every time you spoke. Or that you would notice the special attention he gave each time you cracked your fingers with a loud pop. When you rolled your spine against the back of the chair, he nearly sighed, but managed to swallow it down. Your frazzled demeanour and the way you spoke about your work had him both hypnotised and impressed—not only because every word spilled from your red mouth, but because he welcomed the thought of reducing this sharp, self-possessed creature to a whimpering mess at his feet faster than he could blink.

A theory formed in his head quicker than he would like to admit, based on loose evidence that made him think he might be wishing it into existence. Only one way to check. A perfect opportunity presented itself when your carefully held facade slipped through the overlapping voices of a tiresome conversation.

When he leaned in and rested his hand on your thigh, he thought nothing of it. When his nose brushed under your ear and he inhaled your scent, he still thought nothing of it. Even when you froze at the feeling of his arm crowding you, there still wasn’t a thought of conclusion clattering through his head. Yet once the command was served and you slipped back into laser focus, his cock knew before he did. It twitched insistently at the ghost of your fingertips passing him the bottle and at the sight of your parted mouth and hooded eyes as you ogled his throat.

And he had to hold himself back so dearly from yanking his hand higher, from gathering the damp evidence between your legs—before deciding, just this once, to leave it to faith instead of peering through the looking glass.

His own stoic veneer began to crack once when he learned where you lived, and then again when you agreed to share a cab with him. It felt as if he were asking whether you’d like him to fuck you stupid, and your answer sounded as if you were telling him that you’d like it very much—please, thank you. He watched your lips wrap around the question of when, not if, he wanted to go, and he said the first thing that tore through his throat faster than any other could. Now. Now. Let’s go now.

Immediately, desire followed the glance you gave him, and Viktor hoped pleasure would quickly follow desire. He knew soon enough—when he had you undoing his buttons, pushing your hands to his bare stomach like a greedy little thing. He had to stop you right there with a witty remark, hoping you wouldn’t take note of the sanctimonious edge to his tone.

Now, with you pressed against the elevator door, Viktor still profoundly believes that he is never wrong—except for the one to ten times he refused to meet you under the excuse of being buried under an avalanche of tasks. He is almost glad it’s only happening now, because you will be a massive distraction for his hard-working brain.

A perfect mirror of his desires, where you give everything he wants and take everything he gives. He doesn’t have to worry when his mouth lays waste to the remnants of your red lipstick, because you push yourself against him as if you’d rather exchange it for a tattoo of permanent bruise. He needn’t worry about his hands raking your thighs a bit too roughly, because your tights are already torn. In this moment, when you whine out his name after every tease he throws at you, he worries about absolutely nothing.

With his cane wedged under his armpit, he holds you tight by the ass, rutting into your hips, pretending it’s only to keep you from toppling out with a loud thump once the elevator pings open. A dozen ideas crash through his head the moment it does—from fucking you against the hallway wall (was his leg going to be this gracious today?) to yanking you down onto your knees and fucking your throat instead, smearing the last traces of red from your lips all over his cock, aching and straining in his pants. Holding your hair tight and praising you for each gag.

“Wait,” he tells you firmly when you leech onto his neck while he fumbles with the keys. You obey—not without a pout—but you stop, your arms falling loosely around his stomach. The moment the door cracks open, he sweeps you inside, locks it blindly, and walks you to the nearest soft seating—the bedroom is too far.

Greedy hands tremble as you yank the belt from the loops at his waist. Viktor chuckles, bewildered by your eagerness, but decides it feels nice to be wanted so openly.

His trousers slide down to his thighs as he sinks onto the sofa, guiding your hips to glue onto his. He groans at the lovely pressure of your weight resting against his cock—hard and leaking—and runs a flat palm up your legs, rolling your skirt higher. His fingers find the growing eyelet in your tights, thread through, and pull. The sound of tearing makes you gasp and giggle. It doesn’t stop there—three fingers hook into your underwear, sliding it to the side as he drags them through your folds.

A breathy hum escapes him. “So fucking wet. What a lovely slut you are.”

And you know damn well you are anything but. Sensible in your choices, reason always outshining need—where a sloppy one-night stand never seems worth the next-day headache or the risk of running late for work, which you love and cherish above all else. But from his mouth, it sounds like the highest of praises, sparking a searing greed that courses through your veins and drops between your legs as you grind against his cock, begging for more.

“Say it again.”

“Ask me nicely,” he murmurs with a smirk, moving his fingers into your hair and tugging at the nape, fixing you in place.

“Please, say it again,” you plead, your hands trailing tenderly along his face, catching at his lips before sliding lower to his neck as you tickle behind his ear.

Viktor memorises the shape of your mouth when you say please—yet still, he wishes to see it in the flesh more. He brings your head close, rubs his nose against your cheek, and inhales, eyes fluttering shut.

“My gorgeous little slut. Oh, you look so fucking pretty,” he breathes against your lips before sinking his tongue between them. The connection he feels is instant, almost uncanny. He explores your mouth freely, licking at the roof, nipping at your tender flesh through hums and chuckles when your hips roll over his. A torturous drag along his clothed cock where your dampness seeps into the fabric, mixing into one.

Your fingers drop lower, tugging at the waistband of his briefs. You break the kiss and ask needily, “Do you want to—?” Take these off and give me your cock. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, shaking his head—a promise of something else exciting you stupidly. “Be a good girl and make yourself cum like this first.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Utterly possessed by the sight of him beneath you, you wrap your arms around his neck, bring your face close enough for him to feel the way your brows scrunch in focus, and rut your cunt into his lap. An embarrassing amount of slick leaks from you, drenching his underwear, adding to the delicious friction you’re chasing until your core is swollen, twitching, clenching around nothing—as if you could pull his cock inside by sheer force of will.

Viktor watches, transfixed, eyes wide with admiration, hoping he can hold out until he’s truly buried deep within you. Each time he mutters a lewd remark, you feel an invisible fist closing around the muscles of your lower abdomen, sending a nearly painful pang through you, making your hips jolt and stutter.

“I knew I had to fuck you the minute I saw you,” he murmurs, brushing your damp hair back—his touch light, its kindness contradicting anything that falls from his lips. Your eyes roll in a full circle, each word choking spasms out of your core.

“It’s hard to be in charge all the time, isn’t it?” His voice is smooth, full of temptation, dripping sugar straight into your ears. It’s within reach, a release of all your worries for you to grasp as he holds it out to you on an open palm. Indulgence you realise you need so dearly to stay sane. You feel like you’ve found a missing piece of a puzzle, something that will make you whole by taking something else away.

His fingers slip beneath the torn fabric of your tights, kneading the flesh of your ass as he guides you over his lap, grinding, rolling—each movement pressing your swollen clit against the hard ridge of his cock. You whimper in response, clutching at his neck, nails biting through the skin leaving crescent dents.

“Do you want me to fuck you stupid?” His breath ghosts over your cheek, hot and unrelenting, each word a hook that tugs something deep in your belly.

You nod, frantic, but it’s not enough for him. His grip tightens, forcing you to slow, to drag yourself over him with purpose, until each pulse of pleasure is unbearably sharp.

“Use your words,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you need,” Viktor says with a raw and honest intention. He means every word.

You moan, lips parted, head falling back. “Yes—yes, I want it. Please.”

He groans, full and pleased, drinking in the sight of you becoming undone above him. He loves this—the feeling of being alive and kicking as control seeps from someone to him. His hands squeeze greedily at your flesh, guiding you down harder, and he smiles when you shudder from the pressure.

“It’s alright, you don’t need to worry about anything,” he soothes, voice dipping into something dangerously gentle. “Just cum for me.”

A helpless little cry breaks from you, your movements turning more and more jerky. Each filthy drag against him sets you hot, your body writhing, helpless in his hands.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, voice drenched in satisfaction, watching the pleasure ripple through you, your thighs clenching and tightening around his. When you come—wrecked, panting against his mouth, clinging to his neck—Viktor feels it like a gift. Precious. Just for him, given willingly and gratefully. He keeps it close and doesn’t show to anyone.

It’s nearly enough for him to have you settle and cool down, slumped against his chest, looking an absolute mess—hair still damp, coat ruffled, skirt twisted around your waist, shirt full of creases, tights torn, makeup smeared across your face. A perfect picture to summarize his work.

As you blink, your eyelashes tickle his neck, and Viktor noses into your forehead, urging you to look up at him. “All good?” he asks when you do, his grin is loose, toothless, completely at ease.

Slowly, you blink again and nod, painfully aware of how hard his cock still is beneath you.

“Can you get up?” Viktor murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear. With another quick nod, you scramble from his lap, and he groans at the loss of contact.

A pleading hand reaches for you, and you take it, helping him up. He sweeps his cane from where it lies abandoned on the floor. A wave of self-consciousness floods you as you glance at him—at both of you—realising that neither of you had undressed, not even slightly. Clothes wrinkled, hair messy. Viktor pulls up his trousers and fastens the buttons, uncaring, just enough to manage a safe walk to the bedroom. He doesn’t comment on how wet his briefs are. Only in his head.

Taking your hand again, he leads you through the apartment in silence. Were you not so utterly fucked-out, you might have tried to steal glances, to memorise every detail of his space, let it tell you things about him he might not say aloud. But the short walk passes in a haze, and you doubt you’d be able to find your way back on your own.

When you reach the bedroom, he motions toward the adjacent bathroom. And when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, your hand flies up to clasp over your mouth.

Dark streaks run down your cheeks—whether from rain or tears, you can’t remember. A stain of pink smudges past the border of your lips, spreading to your cheeks and chin. Your neck is marked with his lips and teeth, blooming in angry colours.

Abruptly, you wash your face as best you can, grabbing a random towel to dry off. A brief concern flits through your mind—that this might be his ass towel—but the thought is quickly followed by another: you don’t care.

You peel off your tights and, for whatever reason, roll them into a ball and shove them into your coat pocket. Only now do you notice the undone button of your shirt, revealing the bridge of your bra.

One deep breath. You shake off your coat, drape it over your arm, and step out from the bathroom, shoes in your other hand.

Viktor is sitting on the bed, waiting. He’s taken his coat off too, and when he looks up at you, you catch sight of the mark you left on his neck. Much less impressive than the ones you’re sporting.

“Come.” He beckons you forward, and you abandon your belongings right where you are, tossing them onto a nearby chair before closing the distance in a few short steps, as if he’s coaxing you by a leash.

Once you’re within reach, he seizes your hips, pulls you close, and breathes against your stomach. “Do you wish to stop or continue?” he asks, hands sliding back to cup your ass.

He already knows the answer, but hearing you say it makes it better. He can see you sinking into the space he wants you in, and the sight grants him a sense of fulfilment—different from the satisfaction of cracking open some nagging problem in the lab with Jayce. Incomparable. Not better or worse, but this—this feels close to best.

He’s certain the alcohol burned off somewhere between the cab ride and you writhing on his lap, but he still feels faintly drunk. Just on something else. And when his eyes meet yours—dazed and dark with want—and your lips mutter a shy, “Please, continue,” he has to supress a dumb smile and possibly a triumphant yes slipping from his mouth.

“Good,” he says instead, unzipping your skirt. It falls to pool around your feet. Next goes your underwear.

You just stand there, letting him undress you, heart hammering in your chest. Your breath hitches as his hands brush over your belly, undoing the remaining buttons of your shirt. Then, he slides his palms flat up your sides, reaching for the back of your bra. With a single twitch of his fingers, it unclasps, and all you have to do is shake everything off to be completely bare.

You stare at him expectantly when he mutters, “Sit,” and pats the space beside him. Thoughtlessly, you obey, eyes never leaving his. “Undress me,” he commands, though the words come out too breathy to be firm.

It’s all so easy. Completely violating your usual paradigm and you wonder if that’s exactly why the momentary exit of this recursion tastes so sweet. It’s heavy on your tongue when you swallow, blink slowly and naturally give yourself into every gentle order. It coats your insides with warmth as you truly feel like there is nothing you need to worry about and whatever Viktor says is the law.

Calmly, you bring your hands to his buttons, undoing them one by one, exposing his chest. His sternum juts out between flat pectorals, the skin dipping above his clavicle. As you slide his shirt off his back, your fingers trace over those hollows, lingering.

Viktor hums in appreciation, then stands, stepping between your legs. His hands settle on your shoulders as you fumble with the buttons of his trousers—then pause, distracted by the bruises marking his lower abdomen.

One is faint, yellow and brown blooming across his pale skin. The other is fresh—an angry smear of red and purple beneath the porcelain layer.

You brush tentative fingers over it, your mouth already forming a question, but Viktor takes your hands and guides them back to his crotch. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, brows still knitted, before sliding his trousers down along with his underwear, revealing his cock for the first time. Viktor doesn’t say a word—just threads his fingers through your hair, cradling the back of your head, and gently guides you forward. He doesn’t force, doesn’t push. Just holds.

Your cheek presses against him, the warmth of his half-hard length seeping into your skin. He’s hot beneath you, smooth, and when you exhale, the shift of your breath makes him twitch.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into it, hands coming up to grip his hips. His ribs expand with a slow inhale, fingers stroking lazily at your scalp. Not urging, almost longing. The weight of him against your face makes something in your stomach swell—desire-adjacent, but warmer, gentler. Intimate in a way you hadn’t expected back in the cab.

Viktor purrs, deep and satisfied, as if you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. His head tilts back, eyes slipping shut as he breathes into the ceiling, holding onto you and wondering how he’s found something like this at the world’s fucking end. He might still be drunk after all.

He grows fully hard just from the warmth of your skin. With a long sigh, he tilts your head up so that your chin rests against his stomach. “Lie down for me,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek, eyes molten.

You crawl back onto the mattress on your hands and knees, feeling oddly exposed. This doesn’t feel like just any one-night stand, and a small worry appears—that the mistake you were so willing to make might not be so easy to shake off. Viktor follows, moving more gracefully than you expect, and only now do you notice the brace hugging his knee. He catches the shift in your expression and repeats, “Don’t worry about that one either, hmm?”

Leaning over, he pulls open the bedside drawer and retrieves a condom—a mundane little gesture that has your eyes tracking the movement of his hands. You prop yourself on your elbows and watch as he rolls it on, then shiver when his palms slide from your thighs to your sides. He braces himself against you as his head dips in, settling between your legs. His eyes flick up to yours, a smile curving his lips, before he lets a slow stream of spit drip onto your cunt.

You watch, wide-eyed, until you feel it hitting your skin, slipping snugly into your slit. Your mouth falls open when he drags his fingers through the mess, spreading it over your folds. An occasional fingertip dips inside, shallow and teasing, just enough to make you gasp. Each time it does, your muscles contract, trying to keep him in.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy.” It’s meant as a tease, but his voice holds too much wonder.

He leans back, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock, dragging the head through the slick he’s worked into you. The touch has you trembling, thighs twitching when he presses forward just enough to catch at your entrance before pulling away again.

“Do you really want me so much?” His lips curl, tone bordering on mocking, but his thumb strokes your hip as if in apology. You nod, resisting the urge to shift your hips down and take him in yourself. “So desperate… squeezing around nothing.” He tsks, shaking his head.

And then, finally, he pushes inside.

It burns from all the work you’ve done on yourself, grinding against his underwear. He stretches you inch by inch, even though you can feel how much he wants to just slam deep inside—leave you breathless, fill every empty space inside you.

Once hilted, Viktor sighs, deep and shuddering, and strokes your stomach before pressing your torsos together. His forehead rests against yours for just a moment before he shifts, hooking one of your legs over his good hip. He considers how to fuck you—how to test the waters without messing you up too much. So far, everything he’s said has had you writhing for him, mussing his hair and leaving wanting open-mouthed kisses everywhere, which is why he decides to tread a path he’s already mapped out for himself.

“Perfect fit,” he whispers, almost reverent, before drawing back and sinking in again, and it’s so achingly slow. His elbows rest on either side of your head, caging you in, and when your neck arches, his hand comes to cradle your nape. A thumb strokes there, soothing as he rocks into you, eyes locked onto your face, memorizing every reaction.

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, voice thick, his hips rolling deeper. “You don’t need to worry about anything.” Hot breath sears across your throat before his teeth sink in, deepening the colour palette there.

“Only about being a good slut, yes?”

The words make you clench around him, and you grasp his hair, pulling his mouth close to yours, just as he expects. You breathe countless yeses against his lips, the panic of being so close to someone bleeding into the tremendous pleasure of being seen.

The more you squeeze him, the more Viktor groans, pressing closer, his weight pinning you down. He takes his time, thrusting deep and sluggish, grinding his groin against your clit. It’s a sweet torture that builds in your lower belly, spreading through your body in rays, buzzing beneath your skin, curling at the tips of your fingers and toes.

You are convinced your brain has turned to mush when all that leaves your mouth is a blabbering mess. Please and fuck and yes make the occasional appearance, but most of it is just senseless mewling, intermingling with the wet, squelching sounds of his cock pumping into you.

Viktor chuckles—breathless and hoarse. “So far gone already? Is this all it takes?” His words are laced with teasing, but there’s an edge to them, a tremor beneath the mockery. He’s losing himself, too.

His hips roll with a strain, and you jerk beneath him, body seizing, jaw slacking in a soundless cry before you gasp in the air he’s stolen from you.

“Good girl,” he rasps, watching your expression twist between desperation and bliss. His hand at your neck tightens, enough to coax a bruise and enough to keep you where he wants you. His other hand slips between your bodies, fingers seeking out your swollen clit. “Come on, almost there.”

The pressure tips you over the edge, white heat flooding through you in an orgasm so intense it borders on painful. Your back arches, nails raking down his spine, and a strangled moan tears from your throat as you convulse around him, gripping him in a vacuous trap. The squeeze wrenches a ragged noise from Viktor’s throat, and makes his hips stutter.

He had meant to pull out, to spill onto your stomach or your tits in a final act of marking, but the way you tighten around him wrecks that plan entirely. A guttural curse breaks from his lips, and he buries himself to the hilt, spilling into the condom with a shuddering groan.

For a moment, he stays like that—pressed flush against you, panting into your ear, his lips catching your earlobe with each breath. His fingers loosen around neck, sweat-slicked hair plasters to your cheek. He seems as far gone as you are.

Then, slowly, he gathers himself, pressing his lips to your throat—soft kisses, tender. His tongue flicks out, tracing the marks his teeth have left, soothing them with lazy strokes.

“How are you?” he murmurs at last, voice spent.

But you are falling, deep and fast. Lodged into a space you don’t know. The world around you feels distant, sounds muffled like they’re coming through water. Your limbs are heavy, yet weightless all at once. There’s warmth—his body, the sheets, the lingering pulse of pleasure still rolling through you—but it feels separate, like it belongs to someone else.

Breathing feels slow, difficult. You need to put effort in it. You blink sluggishly up at him, trying to gather words, but they slip through your fingers, elusive. Nothing hurts. Nothing feels. There’s a quiet in your mind, vast and still, as if you’re floating untethered.

Viktor watches you closely, his brows knitting together. His fingers trace your cheek, then down your arm, grounding and gentle. “Still with me?” he asks, softer this time, concern weaving through the exhaustion in his voice. “Water? Bathroom?” His offers come one after another, and you nod to each without really knowing what it is you need.

Without knowing if this should be happening at all, you let him help you up, his hands steady at your waist as he guides you toward the bathroom. But the moment you reach the door, panic claws up your throat. You press a hand to his chest, stopping him before he can follow.

When he protests, brows furrowing, you manage to breathe out, “Please,” and he hesitates. There’s reluctance in the way he steps back, but he lets you go. He waits, slumping onto the bed, his chin resting in his palm as his knee bounces. It’s a please he doesn’t like.

Inside, you turn on the tap and brace yourself against the sink, staring into the mirror. Your lips are kissed red, your neck outright bruised, dark blotches blooming against your skin. The sight should make your mouth fall open, but your muscles won’t move.

You wash your face again, use the same towel, caring about its purpose even less than before. You feel nothing and everything at once. It’s terrifying and lonely and you have no idea what to do with it. Instinct—the real, honest one—tells you to run back to him and cuddle into his lap. Rest your cheek on his knee and let him pet you until your lids get heavy. But there is another, learned and unnatural that keeps you here, in the bathroom, calculating and worrying about how needy you are about to come off as.

When you step outside, the vacuum begins to suck you inward, hollowing you out. With the wrong instinct at hands, you reach for your coat and shoes. You need to leave.

Viktor shoots you a questioning look. He stands up, limps toward you, fingers curling gently around your arm beckoning you to pause. “I can’t let you go home now,” he says in a calm voice, as if there is something he knows that you don’t.

“I—” The excuses pile on your tongue, desperate and clumsy. “I should get back. I have… work, and—”

“I’ll wake you,” he says simply. “But you should stay.”

“I… I don’t have any clothes,” you grasp, even as you clutch your coat tighter.

“We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

"Viktor, I—" Your voice wavers as fear grips you, tight and suffocating. “I don’t have time for… I’m so busy, I can barely—” You cut yourself off, frustration spilling into frantic gestures. You can’t even articulate it—this sense that you’ve made a mistake, that none of this should have happened, that you shouldn’t have come to Mel’s party in the first place, because this… this is way too frightening.

Something flickers across Viktor’s face, subtle but unmistakable. Something that sinks, just slightly, despite the euphoria he’d felt only moments ago. It’s swept away with the wave of your hands, and he curses himself for letting you alone into that bathroom.

He forces out a chuckle, but when he speaks your name, it’s firm. “I am not asking you to marry me. I am busy too.”

The words land sharper than he intends. Regardless of everything that has happened tonight, this one little remark you give him is enough to slam his defences back into place. So instead of just asking you to stay, he adjusts, laying out another path. An emergency escape.

“This… doesn’t have to go anywhere,” he says, voice quieter, careful. “But trust me when I tell you, you will be very sad if you go home alone now.” His thumb strokes absentmindedly over your wrist. “Stay. I promise I will wake you. Francis Crick is close to South Bank—”

“Okay.” It slips from your lips before you can stop it, before your mind can twist itself into another reason to leave.

Viktor exhales and nods, taking the coat away from you and hanging it around the chair. Then he takes your hand and leads you to the bed and you feel momentarily guilty that he had to walk this distance without the cane.

He lets you in first and you push yourself all the way to the edge, feeling like you are invading his space in a way that is too much. This sudden neediness, this sensation of dependency—it’s a perfect stranger. Making you fragile in a way that you haven’t felt in the longest time. End even though it carries a warmth with it, it comes unbidden, and you want to deal with it on your own, as you always do.

But Viktor doesn’t let you. He enters your space as if he knows you are too confused to ask. He slides himself clumsily next to you, squeezes his arm under your neck to cradle your head under his chin. Wraps another over your waist and traps you, hooking his leg over your hip. Then hums, knowing, all balmy against your skin and you feel like crying.

The sound of your name, spoken with patience, reaches you through the fog. It drifts through the quiet, settling beside you like a warm weight. He says it again, and again, until you shift and finally look at him. Your noses brush as he tilts his head, voice soft.

“You can tell me how you feel, you know that?”

“I don’t,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I barely know anything about you.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, his fingers coming to brush at your temple. “Well,” he muses, “my name is Viktor.” His knuckles trace lightly down the side of your face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m a scientist. Jayce’s friend and colleague.” His lips quirk, his voice low and steady. “I like documentaries and books.”

The way he speaks has your eyes rolling dismissively, but deep down you know what he’s doing. Each piece of himself he offers, no matter how obvious, grounds you back into reality.

“And I know exactly what is happening to you,” he murmurs. “And it’s alright. It’s supposed to happen.”

You swallow. “How do you know that?”

Viktor yawns, entirely unfitting to the scene, but he can’t help it. Lazily, as if it’s a fact known to all humanity, he offers you the biggest piece so far. “Because I’m feeling the exact opposite.”

You consider for a moment and furrow your brows. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing.” His fingers slip into your hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands. “Just feel it. It’s… nice. You are safe.” His voice drops lower, like a secret meant only for you. “It’s nice to be empty of everything for a bit.”

Your breath shakes as a question propelled by a child-like logic follows. “Does this mean you feel full?”

“Eh, something like that.” There’s a pause. Viktor’s fingers continue their slow movements in your hair, a soothing touch. Then, his voice lifts again, gentler still. “Does anything hurt?” You shake your head.

“Anything you didn’t like?” He hesitates, then curses himself for asking. He tells himself it’s ego-driven, or maybe just his scientific mind searching for data, for some answer he shouldn’t be seeking in the first place. This was meant to be a single night, wasn’t it? Again, you shake your head.

Encouraged—by what, he’s not sure, his brain or his heart—Viktor presses on. His thumb skims the edge of your jaw. “Did it feel… right?” The question so timid, yet falls with a loud thump, pulled by gravity equal to that inside a black hole, because he has no idea what he’s tempering with.

Yes, you imagine yourself saying without hesitation. Yes, your body screams as you nuzzle into him, making yourself small, trying to crawl into his chest. Yes, say your arms wrapping around his waist and your feet pressing to his calves. “Yes,” you whisper shyly into his neck and it’s enough. Nothing follows, only Viktor’s pulse, loud and heavy in your ear. Sleep takes you with a few long exhales and you can make out his arm leaving you once to reach to his bed stand, setting the alarm. Then nothing, as you float, tethered.

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #to be known

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miaoumeowmiaw · 3 months ago

Text

ST5 MAY LEAKS

Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome

Fremde, etranger, stranger

Glukich zu sehen, je suis enchante, happy to see you

Bleibe, reste, stay

Originally collected from multiple sources part of, and in contact with, Minou in the months leading up to May, these are the published leaks and conversations from that time. According to other leakers, this information was ~80% true and likely to have come from real extras, including military staff. Today, we have full confirmation for the vast majority. Screenshots from the time are publicly available, and as such will not be provided in this post.

Keep in mind some information may be omitted, as these leaks are not part of the recent batch. Feel free to contact The Cat's Meow or Minou directly to learn more!

PARTIAL NURSING EXTRA INTERVIEW

"Hey! I'm really sorry for not having talked much. There is a lot of work here. I have coffee on hand and [more information]! Personally, the filming is scattered. The military personnel, but especially [us] nurses, are recurring but do not play an incredible role, at least for our cohort. There are 2 [...] good guys and bad guys. My group is the [good cohort], we are generally in the background and we [...] take care of civilians and [the main] actors.

Extras for the military are sent in [shifts], so if the accounts of fans have not posted a huge ad saying 'EXTRAS FINALLY ARRIVED IN ATLANTA', that is why. It's something that they have done in all of the filming sessions. It is way too much work to have everyone here at the same time, and [we also experience] problems with travel and confidentiality.

[...] Most of us are leaving the area when we finish the work for the day. Some come in [only to] return home. I am staying in a motel with a handful of other extras.

The leaks on the time skip are true, but I think they have been exaggerated. It is [limited to the first episode] and taken slowly, given that we are moving from one season to another. It stops in autumn. The aesthetic of the season is similar to the first season [and] there are no flashy colours, if that can make someone happy. In fact, I think [it is] duller than season 1. It is very suitable for what [will be occurring]."

FULL LEAK RUNDOWN INTERVIEW

Was there any mention of the Upside Down duos or confirmed mid-late season pairings?

"The season is a lot more community-orientated. The 'pairings' they mentioned were small groups."

Did they confirm Mike's injury?

" [...] Almost all of the characters get hurt in some way [...] They have scratches, injured arms and legs with visual limps and gashes. One character has a deep wound near their midsection. There is a conversation about health and sickness [caused by the] Upside Down particles and environment, and how that might put people at [higher] risk."

Did they have solid information outside of the hospital, specifically regarding character arcs?

"They confirmed the time skip leaks, but it was blown out of proportion, as well as the Upside Down sicknesses. The parents, mainly Karen, have an increase in screen time because of [the sicknesses], and eventually become involved with the supernatural plot. There is a 'Byler' moment where the two [...] scout out [an area] together."

What additional information do you have?

"A large amount of the season focuses on the real world and Hawkins. The aesthetic and pacing is similar to season 1 and 2, [and it is] set around fall. [Hawkins] has aspects of quarantining. The hospital crew were sent to Hawkins by the military, [however they] abandoned those duties to help properly assist civilians. They are snuffed out eventually."

What are they unable to tell you?

"Extras almost never have the full script, and might not even have their own, unless [they have] speaking lines [...] I would not be shocked if parts were cut out."

How would you better describe Mike's arc?

"[...] His arc is separate, in the sense that he is not talking about his girlfriend every 5 seconds [like in season 3 and 4]. It's focused on self discovery [...] he is trying to get back to normalcy and figure out what [had] changed in him. He spends [most of the season] with Will, and there is more distance between him and El. [...] The vibes are similar to [those in] season 4."

Did you hear anything about Will?

"No. All I really know is that Will takes a leadership role because of his knowledge [and experience with] the Upside Down. They reacted positively to the rumours about Will having nightmares or discomfort. [I was only told about] 2 conversations [between] Mike and Will, and both of them are about health and well being. [It's possible that they are] in the same scene, with a transition between public and somewhere more secluded. The first is about the health of other people, and the second is about Mike and Will individually."

Have you heard anything in relation to the farm?

"They are not involved in those scenes and plots, but the characters consider heading farther from Hawkins because of everything that is going on with the military and gate exposure [...] It is not related to any Upside Down threat initially."

Does Will blame himself?

"Will takes on a [...] leadership role because of his experience with the Upside Down and general maturity. A chunk of his plot is him feeling [as if] he has a responsibility to support everybody else, and [he has] some negative emotions brought out when that does not go perfect. Not that the rest of the characters are happy, but nothing is explicitly said or shown except for Will and some other characters. There are a handful of remarks made about his responses to events."

How do these negative emotions contribute to the stories angst?

"The entire season is doom and gloom, but for Will, everything is discreet. [...] His relationships are strained. He lets his trauma take the wheel from what I'm hearing, [feeling] on edge early in the season, and [this] turns into snappy dialogue post-harm. There are comments from other characters that bring up and question this, specifically El, Steve and Robin. [There are] no destroyed friendships because of it [...] but it is uncomfortable."

INCOMPLETE SPACE RECORDINGS

There are multiple flashbacks throughout the season.

There is an angst parallel to season 2.

When asked about the church, a burning cross was presented.

El does not live in Hopper's cabin or Mike's house.

Will experience nightmares and trances.

Vecna targets his victims in a different way.

Vecna targets Holly.

Karen does not die.

Ted dies.

El does not attend school or live close to Hawkins.

Nobody knows the ending.