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reasoningdaily · 9 months

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I always thought of the thrift store as a comforting place. Somewhere I could reliably and conscientiously take unwanted clothing to be resold and re-worn, or as the fashion industry has recently rebranded it, re-loved. In the process, charities do great things with the profits from reselling them: supporting troops. Saving pets. Curing cancer. But, like many of us, I never knew the full story.

Amid the explosion in online shopping and TikTok trends for fast-fashion hauls, thrift stores—and thrifting apps—have exploded in the last few years. In fact, in small towns like mine, brick and mortar stores have stopped being primarily a place to buy goods, but more often a place to dispose of them. According to one British study, we only wear 44 percent of the clothing we own. And when we need more room, how better to dispose of our old clothes than donate them to charity?

Unfortunately, it’s never that simple. Consider: only between 10 and 30 percent of second-hand donations to charity shops are actually resold in store. The rest disappears into a machine you don’t see: a vast sorting apparatus in which donated goods are graded and then resold on to commercial partners, often for export to the Global South.

The problem is that, with the onslaught of fast fashion, these donations are too often now another means of trash disposal—and the system can’t cope. Consider: around 62 million tons of clothing is manufactured worldwide every year, amounting to somewhere between 80 and 150 billion garments to clothe 8 billion people.

We rarely see the networks of people involved in processing, reselling, and eventually reusing the things we donate—vast networks that encircle the globe like a ball of yarn, conveying our unwanted things to people in places like Afghanistan or Togo or Bangladesh. Like anything we put in the bin, they are sent “away.” In this case not thrown, but given.

I wanted to follow that yarn—tracing the movement of donations through the textile traders who ship them off, and then charting the surprising places those clothes end up. Which is how, on a spring day last year, I ended up on a flight to West Africa.

Saturday in Accra, the capital of Ghana. Market day. Shoppers pack the streets of the central shopping district, the roads clogged with stalls and street hawkers. When you’re looking for second-hand clothes in Accra, there is only one destination: Kantamanto, the largest second-hand clothes market in Ghana, and perhaps in West Africa. Every week, 15 million garments move through Kantamanto, where an estimated 30,000 traders are crammed into just seven claustrophobic acres. The majority arrives, via container ship, having been donated to charities in Europe and North America. From here, the clothes will spread across Ghana and across borders, into Côte D’Ivoire, Togo, Niger, Benin and beyond.

The second-hand trade in Ghana and across West Africa exploded in the 1980s and ’90s as Western charities flooded Africa with clothing, intended both as fundraising and aid. When second-hand textiles first arrived in Ghana, the local population had no experience of such wastefulness. In fact, they assumed the owners of the clothes must have died, leading to the Akan phrase still marked on one of the entrances to Kantamanto: Obroni wawu, or “dead white man’s clothes.” (In Tanzania, second-hand clothing is similarly sometimes called kafa ulaya, or "dead Europeans" clothes’.) But the donations, however well intended, have done as much harm as good. Unable to compete with the flood of cheap goods into Africa, local textile manufacturing sectors collapsed. Between 1975 and 2000, the number of people working in the textile trade in Ghana fell by 75 per cent. Businesses simply couldn’t compete on price with a product people were throwing away.

I’m here to meet Yayra Agbofah and Kwamena Dadzie Boison, the co-founders of The Revival, a Ghanaian fashion brand that specializes in upcycling second-hand clothing. Yayra, The Revival’s creative director, is a towering, elegant man with a penchant for wide-brimmed hats and wider-legged trousers. Kwamena, the slighter and the quieter of the two, with a neat beard and a taste in rings, is the brand’s head of design. Together, they are two of the most stylish men I’ve ever met, today both dressed head to toe in black, Yayra in one of The Revival’s T-shirts which reads: ghana upcycling department.

Yayra has been shopping at Kantamanto since he was a teen. “Growing up I wanted to look fashionable, but I am not from a rich family that could afford the kind of clothes that I wanted,” he explains. “So I started to trade or redesign stuff that I got from my brother and my siblings. Then my brother introduced me to Kantamanto, and I fell in love with the second-hand market.”

Yayra Agbofah, left, and Kwamena Dadzie Boison of The Revival, a Ghanaian fashion brand that specializes in upcycling second-hand clothing.

A few years ago, Yayra started to hear traders in Kantamanto complaining about the declining quality of clothing shipments. He also saw it himself. “I used to collect vintage,” Yayra explains. Once upon a time, you could find gems among the endless reams of GAP hoodies and Next jeans: Alexander McQueen, Vivienne Westwood. Luxury fashion houses habitually slash unsold items, known as deadstock, so that it has no resale value. But sometimes uncut stock would find its way into the bales, providing an irregular supply of designer clothing to Accra’s eager fashion scene. In the last few years, however, the rising popularity of thrifting and resale apps has ensured that the highest-end clothing (and its resale value) is increasingly staying in the Global North, while fast fashion has unleashed a wave of ever-lower-quality clothing on Kantamanto.

The market runs to a timetable. On Mondays and Thursdays, containers arrive fresh from the port of Tema laden with new bales. The importers and textile dealers then sell the bales on to the traders. “The prices range from about $75 to about $500, based on where it’s coming from, and also the grade,” Yayra says. British bales command the highest price; this is partly due to better sorting, and the increased chance of finding unworn deadstock, which sells at a markup. "What comes in from America and Canada, you have a lot more waste." The bales are sold by garment type – men’s shoes, women’s tops – but the specific contents are a mystery, so after buying each bale, the traders will go through, valuing each item.

“It’s a game of luck,” Yayra says – one that more and more traders are losing. When the sellers can’t make their money back, many get into debt. Over time, as the quality has fallen, some have found themselves in a debt spiral, unable to get out.

Saturday is the busiest day of the week. It’s today that most traders open their bales for new shoppers, who can arrive before daylight in search of the best bargains. We, however, arrive mid-afternoon, hoping that the traders might have more time to talk now the crowd has thinned. The market itself is a maze of narrow lanes, held up by simple wooden struts and a tin roof. But its simplicity hides an entire self-contained neighborhood. Beyond the stalls, there are seamstresses; cobblers; dyers, who with a quick soak can restore a fading T-shirt or pair of jeans; a whole crew of men wielding flat irons (cast iron irons, heated over hot coals) to spruce up clothes. After hours, there are barbers and food sellers and secret bars playing uptempo beats, which throng with life when work is done. We wind our way down aisles filled with racks of clothes: Asos, Dorothy Perkins, Zara, some still with their charity shop labels on. The stalls themselves are tiny. The floor and gutters are carpeted with clothing.

Young women pass with clothing bales balanced on their head. They are kayayei (literally translated, “she who carries the burden”), porters employed by the sellers to move bales around the market. The kayayei, often illiterate teenage immigrants, are paid almost nothing; many live in the informal settlement of Old Fadama, a short walk from the market.

The majority of sellers in Kantamanto are women, and so Yayra and Kwamena respectfully call them "Auntie". We stop by the stall of Janet Oforiwaa, who has been working in Kantamanto for thirty years, since she was a girl working on her mother’s stall. She sells winter clothes: parkas, coats, tweed jackets. These might seem unlikely sellers in the heat of Accra, but have their own audience: fishermen, travelers and people in neighboring Burkina Faso, where the desert nights can be as cold as the days are hot.

Yayra and Kwamena have been shopping at Kantamanto for so long that they seem to know everyone. Traders holler in delight as they arrive, offering warm greetings and hugs.

Later, after showing me the market, Yayra and Kwamena invite me down to the headquarters of their own operation, the nonprofit upcycling business that they run. The Revival’s design studio, which is attached to Yayra’s house in a quiet Accra suburb. Like them, the place is perfectly styled: buffed wood floors, music playing, the room decorated with vintage sewing machines and photographs cut from fashion magazines. The studio is a treasure trove of thrift trash. Bales of clothing are piled all around: boxy suits, swathes of stonewash denim, a box full of men’s hats. On one rack Yayra has set up a little museum of uniforms: a police coat, Iraq war camo, US Navy jackets. A jacket from the US Army’s 307th Signal Battalion still displays both its insignia, Optime Merenti, “to the best deserving.” “We have big bags of these things, with names still on them,” Yayra says.

Every piece of used clothing tells a story of distance and time. An old leather American football helmet. A Pittsburgh Steelers jacket. A baseball cap from Mount Robson, ‘Highest peak in the Canadian Rockies.’ A whole rack of thick leather motorbike jackets, unusable in Ghana’s tropical climate. The Revival attempts to turn some of these unusable or unsellable items into stylish, desirable objects. ‘Our idea is: it’s here already, we cannot send it back, we don’t have the power. So we might as well just turn it to something functional here,’ Yayra says. The Revival works with the skilled craftspeople within Kantamanto – the seamstresses, tailors, dyers and cobblers – to help extend the lifespan of items that would otherwise be thrown away. Yayra takes out a bright red down jacket that they have resewn into a backpack. It’s an ingenious piece of design, both sustainable and surprisingly trendy. "Now we can use it, and it won’t end up in a landfill," he says.

The Revival is currently a non-profit, and each collection is small-scale and handmade. It sells its designs in pop-up shops in and around Accra. At the moment, the operation is tiny, and can account for only a fraction of the goods arriving in Kantamanto. “We realized that there’s so much waste, and that there is not enough demand for it,” he says.

Their response has been to find people who face clothing shortages, and to find ways to help them with waste. For example, in Ghana more than 80,000 fruit pickers suffer cuts and bruises while harvesting fruit crops without adequate safety equipment. ‘We have about 80,000 pineapple farmers in Ghana. And there is pineapple farming all over Africa and the Caribbean,’ he says. ‘Subsistence farmers don’t have the capital to buy protective clothing, it’s too expensive.’ So in 2020, The Revival developed a line of agricultural protective gear from discarded denim imports, which the brand has donated to farmers around Ghana. Yayra shows me a set of overalls which have been stitched to protect arms and limbs; the fabric itself is screen printed with a pop-art pineapple design. "We’re looking at producing uniforms for oil and sanitation workers," Yayra says. "And we’re looking at using the leather to make jackets for commercial bikers here, because a lot of them don’t wear protective clothing."

Oliver Franklin-Wallis, right, reporting in Ghana.

Of course, the Revival can only save so much. According to research by the OR Foundation, as much as 40 per cent of the clothing arriving at Kantamanto immediately becomes waste. At the end of the day private garbage collectors, known as bola boys, will pass through the aisles pulling carts, taking away unsold items. But collection itself costs money, and so some traders don’t bother, instead leaving waste to accumulate in the aisle and the gutters. The waste is stunning.

Several times a week, the city’s collection trucks pick up countless tonnes of leftover textiles dumped in the aisles and gutters around Kantamanto. Previously, the waste was hauled to an engineered landfill in Kpone, outside the city. But the massive influx of textile waste in recent years created impossible conditions within the landfill, Solomon explains. “The textile waste soaks up water, mixing with the dirt and the silt, and binding them together like concrete,” he says. As a result, the landfill’s compactor crews were having to make three times as many passes to crush the waste down. The consequences have been stark. At Kpone, “the void space that should take thirty to forty years to fill, was full in less than three years.”

The new municipal dumpsite is more than an hour’s drive from the city, and run by a private operator that is unwelcoming to outsiders. Old Fadama’s dumpsite, is a 30 ft mound of garbage on the edge of a lagoon. We decide to climb to the top. Yayra covers his face with a handkerchief; I pull my coronavirus mask over my face to help with the merciless stench. The rubbish crackles and gives way beneath my feet as we climb. Polystyrene chunks, plastic bags, whole chunks of an old LG television, smashed eggs being picked at by flies – and underneath it all, ribbons and ribbons of clothing. Yayra and I comb through the trash, picking out labels: Zara jeans, Adidas sandals, a blazer by Polo University Club, a now-defunct Ralph Lauren brand. “Some days you come and see fresh piles of clothes,” Yayra says.

We wade to the summit, trying not to fall. From there, we can look out on Old Fadama. At the top of the mound a herd of gaunt and sickly-looking cattle are grazing on the garbage. Longhorns. One has a tattered clothing sack tangled in her horn. She looks at me, the bag flapping in the breeze like a white flag.

This is an adapted extract from WASTELAND: The Secret World of Waste and the Urgent Search for a Cleaner Future by Oliver Franklin-Wallis

#What Really Happens to the Clothes You Donate #thrift stores #exported clothing #textile waste

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lemonlover1110 · 20 days

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𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘!

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: Toji doesn't want another baby, and there's nothing you can do about it, so you come to terms with it.

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji doesn’t get baby fever. Out of the two of you, you’re the only one that squeals around a cute baby. Toji already knows parenthood, and he’s changed way too many diapers and done way too many late night feedings to know that he never wants to do them again.

Babies are cute, but at this point in life, he’d rather just be an uncle. He gets to hold and play with the baby, but gets to give them back when an accident happens. Unclehood is much better than parenthood, dare he say. He gets to do all the fun stuff and none of the bad stuff.

He doesn’t really want to do it all again, and there’s nothing that you can do to change his mind.

“Toji!” You yell from Megumi’s bedroom, and the man walks to the bedroom, annoyed. The man loves you to death, but he hears his name way too many times in this home.

He sighs, leaning against the doorframe as you open up a box. He makes his annoyance clear as he asks, “What?”

“I’m cleaning out Megumi’s closet, and look what I found.” You hold up the cutest onesie, one that fit six month old baby Megumi, something that feels like eons ago. Toji raises his brows, a smile coming to his lips.

“What? Are you thinking of having one?” Toji asks, and he’s surprised when you shake your head. It’s the first time you shake your head to that question. “Then what’s this?”

“Shouldn’t we donate it? Since we’re not having a baby, we don’t need these.” You tell him, and Toji can’t help but agree. There’s no way Megumi is going to fit into one of these onesies, even if he truly tried.

“Let me help you.” He says, sitting down on the floor with you. You look at him, perking up your brows.

“What came over you? Suddenly being so helpful.” You chuckle, and Toji rolls his eyes as he grabs a onesie from the box. Why does it feel so small? He didn’t recall them being so small. “Who are you and what did you do with my husband?”

“Whatever happened to you wanting a baby? Who are you and what did you do with my wife?” Toji responds, wondering why now of all time you aren’t blabbering about how a baby would be a perfect addition to the house. These clothes are just so small and so adorable…

“I mean, we agreed to not have kids when we got married since you were done with that. It’s just unfair of me to ask for a baby when I know you don’t want more… So I accepted it.” You smile at him, feeling proud of yourself for this newfound maturity. Toji’s glad you’ve come to terms with it, because he was sure getting sick of it.

He reaches into the box again, pulling out a pair of socks. He purses his lips together before looking at you. He didn’t remember babies having such small feet. “I’m glad that you–”

“I mean what’s even cool about babies? They’re cute, and nothing else. Then you have to…” You continue talking about the cons of babies, while Toji pulls out more and more clothes from the box. It seems to be getting smaller and smaller. His heart gets weaker with each item and he fights back the wicked thoughts. He can’t possibly be having… baby fever.

“Babies aren’t that great. Never have I looked at Megumi and thought ‘Oh I wish you were a stinky baby again.’ ” Toji says, but he pauses when he realizes that he’s had that thought before, way too many times. You chuckle before you quietly continue your task. Toji chews on the inside of his cheek, when he realizes something that he wishes he could push out of his mind.

He doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but you said you were done with asking. The umpteenth time is the charm or whatever they say. Toji hopes that by saying, “Oh, Megumi was just the chubbiest and sleepiest baby.” You’ll come to your senses. You have to go back to your duty of being the wife that annoys her husband for a baby, and this time around he’ll finally agree.

“Yeah, they’re sleepy until it’s three in the morning, then they’ll wake up.” You argue, not noticing what Toji is trying to do.

“He had the cutest sneezes.” Toji brings up.

“Yeah, means they’re sick because they put their hands on everything and then shove them in their mouths.”

“He was so cute when he laughed…”

“Have you heard how they cry? That easily outweighs that.” You don’t even notice how he’s putting the clothes back into the box. You keep taking out the same clothes, wondering why he had so many of the same set.

“For fuck’s sake! I want a baby.” Toji finally confesses, ashamed that he’s the one that has to bring it up. Your eyes widen, a smile coming to your lips before you practically jump on him to kiss him.

You kiss him over and over again, and Toji doesn’t want to fight you on it right now, but he has to put his hand over your lips when he senses the kiss leading to something else. He tells you, “Not in Megumi’s bedroom.”

“Right.” You laugh out of embarrassment, getting up from the floor and giving him a hand to do the same.

He’s never seen you use so much force before as you drag him out of the bedroom. But it’s nice to see that you hadn’t really changed your mind, after all, that makes his job easier.

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satorusugurugurl · 28 days

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JJK Men: Finding Your Toys

Characters: Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,952

Warnings: Sex toys! Dirty talk, squirting, smut, videotaping, degrading, holy heck, it’s spicy

A/N: This had me feeling things; I loved writing this. Each one of these hit differently, in the best ways. 😏

MDNI!!!

Geto Suguru:

“Suguru!” You called out from the kitchen, standing on a stepstool dusting the tops of your cabinets. “Can you do me a favor, please?”

Popping his head into the kitchen, Suguru stared at the curve of your ass peeking out from your shorts. “Anything for you.” He watched you stand higher, ass bouncing just a bit.

“Could you grab me the spring decorations? I put them on the bed.”

“On it.”

Ah, spring cleaning. A single day of the year, you deep cleaned your shared apartment. You were donating clothes and books, pretty much decluttering. Then you cleaned everything: floorboards, vents, every crevice. You always felt better after it was done. Plus, with Suguru helping you, you did it in half the time. All that was left was to put up the windchime and new throw pillows.

Then you both could relax.

Suguru was looking forward to a long shower and takeout food. Maybe if you weren’t too tired, he could have you for dessert. Before anything like that remotely happened, he needed to finish the task at hand. The bag was right where you told him it would be. Yanking it off, Suguru turned only to hear something hit the floor.

“Shit.” He cursed, watching your water bottle roll under the bed. Bending down, Suguru reached for the runaway water, only to feel the corner of an extended storage bin. With a tug, Suguru pulled the mysterious box out, his eyes widening as he stared at the transparent container.

Sex toys galore were inside. Glass dildos, clits suckers, vibrators, regular dildos. The sight nearly rocked Suguru's back as he opened the lid, glancing at the cleaned and organized toys. His cock throbbed painfully as he picked it up, putting it on the bed.

So this was what you got off with when he was on a mission. He hummed, picking up a vibrator and turning it over before grabbing a glass toy. It was long and had a large orb on the end. A g-spot toy. Did you use these to make yourself squirt? Have you squirted without him?

The first time Suguru made you squirt was when you both first started fooling around. His mouth was on your clit, fingers hammering against that spot until you screamed, soaking the sheets and his face. You freaked out at first, profusely apologizing. But your words were silent as Geto went feral, wanting to see you squirt again.

He didn't stop until you were nearly fucked out of your mind. All you could say was: “D-Didn't know I could squirt!”

“Suguru!” Your voice called out from the kitchen. “Did you find the bag?”

“Oooh, I found something alright.”

His tone had you turning your head towards his voice. “Oh? Was it the fairy lights? I thought I forgot to grab that bag at the store.” Your boyfriend hummed.

“I mean, a few of these light up.”

Okay, the man was definitely up to something. You finished up what you were doing before treading down the hall. As you turned the corner into the room, you froze like a deer in the headlights. Your toy bin was out, and Suguru was eagerly digging through it, a smug smile on his face.

“Ah!!” Bolting across the floor, you snatched the toys away, throwing them back inside before reaching for the lid.

Suguru chuckled, grabbing the lid from you and tossing it. “Oh no, you don't! We're not putting this away.” With your plan foiled, you held your arms out to block his view.

“No! It's embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Looking at your boyfriend, your cheeks flushed as he pulled his sweats down an inch. He's showing you the bulge in his boxers. “It's fucking hot.”

The humiliation slowly began to fade, a fire replacing it. “Really?”

Suguru nodded while digging in the bin. “Yeah, I like seeing the stuff you get off with.” He pulled out your g-spot dildos and vibrator. “Trying to make yourself squirt?” The knowing smirk on his face left you a blushing mess as you glanced away, nodding in response. “Did you do it?” This time, you shook your head.

“I don't think I'm doing it right.”

You felt Suguru behind you before you heard him. “Oh? Maybe you should show me~?”

One heavy make-out session later, you sighed softly as you slowly thrust the glass toy in and out of your dripping pussy. Suguru was on his stomach between your legs, watching you like a hawk. The glass toy rubbed against the sweet spot inside of you perfectly. The sensation was almost too overwhelming.

“C-Can’t.” Your legs clenched together in an attempt to ease the throbbing.

“Yes, you can.” Hands grabbed your thighs, forcing them open. “Stop closing your legs; I can't see.”

With an almost pained whine, you kept thrusting the toy in and out of your cunt. It was tight, so tight, your walls were hugging the toy, making it difficult for you to thrust it in and out. You were getting so fed up with this. Glaring down between your legs, you chewed on your bottom lip. Every time you tried to make yourself squirt, this happened. You'd get tired and annoyed before tossing the toy to the side with an irritated growl.

Suguru was focusing less on your dripping sex and more on your face. You were frustrated, focusing too much on the task at hand. You were never going to cum like that. So he gently wrapped his hand around yours, helping you with the pacing of the thrusts. The warmth of his hand and the subtle change of pace had you tilting your head back.

“You need to relax,” Suguru whispered, pressing hot kisses against your thigh. “You’re too tense. Stop focusing so much on the mechanics of it and more on the sensation.”

Letting out a trembling exhale, you relaxed, focusing more on how the toy slid in and out of you. Frustrated groans turned into low whimpering as Suguru sucked at your skin. Fuck, this felt so good, like when Suguru would finger you. The familiar coil tightened in your abdomen. The same tightening you usually felt when you would squirt.

“Ah, ah fuck.” You arched your back off the bed, pussy throbbing around the toy. “Fuuuuck, Suguru~!”

“Yeah, feel good?” He asked, still gripping the toy. “you’re getting the hang of it. It would help if you did a little of this—” he bit his lip in concentration, curving it up more. When he did that, you saw the entire universe. A scream escaped you as the toy rubbed perfectly over your g-spot. “there it is; you just gotta curve it a bit.”

“Holy fuck! Holy fuck!” Your legs began trembling as they began to shut.

Suguru sat up, growling as he shifted his body, preventing your legs from closing completely. “I thought I told you to fuckin’ stop doing that.” All you did was whine in response. “Ah~ too fucked out of your mind to even notice? God, you're so fuckin’ cute.” The hand he had on top of yours set a fast pace. “You're almost there, don't stop~ good girl~ good fuckin girl~!” the sweet praises had you speeding your hand up, making your boyfriend chuckle in surprise. “Oh, Y/N, you want me to praise you more~? You get off on that?” When you whimpered, he cooed. “My pretty princess is doing such a good job fucking her pussy. Are you going to cum? Gonna cum for me, princess?” Your boyfriend's freehand began rubbing your clit.

“Y-Yes! Fuck ohhh fuck!” Tears formed in your eyes as Suguru grinned, letting go of your hand. Watching as you sped up, not needing his direction anymore. “I-I’m gonna, gonna cum!”

“That's it, squirt for me. Make a mess, princess. Ooh!” Suguru scoffed, sitting back as you convulsed, squirting all over the bed and him. His hand rubbed your clit, extending your orgasm, making you squirt even more. “Fuck~! Look at you, making a mess, you nasty slut.”

Suguru made sure to watch you. The way your body slowly came down, hips against the mattress as your eyes fluttered shut. The subtle way your hips jerked, trying to evade his hand, which was now drawing gentle circles around your clit.

You were so damn beautiful.

Hungry, starved eyes bore into yours, his chest heaving as you pulled the toy out. “S-Sugu?” Your timid voice didn't seem to break his trance. “Baby? You okay?” Instead of responding, Suguru answered by grabbing your hips and flipping you so your face was in your pillow. “Mmmph!”

“You did okay,” his voice was dark, gravely, “I'd give you a five out of ten.” All you could do was listen, tensing up when you felt the tip of the glass toy prodding your entrance. “But I think you need a demonstration.” You couldn't even respond as the toy was shoved back inside of you deeper than you could have managed on your own. “Maybe, just maybe, if you cum hard enough, I’ll fuck you.”

Gojo Satoru:

The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted from the oven as you pulled the hot tray out. The viral cinnamon roll cookies smelt as good as they looked. While placing the cookies on the cooling rack, you heard footsteps hurrying down the hall. Seemed as though Satoru’s nose was as keen as ever.

“Am I the best girlfriend ever or what?” You tossed the oven mitts on the counter with a fist pump. “Not only do I bake, but I suck co—” Turning on your heel, you were about to wink at your boyfriend, only to find him towering over you.

His face was flushed, and his smile was as wide as could be as he smirked. “When the hell did you get this?” Gojo dangled your pink, blue-tooth bullet vibrator in front of your face.

“Satoru!!!” You reached for the toy, only to have him yank it out of reach. “Give it back!!” Satoru shook his head, holding the toy above his head, making it impossible for you to reach it now. “Toruuu!!!”

Satoru was as excited as a child at Christmas. He was practically vibrating (not from the toy) with horny energy. What a fucking find! All you asked was for him to grab the blanket from the closet! When he pulled it out, the box to his new friend fell.

“The box said I can control it with an app?! An app on my phone?! Oh my god, this is great!” He promptly held the box with his other hand, reading its functions. “Long distance play, waterproof, and it syncs to music and sound?!” His white brows furrowed in disbelief as his grin widened. “Y/N, why didn't you tell me?!”

“Because it sucks.”

All of the excitement on Gojo’s face vanished. “Sucks? What do you mean it sucks?!” His cerulean eyes darted from the toy in his hand before focusing on you. The pout he was sporting was almost impressive.

“It sucks, Satoru.” Pushing past him, you headed for the couch. “I tried syncing it to my playlist. It didn’t get me all hot and bothered. I even tried using the sound function. The app syncs to the sounds of porn videos, or any sound in general, but they just.” You shrugged a shoulder, plopping down on the couch. “They were so phony that the vibrations were so weak. I hated it so much that I didn’t see the point in telling you about it.”

Something about what you had said had Gojo blinking in silence. “You synced it up to some random porn video online?”

“Yes, Toru, and like I just told you, it sucked.”

“Right, but you watched two rando’s do it?” Something in the tone of his voice triggered your sixth sense. The danger was approaching, and it was in the form of your very horny boyfriend.

“Y-Yeah?” What should have been a statement was more of a question as Satoru dangled the toy on his index finger with an almost sadistic smirk. “What are you getting at with this?”

”Ah, you see, dear Y/N, my sweet perverted girlfriend.”

”Hey!”

Gojo crouched, twirling the vibrator around his finger like his house keys. “The problem isn’t the toy.” His pink tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. “It’s the content you’re viewing. You need something more—personal.”

”Ah! Ah! Fuuuck! Fuck!”

The toy deep inside of you buzzed at an intense speed. “Holy shit!” You cried out, your hand squeezed Satoru’s cock tight.

“Take my fucking cock.” Satoru’s voice from your television was sultry while the Satoru beside you wheezed out a laugh.

“Fuck, easy baby, you’ll break my dick.” Peeling your eyes away from the television screen, you tilted your head back against the couch, your Y/E/C eyes focusing on Satoru’s throbbing cock. “See, I told you it was the content and not the toy.”

He was right about that. When he suggested you put on the porno’s the two of you made together, you didn’t have high hopes. But holy fuck were you wrong. Your moans, Satoru’s dirty words, god it god it got you going, along the vibrator was buzzing like mad inside of you. Firmly pressing against your g-spot, teasing it as you watched Gojo fuck you into the mattress.

Satoru decided to join you for ‘research,’ wanting to see for himself that the toy sucked, as you said it did. Little did he know that you were going to start stroking him as you both watched yourselves on the screen. He rocked his head back as your thumb rubbed gently circled over his slit.

“Y/N fuck, playing with my pre like that.” his hand slid over, rubbing circles over your clit that had you jolting. “You're so pretty when you're feeling good. Such a good girl~”

His voice next to you was a sharp contrast to the Gojo on the television. He had the camera turned to his face. He was sweaty, biting his lip as he slapped your ass hard in the video. “You're such a nasty girl~! God fuck, grinding up against me on the dance floor, telling me you were soaking wet in the car.” Another sharp slap had both of you in the video and on the couch whining. “My dirty fucking slut, couldn't wait to get dicked down, could ya’?” The vibrator buzzed louder, your toes curling as you watched the screen. Slapping skin, whines, and guttural moans had your vibrator buzzing like a beehive.

“Hey, look at me~” Turning to look at Satoru was so hard from how hard you were jerking. “You're so beautiful~ do you like your toy now? You love it?” Please say you do, please, please, please. Satoru begged in his mind as you jerked his cock harder. If you liked it, it would make phone sex a million times better.

“Toru, Toru, yes, feels good~ love it~!” Fuck you were close. Your moans were beginning to meld in with your moans from the video. Louder, desperate, and ducking porn worthy. “Toru wanna cum, wanna cum with y-you!” Satoru gritted his teeth, eyes darting to his cock, that you were jerking off like a crazed woman.

“Yeah, ah, pretty girl, I’m close~ cum with me, okay? Be a good girl and cum~” The Satoru on the television snarled as he came, while your

Satoru whimpered, thrusting into your clenched hand until ropes of hot sticky cum painted your hard and his clenching ab’s. “Cumming, of fuck yes, I’m cummin’!” He cried out in time with his television persona.

It was the combination of the vibrations, Satoru’s fast circles over your clit, and watching yourselves cum that had you gushing around your new favorite toy. You screamed, eyes rolling back into your head. You came all over the couch. Fuck when was the last time you came that hard? It was probably when you and Satoru made the video you were viewing.

“So,” Satoru asked between pants, “does the t-toy still suck?”

You didn't answer his question. You instead grabbed your phone with shaking hands, typing on the screen. Satoru was about to ask what you were doing when a little chime went off. You tossed your phone to the side before gently pulling the toy out of you.

“Aw, done already?” Satoru’s cocky voice cut off as you straddled his hips. “Y-Y/N?” You cupped his face, turning it to the side, allowing you to kiss down his neck. “Fuuuck baby.”

“Mm,” Kiss after kiss trailed down his neck, “no, I love it~ I love it so much I just bought you the matching fleshlight.”

Satoru’s large hands gripped your hips, massaging them. “Oh really?” He gasped out as you sucked and bit the crook of his neck, marking his ivory skin. “A-Are you gonna make me watch the same video when it gets here?”

“Oooh, no.” Satoru watched as you grabbed his phone, propping it against the lamp beside him. “We're making a new video,” Satoru whines louder, wincing as you bite him harder. “Oooh, good boy~ Toru~ be extra loud for us~ that way, the vibrations are super strong.”

Nanami Kento:

The second the elevator door opened, Nanmi bolted out, running towards your shared apartment. He was nearly breathless from all of the running he had done in an attempt to get home as fast as he possibly could. Fuck, if only he could teleport like Gojo, maybe his heart wouldn’t be pounding inside of his ears in fear and panic.

He had been meeting with Yaga at the school when his phone went off, alerting him of your text. You were constantly sending messages throughout the day. Asking how he was doing, what he would like for dinner, or if he needed anything while you were out shopping. He did not feel like he deserved to have someone like you in his life.

His blood ran cold when he read the screen, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.

Y/N: I need your help; please come home ASAP!

The second those words processed through his mind, he was moving. Telling Yaga there was an emergency and he needed to hurry home. Every single terrible thought rushed through his mind at once. Was there a cursed spirit chasing you? Did one of the students get hurt? Were you hurt? He needed answers to the questions that were on a constant loop in his mind.

“Y/N!?” Nanami yelled out as he entered the apartment, slamming the door behind him. “Y/N?!” No traces of cursed energy, a sign of intrusion, or blood was in sight.

”I-I’m in the bedroom, Kento.” Immediately, Nanami knew something was off with your voice. It was far too timid.

When he walked into the room, he expected to find something terrible awaiting him. Much to his relief, you were laying in bed, a blanket covering your lower body propped up against your pillows. That’s how he had left you this morning and countless other times. Either you received some bad news from your family, or there was something his observant eyes were missing.

”What happened? Are you okay? What’s the emergency?”

Your face twisted from unreadable to one to a pained one as you shifted slightly. Anyone else would have missed it, but Nanami knew everything about you. He moved so fast you gasped as he crawled on the bed, looking you over for injuries.

“What's going on?” the stern tone of his voice made this ten times more embarrassing.

You brought your hands to your face, rubbing them gently as you tried to find your words. “I-I uhm—” Peeking through your fingers, you found Nanami staring at you with that serious look. “It, uhm, it's stuck.” Could this day get any worse? God fuck, this was mortifying.

“Stuck? What's stuck, Y/N?”

“M-My toy.”

“Toy?”

Not wanting to get into the details of your activities, you sighed, slowly pulling the blanket off. Laying on the bed beside you was a bottle of lube, and as you spread your legs, Nanami hissed at the sight. A toy, one he had never seen before, was lodged inside of you. It was thick; it made your poor pussy throbbed and twitched around it. Your wet slick glistened around it.

Nanami sighed, looking away from you, trying to keep some composure. Fuck you looked so hot, but a twinge of insecurity hit him in the chest. Nanami loved using your toys on you. He didn’t see them as competition; they were more like allies. He’d do anything, use anything to make you feel good. You both were very good at communicating your needs and wants with each other. If you were horny, all you needed to do was ask him.

Even if you wanted to masturbate, he had no issue with that at all! He encouraged it. Nanami Kento was not one of those men who saw you pleasuring yourself as a hit to his ego. He bought you a lot of the toys you shared. Kento wanted you to be satisfied and happy. That’s all his heart desired.

But something about this stung. It wasn’t because he was hurt that you didn't ask for help. You were not required to tell him if you were horny or needed help. Nor was it the fact that you were getting off on your own. What it was was the fact you were in pain. You had hurt yourself. That’s what stung me the most.

“Kento?” The stoic look on his face said everything without the use of words. “Baby, look, I just, I—!”

Kento said nothing as he stood up, walking to the dresser. He shrugged out of his suit jacket; his suspenders stretched as he took his watch off before rolling the sleeves of his blue dress shirt up to his elbows. Nanami, not saying anything was more stressful than him yelling at you. The room was too tense; it was thick and suffocating as Nanami turned around, getting on the bed.

His hands slowly slid up your thighs, spreading them apart. “Let’s get this out of you.” He nearly whispered before glancing into your Y/E/C eyes. “Ready?” You nodded, giving him the approval to proceed. His hands gently grabbed the base of the toy, tugging it.

“O-Ow.” You winced, watching him closely.

Nanami clenched his jaw at your pained whine. “Did you not use enough lube?” Gently, he twisted the toy before pushing it back into you.

“Ah~!” A loud moan escaped you, hands covering your eyes. “N-No, I d-don’t fuck, ah fuck, c-could you maybe not push it back in?”

A blonde eyebrow cocked at your request. “Do you want this stuck inside forever?”

“No. I’m sorry; I’ll shut up. Fuck this is embarrassing.”

“Mm.” Nanami sat up on his knees, looking over you. “Keep your legs open.” You pouted, doing as he said, while he twisted the toy inside of you, watching your reactions closely. You withered under him, pleasure starting to replace the pain. “You should have known better, or you could have warmed yourself up a little more.” He chastised, twisting and pulling at the snug toy again.

Your hands gripped the sheets, fisting the fabric. “N-Nanami, please don’t scold me.” You whimpered, cheeks flushing under his gaze. “J-Just ah, fuck, take it out.” From the mixture of embarrassment and lust, your voice had a tone; one Nanami didn’t care for.

He clenched his jaw tight. “It’s not coming out because you pushed it too far in! So now I have to work it out!”

You whined louder; this was not the way you thought this would play out. You bought this toy for both of you. “Oh my god! Just fuckin yank it out! This is so fucking embarrassing! I wanna die right now.” You laid your elbow over your eye, hiding your teary gaze from him.

“I’m your boyfriend. Why is this embarrassing?!” It wasn’t often that Nanami snapped at you, but your attitude was getting under his skin.

“Because!! I ruined the surprise!!” You removed your arm, showing him your teary gaze. Nanami’s eyes went wide. “T-This is the custom toy we made. It was delivered this morning, and I freaked seeing how big it was. I wanted to see if it would fit because I didn’t want to ruin tonight. But I ended up ruining it anyway.”

Honey-brown eyes darted towards the toy. Kenton wasn’t able to tell from the base. But upon further inspection, he recognized the custom marble coloring of blue and yellow the two of you picked out when you designed it. The one that he had all added ridges and bumps, especially for your pleasure. You were doing a test drive for him. All for him.

“Y/N, love,” he smiled softly, “you didn’t need to do this. You wouldn’t have messed anything up. We could have taken it slow. Just because it got here didn’t mean I would want to use it. I would've helped ease you into it. Besides, you didn’t ruin anything.”

You were wiping at blubbering tears, only managing to smile and nod in agreement. It was so relieving to know you didn’t ruin the experience. Things would be perfect if this toy weren’t stuck inside of your pussy.

Nanami leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. “Mm Y/N~” Feeling his lips against you had you moaning as you kissed him back. Nanami pulled back, his cock throbbing in his pants. “Alright, let’s get this toy out of you. But I need you to put in some effort.” You hummed, nodding eagerly.

“Okay, how can I help?”

“Be good,” Nanami commanded before fucking the toy into you.

You threw your head back, turning it from side to side as the custom ridges and bumps hit your g-spot perfectly, just how Nanami had designed it. Your toes curled, thighs shaking as you gasped out cries of pleasure. Nanami smirked, listening to the squelching sounds of your pussy.

“Fuck, you like that? Your pretty cunt sounds like she loves it~.”

“Ah, fuck, yes!! Nnngh!” You gripped your pillow, staring at him through your lashes. “B-But I want you more~! Please, I want to feel you.”

“Yeah, you do?” His voice was full of faux curiosity. “But Y/N, you were bad.” His eyes were dark as he twisted the toy he fucked in in and out of you. “You got yourself into a situation, didn’t you? One that you had to call me to come fix.”

Your eyes were wide, pupils dilated, fixed on him. Fucking hell, he looked so fucking hot. Eyes dark, eyes focused on the toy he customized for you. You needed him inside of you. You needed him to be the one rearranging your guts. Slowly, you slid your foot over, rubbing your foot over the hard bulge straining in his dress pants. The contact had him hunching over, jaw-dropping as he groaned.

“Please, Ken~ I need you. I need you so bad.”

He was breathing heavily, glaring down at you. “Fine.” He yanked the toy out, chuckling at the gasp you let out as the giant toy popped out of your cunt. “Do you need me?” His hands quickly moved, undoing his belt before tugging them down as he slotted between your thighs.

“Yes Kento, I need yo—oooh!!!” Nanami’s cock slammed into you before you finished your plea.

“You feel so fucking good.” Kento tilted his head back, hips slamming into you at a pace that had you seeing stars. The veins in his neck popped out as he gritted his teeth. “Holy fuck, your cunt is so wet! You were feeling it, weren't you?”

You weren’t going to last. You were already so close. Nanami wasn’t doing any better himself. His cock throbbed deep inside of you as he set a brutal pace. Slamming in and out, fucking you as deep as he could. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix. It was a painful pleasure that had your mouth dropping in an ‘O’ shape. God, you might die. This was too good.

Nanami grabbed your face, jerking your head to look at him. “You look at me when you cum, you fucking hear me?” His mouth was on yours, tongue sliding against yours, capturing every whine and moan you made as his cock slammed into every sweet spot.

As much as you wanted to close your eyes, you obeyed Nanami’s instructions. Y/E/C on his as you screamed into his mouth. You came, squirting, whining, and crying. Nanami pulled back, face flushed as he growled like a fucking incubus. Feeding off of you, your orgasm, every part of you. Feeling you cum, seeing that fucked out expression plastered across your flushed face. It had Nanami cumming so hard. His balls clenched as he emptied his seed inside of you, painting your walls.

“Fuuuck, Y/N, fuuuck.” His hips slowed, his hands gently massaging your hips as he laid down with you. His arms wrapped around you, spooning you close. “I love you, god, you’re perfect.”

Breathing heavily, you giggled, relaxing in his arms. “I-I love you too.” You lazily smiled as you ran your fingers over his forearms, tracing shapes. “Thanks for saving me, Kento.”

His chest vibrated with a rich chuckle, lips grazing your neck. “Anything for you my love.” His lips pressed against your cheek, and you knew he meant every word.

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yandere-daydreams · 2 months

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tw - implied non/con, extreme pet play, dehumanization, psychological/physical abuse, and unbalanced power dynamics.

commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.

Sometimes, you really do think Suguru thinks of you as a pet.

It shouldn’t be as difficult to believe as it is. Of course you’d be less than human to him, less than equal to the god-like status he has among his followers. But, Suguru knows he’s not a god, and while you might not be the only person he claims to be superior to, you are the only one he keeps locked in a steel-barred dog crate padded only by thread-bare blankets and distant memories of what it felt like to sleep in a real bed. You’re special – albeit, not the kind of special you’d like to be. You can disregard most of his grandiose speeches about ‘complete non-sorcerer elimination’ and ‘killing off those worthless monkeys’ as the self-indulgent rambling of a deranged cult leader, but he doesn’t seem to be phoning it in when it comes to you.

He doesn’t talk to you. Communication occurs solely through blunt orders (come, sit, bark, etc.) or sweetened, syrupy baby-talk, cooed as his fingers card through your hair and pet down the length of your spine. You’re expected (something learned purely through trail and error, reward and punishment) to follow him around happily, to sit at his feet and clamber into his lap whenever his eyes find yours and he taps his thigh, that expectant smile already tugging at the corner of his lips. Depending on the day, you’re either coddled and adored like a beloved pet, allowed to walk on two legs rather than four and fed treats out of his open palm, or treated like a stray who’d wandered in off the street and refuses to leave. You do prefer the former to the latter, but it doesn’t really make that much of a difference, not if you’re being honest with yourself. Either way, you always seem to end up on your knees between his legs as he sits above you, a fist curled around your collar as he tells you to lick, puppy, lick.

Speaking of – you’re not allowed to wear clothes. You used to hate it, to steal his shirts and hide in closets, to do anything you could to salvage what little pride you had left, but it’s hard not to get used to something forced onto you so constantly. The only thing Suguru’s ever given you to wear is a simple, black, leather collar – studded with silver spikes and drawn tight enough to bite into your throat when he pulls on it, which he does often. You’re thankful he doesn’t make you wear those cutesy animal ear headbands or, god forbid, a tail, but not as thankful as you should be. As unbearable as it’d be, having him dress you up like a cat or a dog or some wide eyed, sexed-up rabbit would take the edge off. Like this, it’s harder to believe he thinks of you as an animal, as something cute and small and vulnerable that he can love and care for. It’s harder to deny that he knows you’re human – he just doesn’t see why that would ever mean you couldn’t also be his pet.

You think, when you’ve exhausted all other silver linings, that it’s (partially, at least) his excuse to keep you. You know what he does to people who aren’t like him, you’ve seen what he’s like at his worst, and you know that, if you weren’t his pet, you’d just be another non-sorcerer, another nuisance the world would be better off without. If you’re a pet, you can’t be a person, and if you’re not a person, it means he’s not going against his warped ideals when he pulls you close to his chest, when he ghosts his lips over the top of your head, when he fucks you so softly and so gently, you can almost believe he cares whether or not you enjoy it. Pets are supposed to be loved, and so he’s not doing anything wrong by loving you.

You know what would happen to you if you weren’t his pet, too, if he couldn’t make excuses for himself. You’ve seen how wide his smile can be when he comes home with blood on his clothes, how little effort it takes for him to hook his hands under your arms and carry you to his bed, already muttering about how perfect he’s going to make the world for his pretty, precious pet. You’re not allowed to leave his cramped apartment, but he talks about putting you on display for his acolytes as he ruts into you with an almost animalistic brutality, about showing all of those filthy, degenerative insects what a well-trained mutt looks like. You know that you should do more to fight back, that your humanity should be worth more to you than a few half-hearted escape attempts and the occasional pained whine, but you’ve seen see what he can do, heard about the dismembered bodies he leaves to rot in a ditch behind his temple, and—

And, no matter how much you hate him for it, no matter how much you hate yourself for it, it’s true.

When it comes down to it, you’d rather be his pet than be nothing at all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #yandere geto suguru #geto x reader #suguru x reader

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xqueen-of-disasterx · 5 months

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You’ll be a star

Paring: camgirl!fem!reader x dads!bestfriend!Nat

Summary: Natasha couldn’t help yourself when she saw her favorite girl.

Warnings: SMUT, recording, dom!Nat, sub!reader, nipple play, clit play, fingering, pet names, mommy kink, mask, kink, G!P Nat, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex,

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional!

Masterlist

"And you are really comfortable with this" you asked your voice was small almost like a whisper. "I want to do this bunny, I mean it." She answered her voice full of confidence. She had agreed to help you with your life stream under the condition of not showing her identity which you of course respected. She was after all I known business women. You stranded her lap pulling the black baclava covering everything except a pair of piercing green eyes up to plant a reassuring kiss to the older woman’s lips.

"I’m sure you’ll do great just be yourself and pretend no ones watching" You whispered against her lips pulling the mask down again. You turned to your camera and laptop seeing your reflection on the screen in front of you. Natasha wore a pair of faded jeans and a black wife beater making showing off her muscular build; looking at you you almost felt uncomfortable at your lack of clothing only wearing a matching set of white lingerie with small strawberries on them. "Are you ready?"

"I’m ready" she stated and you could see the excitement in her eyes after all Natasha wasn’t thought she was dreaming when out of all people you stood in the kitchen of your 2 days ago father. She had never meet you before after all you spend most of your time away at uni only coming home for the holidays or breaks. She happened to visit too in your two week visit in the summer break. She knew your face, of course she did, it was the face she jerked off to every night. You stood lend against the counter looking ever so innocent as your sweet lips curl into a smile as you spoke with your father; if he would only knew what his daughter was doing on the internet. And now she sat on your bed ready to experience everything with you.

"The safe word is read" She reminded you "I won’t listen to stop sweetheart" You nodded turning to the laptop to press the record button starting the life stream. You sat back next to Nat as you saw the first few messages flooding in.

Winter_Solidier: A guest?

User85477439: Why the long wait?

User36298696: We missed you

You read out loud. "Umm… yes I’ve thought we spice it up with our guest here" Natasha nodded smirking under her mask you still weren’t quite comfortable doing this in front of a camera which made you so appealing to her, as if there was still a sense of innocence in you.

—

"Show them your pretty little tits bunny" Natasha smirked rolling er thumbs over your erected nipples. She held you to her chest, your back laying against her chest as she showed off your chest to the camera as you made pathetic noises in response. "Good girl" You moaned she had been teasing you seemingly endlessly never moving away from your breasts. Natasha glanced onto the screen reading through the messages

Denver-C donated $50: stop teasing her fuck her already

User839236973: bring the guest more often

"Mommy please" You whined out grinding against the air in desperate to find some kind of friction. "What’s the matter bunny you need to use your big girl words" You huffed throwing your head back as she twisted your already over stimulated nipples. "I- I need you" you whined your hips still buckling as Nat chuckled. "But I’m having so much fun you’re so sensitive" she taunted you "Wanna try making you cum just by your nipples" You shook your head winning in disagreement not expecting Nat to be so cruel.

"Your viewers are betraying you" she laughed "They all want to see if you can cum from your tits" You were soaked as your juices were sticking to your thighs already. Natasha changed your position laying you down on the soft cushion as she latched on your breasts biting and tugging on them. You started to clench around nothing and your moans grew louder "Mhm mommy- ’m close" She chuckled before biting down again "Does my baby want to cum? Should I let you come" she whispered agist your skin "I think you wear good girl cum for me sweet girl" You didn’t need more to release your climaxing a scream soaking your panties in your cum.

"Look at that baby, you made a mess all over the sheets" She chuckled hooking her fingers into your panties and pulling them your soft legs. "Such a messy girl" she coo’d against your soft skin. She manhandled you to sit in he lap again showing off your cunt to the camera keeping your legs spread with her her strong hands. "Don’ be shy baby girl show them what you’ve got"

"Natasha please" you pleaded, wanting nothing more then to be filled up by the older woman "What sweetheart, you need to use your words" You whined out, why had she to be so cruel. "I need you, fingers, cock I don’ care I need it now." She laughed at your desperate state "Should I let her have it?" She asked your viewers who are flooding the chat with donations or messages.

"You got lucky sweetheart your chat is feeling generous" One of Natasha’s fingers trailed down to your gapping hole plugging it. She groans feeling how tight you actually were. You felt even better than she had imagined it. She started to move inside of you the heel of her hand rubbing over you clit. She stroked over your G- spot deciding to add a second finger to prepare you for her cock.

She moved in and out pushing her fingers repeatedly into your tight heat. You threw your head back on her shoulder whimpering in her ear. "Are you close bunny" She coo’d and you nodded "Cum bunny cum for me" You climaxed over her hands your juices tripping down her hands. She brought up her fingers to your lips. "Open up bunny" Natasha pushed two finger down your throat making your eyes water.

After she let you lick our own slick off her fingers her removed her hands from her mouth letting you catch your breath. She removed her jeans leaving them to pile at her ankles to tuck her boxers to her mid thigh revealing her lengthy hard on standing proud against her stomach. You were in an awe as you watched her jerk a few timer over her length before looking at you.

"You can take that right?" You nodded still feeling a bit unsure she was bigger than anything you had taken yet. You strangled her lap Natasha gripping your hip to help you sink down on her cock. You felt a delicious stretch as Natasha bottomed you out. She let you adjust to her grit before you started to roll your hips. "Jus’ like that bunny" She moaned feeling your thighs heat against her shaft. "Good girl"

She moved her hand from your hip to her to your breast rolling her thumbs over our overstimulated nipples. You had your hands on her shoulders moving your hips up and down moaning in pure lust. You knew she was just as close as you were. She started to thrust up desperate for an release inside of you. The thought of calming you with her seed inside of your womb made her go crazy.

"Fuck" She panted "I’m gonna fucking cum inside of you, gonna fucking claim they tight littl’ pussy" With a last moan you came with her, your orgasms being triggered by the feeling of her painting your insides white. She had an iron grip on your hips to keep your hips moving to help you through your orgasm. You whimpered in overstimulation as she pulled you from her cocks showing of the mess between your legs. She sound of the donations was annoying her so she decided to hit the stop button taking care of you instead of further entertaining the creeps on the internet.

—

"You’re gonna be a str Tasha they are loving you" you said in an awe as you scrolled through the comments of your lifestream. You laid in her arms as she kissed your temple. "I have to say it has a little kick" She smirked "But maybe I’ll Just keep you for myself Now"

I do not own these characters all rights go to Marvel

#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff

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khaire-traveler · 1 month

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☀️ Subtle Apollo Worship 🏹

Singing/listening to your favorite songs; this applies to any music, though

Listening to music while studying

Playing any instrument

Dedicating a journal to writing poetry or stories

Reading poetry books; reading ancient poetry/stories (especially ancient Greek poetry/stories)

Dancing to any music of your choice

Setting reminders to take medication on time; taking your medication in general

Taking care of your body physically, such as brushing one's teeth or taking a shower

Taking a walk on a sunny day; basking in the warmth of the light

Keeping a pic of him in your wallet

Wearing jewelry that reminds you of him

Keeping imagery of light/the sun, lyres, instruments, music, swans, cranes, or ravens around

Getting a wolf, swan, or dolphin stuffed animal

Anything to do with positive and healthy self-wellness

Learning archery

Learning to do divination outside of the obvious (the obvious being tarot, runes, and pendulums, for example; not obvious would be cartomancy, pyromancy, carromancy, shufflomancy, etc.)

Doing homework (yes, really)

Being kind to yourself when you're having a difficult time

Placing positive affirmations on somewhere you'd see them everyday, especially ones about things you're proud of

Checking in with yourself emotionally throughout the day; how are you feeling? What are some good things that have happened so far? What are some not so good things?

Learning about philosophy and taking note of your thoughts on the topic

Learning more about yourself (e.g. make a list of things you enjoy, try new hobbies, experiment with new outfits, etc.)

Expressing yourself through art of any kind

Having a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Keeping a personal journal/diary - somewhere where you can keep track of your thoughts and feelings

Practice compassion and patience, especially with yourself

Continue learning throughout your life; interesting topics, philosophy, music, psychology, physical health, etc.

Learn about any medical conditions you or a loved one has

Learn about your healthcare options and medical rights (HIPPA in the US)

Support education forward, humanitarian, healthcare, or homeless shelter organizations

Volunteer at a homeless shelter

Donate clothes, toys, hygiene kits, and other items; hygiene kits are always needed

Be kind to children; play with them if offered

Make a list of things that make you feel human throughout the year - moments where you feel present, content, and alive

Sharpen your mind; play memory or mentally stimulating games

May add more later! For now, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Apollo. I hope it helps someone, and take care, y'all! 🧡

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

#apollo deity #apollon deity #helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #deity worship #paganblr #pagan tips #apollo worship #apollon worship

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steviesbicrisis · 8 months

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Steve’s best relationship wasn’t even a relationship. He could barely call it a fling, a flirt. They never even went on a date. They never kissed.

Steve still thinks of it as the best whatever-it-is he has ever had with someone.

At the beginning it was mostly infuriating, how quickly Eddie managed to win the kids over, compared to Steve’s months of work as babysitter/nailbat swinger/monster fighter. Steve had to literally bleed multiple times to get an ounce of respect, Eddie only had to run a nerdy club about fictional bleeding and monster-fighting.

Then somehow, and Steve still has trouble pinpointing when and how it happened, everything changed.

Taking the kids back home from hellfire became something he impatiently waited for.

He and Eddie would barely talk for a few minutes and he would find himself replaying the conversation in his head for days. Anything he could say to get a reaction out of Eddie became fundamental, and if he started by picking subjects to piss him off, he ended learning about Eddie’s favorites, because few minutes after hellfire were never enough and Steve needed Eddie to talk as much as possible, until the kids were begging to drop it and go home.

Steve never questioned the change, most likely out of fear. He doesn’t think he ever was clueless, just really scared about what would potentially mean to be staring at another dude’s eyelashes as he goes on a rant about why Ozzy Osbourne is the best artist of his generation. Or blush whenever said dude would call him “baby”, or “sweetheart”.

Steve convinced himself that the thing he and Eddie were having was as good as it was going to get, nothing more.

Then Chrissy Cunningham died, Eddie ran, and Steve realized that the thing will never be enough for him.

He couldn’t not have Eddie. Not watch him as he entertains a bunch of freshmen, as he stomps with his worn out sneakers on top of forniture, as he puts his terrible music on to push away anyone who doesn’t care enough about him to stay.

Steve needed to see Eddie being alive, doing what his heart desires, and he needed to be next to him when he does.

Obviously, this realization came at the worst possible time.

Steve tried to tell him so many times: when they found him at the boathouse, when he was hiding at refer Rick’s house, when they were taking a stroll in the upside down, and even when they were driving a stolen trailer to a gunshop.

But, it seemed, Eddie had come to a realization just as important and he tried his best to avoid Steve at every given chance.

Steve tried to initiate the conversation as Eddie did his best to run away from it. And he ran until Steve had no chances left to tell him how he actually felt.

———

Steve doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say he lost something he never had. To mourn a relationship he never began. A partner that, technically, never became a partner.

After Eddie dies, Steve has no one to be next to but he can’t say he ever did.

Steve just exists waiting. He can’t tell if he’s waiting for the pain to go away or for Eddie to jump out of a bush and yell “ah! I got you sucker!! By the way, I’m in love with you too.”

For obvious reasons, that never happens.

What does happen, is a call.

It’s a normal Tuesday, as normal as you could define it after Hawkins almost collapsed into the upside down. Steve got into a routine, between checking on the ones at the hospital, helping out at the shelter, allowing Robin to check on him to see if he’s still alive.

The call happens while Robin is doing her kitchen check up - aka making sure he has food and that he’s eating it-, so she picks the phone like she did a million times before.

“Harrington residence, this is Robin” she says, cheerfully.

Steve doesn’t pay much attention to it as he’s folding his dad’s old clothes that intends to donate to the shelter, until he hears Robin’s loud gasp.

“What is it? Is it the hospital? Is it Max?” He rushes to the other room where Robin is.

She doesn’t answer but she gives him a look as she passes him the receiver.

Steve goes quiet, a million thoughts going through his head as he takes the phone from Robin.

He’s still unprepared when he hears that unmistakable voice “Baby”.

Steve gasps for breath “Eddie?”

Is that really you? What happened? Are you hurt? Isn’t this impossible? Is what goes on in Steve’s head, but he ends up just asking “are you okay?”

He can hear a chuckle, Eddie’s wicked chuckle, a further confirmation that it is him, “I’m- hanging in there… are you okay?”

Steve finds the question absurd. He isn’t the one who got left in the upside down, the one that got eaten by demonic bats, the one who died before Steve had the chance to tell him how he felt.

He answers truthfully nonetheless, “I’m… I’m not okay.”

“I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“Please Eddie, come quick.”

“I’ll break the sound barrier for you.”

#if you can’t tell #im in my RWRB era #if you watched the movie then you might like this?#just felt inspired honestly #that ‘baby’ lives inside my head rent free #also Kas Eddie we always love to see him #basically Eddie and Steve got close during the school year but Steve realized his feelings only during the events of season 4 #Eddie dies but comes back #because this is the only way I can cope with it #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and eddie #stranger things #steve x eddie #platonic stobin #robin buckley

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sanrielle · 9 months

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Amazing fanart by Joanacchi! Posted here on tumblr with their blessing. Each one is based on a style that reflects a particular ancient culture's art history. (See below for descriptions provided by the artist!)

Store (buy these prints!) Twitter Instagram

Aang: Tibetan Thangka

"Thangkas are traditional Tibetan tapestries that have been used for religious and educational purposes since ancient times! The techniques applied can vary greatly, but they usually use silk or cotton fabrics to paint or embroider on. What you can depict in a Thangka is really versatile, and I wanted to represent things that make up Aang as a character."

Zuko and Azula: Japanese Ukiyo-e

"Ukiyo-e is a style that has been around Japan between the 17th and 19th century, and focused mainly in representing daily life, theater(kabuki), natural landscapes, and sometimes historical characters or legends!

Ukiyo-e was developed to be more of a fast and commercial type of art, so many drawings we see are actually woodblock prints, so the artist could do many copies of the same art!

I based my Zuko and Azula pieces on the work of Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1798-1861) one of the last ukiyo-e masters in Japan! He has a specific piece which featured a fire demon fighting a lord that fought back with lighting, and that really matched Zuko and Azula's main techniques!”

Toph: Chinese Portraiture from Ming and Qing Dynasties

"Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) was one of the longest in China! It was also a period where lots of artistic evolutions were happening, especially when it comes to use of colour! There was not a predilection for portraits during this time, but there are a lot of pieces depicting idealized women and goddesses from the standards of the time. For this portrait of Toph, I imagined something that maybe their parents commissioned, depicting a soft and delicate Toph which we know is not what she is about ♥️

Qing Dynasty (1644-1912) was the last Chinese Dynasty to reign before the Revolution. One of the most famous emperors of this period was Qianlong, and he really liked Western art! He commissioned a lot of portraits of his subordinates, and I chose a portrait of one of his bodyguards as a reference for the second Toph portrait, which I believe is much more like how she would want to be represented! The poem on top talks about the bodyguards' achievements during a specific war. I had no time to come up with a poem for Toph, so I just used the same one for the composition!”

Sokka and Katara: Inuit Lithograph

"For a long time, Inuit art expressed itself in utilitarian ways. The Nomadic lifestyle of early Inuit tribes played a huge part in that: most art pieces are carved in useful tools, clothing, or children's toys, small and easy to be transported, and depicted scenes and patterns representing their daily lives!

That changed a lot during the colonization. Since the settling of the Inuit tribes, many art pieces began to be created in order to be exported to foreigns, so they started to sculpt bigger and more decorative pieces.

Lithography, which is a type of printmaking, was introduced to Inuit people by James Houston, that learned the technique from the japanese. The art form was quickly embraced by the inuit, as part of the process is very similar to carving. Prints that are produced by inuit artists are still being sold today!

As lithography is not an old art style and it's still commercially relevant to the Inuit communities, since creating these in 2021 I have been donating regularly to the Inuit Art Foundation, not only all the money I get from selling some prints of these but a bit more, at least once a year. Hopefully, I can increase donations this year!”

#avatar the last airbender #atla #atla fanart #fanart #asian history #inuit history

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watatsumiis · 11 months

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Reader's Stuffed Toy

Just a silly little set of drabbles about different characters finding out that the reader has a plushie in their likeness :D

Gender neutral reader, platonic fluff, very slight angst in Foul Legacy's part

Characters: Ayato, Foul Legacy, Gorou, Tighnari, Rex Lapis (yes the dragon), Xiao

Ayato is insufferably smug about it from the moment he realises. He’ll waste no time in teasing you about it and commenting on the plush, though there’s a dark flicker of something in his eyes whenever he catches you contently snuggled up to it, or tucking it carefully into your bag for a long trip. It may take some reassurance that no, this little bundle of fluff isn’t as good as the real thing, until he warms to the idea, and eventually you may find little packages laid out addressed only to “The Junior Yashiro Commissioner.” that, when opened, reveal itty bitty clothes, hand-sewn by Thoma with the utmost care to match Ayato’s own day-to-day outfits. He also may incorporate the toy into his own routine, occasionally stealing it from you so that it can ‘complete its paperwork for the day’. He denies being in any way attached to the toy, but it’s hard to take his claims seriously when he’s got it sitting on his desk in a little chair belonging to Ayaka’s dolls, with a teeny tiny brush and paper in hand.

Though Foul Legacy doesn't entirely get it, he understands that the stuffed toy is of great importance to you. He holds it so delicately, like it's made of glass, so his claws won't shred it. He'll mimic the way you treat it, patting it on the head and chirping curiously at it, as if it's a living creature. It takes him a while to realise how much the toy actually resembles him - there’s a level of disconnect between him and his physical form, but the moment he finds out, he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. He wonders why you’d want a plush of (what he perceives to be) such a monster, but it seems to bring you a great deal of comfort, so he lets it slide, making sure to always be extra careful when he’s tucking it in next to you while you sleep. He finds a whisper of familiarity and comfort in the way you treat the plush that makes him think back to days long past in a small, seaside village, supplying his little siblings with various toys and watching them play.

Gorou is utterly embarrassed - his immediate response is to ask if the Guuji Yae put you up to this. He cannot fathom why you’d be carrying around other than it being some sort of ploy to mess with him. He encourages you to put it away, seemingly worried about any of the other soldiers seeing and potentially teasing him for it - it’s all in good fun, of course, but Gorou is more than a little shy at the best of times. He doesn’t really get it, and may pull you aside to ask you more questions, but there’s just something about it that doesn’t seem to click for him. Though, once he knows you’re being kind and genuine, and that the plush was a one-off commission and not some kind of mass-produced piece, he’s more inclined to allow it, though he’ll get all blushy whenever he thinks about it - he just can’t quite process the fact that you like him enough to own something like that. Even if his soldiers happen to catch on, they realise that there’s a boundary of sorts there, though they may donate little trinkets and tiny toy weapons to the ‘miniature general’ as a sort of good luck ritual before big battles.

Tighnari finds the plush one day when you accidentally leave it sitting out - his initial reaction is one of utter confusion as he wonders if his admirers have grown so bold that they’re now making merchandise of him on top of the trading cards that are circulating. The moment he picks it up and realises it’s drenched in your scent, he’s pleasantly surprised and more than a little flattered. The concept of comfort objects is quite familiar to him, and he takes care to place the toy exactly where he found it. He keeps a closer eye out in an attempt to catch you in the act, partially out of curiosity, but also a little because he likes the confidence boost he gains from it, and how embarrassed you seem to be about the whole situation, hiding the toy away whenever he comes near. If it’s ever brought up, he just kind of laughs it off, but the twitching of his ears reveals how endeared he is to this specific trait of yours. He may also try to find ways to subtly direct you towards Collei, who also has similar comfort objects of her own and can be pretty embarrassed about them at times - this may end up with both of you having cute little Tighnari plushies in your possession.

Rex Lapis takes it pretty well in stride, doesn’t even comment on it at first - after all, this is basically a form of worship, no? That is, until he realises that you treat the toy as a companion more than an item of reverence. He’s a little confused about it at first, watching as you walk about with the plush dragon tucked in your arms, chattering away to it. Eventually, he caves and rumbles out his questions about it, asking if this is meant to be some form of teasing or mockery and listening intently as you awkwardly try to fumble out an acceptable explanation. It takes him some time to grasp the concept that it’s simply an item of comfort to you, and even then he’s not entirely convinced it’s some kind of adeptal trick or machine brought to life somehow.

Xiao isn’t sure how to react. It’s not something you really chose to hide from him, considering his own outlandish habits, you figured he probably wouldn’t even care, but it seems that his fight or flight kicks in whenever he glimpses you with the plush that bears such a striking resemblance to him. His cheeks flush and his pointed ears tilt downwards as he crosses his arms over his chest and demands to see the toy, asking where you got it and why you have it. It’s not quite something he can wrap his head around - why would you want to have something that looks like him when you could just call his name and have the real him there in an instant? If he’s feeling particularly agitated that day, he may just pocket the toy and walk away with it - it’s not the first time he’s done something like that to one of your belongings, and you know it won’t be the last. Following him reveals that he tucks it away in a secluded corner of his nest amongst the high branches of Wangshu Inn, maybe even placing some other similar trinkets and scraps of fabric around it like an imitation of his own nest. He might just turn a blind eye if you happen to be brave enough to try and steal it back from him, though this may end up in an impromptu long-term game of ‘capture the flag’.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or used to teach bots!

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justalittlesolarpunk · 3 months

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hi! i love your blog :D do you have any advice to implement low waste and solarpunk aspects into everyday life with a tight budget? keep doing what you do!

Hi!

Thanks for asking - I’ve had this question before and it’s definitely a real problem. Organic, plastic free food is expensive. So is handmade durable clothing, and train fares these days. It can feel like only the rich can be solarpunks, which is pretty counterintuitive given its anticapitalist ideology. But! I’m here to tell you there’s lots you can do to bring solarpunk into your life in a cost-effective way.

To start with, lots of solarpunk spaces are free or cheap. Get a library card and you can borrow as many books and DVDs and other resources as you like. Look up to see if there’s a library of things in your neighbourhood, and join a buy nothing or stuff for free group online. Download TooGoodToGo, which lets you access food from local cafes and restaurants which would otherwise go to waste. See if there’s a repair cafe that operates near you - I managed to get a pair of trousers mended at one of these for free, and I had been thinking I would need to pay a tailor (which is fine if you can afford it! Skilled labour deserves fair wages!). In some places plant-based food is cheaper, so when it is, choose it. But in others it will cost more than animal products so you have to decide on a case by case basis whether saving money or a particular diet is more important to you.

There’s lots else you can do for minimal spending or that actually saves you money. Walking to work or school avoids the expenditure in the petrol for a drive or a bus fare. If you’re within walking distance and able to do so, I’d recommend it. Joining your local chapter of Extinction Rebellion, Friends of The Earth, Greenpeace, The A22 network or any other active climate group in your area is almost always free and just involves a small weekly time commitment. This will introduce you to activists and inform you about protests and public meetings you can attend.

If you have the time in your week and the physical ability, which I acknowledge many people don’t, you can also join some sort of volunteer group looking after a nature reserve or tending a community garden (which might also give you access to free or discounted food). Learning to forage is also a good skill as that really is free food!

Depending on where you are, a green electricity tariff *can* also be less expensive. If this is the case and you have control over your provider, it’s worth switching to it. Buying books and clothes secondhand will also be better for the environment and your bank balance. Teaching yourself about the climate and the natural world with podcasts, YouTube, online free articles and other resources is also free and the knowledge will help you keep solarpunk at the front of your mind. Read good news stories online whenever you can, to remind you that good things are happening already.

If you’re employed, you can also try to influence green policy at your workplace or in your trade union. If you’re at school or university, joining (or setting up!) the environmental society and/or lobbying for change at the SU are both good ideas and shouldn’t necessarily cost you anything. If you can - and I know this is inaccessible for a big swathe of the population - put a very small amount of money aside whenever possible, because the more you save the more you can afford to buy better products, donate to causes, help out the needy in your community, travel in a greener way, and other more expensive choices. It’s all about that dual power.

Hope this helps get you started!

#solarpunk #hopepunk #environmentalism #cottagepunk #social justice #community #optimism #bright future #climate justice #tidalpunk #lunarpunk #budgeting

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tojisun · 3 months

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sunnyyy!! omg omg okay so idk what you put in your toxic dbf series but im sure its crack cause i know its freaking hurtful but i love it!! ur mind is >>>>>

alsoooo, i have this idea that i plan on writing for miguel but idk where to start SO IM GIVINF IT TO YOUUU!!

so lets call her bunny in this one. say bunny is enough of his shit, won’t let him do her dirty anymore because she refuses to be stupid. she’s no longer cassie howard and moves on to another man. a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid to let her know that he wants her. he’ll cherish her, he adores the fuck out of her, he shows her off and he makes a promise to put a ring on her finger,

but simon doesn’t like that. not even one bit. and it ticks him off because why is he like this? why is he so worked up that she finds someone who finally treats her better than she can? yet, he can’t let it go. he lets her know. she has to know.

and so, at two am he comes knocking at her door. flowers in his hand, nicely dressed for the first time to let her know that he’s doing it for her and only her. not erin.

and it takes a lot in her to not slam the door in his face because she’s happy right now,

“you look at him the way i wanted to be looked by you, sweetheart” he admits, swallowing the lump in his throat. “and i envy that.”

she stares at him with a deadpan look. not really feeling a single thing anymore, leading him to continue.

“i have no right to say that, i know but—“ he pauses to take a deep breath. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me”

she doesn’t want him to

ANA?? ANA MY LOVE???? THIS MAKES ME VIOLENTLY ILL

thinking about this in the dbf!simon series??? oh but im absolutely sobbing // same timeline as this !!

thinking about how you cry and wail and mourn for the years wasted on simon. thinking about the way you crumple on your bed, curling underneath your sheets, your cries now having been reduced to silent tears—this doesn’t mean you feel any better. instead, you feel even more distraught, upset in a way that feels bigger than yourself.

thinking about the promise you make to yourself. how, when the morning breaks, you will move on. that no matter how painful it may be—and it will be—you will strive to let go of simon. truly and completely this time around.

and that’s what you do. you fall asleep in exhaustion, heart heavy and mind buzzed. in the morning, you blink your eyes open and lay in bed for a few more minutes, suspended above your heartbreak, before it all comes crashing down on you. tears trickle from the corners of your eyes but you stay resolute, strong grip corralling your grief into the corner of your heart, before you get your day going.

you start by throwing everything that reminds you of simon: polaroid pictures and framed photos, shirts and clothes and socks and lingeries, towels and bedsheets, trinkets and accessories from across the globe—little souvenirs he’s brought to appease you.

(in the long haul, many of them were actually donated, while some were sold. but today, as you submerged yourself in your heartache, you dumped everything in a black garbage bag. out of sight, out of mind.)

blocking simon’s number actually turned out to be last. you deleted the pictures you have with simon in your phone prior, and then blocked and deleted his number altogether.

you breathed in deeply once you’re finished and collapsed to your bed again, trying to ignore the bareness of the walls and the emptiness of your room (let alone your heart).

the tears come again—they will come more often than not—and you let them. you open the locked corner of your heart and let the grief out. you mourn for what was lost; for what could’ve been. but most importantly, you mourn for the ways you’ve let yourself be trapped in such an unhappy moment.

moving on comes slowly; it comes so torturously that you thought it would never happen. but it does, and it does so during one quiet afternoon.

on that day, you realize that not once did you think of simon. not once did the memories trickle in to rip you away from the jovial present. and as you stand there in your kitchen, the sounds of the microwave beeps piercing through mutedly, you feel remade.

you feel whole, once again.

simon noticed, of course. he noticed the way your messages stopped coming in, or the way you no longer use your dad as an excuse to meet simon, or the way you just fell off the radar.

simon tried to reach out to you once and realized that you’ve got his number blocked.

it’s whatever, he thinks. because simon has never known you well, has never tried to learn more about you, so he thinks that this—your silent treatment and your detachment—is all a ploy. something like you playing hard-to-get.

so simon doesn’t think much about it until days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months, and months are slowly building up to turn to a year.

simon doesn’t hear from you and, despite all his posturing, he realizes that he’s missed you. so he decides to drive by to pick you up for dinner and maybe apologize for whatever it is now that he’s done.

he gets to your dorm and rings your room. the intercom scratches awake, the person from the other side, your dorm mate he’s sure, asks who it was, and simon tells them his name. then, he tells them that he’s here for you.

there is silence for a while, almost loaded in a way that simon knows it’s not the intercom breaking up, and he gets his answer when he’s given a curt reply of, “she doesn’t want to see you. bye.” there is the distinct screech and then the line drops before simon could even ask why.

and simon feels lost. untethered.

john is a good man. that’s the first thing you realized. it terrified you, at first, how much you looked forward to meeting him. how much of being with him—simon’s friend—makes you happy.

you waited for the other shoe to drop, shoulders perpetually hunched as though that can shield you from the inevitable of john leaving you. of john using you.

but john is so warm. john is so gentle and kind and patient and loving.

john holds your hand and you know he isn’t looking for more. he drops you off at home, tells you to rest well and to say hi to your dorm mates, before taking off on his bike.

john kisses your cheeks and you know he isn’t looking for something more passionate. more heated. and you crave for his touch, yes, but there is something so special in the way john shows his affection—all crinkled smile and quiet chuckles; all whispered words and promises fulfilled; all soft and tender and secure.

it was a love so different, so beautiful, so really it wasn’t surprising at all when your relationship grows, thriving alongside your healing.

(he promised, you know? he promised, as he played with your hand, that he’ll one day put a ring on your finger. your lips wobbled and you told him to stop making loaded promises such as that, but john just turned to you with a soft smile and said, “i look forward to the day we share the same vow, bunny. if you would have me.”

you hiccupped sob and threw your arms over his shoulders, nodding because, “i would. john, i would!”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and sharing warmth with you. you burrowed your head on the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in, letting his presence wash over you.

john, you thought. johnjohnjohn.)

simon drives to you the day after he confronted john. he drives to you with all of his messy heart spilling from the ridges of his ribs, beating only one name—yours.

he’s never felt this way before. not with all the pretty people he’s gone out with, or his first love, or even erin. erin who simon once imagined a future with. erin who simon once loved. not even that could triumph over the expanding turmoil that simon’s basking in.

he calls on the intercom of your dorm again, begs your roommate that may you please hear him out, and then he sees you.

god, you’re just as beautiful as he remembers.

“love–”

“what’re you doing here?”

your words are soft, quiet, but simon isn’t fooled. he sees the anger in your eyes, the hurt having festered into resentment. he wonders how apologies could trickle from his lips—where to even begin?

“please,” you say when simon’s silence stretches on. “just tell me whatever you want and then leave.”

“this. this is what i’m here for. the anger in your eyes– it’s just–…” he breathes in sharply. “i saw you and john, you know? and the way you look at him, it’s how i want to be looked at by you, love.” he swallows the lump in his throat. “i didn’t know what i had until i lost you and i’m so envious of him, i am, so please.”

you stare at him with wide eyes even when your face is smooth of any emotion. simon wonders what you must be thinking but he bulldozes through, hoping that you can give him one last chance.

he promises this time, truly, he’ll be better.

“i have no right to say this, i know, but–” he pauses to take a deep breath, his fists balled tightly. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me.”

a heartbeat passes, and then, “simon, you are a selfish, selfish man.”

your words are barely louder than a whisper but they scratch at simon’s heart. he looks at you, gaze turning desperate when he sees nothing but bubbling fury and disappointment in your own.

“how dare you,” you say. “you tell me that you saw me and john, and then what? instead of letting me go, instead of letting me move on, you come in here and demand that i return to you?”

“love, i–”

“don’t call me that!”

your anger tips over, now spilling out. he watches the way your eyes glisten, tears dripping to stain your cheeks.

“i’m not your anything, si! not anymore!” you take in a ragged rasp of air, choking on your sob. it tugs at simon’s heartstrings and he moves to comfort you but you pull away, sneering at him in your anger. you wipe at your eyes, scrubbing furiously.

“everything about what you’ve said just now, everything, was all about your wants. all about you. just like how it’s always been,” you murmur, the fight leaving you.

you looked small, hunching into yourself, and simon is hit with this feeling; something that lodges itself in his throat.

“lov–… i’m sorry,” he says because he is.

gods he is.

“just go,” you tell him, meeting his eyes for one last time because he knows that this is the end of it all.

you turn away from him then, closing the building door behind you. he watches from behind he glass doors as you disappear into the hallways and stepped into the elevators and, just like that, simon’s lost his chance of making things right.

ANA MY GOD THIS MADE ME FERAL!! i hope u would like this one bb :(( hope i gave ur vision justice

#ana <3 #dbf!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley #john price #ask #suns

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milkteabinniechan · 2 months

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◍✧⁠*⁠。Ice Breaker Chapter Three - END

pairing: bf! bangchan+hyunjin x afab reader

a/n: this is the end! I had so much fun writing this, thank you all for sticking with me on this series :')

warnings: smut, kissing, mmf threesome, blowjob, unprotected sex

donate here if you like what I do 💕 comments and reblogs are always appreciated

Your heart was pounding again. Hyunjin’s eyes were wide from the question. What other games can we play tonight? Chan sat next to you and Hyunjin on the floor. His hands were folded politely in his lap like he didn’t just ask the dirtiest, loaded question ever. He looked so innocent.

“So, Jinnie,” Chan turned his body, “do you want to kiss me now?”

Hyunjin froze. A small squeak slipped out. More silence. That wasn’t a “no.” Chan was thinking the same thing. A smirk crawled across his face.

“You don’t have to,” Chan smiled. That perfect, calming smile. That smile that could encompass you in warmth and love. Acceptance. You could be anything when he smiled at you. You glanced at Hyunjin. A smile began to appear on his face as well.

You couldn’t help but stare at the two of them. Both so beautiful. Strong and delicate both in their own way. You could feel the words bubbling up in your throat, you couldn’t stop,

“Come on, Hyunjin, he’s a really good kisser.” You spurred. You were powerless now to your own feral needs. Someone else was speaking for you, controlling you. You wanted to rip off their clothes, you wanted their mouths on every inch of your skin. Touching you. Teeth scraping. Clothes tearing. More. More. More.

Hyunjin’s eyes were wild. He looked as if he wanted to leap off of the floor and tackle Chan, tackle both of you. The kiss he gave you still lingered on your mouth. As he leaned forward, Chan followed, mirroring his movements. Chan’s mouth opened first, only slightly, but he was the one to initiate this so it was only right his tongue was the first to slip inside. Hyunjin’s body jerked somewhat at the first contact. He wasn’t expecting the transition to be so smooth, so effortless. You watched with eyes wide at the sight of your boyfriend and your best friend pushing and pulling into each other’s mouths. Your legs squeezed together.

Eventually, their mouths pulled apart from one another, lips puffy and wet, a string of saliva still connecting them for a moment. You could feel your heartbeat in your core now. Soaking your panties you didn’t know how much more you could take. You felt so touch starved you feared the moment anything were to happen, you’d explode at first contact. Chan made glaring eyes at you. He had to know how needy you were, it was written all over your face.

“Sorry for kissing your girl…” Hyunjin whispered. Almost too low a volume that either of you could hardly hear him.

Chan looked at you for a long while. He lovingly placed a hand on your cheek and you instinctually curled your face into gis open palm. He smiled warmly. You watched his eyes, giving a subtle nod.

“Hyunjinnie… She’s our girl.” Chan growled. His eyes darkened and he stood. “Now then, babygirl, Dare or dare?”

“Dare.” you answered quickly. You knew what you wanted. You wanted both of them. Now. You smiled widely and Hyunjin, then at Chan. Hyunjin was visibly hard through his pants. A long, thick outline generously filled his jeans.

“Alright,” Chan started, untieing the string around the waistband of his sweatpants. “Do you want me in front or behind, princess?”

You sat up and repositioned yourself on all fours. Your face was pointed toward Hyunjin while your ass was facing Chan. You arched your back and pushed your bottom further out so Chan could see how wet you already were. “I want to taste you.” you whispered. Your eyes were locked onto Hyunjin. “If that's okay?” You paused for a moment, mid-crawl toward him. Chan paused as well, his hands already gripping your ass.

“I…err.” Hyunjin’s cock twitched. “...yes” he hushed. His tone was low but his hands were already on his belt, unhooking and pulling himself free from his jeans.

The euphoric sensation of multiple holes being filled was something you had only read about. You could have never prepared yourself for the thrill. For the absolute exultation you would feel. Somewhere in the noise and movement, Hyunjin had grabbed a handful of your hair, his hips thrusting and rutting into your dripping mouth. The sounds of your full, choking mouth, making his cock pulsate inside of you. Chan periodically smacking your bare ass as he grinds and slides in and out and in and out. You felt as if you would burst from your body and float through the ceiling.

“See, Hyunjin? She’s our girl.” Chan grunted between thrusts. His muscular thighs pushing himself deeper into you. Hyunjin whimpered in response, barely coherent.

“Say it,” Chan demanded, his eyes locking onto Hyunjin.

“She’s our girl,” Hyunjin grunted.

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cumikering · 8 months

Text

Ex bf König x reader

1.8k | angst, comfort

When you saw König again, the world seemed to pause for a moment. Under the clear sky, the breeze subsided and the soft music faded. He felt out of place in this dimension. Was it him, really? You expected him to disappear when you opened your eyes.

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you walked towards him. He sat in the quiet corner of the rooftop cafe, where everything looked too small for him. Reality snapped back in place, but the wind in your hair didn’t feel like it and the beat didn’t sound like what it was supposed to. You felt you were floating.

He smiled, but you were too caught up deciphering that it was him you were walking to.

It was König. On the table lied the strong hands you remembered holding all those years ago, next to his cup of tea. Heavy, rough and hardened - they were still very much his.

It was three years ago.

In three years, you didn't see yourself changing much at all, but it was all clear on him now that he sat right before you. He had a different hairstyle – much longer than his military cut, a bit dishevelled. The scars on his face and arms had faded, the smaller ones leaving no trace. Jarring, as whenever you saw him after long periods of time, he always adorned more. He might not have been as buff, but he looked far more relaxed than when you saw him last despite the little lines on the corner of his eyes.

You weren’t sure if you were allowed to notice – it felt too intimate after all the ocean between you for these three years. But maybe life had been tough on him, like he said it was going to be.

He smiled as you sat. “You look good. Seems like you’ve been well.”

Well, you tried to be.

Of course you kept in contact, but predictably it waned with time. You were holding on to something which wasn't yours anymore, and he really wasn’t. His mind was entirely elsewhere and it wasn't his fault. You were never sure it was better or not that you understood, but sure as hell you knew it hurt a lot. Goodbyes always hurt, even if you already saw it coming from a mile away.

You offered him a weak smile. “How long are you staying for?” you asked, dreading the answer.

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not sure yet.”

You knew what that meant. Your gut wrenched.

It was unexpected to hear König was in town. Your heart tossed and turned with possibilities. You could only think of his little message for the rest of the day. It was exactly like the promise he made before he left.

But he remembered, at least. You felt silly for holding the promise so dear to your heart, because he probably didn’t, and you didn’t want to be in this space alone. You didn’t want to know that you were the only one pining for the remnants of what you had - once was enough. But after three years, maybe you’ve forgotten what it felt like too.

“Can I get you something? Do you still like your iced peach tea with no sugar?”

You let out a faint chuckle and nodded. You weren’t sure what to make of him remembering that.

We humans are unreliable with our memories. We remember things as a memory of a memory, and now after three years, you questioned yourself if what you remembered was what actually happened.

But you remembered missing him, of course. You remembered helping him pack up, stuffing his mugs between his clothes in his luggage. You slipped in some of his favourite chocolates too – the ones as sweet as his kisses - so he wouldn’t forget what the city was like. But if you were honest, they were so you wouldn’t forget him when you tasted them.

You remembered helping him donate his things, some of his books and some shirts that didn’t fit. You didn’t see a point in taking his shirts for yourself. They weren’t yours to keep anymore.

You remembered having one last look at his empty flat, holding your breath in anticipation, but still sank with loss knowing the click of the door was the grand finale of you and him. But most importantly, you remembered crystal clear how much you missed him that your stomach was scorched with acid and your tongue was as bitter as envy.

Your breakup was infinitely more painful than having him leave – you were used to rarely seeing him due to his job. ‘Du fehlst mir,’ his gentle voice said in the clips you played endlessly while he was away.

It ruined you thinking he wasn’t going to text or call anymore, saying he missed you and couldn’t wait to see you again. You thought about how he wasn’t going to hold your hand anymore while crossing the street, or that he wouldn’t be there to help you reach the top shelves of the supermarket.

It wrecked you that no one else would call you Liebling or Schatzi the same way he did, his voice overflowing with devotion and tenderness, the sweetest memories behind each syllable. You knew you’d never find anyone else like him.

Like the aftermath of war, the parting destroyed you, leaving a bleeding, gaping hole in your chest that never seemed to close up. Du fehlst mir indeed. He was missing from you.

Maybe you both were cowards for not trying, or not trying harder, but at that time, everything felt a lot more impossible.

Or you simply grew older, and realised real life was a lot more painful than broken hearts and not meeting your life goals. It was more like losing your loved ones or finding out they were dying.

Like on that phone call he received when you were out at the park after a nice lunch. You watched the smile fall from his face as your hand slipped out of his. He repeated in disbelief, but it was incomprehensible as he broke down. His knees went weak as he pressed his palm onto his eyes, as if it could hold the tears back. You led him to the closest bench and sat there in the deafening emptiness for a long while.

That was when you started to lose König. He was inconsolable, grave and so heavy, and you never blamed him one bit. It wasn’t his fault. You would have been the very same if you were told your dear mum was dying of late-stage cancer. You were there for him, and yet you watched as life bled out of his beautiful blue eyes, like how he would see too when looking at his mother.

And so he quitted KorTac and left for good, back to Austria where his mum was. He loved it there, spoke much of the hiking sites and mountains you never could remember the names of. He promised to take you to his childhood home one day.

“My mama passed last month.”

Your heart crumbled. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered.

He hummed, looking away. “Everything’s sorted now. But I’m back, as I promised.”

He’d said you’d meet again, at that café where you first met, when it was all over – whatever over meant at that time. But you knew what it meant when you got his message the day before, and it shattered your heart.

“You must hate me for leaving. Three years isn’t nothing at all, but there hasn’t been a day I don’t think about you.” His eyes met yours and you saw the regret as his hands balled into tight fists. “I was in a bad shape and it would have been selfish to have you while I wasn’t myself. You never demanded anything from me because you were always so understanding, but I haven’t forgotten about you at all.”

You wondered if you remembered verbatim the time you were together, if you were truly happy or that your relentless mind romanticised it all after he left. Like a prized possession you wrap up and tuck away on the highest shelf, and let time fade the imperfect details into the sweetest, yet blurry, distant memory.

But you hadn’t forgotten that time when you had your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, that the fireworks in your chest were far grander than the ones in the sky. You felt like you were flying. Or when you went to the beach and stayed under as long as you both could to imagine what the world would have looked like without you both. You agreed as you held each other, the following sunset was the best you had ever seen, like the softest painting stolen straight out of heaven.

König was right. People project what they feel, intentionally or not. Perhaps it’s just human nature regardless how sick it is. If he made you feel ignored, you’d like him to feel as abandoned, but that doesn’t stop at negativity. When you were happy, you wanted him to be too. You’d be extra cheery, sing-songy like a contagion. You wanted to sink him in the joy and drown with him over and over.

You reached for his hands. “I never hated you at all. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, but I know I never hated you.” You hoped he heard the sincerity.

“I wasn’t myself since the news and I didn’t get any better. I became… elusive to myself. It was like losing everything all at once. I know you genuinely cared, but I couldn’t even talk about it. I hated that I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”

You thought you finally understood why you broke up. Being intentionally mean is manipulative, but having no control of yourself means being helpless in how you treat your partner. You could only imagine how defeating it was to watch himself hurt people he loved in the midst of his own disaster.

“I know, and I don’t despise you for it. Not at all and never did.” You shook your head. “I’ve been there too, remember?”

He might have been holding back tears, but you were never afraid of feelings.

If it’s been a month, and even in a year or ten, things will still be allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to grieve because sometimes you never truly heal from a part of you getting ripped away, and that’s alright.

You knew it all too well.

He smiled. He’d never been so beautiful before.

“I’m just happy to see you again,” he whispered.

And with your cheek against his chest, it felt like no time had passed. Maybe your heart never left. Maybe your heart was still docked at the shore of the both of you, always waiting for him to be back.

@sofasoap

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siriusleee · 10 months

Text

Like Blood on Iron | Part 2

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: I fall off in second chapters. Odd-number chapters are really my strength. Anyway, if you like the story and you'd like to donate to my ridiculous expensive wisdom teeth removal, consider donating a dollar. I only need 2,000.

If you'd like to be added to the tag list, comment below. If I cannot tag you, I will reply to your comment to let you know next chapter has been written.

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part one

part 3

Neither of you moves; the lighting crashes in the distance - electricity crackling in the air. Your anger at your family overcomes your fear of him; you stalk towards the water, hands reaching behind you to try and unlace the stays. The dress pulls uncomfortably at you, and you can't reach the back.

"Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to lecture me like last time?" You yell at him across the sand.

You come to a stop feet from the water, hands still fruitlessly trying to unlace your dress. He doesn't speak, and your anger grows. Your hands turn from trying to unlace your dress to being balled at your side.

"You're bleeding," his voice is low, nearly inaudible over the waves that threaten to crash into the two of you.

"It's nothing. Just a scrape." You feel his eyes on your hand; you move it behind your back so that he can't see it.

The silence grows, and your anger starts to wan - it feels strange to just stand there and say nothing so you turn away from him; you stare out at the dark ocean and rolling storm and wonder if you'll have to stay here all night. You don't know if you can go home and face your mother and father.

"You're unhappy," the execution says - voice flat and firm. As if he knows what's happened at home.

"You're the observant type."

He comes to stand beside you, cloak swishing on the dark sand. His presence is imposing, pushing you out of your comfort zone. You get the feeling that he's waiting on you to speak. It takes a moment of your thought; what repercussions could happen from explaining yourself to him? Who would he tell?

"My parents are forcing me to marry a man I don't want to marry. And I'm stuck in this stupid dress." It comes out of you all in one rush, a confession you didn't know you were making. You feel silly telling him your problems, but there's no one else to speak to.

"Is he a bad prospect?"

You scuff your shoe against the sand, carving a line between the two of you.

"No - that's the difficult part. He's perfectly fine. Perfectly nice. Nothing wrong with him at all - I don't like being forced into things."

Another pregnant pause.

"What would happen if you refused?"

You snort, and it hurts your ribs.

"I'll be sent to the convent to be a sister for the rest of my life."

"So you're unable to refuse." His voice is flat, empty but leading enough to make you want to talk.

You don't want to agree with him so you choose to ignore what he said, turning the conversation around to him.

"What are you doing here? I don't see anyone in need of beheading."

"I can't leave my own home?"

"I didn't say that."

You sink to sit in the sand and pull your shoes off. When your bare feet hit the sand you sigh, digging your toes into the warmth. After a moment, the executioner lowers himself down beside you; out of the corner of your eye you observe his clothes: black tunic and black pants, tucked into black boots. You suppose it comes with the occupation, the need to dress like midnight.

It's uncomfortable to sit there with the dress laced so tight, so you do something risky.

"Can you untie this dress, please? I can't breathe."

His hands twitch against his thigh.

"I can."

You turn slightly so that he can see the stays. His fingers are gentle, you can hardly feel them as he pulls on the string.

"I can't get them undone; whoever tightened them is an expert."

You let out a mirthless laugh at that.

"You can cut them for all I care - the dress is ruined anyway."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift, a flash of silver coming from beneath his cloak. He grabs the stays, pulling them back. There's a small snick and the bodice loosens all at once. You take the first decent breath you've taken all evening, your hands coming up to hold the bodice in place across your chest.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He slides the knife - the blade as long as your forearm - back into a sheath at his waist. So many questions clamber to the forefront of your thoughts. Why are you out here? is the one that slips from your lips first.

He answers you with a question of his own.

"Why did you come out here tonight?"

In the distance, you see something flash in the water. You keep your eyes trained on the horizon waiting for it to appear again, but it doesn't.

"I just needed to get somewhere I could breathe," you admit, thinking about the storm brewing at home.

"Likewise."

You trace patterns in the sand with your fingers before you speak again.

"How many times were you out here when I was?"

How many times did you see me through my chemise?

"A handful of times."

"And you never thought to say anything to me?"

He doesn't answer your question. The waves pull in closer, the tide coming in just reaching the two of you. A boldness takes over you - you push yourself to your feet, your bodice falling open. You pull the dress over your head, struggling for a moment before getting it free. You feel almost embarrassed by the thinness of your chemise, but you ignore it as you throw the dress to the side.

You don't look at the executioner as you wade out until the water is at chest level - everything is hidden. On the shore, the executioner looks politely to the side.

"You can look now! I'm assuming you have before."

"I've always looked away."

His tone is almost affronted. You can't help the grin that breaks out on your face.

"What is your name?" you ask, the warm water making you bold again. "I don't want to keep calling you 'the executioner' in my head."

"Why should I tell you my name; I don't know yours."

"You tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine."

You think of the fairy tales Mother used to tell you when you were young: about fae in the woods, merfolk sunning on the beach, ghouls under the bridge. Never tell them your name she'd whisper dramatically, because your name has power in it.

"You can call me Ghost."

"That's not your real name is it?"

"No."

You level a look at him - his brown eyes barely visible in the darkness. It's part of being the executioner, you know, the loss of the name you were given under god as a child. You wonder if you can remember the last time anyone knew his real name.

You tell him your name, calling across the water to him. The power is his now.

You dive under the water until you can touch the bottom, scraping the dark sand with your fingertips. You push yourself towards the shore, skimming the bottom until you have to resurface for air. You keep yourself down in the water so that everything is still covered. Ghost has shifted in the sand, one leg stretched out in front of him.

"Why do you wear the hood? Do you ever take it off?"

"Sometimes."

"And the mask?"

"Don't you think you're asking a lot of questions?" His timber goes down half an octave - a warning for you to stop prying. He speaks again, getting you off of the subject of himself. "Do you plan to stay out here all night?"

"I suppose I have to. If I go home now my mother will probably use the whip on me."

"Has she done it before?"

"Once when I accidentally set my sister's bed on fire."

"Accidentally?"

"I swear."

Lightning crashes, close enough now that you can feel the vibrations; the sound is like a cannon in your ears. Pushing yourself out of the water, you clamber back toward your clothes. Ghost keeps his eyes on the horizon as you lift the dress, too ruined to put back on.

"Damn it," you mutter, "I'm going to have to run home in this."

"I thought you weren't going home?"

"Where else am I going to go in the middle of a storm? I'll just have to brave the whip. Unless you know somewhere I can hide for the night."

There's the sound of Ghost standing behind you; you're too busy trying to plot a way to make it home without anyone seeing you notice how close he is to you until he drips his cloak over your shoulders, heavy and warm. The smell of him envelops you.

"My mother is going to whip me if I come home in this," you mutter to yourself, pulling it around you - it pools at your feet, too long for you to hold up.

"Tell her you stole it," Ghost says, stepping around you, and for the first time, you see him without the cloak. Without the cloak, he seems larger, with a black tunic and pants, tucked into black boots. His mask, smeared with white ash, wraps around and covers everything but his eyes. The smell of him envelops you as you pull the hood of the cloak over your head to protect yourself from the coming rain.

"Yes, because that will make everything better."

You try not to stare at him as rain droplets start to fall, heavy and fat against the hood of the cloak. It feels almost intimate to see him like this, to see the distinct curves of his body, the way his tunic falls open, just slightly at the top.

"Anyway, I need to get home before the storm rolls in. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Like before, he walks up the steep and slippery path before you. You follow, far enough behind that you can stare at him as he walks, committing his shape to memory. At the top, he leaves you and you watch him until he disappears into the darkness. The rain is heavy and fast when you finally turn back home. Your feet squeal in the mud as you walk, the bottom of the cloak becoming caked in it, your shoes held in your hands to save them from the mud.

The house is cold when you walk in - lighting thrashing in the background. You're met with silence; you step on the sturdy spots of the floor, trying to keep anyone from hearing you. It's dark and you have hope that everyone is asleep and you can clean up and slide into bed without anyone noticing. But that hope is dashed when you hear Mother's voice from the sitting room.

"You finally made it back."

Her voice is like swallowing a sliver of ice.

"Get in here."

You don't dare disobey - the half-veiled threat of the whip is barely hidden in her voice. You keep the cloak pulled tight around you as you step lightly into the room. She's still completely dressed - her hair so perfect there's not one flyaway. She doesn't look at you as you walk in, hesitating in the doorway. The light from the oil lamp bounces off of her.

When she finally looks at you, her eyes narrow, eyeing the cloak. Your heart picks up, wondering what she's going to say about it.

"Sit down."

You ease into the seat across from her, trying to keep the fact that you've left Maggie's dress behind. The silence grows pregnant by the second, until Mother leans across to you, a letter in her hand. She holds it out to you, shaking it when you don't take it. It's heavy in your hand, the parchment thicker than a usual letter.

"What is this?"

"Read it."

You unfold the parchment and read with growing horror. Each line is a nail inside a proverbial coffin.

"You can't be - how long have you had this?"

Mother doesn't look at you as she smoothes the invisible wrinkles in her skirt. She chooses each of her words carefully, biting them off in small chunks.

"I obviously can not stop you from sneaking off to wherever it is that you have been going at night, or stop you from seeing whoever you go see," her eyes linger at the opening of the cloak, a sliver of your underdress showing. "But I am tired of having you act like a child. Your sisters have no problem with following the rules around here - I don't know why you can't."

You try to interrupt her, but she holds her hand up to stop you.

"I contacted the covenant last year. They have a spot ready for you. I can send you today if you wish to be rid of here that badly. But I am tired of this. You made an embarrassment of all of us. By some grace, Jonathan is still willing to marry you; although it does make me question his judgment. You will marry him as soon as he gets back."

"Gets back? From where? When?"

"He is going on one of your father's boats on its trip. It leaves tomorrow evening - and should be back in six months. He was going to tell you that last night."

Your stomach rolls, and you feel like throwing up. She stands, and even though she's no taller than you, she seems like a giant at that time.

"I will not stop you from doing whatever it is that you do when you sneak out at night or stop you from seeing whoever it is. But I will send you away if I need to. In six months you will be a wife or you will be gone. And that is the end of this conversation."

She doesn't look at you as she sweeps out of the room. You can hear her walk up the stairs, and then the door of her bedroom slam shut.

You tread up the stairs lightly, listening for sounds of Lily or Maggie, but there are none. Your room is empty, the bed made up and everything swept away. You drop down to the end of the bed - completely frozen by the idea of being sent away to be locked up behind a habit.

Stiffly, you strip your clothes off. The wash basin water is ice cold, but it does good enough to rise the mud and ocean off of your skin - you know tomorrow it'll be hell to get the knots out of your hair, but that's not a problem you want to worry about right now.

The bed is cold without Lily in the bed, and the sound of the storm racks your nerves. You think of Ghost, walking in this storm to the edge of the village, and wonder if he's made it to safety. After a moment, you pull the cloak up, forgetting the mud at the bottom, and drape it over yourself, the smell of Ghost washing over you to lull you to sleep.

You're woken by the sunlight hitting your face and a banging at the door. Maggie bursts in, hair damp with a sour expression.

"Do you need to wash your hair? There's still warm water if you need it." She crosses the room and jerks Ghost's cloak off of you. "Where did you get this? It's disgusting."

"I stole it," your voice is thick with sleep, "and thank you for telling me."

"Well, I figured you would want to wash after being out last night?"

"Why are you saying it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like I was out up to no good."

"Seriously? You came home without my dress and with a stranger's cloak. It has to be a man's, no woman in the village is this tall. I'm not stupid."

"I told you I stole it."

Maggie sighs, her wet hair leaving a small damp spot on her shoulder. Her hands wring at her skirt, wrinkling the material - something you know she's going to fret about later. She hesitates in the doorway and then crosses quickly to the end of the bed.

"You know last night-"

"Please don't start Maggie, I am not in the mood to hear you lecture me. In fact, I would appreciate it if you just kept it to yourself."

Maggie stares you down before turning on her heel and storming out. Your head is thick as you push yourself up to stand. A headache threatens the back of your eyes, a pressure that threatens to build throughout the day. There's a stale taste in your mouth that mixes with iron like you've bitten your cheek in your sleep.

You hear the general sounds of people downstairs, the heavy tread of your father's boots on the floor, and the sound of the front door slamming shut. You dress quickly, washing your hair until the ocean salt is gone.

Lily waits for you at the bottom of the stairs, twirling her hair around her fingers - a nervous habit no one has ever been able to break her of. You drop down beside her, pulling her hair from her fingers gently.

"You keep doing that and you're going to go bald."

"Where were you last night?"

You shrug dramatically, leaning back so that your elbows are supporting you.

"I got lost, and then I had to fight off a wild roving band of bears. That tore my dress, so I had to sneak into someone's backyard and steal their cloak from where it was drying. Then I got caught, so I had to run through the mud and rain home."

Lily giggles at you before her hands find her hair to tug on it again.

"You know everyone is mad at you."

"I do. As long as you're not, it doesn't matter."

"Mother is going to make you get a wedding dress this week. I heard her tell Father that we needed to take a trip to the seamstress."

You sigh, fingers tracing the worn wood grain of the steps. Years of your family tracing a passage up and down has written the story of the house: your grandfather, carrying your father downstairs in a wrapped bundle, your Mother so heavily pregnant that she needed a cane to walk, you and Maggie bashing your knees against the wood chasing your father, you carrying Lily up on your back when the sprained her ankle last spring. And in six months you'll be a memory to it.

"I figured she would do that soon. I look horrible in white. Maybe a nice black; I can always wear it again in mourning." You lean forward to look into the empty kitchen. "Where is everyone?"

"Maggie went out - I don't know where she didn't say. Father went to see his ship off, Mother went to the church. It's just me and you."

A plan hatches in your chest, radiating outward in the seconds of silence that come through the house. You stand, pulling Lily up with you.

"Come on. I have an idea."

***

"We shouldn't be here - we're going to get in trouble," Lily whines, one hand on the back of your skirt, the other holding a basket.

"No, we're not. If anyone sees us, what are we doing?"

"Looking for Danesblood and yarrow." She repeats back to you what you coached her to say before the two of you left.

"And why are we doing that?"

"Because you twisted your knee last night and you need to make an ointment for the pain."

"Right."

The two of you crouch in the thick underbrush across from Ghost's cabin - a building off-limits to everyone in the village save for the judge and the council. In the daylight it's small and unassuming, the slight smoke curl wafting from the chimney almost pastoral. You remember once when Father had to visit the old executioner, the day before an emergency execution to sign off on it with the other council members. He'd come back shaken and refused to speak about it.

"What are we even doing out here?" Lily asks, breath hot against your neck as you crouch down, scanning the road to the left and right to see if anyone is near.

"I need to return this cloak," you tell her, holding the neatly wrapped cloak in your hands. You'd quickly scrubbed it free of mud, pressing it to your face to breathe in the smell of Ghost before running downstairs to pull Lily into the street with you. She'd worried the entire time here, nettles snagging at your skirts as the two of you crept through the woods to keep from being seen.

"You stole it from him!" she squeaks, voice rising to a pitch only dogs can hear.

"Hush!" You chide, pressing one finger to your lip before turning back to the street. "And yes. I stole it right off his drying line. It was very brave."

"You're a liar!" Her voice rises a pitch.

"Just hush and stay here. Don't move no matter what."

"What if he kills you?"

"You can go home then."

You take a deep breath, gather your skirts in one hand, and dash across the road. At the door, you drop the cloak, knock on the door once, and turn on your heel to run. You can make out Lily's face, eyes pale as she peers in fear. You make it beside her, turning just in time to see the door shut.

"Do you think he saw me?" You ask Lily, breathless.

"I think he did. Do you think he'll tell anyone?"

You don't answer her, just pull her back towards the village. At the edge, the two of you pause before melding back into the streets. You grab her hand, pulling her towards the bustling market street to seem like you've been there for hours.

"Come on," you say, pulling her, "let's get home."

The walk is tense, the two of you expecting at any moment to get caught by someone who can feel what the two of you were just doing. But no one stops you as you walk - no one stops you as the two of you cross onto your street, no one-

The sound of your name stops you and Lily short. Behind you Maggie walks, a quick shuffle, her hair falling around her face. She strides towards the two of you; grabbing Lily's wrist she pulls her away from you and tries to tuck Lily behind her back.

"What were you up to?"

"Nothing, we-"

"Don't be a liar."

You've never thought about hitting Maggie, but at this moment, you think about shoving her down into the dirt. Maggie breathes hard through her nose, her grip on Lily's wrist bruising.

"Lily doesn't need you dragging her into the messes that you keep getting yourself into."

"Maggie I swear-"

You don't get any words out, your anger blistering as you watch Maggie drag Lily back towards the house. Lily looks over her shoulder at you, her eyes apologizing, her feet causing rivets in the dirt. You watch as the front door of the house swings shut.

****

That evening finds you on the pier, your feet dangling toward the water, a sense of freedom finally overtaking you for the day. Here with no one ignoring you or speaking to you as if you were simple, and no one in the village whispering about your engagement behind your back.

Boots hit the wood behind you, and you recognize the tread pattern. When he's close enough to you, he speaks.

"Not hiding in the cove tonight?"

"No - I figured that my mother is hell-bent on running my days and that I will do what I want with my nights." You turn towards him, expecting his normal cloak, but instead being met without it. He looms over you in his all-black attire, eyes shining around his mask.

"You know I returned your cloak today."

"I saw that, thank you. Does my presence scare you so much that you needed to run?"

You scoff, moving over so that he can come to stand beside you.

"No. But my little sister is terrified of you, and I didn't need to scare her by stopping to have a chat."

You push yourself to your feet, your head coming to Ghost's shoulder. You turn on your heel, heading back towards the shore - you turn to see Ghost still standing at the end of the pier, eyes cast towards the horizon.

"Are you going to stand there all night or would you like to go on a walk?"

It takes a moment, but he turns back towards you.

"A walk?"

"Yes. I'm not sitting on this uncomfortable pier all night long, and I don't feel like swimming tonight. I'm going on a walk - you're welcome to come with me if you wish."

Ghost catches up to you by the time you reach the end of the pier, falling into step beside you, hands clasped behind his back. The two of you stride back towards the main section of the village, window shutters closed tight on each house.

"You're not worried about being seen with me?" Ghosts ask as the two of you round a side street - shadows long and thick across the road.

"Who is there to see us? It's long past midnight. Everyone is asleep but us."

The sound of your feet on the hard ground reverbs off of the houses, the swish of your skirt, and the sound of his boots filling the air. The air is blistering, the moisture from the storm steaming in the night air.

"Do you intend to walk the streets every night?" Ghosts ask, voice deadpanned.

"Well, considering no one in my house is speaking to me and my mother is going to make me go to the seamstress for a wedding dress this week, I think the nighttime is the best time for me to be out."

"Seems like a waste of money since every dress you seem to own ends up covered in seawater and sand." You can't tell if he's teasing or not, but you cut your eyes at him anyway. You give a sarcastic laugh, clasping your hands behind your back in a pantomime of his posture.

"My mother is probably going to tie me up on the wedding day so that I can't leave the house. So you will just have to do without seeing me strip that dress off."

Ghost lets out an annoyed 'humph' that you can't help but smile at. Your feet carry you onto the main street - the execution platform ahead of you two. Your feet falter, Ghost pausing alongside you. Even in the dark of the night, the execution platform has a dark hue around it.

Ghost starts ahead of you, erasing any questions you have from the air. His spine is rigid, and you can sense his discomfort rolling in waves off of him. Neither of you speaks until the platform is behind the two of you.

"Do you ever sleep?" You finally ask as the two of you walk down the market street.

"Why does it matter?"

"Well, most people sleep at night?" You say as if you're explaining something to a small child.

"You're here with me."

"I sleep once I get home. But do you sleep?"

"Occasionally."

The conversation drops until your house looms in the distance. You stop at the front, Ghost pausing with her.

"This is where I stop for the night. I do need sleep after all."

Ghost doesn't speak, just stares down at you with blank eyes.

"I may see you tomorrow night. Goodnight."

You don't wait for him to say goodnight, but as the door shuts behind you, you swear you hear him whisper it.

tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythots, @hearts4sky, @devcica, @crystalizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0th3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild

#my fics #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #modern warefare 2

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azulhood · 7 months

Text

Johnny 13 accidentally gains a brother.

He didn't plan for this to happen, it just did!

He was visiting his hometown, hanging around crime alley when a street rat tried to steal his bike having not noticed him.

The kid was in the middle of trying to Hotwire his bike when he couldn't help but comment. "It's the other wire, that one sets the alarm off."

"Thanks." The kid replied distractedly letting go of the slightly glowing green wire and reaching for the faintly glowing red wire.

A quiet pause.

The kid slowly turned his head so that he was looking into Johnny's eyes. "This is your bike, ain't it?" The kid asked having realised he wasn't alone.

Johnny smiled with maybe one too many teeth but luckily the kid didn't seem phased "Yep."

The kid nodded as if it was just his luck. "Ya gonna beat me up?"

"Nah, it's not like I ain't Hotwire my own fair share." He wasn't worried that the kid would steal his bike, and if the kid managed to pull it off the bike would just return to him.

"Come on kid, let's get something to eat." The kid narrowed his eyes in suspicion as Johnny walked away, that's fine, it was the kid's choice if he followed or not.

Curiosity and hunger seemed to win out as the kid fell in step beside him.

Johnny found the nearest bat burger (they weren't around when he was alive and not something he'd ever really get used to) and got a family meal with money he had 'burrowed' from the residents of Amity Park.

"Why you doing this?" The kid questioned after devouring three burgers and starting on his fourth.

Johnny shrugged. "Just know what it's like to go hungry is all." He didn't really know, maybe it was because the kid reminded him of himself or maybe it was just Phantom was rubbing off on him.

It was time for them to go their separate ways once the meal was finished and the few leftovers hidden away.

His bike was right where he left it "hey, kid. What's your name?" Johnny asked as he started the ignition.

The kid stared right into his eyes, like he was weighing Johnny's worth. "Jason."

"Jason Todd" The kid said it slow, like each word was a mistake.

Jason Todd,huh? Johnny committed it to memory. "Name's Johnny, kid." He gave back. "I'll see you around."

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

After that it became a sort of habit to find the kid, buy him food and listen to whatever was happening in town, whenever he visited Gotham.

The other ghosts thought it was funny, one of them even jokingly said "welcome to parenthood."

But it didn't feel like Jason was his kid. It felt more like... Having a little brother.

Yeah, that was it.

One day Johnny rolled into Gotham with a crisp one hundred in his pocket, unknowingly donated by the Manson family, fullly intending on buying Jason some new clothes, probably a few books, and maybe a new lock pick set.

But he couldn't find him.

Johnny searched crime alley top to bottom, he checked the police headquarters, checked every bat burger, checked the docks.

He ignored the growing pit of worry that in his chest.

Johnny finally found Jason in a swanky mansion that was obviously owned by someone who could give plasmius a run for his money.

Jason, book worm that he was, was found sitting in the mansions library.

Really one of these days Johnny should introduce him to Ghostwriter, they'd get along great.

"Hey, kid."

Jason jumped and whatever book he was reading fell out of his hands.

He lit up once he saw who it was. "Johnny, you're here!" That excitement turned to fear and worry "You can't be here, what if you get caught?"

Johnny waved the kid's worry away. "Don't sweat it, nobody sees me if I don't want'em to." Then it was Johnny's turn to be concerned. "What happened, I couldn't find you in crime alley."

Jason's face went through a complicated range of emotions. "I got adopted by Bruce Wayne."

Johnny's eyes flashed, he knew the horror stories about adoption. "He treating you okay?" The man would never breathe again if he wasn't.

Seeing the possible murder scene, Jason eased his worries. "Yeah, he's fine, it's just a bit weird."

Homicide prevented for now.

Johnny took a seat across from the kid in a chair that was probably worth more then Johnny owned living or dead. "Alright, fill me in."

And Jason did.

Johnny learned about how he was caught stealing the wheels off the Batmobile (he couldn't tell if that was bravery or stupidity) by the Batman which somehow led to Bruce Wayne adopting him.

"I think his other kid doesn't like me much, but it ain't bad here." Jason said as he finished his story.

Johnny quietly nodded as he absorbed the information and thought about where to go from here.

He had planned on getting Jason a nice home (woulda offered his own haunt if the living could live in the ghost zone) preferably in Amity where he could meet everyone. (Kitty would love him)

Here Jason had the chance to never go hungry, get into good schools, always have what he needed.

This situation was...ideal.

Even if Johnny wasn't happy with it. "You happy here?" What mattered was that Jason was.

Jason visibly thought about it. "...Yeah...I am."

And the decision was made.

"You know you can come to me for anything, right? If you want to get out of here or just want someone to talk to." Johnny needed the kid to know that.

Jason rolled his eyes but replied. "Yeah, Johnny, I know."

So Johnny left reluctantly feeling like he was making a mistake somehow.

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

Johnny was fighting Phantom with Kitty when he felt it.

He felt Jason die.

And Johnny s c r e a m e d

–----------------

He nearly tore apart the ghost zone in his search for Jason's ghost.

There was no way that Jason didn't form a ghost with the amount of time exposed to Johnny's ectoplasmic self.

Kitty helped him search, everyone helped him search, even Phantom.

But he couldn't find his little brother.

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

Then he felt it.

He felt Jason come back to life.

He didn't know the details and he didn't care. All that mattered was that the kid was alive.

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

He tried to search the living realm for the kid, which would have been made a ton easier if the GIW wasn't shooting at him every ten minutes.

At some point he gave up looking and waited instead.

Jason would find his way home to Gotham at some point, all Johnny had to do was wait.

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

Johnny knew the second Jason stepped into the fair city of Gotham.

He broke many speeding limits and traffic laws on his way there but he didn't care.

Especially when he saw Jason on the streets, he looked different but Johnny would know that kid anywhere.

Johnny opened his mouth to call out.

But then Jason with him and his mouth snapped shut with a click.

There wasn't even a glimmer of recognition in Jason's eyes.

His brother didn't remember him.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #Jason Todd #Johnny 13 #me: ooooh Johnny and Jason knowing each other is a cool idea #also me:...how do I make it hurt more? oh! memory loss!

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